#& [IC: Jaskier] A humble bard

[nullio]

I completely forgot I booked this in my calander 😭😭

Anyway, Happy Bi/Pan Bard Reveal Day! Exactly one year ago today the continents favorite humble bard Jaskier was revealed to be a woman kisser AND a boy kisser

I remember the whirlwind that day was. For me Pride month started early

go and get some iced coffee or a sweet treat to celebrate 🎉🎉 🩷💜🩵 + 🩷💛🩵

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

Radovid and Jaskier - "Extraordinary Things" scene analysis

I literally cannot stop thinking about all the Jaskier and Radovid's scene, but especially their second scene in 3x02 (so SPOILERS for everyone who hasn't seen it yet)

First of all the song... oh, THE SONG! I've seen many interpretations of the song, but I do think that it's not about Geralt and it is more directed to Radovid than what we might think at first.

Keep your words on ice Your gaze lights the fire

After the looks that they've exchanged so far, especially when it comes to Radovid, looking at Jaskier so intensely, I can't help but think Jask's at least a bit talking about him in that second verse.

The first verse on the other hand has an obvious connection to the following ones:

Why waste our words when lips were made for extraordinary things?

Once again, I do believe this is another verse directed to Radovid. Jaskier is very perceptive when it comes to people and I do believe he has noticed Radovid fascination with him, so I feel there's a small, small chance this was also a way to tease Radovid. Plus, when he sings this Jaskier looks directly at Radovid.

They say keep on playing nice But I have no desire [...] It's not a want, it's a need It is paying no heed To what others say to sing

These verses are, in my humble opinion, once again talking directly to Radovid, especially the first two, during which the camera focuses on the prince himself.

The following ones can also work for Radovid, if we consider the "singing" as a metaphor for what people tell him to do, but maybe I am reading too much into this... but media exists to be analyzed, right? So, moving on.

The greatest songs are made up Of unspoken words of love Of them, I’ve had enough

Obviously, this part does reference Geralt and the songs Jaskier wrote for him in the past, confirming that Jaskier has loved him, but that has now moved on.

Also, when he sings the first two verses, the camera actually focuses on Radovid’s reaction (who’s having either a gay panic attack or realizing that the bard was definitely in love with the witcher).

With you, I have enough

This verse is actually nothing special BUT when he says that, at the very end of the scene, you can barely see it but Jaskier, who was looking down while singing the previous verse, raises his gaze to meet (guess what?) Radovid’s eyes!

And I LOVE Radovid’s reaction to the following verse!

With you, I am enough

I feel like this could be either read as Jaskier saying that to Radovid but also as Radovid saying that to Jaskier, especially if you look closely at the prince’s reaction, who first looks away, then gulps down, and then meets again Jaskier’s gaze.

To conclude it all, we get that beautifully haunted and shaky I am enough, which I do think is entirely Jaskier just saying that to himself.

We all know he was treated like fucking shit in the past, especially last season, and it’s already a delight seeing the other characters treating him with the kindness he deserves; but I also think he’s still trying to come to terms to the fact that he’s just a human in the found family he’s found himself in. He has no magic, no super-abilities he could use to defend those he loves, and he wasn’t always treated nicely, as already mentioned. It’s obvious to think that deep down, he doesn’t feel enough. 

And by singing it in the way that he does, while looking at Radovid the way that he looks at him, Jaskier reveals a part of himself to him and him alone. And the small smile he has at the end seems like it’s almost saying: “Well, this is me” and I JUST LOVE IT ALL!

Plus, the way his bard facade immediately jumps back in when he ‘remembers’ about the other people in the room? Dammit, I adore Joey Batey’s acting choices!!!

(I won't talk about the rest of the song but that's also so heavily Radovid coded! Like: "Drop the sweet disguise"????)

Then he walks away (also, it’s pretty funny how the people in the room all try to touch him, as he’s some kind of Jesus) and, even though he glances at everyone in the room, you can tell that the way he looks at Radovid is different. He lingers on him as he walks by and even while the camera pans away from Jaskier to the prince.

We don’t see Radovid immediately after that, it takes a couple seconds before his face is revealed to us and OH BOI! That guy is SHOOK! He can’t even find the words to speak, even though I think part of it can be blamed on Jaskier, who (in the smuggest and sluttiest way possible) sits down and puts his shoes on the table. And I totally understand Radovid because yeah… Jaskier is HOT, no denying that.

But it’s also interesting to look at Jaskier because there isn’t just smugness in his eyes. There’s still attentiveness in them as he studies Radovid and I think that’s what I love most about the interactions of episode 1 and 2. They’re never just talking, they’re always dissecting everything the other does or says, especially Jaskier but this can also be seen in Radovid at times (like in the carriage at the end of episode 1).

Now we come to the scene that pushed me to do this long and useless analysis (and thanks to @i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky for the gifs):

So, just before this scene, Radovid has stood up with no problems and walked over to Jaskier without faltering. But suddenly, now that he’s speechless, his stance falters. And it’s obviously to confirm the fact that he is drunk. However, Jaskier sees right through it.

The look on Radovid’s face when Jaskier says: “I would, except you’re not drunk”? The way he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his complete attention on him, while also still keeping a stance that could still be considered a drunken one (not entirely upright and slightly slumped)? *chef’s kiss*

Jaskier’s smile is not as smug as one would expect. It's almost soft while he's explaining to Radovid how he could tell he was not actually drunk. Jaskier is entertained; he's having fun revealing Radovid's lie. He's enjoying putting him on the spot because, even though he's the prince, Jaskier has the upper hand in their conversation right now (which he will also reveal to the other in a few moments).

And Radovid's not pissed. He lowers his head, as if he had been caught red-handed, with a smile. He doesn’t think much of it because he thinks Jaskier’s playing the same game he is, he thinks Jaskier’s flirting, so what if he understood that Radovid fancies him?

However, as soon as Jaskier starts talking about ‘seedy taverns’ and ‘great lessons’, his smile disappears. At first he is obviously just confused as to what those things have to do with – what he still thinks is – their flirtation.

That's also when Jaskier's smile disappears. His soft expression changes and becomes cold, in a way business-like. He was playing a moment before with a prince yet inexperienced (or that seems to be so) in the art of lying, but now he's actually showing the upper hand that experience gives him. He’s showing Radovid that he can actually read him and that he cannot lie to him. The happy facade is gone and now he's more determined than ever to have what he came for.

Again, Radovid’s reaction to that is perfect. When Jaskier stands up and walks towards him, talking about the ‘viper’s den’ he’s in, Radovid’s facade also changes pretty drastically. You can tell that’s not what he was thinking would happen. He now stands upright, raising his chin up, and he looks pretty pissed off (especially when he meets Jaskier’s gaze again).

Jaskier seems unfazed by this, keeping his head also high and asking for confirmation regarding the Rience’s ordeal he went there in the first place. And did his eyes fall to Radovid’s lips? Who knows!

Back to Radovid, the anger has left him. I mean, you can tell he’s still not entirely joyous but it’s not either about to kill the bard. He actually seems more fascinated than ever, especially when he speaks again (avoiding the Rience subject a second time).

After “Now I understand”, Jaskier smiles. It’s more a condescending smile than anything else though. He’s indulging Radovid, hoping to in the end get what he wants. However there’s still a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

And then Radovid answers (and again, love that before actually answering he hesitates), and as he does, as he says “[...] not who they pretend to be”, he looks Jaskier up and down, possibly subtly hinting at the fact that he sees who he pretends to be.

Following that, when his eyes go back to Jaskier’s, his expression is quite… sincere. Not weak but defenseless, as if he’s trying to show the bard that he means what he’s saying.

And Jaskier gets that, because you can see the little smile he tries to push down while lowering Radovid’s gaze since he stood up, which is just. so. ADORABLE!

When Jaskier asks: “And the rest?”, he’s not indulging Radovid anymore. He just wants to know, perhaps wanting to see what else this prince can actually see of him. And even though Radovid can’t tell yet what the rest actually is, the fact that he’s “determined to figure it out” means so much. It means he wants to stick around, something that it’s not a normal part of Jaskier’s life. He tends to be the one who sticks around, even when people don’t exactly want him around (ie. Geralt in S1), or the one people go to and only when they need help (ie. Geralt in S2). The other way around it’s new to him, but as we see, he can’t help but smile at the idea, a smile that once again tries to stop, because he still hasn’t entirely figured out who the prince is and wants.

Then Radovid finally gives him what he came for, bowing slightly his head as he assures him he will do what he can to find Rience, and the soft thank you that leaves Jaskier’s lips, followed by another one of those half-smiles. He really seems unable to stop smiling around Radovid, uh?

AND THEN, AS THE CHERRY ON TOP, RADOVID ASKS HIM (after obviously hesitating) ASKS HIM “DOES THE WITCHER KNOW HOW LUCKY HE IS TO HAVE YOU”??? SIR??? YOUR GRACE??? WHATEVER YOUR TITLE IS??? DO YOU WANT TO KILL THE BARD???

I love, love, love how this actually shows that Radovid was listening to the song (which was obviously talking about Geralt, as I said before) but not only that! He’s also saying that is not only enough, but he’s someone that a FUCKING witcher should be LUCKY to have around! And he means it, every word!

AND THAT’S WHEN JASKIER FINALLY SMILES??? SOMEBODY SEDATE ME!!!!

So anyway, that's pretty much it! Hope you enjoyed this unhinged analysis (which might have a second part? perhaps?)

[beautiifulghostts]

Jump in my askbox and just say “Hi” to my muse [Accepting] @chainsxwsmile​ said: Hi (for Jaskier) - Chainsxwsmile || verse: the Witcher

   At the end of the day, it truly was a bad idea going to the coast. Not only the weather was way too humid and the weather overall terrible, but now he has a very terrifying creature in front of him and no witcher nearby to save his ass. 

   “H-hi” he sputters, voice one octave higher than usual “It wasn’t my intention to disturb you, I’m terribly sorry, I’m just a wandering bard who is on his way to step as far away from the ocean as he can, now if you excuse me.” 

[julek]

a humble offering to @west-moor and @kueble, for bringing this post to life. they’re very dumb, your honor. | read on ao3

It starts at dinner one night. 

They settled in a few days ago, bringing the ice cold from the mountains and the snow with them, after trudging up the Killer for two weeks. They sit at the wooden table and before them stands Vesemir’s famous roast, the one Geralt had told Jaskier all about. 

Geralt helps himself to some potatoes, and gestures to Jaskier’s plate. “You want some?”

Before Jaskier can nod, Lambert cuts him off. “Darling,” he says with a pointed tone.

Geralt turns to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “What?”

“You seemed to have forgotten you were speaking to your bard, there,” Lambert quips, and sits back with a knowing smirk. “Just wanted to help you out.”

Geralt blinks. “Uh.”

Jaskier notices the way he’s frozen in place, and gently touches his forearm, ignoring Lambert’s non-sequitur. “I’d love some, Geralt. Thank you.” 

“Uh,” Geralt repeats, and doesn’t take his eyes off Lambert as he fills Jaskier’s plate. “Sure.”

+

Jaskier pads into the kitchen the next morning, eyes still fuzzy with sleep and an old, worn woolen sweater hanging off his shoulder. Geralt looks up from his bowl of kasha and smiles. 

“Morning,” Jaskier mumbles, and sits down at the table. 

“Good morning.”

The shout comes from the pantry, followed by the unmistakable sound of pans and cups clattering. “Morning, honey!” 

Jaskier narrows his eyes, and looks at Geralt for help. He shakes his head. “Um. Hi?” 

Out of the pantry walks Lambert, hands full of baking ingredients, a flour scar crossing his cheek. “How’d ya sleep, sweetheart?”

Jaskier decidedly does not blush a bright shade of red. He doesn’t. “Well, that’s just— thank you, Lambert, for asking. I slept well, even though this keep’s freezing cold and my bed was entirely too big for one fragile bard such as myself.”

Lambert frowns. “What do you mean, too big? You’re not sharing with Geralt?”

Geralt chokes on his kasha, momentarily. Jaskier snorts and shakes his head. “No, I’m staying in the east wing.”

“Ah,” Lambert says, a wolfish grin on his face as he ties the apron behind his back. “That’s… interesting.”

He shoots Geralt a look that’s there a second and gone the next, and Jaskier would’ve missed it, if not for the developed skill of observing Witchers and their fleeting emotions. Still, it’s a look he can’t decipher, a mix of amusement and mischief. Best not to find out, he decides. 

“So, Lambert,” he starts, a touch louder than he should. “What’s that you’re making?”

+

Geralt had warned him, Jaskier thinks in retrospect, that Lambert was a bit weird. An acquired taste. And he is, Jaskier won’t deny it, but he’s also incredibly unpredictable — his gruff demeanor and rough disposition always, without fail, betray the sweet words that leave his mouth. 

He’d been brushing the horses down when Lambert ruffled his hair and called him dear. Geralt nearly dropped his sword one morning, when Jaskier walked out onto the courtyards and Lambert called out hello, sunshine. On their way to the library to get absolutely smashed, a gentle touch to his elbow and little bird. 

They’re all incredibly sweet, incredibly unexpected delicacies, and Jaskier doesn’t know what to make of them. Sure, Lambert isn’t horrible to look at in the slightest, what with the entire lean-body, scarred-face look he has going on, with the playful teasing and easy smiles he gets out of him. He’s objectively handsome, and funny, and kind, when he has to be, and Jaskier has let him know, many times. He hasn’t been exactly subtle in feeling his muscles through his linen shirts and sending looks his way whenever he’s said something salacious and tempting — signs so clear even the brother of one of the Continent’s most oblivious Witcher could read them. Which is why it’s so infuriatingly confusing, the fact that name-calling is all Lambert’s got for him. 

And it’s not lost to him at all, the way Geralt frowns and fiddles with his medallion whenever Lambert lets a honey-sweet pet name slip. He doesn’t miss the way Geralt stubbornly looks straight ahead, focused on absolutely nothing at all, nor the way his mouth twitches, almost, almost resembling a pout. 

It’s amusing, to say the least.

+

“Well, I’m off to bed, my wonderful friends,” Jaskier announces one night, after playing a few annoying renditions of Toss a Coin, until he got Eskel to break and beg him to stop. 

The wolves say their goodbyes, and just as Jaskier’s about to leave the Great Hall, Lambert calls after him. 

“Night, love,” he says, offhandedly, and continues his conversation with Eskel, as if nothing had happened. 

Jaskier scans the room, and his eyes fall on Geralt, who’s trying very hard to remain seated, even when his knuckles are white and his leg is bouncing wildly enough to propel him into the night sky. His amber gaze follows Lambert’s movements and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say Geralt was about to throttle his brother. 

“Hmm.” He murmurs. “Goodnight, Lambert. Goodnight, Geralt.”

Jaskier smiles sweetly and leaves the room at a leisurely pace. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on his back.

+

One particularly chilly afternoon, Jaskier’s leaving the library when he hears voices that carry through the hall. 

“Well? Gonna explain yourself?”

Oh, the middle-aged woman that lives inside Jaskier’s heart and loves to gossip jumps up and down in joy at the prospect of what seems to be a very interesting conversation. He slips out of the room and presses his back to the wall, even when he knows the Witchers could sense his presence. It’s more fun if there’s a risk to get caught, he reasons. 

Lambert’s voice is low, and Jaskier can hear his smug smile as he says, “Well, you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt’s voice echoes. 

“It means, you thick-headed idiot,” Lambert drags the words out, like he’s speaking to a child. If Jaskier’s quiet, he can hear the way Geralt’s blood boils in his veins. “That you’ve been walking in circles for too long. Jaskier’s here.” At the mention of his name, the bard perks up. 

“I know that, Lambert. I invited him. What’s that got to do with this— this sweet talking thing you’ve got going on? It’s weird. Creeps me out.”

“What? I can be decent when needs must!” Comes Lambert’s offended retort. “What I’m saying, pretty boy, is that he’s a good thing, the kind that Witchers never get to have. Not that you own him or anything— it’s just. He’s good, and he’s obviously waited for you to make a move, sometime in this past decade. He’s here, for fuck’s sake— in an old ruin in the middle of fucking nowhere, holed up with four Witchers and a goat, nothing else. Ain’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Jaskier stands very still, his heart beating out of his chest. 

“Hmm. I still— I don’t deserve him.”

Lambert laughs. “Well, too bad, then. You can’t come to me with that self-deprecating shit, I’m not Eskel. But, fuck, if you don’t deserve him, who the fuck does? Certainly not me, but— I need you to listen very closely— he won’t wait forever. He might even settle for me, if you don’t make a move soon.”

“Ugh.” 

“Yeah.”

Geralt’s footsteps echo down the hall, moving closer to Lambert, Jaskier thinks. 

“You’ll stop with the pet names, then?” 

Lambert laughs, again. “Absolutely not. It’s too fun seeing you get all hot and bothered.” He steps out of the room, thankfully, in the opposite direction, and calls out, “Don’t fuck it up!”

Jaskier lets out a breath and slides to the floor, gathering the new information in his brain. Geralt wants him. He wants him, and worst of all, thinks he’s undeserving — damn him and his humility. He lets out a laugh in disbelief. 

Geralt wants him. 

+

The next morning, when Jaskier walks into the kitchen, he’s greeted by a blushing Geralt. 

“Hi,” Jaskier says, an amused smile curling his lips, and sits down at the table. “How are you this morning, dear?”

Geralt pushes a bowl in his direction, a bit too strongly. “Good.” He coughs. “Uh, I’m good… Sugar face.” 

“Huh?” Jaskier stops mid-bite. He quickly regains his composure. “Um— that’s good, I’m glad, yeah.” 

Geralt grimaces, and an awkward silence follows. Jaskier digs into his breakfast with more enthusiasm than necessary, until Lambert walks in, firewood under both arms. 

“Lambert! Thank the Gods— I mean, uh, it’s so good to see you. It’s a bit chilly this morning, isn’t it? I’m sure you agree, what with coming straight from the great outdoors and such— I’m going to the library, if anyone needs me, uh, just,” he rambles as he washes his bowl, “just call. You know. My name. Jaskier the bard, ha— that’s me! Anyway, see you.” 

He makes haste to leave the kitchen, and as he walks down the hall, he hears Lambert clicking his tongue. 

“Fuck, Wolf, it’s not even mid-morning.”

+

Jaskier stays in the library until the sweet aroma of Vesemir’s stew reaches the room and his stomach rumbles pleasantly at the thought. Given the way he’d fled the kitchen, he wouldn’t be surprised if no one called him to lunch — they probably thought he was having some sort of stroke, with his word-vomiting and hurried escape. He’s just opened a new book when he hears a knock. 

“Come in,” he says, voice steady.

The door opens, and sure enough, Geralt’s standing at the doorway, a sheepish smile on his face and a terribly endearing flush creeping up his neck. 

“Hey, love,” Jaskier says, because it’s difficult to call him otherwise. “You okay?”

“Hmm.” Geralt walks over to his chair, and stands there awkwardly until Jaskier gestures to a bench next to him. “We’ll have lunch soon.”

Jaskier smiles. “I was just thinking about that. It’s stew, isn’t it? Oh, Vesemir spoils me so.”

“Thought you’d be hungry,” Geralt says, looking at his hands. “You left breakfast early.”

Jaskier pales, then lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh! Yes, well, I had suddenly remembered a book I just had to examine more closely, and—”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s looking at him now, and Jaskier closes his mouth, choosing to look back into his amber eyes and wait for whatever comes. Nothing does, for a while — they just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak up. Finally, Geralt does. 

“I invited you up here, to spend the winter with me,” he rasps, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being close to you, Jaskier, I— I can’t stand it.”

Jaskier’s heart breaks a little. “Geralt.”

“I should’ve asked you to come up here years ago. I wasn’t brave enough. Thought you’d hate the idea.” He grimaces. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. “When you asked me to come here with you— you have no idea what it meant to me, knowing you still wanted my company. I couldn’t have been happier.”

Geralt sniffs and gives him a weak smile, his white hair falling on his face.

“I’m not good at this,” he says, and gestures vaguely at the space between them. “The whole…”

“Calling me disgustingly sweet and somewhat alarming pet names?”

Geralt nods.

“I know, dear heart.” Jaskier takes Geralt’s hands in his own. “I know, and I don’t expect you to.”

“I’d still like to call you something, though,” Geralt says, the tiniest hint of a pout on his lips. “Can’t let Lambert best me.” 

Jaskier snorts. “So it’s all about honor, then?” 

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s about you.” 

And oh, he sounds so sincere, so open and fragile, Jaskier can’t find it in himself to tease him any further. 

“You know what I loved the most about traveling to Kaer Morhen with you?”

A tiny frown knits Geralt’s brow. “What?”

“‘T was when we stopped in those hamlets, the ones that aren’t even on maps,” he murmurs. “Where you gather your supplies, where people know you and call you by your name. You know why?”

Geralt shakes his head.

“Because,” Jaskier whispers, bringing their foreheads together, “whenever they asked you about me, about who I was, your answer was always the same.” 

He’s my bard, Geralt had said to the horse trader when they bought a mule. My bard, he’d answered, when the chatty shopkeeper had inquired about the colorful fellow trailing after him. My bard, he’d said with a shrug and a fond smile, as Jaskier and the tailor entwined themselves in an argument about fabrics and the season’s colors.

My bard. 

“You always called me yours.” 

Jaskier closes his eyes when he feels Geralt’s lips on his own, a soft, gentle thing. They move slowly, simply exploring — when they part, there are kisses being pressed to his cheeks, his brow, the corner of his mouth and his jaw.

Geralt smiles at him, and Jaskier smiles back, aware that they probably look like two lovesick fools staring at each other, but far too gone to care. 

“I don’t need flowery names or honey-soaked terms of endearment,” Jaskier assures him. “Being called yours is more than enough.” 

Geralt presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Hmm. Can’t go around claiming you as mine, though. ‘S a bit archaic.”

“Mm. You’re right. Love of my life, my moon and my stars should be enough, then. Rolls off the tongue, even.”

