#Geralt goes oh I had a husband when I was younger

[jay-arts-t]

I require Gweld and Geralt content those motherfuckers were gay as hell. EXCHANGING MEDALLIONS? That’s a wedding ceremony sorry. It really went

Gweld: hey I know we’re like, maybe gonna die tomorrow so let’s get married real quick.

Geralt: yeah okay :)

[valdomarx]

A Marriage of Convenience

Octoberfest romcom tropes day 1: fake dating

Jaskier pushed his ale aside and broke the wax seal on the letter. As he read the contents, his face pinched into a frown.

“Anything important?” Geralt asked, glancing up from his soup. 

Jaskier chewed his lower lip. “Not really. It’s from my family.” He took a breath. “They’re going to disinherit me.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Nothing, thank you very much! But it’s my 35th birthday next month, and the stipulations of the Lettenhove family will are quite clear. If the oldest son isn’t married by the age of 35, inheritance passes to the next married cousin.”

“Very keen on weddings in Lettenhove, are they?”

“Rather less keen on unmarried bachelors, actually.”

Geralt grunted. “That’s too bad. I imagine a viscount’s fortune could have come in handy for you.”

“Oh, I don’t care about the money.” Jaskier waved a hand dismissively. “It’s just,” he sighed. “I have younger sisters who rely on me for support. If the inheritance goes to cousin Edward, he’ll turn them out without a penny to their names.”

“That’s unkind.”

“It is.” Jaskier slumped. He was glad to have left Lettenhove and its court intrigues behind, but the thought of his sisters being at the mercy of his greedy cousin was unconscionable. He knew too well all the terrible things that could befall a woman alone in the world.

“This will,” Geralt said, stirring his soup absentmindedly, “does it have any rules about who you have to marry?”

“No. Any old wedding will do. But it’s not like I’m going to find anyone willing to tie themselves to me in the next month.”

Geralt shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll marry you.”

Jaskier choked on his ale. “You?”

“Why not?”

“Because…” he broke off and mopped the sweat from his brow. Because I’ve been in love with you for decades. Because I’ve fantasised about you saying this in a million different ways. Because having to pretend it’s real is going to break my heart.

Geralt reached over the table and patted his hand. “It’ll just be pretend,” he said, as if that were in any way reassuring. “This is a problem easily solved. Let me help you.”

Jaskier sagged. This was going to be a disaster.

-

“This is going to be a disaster!” Jaskier paced anxiously around their room. “There are so many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

Geralt sat on the bed counting bundles of herbs. “It’ll be fine.” He was infuriatingly calm. “We’ll head to Lettenhove, have a quick wedding, get your family off your back, and be on our way. It’ll only take a few days.”

“But,” Jaskier kept pacing. “We’ll have to. You know. We’ll have to do couple things. There are certain… expectations of a newly married pair.”

Geralt got to his feet and placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, stopping his anxious traipsing. “We’ll manage. Can’t be any worse than fighting drowners.”

Jaskier looked into amber eyes and felt his heart turn over in his chest. “Everyone will expect us to be holding hands, and kissing, and gods know what else. And you can’t do that.” He sighed. “You don’t even like men.”

Geralt leaned in closer, close enough that strands of his silver hair tickled Jaskier’s cheek. “I like men just fine,” he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then Jaskier did something terribly foolish. His body moved before his mind, his feet stepping closer, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck. He kissed him, hard, and to his astonishment Geralt kissed him back hungrily, lips parting to allow Jaskier to taste him fully, tongue exploring, hands roaming, and by the time they broke apart Jaskier was flushed and breathing hard.

“See?” Geralt said, his deep voice sending a shiver up his spine. “We can do this.”

-

Jaskier wrote to his family to tell them the good news, and he and Geralt wasted no time in heading off to Lettenhove. The journey was long but nothing they were unused to. They traveled by day, slept under the stars by night, and Geralt even picked up a few quick contracts to help pay their way.

It was comfortable, and normal, and Jaskier could almost forget about what he was about to put himself through.

At least, until they reached the outskirts of Lettenhove and they heard the whoosh of an incoming portal. The ground shook, the air rippled, and through the rent in reality stepped Yennefer, terrifying and beautiful as ever.

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at them. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Jaskier couldn’t even bring himself to come up with a snarky reply as she swept past him and went to Geralt. He stood back and watched the two of them, powerful and dazzling together, each other’s equals in capability and composure.

He had never had a chance in this competition, he thought bitterly. He would be pretending with Geralt, while she had his heart for real.

Jaskier was left at camp while Geralt and Yennefer went off to do... whatever it was they did together. (He could guess what that was.) He spent a cold, lonely night with no one but Roach for company, berating himself for feeling so hurt by something he knew from the beginning was nothing but a ruse.

-

With their arrival in Lettenhove proper, there was nothing to do but face his family. The brightest spot of his day was walking into the estate and having his sisters squeal and jump on him just as they had done as children.

He stopped laughing and caught his breath long enough to introduce them. “Essi and Priscilla, this is Geralt.” My husband to be, he thought, and something twisted inside him at that. “Geralt, these are my troublesome sisters.”

Essi dipped her head and Priscilla performed a theatrical bow. “We were wondering if Jaskier would ever settle down,” Essi said with a sly smile.

“But seeing how handsome you are, I can’t blame him!” Priscilla replied, and the two of them broke into fits of giggles. 

Geralt, for his part, took them with good humour. Where Jaskier had been expecting him to be dour, he smiled indulgently and took each of their hands in turn and pressed a kiss to their knuckles, resulting in another uproar of giggling.

“Thank you for that,” Jaskier said quietly as they made their way to the room waiting for them.

Geralt inclined his head. “Have to make a good impression on the future in-laws,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking upward in amusement. 

The rest of his family were predictable as clockwork. Cousin Edward was sour, his father was distant, and his mother was simply relieved to see him married off as was proper. Geralt sat through all of it with more patience and good grace than Jaskier would have thought him capable of.

-

The day of the wedding itself passed in a blur. With such short notice the ceremony was terribly paired down by noble standards, but still, there was the formal breakfast, the dressing in formal garments, the journey to the temple outside of the city, the clamour of priestesses and officials and his family, the exchanging of rings, the reading of texts, and of course the formal dinner.

Jaskier barely remembered any of it. Looking back, the only thing that stuck out in his mind was the feeling of Geralt’s hand clasping his own during the handfasting. And the way that, whenever he was feeling overwhelmed over the course of the day, Geralt’s hand would find his own and give a comforting squeeze. 

-

Finally the ceremonies were complete and they were left in peace in their chambers, the two of them alone for the first time all day. Geralt’s hair had been braided into two slim plaits running either side of his face, though by now they were starting to become mussed. He’d even put on a shirt of dark blue silk as opposed to his standard uniform of all black. The effect was quite stunning.

