#I hate old Jaskier

[geraskierfanficprompts]

When Jaskier's angry or upset, it's always "Don't touch me!" "Get away!" "Hands off!" And then the bard will be gone for hours or days until he calms down.

Now, Geralt understands this kind of reaction. He himself doesn't want to talk to/be around others when he's angry. Much less let anyone touch him. The thing is...Jaskier acting that way never fails to make Geralt feel like shit. Jaskier is usually so affectionate that the sudden cut off is jarring. The first few times it happened, Geralt had been sure that Jaskier was fed up with him and leaving for good.

However, Jaskier always returns. They make amends, and the bard resumes his touchy, affectionate ways.

One day though, they have their worst argument yet. And although he had always come back before, Geralt is certain that this is the time Jaskier will leave forever. If Jaskier walks out that door, Geralt is sure he will never see him again.

So, unthinkingly, Geralt catches the bard's wrist.

Jaskier's eyes widen, panic replaces anger. "Geralt! Let me go! Let me go right now!"

Geralt loosens his grip reflexively in response to Jaskier's panic. Did the bard think the witcher would force him to stay?

He opens his mouth to try to explain.

Only, the world is...spinning? And Geralt's tongue is heavy. And everything is warm. Oh, he feels like he’s going to hurl.

Then, he passes out.

An unknown amount of time later, Geralt wakes. He feels kind of hungover but is otherwise fine. To his relief, Jaskier is sitting at his bedside.

When the bard notices Geralt is awake, he inquires after his health. At Geralt's reassurance that he is fine, Jaskier launched into a tirade about the number of times he had told Geralt "NOT TO TOUCH ME WHEN I’M MAD! AND THAT INCLUDES RIGHT NOW, YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH, YOU BASTARD!!!"

Geralt is a bit confused about how Jaskier being mad and his fainting spell are connected.

Two things are revealed:

1) Jaskier is part fae.

2) Some fae become toxic to touch when they are angry or upset. It is a magical trait, so it fades when the anger does. However, it can still be deadly.

This puts some things into perspective. Like how Jaskier, who seems to feel entitled to his emotions/reactions no matter how inappropriate they may be, is very skilled at cooling his temper. Or how, when he does become angry, he chooses verbal slander over physical violence. Or how when there IS a physical fight Jaskier wraps his hands in cloth and tries to use blunt instruments.

Bonus: Geralt tells all of the witchers not to touch Jaskier when he's mad, and Lambert takes that as a challenge.

I LOVE THIS!!!!!! OH MY GOODDDDDD!!! You take the things we spoke about and add onto it like putting glitter on a macaroni art craft, it's beautiful, It's so beautiful, oh my god! Poor Geralt thought his bard was leaving and poor Jaskier has to watch his stupid idiot Witcher touch him, gAH I love it! I want to read a 5k oneshot about it

[fangirlforeversthings]

Something a little different today what about a character dialogue prompt:

The "Bro's"

Character "A" and character "B"

B: Bro its dark im scared can i hold your hand?

A: tf no?

A: >:(

B: :(

-A few moments later-

B holding onto A's hand

B *Now stepped up a little close in A's Personal space*

A: get out of my back

B: sorry but im scared bro :(

A: *shaking his head* no need to kiss my back this is enough *points to their hands clutched together*

A:...your hands are sweaty bro

B: i know bro

A:

A:if you tell anybody about this i'll shove my fist up your a*s

B: how about you take me on a date first?

A:....i hate you with every fiber of my being

B: i love you too bro

A: Well i hate you!

B: WELL I LOVE YOU!

A:WELL I HATE YOU!!

A: *sigh* f*ck off

B: f*ck me

A:

B:

A:😦

B:

A:what the fu...

B: sorry man impulse

A: seriously.

[thequeeninyellowlace]

And Yennefer is going to bring with her a very special, rare bit of magic—a spell or potion that will make Jaskier young again, and semi-immortal?! She is, right? Right??!

there is a place where I don’t feel alone

In which Jaskier is Geralt's human-shaped furnace. (General, 4k ☆ also on AO3)

Fire and ice, Jaskier muses. It’s too cliché for his poetry, but there are no better analogies when they press against each other under the covers, a cold witcher warmed by a human bard.