Geralt growls. “Jask.”

“Dearly beloved— no, that’s too formal— I’ve always been fond of Angel, though I doubt I’ve earned that title.” 

Geralt kisses him again, and Jaskier half-suspects it’s less about the tender gesture and more about shutting him up. 

“I’ll think of more, you know. You can’t distract me with kisses forever.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “Okay.” He pecks his cheek. “Bard.”

“Yours,” Jaskier says smugly. 

Before Geralt can open his mouth, the library door swings open. 

“Fucking finally, Geralt! We’re all so very happy for this revelation, way to go, and all that.” He clasps his hands together. “Now, you both need to get your asses to lunch, otherwise Vesemir will kick you out. Jaskier, baby, please be grossly in love with Geralt later.”

Geralt groans. “Fuck off, Lambert.”

He leaves with a cackle. Jaskier smooths out his doublet, gets up and holds his hand out to Geralt. He grins.

“You coming, sugar face?”

[dhwty-writes]

Prompt: toads. Just toads.

...are you the socks anon...? If so, you leave fantastic prompts! If not, I’ve got two anons who do :D All the better

Anyways, here is TOADS! I had a field trip with this. There's two horrible poems, friendly dunking and wrestling, and two grown men running after a single toad while trying not to laugh too hard. Have fun!

Read on AO3

"Gracious gods, Geralt, did you really have to take this contract?" Jaskier complained loudly and wiped his grimy hand on his breeches.

"Hm," the witcher grunted very unhelpfully and ducked down into the reed again.

"I mean, reall- eww," he tried to wipe his hair from his forehead and managed to smear mucky pond water all over it. "'Collect some toad toes', what kind of contract is that? And why in Melitele's cursed name do you need a witcher for it?"

"Told you, Jaskier," Geralt muttered and he could hear the tell-tale sign of two empty hands clapping together. "It's for a friend."

"Some kind of friend that is..."

He groaned and stood upright again. "Have you caught anything yet?"

"Of course not," Jaskier huffed and waded over to him. At least the way the mud squelched between his toes felt nice.

"A toady monster shall be slain,

But how can I praise prettily

That venerable victory,

If the white wolf cannot stake his claim?"

He slung an arm around his shoulders and revelled in the sight of Geralt staring at him intently.

"For I am but a humble bard,

Who, when he woke with a start

This morning, didn't think he would depart

With this stunning piece of art-"

"What?!" Geralt snapped and Jaskier had a hard time not to double over laughing.

"-who lives up to ev'ry ounce of his fame,

That I have equipped him with,

The man, the witcher, the myth,

Geralt of Rivia is his name!

But if you bet on him, go to your broker,

He can't catch a measly croaker.”

Geralt growled menacingly. 

"You don't like it?" Jaskier frowned. "Alright, let me start over.

Though he's surely not a savage beast, 

He pried me from a lover's side, 

To go for a different kind of ride. 

And I swear there was a growl at least.

 He led me into the forest deep, 

To a pond that stank to the skies, 

Where we were attacked by vicious flies,

Far away from any town or keep.  

 There he said to me: 

"Get right into the fray,

On this superb sunny summer day, 

Forget the bed where you could still be,

 Forget the adventure on the roads,

And collect some fucking toads."

 Geralt glowered darkly and Jaskier smiled brightly. "What," he growled quietly, "the fuck?!"

Now he couldn't hold back the laughter anymore. "Oh, my dear witcher, the look on your face! If you could just see yourself, you-"

"Bard," he rumbled, "you're treading on very thin ice."

"-I mean, what was it that brought your mind to a screeching halt? The alliterations? The rhymes? I think I crafted those two sonnets just marvelousl- fuck!" 

He had scarcely any chance to react before Geralt wrapped both of his arms tightly around his waist and tackled him into the water.

He thrashed around wildly, kicked and scratched and bit, and even tried to scream, although he wasn't very successful, just to pull Geralt down into the water with him. 

They were still scrambling at each other when they resurfaced, Geralt attempting a chokehold and Jaskier pulling at his hair. "Fuck!" he howled, soaking wet and fuming. "Geralt, you brute, you ruined my new shirt!"

"You wrote two fucking sonnets because I can't catch a bloody toad!" he barked and dunked him again. This time he landed a vicious kick into the hollow of his knee that made the witcher grunt as his legs buckled beneath him.

"Bastard bard...," he grunted and hauled him up.

Jaskier grinned widely. "Witless witcher," he countered and dealt a blow that Geralt had taught him. Roach let out a judgemental snort and moments later Jaskier discovered why: The punch had been a severe miscalculation, for Geralt saw it coming. He deflected his punch and before he even knew what was happening, he fell face first into the mud. "Elgh, Geralt, that's disgusting!" he complained and struggled to get to his feet. 

He rose up to shaky knees, but Geralt was on him again, smearing the muck into his hair. "Do you yield?" he asked and rubbed it in deeper. "Do you yield already, Jaskier?"

"I don't, I don't!" he screeched and Roached moved as far away from them as the lead rope let her. "Big bloody bastard man, get off me so, I can repay you, you- Geralt!"

The witcher laughed and attempted to push him into the mud again. "What? D'you want more?"

"No, look! Toad!"

And there it was, mere inches from their faces, staring at them with large eyes. It croaked quietly.

"Get it!" Jaskier screamed. "Fucking get it!"

He didn't need to, for Geralt was lunging already, hands outstretched. With a deafening SPLASH he landed in the mud, the wet squelching sound soon drowned out by Geralt's laughter.

"It's getting away!" He scrambled to his feet, slipping and sputtering, dashing after the small animal. "Fuck, Geralt, keep up, it's getting away!"

"I'm coming," he assured him, still fighting the giggles, but sprinting after the toad all the same. "There it goes!"

"Where, where?" Jaskier skidded to a halt and landed on his butt again. "Bollocks, I've missed it!"

Geralt ran further ahead, trying to reach down a few times, but evidently missing. 

Jaskier tried to stand up again, hindered by the peals of laughter that bubbled out of his mouth when he watched the six-foot-two-hundred-pound witcher try to scoop up a single toad, completely unaware of his surroundings. "Watch out!" he wanted to shout, but before he even completed the sentence, Geralt had already noisily collided with a tree.

He groaned quietly, rubbing at his shoulders. "Fuck," he muttered and Jaskier had to sit down again, holding his aching belly.

"Geralt, please," he wheezed, "I can't take it-"

"Jaskier!" he bellowed. "It's coming your way!"

"Fuck!" He was right, there it was hopping towards him. He bit down hard on his lip, to keep from laughing and gathered the last bit of his strength to throw himself at the beast, effectively squashing it beneath him. "I've got it!" he cried triumphantly. "Geralt, I've got i- yuck, it's slimy, Geralt, come, quick, it's icky!"

"I'm here, I'm here," the witcher assured him and crouched down beneath him. "Where is it?"

"Nooo, eww, it's trying to squeeze into my shirt! I don't want it on my skin, I don't want it, Geralt, help!"

"Where is it, where?" he asked again, squeezing his hands beneath Jaskier's upper body in search of the nasty little fiend.

"On the left, higher, no, higher; are you groping me, you bastard? Stop that, get this thing off me first!"

"I've got it!"

"Good," Jaskier sighed with relief, "now get off me."

"Can't. I've got it in both my hands and you're spread-eagled on them."

"I'm very much not," he huffed, but wriggled out of his arms nevertheless. Not without using Geralt's forehead as leverage for his foot while pushing away, of course. "Spread-eagled," he muttered. "As if I ever did such a thing..." He got to his feet, dusting off his pants in habit. The only thing it managed was smearing the mud further. "Gross," he muttered. "What now, Geralt?"

"I'm supposed to only bring the toes," Geralt said with a grimace.

"Pfft. Your 'friend' can cut them off themself, if they insist on it. I'm not touching that thing ever again. It's far too well acquainted with my body already."

 "Hmm. We still have to transport it there somehow." He looked around the small clearing. They had rid themselves of armour, doublets and boots before wading into the water and left them with Roach, who was staring at them disapprovingly. Jaskier's lute was with her, too, and-

"Ohh, no!" he declared loudly and backed up. "No, no, no, no, no! I won't, Geralt."

"Come on," he taunted, "do it for a friend."

"A friend?! Oh, now we're friends! Yeah, that sounds convenient!"

"Jaskier..."

"No, Geralt, you can't ask that of me. That's beyond cruel, even for you, and-"

"We have to put it somewhere, Jaskier. We don't have anything else where it might fit."

"No, and that's my last word."

"Fine," he growled and folded his legs beneath him, "I'll take you to Oxenfurt for the Bardic Festival this year."

He narrowed his eyes at him. "Keep talking."

"If you win all your celebratory indulgences are on me." 

He raised his eyebrows.

Geralt sighed heavily. "And if you lose to Valdo Marx, I'll help you pelt him with rotten fruit when he goes to accept his prize."

Jaskier beamed at him. "I love to do business with you, Geralt!" He sauntered over to Roach and untied his lute case from her saddle. Gently he took out his priced instrument and wrapped it in his doublet — that was clean, at least — and approached Geralt with his newly empty lute case. "I swear to every god out there, if it shits into my lute case, I'll rip you a new one."

"Hmm," he answered and lowered his hands into it. "Quick, close it!" he hissed. He pulled his hands out, the lid snapped shut and they both threw themselves onto it to keep it that way.

Together they closed the buckles and only when Geralt had inspected them they dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Fuck," Jaskier muttered emphatically, sinking to the muddy ground next to Geralt. 

"Hmm," he agreed.

He cautiously eyed the brackish water: "I need a bath."

"Not here," Geralt grunted and struggled to his feet. "We'll get a warm one once we deliver that fucking beast." Jaskier took the offered hand and reluctantly put on his boots again. 

With his toad-infested lute case slung over his shoulder and the lute cradled in his arms he fell into step next to Geralt. He delighted in the smiles and japes he could pry out of his usually taciturn friend. 

Entertained like that the way to the remote tower in the middle of fucking nowhere didn't seem quite as bad as before. Once they got there, he almost wasn't angry anymore. 

They knocked and were quickly ushered in once Geralt gave his name and the name of the witch that lived there — one Triss Merigold. The servant took one look at them before leading them to a room with a sizable bath in the middle.

"Oh, fun!" Jaskier said. "Someone's got manners."

Geralt snorted and crossed his arms. "He's saying you stink."

"Pffft, pish posh. As if you smell any better, you-"

Unfortunately, their banter was cut short when the door opened and a beautiful woman with dark curls entered. "Geralt," she said with a smile, "you've brought a friend- what on earth happened to you?"

"Jaskier the Bard," he answered and bowed with a flourish, "at your service, Madam." He produced the lute case and held it out with a wide grin. "We've retrieved your toad. Slipped in a bit of mud in the process."

The sincere smile on her face faltered, reduced to a confused, albeit polite one. "My... toad?"

"Toad toes," Geralt ground out, "what you wanted."

And then, the miracle that made sure Jaskier would never forget that day occurred: a sorceress was stunned speechless before his very eyes. "Toad toes," she repeated slowly. "That's what you got me?"

"Yes."

"Well, not quite," Jaskier cut in. "It seemed a bit cruel to rid the poor thing of his toes, truth be told. So, we procured the whole animal. If you'd be so kind to relieve us of it? I'd like my lute case back, thank you very much."

"Geralt..." A grin tugged at the edge of her mouth. "You're no stupid man. What exactly did I tell you to retrieve?"

He frowned deeply. "Toe of frog."

"Is that a problem?" Jaskier asked without lowering the case. "Come on, that can't be a problem! Toad, frog, that's practically the same thi- wait a minute. What did you just say?"

"Toe of frog," he repeated, obviously very confused.

"Toe of frog? No, Geralt, please tell me this isn't happening."

"What?"

"Toe of frog," Triss supplied helpfully, "is a flower. Not an animal. Buttercups, to be precise." She giggled quietly and took the lute case. "Don't worry. I'll clean it. You two go on and clean yourselves. Dinner's in three hours, you can try again tomorrow." With that she left the room, a sly smile on her lips. 

"Oh, I can't believe it," Jaskier groaned. "All of that for nothing? Couldn't you have asked her what she wanted toe of frog for? Couldn't you have told me? I would've known! But no, instead you say 'fucking toad feet'. Those are not the same, Geralt!"

He still stared after her. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Unbelievable!" he threw his hands up. "I want a bath, now. So, out with you." He walked over to the large tub and tugged the shirt over his head. 

"Hm." 

He turned and quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"What you said earlier... Technically, I got the toad off you."

Jaskier prided himself on being a man who had travelled wide and far, and seen enough of the world that nothing short of the impossible could shock him. So, he wasn't ashamed to say his jaw dropped when he heard that. "Are you serious?" he spluttered.

"You're the one who said I could grope him if I got that thing off him."

"Geralt of Rivia," a wide grin spread on his face, "you impossible man."

He grinned, too, and pulled him closer by the hips. "Is that a yes?"

"'Is that a yes?'" he mocked him affectionately. "'Is that a yes?' asks the man who insulted my poetry, dunked me under water, slammed me into mud and smeared it all over my hair, made me chase after a toad, and, if that wasn't enough, made me carry said slimy, despicable animal in my beloved lute case. All in the span of one afternoon!"

"Mhm. Sounds like a horrible person." 

"The worst." He sighed and slung his arms around his neck. "He also happens to be my best friend, who I love very much and who I am very angry at, at the moment."

"And what do you propose we do about that?"

"Kiss me," he ordered, "clean me, and take me to bed."

Geralt grinned. "That I can do." He bowed down and kissed him very gently on the lips. He wanted to pull away again, so Jaskier whined and tightened his grip. Geralt chuckled and deepened the kiss, drawing delicious little moans and gasps from Jaskier's lips and even a quiet squeal when he simply picked him up and began crossing the room. It was everything his fantasies had promised to be, sweet, heated, and pas-

All of the sudden the world dropped out beneath him. Jaskier had barely time to shout before he hit the water once again and the bottom of the tub shortly after. It took him significantly less time to resurface, though. "Geralt of Rivia!" he bellowed indignantly, wiping water and softened mud from his face.

The witcher only laughed and stripped to join him in the bath. 

 Send me prompts

[musamulta-arc]

FULL NAME: Julian Alfred Pankratz TITLE(S): Viscount, Count (post-Witcher 3), Destiny, Sandpiper NICKNAME(S): Jaskier, Bard

╳ WEAKNESSES.

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive

♔ STRENGTHS.

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

🖌 SKILLS & HOBBIES.

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading | collecting | shopping | socialising | storytelling | writing | travelling | exotic dancing | singing

TAGGED BY: @lilackissed​ TAGGING: whoever would like!

[owillofthewisps]

portraits hung in empty halls - part one

notes: fun fact i am about ten times more nervous about writing jaskier than i am about geralt, idk why! also daylights saving time is a farce and a personal attack on me, a humble woman trying to not have a destroyed sleep schedule.

rating: still teen, somehow!

pairing: geralt of rivia/female reader

word count: 3.5k

prologue

there is an odd little portrait tucked away in an alcove. at night, the canvas lies empty. most never notice it.

the Witcher does.

The sun sets, and you rise.

The silk sheet that shrouds you slips to the floor. In the dim glow of the candlelight, it glimmers like snow in the moonlight, the creamy white of it cooled to prismatic ice. You leave it puddled on the stained wood floor. You pad barefoot to the washbasin, adjusting to the lively hum of the inn, to the jolt of noise after so long without. It is never an easy transition.

The cool water trickles down your neck as you splash your face, the droplets rolling over your bare skin like an early spring rain, collecting in the dip of your navel before spilling onward. You turn to the tiny nook that shelves your clothing, your stiff joints moaning as they stretch and pop.

Rose, you think, spotting the verdant sprig of fresh mint placed carefully on the small stool. The bundle you’d pulled a leaf from yesterday had been wilting at the edges, the leaves curling in under themselves, like shy children covering their faces. You’ll have to make her something. Embroider her favorite gown, maybe, weave delicate little morning glories around the bells of her sleeves so they sway with her, as if she’s the dawn wind.

The mint tears under your teeth. It burns cold, searing away the heavy, oily coating that lays rotting on your tongue. You chew slowly, rolling the leaf through your mouth as you unfold your chemise and drape it across the stool.

Unwinding the thin golden chain looped messily around your neck and shoulders takes time. You tease at it, slip your fingers beneath the delicate, tangled thread of it. It is the daintiest tether you have ever seen, a golden, gossamer little thing, a strand of a spider’s web lit by the sun. You dump it onto the thin wood stand the washbin rests on.

Your earrings clink as you set them down next to the chain. It’s a relief to have them off, to let your lobes rest from the sharp pull of their hefty weight.

The homespun wool of your skirts rustles against the floorboards as you dress. You sweep the discarded jewelry into your palm; you dump it onto the silk sheet, watch as the gold sinks into the folds of the fabric.

You leave it all on the floor.

A few travelers tip their heads to you as you sweep down the inn’s halls. You sail past the small alcove that had so entranced Geralt last night, stepping carefully away from the shadowed niche.

Johan is waiting for you at the archway to the tavern. You’ve never thought of him as large, with his wiry frame, thin but strong, like a bowstring pulled tight, but he fills the archway. There’s still a faint hint of rot to him, something acidic tinting his strong, handsome features. You slow your pace, come to a halt before him, just shy of nose to nose, your skirts frothing over his feet like a wave breaking on the sand. The scowl knitting his brow deepens.

“If your intent is anything other than apology, save your breath.”

The flush flares into life. It spills crimson across his skin like wine, spreading wide. “Apologize?” Johan snarls. “When you’re the one who defended that mutant?”

“Did I not just say to save your breath?”

His hand flexes. You watch as his fingers curl into a fist, the knuckles gone bone white, and wait. There’s fear cut sharp into his visage, barely blanketed by the veil of anger on the surface.

“If you’ve nothing to say,” you tell him, “please move.”

That fist of his tightens again, his knuckles a ridge of mountains. The tendons in his jaw cord. “The Witcher cannot stay.”

“He paid his coin, just like the rest.”

Johan’s jaw works. “Stubborn bitch.”

“Careful,” you say, and there is crackling frost in your tone, winter come early. “I won’t tell you to save your breath again.”

He considers you, those green eyes burning incandescent, all sparking St. Elmo’s fire. Johan has often reminded you of a dog with a bone, setting his teeth into the marrow of his irritant and worrying it until he breaks it.

“Move,” you say, pleasantly enough, but with that ice still threaded through your voice. “Malinka’s expecting me.”

Johan lingers in the door frame for a moment more, a shadow of a threat, but he steps aside. You brush by him without a care; if you clip him with an elbow, well, he should have moved further. He’ll just add it to the list of wrongs you’ve done him, you think, and gods know that’s the least of your concerns.

The sounds of the tavern sweep over you. The clank of tankards, that thick hollow thud of wood against wood; the spitting crackle of the fire; chatter punctuated by uproarious laughter, rising to fill the rafters. It is a balm against you. Noise has long been something to steady yourself on.

You scan the room as you enter, and do not glimpse the Witcher’s broad shoulders. Nor do you see a hint of the bard. Your shoulders loosen, the tension melting out of them like winter yielding to spring. Malinka is behind the bar, her ebony curls flowing like a wild river to her shoulders, gleaming in the candlelight. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek as you join her.  Worried, you think. She is not alone in that.

“Ale!” Wren calls from the end of the bar.

“Coin!” you retort, sashaying over to him and leaning against the pitted wood counter. You pull a tankard from nearby, wincing as you flex your stiff fingers. They always take the longest to grow limber once more.

“Fair enough,” he laughs.

“Truly, Wren,” Annika says as she slides past with a tray of empty tankards. “Your mother would faint to hear your lack of manners. Tell me, how do the village girls stand your voice?”

“Yes, Wren, you’re lucky you’re charming when your mouth is closed,” you add.

“Beautiful and cruel, the both of you!”

You reach across the bar and pat his cheek. “Just a little,” you say with a laugh.

Annika snorts, passing you a tray. You nestle it into the crook of your hip and get to work.

The tavern only grows more lively, the gleam of light spilling from the doors cracking the darkness outside open. You whirl about, dipping around tipsy patrons, carrying plates of food high to drop them at tables.

It’s one of the busier nights, considering tomorrow is traditionally a day of rest, and you revel in the tumult, in the show of overflowing life. It keeps you light on your feet, moving until there’s sweat gleaming at the hollow of your throat. You dodge Elias’s hands with a laugh as you make your way back to the bar.

“So,” Annika says. “A Witcher, then?” Her slim hands move like water, smooth and flowing, pouring tankard after tankard between slicing off fat hunks of brown bread, still wisping steam even in the heated air of the tavern.

You sigh and duck beneath the bar to pull a few sausages from the small larder. “Yes,” you say. “Don’t you start.”

“There’s little for me to say.”

“And yet you so often say things anyway.”

She laughs. “True,” she says. “I’ve no quarrel with the Witcher, so long as he keeps his sword sheathed."

If Rose were here, that would not leave untouched - ‘which one,’ she’d say, her grin impish, her voice dropping into something sultry - but she is not, and you think you should try to keep thoughts like that from your head. At least until Geralt is gone, when there’s no danger to considering the thickness of his thighs and the knife of his golden gaze.

“I doubt he’s the one you should worry about,” you say, thinking of the way many men’s eyes had followed Geralt last night, malicious and hungry.

“Probably not.”

Someone calls to Annika from down the bar; she shoves the knife into your hand and gestures towards a loaf. You drop the sausages onto a nearby plate and start to slice the bread.

“I looked for you earlier. I didn’t think it would be so hard to locate such a pretty woman in the crowd.”

You glance up. The bard is smiling at you, his blue, blue eyes catching the light. You cast your gaze to the side, but Geralt is nowhere to be seen. Your grip on the knife’s handle loosens.

“I work nights,” you tell him, and if your smile is a little brittle, he doesn’t seem to notice. “Makes it hard to find me early. What can I get you?”

“Your name?”

“It’s a bit out of your price range, I think.”