As the door closed, Jaskier’s shoulders slumped and he breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

Geralt cupped one cheek tenderly. “You good?”

Jaskier exhaled, letting the anxiety and stress of the day slowly unwind. He looked into Geralt’s warm eyes and felt, for once, safe and unjudged. “I’m good.”

Geralt brought their lips together, soft as could be, and Jaskier’s knees shook. He grabbed Geralt’s forearms to hold himself upright and, desperate for some sort of control, some sort of meaning, he pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. 

This was a bad idea, he was aware, but Geralt felt so good in his arms. He ran his hands through silky silver hair like he’d always wanted to, he pressed himself close to that muscled chest he’d spent more time than he should have admiring, and he moaned unrestrainedly when Geralt picked him up, locking his legs around his waist.

This was a terrible idea, he knew, but Geralt carried him over to the bed with firm, confident steps, and the temptation to touch, to hold, to kiss was overwhelming. This would only lead to heartache, but he was weak in the face of love, as always. 

Geralt laid him out and took him apart with soft lips and careful fingers and a wicked tongue, and it was everything he’d been dreaming of for years, and yet so much more intense than anything he could have imagined. Geralt was dazzling beneath him, warm amber eyes and pale scarred flesh, beautiful and kind and more than he could possibly deserve.

-

Nuptial celebrations in Lettenhove were mercifully brief, and with the ceremony completed and recorded to the satisfaction of the genealogists, they were free to depart.

There were, however, some customs which could not be avoided.

“You’ll be honeymooning nearby?” Jaskier’s mother asked, with the understanding that this was not a question.

“Actually, we thought -”

“They’ll be staying in my cottage, won’t you?” Priscilla interjected. She’d availed herself of her position, such as it was, to secure a tiny ramshackle cottage on the Kerack coast. It wasn’t opulent but it was, thankfully, far from prying eyes.

Jaskier gave her a tiny nod of thanks and she winked.

“A cottage?” His mother’s lip turned up in distaste. “How quaint.”

“And there’s ever so much to pack, so we must be on our way -” he excused himself with a bow, tugging Geralt behind him.

Out of the view of their parents, Priscilla and Essi set upon him with hugs and kisses, thanked him for saving them from the horrors of cousin Edward, and packed up an obscene quantity of cheeses and wine to take with them.

By the time they departed the estate, Jaskier was even smiling.

-

It was quiet and calm on the coast. The cottage overlooked the sea, rolling and tempestuous, and had just enough space for a kitchen, a bed, and a bath. They had everything they needed, even a stable for Roach outside.

Even though it was only for a few days, Jaskier imagined Geralt would be bored and unhappy, feeling trapped in a place so small. But he seemed content: riding along the coastline in the morning, brushing Roach out, going fishing in the afternoon, preparing the catch for their evening meal.

Jaskier showed him his favourite spices and how to prepare the fish with butter to make it rich and indulgent, and in the quiet moments he wrote poetry or simply sat on the battered chair on the porch of the cottage and watched the waves.

Geralt returned to the cottage with a net bulging with fish and a smile on his face. He’d been doing that more recently, Jaskier had noticed, smiling in a way that seemed natural and unforced. He even left his armour and swords in the cottage and waded down to the sea in just his trousers and shirtsleeves, disarmingly casual.

It was comfortable, almost domestic. 

And it was a torment, showing Jaskier a tiny glimpse of a life he’d never have.

-

Their last night on the coast, Geralt cooked the remainder of their provisions into a feast, poured the best wine they had, and set a fire in the hearth. He piled up blankets and pillows, laid down their warmest furs, and pulled Jaskier into his arms in front of the flames.

“Thank you,” he said, dotting kisses in a line up Jaskier’s neck, “for taking such good care of me.”

Jaskier fidgeted unhappily. “You’re the one doing me a favour,” he reminded him. That seemed important to remember. This was a favour from a friend, nothing more.

Geralt hummed against his neck, the vibrations rippling against his skin. “I can see some advantages to me,” he murmured, continuing his line of kisses up Jaskier’s jaw and toward his lips.

Jaskier, stupidly, allowed Geralt to turn him around, hands delicate around his waist, allowed him to bring their lips together. He allowed a kiss, soft at first, and then another, more intense, moaning into Geralt’s mouth. 

“Can I interest you in an early night?” Geralt purred in his ear, and everything in Jaskier’s body said yes, and everything in his mind said no.

Eventually, his mind won out and he pushed Geralt away. 

“No,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry, Geralt, but this was a terrible mistake.”

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Geralt’s sad expression. He was hit by the urge to run, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Hey,” Geralt’s voice was so soft behind him. “It’s okay, Jaskier. Whatever it is. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I won’t do it again.”

Jaskier deflated. He turned to face Geralt, watery eyes and all. “That’s not the problem. I don’t want you to stop. I want this to be real.”

Geralt stood carefully still. “What do you mean, real?”

Jaskier took a breath, tried to imagine how to explain himself, how to convey what he felt. “I’m in love with you!” he snapped in the end. Not his most eloquent work, but perhaps his most honest.

Geralt tilted his head. “I know,” he said. He looked down at the ring on his finger. “Isn’t that the point?”

“The point?” Jaskier exploded. “The point!” He couldn’t stop himself from waving his arms as he ranted. “Oh, sure, I’m certain that the ideal marriage is between one person who’s hopelessly in love and one person who’s indifferent and besotted with another. I’m sure Yennefer will be delighted when she hears about this whole situation.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m in love with Yennefer?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

He paused, obviously weighing his words. “That night when she visited us outside Lettenhove, she wasn’t surprised by the news. She told me congratulations, and that it had taken long enough. I think she knew long before I did that I wasn’t in love with her, not really. My heart already belonged to another.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean… You and her, you’re not...”

Geralt shook his head. “What she most wants is something I can’t give her.”

“And you?” Jaskier asked, dreading the answer.

Geralt took his hand. “What I most want,” he stroked his thumb over the ring around Jaskier’s finger, “is something I already have.”

Jaskier’s heart leapt. It was almost too much. It was overwhelming. “You really love me?”

Geralt smiled softly. “I really do.”

Jaskier threw himself into Geralt’s lap, arms around his neck, foreheads pressed together. “Tell me again,” he said, because he was needy.

“I love you,” Geralt said, kissing down the side of his face. “I love you,” he said, lacing their fingers together against the furs. “I love you,” he said, their bodies moving together, finally free to feel with the intensity they had been hiding for so long, their scents mingling together with the fresh salt tang of the sea.

-

The sun shone brightly and the wind whipped their hair as they packed up Roach the next morning. Jaskier paused to admire the view one last time: The rolling waves, the steep cliffs, the shingled beach. 

Geralt slipped his arms around his waist from behind and dropped a kiss just beneath his ear. 