Jaskier is content being Geralt’s human-shaped furnace. He learned a long time ago that witchers’ fast metabolism means they are prone to running cold. He also learned, at the same time, of Geralt’s tendency of ignoring his body’s demands. He’s happy that, after all the years of being together, his witcher is comfortable asking for help, though never with words. It’s in the way Geralt brushes their hands together when his fingers are numb, or subtly reaches out for a cuddle when the night chill settles in.

The potions make it worse. When a hunt ends and the black veins recede from Geralt’s eyes, the adrenaline drop often leaves him shivering. Warmth helps, so Jaskier prepares a bath and hot tea if they are lucky enough to stay at an inn. If all they have is a camp under the sky, he can only hold Geralt close and rub his arms and back, hoping his body provides enough heat for his witcher.

Geralt gets clingy when it happens, though he’d never admit it. Hiding in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, all he can do is cling. The world overwhelms his senses, the coldness harsh on his skin, and he never lets go first.

Jaskier cannot deny him in times like these, doesn’t want to deny him. He takes Geralt in his arms every time, blowing warm air on his cold hands, murmuring soft, reassuring words. He stays as long as needed, and then he stays even longer.

He needs to make the world less harsh for his witcher, even just a little bit.

And Jaskier’s tendency to run hot is neither here nor there. It’s only a slight inconvenience, one that can be overcome easily. He doesn’t mind waking up at night from being too warm, only to find Geralt has added a blanket to their bed. It only requires some adjusting, keeping the extra blanket on Geralt’s side.

He also doesn’t mind Geralt’s cuddling habits. During the mild seasons, he will even tell Geralt to sleep on the other side of the bed, but the distance between them always closes a few hours later. Jaskier is more endeared than bothered, really, and he can simply extract himself and fall back asleep soon after.

It’s an easy enough system. They are different people, polar opposites, as many might say. It takes a lot of practice to fit their lives together, but a few decades are more than enough time.

It’s easy, to be together, to let fire and ice coexist.

It gets less easy as time catches up to Jaskier.

His hair goes grey, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepen. His body starts fighting him from within. It begins with the rushes of hotness at night. He would wake up at night from nothing, with a dry throat and sweat soaked through his back. The healer says it’s common for his age, and the hot flashes will only get worse before it gets better. It becomes increasingly difficult to sleep in the same bed as another person, especially when that person is prone to sprawling on top of him like an oversized cuddle bear.

Insomnia follows naturally, with his sleep disrupted often. The worry makes it worse. Jaskier thought he was used to sending Geralt away on hunts for days and nights on end, but it’s harder to keep check of the anxiety when his mind is tired and irritated. He’d lie awake on their bed and imagine all the ways a simple hunt could go wrong. Even when he manages to sleep, it’s restless and full of nightmares of blood and vacant golden eyes.

His body is getting old, and with it, his heart.

Still, Geralt comes back to him. He always does. The first light of dawn brings his witcher back with morning dew glistening in silver hair, his hands reaching out for touch. Jaskier ignores the hot lava-like state of his upper body as Geralt rests gently on his chest, grounded by the feeling of skin against skin, by the rhythm of his breathing.

Jaskier’s heart feels too tender in his chest, too weathered for a human bard who’s spent most of his life on the road. He wonders how long he can keep doing this.

But then, a shiver runs down Geralt’s body, and Jaskier forgets all about his self-pity.

The path leads them to a mountain, of all places.

The air feels thinner, adding to the heaviness on Jaskier’s breastbone. They find an inn, where word of a mysterious beast up in the mountain finds Geralt while he drinks. The creature sounds more mythical than real. Geralt hesitates to take the contract at first, but is unable to say no in the end. He’s never been able to, anyway.

Jaskier’s stomach churns with the sense of déjà vu. He throws himself into the performance as Geralt prepares for the hunt. The audience is captivated soon, and before he knows it, he has been encouraged by the crowd into a rendition of Her Sweet Kiss. He’s nearly staggering as the song fades, breath shuddering with worry and past heartache.

Geralt is all packed up and waiting by the door when Jaskier finishes his set. He follows his witcher to the street, and is surprised by the tight hug that envelopes him. Jaskier is flushed hot from performing, his cheeks red and heart racing, but Geralt’s armors are cold in the mountain wind. He returns the hug, lingering longer than usual.