He gasps, one hand flying to his chest. “Will you not take pity on a poor bard? How am I meant to write a song praising this inn and its lovely innkeeper?”

You arch a brow. “Why would you need my name for that, bard?”

He blinks. “Jaskier,” he tells you, and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s given you his name. “And because you are the innkeeper?”

“I’m not.”

“Are you certain?”

You stifle a laugh. “Quite,” you say, but then you take pity on him and give him your name. “Why did you think I was the innkeeper?”

“Ah,” Jaskier says. “You were...forceful, last night, not that Geralt was particularly forthcoming about it. Also the serving girl said you were.”

Betony, you think, following Jaskier’s long, nimble fingers as he gestures towards the far side of the tavern. Betony glances up just then, and from the cheeky grin she flashes, she’s unrepentant. It’s harmless enough, nothing worth even getting irritated over, so you blow her a kiss.

“I’m not,” you repeat. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m not sure you could disappoint, love,” Jaskier says.

You fumble with your knife, the tip of it sinking into the wooden board beneath the sausage with a hollow thunk.

My love, Dymitr murmurs, his lips brushing against the curving shell of your ear.

“Isn’t that what you called me this morning?” Rose chirps. She swings over the bar in a flurry of crimson skirts and wraps an arm around your waist. She still carries the chill of the night air on her skin. She presses herself against you, lets you use her as an anchor against the wave pulling you under. “Aren’t bards meant to be inventive?”

Jaskier gapes.

“Be nice, Rose,” you say.

“Rose?” Jaskier says, “Funny, I took her for a bramble.”

Rose snorts. “Be careful not to be caught on thorns, bard,” she says. She tugs at her shawl, lets it flow from her shoulders to the crook of her elbows like a waterfall. It catches against you. “You were looking for the innkeeper? What is it you want from me?”

You sink your elbow into her side. Her curse is blistering; down the counter, Wren cackles at her creativity.

“She’s not the innkeeper,” you tell Jaskier, who is looking somewhere between distraught and combative. “Rose, will you please get more bread?”

She laughs, the sound like woodfire smoke, billowing out in slow, low tones. “I suppose,” she says. Rose dips away from you, giving your waist one last squeeze, and heads towards Wren.

“Gods, do all women here worship a trickster god?” Jaskier asks. “If not, you should consider it. I imagine most would excel.”

“Probably.”

“Is there a test I have to pass to get the innkeeper’s name? If it’s a physical one, can I have a champion? Geralt would do nicely at that.”

You pull the knife free of the board and set it to the side. Someone calls for ale; you sigh and pour a tankard of it. “You can play,” you tell Jaskier. “We’ll give you coin at the end of the night in addition to any earnings you may get from the crowd. That’s why you were looking for the innkeeper, yes?”

Jaskier sets his hands on his hips, his long fingers drumming against the fine material of his clothes. “Do you just use some title other than innkeeper to confuse people?”

“Malinka’s the innkeeper,” you say, nodding towards her. She’s laughing at a nearby table, men drawn in a knot around her, an unknowing queen speaking to her court.

“Right,” Jaskier says. “You just make all the decisions.”

“She listens to me, yes, when she chooses to do so,” you tell him.  I raised her, taught her as much as I could as best I could, and she tends to honor that, you don’t say, trapping the words behind the gate of your teeth. It would only bring questions.

He chews at his bottom lip, bites the flesh pinker still.

“You’ll be paid,” you say. “No tricks, not about that. For last night, too.”

You wonder if other inns see the value in Jaskier, not just in his talent, but in his ability to reassure. There’s little doubt in your mind that his music has soothed many a ruffled feather that Geralt’s presence has caused. From the tongue on him, though, you think he’s also caused his fair share of trouble, too.

“You are a treasure despite your company of treacherous women.”

“Go play, bard, before I change my mind.”

Rose reappears as Jaskier heads towards where the fiddlers usually sit, his lute cradled against his stomach. He’s already plucking at it, discordant notes being corralled into something musical, something pretty.

“Do you think they’ll stay long?” you ask.

She lifts a shoulder in a lazily elegant shrug. “Hard to say,” she says. “I’ve had rocks speak to me more than the Witcher did.”

“Rose.”

“I know,” she tells you, cupping your cheek. Her palm is warm and callused against your skin. “It will be fine. No sense in worrying unless it’s needed.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It’s not,” she says sharply, all thorn instead of her usual soft petals. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that I do not have fear.”

Jaskier starts to play. The music blooms to life, unfolds delicate and sweet. It seems an odd choice for the rowdy tavern, but the melody is a haunting one, one that slips beneath your skin and hooks deep.

Rose pats your cheek. “Don’t fret,” she says, an echo of last night. “Go help Betony, she’s such a distracted little thing.”

You snort, but there’s more than a measure of truth to it, so you wipe your hands free of breadcrumbs and pick up a nearby tray. Betony is half on Delythe’s lap. She’s plucking at Delythe’s thick braid, coiling it around her wrist and giggling. For her part, Del seems tolerant, the grin on her lips fondly indulgent.

“Betony,” you say.

“You’re no fun,” she says, but she gets to her feet, tugging on Delythe’s braid and pressing a kiss against her cheek. Her lip paint leaves a mark the color of a bruise, deep plum. The two of you gather empty tankards and plates, stacking them high on the tray. With Jaskier playing, everyone seems to fall into a rhythm. You duck between patrons with delicate precision. Each step is practically a dance, Betony matching you as the two of you dash around.

You can feel the night lengthening, can sense the moon tracing a path across the velvet sky. The moon always seems brighter as winter creeps forward. As if the coming snow reflects the light the moon sheds, makes it a disc of shining ice.

Elias catches you in a dance or two between servings; Wren pulls you along for a quick jig when you duck into the back room for supplies. Malinka sweeps you off your feet as well, laughing as she leads you before she twirls you into Betony’s arms. Jaskier’s music rises and falls, a piper’s call to the crowd’s mood. You let it envelop you.

Geralt appears as it grows late enough to perhaps be called early. Patrons are starting to stagger home, though there are a few gatherings tightly knit around tables, still nursing their tankards. Even with fewer present, there are still murmurs that follow the Witcher, little whispers that haunt his steps like an angry wraith. It makes your chest tighten. How quickly people turn on what they don’t understand. On what they don’t even try to understand.

He seems unbothered by it. You think again of stone, of the jutting mountain peaks, for Geralt’s face could be that of a statue’s. He has the jawline for it. Mostly, though, he has the smoothed expression of a marble bust, one just shy of human, as if the artist couldn’t quite settle on mood, caught between emotion and emptiness. It feels a false face. A shield, a barricade for humanity’s siege against his very presence to break upon.

You should leave, let one of the others serve him. You know that. Betony retired home earlier, but Malinka is just in the store room. Rose is not far, either. You should call for them. You know that. But Geralt finds you behind the bar, his amber eyes like firelight, and you stay.

The tankard clanks against the wood as you set it down in front of him. “Would you like something to eat?”

“If there’s something available.”

“I wouldn’t offer something I am unable to give.”

He pauses, the tankard halfway to his mouth, and you cannot look away from his parted lips. Your hands twist in the wool of your skirts, draw the fabric tight against your fingers. “Yes, then,” he says. His eyes flicker, and you think that is not what he wanted to say, that he has swallowed something down.

The plate is a simple one. Geralt seems a man who consumes only to continue, who does not yearn for flavor on his tongue. You keep it to a thick slice of brown bread and some salted meat. You wipe down some tankards as he eats, caught between the compulsion to stay and the whispering nerves that beg you to flee.

“What brings you here?”

Geralt pauses again, those golden eyes lifting to you. You feel heat rise in your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s habit to chat with patrons.”

He grunts.

You bite at your lip and scrub harder at the tankard, twisting the old cleaning cloth around your fingers until it is cutting into your flesh, until it almost hurts.

“There’s a village to the north,” Geralt says. “It has rumors of a beast, and they have coin. This inn is the closest. The village is small.”

“And by that,” Jaskier says, sliding onto the stool next to his friend and gesturing wildly, “he means it is a hovel of a town, more a collection of houses than a village.”

“I see.”

“Luckily,” Jaskier says, leaning forward until you think he will overbalance, “that means we have found ourselves here. It is a charming inn, innkeeper-who-is-not.”

“It’s just an inn.”

“An inn with good ale and food, and most importantly, appreciative crowds.”

“It’s just an inn,” you repeat, but from the way Jaskier’s smile lights up, he can hear the laughter hiding just beneath your tongue.

Jaskier starts weaving a tale for you, his hands fluttering about as he speaks, his voice falling into a cantering cadence that lulls you into the story. Geralt eats in silence, grunting here and there as Jaskier tries to reel him into the story. The bard elbows him once, lightly, and the withering look Geralt gives him could rust a sword.

It is not long after Geralt finishes eating that the two men rise. It is truly late now, the time when nocturnal creatures begin to slink back to their burrows, the time when the starlight goes cold and strange.

“Good night,” you tell them.

Jaskier chirps something back to you, but his words are washed away by the weight of Geralt’s gaze on you. It peels at the layers of you, cuts through to the bone, until all of you is laid bare before him. Your fingers tremble.

They tremble still when you trace their path to the hallway, pulled after them like a pebble caught spinning in the tide. You catch yourself before you follow them further. From your place just beyond the door, you hear Jaskier heave a sigh.

“Geralt,” the bard says, and you’ve never heard a tone that sounds like someone putting their hands on their hips in reprimand before, “will you hurry up? The painting will be there when it’s not a time when even the gods are asleep.”

The bite of your fingernails startles you. They cut into your flesh, tiny sickle moons against the map of your palm, constellations amid the lined sky of your hand. There are footsteps, then, receding down the hall. They ring in your ears long after the men are gone.

Rose finds you sitting near the hearth, your knees tucked up against your chest.

“I’m frightened,” you tell her.

She kneels at your side, a priestess at your altar, her face turned up to you like a flower to the sun.

“I know,” she says.

She waits for sunrise with you, lets you gaze into the fire’s light in silence.

You feel it when daybreak approaches. You close your eyes and surrender to the dark, to the velvet night that lives behind your eyelids. It feels easier like this. Gods, you miss the sun.

The sun rises, and you set.

taglist: @fairytale07​ @stretchkingblog97​ @nonamejustshame​ @1950schick​ @sageandberries-png​ @peachy-aisha​ @msgeorgiarae​ @alwayshave-faith​ @bumblingandblooming 

[justablobfish]

An unusual snowman

Day 12 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

No witchers were harmed in the making of this fic. Everyone’s fine! :3

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

______

This is bad. Very bad. They should never have stopped in this goddamn village. 

When they arrived, it was the middle of the night and - with everyone and their grandmother trying to sell Ciri out to Nilfgaard - they decided to get a room at the inn and smuggle the princess in through the back door unseen. 

Which turned out to be a mistake. Because that way no one could tell them. 

The next morning they woke up and Ciri had vanished without a trace.

When they asked around the village they soon found out that she hadn't been the first child to disappear. A few weeks ago children suddenly started disappearing overnight. No one had seen where they had gone to; no amount of locked doors and safety measures could keep them from being taken. 

Jaskier paces up and down in their room, uncertain what to do. 

It's been three days since Geralt set out to find the missing kids, since Geralt ordered him to stay here in case Ciri comes back. 

When Geralt took off, he only said he'd be back 'soon', unspecific and unhelpful as ever. Surely three days were no longer encompassed by the term 'soon'. Something must have gone wrong. 

And the more time passes, the less likely it becomes that Ciri and the other children will return unharmed. 

Jaskier stops in his tracks and gives a short, determined nod. There's only one thing to do. He has to go after them as well! 

While the children have disappeared without leaving any kind of clue to mortal humans, Geralt must have found some sort of trace, because once Jaskier reaches the edge of the village he can see a clear and straight trail of Geralt's footprints leading into the nearby woods. 

"Dark, gloomy forest. Always a good sign!" Jaskier tries to encourage himself and sets out to get his little family back from the clutches of whatever monster stole them. 

The tracks lead deep into the forest. While at first there are some felled trees, bird houses or the occasional discarded apple core, eventually the signs of nearby civilization become rarer and then disappear altogether. And still Geralt's tracks lead further. 

Jaskier soon falls into a sort of trance, placing one step in front of the other and with his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. 

He almost doesn't notice when Geralt's trail ends. 

Jaskier blinks and Geralt's heavy boot prints are gone, replaced by a variety of far smaller imprints, that criss-cross all over the place. Surprised, he looks up. 

The first thing he registers is a small, crooked hut several feet away. The way it's decorated with pieces of candy and pastry (most of it clearly chewed on) practically screams evil magic trap. 

In front of the hut stands Geralt. 

Actually, no, at more than a glance it turns out it's not Geralt. It has Geralt's pauldrons and it holds Geralt's swords but other than that, it's a snowman. 

Dread spreads in Jaskier’s guts and he quickly jogs around the figure to get a closer look. On the other side, yellow eyes and furrowed eyebrows glare back at him. 

Except the yellow eyes are slices of carrots and the eyebrows are made of twigs. 

"Oh Geralt! What did they do to you?" Jaskier gasps. His knees suddenly feel very weak and he begins to think that following Geralt all by himself might not have been the smartest idea. 

The child of legend, whisked away right from under the nose of a Witcher, said Witcher turned into a snowman and only a humble bard left to save the day. What chance does he stand? What was he thinking? 

Then again, maybe there's something he can do. It always works in the old stories told to children and the weird hut with its candy decor definitely gives off the same kind of vibe as those tales. 

"Here goes nothing," Jaskier mumbles and places his lips on the snowman's mouth. Or, well, on the coals arranged in a frown on the snowman's face. 

And then he waits. 

For a moment. 

For a minute. 

For ten. 

Nothing happens. Seems true love's kiss only works in the stories, after all. 

Which begs the question of what he's supposed to do now. 

What chance does he stand where even a Witcher failed? And yet, what choice does he have? Whoever did this has taken his daughter, his family. He can't exactly just walk away. 

He'd never be able to look Yennefer in the eyes again. 

Hell, he'd never be able to look himself in the eyes again. And he so loves mirrors! 

So Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the steel sword from where it's sticking out of the large ball that makes up the snowman's torso. 

As his fingers close around the grip of the sword his hand brushes against the snow. 

And like a - well, like a snowman left in the sun for too long - it crumbles. 

"No, no, no!" Jaskier screams. "Stop! Don't do that! Please!" 

Before his eyes, the snowman that is his lover falls apart. He can only watch helplessly as the fractured part falls in on itself and slips off the bottom part. The head rolls to the side in an almost human-looking manner, until it falls to the ground as well. Before his eyes, Geralt turns into nothing but a pile of snow. 

The fact that his kiss didn't work he could live with but this? Even if there was a way to undo the spell that turned Geralt into a child's plaything, there's no coming back from this. Geralt is gone, his body destroyed. Jaskier’s best friend, the love of his life, has died. 

"I'm so sorry, Geralt," Jaskier whispers as he sinks to his knees. A dislodged slice of carrot glares at him accusingly. 

Jaskier absentmindedly places the sword he acquired at such a high cost on the ground beside him and wraps his arms around himself. 

"I shall write you the most glorious ballad ever written," he mumbles. "The whole Continent will know of your bravery." 

The words sound hollow, even to his own ears. A song won't bring Geralt back. What he really wants to do is curl up on the snow-covered ground and never get up again. 

But he can't do that. There's still Ciri. And he will get his daughter back, if it's the last thing he does. 

So Jaskier slowly gets up, grabs the sword again and turns towards the hut. The fear that had settled into his bones earlier at the idea that even Geralt couldn't best this sorcerer is gone. Now there's only fury and rage burning inside of him. This villainous toad-spotted miscreant of a mage has taken his family from him. They're going to pay! 

He opens the door and steps inside. 

The hut is bigger on the inside. Of course it is. Jaskier doesn't know why he expected anything different. The foyer itself is wide enough that the hut's exterior would fit into it twice. 

He also shouldn't be so surprised that the inside of the hut is entirely made of ice. Everything from the floor to the windowless walls to the twin set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which the hut definitely wasn't high enough for, looking at it from the outside. The mage is really going heavy on the whole fairy-tale villain aesthetic. 

Flickering candlelight from the huge chandelier overhead reflects off of every surface and makes the whole room seem to move and shift constantly. Jaskier starts feeling nauseous. 

It's hard to tell how many doors there are and which ones are only reflections, so he simply walks towards the large double door underneath the stairwells and heads through it. 

Unlike what he expected, the ice isn't cold to the touch and feels more like normal wood under his fingers. Maybe the ice is just an illusion. 

The room he finds himself in next is an even larger hall, equally made of ice and very clearly once intended as a ballroom. Various sconces illuminate an intricate pattern carved into the wide floor, while once colorful paintings of fancily dressed dancers on the walls are glossed over with the ever-present ice. 

Now, the room seems to serve a different purpose though. The floor is littered with various toys, dolls and plush animals. Chalk drawings cover not only several stacks of paper, but also the long banquet table at the far end of the room. It appears Jaskier is getting closer to the mystery of the missing children. They must have been playing here recently. 

While Jaskier looks around and tries to find any proof that Ciri was here as well, a side door opens and a curious voice asks "Hello?" His presence has been noticed, then. 

He turns around slowly, sword at the ready. 

In the door stands Ciri. 

"Jaskier!" she yells, relief and happiness swinging in her voice. Then she takes off running in his direction, followed by a group of other children. 

Ciri throws herself into his arms and clings to him like a curious kid's tongue to an icicle. Not that Jaskier has any experience with that particular situation. 

"I tried to get back to you but every time I tried to run away I always just ended up in front of the hut again," she whimpers. "It's enchanted or something!" 

"Well isn't that just adorable," comes a sneering voice from the other end of the room, where an elegantly dressed woman has appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Her flawless skin and almost unnaturally symmetrical face mark her as a mage from Aretuza. 

Jaskier wraps his free hand around Ciri and pushes her behind him, while eyeing the sorceress warily. 

Ciri pays him little mind and steps back to his side. 

"Look, Gretel, you got it all wrong!" she tells the woman. "Parents do care about their children. This proves it." 

 "Nonsense!" the sorceress huffs. "My parents abandoned me as soon as money got a little tight. If Aretuza hadn't taken me in, I would have ended up just like my brother and died a horrible death at the hands of the awful witch that built this house!" 

"Then why is Jaskier here, risking his life to get me back?" Ciri counters "And Geralt, too?" 

"That proves nothing!" the mage all but shrieks. "The Witcher came to do his job. He came for the money he was promised. And this one? I bet he doesn't even know you well enough to keep you apart from the other children!" 

With that she raises her hands menacingly and suddenly, instead of Ciri and a dozen or so other kids, Jaskier is surrounded by several perfect copies of the Cintran princess. 

It's his worst nightmare. As if one Child Surprise wasn't already more than enough to handle. 

The Ciris stare at each other in surprise for a moment, before one of them breaks the silence by yelling "I'm the real one!" 

A split-second later Jaskier is surrounded by the gaggle of Ciris, yelling and giggling and trying to convince him that they're the right Ciri. It all seems to be a funny game to them. Jaskier’s head starts to spin from trying to get a good look at even one of them. 

"Stop!" he screams at the top of his lungs. "How am I supposed to pick someone if you keep running around me?" 

The children come to a halt and arrange themselves in a loose circle around him, quiet except for the occasional giggle still breaking through. 

However, only one of them rolls her eyes at Jaskier’s demanding tone. 

Jaskier places his hand on top of the real Ciri's head and glares at the sorceress. 

"See? I told you he couldn't do it! Parents are useless!" she gloats and waves her hand dismissively. The Ciris turn back into the children they were before. 

Only the one Jaskier chose remains the same. 

"Impossible!" Gretel shouts as the smug grin falls from her face. "But that doesn't prove anything! We need another test! How about-" 

With few short strides Jaskier crosses the room, grabs the sorceress by the front of her dress and shoves her against the wall. 

"Enough," he presses out between clenched teeth as he places the sword across her bare throat. "I am done with your games! Undo the spell that keeps the children trapped!" 

"Cute," the witch muses without any sign of fear or worry. "But you do know that I can turn you into a pile of dust with a snap of my fingers, right?" 

"Do I look like I give a damn?" Jaskier growls. "You took my daughter away from me! I don't care what you do to me, I will tear you to pieces if you don't let her go!" 

"Hmm," she replies solemnly. "Interesting. Perhaps I was mistaken in my judgment. There do seem to be some parents who love and protect their children." 

Before Jaskier can further comment on that, the witch is gone. Vanished into thin air, just like how she appeared. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, where he had clutched the fabric of her dress a moment ago. 

There goes his chance to avenge Geralt. The fury that was gnawing at his guts starts to settle. Jaskier holds onto it desperately. He knows that once the anger is gone, only grief will remain. 

At least Ciri is unharmed. Jaskier turns around slowly and faces the group of children, who stare back at him expectantly. 

"She wasn't malicious, you know?" Ciri explains. "Just misguided and lonely. Although she did curse Geralt with a spell that turned him into an inanimate object." 

"I know," Jaskier whispers, barely audible with the lump that has formed in his throat. How can he possibly tell Ciri what happened to Geralt? That her guardian is gone and won't come back? She's lost so many people already in her short life. 

"He's in the room over there," Ciri adds chipperly and takes off. 

"... wait, what?" Jaskier stutters as he scrambles after her, followed by the rest of the children who chatter with one another excitedly. 

Ciri leads him to an adjacent room. It's not nearly as big as the ballroom, but still large enough that it couldn't possibly fit into the little hut he saw from the outside. An enormous feather bed occupies most of the opposite wall, big enough for at least three or four grown people to sleep on, or a dozen or so kidnapped children. 

The rest of the room is taken up by various shelf boards mounted to the walls, filled with dozens upon dozens of porcelain dolls. Their empty eyes seem to stare at him as Ciri leads him further into the room 

"Over there," Ciri declares and points at one particular doll. It doesn't look much different from the other ones, safe for its face. Its mouth is sculpted in the shape of a frown instead of the cheerful smiles of the other ones and its yellow eyes, despite being made of lifeless glass beads, seem to glare back at Jaskier angrily. 