“What does our life look like now?” Jaskier asked, eyes on the waves.

He felt Geralt’s smile against his hair. “Much the same as before,” he said. “With perhaps a few improvements.”

Jaskier turned then and kissed him fully, no need to hold himself back, taking Geralt’s hand and running his fingers over the ring there.

“Ready to head back to the Path?” 

Geralt smiled, and Jaskier would never tire of that. “Ready if you are,” he said with softness in his eyes, “husband.”

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves (Part 4)

Dumb Boys! I love them! 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (here) Part 5 Epilogue

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Almost a month after the silver dawn they passed through a lively little river town. It wasn’t so big a city that Geralt’s senses were completely overwhelmed, but also large enough that Jaskier had good, hearty crowds every night. The nature of river towns like this meant that boats stopped through all the time, shipping goods up and down river, so sailors stopped in taverns and moved along. Every night was a fresh crowd.

Geralt decided that they’d stay in the town for a week. Rivers meant plenty of contracts too, drowners and such. There was also a decent shopping district what with all the merchants, and he wanted to tackle Number Five from his courting list.

Give Jaskier Gifts (non dead ones).

It was going to be easy.

Thirty minutes later, it was not easy. 

“Ooh I’ll come shopping too,” Jaskier said, rummaging through his bag in their room in the inn. “I need a new notebook.”

Geralt panicked a little bit. He wanted to get Jaskier a new notebook, and he didn’t have much idea for other gifts. Then an idea struck.

“Why don’t you and I look around, then after your performance tonight you’ll have more to spend.”

“Good idea Geralt, and who knows, if it goes well maybe I could get us a room with two beds instead of one.”

Damn.

Jaskier linked his arm with Geralt’s and swanned off down the stairs, leaving Geralt to either follow or have his arm dislocated at the shoulder. 

“Pardon me,” Jaskier waved down the grumpy looking innkeeper. She walked over scowling, small toddler on her hip. 

“Perhaps later, after I’ve performed in your fine establishment,” Jaskier asked. “We might discuss changing us to a room with two beds?” 

She looked at Jaskier. She looked at Geralt, who had paid for their current room with a grunted ‘that’s fine’ when she’d said it had one bed. She looked at their linked arms.

“Too many sailors coming in off the river this time ‘o year,” she said brusquely. “We can talk but ye’d be better off counting on the one you’ve got.”

Jaskier shrugged good naturedly. “Then keep it we shall, my dear lady.” She wasn’t listening, calling out instead to a child, about eight of indeterminate gender. 

“Toos, whatever’s in your mouth had better not be for guests.” The child, laughing maniacally around a mouthful of something raced out the back door of the inn, only to be scooped up by his father, a broad, heavy man with a jolly face.

They left the family to their domesticity and ventured out into the merchant district. There was more going on than Geralt preferred, his senses blurring as he tried to be on a swivel to protect against any potential dangers. None appeared though, and he allowed his senses to narrow to the warmth of Jaskier’s arm in his. 

Jaskier pulled them over to a potter’s shop. Tiny vases and bottles adorned shelves. There were bigger pieces too, some done in gorgeous colors and outrageous designs, but the little bottles captured Jaskier’s eye.

“Look Geralt, I could keep perfumes in these.”

“You have perfume bottles.”

“Oh I know, but the colors are pretty,” Jaskier said, smiling at the potter and pulling Geralt along. 

Leather goods. Very fine work, too, Geralt thought. It was next to a paper goods and bookbinding shop, and the two had obviously done some kind of trade. On a display table between the two stalls sat leather bound books of all sizes and kinds. Jaskier poured over them, exclaiming and running feather light fingers over textured leather bindings. Jaskier sighed longingly and went into the bookbinding stall to see the less expensive journal options. 

All of Jaskier’s past journals had been a sort of card cover. They didn’t last well, although Jaskier tore through them so quickly it didn’t matter. Geralt looked at the leather books here, his eye catching on a large, sturdy one in brown leather. It looked good for the road, with a braided leather tie to keep it shut.

He glanced up, but Jaskier was still admiring the paper goods.

What had really been caught by the centerpiece book. It was a mammoth thing, thick and beautifully made in a deep, wine red leather. There were little brass clasps on the side, buffed up to look like gold. In a fairy tale, it would be the master enchanter’s spellbook. A tome. 

Jaskier deserved a tome. He’d written so many songs and poems, and he’d mentioned once or twice that he ought to write it all down in one book. This should be the book. Geralt could just picture Jaskier in the library of Kaer Morhen, with the snow coming down outside and ink on his fingertips, carefully transcribing his work.

It was like with the silver dawn, Geralt could see it so clearly, his little family would all be in the library. Ciri and Geralt and Jaskier all together again. 

Next to the big red book was a little journal, made of the same color of leather. It had a little shiny brass lock with a tiny key tied on a string. A diary fit for a princess. 

He had a plan. 

He went into the leather stall and asked about their repair prices, haggled a little, then said he’d be back with his order that evening. Jaskier walked back into the leather goods stall and smiled up at him. Parts of Geralt’s chest went all tingly and golden. 

They browsed the other stalls, spending the most time at a metalsmith’s stall. Geralt was impressed with the weapon quality. Jaskier admired the jewelry, trying on various pretty, delicate rings and holding them up in the light.

Geralt watched the way he interacted with people.

When Jaskier had first joined him, he’d thought it was all an act, that Jaskier couldn’t possibly like so many people. He did though, and they loved him for it. From the outside it was clearer to Geralt why. Jaskier was polite of course, and complimentary of the workmanship, but instead of dealing in vauge descriptions, he complimented details. He found and complimented something extraordinary about each piece, drawing conversation from the stall owner’s wife, who apparently did the jewelry part of things. He complimented the delicate artistry of a slim ring, then the clever design of a bracelet catch, asking with truly genuine curiosity about each. 

Shopkeepers love curiosity, and anyone would love to have their skill complimented so honestly. Geralt felt himself smiling as he watched. 

“Good lad you’ve got there,” the weaponsmith said. “Husband?” Geralt turned to him.

“Not yet,” he said. Then his shoulders slumped a little. “Not even officially a sweetheart yet.”

The burly smith chuckled. “I know that story, you think it was easy for me to woo that goddess there?”

Geralt looked over at the jewelry maker, still locked in conversation with Jaskier. She was middle aged, but beauty doesn’t fade with age as quickly as mortals seemed to think. She was indeed a great beauty. To judge by the way she gestured avidly while speaking, she was also a passionate and firey one too.

“I’m not much for romance,” the smith said, drawing Geralt’s attention back. “But your lad there is yours, heart and soul, you just need the proper instruments to tell him you’re his as well.”

“How did you woo your lady?” Geralt asked.

The smith chuckled again. “I was a much younger man then, but I stood about without a shirt in my smithy and busily hammered and flexed every time she came by.”