Geralt sees through him, worry mirrored in those golden eyes. Jaskier has felt like an open book around him for years, every shift in his mood caught carefully, but his witcher stays patient. He simply kisses Jaskier on the cheek, looking like he wants to say something. Nothing comes out in the end, and Geralt wordlessly turns away.

And Jaskier waits.

It’s just an ordinary contract, he tells himself, but somewhere in the back of his mind, panic surges out of control. It’s the memory of the last time they were in a place like this, with the wind in his hair and bitterness on his tongue. The fire burns bright in the room, but his heart is away on that mountain with his love.

Geralt returns when the moon is high, eyes still black from the potions and face deathly pale. A deep gash runs down his shoulder, bleeding sluggishly.

“Basilisks,” he murmurs, “two of them. Caught me off guard.”

With that, Geralt’s knees buckle and he collapses right into Jaskier’s arms.

The blood stains both of their clothes with crimson red. Jaskier holds up most of Geralt’s weight and helps him sit down. The process of cleaning, bathing, and bandaging his witcher is a familiar one, his muscle memory working on its own, but Jaskier finds a tremor in his hands. He tries and fails to hold himself steady, and swallows the lump of fear in his throat.

“Hey,” he coaxes Geralt to sit on their bed. “Here, just sit. It’s alright. I’m almost done.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt looks faint, head dropping to Jaskier’s shoulder even before the last bit of the bandage is tied up. A pained groan rumbles out of his chest. “Cold…”

“Shh, don’t worry. Let’s warm you up. I’m here, dearest. I’m right here.”

Jaskier tucks in the bandage neatly before reaching for the blankets on the bed. He lowers Geralt onto the pillow before checking on the fireplace, and adds a few pieces of wood, keeping it burning brighter than is needed for the current weather. With a tired sigh, he finally slips between the sheets, and tucks the blankets around Geralt.

Eyes closed, Geralt’s brow knits together painfully, his muscles trembling. He’s barely awake when Jaskier settles around him, placing Geralt’s hands on the small of his back, where the cold fingers can regain some blood flow. It’s not a comfortable position. With Geralt’s injured shoulder, Jaskier has to lie on his back and support most of the witcher’s weight. He’s trapped like this, the heat gathering under the blanket.

He’s burning, almost, with a whole person sprawled on top of him. Sweat gathers on his skin, clammy and uncomfortable against the shirt.

Geralt drifts off quickly enough, catching some much-needed rest. His breaths come out in gentle puffs against Jaskier’s neck, gradually evening out.

“Stay asleep, love, please,” Jaskier mutters with relief, all the while making the slightest attempt at extracting himself, but immediately, the barest movement makes Geralt jerk in sleep. A whimper escapes his throat, too small and sad for Jaskier’s heart to handle. The arms around his waist tighten almost childishly. Jaskier huffs at the ridiculous sight of the two of them, tangled together like one. “Alright. Hush. I won’t leave, then.”

It must be the bad dreams, caused by the pain and the oversensitivity. Geralt is at his most vulnerable when his mind is muddled, and Jaskier cannot bring himself to deny any comfort he can provide.

“There.” He kisses Geralt’s forehead, accepting his fate. Being wrapped up in a cocoon of heat is a small thing to endure when his witcher is hurt.

He threads his fingers through long silver hair, and counts the moments in the quietness of the night.

Jaskier doesn’t notice falling asleep, but the familiar press of Geralt’s weight lulls him into a fitful rest nonetheless.

Blood stains his dreams, as does the overpowering sense of helplessness. It’s like a roaring flame, threatening to consume, or a ring of fire closing in, squeezing the air out of his lungs. A hot flash comes out of nowhere, radiating from the center of his back, burning every nerve from within.

Distantly, he can hear sounds of distress from his own throat. Sweat soaks through his back, his hair, but there is nowhere to run.

Suddenly, the heat disappears, all restraints gone. Jaskier drifts in and out of sleep, breathing out deeply. He shuffles, pushing away the covers on his upper body, and feels cool air hit his skin. With that, another dream pulls him under easily.