"That's… That's Geralt?" Jaskier asks carefully, not quite ready to allow himself to hope. 

"Of course," Ciri chides. "Who else would it be? Look at the face! I tried to sneak around Gretel's laboratory and look for a way to turn him back, but I couldn't find anything."

"We had lots of fun playing with him while Ciri was away!" a little boy announces happily. Some other children giggle affirmatively. 

"Anyway," Ciri sighs as she gently pats the boy's head and ruffles his hair. She seems to be the oldest kid around. The others appear to be looking up to her. 

"I'm sure if you just kiss him that'll break the spell!" Ciri continues. "And then we can finally get out of here and return these little monsters to their parents." 

"So uhm…," Jaskier mumbles. "Entirely unrelated, totally random and unimportant question, but, uh, what's with that snowman outside the door?" 

"The children built it earlier today," Ciri shrugs. "I told them not to use Geralt's armor, that he'd want it back once he gets uncursed, but I don't think they listened. Why are you asking?"

"No reason!" Jaskier huffs and quickly grabs the doll before Ciri can notice how he's turning bright red. 

She narrows her eyes at him, but he turns his back to her and presses a kiss to the doll's…well, face. It's not exactly big enough for more precision. 

A bright light emits from it and Jaskier has to close his eyes firmly. 

Suddenly, his hands are no longer holding on to the doll but instead are wrapped around a very firm and familiar waist. 

The light slowly dims and flickers out. Jaskier opens his eyes carefully. In front of him stands Geralt of Rivia, unharmed and scowling even more than usual. 

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, my fair lady," Jaskier teases. 

"What?" Geralt grumbles and looks down at himself, taking in the bright pink dress made up of an abundance of ruffles, as well as the intricately woven braid that rests on his shoulder. 

"The fuck?" he concludes. "When the witch cursed me my clothes stayed the same size. Why did the dress grow with me then?" 

"Well, there are children around," Ciri huffs with an annoyed click of her tongue. "Now can we finally get out of here?" 

"I need some pants," Geralt growls. "This is far too impractical. I can't fight the witch like that." 

"Well, the witch is gone," Jaskier shrugs. "And I don't think she'll be coming back." 

"Then what about the enchantment that kept the kids trapped here?" Geralt huffs. 

"Lifted," Ciri explains. "At least she said she would." 

"Oh," Geralt remarks. "Any… other monsters in the area? Some rabid dogs? Anything else?" 

"No, dear," Jaskier answers. "I think all the work is already taken care of. You can relax for once." 

"Riiiight," Geralt mumbles slowly. Then he nods to himself. "Then I guess I'll just keep wearing this for now." 

"Absolutely, love!" Jaskier encourages. "It suits you tremendously." 

"Gross," Ciri comments as Jaskier leans in for a proper kiss with his rescued lover. "Now can we please get out of here, already?" 

[diamondcamefromhell]

Heart belongs to us

Jaskier x fem!reader

A/N: SOOOOOOOOOO, this is a different thing i decided to try - writing in third person. i know some people hate it, others love it, so please, let me know what your opinion is and if i should do them once in awhile or burn this one with fire! as well as, the whole story is a bit… different, i think. or it felt different to me, so please, again, lemme know what you think

Summary: Jaskier, Geralt and Y/N have known each other, Y/N has in fact had a relationship with Jask, until a tragic accident, where Y/N has persihed, or so they thought. their paths cross again, but Y/N has forgotten all about them

Warnings: none, that i can think off

Word count: 2,209

There was something in her eyes, as if part of her soul was missing. Which, knowing her circumstances, wasn’t far from the truth. It was only that she wasn’t aware of it. She carried out her duties in the tavern as usual, cleaning guests rooms and keeping her head down. It never dawned on her, that she has forgotten something.

Until that something walked in.

She had just finished her shift and was enjoying some wine. Sipping it, staring at the crowd who were listening to their local bard. In her humble opinion the bard wasnt the best, but she could never admit it. John was far too sensitive for it.

Her eyes glazed over the two new-comers, and they didn’t see her either. The witcher took a seat in the corner, brooding already. Geralt unbuckled his swords from his back, scanning the crowd. In the end, he decided to keep his weapons close.

His friend flopped down at the other side, carefully placing his lute on the table. The companions sat quietly, looking around, as Jaskier furrowed his brows at the bard. He usually didn’t like competition, but John was lacking something. He didn’t stir any fire in Jask, who sighed, sadly looking down to his lute.

Someone in the crowd must’ve noticed him, however, as a couple of young women rushed to them. They stopped, glancing at the witcher and his massive swords – he wasn’t paying any attention to them. He has seen her, but Geralt was sure his eyes were just playing tricks. First, he was sure the girl was supposed to be dead, secondly, once their eyes met, she averted her gaze as if he was nothing. Witcher got a weird feeling in his stomach, and his medallion seemed to agree, as it vibrated so slightly, only he could feel it. Just as the witcher opened his mouth, Jaskier sprung to his feet, lute in hand.

Y/N eyes glazed over the corner, until she saw that there was a different musician at the scene. For a split second, she felt something. A tinge in her chest, urging her to get closer to this bard. She could almost roll his name off her tongue, but as fast as it came, the feeling left. Empty place took it’s place, but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t.

Once he sprung his lute, she opened her mouth, mouthing the words before he did. It took Y/N a moment to understand that she hummed a song she has never heard before, and just like before, her eyes cleared of all clouds as she started at Jaskier. Before she could catch this feeling, it ran away again. However this time she felt the empty space, her hand hoovering over her chest, grasping at something.

She wasn’t yet aware at two yellow eyes piercing through her. Geralt now had no doubt it was her. The way her face changed so quickly pained the witcher, as he realized the girl must have forgotten them, but her heart was desperate to remember. He watched her slowly rise off her chair, approaching the crowd.

Her steps were short and uneasy. Something ushered her to hurry, but she was weary. Vaguely Y/N remembered someone mentioning a curse, and her gut told her this was it. This bard, yet to see her, was somehow related to it. She knew the dangers, yet persisted to keep moving.

Jaskier finished his song, not aware of a shadow from a past staring him down. He bowed down to some women, as he heard a husky voice call for him.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice silenced the crowd. The girl saw the bard react and her heart sunk.

She recognized the name. She almost remembered the taste of it rolling down her tongue. The way she would sometimes pronounce letter J like it was said in joker. And how much it annoyed the man in front of her.

She saw his face so clearly, she could paint it. She almost felt his touch on her arm, as he would push her away. Always gentle though, this bard could never be harsh to his lady.

Only then Y/N looked at the witcher. Their eyes meet, and her gaze still cloudly sent storms his way. She didn’t intend to, but this man has clicked something inside of her. A fire raged from her chest as she felt anger like never before. The fire reigned strong, but short, as a sudden wave of sadness drowned her. She was so close to something important, she was sure of it.

She peeled her eyes off the yellow-eyed-man, meeting Jaskier’s. He has recognized her, and a mix of emotions was washing over him. A mix of pain, sadness and confusion painted most of his face, as a smile was the only indication of the sheer joy his soul felt. His heart has risen to it’s feet again, staring at the beauty in front.

This clear recognition sent a chill down Y/N spine. The witcher rose, leaving his swords behind, approaching the pair.

“Geralt.” Bards voice was quiet and full of sorrow. “Do you see her too?”

“Yes. I do.” The girl started at the men in front of her, fighting the clouding coming over her head again. She fought it so hard, she got a headache.

“My head hurts.” She muttered, somehow knowing Geralt would hear her.

“She’s cursed.“ Witcher explained to the bard, who was painfully trying to keep himself from lunging at the woman. Jaskier was desperate to feel her again. “She has forgotten us. But her heart remembers. It’s tearing her apart.”

“I mustn’t forget.” She agreed. She only caught parts of that, as the white noise rang her ears. Y/N was sure she’s about to fall, but Jaskier steadied her.

At the touch, she felt sparks fly. Her heart, that had seemed to be asleep for who knows how long, woke. With a start, too. It was hungry and it recognized the touched. There was no way it would have not.

Love is the strongest curse of all.

“Jask!” The girl yelped, her other hand flying to the man, gripping his jacket. She clung to him like was her last bit of fresh air. The men looked at each other, as Geralt landed his hand on her shoulder, sending more sparks to her heart.

“I know how to help you.” Witcher spoke, though there was this unmistakable doubt in his voice. Geralt knew how, but he wasn’t sure where to start. There was one thing nobody doubted, it was clear that he would march to the end of the wolrd to help this girl. Love is the biggest curse.

“Please.” Y/N pleaded, shattering their hearts. Her eyes were clear as day now, mind flowing with memories about her best friend and a man she was sure she’d marry. “I can’t- I won’t survive forgetting you again.”

“But you died.” Jaskier couldn’t stop his voice from breaking, ignoring the warning shots from Geralt; his friend clearly wanted him to shut it.

“Druids.” Y/N said, hazily. Her brows furrowed the top lip started to shake. “Saved, but at a cost.”

“Memories.” Geralt stated, as the woman nodded, clinging to her love harder.

“They took that, Geralt.” She gritted her teeth, looking around. “They took my mind, but my heart is… ours.”

A pained expression covered her face, but Jaskier wrapped his hands around Y/N. He was thanking his lucky stars that he was able to hold her again, with a hopeful glance at Geralt, Jaskier spoke. “It is ours. We will get your mind back, right Geralt?”

“Give me the names and I will get it back.” A wicked smile painted across the girls face as she has recognized this. She was protected. She was safe. Loved. Alive.

She gave up the names, that had seemed to be burned in her mind. Jaskier and Y/N watched as Geralt grabbed his swords, leaving the tavern before he could even buckle them back on.

In the moment of pure joy, she stepped back, to do a celebratory spin, sliding out of Jaskier arms. That proved to be a mistake, as her mind skitted to the black abyss, and her gaze clouded again. Her heart ripped at her chest, as she shook her head.

The man reached out for her again, but this time his touch didn’t wake anything. It only felt cold, as if ice has wrapped around her. She shook it off, glazing over the bard.

It wasnt that she forgotten him, now she simply didn’t see him. The taverners weren’t bothered by it either, as Y/N looked around, nobody looked at her. She also realized all the windows were closed, so whatever cold creeped up on her…

She couldn’t focus. Jaskier was staring at her, doe eyed. Watching her slip away from him, yet again, was too painful for him to even think about. He wondered how long Geralt would take, and how much could he handle.

“Hello!” Y/N waved her hands around, but to no avail. No taverners even glanced her direction; the only person who saw was the one she couldn’t see.

“Y/N, please.” Jaskier reached out again, sending a cold spike up her arm as she jumped away.

“Stop.” She demanded and Jaskier almost hoped she saw him, but her eyes weren’t looking at him.

Bard didnt realize he had placed his lute down. It was resting on the ground and Y/N eyes were glued to it. A painful expression clouded her face, as a headache struck her head.

She stumbled to the ground, placing one shaky hand on the instrument. There it was, that feeling again. She was inching something important. It was right there, but yet so far away. With some hesitation, the girl still picked up the lute.

As her hand struck the chords, Jaskier recognized the song. They wrote it together, for each other. A promise, to never forget the love they felt that evening. They swore by it.

And there she was, singing it. Alone. Where she felt anything but remembered.

The bard joined, and she could hear him. Though like he was far away, and a wind barely carried his echo to her. But Y/N didn’t need anything else. Now she knew that he was there, somewhere. Waiting for her, or looking for her.

They all learnt another thing a curse can not affect. Hope.

And she hoped with all her soul, that she was correct. That whoever was singing, was going to save her. And Jaskier knew he will.

Her heart kept beating, reminding her of all those fuzzy images. It tried to show her something, but no matter how much Y/N looked - she was looking through a mist.

Until a loud pop happened. For a moment Jaskier and her both thought she broke the lute. They exchanged worried looks, and then it hit them. They saw each other.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out, looking at the sky as if his friend was some sort of God. “You did it.”

“Did you doubt me?” Witcher entered the tavern, grinning at his friends.

Only later he would tell them that the druids that cursed Y/N were always staying close. And they stank. They had her mind fully in their hands, hearing and seeing what she saw. Witcher was surprised they didn’t know he was coming to kill them, but he didnt question it.

The words of Y/N rang in his ears for years to follow though. He knew their heart was always their own.

The reunion, it was sweet. And heartbreaking. It had been three years since her passing, and a lot has happened. A lot of tears were shed over her empty grave.

The lovers embraced each other, but it wasnt a passionate one. They simply craved to feel one another, listen to their beating hearts as they set a rhythm together. It was like they were never separated. Maybe they actually never were, Jaskier thought.

Geralt was watching from afar, until his friends turned to him, forcing him into the hug. Witcher was too big to properly fit, and he didnt really want to; but that’s the thing about family. It didn’t matter.

People would stay away from Geralt. These two never did. They loved him, despite his evil looks and murder sprees. And in return, Geralt loved them too.

The tears finally came to the humans, as Y/N wept into Jaskier’s chest. She felt the sudden weight of what it truly meant and how much she had lost, during these three years.

Jaskier wept of how much he gained back just now.

Geralt couldn’t cry, or so he told himself. But holding their two shaking bodies, his soul felt moved from the deepest corners.

“Good to have you back.” He managed, and his voice broke at the end. The girl pulled back, wiping her tears away.

That tiny break in Geralts voice didnt go unnoticed. She started at his yellow eyes, understanding how much they grieved her.

She forced a smile. No. A smile came to her, as she now knew their pain is behind them. They were together. Again.

“Okay, big guy.” Geralt smirked at the nickname, as Jaskier sniffled, smiling. “Someone has to catch me up.”

[randomfandomimagine]

Jaskier x reader (male/gender neutral if you’re comfortable writing that) headcannon where the reader is a very tough, serious, and stubborn person but absolutely soft and caring when it comes to Jaskier? Please and thank you :))

Aw, that would legit make him melt! Thanks for requesting, nonny! I wrote it as gender neutral :P

Jaskier:

Everyone who knew you a little knew about your temper

You were stubborn, tough and serious, maybe even grumpy

So everyone that knew you was surprised about Jaskier too

He was the only person that managed to make you smile

And even laugh, because he just knew how to

And is always willing to say something silly to make you smile

‘To see that beautiful beautiful smile of yours’ as he says

Besides, he made you soft when he sang for you

The reason you were so fond of him was that for starters

Jaskier was never intimidated by your personality

And even if he annoyed you a little at first, he got under your skin

He was always just so lively and energetic, always talking

When you were apart, you found the lack of him noticeable

So when you did meet again, you enjoyed his chatting now

Jaskier was always telling you how much he appreciated you

And you might be stubborn, but you’re not made of ice

He would be very proud about this achievement of his

Not to mention tease you so much about it, even with songs

‘The humble bard melted the frozen heart’ is his favorite lyrics of his

You can’t even be mad at him, and he knows it and uses it against you

Even if you glare at him, he knows you’re not actually mad at him

“Cut that out, Jaskier?” “You’re not mad at me, are you? Oh, sweet Y/N”

Whenever he annoys you, you have to smile and forgive him

Especially when he puts those puppy eyes of his

You’re always looking after him in small ways, which he appreciates

It makes him feel so special knowing you care so much, that you love him

You have little gestures with him that make him melt

Like when you fondly pinch his cheek, it annoys him a little

But it doesn’t matter, he just loves that you do it

You’re quite the unlikely pair, but deeply love one another

Tag list: @kingniazx​ / @greensadmoon​ / @they-call-me-thewildrose​ / @aviankin​ / @jasper-the-stan​ / @v3nusc3​ / @kisabellar / @breezyfails​ / @iwannaendme5 / @squirrel-saloli​ / @saveatruckrideoptimusprime​ / @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ / @creativemayhems​ / @bands-messed-me-up​ / @pantrashtic​ / @buckyness-intensifies​ / @drunkonbuckybarnes​ / @kkcline123 / @designfailure56​ / @this-is-whump-dammit​ / @anderfelll-s​// If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[beautiifulghostts]

   – Podría componer una canción sobre ti– otra, más bien, después de todo Her sweet kiss es una de sus canciones más populares, pero no es como si Yennefer sepa eso – pero creo ya existen demasiadas canciones sobre monstruos. 

@sing-ohmusa​

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

... Of the Destiny and the Stars (Geralt x reader, Part 5.1)

CHAPTER STATUS: REVISITED AND REVISIONED - While revisioning and going through it, I realized the scenes I'd like to fit in are much longer than anticipated, so I decided to split the part in two.

Description: Geralt of Rivia, also known as the infamous Butcher of Blaviken or the White Wolf, was traveling the Continent along with idiotic, yet humble and kind bard Jaskier, settling in a small town near the free city of Novigrad. That was when Geralt bumped into an old friend of his - and realized that all the wrongdoings he had committed in the past would eventually return to him.

Summary: The only thing everyone on the Continent wholeheartedly agreed on was that... Destiny was a bitch. You knew it, Geralt knew it and even Yennefer was aware. And even through realizing all of this, Geralt was willing to take the risk of defying it, as well as the horrible consequences coming to him, just so you'd stay by his side. While discovering and deepening your bond, you have a few interesting discoveries about yourself.

Warnings:

➡ Our homie queen Calanthé is making a guest appearance along with her beloved husband Eist. Triss, Philippa, Radovid, and Foltest are name-dropped and Djistra and his handsome face are here. Radovid's character is inspired by the games, however; it's not Jaskier's love interest from the show, but the insane kind of Redania (the timeline's fucked anyway lmao). ➡ Mentions of in-world politics, famine, death, mature themes, and dying children (due to pneumonia). ➡ Mentions of sexual acts and practices, mature language. ➡ A lot of fluff for our favorite grumpy old man (hate to break it to you, but Geralt is like... 80 years old). 🩵 ➡ Jaskier and the reader hit it off, in a sense, a subtle reference to the relationship between Geralt and Jaskier (wink, wink, we stan a bi-con). ➡ We are also having a little bisexual and poly situation rocking up - so if you're not into this, just don't read this. ➡ I'll be alluding to a lighter form of philophobia, aka the fear of love.

A/N: Jaskier's song is 100% Sriracha by Bbno$ and no one is changing my mind on that.

Announcement regarding the timeline:

This isn't your regular story chapter - it's more of a collection of events and memories that unravel through the years. It would be wiser to split it up so it would make sense, but then, I wouldn't have enough content to create interesting story chapters. I pushed through and created two chapters (30-40K words in total) that cover this time period. Sadly, I don't even know when the part takes place because everything is so difficult to map out with the show completely altering the canon. I mean, the books already made it difficult but now, it's fucking impossible, and since the story is a combination of both the book events and show events, as well as a combination of all the characters' traits from both, I just said 'fuck it' and balled. It's sometime before Nilfgaardians attack the kingdom of Sodden and Cintra and Cirilla are still under Calanthé's protection, but Geralt and Yennefer have already fallen in love and she also already left him behind in 'The Shard of Ice'. I'd say it's a bit before the shenanigans in Cintra go down - pinpointing it in the horizon of Cirilla's age, it should be happening when she's around 5 - 11 years of age?

I'm so confused, man, Lauren singlehandedly short-circuited and fried my fucking brain.

Word count: 16K

Tagging: @soleil-dor​, @axk111​, @nemesisplayboy​, @american-duchess

Master list: H E R E | The Witcher playlist: H E R E

The witch's house in the middle of nowhere - the lonely fairytale-like log cabin smelling of mint, honey, and jasmine occupied by a lonely, nice 'witch', according to the folk. She wasn't remotely close to being one, but who was to argue? The door to her modest home was kept three inches open under any circumstance. Didn't really matter who wandered inside, the witch always made sure to give them the utmost warm welcome. Sometimes, wandering travelers, bards, or adventurers knocked on the ajar door, asking for a place to stay, a glass of wine, and a warm dish in exchange for a few stories or items unattainable on the outskirts of Novigrad. Other times, the good folk of nearby villages asked for her advice and medical attention. Once in a blue moon, even one of the most infamous bards known under the name Jaskier stood on her doorstep. The one she was expecting, however, made sure to always come back.

He dear wasn't no ordinary man, oh no. It was a man surrounded by mythical tales and rumors. He'd been known under many names throughout his existence - The White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken, Gwynbleidd, or the White One.

For you and with you, he was simply Geralt. He had stumbled upon your cabin many times, searching for it in times of loneliness and need. After a bit, you couldn't even call these instances coincidences anymore. It wasn't the Stars bringing you together, it wasn't Destiny threading his path and leading his steps... Geralt was coming back on his own accord, based on his own decisions. Each time you'd hear the familiar gait grazing the dirt road leading to your doorstep, you'd put everything down just to peek out of the window to ensure you're not making things up. Each time you'd see the white-haired man, your body would become uncontrollable as your brain blanked and heart fluttered and before you knew it, you took off to run to Geralt with the brightest smile decorating your face. The moment he'd return the smile (not even attempting to contain the contagious joy and happiness you provided), you'd ensure to erase it with a kiss, taking his belongings off his hands and tugging him inside the cabin the fastest you could. Geralt would never oppose your actions, he'd never object because he was longing for the same emotion you were. Your enthusiasm often tended to ease his own mood, mainly when he stopped after dealing with Dijsktra or goofing up a contract. Your giggling was heavenly to his ears, the sound of your laughter didn't once fail to fill his chest with serenity and warmth. The more Geralt made you laugh, the better he felt.

At the start of your affair, you found it difficult to keep your hands to yourselves - usually, neither of you remained clothed for too long. Only when you sat in your bed intertwined, body and skin pressed against each other as you whispered sweet nothings and stole hasty kisses, was the moment Geralt truly came home. It wasn't so much about the sex itself (not that either of you could complain about the quality of it) - it was the vulnerability and closeness this simple act provided. That did it for the Witcher. In those moments, Geralt not only felt human, happy, and enamored, he finally felt... Home. In those moments, Geralt didn't have to use his words or actions to let you look under the wraps and guess how he felt, there were no social cues he'd have to honor or dull and tedious social dances he'd have to be a part of. It was as simple as holding you in his arms, listening to your fluttering heart, and feeling the gentle tremor on your fingers. You'd giggle breathlessly before kidding him, letting all his thoughts disappear.