Geralt brightened, showing off his muscles was something he could do. “Did it work?”

“Not even a little. She was completely unimpressed.”

Oh. And Jaskier had seen Geralt’s muscles before too. 

“So I went to her house one evening,” the smith continued, a glimmer of memory in his eye. “I’d worked for weeks to make her something as lovely as she was. Of course, I wasn’t so good a smith then either, but I’d tired. It was a braided metal band, to push back her hair, she’s wearing it now. Worn it almost every day since, including our wedding day.”

Geralt looked over. Silver and gold did indeed push back her curly hair. With her aquiline nose she looked like a woodcut of some goddess he’d seen once.

“And then I did the hard part,” said the smith. Geralt looked to him. “I talked to her, really spoke with her and told her how I admired her, not just for her beauty. Then she invited me in out of the rain and made me tea.”

Damn. Geralt wasn’t good at talking but he really would need to, it seemed. 

“More than fourty years of marriage now,” the smith said. 

“I can’t make him something as beautiful as he is,” Geralt said. A potion just wouldn’t work. 

“I think any gift to show you care would work,” the smith said. 

Geralt looked around at the weapons on display, and the smith went back to shining some of his work. There was a dagger on display. 

Jaskier had daggers, and he worked with them well, but this one was beautiful. 

“May I?” he said, and the smith gestured obligingly. 

It was obviously a piece of combined work between the smith and his wife. It was well made and balanced, but very slim, perfect for slipping up a sleeve or into a boot. It was also a piece of artwork, both the hilt and sheath inlaid with mother of pearl and a mirror-shiny black stone, with silver threads surrounding. The pearl wound about the hilt in a pattern of perfect vines, shining in the black. The sheath was a night sky, a curving crescent moon, fantasy thin, hung in a black sky, lit all around with tiny pearl stars inlaid with painstaking care. The tip of the sheath was sliverwork with more of the pearl, more vines. 

“The blade is silver,” Geralt noted.

“Yes,” the smith clearly approved of Geralt’s eye. “Moon silver, never tarnishes, never goes dull.”

Geralt was going to buy it for Jaskier. It was a cerainty. It was probably Destiny. She may be a bitch but maybe she’d decided to help him on this one. The price was extravagant, of course, and Geralt wouldn’t haggle a penny, not for artistry such as that. Moon silver was wildly difficult to work, too. Magic like that made for difficult smithing. 

Geralt locked eyes with the smith, who’s mustache-which even Vesemir would have been jealous of-twitched in the direction of Jaskier. He and the jewelry maker were coming over.

“I’ll wrap this shall I?” asked the smith in a whisper. 

Geralt gave a hint of a nod. “I’ll be back for it later,” he said, matching the volume.

“Geralt,” Jaskier exclaimed, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Let us trouble these good people no longer, at least until I return to clean out this fine lady’s entire stock, I can hear my audience call me.”

It was indeed almost supper time, and they bid their goodbyes to the couple. By the time they got back to the inn, the bar room on the first floor was full. The atmosphere was cheerful in the room, helped along by both the proprietors busily filling tankards of ale and bowls of hot stew. Jaskier ordered two of each for the pair of them.

Somehow he always got served first at a bar. Geralt wasn’t complaining, and the stew was hot and good, with chicken and potatoes and herbs. Geralt and Jaskier both slurped it down. Jaskier slammed his ale too, disappearing up the stairs to their room with a wink. 

Geralt knew Jaskier’s pre-performance routine well, and stayed down at their table to give him room. A teen with a face full of pimples picked up the bowls and spoons, as well as Jaskier’s tankard. He looked skittish to Geralt, so he didn’t nod for fear of scaring the lad. Thus far everyone had been fairly kind, Geralt didn’t want to ruin that. 

He sat back and sipped his ale appreciatively. Bartending was an art in itself and not a well known one. Geralt had been in too many pubs where bartenders didn’t take proper care, but this one had. He probably put cloth over the barrells over night in this damp weather. 

Jaskier clattered down the stairs, lute strung and tuned, and Geralt stood. He’d stay for at least the first few songs, but there were more patrons pouring in and he’d move from the table to a seat at the bar to leave room.

A song and a half into Jaskier’s set he realized his mistake. Jaskier could see him, and often locked eyes on him while singing to send a wink or just a friendly glance. He didn’t have a chance to slip away. Of course, he could leave anyway, but it just felt wrong to have Jaskier watch him leave.

“Now I know,” said a sharp voice from the bar, “that our barstools don’t have splinters, so what’s gotten in to you.” It was the bartender’s wife, the one who tended the rooms upstairs. She was still glowering, but without the child on her hip this time.

“I’ve got errands to run,” Geralt muttered, not fond of sharing his business. 

“Pf.” She said. “Just like a man to leave all the errands to the last minute. And you want to sneak out without him noticing for a bit.” It wasn’t a question. Geralt nodded. 

“Your lad there’s pretty good, makin’ us money, so I’ll do you a favor,” she looked at him sharply. “When I say go you go, and I’ll thank you to tell your sweetheart you care for him before he goes and tries to buy two beds next time.” She sniffed. “Save you both trouble in the long run.” 

She cleaned a spilled spot on the bar and let out a short whistle. 

Geralt felt like he’d been hit over the head with a mallet. 

In response to the whistle, the child from that morning appeared, Toos, Geralt remembered. The innkeeper gave the kid a penny, “Go ask for that song you like, then hurry back now.” Toos gave a gap toothed grin and dissappeared as quickly as they’d come. 

Geralt watched the disturbance at about knee level through the crowd as Toos fought their way through. Jaskier, basking in the applause noticed them immediately and listened carefully to the request, smiling widely at the audience and biting the proffered penny as if it were a gold coin to huge laughter.

The innkeeper snapped her fingers under Geralt’s nose and pointed to the door. He took the cue. 

The market was less bustling, but still open, and Geralt took in a breath of cool, evening air. Then he assessed his plan.

He wanted to buy Jaskier lots of gifts over the course of this year, and he surely would, but they would be small things mostly. Quills and ink and lutepicks, that sort of thing. Those could be found in smaller towns and villages, but craft work like he found here was hard to find along the Path. He could buy either the red book or the dagger right now, and with the contracts he’d do this week he’d pay for the other. He’d buy the practical, brown leather book regardless, because right now Jaskier needed a journal and not a tome. 

He decided on the dagger first. The smith had shared good advice, and, if someone were to buy the leather tome from the display, there was at least a chance Geralt could find one like it elsewhere. Where but here could he find a moonsilver dagger for Jaskier?

The smith was not surprised to see Geralt, and his wife sent him a friendly wink. Geralt bought the dagger and thanked the smith, complimenting both he and his wife on the work. Then he carried his package, wrapped in two layers, cloth and paper, out into the street.