When Jaskier blinks awake after what feels like hours, his head is slow and groggy. His arms are empty and the blankets are nowhere near him. A cool breeze washes over his body like a gentle caress.

He gasps at the absence of Geralt. All sleep is chased out by a surge of panic. Jaskier reaches out for his witcher, ready to call for his name.

“Easy.” A hoarse voice rumbles above him. “I’m right here.”

Jaskier looks up to find Geralt sitting against the headboard, the pillow cushioned behind his back.

“Oh.” Jaskier heaves out a sigh, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s thigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

Another gust of wind washes over his back, loosening his muscles, and Jaskier realizes the source of it. The window next to their bed is wide open, letting in breaths of fresh air. The moon is hanging low. Soon the morning light will shimmer by the horizon. The fireplace is burning to an ember, damped by a mound of ash.

Geralt combs through the hair at Jaskier’s nape, so gently it makes Jaskier’s bones hum. His hand is still colder than Jaskier would like, so he takes it, pressing a small kiss in his palm.

“Are you alright? How do you feel now?” Jaskier blinks, observing his witcher in the low light of the bedside candle. “Feeling cold? Your hands are cold. Why did you open the window? And the fire, do you want me to light it again?”

Geralt is still too pale, the effect of the blood loss, but his spirit seems high. A half-smile warms his golden eyes when he meets Jaskier’s gaze.

“Leave the fire, Jask. That’s silly. You were overheating. Did you not notice?” he says. “You shouldn’t have kept the room so warm.”

Jaskier sits up on the bed so they are shoulder to shoulder. It is nice now, the temperature. He unties his shirt a little bit more to cool off.

“I didn’t want you to be cold.”

“I can cope.”

Jaskier pouts. “I don’t want you to cope.”

“And I don’t want you to have a heatstroke.” A frown knits between Geralt’s eyes. “You were sweating all over. Was it another hot flash?”

Jaskier looks down, absently tugging at the blanket so it covers more of Geralt’s torso.

“I’m fine,” he insists stubbornly. “It’s only one of those nights. It happens, these days. I should be used to it.”

“Hmm.”

The cicadas hum outside the window, signaling the upcoming hot days. Geralt’s eyes place a gentle weight, patient and not demanding.

“It’s just…” Jaskier cuts himself off before starting again, trying to push down the fear in his stomach. “You were in a bad way when you came back. It caught me off guard, is all, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Geralt sags a little, catching Jaskier’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I really scared you this time, didn’t I?”

Jaskier doesn’t think he needs to answer. Nothing can be hidden from his face, not from Geralt, who knows every secret in his soul.

“Hey, come here.” Geralt’s voice softens to a whisper with understanding. He squeezes Jaskier’s hand, tugging him close so his head rests on the witcher’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“It was only a hunt. I’ve had much worse.”

Something within Jaskier shudders. “Yes, I’m well aware of the occupational hazard for witchers. That’s the problem. I don’t know how I dealt with it all this time. The terror of it all…” He huffs, self-deprecatingly. “It must be the age. I’m getting old. Too old for the foolish bravado of youth. I feel like my heart is getting weaker these days. Like it could break more easily, somehow.”

A kiss lands on top of Jaskier’s head.

“You are still brave. Foolishly so,” Geralt says, reverently, proudly.

“Never wanted to be brave. Just useful, so I can take care of you.”

Jaskier turns around, so blue meets gold. Despite the lines at his temple, despite the grey hair, he knows his eyes are still the same. He still looks at Geralt the same way as all those years ago, when he was young and stupidly idealistic. They are full of love for the man in front of him. Always full of love for Geralt.

And Geralt is looking at him the same way.

“You don’t have to be useful. Not if it means you need to push yourself too hard.” A hint of guilt tugs at his lips. “I don’t want to break your heart. Never did.”

“Well, that’s the occupational hazard of a poet,” Jaskier teases, wanting to erase the guilt. It has no place between them. “I don’t blame your trade, love. It is who you are. The path, the monsters, the way you scare the hell out of me every other day. I’ve accepted it. Old age be damned. I promised to follow you until the end of my days, and I tend to keep my promises.”

“Jask, I…”

Geralt closes his mouth, and they fall into silence, though it’s a poignant one.