No matter how selfish the situation was, Geralt was unwilling to deprive himself of these moments. This led the duo to prolong his stay in Novigrad for longer than anticipated. Jaskier surely wouldn't be caught complaining about staying in the city (as he said - beer, breasts, and banquets) and because it was painfully obvious why are they staying for so long, the bard didn't even have to pry why is Geralt (of all people) willing to stay in the city even though he passionately hated people and their problems concentrated in one place. If Jaskier would have to describe Geralt's stance on big cities, he'd simply say Geralt's one of those who ~is aligned to be one with nature~ and all that other crap.

The first time Geralt would come back to your cabin was a week after everything went down - a few weeks ago, you'd reconnected after 20 long years, spent a whole night saving a striga, he'd apologized for his behavior way back in Cintra and fucked you senseless right after. On his way to your cabin that night, Geralt got worried - what if it'd be awkward? What if the two of you would have trouble starting a conversation? What if... The anxiety disappeared when Geralt saw you doing your laundry in the booking right beside your cabin - dressed in a simple outfit, you were doing your best to carefully wash some linen shirts. When satisfied with the result, you immediately hang the wet clothes over your humble garden filled with herbs and homegrown vegetables. It took Geralt a moment to gather his shit back together and to continue on his way, prompting Roach to ride into your field of vision - taking a moment to watch you performing simple daily chores and mundane activities made it so easy to imagine how things could be.

The two of you would probably grow up alongside one another, brought up in the same village, never leaving outside the boundaries of your region or exploring the Continent. Your universes would be incredibly smaller and emptier, but also much easier to navigate and orient in. He'd fall in love you desperately and court you until your father would agree with your marriage. To ensure you'd be happy, Geralt would find himself a stable, good job - lumberjacking seemed to allure Geralt the most. You'd have the freedom to do as you'd please; you could be a seemstress or a herbalist, anything you'd seem fit. He wouldn't mind. If anything, it would make him sure in his shoes, having a smart and independent woman by his side. The two of you wouldn't be rich, but you wouldn't be in need either; you'd have just enough to live a fulfilling life. In his dreams, you'd lead a simple life away from the big cities, but settle down in one's vicinity - it would be convenient for commuting to the city to buy supplies and food. That way, Geralt wouldn't have to deal with solving people's problems while reaping the benefits cities brought.

Each time Geralt would come home from the woods, he'd most likely come to this view - you'd be doing the laundry, cleaning the house, organizing your herbs, talk to your friend who'd come over for a visit or taking care of your humble livestock. For some reason, Geralt liked to imagine you'd be fond of owning a goat or perhaps a few hens. After taking care of the essentials, you'd sit in front of the fireplace, resting after a long laborious day. Watching you knit for a bit, his ankle would bump to yours, smoothing its way up your calf as you'd send him one of those lusty, sensual smiles. Over time, it wouldn't be only you waiting for him back home - in one of his recent dreams, there were downright three little, restless devils. First and oldest, there was a girl; her facial features were identical to yours, but her face was framed with locks of brown hair, which she'd get after him. This alone would surely make her the prettiest girl in the village, so the two of you would have to fend off endless courting attempts until the right time and person comes. The other two kids in his dreams were boys, too rowdy to be held in one place, a bit mischievous yet surely growing out to be good men overall. Your home would be filled with everything that comes with building a family - there would be laughter, tears, screaming, long lectures about important life lessons, loving embraces, goodnight kisses, torn clothes, and bumped knees.This is how things could be... If you weren't what you've turned out to be.

Starting with your high age (even though the infused chaos slowed your aging down considerably), to your consistent volatility and a considerable amount of promiscuity (even taking into account Geralt's 'It's complicated with Yenna'), ending with the shared factor of infertility, this simple life was unachievable. Those dreams were never to be fulfilled, but beautiful nonetheless. Watching you doing the chores, however, was making it a bit more believable if Geralt had to be honest. He was sure that in due time, he'd let you take a look at the dreams - after being by your side for only a week, however, Geralt concluded it wouldn't be the wisest to spill the beans. The anxiety of being sent away or the meeting being awkward left him as soon as you stood up, furrowing in the distance to determine who the newcomer was. The moment you waved at him, Geralt knew everything would be alright. The two of you would figure things out together.

After the first night he'd returned, Geralt started seeking your presence every two to three days, staying in your cabin for as long as he could. As expected, this whole treasure-seeking endeavor turned out to be rather pricey - the cost was bumped mainly by their place of stay being none other than Rosemary and Thyme. Since you were the main reason for Geralt hanging around for as long as he had, you announced that you'd pay for their expenses. This caused a series of debates and arguments, to be honest. The men accepted your sponsorship very reluctantly. Jaskier wasn't making too much fuss around it - the bard enjoyed being maintained, kept in luxury like the cream of society he envisioned himself to be, not complaining about anything. Geralt was the one to stir up the waves, actually. It took you endless evenings of sex, arguments, bargaining, and negotiations to make Geralt believe you were, indeed, loaded. A full-on two-month stay at the most expansive inn in the city? You were fully capable of spending the same amount on a shopping spree, it just was change for you. All the money you saved in the bank of Novigrad was past courtesy of Emhyr Var Emreis himself - he paid you a ridiculous sum of Orens for your position, enough to feed a village for a lifetime. In the end, you remained victorious. Geralt accepted the money, sighing and giving you the look.

By the time the summer rolled around, the two had to move on. Dealing with the lifestyle of living in Novigrad was taking a considerable toll on Geralt's mental - not only did he have to deal with Jaskier's constant yapping and romantic endeavors (as well as with their often messy results), but the folk of Novigrad was also starting to get volatile too. On top of that, Dijkstra caught onto Geralt's track and attempted to contact him with the promise of cooperation. Yes. As if. He explained that the contract that kept them around had been solved, and Novigrad didn't have more monsters to be caught. No contracts posted, no nightmares to be silenced, no job propositions for the Witcher - Geralt ran out of excuses to remain in your vicinity.

When mentioning the contract, Geralt also explained that per usual, the contract turned out to be a fluke - the pair of adventurers left the city with much less gold than originally promised because the gold indeed turned out to be courtesy of the Leprechauns. This meant that as soon as the bandits died, the hordes of gold disappeared. That's the life of a Witcher for you, Geralt laughed while explaining. As per usual, Julian hoped to end up loaded at the end of their adventure just to get a load of bullshit in return. Well, at least the two had all the fun and the memories to hold on to, right? ... Right? No gold to be had, the payment was much less than promised and both the bard and the Witcher were treated as clowns. The fun and the memories, Julian mumbled on repeat, the fun and the memories.

The day of their departure fell on the morning after Saint John's Eve. Surely, more nights were to await you, but it will take a long time before Geralt finds his way back to you after he leaves Novigrad the following morning. You both understood what his departure meant - there was no reason to dwell on the topic. It could be weeks, months, or years until he'll kiss you again, until you ghost over his cheek with trembling fingers, whispering sweet nothings in the Elder. Notably, this Saint John's Eve was one of the quietest nights you've ever spent in each other's presence. Every word and look had an underlying weight that neither of you wanted to take into account, each action and talk was enhanced with the prospect of a separation that can take any sort of time frame. The emotions felt more intense as if they would burn a hole in your chest if you'd faced them head-on. Therefore, everything was subdued and kept to a minimum, as if nothing was going to happen early in the morning. Geralt wouldn't leave on Roach's back and you wouldn't be commuting to Novigrad to meet Dijkstra in his bathhouse.

Realizing the incoming separation, Geralt made sure he was holding you in his arms no matter what. It was impractical as you tried to put something to eat together, but his clinginess made you laugh. Whenever he couldn't put his arms around you, he made sure he was hovering behind you, ghosting over each move you made. His nose would tangle in your hair so he could breathe in your scent, kissing his favorite spot on the nape of your neck whenever he had the opportunity. When the night finally came, both of you stood in front of the window and watched the dusk settling in. The woods were quiet and the waves of the lake were crashing into the shore, nicely lining up with crickets buzzing. Geralt's brain was sure to memorize everything as you stood in an opened window, letting the humid air caress both your bodies. A storm was coming.

Since you've just got out of bed (because you were adamant about his being the best view of the year), you were only lazily covered in a linen bedsheet. Geralt didn't even bother with putting on any clothes. Neither of you said a word as you watched the view slowly changing - the sun slowly setting down, the sky starting to glow with orange and pink, fireflies flying around in clusters, local folk throwing a celebration in the nearby village. Props to you, Geralt hadn't seen prettier scenery in a long time. "Come back to bed with me." - He whispered, his voice breaking with each word. It was a plea from a lover to a lover, the first sign of incoming departure. Geralt hummed as he kissed the sweet spot on your neck, feeling how soft and warm your skin was. - "Please." "I'll be there in a moment." - You promised, smoothing his arm loosely thrown around your shoulder. - "This is my favorite night of the year. No chance I'd miss my yearly tradition of staring out of the window instead of joining the folk in their celebrations." "I'll miss your warmth in the meantime, darling." - The Witcher hummed, smoothing the curve of your lovely bottom before he left you. All the various pet names still made you look at Geralt funny, leaving an amused grin on your lips. Both of you were having a troublesome time getting accustomed to Geralt using terms of endearment unironically. He likely wouldn't use any pet names by his own initiative, but upon discovering how undone you became in bed after calling you his dove, Geralt started to warm up to the idea. Notably, some pet names didn't land in the slightest, giving you a fit of laughter - he still had a long way to go, but you were getting somewhere.

The morn was bittersweet and saying goodbyes was hard. The chilly morning air was smoothing your body as you stood in the opened door, watching Geralt disappear in the distance on Roach's back. The crickets were still buzzing between the blades of grass, and morning dew was irrigating your small garden. The ground was soaked from yesterday's rainstorm. On that morning, you could feel your heart growing heavy in your chest. As you said, it was all fucking bittersweet. Before Geralt, the pure thought of being in love was unimaginable, horrifying even. While he showed you how beautiful resonating with another human could be, you had to swallow the pill of dealing with loneliness coming along with your lover's departure. You were passionate about your past lovers, and you even took a liking to a few of them back in the past... But letting go of the reigns was making your skin crawl. With Geralt, though, it felt like the right thing to do. So you trusted the process, remaining incredibly anxious about it. You noted asking Jaskier about dealing with being enamored the next time you meet him.

As expected, you wished Geralt the best of luck on his journey, praying to the Stars to see him safely return to your arms before kissing him for the last time. The man dried the tears rolling down your cheeks before drowning them in gentle pecks, begging you not to cry - seeing you miserable would make his heart grow heavy in his chest, ensuring his departure would torture him on his following journey. Trying to make it easier for the both of you, you did your best to take control of your emotions (Geralt was holding his in a tight fist of iron, not letting a sign of weakness seep through into his expression). Gathering your composure, you nodded and gently pushed him over the doorstep in jest. While you had his spare shirt on (Geralt brought you one just so you could wear it in case you'd miss him), your own spare shirt was tucked away, safely hidden in his leather bag like some precious cargo. You gave it to Geralt for the same reason - you knew that Geralt was able to smell your scent long after it was gone for everyone else, reminiscing of you when he'd play with the silky fabric. Just a piece of memorabilia, you thought when you exchanged the pieces of clothing. For Geralt, the shirt meant much more. It was a small reminder of your lonely log cabin hidden away, a reminder of the sense of home you found in each other. It was to serve as an anchor after he'd lost all his reason to Yenna.

Saying you were a damsel in distress during Geralt's absence, however, would be plainly wrong. Sure, being in a new situation, you took a few days to ponder about the right course of action - should you give into the drama, wearing only black until he comes back? Bollocks, you didn't have enough clothes to pull that off. Were you supposed to keep your hands to yourself, not having a lustful thought about anyone else? Yeah, as if - Geralt knew you well enough to not try to tie you down. Just as he'd be with Yenna, you could be with anyone you wished to - he ensured his mind would be with you the entire time, but he couldn't promise what course of action his body would take - he expected nothing less from you. Pushing on with your daily life came on top of your priorities - it eased your mind and let you deal with petty bullshit, ensuring you wouldn't be drowning yourself in tears over the man you loved.

Shortly after deciding not to be dramatic (much to Jaskier's dismay), you decided not to spend more time sitting on your doorstep, despairing for the one you love - quite the opposite, actually. While having the Butcher of Blaviken on your mind all the time, you simply continued on. First, you took Novigrad's gambling scene by storm. Bumping into Jaskier during his visit to Nobigrad one late summer night, he swayed you into enrolling in one of the most high-stakes tournaments in Passiflora (both of you were almost blackout drunk, holding hands and giggling like little kids when signing the enrollment form)... And to your surprise, you managed to win. It were the most satisfactory games of Gwent you've played in a long time, and there also were moments you thought you were fucked, but you kept your head in the game, ensuring a ridiculous sum of Orens to your name. You took some of the money to yourself, just out of politeness, ensuring the rest will fund the modernization of Novigrad's hospital - when comparing the quality of health care in Wyzima and Novigrad, it couldn't differ more. No wonder Temeria had more than three times less healthcare mortality rate, my oh my. The rest of the prize money was given towards buying new equipment for Novigrad's rather humble school and the mimics of 'schools' in nearby villages. It wasn't much, but the knowledge of making at least a bit of a difference warmed your soul.

After you were done with Gwent for a bit (realizing you weren't to find such opponents for some time) and watched Jaskier leave the city in good health, you concentrated on cooperation with Dijsktra and his other ratty friends. As much as you couldn't trust the guy an inch, you found common ground and soon enough, you were considered allies of sorts. The spy invited you to accompany him to various public events as his plus-one and guest of honor, taking you out to royal balls and celebrations to introduce you to the political leaders of neighboring kingdoms. This didn't mean you'd be introduced to the kings specifically - you spent more time with their counselors and counseling witches. To be frank, the counselors tended to be more fun anyway. Nilfgaardian forces were close to being unstoppable, especially with allowing their mages to use all sorts of magic forbidden by the council... But the Northern Realms consisted of vast kingdoms and landmasses - the mass of land was practically impossible to contest on foot and maneuvering and strategizing was therefore very difficult (via army battalions and war machines, that was). Until the moment Cintra, Sodden, and Temeria hadn't fallen in flames, there were still choices to be made and hope of defeating them.

To your luck, King Foltest, while undoubtedly being a sister-fucker (that's what Geralt told you), was also wise enough to listen to both you and the council - you spent a considerable amount of with Triss Merigold, his consoling witch. Queen Calanthé and her husband, Eist Tuirseach of Skellige, were a tougher nut to crack - thanks to Mousesack's (Calanthé's good friend and advisor) calming presence, the four of you were able to come to a pact. You were sure that Calanthé would love to see you dead, just like the bigger half of the council. It was when she started inviting you to her infamous Cintran balls and celebrations, having you seated at her table while complaining about men in general and not having the opportunity of meeting you sooner (because you slipped up and mentioned you were supposed to be part of Pavetta's ball), you decided it was quite the opposite. The two of you found unlikely friendship in one another, exchanging letters and small, meaningless gifts. That's a good sign, Dijkstra assumed after you informed him of your ongoing correspondence, surely, it's strengthening the alliance.

To even more relief, the councils (both the witches and the spies simultaneously) decided that sending you back to Nilfgaard just so you could woo Emhyr Var Emris under your spell would be more or less reasonlessly suicidal, illogical, and extremely time-consuming. Don't take it the wrong way, many of those people hated you. They wanted you dead, but your mind-reading and mind-altering abilities were more valuable than just having you headless on a whim. The council didn't even force you to participate in negotiations with the Black Ones - the risk of Emhyr realizing it was you pulling the strings, revealing the inner workings and power schemes of Nilfgaard to the others was too great. Your consulting was highly appreciated by the Northern Realms but also paid handsomely, so you had nothing to complain about. Even though you didn't admit it, it felt good to be back, meddling with politics. They sure as hell didn't get more fun, but for the first time in a long time, you were a highly regarded member of political scheming and affairs, oftentimes balancing the fragile alliances between various kingdoms on the tips of your fingers (and yes, there were moments when it came to using Axii too). You weren't just that lonely puny priestess living in that cabin in the woods anymore, you had the power to make people's lives better and on top of that, save them. There were instances when the spy syndicate took you for travels around Redania, having you complete odd jobs and negotiations with the mad king Radovid himself. You've been one of the few who came back to Novigrad alive.

Rumor had it that Dijskra himself admitted that you were one of the best strategists and most valuable sources of help they could have, mainly due to your extensive knowledge. Whether Dijkstra said it or not and if he was sober when making the admission was up for debate, but he never complimented you directly.

While being busy with all these politics, there still were nights when missing Geralt got harder than ever. Sometimes, you'd listen to Jaskier talking about their recent meeting - that was when you bumped into the bard in Oxenfurt and as per usual, decided it would be much more fun to spend the night getting hammered in his presence than whatever other shit you were doing. Once, Calanthé brought him up - you've been watching the court dancing, the night was deep and the drinks were plenty when the talk came to the Law of Surprise. The queen was tipping on the line of being blackout drunk by that point, telling you about Pavetta, Duny, and how it all came to be - that was when she dropped the bomb on you. Ensuring no uncalled ears were in the radius, she drunkenly admitted that Geralt claimed Ciri in such a law. Calanté realized the Witcher did it out of the ridiculousness of it all, for shits and giggles as she eloquently he put it - what none of them was expecting, however, was Pavetta being with a child. Rest assured, Calanthé hated Geralt's guts. You had a hard time computing the information before accepting that Geralt is a deadbeat godfather to the poor, little blonde girl running around the table. Other times, it was the small details reminding you of him - smoothing a wolf hide between your fingers, smelling something that reminded you of him, or having a shot of his favorite spirits.

Holding a grudge against Geralt leaving wouldn't make much sense. It wouldn't do you no good either, of which you were aware - it was much better to occupy yourself with all the boring schemes and politics, as you kept on telling Dijkstra. The spy knew even the things he wasn't supposed to, so he asked about your white-haired friend every now and then. Each time Dijsktra said his name, a small jolt of pain spread through your chest - each time, you had to put your best mask on just so Disjtra wouldn't see tears cumulating in your eyes. No matter how much you missed Geralt, you understood Destiny was a tickle power. With each night Geralt spent in your bed, the two of you were just asking to be punished for being defiant; however, nothing in the whole wide Continent could make you feel better.

However, no matter your small acts of rebellion, Destiny swayed the Witcher away from you continuously. Each time, it was different - sometimes, Geralt announced that he'd accepted a contract that would take a few days at most, coming back home to you as soon as he's done... Disappearing for months. Other times, Julian dragged Geralt into deep shit that almost every time incomprehensibly connected to some sort of political mumbo-jumbo. On a few occasions, you had to even pull a few strings just so the two idiots wouldn't get thrown into jail. Explaining to Eist that Jaskier truly didn't mean to call his aunt 'interesting as a withered apple tree' during his and Geralt's field trip to Skellige was one of the most humiliating situations you've got yourself in. Calanthé, on the other hand, almost lost his shit when you told her during the dinner, laughing so gutturally and genuinely she started crying. Mind you, she was almost sober, so it really had to be funny. Lastly, there was her. Yennefer of Vengerberg, Yenna, or simply Yen, had the worst luck when it came to Geralt. He'd always appear suddenly and uninvited, shaking up her world and whatever she had going on. The wish fulfilled by the genie had their fates intertwined, ensuring they wouldn't be able to shake the other off their back or escape the relationship unscathed. As you've discovered, the relationship was rather toxic - hate and love, untamable passion was the prominent trifecta accompanying the two lovers and no matter how much Geralt wanted to come back to you, as soon as he'd seen Yenna, his senses were clouded until the moment they had an argument and... Again. Geralt, no matter how much he'd like to, couldn't avoid these instances just because. Just like the ball of Cintra, it was bound to happen. It wouldn't be wise to defy Destiny much more than you already did.

This didn't mean you could keep yourself from pondering - when the loneliness and separation got through to you, you'd ask the Stars to show you where Geralt was, even if for a moment. Each of these instances cost you a small amount of your blood that had to be spread on your humble altar in the backyard. It was one of the reasons you'd chosen this particular cabin back when searching for a place to settle in. The thing that convinced you was the place of raw power and chaos humming in your backyard. Your palm was covered in scars soon enough. You've been good with covering them and getting them to heal well enough to remain almost invisible (much better than Geralt anyway), but Geralt scolded you each time he noticed a new addition to the collection. No matter the Witcher's whining, you kept performing the ritual just to satiate the need to know Geralt was safe and alive.

On some nights, you'd see him on his toes, potions coursing through his veins, holding a silver sword in his palms, fending off monsters. Those visions made you worried sick from the stomach, uneasy until Roach and Geralt rolled into the road leading to your cabin. Sometimes, the visions got cryptic. A flock of ravens cut your field of vision short, their annoying shrieking filling your ears. Soon, the scent of lilacs and gooseberries filled your nose, and then, for a glimpse, you'd see someone kissing each other just to hush the want and heat in their groins. These visions made you sigh as you sluggishly dragged yourself back to your cabin, opening the strongest bottle of Temerian wine you found lying around. Fucking hell, not that you'd be the jealous type, but Yennefer was leaving a sour taste in your mouth - if he was bound to anyone else but her, you'd reconcile with the fact much easier, surely. The problem was that you knew her, you knew her ways and how she acted, and for that, you hated her to bits. What was worse, Yenna's ways reminded you of yours, and that was making you hate her even more. The visions you loved the most were as clear as the summer sky. No blood or shrieking, no dangerous monsters, and no death - just Geralt sitting on Roach's back, his fingers playing with the silky fabric of your shirt as the inseparable duo (him and Jaskier) pressed on forward. Seeing him reminiscing about you as much as you did of him made you smile, heart fluttering in your chest. The buffoon, the moron, the idiot... You loved him so much.