He dropped a bit of tack off at the leather worker’s shop for repair, to pick it up in two days. Then he took the sensible brown leather journal from the display stand. 

The bookbinder and paper merchant was a bent old man, sitting on a stool at the back of the shop, chewing tobacco. There was a greasy twist of it, black as tar, in waxed paper on the counter. 

“Excuse me,” Geralt said. The shopkeeper looked up, jaw still working. “We don’t like your kind here,” he said in a voice that cracked like the paper he worked. Well. There it was, there was always someone. 

“Please,” he said. “It’s a gift for a-a friend. It’s very important.” 

The old shop keeper eyed him and the book in his hand. Then he obviously decided that making a sale was worth serving Geralt. He growled out a price, and Geralt didn’t haggle. 

Geralt stood there, the old man staring him down while counting the coins. He figured it was worth a shot. 

“Could I ask a favor?”

“No.”

“Could you keep the journal on your display table, the large red one, back for me? And the little one in the same color beside it? Only for a few more days.”

“No.”

“Please,” Geralt said, losing hope. “It’s for a good cause.”

The man spat tobacco juice into a can with disgusting accuracy. “What cause do monsters have, comin’ in here and asking favors of me?”

Geralt caught the man’s watery eyes. “Love, true love, please, keep them back just a few days?”

“Didn’t think monsters could feel,” scoffed the man, but he tilted his head. “You mean that nice young man, what came in with you earlier?”

“That’s the one, I want to give him the perfect gift.” 

The man scoffed again, but it was less cruel. “I can tell people they’re for display. You’ve got three days.”

Geralt let out a relieved breath. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much.” 

“Don’t thank me,” growled the man, cutting off another piece of tobacco with a knife. “And don’t darken my door until you have the money.”

Geralt left, feeling very light. He reentered the inn to a round of applause for Jaskier, but thankfully no one looking his way. He slipped up the stairs. 

The dagger wasn’t a gift for tonight, he decided. That was a grand gift, for sometime special. He put it in his potion bag, where Jaskier was forbidden to look, for fear he’d get into something deadly. The journal was laid on the bed, just where Jaskier would see it.

Then Geralt went back downstairs to catch the last of Jaskier’s set. 

Jaskier practically danced up to Geralt afterwards. He was full of that strange energy he always had after a good performance, like bubbles in champagne. Geralt could feel the muscles around his eyes soften. 

“I liked your last song,” he said. Number Three on The List, compliment him.

“Paddy Lay Back?” Jaskier said. “You’ve heard it before.”

“Yes,” Geralt said as they went upstairs. “I like it.” 

Jaskier beamed. 

He chattered about the performance all the way into their room, and managed to pull off his boots before noticing the journal on the bed. He stopped mid sentence.

He looked at the journal, then at Geralt, mouth still half open.

Geralt remembered the smith, talking about how he’d won his wife over, but his mouth felt stuffed with wool.

“It’s for you,” he managed. “For your songs. It’ll last longer than the card bound ones.”

Jaskier picked it up, rubbing his thumb across the smooth leather, then he turned to Geralt. His eyes were shining.

With a speed that even Geralt’s mutated reflexes couldn’t manage, he was enveloped in a hug. Jaskier had his arms around his neck, the journal still in hand. 

Geralt hesitated. 

Then he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s chest and held him.

Later that night, in the same bed as a snoring bard, he still felt the heat of that hug. Jaskier’s elbow dug into his ribs and he barely felt it, but the hug was still there. He thought of the dagger in his potions bag. 

He’d talk to Jaskier then, giving that to him. For now, he’d have time to plan what to say. Before he could try, however, sleep claimed him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gifts! Gifts for Jaskier! and a hint of things to come. I had fun with this. 

Taglist!

@llamasdumpsterfire @goblinwhoships

[king-finnigan]

I don't know if you're taking requests right now but could I maybe get a drabble about Jaskier and Geralt his pretend boyfriend going to Cidaris and meeting Valdo Marx?

Geralt is very much regretting saying yes to this whole ordeal, as he squeezes himself into a slightly-too-tight doublet the colour of the night sky. Sure, he’s grateful he doesn’t have to wear anything with colour in it, and these clothes fit much better than the last time Jaskier had forced him to attend a party, but still - he prefers his armour, or something he can at least properly move in. He’s not looking forward to having to spend the night in a room full of nobles, either, or to having to pretend he’s Jaskier’s lover.

He sighs. “Why the hell did I agree to this, again?” he mutters to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

He hears the door open, and looks up, any and all regrets flying out the window as soon as he sees Jaskier. 

“The- the...”

Jaskier looks down at himself, before looking up at Geralt again. “Do you like the dress?” He gives the Witcher a little twirl, the soft, light fabric of the skirts billowing around him. Geralt can see that Jaskier’s back is almost entirely exposed, the cleavage at the front showing off his chest hair. There are tiny, clear gems embroidered in the pale silver fabric of the dress. 

If Geralt’s clothes make him look like the night sky, then Jaskier’s make him look like the moon.

He’s gorgeous. Geralt shrugs. “It’s fine.”

Jaskier smiles at him. “You and I both know I look better than ‘fine’, my dear Witcher. What I need to know is: is this going to make Valdo Marx jealous?”

Geralt swallows thickly, and offers Jaskier his arm. The bard takes it, grinning up at the Witcher. “Definitely,” he mutters, and Jaskier’s grin only widens.

The bard gestures to the door. “Let’s go, then. Let’s ruin my ex-boyfriend’s night.”

---

The second they step through the large doors, Geralt already knows he’s going to have a shit night. There’s not a lot of people in the room - and those who are there are all nobility - so their entrance draws everyone’s attention. Jaskier grins at the sudden audience, his presence next to Geralt the only thing keeping the Witcher sane, and bows at the nobles. 

Luckily, after a few seconds, people seem to lose interest, and most look away. Jaskier tugs him towards the tables against the wall, filled with food and drinks. “Come on, let’s get some alcohol. I don’t feel like suffering tonight sober,” Jaskier whispers, soft enough that only Geralt’s heightened senses pick it up.

He lets himself be handed a glass of wine, and sips as he stands next to Jaskier, both of them looking around the room. “So which one is Valdo Marx?” he asks the bard.

“None of them,” Jaskier whispers back, and Geralt can’t help but notice how his lips are stained red slightly from the wine. “He always likes arriving way too late cause someone he knows once said that it makes him look better.”

“Whoever told him that lied.”

Jaskier chuckles softly, taking another sip of his wine. “That, I did,” he whispers into his cup, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Geralt makes a mental note to make sure Jaskier never gets angry with him, because his bard sure seems to know how to ruin someone’s life.

Geralt’s attention is drawn away from the bard when a middle-aged man and a slightly younger-looking woman approach them. 