“It’s alright.” Jaskier wants to steer them away from the heaviness of it all. “You should try to rest more. Meditate, perhaps. That wound is not going to heal fast if you don’t—”

“Fuck it, I need to tell you,” Geralt blurs out. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but now… Jaskier, you deserve to know.”

The interruption makes Jaskier blink. Confused, he sits up straighter. “What is it?”

Geralt’s entire posture changes, and suddenly he looks a lot more serious, which is all the more puzzling. He brings Jaskier’s hand to his chest, pulling him closer. All the tiredness from the hunt is gone, replaced by a nameless excitement.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Don’t worry. It’s good news. At least, it’s good in my head. I think you’ll like it.” When Geralt smiles, a quiet joy lights up his face. It’s Jaskier’s favorite smile of his. It means Geralt is deeply, unreservedly happy, the kind that makes him frightened, even. Like someone could break in and take this happiness from him any moment, so he tries to not show it. “Do you remember that cottage we passed by last summer? The one we saw on the coast in Cidaris?”

The mention of the coastal trip brings back fond memories, making Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Of course. The one on the cliff, with the pretty windows. The old couple lived there for decades,” he says, still not sure where this is going. “What about it?”

Despite the paleness and the dark circles under his eyes, Geralt’s cheek grow pink with a blush.

“Well,” he simply says, “I Bought it.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Technically, Yen bought it for us.” Geralt tilts his head cheekily. “The couple told me they were selling right before we left, so I wrote to Yen. She went to Cidaris and did it, just like that. It’s ours. It’s going to be our house. We can spend as much time there as we want. Every year, every season, if we wish to. If we get restless, the world is still out there, but we’ll have a home to return to. A place to settle down.”

The sound of the world fades away for a moment, replaced by blood rushing into Jaskier’s ears. He notices his mouth is now hanging open, but nothing is coming out. His heart grows like it's too big for his chest.

A house.

Their house. Their home.

“I—”

Jaskier, to his horror, realizes he has been rendered speechless, all the words of a bard stolen by a witcher. He stares at his witcher, his lovely, perfect, thoughtful witcher, who insists on giving him heart palpitation one after another.

“Jaskier?” Geralt softens, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice. “What do you think? Say something. Please.”

Tears blur his vision, and Jaskier chokes out a sob.

“I—”

His voice shudders with emotions, but the sight of Geralt being so unsure of himself is so unacceptable that Jaskier finds the strength to overcome himself. The sob turns into a wet chuckle.

“It’s good, Geralt. It’s the best news I’ve ever heard. You… you bought that cottage for us?” Jaskier lets the tears fall freely. Happiness tastes like salt on his tongue. “I never thought you’d ever want to stay in one place. I mean, you always said—”

“That witchers don’t retire?” Geralt catches the tears with a thumb, wiping away the streaks on Jaskier’s cheeks gently. “What else did I say?”

“That you don’t need anyone.”

“Hmm. Another lie. What else?”

Jaskier sniffles, hiding his wet cheek in Geralt’s palm. “That you don’t want me.”

Another string of tears streams down Jaskier’s face, and Geralt catches each and every one of them. He dabs them away with the edge of his sleeve, so carefully as if Jaskier could break with the barest touch.

Geralt presses a kiss at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. It’s only a chaste thing to soothe him, but Jaskier kisses back fervently, desperately. The space between them seems too big. With an arm wrapped around Geralt’s back, still careful to avoid the bandage, he pulls them together. Salt melts between their lips.

They break apart, panting in tandem.

“You are all I ever want,” Geralt whispers, a promise carved upon Jaskier’s heart. “Just you, Jaskier. Forget the lies. I want you. I want… this, for us.”

It takes a while for the storm of emotions to calm down. Jaskier rests his forehead against Geralt’s temple, their bodies rocking together like waves lapping against the shore.

A small cottage by the coast, where the seabirds sing in the sky and the sand is cool between his toes. A place for Geralt to rest, for Jaskier to create, and for both of them to simply be.

The future of their life feels like an old, faded memory. They were always going to end up there from the very beginning. The moment they locked eyes in that small tavern in Posada, they were going to end up there.

Jaskier wipes away the last of the tears, spirit lightened.