So much so that no person could match him in your eyes. Rest assured, you tried. As mentioned, Geralt knew you well enough to be naïve and think you wouldn't be fucking anyone else. It was obvious to him that you wouldn't just you wouldn't just sit on your ass all day, saving yourself for him. If anything, it wouldn't be anything like you. Geralt wasn't the one to throw childish tantrums of jealousy either. You both talked about your other lovers frequently, actually, sharing your escapades and mishaps. At first, you seduced both men and women, didn't really matter, in search of that spark that would set you ablaze.

Soon enough, you realized it wasn't worth your time. No matter how handsome, beautiful, witty, or funny the people were, none of them had anything which would satisfy you. The sex was fine, truly - there was little that could go wrong in this regard. What was not fine were all the missing emotions - the endless, almost overwhelming love in their eyes, witty remarks, and inside jokes someone would mutter only after spending a lot of time together. Before him, it was unimaginable you'd get vulnerable enough with someone to let emotions and feeling seep into fucking - now, it was unimaginable to fuck someone without catching feelings first. No matter how horrified you were of love, it intensified everything, heightened every small emotion, and made you feel alive - as if you were asleep until that night. Even though you thought you were in love with someone before (back when you were in Emhyr's services), only now you realized how stupid that assumption was. You weren't stupid either - you knew the people you've slept with couldn't know as much information about you if you weren't giving them the time and space... But the cycle of seduction and one-night stands wasn't doing you any good. Honestly, it all started getting tiresome and boring soon.

Sure, it was pleasant to have some sort of company in your solitude now and then, but as time went by, you became uninterested. If anything, it left you unsatisfied and hollow - searching for something more. When you so desired to imitate having an actual life, you'd preferably swing by Rosemary and Thyme. This inn ensured you'd bump into an acquaintance of yours, someone who knew you and liked spending time with you... These pub tours left you more satisfied than sex itself.

While on the topic of sex, sex with Gearlt was getting better and better each time. It was always great, but as time went by, you started bringing toys and inventions purposed for lovemaking, introducing each other to unfamiliar concepts and ideas. As you built up trust in one another, you'd occasionally let him tie you up - sometimes, the Witcher would eat you out like the most delicious dish drowning in the sight of you fighting against the silky ropes, other times he'd fuck you senseless, letting you hang in the air like an art piece that he admired. Just as Geralt reaped the rewards of your trust, he was trying his best to trust right back. He'd reluctantly let you blindfold him, stripping him off his most important sense just so you could do as you pleased. It was unfamiliar and potentially frightening at first, so much so that you had to slowly coax him into trying it because Jaskier swore it was so much fun during your last drinking diversion. Geralt had to admit these were the most intense orgasms of his life. Besides the ropes and silky blindfolds, there were many more toys you got creative with. When you didn't feel adventurous or decided not to complicate things much, Geralt would let you hypnotize him, stimulating his mind with the sweetest and sultriest scenarios. Usually, you'd suck his dick while projecting the imagery, panting excitedly each time he'd come undone.

It took years before you fully committed to expanding on the fragile fundaments you've built. While not being exclusive, you were finally ready to proclaim your situation as 'being in a relationship' after the infamous Witcher started courting you. Saying the sentence out loud was fantastical in itself, let alone realizing it was actually happening. Since you could afford anything you wanted or needed, Geralt assumed that a materialistic approach to courting you wouldn't bring much success. Instead, the man concentrated on sharing memorable moments with you, making memories, and trying to build at least the illusion of the simple life he'd dreamt of for the two of you.

It started out slowly. One night, Geralt asked if you'd be interested in spending the evening riding your horses - soon, you realized it wasn't just any ride, not like the hundreds of other rides you've gone on before; the folk were celebrating the first of May, the day of love and lovers. It was wonderful to partake in the celebration instead of quietly watching it from afar. That night, you felt like you belonged in the local community for possibly... First time ever. Folk liked you, sure, but never invited you over. This celebration changed it all. Local girls made you a flower crown, gushing over local boys and the latest events as if you were friends forever. Even though you were reluctant in the beginning, the locals asked you to dance with them and drink up, telling you all the hottest rumors and fables going around. The folk even ignored and carefully accepted Geralt's presence, which was almost unheard of. You loved to sit aside and watch him play games with the children - the Witcher even agreed to perform cheap magic tricks for their pleasure, sharing some of his less gruesome stories. The elders weren't overjoyed with having a Witcher (whose eyes glowed in the dark) taking part in such celebrations, but since he was your plus one, they tolerated him.

The courting continued throughout the following year, making you giddy each time Geralt asked you if you 'had some time'. It took a lot of courage for him to finally choke the words out and ask if you'd become his lady. It wasn't a marriage proposal by any means, but it finally made things feel a bit official.

From that point on, his stays in your cabin started to feel... Different. Sure, you still fucked like your life depended on it, but that wasn't all. Suddenly, there was much more to discover and experience, even though you didn't deem it possible. You started to do all the lovey-dovey things you've read about in your romantic novels, just like other couples did. You'd bake and cook together (Geralt loved to bake and he was actually good at it), read books while cuddling under one blanket on rainy days, and bask in the sunlight on warm, sunny ones. If the weather got too hot and unbearable, you'd go for a swim in the lake. In the fall, you'd go forage and hunt in the woods, occasionally spending hours in silence as you sneaked behind the trees or sat on the shore, fishing. When you felt the need for company, you'd ride to Novigrad to either visit the theatre Julian showed you or spend nights in taverns, either indulging in gambling or listening to bards and other performers while sipping on ale. Geralt still wasn't the biggest fan of the latter, but you were teaching him to appreciate art, step by step.

Both of you remained the same as before, which you appreciated endlessly. While you were all lovey-dovey, Geralt wasn't afraid of getting broody and you weren't afraid to call him out on his bullshit. His dry sense of humor remained unchanged and his rants about the evil and moral compasses still made you roll your eyes. You still didn't see eye-to-eye regarding politics or his rather free style of bringing Cirilla up (especially the fucking part when he was being a deadbeat). Sometimes, Geralt would even do or say something so uncalled for that you'd just pick yourself up to leave. This was foreplay, generally leading to a very heated argument. These ended the way they always did - you spat insults at each other (some of which were very creative, Geralt had to admit) until you sat down, fuming for a bit.

"Better?" - He'd ask silently, the corners of his mouth slowly forming a smile. "Much better." - You'd agree, sighing. "Sorry for being a cunt-bitten coward." - Geralt would then say, making you look at him with a small smile. To that day, the Witcher choked when it came to apologies, especially when Geralt had no doubt about being in the right. However, he also discovered the hard way that admitting and owning up being a dick (as you oh so eloquently put it) was a first step when it came to rectifying the spoils of said arguments. "Sorry for being... How did you even call me?" "... Dismal-eyed and anused." "Gotta admit... That's a new one, Geralt... And a good one." "Learned it from the children when passing through the village earlier today. Glad you like it."

Everything remained the same but evolved ever so slightly. Included in this everything was also your relationship with Geralt's best friend in the whole wide world... At least according to the bard himself - knowing Jaskier, Geralt surely had little to no say in this matter. You were talking, of course, about none other than the renowned and infamous bard Julian Alfred Pankratz... Commonly going under the alias Jaskier. Geralt, however, preferred to call him a jester... Or even better, an idiot.

Ever since you've met this chaos walking on legs, you liked him. Jaskier was the polar opposite of Geralt's broody, keep-it-short-and-simple personality - the bard lived for all the drama and mythical, fantastical stories. You were positive that he was breathing for heartbreak, excitement, love, and life in general - he found inspiration in anything around him (mostly in women, though). Theatrics and excessive ballads were right up his alley. With his jolly, talkative nature, however, came a plethora of problems. The biggest one you could think of was his inability to keep his cock in his pants, having at least one man chasing after his throat at any place he showed. Sometimes, Julian could be a bit naïve and even though he was one of the smartest and wisest people you've met (in his own regard), he could suffer with momentary verbosity - saying the most unnecessary shit at the most inappropriate time.

Julian shared his most scandalous escapades with you in person, others and more recent moments usually made it to you in the form of stories - Dijkstra didn't waste a second before sharing them as soon as he heard them. The depth or nature of your relationship towards Jaskier wasn't known to Dijkstra - the spy, however, knew you were both friends of Geralt's. In Djikstra's book, this translated into the two of you surely meeting at least once. Your favorite story covered a ball in Redania. There, Jaskier unknowingly, however continuously, insulted one of the crown princes to Redania's throne simply because the prince said Julian's singing is 'about as delightful as a roast burnt to crisp'. This almost resulted in Julian's head being cut off. If Philippa Eilhart wouldn't have stepped in, he'd surely be dead by now.

You could recall the first night Jaskier searched for you in the time of need - it was during deep winter, one of the harshest ones you've lived through. The sun was nowhere to be seen for weeks, nights coming as soon as early afternoon. The weather was cold, and the blizzards didn't stop coming. The folk required your assistance and herbal hooches and conjunctions almost daily. At the end of December, you've even decided it would be better to set out to nearby villages and knock on each door yourself, instead of risking the folk getting lost or freezing to death. So, you've committed - every other day, you'd set out on the road to see if the folk needed your help and to what extent they needed it. On the worst of nights, you rode from village to village in your territory until morning came. It was the busiest winter in the last decade - the types of illnesses and ailments varied greatly, making you worried about your impressive herb supply... Which was significantly getting smaller every time you opened it. At this rate, you were getting worried about where in the fuck were you gonna get more herbs.

Nightmares and depressions were simple enough to deal with - passionfruit or peppermint teas usually did the trick if used in combination with lemon balm for a good night's rest. When the bad dreams and other demons got too out of hand, you'd offer to use Axii to ease their minds. Colds and flu were giving you a run for your money, but they were easy enough to deal with - pepper or garlic soup and ginger teas brewed with a spoon of wild honey tended to do wonders. If the folk mixed just the right amount, they were back on their feet in no time. Sometimes, you had to deal with frostbite, which was not that hard - to your surprise and horror, you've become something of a midwife during the upcoming month. The snow was blocking the paths and there were not enough druids and certified healers to take care of every case. Not that you'd be requested by the folk for this purpose - you usually had bad fucking timing, coming at the right place at the wrong time. Rest assured, during your fifth labor, you already knew what to do and how things should be progressing - if there was something off, you were enough experienced of a healer to make a concoction to help get the mother on the right track. Pneumonia, however, horrified you deeply. There was no certainty if the infected folk would make it to see the following morn, let alone be cured successfully. You spent night after night mixing peppermint concussions at local taverns, praying to the Stars for saving at least one of them. Some slowly started getting better under your care... But.. The images and memories of watching children passing away with high fevers, their bodies trembling ever so gently, sweaty and pale as snow, their lips dark blue due to asphyxiation were sure to haunt you for the rest of your day.

Even worse than that all the ailments were monsters and wild animals. All these creatures were also becoming desperate for a morsel of food and a place of shelter that would offer at least some degree of warmth and cover. Attacks were becoming more frequent when it came to wolves and wild dogs. Wolves were usually timid and ran way before humans could spot them - if these animals were desperate enough to tear an arm off a man's shoulder, how long would it take for bears and other predators to endanger the folk? Your question, thankfully, wasn't answered. The 'arm incident' was the worst that animal attack got. Monster nests found around the fields and farms were frozen - the creatures who used to inhabit those nests lay around the remnants of their creation lifelessly. Rigor mortis was slowly setting in as ice and snow covered them, hiding the horrifying view out of sight. That was, possibly, the only good thing this winter brought. How would the balance be restored in the spring? You didn't have the energy to ponder such things during those trying times.

The folk didn't exactly blame you for being unsuccessful, mainly because the success rate was 50-50; they were grateful knowing someone was working hard to keep them safe and in good health. Even though the hate wasn't coming and likely wasn't ever going to come, you had trouble living with yourself. Looking at your own reflection was proving to be a tedious, dreadful task. Taking care of yourself wasn't simple, something like a proper sleeping schedule, let alone a drinking and eating schedule was becoming alien to you. You could barely recall the last time you took a proper bath. Anytime you'd arrive home, you'd break down in tears, thinking about what you could do differently - to maybe say one or two more poor souls. Were your mixtures too weak? Were your concoctions brewed wrong? Did you pick out the wrong herbs or add the wrong amount of ingredients? You've done everything you could... But it wasn't enough.

On top of illnesses galore, the overall quality of your life was also slowly going down. The snow drifts blocked paths and roads, complicating the transportation of supplies, exclusive goods, and food from the south. You hadn't seen fruit, such as grape wine or lemons, for a month by that point. Good news? There was enough alcohol in Novigrad to supply you until the spring rolls around. Sure, you realized you had the luxury and affluence to eat potatoes and miserable vegetables bought in the city. You also hung and portioned a deer hunted down, ensuring you'd have enough for at least two weeks. Your horse wasn't overjoyed with sharing his stable with a skinned venison, but you didn't spend time arguing with him. No matter, eating the same dish every night wasn't fulfilling. It was fine and kept you on your feet, but nothing to get too excited about... Thankfully, that was the night the bard came and shook up your entire world.

It happened in the deep of the night. The wind was howling, and your fireplace was filled to the brim with logs just so you could rest safely, assuming you'll have all your fingers by the morn. The ice-cold wind was bumping into the walls of your cabin, seeping through the small cracks. It was also loud. It could've been shortly past midnight when you decided to call it a night, put your book away, and blew the candles out so you could dive into darkness. As you found the right position for sleeping after half an hour of rolling over, someone frantically knocked on the cabin's door. The sense of urgency was unmissable. You reacted immediately, got out of bed, and threw a heavy coat of fur over your shoulders in case you'd have to leave immediately. Thankfully, you were tasked to stay on hand. The wife of one of the local farmers, Martička, was due to go into labor any day now, but the midwife needed to stock up on some herbs and medicine in Novigrad. Naturally, you offered the farmer to seek you out in case of need.

Instead of Janek, however, there was someone you didn't recognize at first. The moment the door opened, his knees gave out. The stranger, seemingly unable to control his freezing body, collapsed into your arms, making you falter to the ground. After kicking the door closed with your foot, you started to inspect the newcomer... Just to realize it was Julian lying in front of you. His eyes were cold, the tip of his nose dark red, his skin turned ashen pale. His cheeks were frozen, his lips dry. "Oh, Melitelé." - You mumbled, smoothing and gently pinching various spots on his face just to get a reaction. When nothing happened, you started to snap your fingers next to his ear, finally making his eyes flutter open. Knowing he was at least alive made you let out a peal of relieved laughter as you leaned your forehead to his chest. - "Thank the Stars, thank to Melitelé, you're alive. You're looking fucking tarnished, dearest bard." "My apologies, m'lady, I'll make sure I look my best the next time you lay your eyes on me." - the bard chuckled dryly, patting your shoulder. As soon as he did that, he started hissing - the pain in his fingers just multiplied. - "I don't know if it's the fever, but you're looking lovelier than the last time we met." - Julian got out with trouble, choking on his cough.

Hearing how Jaskier coughed, you could feel the panic rising in your chest. No. Not this. Not him. Not your drinking buddy. Not a person you were actually attached to. This didn't sound good at all, the sound of his cough was reminiscing of the sick children... The way they choked. You ordered Jaskier to get into bed, starting to heat up a whole cauldron of water so you could use it for preparing warm and other herbal wraps. You had to work quickly. The moment you started taking his clothes off you realized... The clothes didn't match the outside weather at all.

"What in Vesemir's name were you thinking?!" - Now, you were full-on scolding him like a little boy, hanging his summery jacker over the fireplace to warm it up and make all the snow and crystals of ice unfreeze. The clothes Jaskier wore were paper thin, no wonder he looked the way he looked. - "You go out in this fucking weather in this clothing? What were you thinking, you darned artless, beef-witted barnacle?! That you're going for a summer stroll by the lake?!" "Your hands..." - The man whispered weakly, ignoring your screaming altogether, looking at you with his eyes glassy. His cheeks were reddening, his body was starting to burn up. Fever was coming. You had to get on brewing hooch and tea right away. - "They're... Burning hot, Y/N. Do you have a fever?" "You're the one who has a fever." - You answered, chuckling dryly. Yelling at him in this state would be as useful as trying to shut him up. - "Lift your legs for me, come on now, let me take the trousers off." "No." - Jaskier protested, shaking his head as he weakly tried to preserve the last remnants of his dignity. - "If it's supposed to happen, it surely won't happen like this. I've imagined this night many times before and this is certainly not the way it goes down." "You've imagined... Julian Alfred Pankratz." - There was a clear warning in your voice accompanied by a hint of amusement as you started taking his boots off, making sure you were able to cover most of his body with a thick blanket. The way he thought about having sex even on his deathbed, however, was making you laugh. - "I'm not about to fuck you. I'm about to heal you." "Yeah... That makes more sense." - The bard agreed, helping you slip his trousers down so you could hang them over the fireplace too.

"Fancy answering my question now, bard?" - You asked as you sat next to the cauldron, letting Jaskier sprawl all over your bed. He was huddled in thick blankets and various hides and furs; you made sure he didn't have any frostbite before you put a heating pan under his ankles and made him sip on peppermint tea with honey and jasmine mixed in. "What would you like to know?" "Why aren't you reasonably clothed?" "I didn't have much time to pack my bags before he threw me out." - Julian admitted silently. You've turned your head to him, furrowing at him. Who threw him out? Geralt? No, he might've found Julian annoying and yappy but he also loved him dearly - you've heard Geralt admitting it a few times after drinking all night. What happened, then?

"Who threw you out, Julian?" - The tone of your voice was now gentle, it was silent and patient. When was Geralt when Jaskier got his ass in deep trouble? Long gone, obviously. - "Were you attacked? Are there people after you?" "I was..." - The man started answering, yet as soon as you heard the tone of his voice, you realized where was this fucking ordeal heading. "Again? Seriously? Come on, bard!" - You exclaimed, clicking your tongue in disappointment. You were almost about to get mad at Geralt for letting Julian die somewhere in the wilderness. "It's not pleasant to watch a husband struggling to approach his very own wife, trust me. And for the record, I wasn't seducing her - I was nudging him to flirt with her... And he took it the wrong way." - Jaskier explained as if it was as simple as that. "If you hadn't done your damnest to fuck the poor lass, Jaskier, you might as well call me fucking Foltest of Temeria. You need to learn how to keep your cock in your pants, seriously." - By that point, you were handing him roasted potatoes and venison you'd just warmed up on the stove. The hooch was almost finished by that point - it was sure to knock Jaskier out cold.

"Thank you, dearest friend. The dish looks delicious." "Eat up, bard. Hopefully, it will taste as well as it looks. To be honest, there's something on my mind... How did you find my house? You've never been here, we mostly bump into one another in Oxenfurt... Or Novigrad." - You asked, sitting on the bed beside the man, leaning into the wooden wall behind you. Jaskier put the plate down for a bit, chewing on the food absentmindedly - even before Jaskier figured out how to put it, you already knew what he was about to say. "He... He sent me here. He was just leaving the city when I caught up to him, begging for help." - Jaskier explained silently, still chewing on the same mouthful. - "Said you'd understand and that he was sure you'd be willing to help me. Also asked me to pass his best regards." "Oh." - Was all you said, picking yourself up so you could check on the hooch.

So... Geralt was in Novigrad, just a few kilometers away from you. Yet he didn't pull up at your doorstep. There was only one possible explanation - he was with Yenna. Trying to keep your head in the moment, you let out a long exhale. "I'm... Sorry, Y/N." - Jaskier apologized tenderly, an unhappy expression on his face. He knew about your relationship, of course he did. Neither you nor Geralt talked openly about it in front of Jaskier, but it was more than fucking obvious that things were going great between the two of you. It was just earlier that year when Geralt started courting you - now, their paths collided again. She was under his spell as much as he was under hers.

"There's nothing to apologize for, friend, it was all accounted for the moment I voluntarily kissed him. This is the grudge I chose, this is my path to trudge." - You smiled, pouring the hooch into a porcelain mug so you could serve it to Jaskier later. - "I brought it on myself." After he was done with his meal, you were there to hold the mug next to him. - "I'll be by your side for the night, don't worry. This will help. You'll be better by the morn, I promise." - You promised when you noticed that Jaskier was eyeing the liquid with rising suspicion. Nodding, Julian accepted the medicine and drank all of it, not mouthing a word against its strong, herbal, dreadful taste. As Jaskier's lids got heavy, his breathing started to steady itself. The fever was slowly going away, you noted with a smile. It was nothing but flu, thankfully. "For the record, Y/N..." - Julian managed to get out half-asleep, his tongue struggling greatly with those simple words. - "You've always been my favorite... Out... Out of the two of you." "Thanks." - You whispered, smoothing his hair and mindlessly playing with his locks. This act prompted Jaskier to put his head on your thighs, hugging them with his forearm. As he did that, deep slumber finally overtook him, leaving you stuck in this position for the rest of the night. Honestly, you appreciated it - knowing Geralt was so close yet so far away gave you a heartache, especially knowing he won't be making it to you anytime soon. Jaskier was an unexpected company, surely, but not spending the night on your own felt... Nice. Given how much shit was going down lately. For the first time in a long time, someone else gave you the feeling of home and serenity you couldn't find anywhere.

Just like you promised, Jaskier felt much better in the morning. Jaskier was walking around the cabin, stretched his limbs, and checked if he still possessed all of his fingers. You, on the other hand, were bound to be cranky. You were sleeping while sitting, the muscles on your back were tightened and in pain. You were lying down when you woke up only thanks to Jaskier waking up before you, carefully laying you down himself. That said, your mood was abysmal when you opened your eyes. The man was thoughtful enough to make tea and prepared the last piece of bread for breakfast - presumably, Jaskier also found the last bits of blueberry marmalade you've hidden in the far corner of your pantry. Clearly, it wasn't hidden well enough.