“Ah, the Duchess of Iylico, and of course her handsome husband, how lovely seeing you two!” Jaskier exclaims, raising his cup in greeting.

The Duchess and her husband stop in front of them, the woman giving them an appraising look, the man staring blanky ahead. “Master Jaskier, so lovely seeing you here. That is quite a dress, you look absolutely lovely,” the Duchess says.

Jaskier smiles at her. “Why thank you! But of course, one could never be as lovely as the Duchess of Iylico, herself. You look splendid as always, Martha.”

The woman blushes a little at the praise. “Oh, stop it, you. Say, master Jaskier, will you be performing tonight?”

“I will not, unfortunately.” He leans towards her, a bit conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Of course, I would never arrive so late if I were.”

She nods. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Quite a travesty, if you ask me.”

“A disgrace, indeed,” Jaskier agrees, sipping wine from his cup. The Duchess excuses herself, and moves on. 

Eventually, a door in the back of the room opens, and a tall, slim man walks in, his curly, blond hair reaching down to his shoulders, his outfit too bright and entirely too pompous, and Geralt quietly blesses Melitele that Jaskier doesn’t dress like that - compared to Valdo Marx’s outfit, Jaskier’s almost looks humble.

“That’s him, that’s Valdo Marx,” Jaskier hisses to Geralt, entirely unnecessary, and the Witcher nods.

The troubadour of Cidaris starts his performance, and though his music isn’t all that bad, it doesn’t hold Geralt’s attention for long - the language too flowery and complicated, the songs too long-winded, his voice only slightly above average. Clearly, he isn’t the only one who gets bored of Valdo Marx, and after half an hour or so, the conversations have picked up again.

Jaskier goes to fetch another cup of wine, and as he goes, Geralt can’t help but be distracted by the way the skirts of the dress billow around him, the way the open back shows his toned muscles and soft skin. The Witcher’s so distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Valdo Marx has stopped playing until the man is right in front of him, drawing his attention away from his own bard.

Valdo makes an exaggerated bow that has Geralt fighting not to roll his eyes. “My, oh, my,” the troubadour says, “am I mistaken or are you Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher?”

Geralt nods curtly. “Hmm.” He notes in the back of his mind that Valdo Marx smells of cheap wine and dust, barely masked with way too much lavender perfume. 

“Quite an honour to meet you, Witcher.” He doesn’t say those two syllables the same way Jaskier always says it. It almost sounds hungry, and it makes Geralt’s stomach churn lightly.

“Hmm.”

“So, what brings you here, Geralt of Rivia?”

“I do.” Suddenly Jaskier is back by his side, a new cup of wine in one hand, the other splayed across Geralt’s lower back possessively, and the Witcher feels himself relax slightly. “Lovely seeing you again, Valdo. That performance was quite... something.”

“Why thank you, Julian. And thank you for honouring us with your presence, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” He looks Jaskier up and down. “I suppose you got off the road only just now?”

Jaskier smiles broadly, but it looks so fake to Geralt it makes him slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I could ask you the same thing, since you were so horribly late. Did no one ever tell you it’s not polite to be late? You’ve made a bad impression on the Duchess of Iylico.”

Valdo’s cheeks start to redden slightly, and Geralt can hear his heartbeat picking up. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Though I’m glad I at least have a reputation to tarnish. Unlike some bards.”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back, though there’s no real mirth in his voice. “Oh, Valdo. I do have a reputation, but it’s mostly outside of the walls of Cidaris. I’m quite well-known both in the smaller towns all across the Continent and in Cintra’s court. I was even invited to play at princess Pavetta’s engagement party, a few years ago, and have been invited back every year since. Of course, you wouldn’t know that if you never leave Cidaris. Maybe it’s time to do so, dear, I don’t think I’ve heard your name in years.” He turns to Geralt. “Have you, my love?”

The Witcher startles slightly, but quickly shakes his head, fighting to hide his smirk at the anger he can smell in the wine-dust-lavender-scent of the troubadour of Cidaris. “Unfortunately, I’d never heard of you until Jaskier told me about you, good sir,” he says to Valdo Marx, who turns even redder.

“Really?” The troubadour says. “I presume you two don’t talk a lot, then.”

“Oh, we do,” Jaskier says, a sly twinkle in his blue eyes. “At least, not unless our mouths are otherwise occupied.” He winks at Valdo, who suddenly turns pale, the redness draining from his cheeks as he looks between Jaskier and Geralt.

“Ah, so you two are...”

“Lovers, yes,” Jaskier fills in for him. He smoothes his hands down his dress, making the gems shimmer in the candlelight. Geralt watches Valdo’s eyes follow the movement, sees him swallow thickly, the anger in his scent making way for slight arousal. “Well,” Jaskier continues. “We must go, don’t we, Geralt, darling?”

Geralt nods, laying a hand on Jaskier’s waist, the fabric of the silver dress soft beneath his fingers. He bends towards his bard’s ear. “As gorgeous as you look in that dress, I can’t wait to tear it off you,” he half-whispers in Jaskier’s ear, way too loud, trying not to grin as the arousal and anger spike in Valdo’s scent again.

Jaskier laughs, slapping his chest lightly. “Geralt! This dress is expensive.” He turns back to Valdo. “Well, it was absolutely lovely to see you, dear. Until the next time?”

He turns around before Valdo can answer, the soft skirts of the dress swishing around him, and Geralt follows him through the large front doors.

---

Jaskier breaks out in giddy giggles as soon as Geralt closes the door to their room at the inn behind them. “Did you see his face? He was so angry.”

He can’t help but grin at Jaskier’s mirth. “He was. I could smell it on him. He’s still attracted to you, too.”

Jaskier gives him a delighted smile. “I knew the dress would work. And I knew our little charade would work, too!” He walks towards Geralt, laying his hands on the Witcher’s shoulders, Geralt’s own hands settling on Jaskier’s hips without a second thought. “You did amazingly, Witcher. Thank you for indulging in my little revenge plan.”

“My pleasure,” Geralt replies. “I can see why you don’t like him.”

Jaskier smiles at him for a little longer, before stepping a bit closer, his smile turning sly. “Did you mean it when you said you couldn’t wait to tear this dress off me?”

Suddenly, he can smell arousal, thick in the air around them, though he’s not sure if it’s from him or Jaskier. He bends forward, nosing at the sensitive spot under Jaskier’s ear, and he figures it’s from both of them, as the scent spikes. “I did. Though you look gorgeous in it as well.”

Jaskier’s heartbeat is rabbit-fast against his lips, and he can’t help but grin. “Well-” the bard swallows thickly. “I would prefer you keep it intact, but I’m sure I would be able to get certain... stains out of it.”

Geralt smiles, moving back a bit, looking into impossibly blue eyes, pupils blown wide, arousal spiking in the air. Jaskier’s lips are still a bit wine-stained, and Geralt can’t stop himself from kissing them, licking away the taste, his bard sighing into his mouth softly, contentedly, slender arms looping around Geralt’s neck. 