“Wait.” He pulls away to look at Geralt, eyes still puffy. “Did you say you asked Yennefer to buy a house for you?”

Geralt winces visibly. “I may owe her a few favors again, but I’m sure she’ll be reasonable.”

“Yennefer.” Jaskier gives a look. “Reasonable?”

“Do you still doubt she has a soft spot for you, especially now that you’ve become less durable? The letters were nice enough. She even offered instructions,” Geralt says. “Told me to bring you back to the coast, make a grand gesture of sort. A nice picnic, she said, before breaking the big surprise.”

“See? Even Yen has more regard for my tender heart. Unlike a certain someone, who will put me through one hell of an emotional turmoil in one night.” Jaskier holds his chest dramatically. “It’s not good for an old man’s health!”

The laugh that Geralt lets out is better than any music Jaskier could ever write. It’s the reason for all those songs in the first place.

“I guess we are heading to the coast next.”

“Are we?”

Jaskier can’t help the grin on his face.

“Mm-hmm. For your health, old man,” Geralt teases. “I hear Cidaris is never too warm in the summer. The ocean carries over cold streams, all the way from the north. The wind is always cool. Sleep will come more easily for you.”

“But how will you cope? Won’t it be cold for you?”

Geralt hums, eyes crinkling. “I have you. I’m sure you’ll fuss enough.”

“You are damn right I will!” Jaskier begins his musing. “I’m going to make our home so cozy! Do you remember those rugs we saw at the winter market last year, the ones you said were too impractical for the road? Finally, I can get those, now that we have somewhere permanent to return to. And we shall build a garden for your herbs, and then a library for me. Plants and arts, let’s not forget! Oh, and those velvet robes you like!”

“I never said I liked them.”

Jaskier pokes Geralt on the cheek, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You don’t need to. Your face betrays everything. You have this look when you see something you desire but don’t think you deserve—it’s how you used to look at me. I should have known you’d be the first one to suggest settling down. You always were the domestic one. The world just didn’t let you think it could be an option.” he pauses, softening. “Something must have changed your mind.”

The fondness in Geralt’s eyes melts into a golden pool of warmth. “It was someone, actually.”

He leans forward, tucking a strand of hair away from Jaskier’s face, fingers tracing the hair at his temple. A warm blush spreads across Jaskier’s face when he’s observed like this, with his crow’s feet and grey hair on display.

“That someone must be amazing,” Jaskier says, proud of his crow’s feet and grey hair when they are loved like this.

“Hmm. I don’t know. He’s very smug.” Geralt squints. “Less so with age. It wised him up, against all odds.”

They smile into another kiss as the morning sun rises, spilling silvery light into their room.

There are many things to plan in the process of building a new home. They will need to travel to the coast, for one, and then pick out all the furniture. Jaskier will insist on filling their life with soft, warm things for Geralt. Blankets, pillows, teas, and then, freshly collected flowers from their garden. Ciri will need a guest bedroom, for the girl to rest her weary feet when the path gets too much for a witcher-princess. And only the gods know when Yennefer will drop by, with her secret soft spot for domesticity.

There are many things to plan for the future.

But for now, they already have a home right here.

[crispyjenkins]

i drive myself absolutely bananas, because the writing i'm most proud of? that i love even more than anything i've done for star wars (except maybe dha kar'ta) or any other fandom i've posted for in the decade and a half i've been writing? that i want to share more than anything? unfinished witcher fics. over 80,000 words spread over a few stories, not including the thousands of words of the quick notes/ideas i have for even more stories and i love them so much. but if i post them before they're finished i'm never gonna finish them, or at least that's what it feels like. i haven't worked on any of them in months, but have put dozens and dozens of hours into plotting and timeline-ing and researching. i want to share them and brag about them and collaborate on them, but also like. i'm definitely a star wars blogger. i follow like three witcher blogs and none of them are active anymore, and i don't particularly want to make a witcher blog. and the unfinished stories on my ao3 already give me so much anxiety

but it also just leaves me sittin here on my own vibrating out of my skin with no outlet

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Okay so after the mountain breakup and makeup, jaskier has a new horse. He super excited to introduce Geralt “horse girl” Riviera to his sweetheart of a horse, Pegasus. He talk about how well mannered and precious his horse is; and how he just had to buy him off of his old owners who didn’t treat him right — “ I mean they didn’t even give him apples, Geralt, who does that?? —

Geralt is expecting a dainty normal horse, maybe with ribbons in his hair, like his owner. But they get to the stables and jaskier skips over to this behemoth of a war horse. (I’m thinking like a shire horse type breed).