"I'll buy you a new jar, my promises, m'lady." - The bard swore, putting down a mug and plate on the edge of the bed, letting you take your time to wake up. - "Don't know what herbs you've put into that hellish concoction, but I'm feeling like a brand new man. Even better, my lute made it out unharmed. All is fine and well." "Glad to hear that." "Anyway, what you've planned for the day, dearest friend?" "Gotta do my routine check-up on the village down south - promised I'd stop by yesterday. Couldn't, because I needed to be ready to assist during labor. Anka, the midwife, should be back around noon today, so I'm free to go today." "That sounds wonderful!" - The man laughed, clapping his hands together. - "Or... You could come help me get my bags back and in return, I'll assist you with... Whatever stuff you herbalists do." "How would you assist me?" "Trust me, I'd find a way." - Jaskier winked at you. Even though you were very inclined to stick your boot up his arse, you sighed and nodded, taking a bite from the bread. You'd rather get done with Julian's shit first, so he wouldn't pester and yap about it later. Melitelé, Julian was fucking lucky that the blueberry marmalade was as good as it was, the sweet goo alone made your mood significantly better.

Later that day, you handled haggling with the disgraced husband in hopes of Jaskier not getting his ass manhandled by the 6'2 man, no matter how hilarious the thought itself was. After ensuring Jaskier had all of his stuff back, the bard did everything he promised in return. First, Jaskier caught your hand and dragged you all the way to the slums of Novigrad, introducing you to an elven bootlegger, who, funnily enough, had a ridiculous sweet tooth. Anytime you'd have a craving for something sweet, it was worth a shot to ask this guy. As promised, you were gifted seven jars of various types of marmalade. Ensuring you'd swing by soon, the elderly elven rascal even gave you an extra jar of marmalade.

Since you've also mentioned running low on herbs sometime during the morning, Jaskier also introduced you to yet another friend of his. This time, it was a sweet elderly lady, whose shop was right next to Passiflora. You've never noticed it, but she had everything you required and promised that if you'd ordered herbs right there and then, they'd be delivered to her later that week. Julian unintentionally rescued you out of a deep shithole. Keeping all of his promises, the chatty bard also accompanied you during check-ups on the folk. You were mentally prepared to apologize for his verbosity and ensured you could cover his mouth fast enough. The prospect of Jasker running his mouth horrified you, but... It wasn't half bad, actually. No matter the ailment, Julian was sure to bring a good mood and peals of laughter into each home. When asked, Jaskier didn't waste a second before telling the children unbelievable whimsical stories or chatting with the adults, helping him to come to other thoughts. There were a few times when people even asked him to sing. Sure, under any different circumstances, he'd be perceived as yappy, annoying, and unbelievably unpleasant - yet during this winter, the folk took every chance to ease their minds and brighten up their mood.

You dozed off during your ride home; your last night's sleep sucked shit, your body hurt and your brain was fucking exhausted, turned into mush. Julian, naturally sitting right behind you, took the reigns out of your palms and assured you were huddled into your furry coat tightly, cuddling you in a more comfortable position before prompting your horse to continue. Since you saved his ass last night, Jasker promised himself he'd take care of everything for the night - first in order, he carefully put you in bed, taking your shoes. Cleaning the fireplace and starting a fire was simple enough, just like feeding your horse, and ensuring the stable was warm enough for the animal. The duo even shared a measly carrot Jaskier found in the pantry before it was time to cook dinner. That was when the trouble started. He wasn't the best cook... Well, he probably wasn't even a good cook to begin with. With enough nerve and confidence, however, he found spices and got to preparing roasted potatoes and some venison. It was your grumbling stomach and the smell of tasty food and warm tea that woke you up later.

As you sat inside your cabin in utter silence later that night, both paying attention to your separate activities, Jaskier asked if you'd like him to stick around for a bit. Jaskier explained it would be beneficial for both of you. He needed to have a place to stay (had to take part in some scholastic nonsense at the university) over the following month and you desperately needed some help. When you woke up the next morning, first, you rode to Novigrad to commission a sleeping hammock for him - you asked if he'd prefer his own bed, but the idea of a hammock was more alluring to the bard.

The two of you were friends for quite some time by that point; he had known you for a long time and seen you at both your best and worst (usually hammered under the table in Rosemary and Thyme, that was). Jaskier would've to be blind not to notice how torn down and exhausted you were. The bard gladly offered to run errands for you and help you with chores around the cabin - he'd gladly travel to Novigrad to get you the herbs you'd need (only if you'd write him a list, that was) or vegetables, wine, pastry, and other good, so you could ease up a bit and have more time to rest. That offer... Sounded fucking heavenly. With a grateful smile and not much thought to it, you accepted. A week turned into two weeks, two turned into three, and before you knew it, March came around the corner, spring following closely. The blizzards stopped. The snow melted as the temperature rose. The morning you spotted the first daffodil poking its bright yellow bloom through the remnants of snow, a wave of relief crashed over your chest. Everything was going to turn around. Everything was going to be alright.

It brought new hope and signaled things were changing ever so slightly. Life was coming back to frozen woods, lakes, rivers, and fields. If you and Jaskier were lucky and very quiet, you could watch hinds and baby deer walking through the surrounding meadows or hear the distant buzzing of bees waking up from slumber. The air smelled sweet, humid, and heavy with pollen. Nature had a lot of work cut out for that spring, so it wasted no time - you've noticed a whole bunch of early bloomers. Farmers wasted no time with planting the upcoming year's harvest. Trade was starting to stabilize in no time. The goods were even a bit cheaper before the economy stabilized once more. It took a bit before the value of crowns went up, so Oren was in a very good position. It didn't take long, but it was nice to buy your morning bread for one fucking Oren. As you've said, everything was going to be okay now.

Sadly, Geralt was nowhere to be seen... But things weren't as bad and dark when you had Julian around. Mainly because the two of you got along very well, you liked to think. It was calming to come home after a long day to find Jaskier attempting his best to cook dinner (the poor soul was doing his best with doing the chores, but he wasn't cut out for it) while bumbling about his newest scholastic finding. The longer his stay, the more new things you found out about him - you've always known Julian was very intelligent... In his own regard. Bards had the memory of a library, remembering every little silly story and fact they learned. That was why Jaskier was able to tell you about every Gwent card you owned. As he was explaining his scholastic discoveries to you, however, you realized Jakier was very fucking intelligent in general. He was just unable to take things seriously and concentrate for one damned day of his life... And also cursed with easily falling in love.

Your friendship worked well, the best it ever had in fact. The man knew how to make you laugh, complimented you on each chance he got, and even did his best not to involve himself with married women during his stay so you wouldn't have to deal with the ruckus these affairs tended to end in. Admittedly, Jaskier failed once or twice during your visits to Rosemary and Thyme and other inns of Novigrad, but overall, it was a great success. You, on the other hand, knew how to handle his moods and insecurities, and didn't scrutinize every little step or decision he made (as others tended to), no matter how senseless and idiotic it might've seemed. Even though you laughed at his actions or choices of words, you never laughed at Julian. That quality of yours was so fucking refreshing for Julian because he felt like he was not taken as the butt of the joke for once.

It wasn't easy to pinpoint what caused it... But... Something started to shift. It was a few days before he was set to leave when you finally took notice. You were both preparing for the following morning in your own regard - you've been reading through a formal request you've received from Triss Merigold and Jaskier was putting together his best outfit, asking you if he's looking presentable enough. He was supposed to be debating over whether his thesis was good enough to be accepted by the scholastic community... Whatever that was about. As he walked around the cabin mumbling to himself, you caught yourself staring at him, unable to look away. His hair was disheveled, too long for your taste, his stubble was getting a bit too stretchy and visible, and he was furrowing at something regarding those damned jackets. "I was asking... What is it?" - Jaskier asked, seemingly repeating the question. Furrowing at him, you shook your head. "What... Is... What, precisely?" "That's what I am asking you... You've been staring at me for the last ten minutes, you haven't moved a bit. Can I help you with anything? Are you perhaps searching for a specific word again?" "I wasn't... Staring. You're being delusional, I think. The jackets got to you." - You mumbled, your face flushing in reaction to his accusation. Not the accusation about being unable to remember a word, you've been over that before... But the accusation. Were you staring? Surely... No, according to the shit-eating grin, you definitely were staring.

You caught yourself staring and daydreaming over more occasions. The alarming part was that you weren't daydreaming about Geralt. You even got these... Impulses and small, selfish thoughts running through your head. For example, you were fucking itching for Jaskier to finally take you by your hand - each time his fingers would brush over yours, you could feel a giddy spark of electricity shooting up your arm. At first, you thought Jaskier wasn't even aware; you never shied away from being touchy-feely... Bumping his hand to yours... No big fucking deal. That was until you noticed he stumbled on his words and had to cough whenever it happened. Sometimes, he'd be yapping away over dinner... Telling you a story that happened earlier or something like that. What were you doing instead of listening? Staring at his lips in hopes you could just... Lean in and kiss him. Whenever nightmares got to you, Jaskier would sit by the bed and sing you the loveliest of tales and lullabies to lull you back to sleep; he'd remain there until being sure that you were truly asleep, nothing frightening you to death. Before, it wasn't hard not to stare at him when he took his clothes off when taking a bath - your eyes never gravitated towards him even though Jaskier's vain attempts at making you look. Now, all you wanted to was stare at him as he let the expansive, fancy shirts slip off his forearm and fall to the ground... It was hard as fuck to control yourself enough to close the door leading to the cabin, letting him get some privacy. You were becoming... Confused, to say the least. No matter the approach, you couldn't grasp the situation.

You've been in love with Geralt - that much was a given. Despite this 'given' in particular, Jaskier was excellent at making you flustered and speechless. For whatever fucking reason, he could make your heart flutter as if it were a bird trying to break free of its cage. The rest... Started slowly coming on its own.

You fought the urge to address the confusion for the longest time, secretly hoping it would all stop if you waited long enough for the situation to fizzle out. At first, you were sure the emotions and love you felt for the bard were strictly platonic, that it was all inside your head. However, as the first signs of Julian possibly developing identical feelings started to show, the whole 'platonic' part was out of the window. But before you mustered enough courage to ask him if it's real and whether he'd be interested in giving it a shot... It was his time to leave Novigrad.

It was utterly gutwrenching to watch him leave after two whole months - he informed you, however, that he'd be back in Novigrad in early summer. You made him promise he'd surely come to visit his favorite priestess in his whole wide world. That was the first time this man smoothed your chin to turn your head a bit, placing a soft, sweet kiss on your cheek. After pulling away, Julian seemingly waited for something (anything) to happen - whatever it was, you just smoothed the palm that held your chin, smiling at him. "The summer can't come fast enough." "Indeed, m'lady... Indeed."

What was the moment you realized you were fucked? As Jaskier waved at you for the last time before disappearing into the woods, the gaping hole inside your chest opened up again - bigger than before. This time around, there wasn't anyone drying your tears, so you allowed yourself to slide down the doorframe in tears. This time, it wasn't just missing him that you had to worry about - how in Bruxa's were you going to explain this? 'Listen, haha, Geralt, the funniest thing had happened - I got this sudden urge to kiss and fuck Jaskier... Also, I've fallen in love with him I think, what's your take on it?' Fucking no. 'So, Jaskier hanged at my place for the last two months, and remember how I always joked he'd never get under my fucking skirt? Yeah, well, about that...' Well, that sounded like the start of a bad anecdote. Funnily enough, you got too caught up in your own head to realize Geralt was one of the very few people who'd understand your situation.

As promised, Jaskier arrived in Novigrad in late June - as soon as he managed to sort out his future concert arrangements, he set out on the long walk to your cabin. Just as you spent the last few months overworking yourself and worrying over what you're gonna go when you slip up (yes - not 'if' you slip up but 'when' you slip up), the bard, surprisingly, spent a lot of time thinking of you. Jaskier wasn't entirely oblivious and noticed some signs of attraction here and there... The depth of the emotions he felt, however, wasn't clear to him at first (mainly thanks to his ability to be enamored by every living, breathing humanoid creature, constantly being interested in anything else other than reminiscing), but he worked towards the realization over time. During his travels in Toussaint, Jaskier often missed the smell of your perfume lingering in the air after you'd leave to deal with those boring fucking politics. He missed helping with the small things - fastening your necklaces or buttoning up the parts on your back you couldn't reach with your hands. He'd look up from his lyrics in search of you, to get your opinion... Realizing you were hundreds of kilometers away.

Well... Fuck, was all Jaskier concluded. On his way to your cabin, he did his best to create an acceptable bouquet of wildflowers to give to you. He hoped it would soften you so you'd listen to the confession he planned for the last two weeks. Jaskier tried scribing his thoughts and emotions into a letter he'd send you, but that didn't feel personal enough. He wished to look you in the eyes when confiding and confessing something so intimate and important. That was how he found himself stumbling through the meadows, mumbling nonsense under his breath. He was probably seeing things that weren't real, signs that were never there and if anything, Jaskier was getting ready to be rejected. However, he was willing to give it a shot, being a fool in love. The excitement of seeing you after months of being apart, the nervousness, all the heightened emotions overtook him... He could feel his stomach tingling, his palms tingling and his breath was short as if he walked a hundred miles.

Until his heart dropped in his chest, his skin turning ashen pale as he watched two particular people dancing and laughing. His two best friends were the two particular people embracing. The two people he was a fool for (except his petty fallout with Geralt back in Caingorn a few months back, but that was a different story). What... What was Jaskier even thinking? Watching as you fell onto the man's chest, laughing while putting your head on his shoulder just so you'd bring him closer... What was he thinking? No matter how many scenarios Jaskier had imagined, Geralt was never present during his love confession. Of course, Jaskier knew about the two of you (had his idea, anyway) but watching it really happen was otherworldly, agonizing in the worst sense. The sight of you two looking so happy caught Jaskier off-guard.

Suddenly, the meadow didn't feel the same. Jaskier got used to watching early spring slowly approaching beside you, and when looking back, he loved every second he was able to spend in the cabin; you'd set out to pick herbs and flowers, sometimes sat beside the window and watched baby deer wobbling around, and even sat by the fucking lake for the entire afternoon and caught fish, lazily basking in the weak March sunlight. A few times, when neither of you had to deal with papers, you'd take him to the brook and walk in it with your ankles bare, laughing at how cold the water was. All those beautiful, peaceful memories turned increasingly grayer the longer Jaskier watched you. The windows of your cabin were wide open, the smell of honey and mint lingering in the air; even though this remained identical, it didn't bring him comfort this time.

Laughing at his stupidity, Jaskier let out a frustrated scream before forcefully throwing the flower on the ground, turning on his heels, and disappearing back into the woods as fast as he could. The screaming caught Geralt's attention - putting his palms on your waist and holding you in place, he stopped to take a peak out of the window, searching for the source of the ruckus.

"Were you expecting someone?" - The Witcher asked, unable to make out who the stranger walking down the road was. "No, I don't think I was..." - You mumbled, joining Geralt in staring into the night. You couldn't see shit, however, so you weren't that much of a help. - "Wait a moment... Did I lose track of time again? Geralt, what time of the month is it? It's late May, right?" "Late June, actually. Think I've been here for far too long, your pretty head is all messed up." - Geralt remarked with a grin, smoothing your lower back. Usually, you'd jokingly tease him about this comment, so your silence was worrying, to say the least. Well, at least he wasn't wrong - Geralt tended to have this effect on you. Every time he appeared on your doorstep, the greater universe around you shrunk into the size of your cabin, making you ignorant of everything that was going on around you. Five years later, he still affected you like this. Realizing Geralt was living with you for the past few weeks, it wasn't hard to believe your perception of time got all messed up. Fuck, you felt like a dud. As you processed the information, colors faded from your face, your lips whispering one singular word.

"Jaskier?" - Geralt repeated with genuine surprise, letting out a huffy chuckle. - "What does Jaskier, of all people, have to do with all of this?" "Before he left to... God knows where, Jaskier told me he'd be back in Novigrad in early summer." - You admitted, trying to calm your anxiety down - your knuckles were running up and down your ribcage, hoping the dull pain would help a bit. Your breathing got heavy the moment you sat on your bed, almost as if you were about to faint. - "Promised he'd stop by. Fuck, how could I forget?" "Oh, have you two met recently? How's he doing? Mingling with the Novigrad's cream, I'd presume." "Don't play stupid with me, Geralt. We both know well that you smelled him as soon as you opened the door. Came the night you sent him out to look for me, that's when. Poor fool stumbled in dressed in summer clothes, almost froze on his way here." - You clarified, stretching out your neck. - "Why are you acting so weird about it anyway, had the two of you argued again?" "Did Jaskier mention anything?" "Now that I think about it, he didn't talk about you at all... Which is fucking weird." "I'll tell you about Caingorn later, Y/N. Let's just say I couldn't stomach him for a bit back then and... Yes. Almost forgot that happened." "No wonder you can't recall, Yenna had you wrapped around her pretty little finger... No offense." "None taken." "Geralt... I think... There's something we need to talk about." - The moment you opened this genie in a bottle, all the amusement and mischief left Geralt's expression. He followed in your steps, sitting on the bed beside you - carefully, Geralt took the palm you had on your ribcage, holding it in his. "Whatever's on your mind, I'm here to listen."

You spent the night clarifying the mess inside your head, detailing everything that happened, all you felt, and all the other conflicting thoughts and emotions. By the end of the monologue, Geralt was lifelessly staring somewhere next to you and you were in tears, assuring Geralt you loved him, as if it wasn't obvious enough already. His expression was unreadable, but at least he wasn't spiteful or enraged. There was a hint of tenderness in his eyes, but that was it. That was something, you guessed. It wasn't the clarity you were searching for and remotely near to the answers you wanted, but still... Something.

"What have you concluded?" - You whispered, staring at Geralt. His palm tightly held your upper thigh, forcefully drawing small circles into your skin, kneading it like dough. It was starting to hurt quite a bit, to be honest. You did your best to dry your tears, waiting for what Geralt had to say. "Well, isn't it quite obvious?" - His voice gave you goosebumps. It came across as lifeless and animated. You didn't know about Geralt's confusion with how you complicated things. You both knew you were in love, always knew you'd search for each other in the deepest ends of hell, and found each other no matter how many bones would Destiny throw at you. As long as you wouldn't be leaving him behind (the only thing Geralt was truly horrified about), there was no problem. Never in his life would he expect to be your only lover, just as you didn't expect to be his. - "Why don't you just cut the pain and tell him?" "Tell Jaskier what?" "That you're in love with him." - Geralt clarified as if his point couldn't be more comprehensible.

Everything from how he looked at you to the tone of his voice was enraging you, making you grit your teeth together and stand up, doing your best not to scream out loud. Why was he so calm? In all the romantic novels, the lovers would argue and clarify everything, promising undying love - instead, Geralt furrowed at you as if he wasn't fully getting your point. Before stopping yourself to try to understand the point Geralt was trying to get across, you were already screaming at him.

"So, this is how it all ends. The great, forbidden romance between the Witcher and the Priestess? Hm? Why did we defy the Destiny and the Stars for so long? Just for the fun of it? Just so you'd forget how Yenna always tosses you aside like an unwanted pup? We both knew that what we were attempting was hard and took a lot of time and patience, but I'm not willing to give up on it if that's what you think. I told you that I'm clueless because I know my heart's beating for you, moron. Every time you leave, I become restless. Sometimes, I get lonely and confused, wishing someone would be by my side. Every time you leave, a part of me leaves with you. I'm doing my best to fight it, but... I'm weak, my love. Jaskier... He... Showed up when I was going through the worst of it, this winter was slowly making me lose my mind. I held dying children in my arms, Geralt. People were starving, wolves tore people's limbs off, I had to take care of fingers that fucking fell off of someone's hand, and I helped newborn babies come into the world. I was burning out, crying myself to sleep every night, and here and there were even moments when I thought about just ending their suffering mys... Doesn't matter. Then, Jaskier appeared. He made everything better, helped me around, kept an eye on me, and distracted me whenever it was too much. I thought it was nothing - we had been friends for a long, nothing ever happened... I mean, you know how he gets, but that was it. And then, when he was leaving... A part of me left with him too. That was the moment I realized."

"Y/N, stop yourself and take a breath. What are you talking about? You don't have to explain or humiliate yourself because you think you've done something wrong." - Geralt reiterated immediately, standing up to match your actions. - "What kind of an end are you anticipating, wench?" "I just admitted that I've fallen in love with someone else, dim-wit. What else could it mean?" - You squealed back at him, crying again. Upon hearing what you've said, Geralt straightened up and chuckled, almost blowing your fuse off again. Just to be sure, he quickly closed the distance between you, smoothing strands of hair off your sweaty forehead, and drying your tears with his thumps before offering you a gentle, sweet kiss.

"Have I told you that you can be the most hot-headed, headstrong woman I know?" - The man whispered, kissing your cheeks ever so lightly to calm you down. "You've mentioned it here and there." - You nodded with your eyes closed, a relieved grin growing on your face. "Listen. If there was anyone who should apologize, it's me. I knew what kind of relationship I dragged you into, but selfish enough not to let you go. While I'm traveling the world, you're here, alone and..."