Eventually, he breaks the kiss off, leaning their foreheads together, hands gently stroking over the soft fabric of the dress. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he whispers.

Jaskier grins back at him.

[lemondropsssss]

The first week back in Oxenfurt is mainly paperwork. Contract agreements with the University, submitting course-plans for review, submitting and re-submitting lesson plans, and rather unfortunately, a letter home. Claiming the title of Viscount at the gates has repercussions and likely word has already been sent to Lettenhove of his arrival. So he sends the least offensive missive he can to his father and hopes he doesn’t wake up one day to the wrong end of a sword and his father’s intense glare.

The letter he receives back isn’t what he’s expecting. 

Julian, 

I am glad to hear you’re well. I admit to worrying on occasion that you’d died along the road somewhere and I would never know. Mother and Father died of the sweating sickness five years ago now. She asked for you at the end, but we couldn’t find you to bring you home. I snuck in a bard to sing your songs, so she could hear of your adventures. She liked the one about the selkie the best.

Adina and Jessa are grown, and have both married. Their husbands are good men, I made sure of it. Adina is expecting her second child. They were both so young when you left, and Father didn’t allow us to speak of you. But when the twins cried out at night I would sneak into their nursery and tell them your stories so they’d know some part of you. 

The Viscountcy is yours to claim, though I predict some challenges in governing from Oxenfurt. I have been overseeing Lettenhove since Father’s passing, and admit that I enjoy the work. It’s nice to feel needed. And to give our people a proper liege lord, one who won’t just ignore their claims as Father did while increasing taxes to supplement his and Mother’s lifestyle. Our people are healing, and they need their lord at home with them. 

I have an arrangement that I suspect will suit both our needs. Claim the title of Viscount, and give your written word that I am your proxy here in Lettenhove. You may continue to teach, while I run the estate. You will have use of the Oxenfurt townhouse, and will receive a monthly stipend. Please consider this offer. I care deeply for our home and the people of Lettenhove, as I know you do. Please see that this is best for everyone.

I love you, Julek. 

Your sister, 

Marta

Jaskier reads the letter five times in total. His father is dead. And that’s- well he can’t say he exactly mourns for him. But his mother asked for him, and that knowledge breaks his heart. Where was he five years ago? Could he have seen her again? Held her hand as the light left her eyes? And the twins. Closing his eyes he can see them as toddlers. They were barely walking when he left, and now they’re married with children of their own. He remembers holding them both in his arms, fourteen-years-old, and feeling such love. The way they’d looked asleep in their cribs when he said goodbye. The way their baby soft hair had felt under his fingers. He can almost hear their laughter, and tears slip past his closed eyes. 

Marta. His dear Marta. Who he’d sneak sweets to under the dinner table. Who never hurt any creature, no matter how small or scaly or slimy. Marta with her big brown eyes and soft smile. Who would climb into his bed at night when she was afraid and he’d tell her stories until the monsters went away and she fell asleep in his arms. And oh, knowing that she’d done the same for the twins breaks his heart all over again. 

Jaskier sinks to the floor slowly, barely aware of his movements, letter clutched to his chest. And he cries. 

He cries for his mother, and the last breath of air she took. He cries for his little sisters, who had only stories to know him by. He cries for the birthdays he missed, and the skinned knees he couldn’t kiss better, and the way they must have looked on their wedding days. He cries for the nieces or nephews he doesn’t know, and for the one on the way. He cries for his father, and the things he never got to say to him. He cries for Marta, and the loneliness she must feel in that big old castle by herself. He cries for leaving her alone to watch their parents die. He cries for every moment he missed of his sisters' lives. Every moment he couldn’t protect them. Every moment he wasn’t there. 

And this isn’t like losing Geralt, but the pain hits him in the same spot. It drives like glass into his skin, into his center, until all he is is shattered. He is pieces of lives missed and letters unsent and things undone. 

He cries for the family he abandoned, and the man who abandoned him. 

.

The townhouse hasn’t seen much use since he was younger and his parents would take them to the city for summers. Jaskier doesn’t mind. The first thing he does is send most of the paintings and sculptures to Marta; they’re too ostentatious for him, and she can do what she likes with the remnants of their parent’s luxe style choices. He has a crew from the Giving Door come to the house and collect any furniture they want to go to their second-hand shop. Good riddance to it all.

He furnishes the house in more earthy and jewel tones. Plush sofas, soft beds, and the biggest tub he can reasonably fit in the bathroom. Jaskier makes the house everything it wasn’t before; soft, warm, inviting, happy. 

Jaskier hires a housekeeper named Beatrice who calls him hun and won’t answer to anything other than Auntie or Bea. Bea moves into the servant’s level with a very old, very small white dog Arthur who takes up residence on a pillow in the front window and hardly moves. He is absolutely smitten with them both.

When he comes back late from the University, Bea has a warm dinner waiting for him. If she’s gone to bed, she leaves out tea and a covered plate of meat cheese and bread for him. It’s being taken care of in a way Jaskier isn’t entirely used to, but not opposed to. 

In fact, he finds he quite likes the calm of routine. His students are eager to learn, and after the first two months hardly ask him about the White Wolf anymore. Jaskier’s grateful. It isn’t easy to explain to a room full of young people who admire you that the man you immortalized in song wished you gone for two decades before you noticed. Not that it’s easy to explain to anyone, really. 

And that’s how it goes for eighteen months. Jaskier teaches, he comes home, he sleeps, and he does it again. It’s nice to reconnect with his University peers, and Oxenfurt is a revolving door of old faces. Some though, are more well received than others. 

Jaskier is teaching when it happens. It’s his high poetry class, only five students. A knock at the door, and the pinched face of a University messenger pokes around the door.

“Professor Julian?” All the class is looking between them. “There was someone at the gate for you.” His stomach drops. “He wouldn’t wait, insisted I bring them to you.” Jaskier’s mouth is suddenly very dry. It takes two attempts to get his mouth moving. 

“Right, yes, thank you. Uh,” He looks back at his expectant class, “Right, you all... do something with a poem, class dismissed.” 

Jaskier knows exactly what’s waiting for him. Only one person would be so insistent to see him they’d terrify a messenger so.

Said messenger is very relieved when Jaskier appears on the other side of the door. He offers him a quick bow and bolts back down the corridor, leaving Jaskier alone with his guests.

.