"Not true, come on. Haven't you heard I'm consoling Eist and Calanthé? Dijkstra is making me busy..." "That's not the point. You deserve a simple, good life with someone who loves you. If... If we weren't what we turned out to be, I'd do everything in my power to court you and make you the happiest woman on the Continent." - Geralt whispered while kissing your forehead, making your heart crack a bit. "But that's not what I am - it's not who you are either. Look at me." - Holding onto his palms, you looked him in the eyes. Now, Geralt looked truly anxious - his lips pressed together, eyebrows knitted, eyes narrowed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks as if you were to crumble into dust if he truly touched you. There was the reaction you were looking for - now, it worried you to death. - "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, Geralt. That's a given." "Then... I'm not in the right to judge you for falling in love with someone else. It's my fault I'm not here and it's not your fault you're alone. As long as you're counting on me, I trust you." - With that, the man brought you close to his chest, slipping his palm into your hair and other on the small of your back. - "If that's what you desire, I want to let you have it. Depends on whether he's feeling the same, but knowing Jaskier... Actually, I'm lucky it's him of all people." "What do you mean by that?" "Imagine you'd tell me you've fallen for Dijsktra. Or worse... Foltest." "Oh dear, can you imagine the travels? Yuck." - You laughed, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

"So, you are really not... Enraged or disappointed?" "If anything, I expected that we'd have this conversation sooner. Enraged? Not in the slightest. Being disappointed is up for debate - you could've fallen for anyone... And from all of the people of Novigrad, you chose this jester." "Come on, he's your best friend, you grumpy bastard. The two of you are so in love it pains me to watch you dancing around the topic instead of addressing it." "I know." - Geralt answered ambiguously, sending you a warm smile. To which part of the sentence the 'I know' belonged was unclear, but you figured it was an answer to all of it. Then, not addressing the admission, Geralt furrowed at you with jitters in his eyes. - "You're still saying that you're sure we're attracted to each other, wench? After all this time?" "The jury's still out... But I'm more or less positive." - There you were; the girl Geralt loved to death. The bright smile, the lusty look in her eyes, the heavenly smell... For a bit, he was worried he might lose you.

"So, you believe me, then?" - You asked, letting go of him so you could pour each of you a glass of wine. Your brain couldn't grasp the topic quite yet, especially since the conversation turned out entirely different than what you'd braced for. "Believe you what, precisely? That that the jury's still out? I know you well enough to believe you never let these things go easily." "Fuck off, you cunt-bitten brood. What I'm asking is if you believe me when I tell you I'm in love with both of you... And him?"

"Fine, let me put it the unpleasant way. For how long am I coming back home to you while still being allured by Yen?" "... A few years now." - You whispered in agreement, finally catching onto his point of view. Truthfully, you never tried looking at the situation from this perspective. The least you expected was for Geralt to either leave the cabin after you confess to him or to ask you not to do it. While going insane over what a horrendous hypocrite you might be, you never stopped yourself for long enough to piece this information together.

"While I know it pains you to hear it, I, of all people, know it's possible to be in love with multiple people at once." - Geralt admitted silently, accepting the glass you offered him. "But why him? That's what confuses me. We both know what an idiotic, restless charmer Jaskier is. I was sure I was making things up, noticing things that weren't real - but he managed to sweep me off my feet." "Can I ask you a personal question?" - Geralt wondered, making you chuckle upon hearing his words. He'd asked you a million personal questions before, why was he now asking for permission. "Of course you can, darling. If you're capable of asking me how I like it when I take your dick so well, why would you stop yourself?"

"Were you in love with anyone before that night? I don't mean fucking, Y/N. I mean feelings you'd describe as truly being in love." Well, you could understand why Geralt asked for permission. You've mentioned your time in Nilfgaard here and there, mainly when Geralt asked how your business with Djikstra and the Nothern Realms was going. You've also indirectly admitted to having a lot of lovers and sex while acting as Emhyr's consort... But he never asked you directly about anything in connection to Nilfgaard or anything you'd been up to during your separation. If there was anything you thought Geralt should know, you simply told him already. To answer his question, you had to think for a bit. There was one person who you were vulnerable around... But the 'L' word never slipped past your lips. As soon as you caught onto what unraveled in your chest, you panicked and cut ties with them. You told a few filthy little lies to see them leave the court, but you ensured he wouldn't hang them. They were just... Discharged.

It wasn't the right time and place - you weren't ready to fall in love back then. Your entire world revolved around war, politics, and ensuring you were one of the most dreaded generals of Emhyr's army and the commander of his private troops. Love and emotions were scary. That's why you never let people under your skin, rather charming everyone than being your genuine self with them. Until these two idiots showed up.

"No. The answer is... No." - You admitted. "And for how long were you seeing the other people? Now and back then?" "Not for too long, honestly. A couple months was the longest 'relationship' I can recall. Now that I think of it, the thought of falling in love and belonging to someone horrified me... Until you happened to me." "We're getting there... How long do you know Jaskier by now?" "Four... Maybe five years? Ever since we've met in the inn." "I think you just answered your question." "What do you mean?" "That's up for you to decipher, my dove." - Geralt sighed, gently kissing your temple before putting the empty glass away. - "I'll come across as a cock with what I'm about to say... But can we go to sleep now? I'm fucking tired and have to leave by dusk tomorrow." "Having a rendezvous at five sounds awfully like Dijsktra. This is what you get from agreeing to go on his little field trips."

[itsclydebitches]

Title: Mightier Than the Sword (Chapter Four)

Fandom: Witcher

Summary: A month after the events of “Rare Species,” Geralt slinks his way into an inn and is faced with the question of how an emotionless man apologies. (TV!canon with some details drawn from the books and Wild Hunt.)

Pairing: Slow burn Geralt and Jaskier

Word Count (This Chapter): 2,486

Where to read it: Below or on AO3

“See?” Jaskier said. “This is why I must... revise our adventures, so to speak. No one would ever believe me if I told them the truth.”

He was gesturing to the two men kneeling in a patch of wet leaves, both heads bent to expose their necks, a common act of submission in these parts of Temeria. The elder of the two snuck out a hand to wrap around the wrist of his companion.

“Please don’t hurt us, Master Witcher,” he said, no longer boasting the confident tone of a man who thought himself king of the wood. “Me and my son were just lookin’ for some supper. That’s it. I swear it to you. We didn’t mean to interrupt you an’ your... ah...”

Jaskier leaned close, his shirt just a hair’s breadth from Geralt’s armor. “Ohhh yes, please finish that sentence. What do you think I am? I’m not his ‘friend’ as I fear we’ve already butted heads like rams over that one. Not his ‘bard’ either as I’m far more than just some tawdry performer. Your ‘companion,’ perhaps? Eh, makes me sound like some sort of escort.”

With a sigh Geralt sheathed his sword, watching the men visibly relax. Rather funny that they thought this made him less dangerous. “He’s my curse.”

“Oh! Curse? Thanks. Thanks ever so much for that. I’ll just toss ‘He’s my curse’ next to ‘Filling-less pie.’ In fact, I should start a list. The many insults of Geralt of Rivia. Provide enough of them and I might just get a song out of it. Go on then. Anything else to add? My quill awaits.”

Geralt didn’t consider himself particularly skilled at reading people. Not unless he sought the signs of murder and betrayal. Yet in that moment he would have bet Roach that Jaskier was... teasing him. Just something about the hands on his hips and the hint of a smile. He knew now that Jaskier went quiet when he was hurt, as Geralt had witnessed just moments before. This performance didn’t compare to the tiny ‘How?’ he’d spoken, head dipped down towards his knees.

So Geralt attempted... something. Another apology maybe.

“I’m done for now,” he said, trying for the tone that he sometimes heard long-suffering wives using to discuss their husbands. Some of it must have gotten through because Jaskier rolled his eyes heavenward, ‘for now’ muttered on the tip of his tongue.

Meanwhile, the man had gathered courage enough to lift his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You... won’t be attackin’ me an’ my boy?”

No, of course they wouldn’t. Over the remains of yesterday’s breakfast Jaskier, never one to give up an opportunity for storytelling, explained that they’d initially feared them. His dear witcher only drew his sword as a precaution, not a warning, and there had never been a reason to kneel like that, so sorry about your trousers. Funny though it was. Now then, what brings you two this far out for a bit of dinner?

“Game’s scarce nowadays,” Yoven said, tearing into the meat of a small bird. He’d likewise introduced his son, Lin, a quiet boy more interested in his boots than the conversation. He ate his own fill when it was handed to him though and kept one shoulder pressed to his father’s at all times. “Need to keep headin’ deeper. Every fortnight it seems. Don’t know what we’re gonna do when the snows hit.”

Geralt felt the same. He’d wanted something substantial for the two of them, especially with winter on the horizon, but he’d had to settle for those warblers and the occasional grub. Jaskier had expressed his displeasure—quite vocally—at Geralt eating whatever he came across in the soil, but what was taste to a witcher? It was an easy source of protein they couldn’t afford to pass up, not now that the nights were growing longer and the air crisper with each passing breath. Soon all but the monsters would be in hibernation and Geralt didn’t think Jaskier could stomach a Nekker heart if he wasn’t willing to eat a measly worm.

It was a problem he hadn’t thought about when Jaskier had first joined him, not when the weather was kind and the chance of him staying past the next town nothing but a well-hidden fantasy. Now, with Fall nearing its end and this unspoken agreement between them, questions of a practical nature had begun to surface. How would he feed them? Would Jaskier survive the cold? Geralt tried to remember everything he’d learned about human physiology and how it compared to a witcher’s. How long could Jaskier go without fresh water? Surely not the two weeks Geralt could manage. Some night when food was once again scarce and he was weary from battle, would he remember that risom berries were fatal to everyone else, or would Geralt mistakenly offer him a handful of poison? How long could a human travel before exhaustion took hold? If he were injured what salves were safe to use? Would Jaskier even tell him these things, or would he insist it was all fine up until he collapsed? It hadn’t been terribly long since that day at the swamp, but with each passing moment Geralt grew more and more consumed by the same realization: humans were not meant to walk the Path.

Yet here Jaskier sat, creating a mirror to Lin and Yoven. The only difference was the absence of touch and Geralt suddenly had the strong urge to press their shoulders together, completing the picture.

If he were humble, Geralt would lead them to the next prosperous settlement and ask Jaskier to sing. Drum up some of the coin he could clearly earn and share it with him, securing their survival.

If he was smart he’d lead them both to Kaer Morhen for the winter, where food and protection were plenty and he needn’t fear a sudden shift in their host’s hospitality. However, the thought of bringing Jaskier to a witcher’s fortress...

If he were both, Geralt would simply leave the bard behind.

All these thoughts passed through him in a moment, following the tail of Jaskier’s expression as he watched Yoven devour cold, congealing meat. A mere second to assess the situation as he would a battle. Then the conversation continued.

Yoven explained that they were from another small town just three miles from here, one of Temeria’s many. Indistinguishable unless you considered that they specialized in building and exporting wagons as opposed to fish, herbs, nets, weapons, boots--whatever else one might need to continue with a war. Or life. It amounted to much the same. Does your town have a name? Jaskier asked. Not unless you count the profanity with which most referred to it. Are you and your witcher heading somewhere in particular? Not really. Wherever we’re needed, and Jaskier ended his comment with a little laugh. As if the concept of anyone needing him was a joke in and of itself.

Geralt, meanwhile, was watching the boy.

“You’ve something to say,” he announced, startling all three. Indeed, it was an easy enough conclusion, even without Lin’s guilty look. Geralt may not have had Jaskier’s talent for small talk, but he could always tell when someone held something back. His livelihood depended on it.

“Well? You can speak freely. We don’t bite,” and Geralt bared his teeth, ignoring the glare Jaskier shot at him.

“We really don’t,” he insisted.

It was Yoven who opened his mouth though. He must have been at least fifty years old, judging by the white in his beard. A substantial age for a human and, like the confident tone they’d first heard at his approach, Yoven was clearly used to commanding respect among his peers. He was halfway through insisting that no, his boy just had that air about him, when Lin finally looked up from his boots with,

“They can help.”

Three words in a mouse’s voice, but ones Geralt knew well. He leaned forward. Help meant trouble. Trouble meant coin. And coin meant he could give Jaskier something other than the soft bones of a bird to eat.

Yoven scowled. “There’s nothin’ to help with.”

“There is! Talden said—”

“Talden? ‘Don’t know how that mug got broke’ Talden? ‘I swear them chickens just ran off’ Talden? That Talden? You’d believe your own arse grew outta your nose if Talden told you so.”

“Lovely image,” Jaskier murmured.

Hmm. Perhaps a fool’s errand then. Or a case of a child crying werewolf. It wouldn’t be the first time some mischievous youngster had been scoffed at when they reported a sighting, only for folk to find them torn to pieces the next morn’, their lying punished too harshly. Only sure way to know was to get details, so Geralt eased himself off the log and knelt before Lin. No more attempts to frighten. Rather, he pulled in his shoulders to appear smaller than he was, kept his hands where Lin could see them, and allowed white hair to partially curtain his face, hiding a bit of the sallow skin and inhuman eyes. It wasn’t much, but Geralt had learned over the decades that even the smallest bit might help. Lives had been lost and saved on far less.

It was one of the reasons why he didn’t believe in destiny. Or, if she were real, why she must also be cruel. Only someone with ice in their heart would wager so much on whether another thought him decent to look upon.

Or simply thought of him at all.

“Talden,” Geralt said, trying to smooth out the rough edge in his voice. He didn’t succeed. “This a friend of yours?”

Lin nodded.

“He saw something? Something that scared him?”

“Heard it,” Lin said, snaking out a hand to grab hold of his father’s shirt. The older man allowed it with a sigh, gesturing for him to go on. It was only then that Geralt realized the child was far younger than he’d first assumed. Almost too young to be out in these woods. Especially if something stalked them.

Lin took a swallow of the water Jaskier offered before going on. “He heard somethin', Master Witcher. Just a few nights back. See, Laren’s our neighbor. Talden’s neighbor too. We all live close, so we all heard when she came screamin’ in the morn about her sister. She was gone. Vanished during the night. Old Roger said she’d run off with a boy from the town over, but Laren says there was no boy. No runnin’ off then either. And Talden told me he heard things a few hours before dawn. Monster things,” and he went back to chugging the water, whispering that last bit.

Geralt tilted his head. “Did Talden say what kind of ‘monster things’? What sounds precisely?”

“No, Master Witcher sir. I didn’t wanna know. Plugged my ears and kicked his shin for scarin’ me.”

Jaskier snorted. "A well landed blow.”

“It’s as I said.” Yoven picked up the thread. “I didn’ want my boy botherin’ you with this because there’s no ‘this’ to be bothered with. Laren and Sage moved here not a year ago. Real secretive girls. Kept to themselves and expected the rest of us to do the same. Old Roger—one of the elders, y’see. I’m set to take his place in a few years—tried to welcome them, but found both to be a prickly pair. Always goin’ off on their own. Not sayin’ where they went or when they’d return. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sage did have a little tryst going, sneakin’ away if her sis didn’t approve. They’re both young enough for such foolishness. But then comes Talden makin’ wild claims about hearin’ monsters during the night, only after the lass was revealed to be missing, mind. He was after attention, Master Witcher. Nothin’ more.”

But Lin shook his head. “Talden wouldn’t lie.” He withered under his father’s look. “He wouldn’t lie about that. He knows how monsters scare me. I, um... apologized after. For kickin’ him.”

Geralt stood. “And Talden didn’t change his story after your apology?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Anyone look for the woman? Tracks? Speak to the folk in the town over? Surely they’d notice if one of their young men had gone missing around the same time.”

Yoven sucked the last of the marrow from his bird and shrugged. “We’re carpenters, not trackers. If we were I might have better luck findin’ meat for us both. As for the town,” Yoven stuck out a finger and proceeded to swing it in an arc. “Which one? We’ve got any number of small towns in these parts, some more earning of the name than others. But it would take days to travel and talk to ‘em all. No one does that for a woman not wantin’ to be found.”

Geralt cursed.

All of little help then. Which was he to believe, the logic of flighty women and trickster boys, or the witcher's experience that told him sometimes folk really did disappear from their beds? For any other witcher the answer was easy. One look at Yoven's clothes and Lin’s greedy bites told the story of poverty. Even if Geralt returned victorious with a beast’s head in his hands, the chances of receiving any substantial reward were slim. Perhaps enough for one meal, maybe two, but was that worth the trouble it would take to receive them?

Of course, there were benefits to being an abnormal witcher. He needn’t decide things on his own, for one.

“Well?” Geralt said. Jaskier blinked stupidly up at him.

“Huh?”

“Should we look into it?”

“...You’re asking me?”

Yes. He was. Geralt felt the burn on his hand and the bruises in his chest. Day-old words flit across his mind like birds. “I just want your opinion.”

The smile was instantaneous. Blinding too. Jaskier went so far as to slap his knee, bursting into joyous laughter when Geralt rolled his eyes. He had his fun for a moment, then grew somber. A single nod and Geralt was already moving to collect his things.

“Yes. We should at least look into it. I’d never forgive myself if we left some poor maiden in peril. Plus, think of what a story it will make! A tale of intrigue and mystery, clandestine meetings and sibling love. That’s grown quite popular, you know.”

“Then pack up your things, Bard. It will be night soon.”

“Poet, Geralt. Poet.” But Jaskier dutifully bent to collect his papers, pressing each carefully between the pages of his notebook or rolling them up with string. Geralt made sure that none had escaped his notice, then took up Roach’s reins. She stamped a few times, impatient to be off.

Yoven was staring, mouth agape so that the rot on his back teeth showed. “You’re coming?”

“We’re coming,” Geralt confirmed and started off, now three sets of footsteps following behind him.

He only listened for the one.

[plantsandbirdsandrocksand-things]

Frozen by the stars

Pairing: platonic Geralt x Jaskier

Summary: Geralt takes an unexpected dip and refuses to have feelings

Warnings: drowning and I guess language

Words: 867

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of…” Jaskier’s melody trailed off into silence and he strummed out the rest of the tune on his lute, contented. Shifting slightly on the snow-laden rock, the bard watched the white-haired Witcher stalk across the frozen lake, sword gleaming in the cool morning air.

“Geralt,” he called, the sound ringing sharply across the open expanse, “Do you think plenty or bounty goes better with-”

“Shut up Jaskier,” Geralt snapped, head bent low to the ground. Jaskier huffed indignantly - before a loud groan made them both pause. It was the kind of sound that you felt deep in the pit of your stomach rather than heard; a heaving, wrenching sound that almost seemed to make the air still with dread.

“Ah, Geralt, I think maybe you should get off the ice…”

Geralt moved his foot forward in inch. The ice groaned again, this time the sound was loud enough to raise the hairs on Jaskier’s arms.

“Geralt!” But Geralt was not moving towards him - or at all in fact and after a second’s panic Jaskier saw the deep cracks snaking their way over the frozen surface, as if intent on reaching Geralt. The Witcher locked eyes with the bard, an expression of panic breaking his stony expression.

“Jaskier-”

And then he vanished. Jaskier yelped and jumped up, eyes roving desperately over the now empty lake.

“Geralt!” He yelled, forgetting the danger entirely as he started forward. A jagged hole came into view, the realization that the Witcher had fallen through the ice finally clicked. Jaskier fell to his knees beside the raged ice, peering into the cobalt water. Something was thrashing below and with only a moment’s hesitation Jaskier plunged his am into the water, gasping with the cold, before his numb fingers grasped rough linen and he heaved upwards with all his strength. Geralt broke the surface with a ragged ‘shit!’ before collapsing onto the snow.

“My bag,” he grunted and made to dive back into the frozen depths, before Jaskier grabbed his forearm and pulled him back down.

“No. No, no, no, no you are not going back in there! Are you trying to send me to an early grave?!” The bard suddenly realized that Geralt was being oddly silent. “Geralt..?” Jaskier turned; Geralt’s eyes were closed and his ragged breathing was growing weaker and weaker.

“Ah, shit.” Jaskier winced slightly before slapping Geralt full across the face; his hawk-like eyes flickered open for a moment, focusing on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Jaskier…”

Bollocks. “Okay, uh…” Jaskier fumbled - he was never in the position of saviour and now he was at a loss for what to do. “Warmth! You need to get warm, Geralt!” Jaskier nodded to himself in assurance, and placed Geralt’s arm around his shoulder and heaved him upright, staggering under the weight.

“Oh, bloody hell Geralt have you been eating bricks or something?” the bard gasped as Geralt eyes flickered and his legs very nearly gave in. Jaskier took a step forward, and then another, the ice groaning dangerously beneath their feet as they slowly, but steadily, edged towards the shore of the frozen lake. By the time they had reached the treeline, a deep, intense shivering had set into Geralt and he was barely moving his feet forward. Jaskier lowered the Witcher to the swept floor of their camp just as Geralt’s knees finally gave out. The bard thrust out a sleeping bag.

“Okay Geralt. Get in.”

“I’m not fucking you Jaskier.” The growled retort was rasped.

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth indignantly, “That’s not - I was not - for god’s sake Geralt, you’re cold and you need to be warm. Get in the bloody bag.”

When Geralt made no move and his eyes started to close as the trembling grew, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm and forced him, bit by bit, into the sleeping bag. But still the Witcher shivered. Jaskier swore.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll steal Roach,” he muttered, before roughly opening the bag and hastily climbing in before he could change his mind. Geralt’s answering snarl was hartening at least and Jaskier felt the shivering abate slightly. The shock of touching Geralt’s ice cold skin sent a shiver of his own down Jaskier’s spine, but even so he pressed himself against Geralt’s chest.

“This would make a great song you know: The humble bard saving the White Wolf from certain death.”

“You write that song and I break your lute.”

“You’ve very endearing when you’re half dead, you know that?”

“Hmm.”

There was a moment of silence as Jaskier snuggled against Geralt, and when the Witcher didn’t push him away, Jaskier smiled. Slowly, so slowly, Geralt’s shivering eased and his rasping breaths evened out until Jaskier was sure he was asleep. Well, the bard thought, I wouldn’t want to move now and wake him… So they lay together until the stars climbed high into the sky above and Jaskier could count the pinpricks of light until he grew tired of watching his frozen breath curl above him and his eyes began to close.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked open his eyes in surprise, and gazed sleepily as Geralt.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

[beautiifulghostts]

@swxpped​ answered the call

   “Does it sound too forced if I try to rhyme ‘child’ with ‘wild’?” he ask to the person sitting on the table next to him at the bar, not caring that the other guy probably has better things to do than listen to Jaskier ramble half-finished song lyrics. He wasn’t really planning on composing while drinking, but the inspiration hits on mysterious ways and he couldn’t help himself. 

[beautiifulghostts]

@xlittleprinccss answered the call

   – ¿Has visto a un hombre alto con ojos amarillos y cabello plateado por aquí?– pregunta a la primera persona que ve – ¿Lleva dos espadas y por su expresión parece que está constantemente oliendo algo desagradable?