@caspertheassholeghost @innocentcinnamonpun @queenofmymanyfandoms 

y’all asked to be tagged in part 2 so here ya go 

part 1 can be found here and here

[they-reap-what-we-sow]

The Witcher Mall AU

so i’ve been yelling at @beeruler​ about this idea for the entire morning, but imagine if you will, geralt is not a witcher, but is a mall cop at Cintra Mall, and Jaskier works at the Cinnabon.

i have a LOT of thoughts about this so i’ll leave a couple here and the rest under the cut :)

Calanthe was set to retire from her job as a principal at a very fancy private school but then she found out that this mall was being demolished to make office space and she was not about that so she bought out the other owners to keep this mall running and now she is the owner of the mall along with her husband

Ciri is the granddaughter of the owner of the mall so everyone there loves her and she hangs out all the time after school. Calanthe worries about her mixing with people from the “wrong side of the tracks” or whatnot but it's hard to keep Ciri away because she found out that her father was from the other side of town and wants to find a connection to her roots

The Witchers are a security company that Calanthe hired to keep an eye on the mall. Ciri is unnecessarily close to all of them and they dote on her like a daughter. Dara is from the other side of the town and he and Ciri meet up at the mall to do what they think are cool things but really they just badly skate board, and loiter in front of no loitering signs. Eist thinks that hiring a security team full of ex-navy seals is a little excessive, but calanthe knows that it's the only way she can keep Ciri safe

Geralt knew Ciri's Dad when they were in the army together, and when he went down on the battlefield he asked Geralt to make sure that Ciri was okay. Geralt just checks on Ciri after the funeral and then leaves because she has the rest of her family, but Fate still gets in the way when the security company Geralt decided to work for starts working for the mall

i’ve got so many more hot takes  and also some art under the cut keep goinggg

i call this my paul blart mall cop au, and i’ll tag everything for it under PB!Witcher if you want to follow it! oh, and there are more drabbles to come for this, i am WAYY too invested to let this one go

Geralt doesn't work full-time at the mall he takes private security jobs occasionally that help keep his bank balance well secured.

Whenever he notices someone's stealing from the big shops at the mall, Gerald will look the other way if it seems like they needed it desperately enough

He really doesn't intervene unless the theft will affect the bottom line of the store itself

Once Ciri found out that Geralt and her father used to be friends he has a hard time getting rid of his tail. As he makes his rounds around the mall he very often spots Ciri and her little friend attempting to follow him he presumes subtly

Whenever Ciri decides to hang out in the parking lot of the mall, in the back corner where there are no cameras Geralt often finds himself checking up on her. Which is a good practice because of that one time when Ciri got riled up and insulted someone who was saying rude things about Dara, and he had to come in and break up a fight between and and 11-year-old and a 20-year-old

geralt holding back siri by the scruff of her hoodie

Ciri full on throws herself into any fight available because she knows that somehow Geralt will find his way into it and defend her

Calanthe never liked Ciri's Dad, so she doesn't want Geralt influencing her granddaughter but she knows that Geralt is the only thing between Ciri and a very quick trip to the hospital

So she tolerates Geralt and what he reminds her of

Roach is a huge old pickup, it's like a really fancy classic one, and no one knows how Geralt can afford it ((it's the private jobs))

Yen is the owner of the occult cafe at the mall. It's called Aretuza, and you can make your own coffee there using really cool-looking potion bottles and spells and stuff. No one is really sure if her magic is real or not but the coffee is heavenly. The shop itself books normal from the outside but when you step in the entire atmosphere changes in it looks like you're 30 ft underground. The shop is carded and there is no entry allowed for anyone under 21. they don't serve alcohol there or gamble or anything but yen just doesn't want kids in her shop. Calanthe was originally against it but when she realized that it would keep Siri out of more ways to get into trouble she let the policy stand. There's a back room in the shop which that is rumored to be home to a lot of very adorable kittens, but the one rule of the back room is that you don't speak of the back room.

Even though it's the sketchiest looking shop in the mall, none of the security team ever has reason to go in and help out, Tissaia, the owner's girlfriend is force enough to make sure that everyone stays in line

Nilfgaard is a rival mall that keeps trying to compete with Cintra for customers and I don't know mall competition things

Borsch owns the cinnabon except that he got into a fight with the corporate office who didn't like the independence that borscht was taking with their menu so he's technically not a real cinnabon franchise. All he did though was add an M on the sign where the N should be, and operates how he likes. Tea and vea are the actual front-facing employees and they make a version of the cinnabon that is almost sinful and never quite seem to get burnt when pulling things out of the oven ((borsch runs a Cinnabom :) ))

Triss is upper-level mall management. Calanthe bought the mall but she doesn't really care to spend her time managing it, she just makes sure that it stays float and that nilfgaard keeps its hands off of it. She gets Triss on board to deal with everyone that she doesn't feel like dealing with. Triss handles all the communication between the store owners and the mall, she makes sure that everyone is getting along and deals with troublemakers as she sees fit. She's friends with yen's girlfriend, and spends a lot of her free time hanging out at their store. She knows Geralt because they met at a particularly messy private job of his which is something that bonds people. She's also the one who organizes the entertainment nights at the mall and is in charge of publicity and customer engagement. She's really good at her job she knows exactly what the people want to see and can calm angry egos and pissy customers

She also used to date one of the other witchers I really don't know who it would be but I think that'd be fun ((bees suggested eskel, which is fantastic))

i had to stop myself from making jaskier’s story all angsty again but oh well lol

Okay so Jaskier's family has their own law firm, and he was supposed to join after law school except Jaskier did not want to sit in an office all day instead he wanted to pursue his passion of music and singing so he moved out of the house and started singing on the streets for exposure. One day he meet s Missy Stael, who falls in love with his singing and they eventually move into her house together. Jaskier keeps singing and recording demos in hopes that someone will scout him and goes to a lot of open mics where he drags Missy to listen and critique. Jaskier and Missy eventually breaks up and he decides to move out and find another way to pursue his passion, but he has a hard time of it and ends up couch surfing for a while. Missy finds out and lets him rent her frankly extraordinary basement to live in, while she and her new boyfriend live upstairs. They're not bad landlords, and Jaskier goes over for dinner a couple times a week. Still now he has to find a way to pay rent that's already very generous when his income is usually little to none

Jaksier meets Yennefer when He's singing on the street. Yen walking with tissaia, who notices his sign that says tips for a roast. Tissaia tips him and he has asked for roasts the life out of the two of them and the end gets really mad because she doesn't know why this random street singers insulting her. She almost punches him out before she notices what the sign says, and the two become friends. Jaskier actually spends a couple weeks on her couch after his breakup, and when he tells her about needing an actual job to pay rent, she's got some ideas

The first time Geralt meets Jaskier isn't at the mall it's at a very exclusive party where jaskier has gotten a little too friendly with the host's younger sibling. Gerald comes along to escort Jaskier out of the party, who thinks he's going to die when this absolute mountain of a man grabs him by the arm and gently pushes him towards the door. As he's very quickly walking away Jaskier looks back to see Geralt haloed in the light of the doorway behind him, and Jaskier in that moment is more afraid and attracted than he's ever been