Jaskier is just absolutely besotted with the “sweetheart” and Geralt is petrified. This horse is bigger than roach. It’s glaring at Geralt with the rage of hellfire. Geralt is like 57% sure it’s a hell horse.

It’s also super protective of jaskier and it hates Geralt. Pegasus is always moving in between the two and when Jaskier starts giving Geralt attention Pegasus whines and Jaskier will go back to him.

Geralt is not jealous no matter what anyone says. He tries to tell Jaskier about how his demon horse keeps glaring at him and bumping him off the road. But everytime he tries to point it out Pegasus has the most innocent look on his face.

It would be so funny to see a horse and a Witcher try and fight for Jaskier attention

[blooms-in-april]

I'm thinking sad Jaskier thoughts.

It takes a while for Geralt to realize the music is gone. Oh Jaskier still sings- for their supper, for Ciri when she's sad, to entertain Kaer Morhen on late card playing nights. But the music- the music is gone. No more of the mindless humming as he walks, no more parsing over rhymes by the fire, no more harassing Geralt for his thoughts on such and such melody. Jaskier sings like a wind-up music box, only when requested, cranked for it, and snapping shut into silence like the sharp closing of a lid.

Yennefer snorts at his concern. "It took you this long to notice?"

Geralt grunts. She smiles, sharp and bitter. "You always were slow."

"How do I fix it?" Geralt snaps. He is not here to be mocked or play games.

"Can you fix it?" Yennefer asks. "I don't know."

Geralt doesn't know either. All he can do is try.

One of the mages had left a god's damned harpsichord in their tower room. It takes Geralt weeks- lugging the ornate monstrosity down from the mages tower, finding schematics in the library for the damn thing, undoing by sheer will the rot and moulding of a hundred years on the instrument. He spends his evenings waist deep in the guts of the instrument, swearing over chords and tuning and keys.

Jaskier's silence, now that he notices it, gapes like an open wound, bleeding wherever he goes. It stains memories of years past, of a cheerful smile and conversation given to him so freely, so easily, not a hint of subterfuge or awkwardness or fear. Now Jaskier only says good morrow if Geralt says it first, only speaks when spoken to, only smiles when Ciri is looking his way.

Geralt polishes the harpsichord until his fingers blister and his nose stings from the smell. He paints the elaborate carvings with pure gold leaf. He spends hours tightening strings trying to get the thing in tune. He worries over it like a child, because he doesn't know what else to do.

"What do you think?" He asks Eskel as they carry it carefully down to Jaskier's room.

"It's very nice." Eskel says diplomatically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" Geralt doesn't want appreciation. He wants that soft tone back in Jaskier's voice when he speaks to him. He wants Jaskier to speak to him, to turn to him free and easy with something to say.

"He'll like it," Eskel says, "Just-"

He turns, his soft eyes full of warning. "Just don't put all your hopes on an old harpsichord."

Lambert snorts, "Too little too late!" He laughs. And Lambert has always been hateful, more so since Aiden was lost, but the words feel true.

Jaskier smiles when he presents him with the harpsichord. He exclaims and laughs and claps his hands. He extolls its virtues, coos over its decorations, fusses over it with all the enthusiasm of a performing parrot. He pulls Ciri onto his lap and guides her hands on the keys, composes a little ditty on the fly for Yennefer, plays something sweet and sad that makes Lambert turn his face away. In all the merriment and gratitude and excitement, he looks Geralt in the eyes only once. Once, upon the first shock of the present. Once, with eyes wide and open, like a wound.

Geralt lingers as the others go off to bed, watching as Jaskier slowly fades as his audience wanes.

"Thank you, Geralt." he says. "It is truly a magnificent present. And far more than I deserve."

Do not thank me is what Geralt wants to say. Do not thank me, not when I have done this to you.

"I didn't do much," is what comes out of his mouth. "It was already there."

Jaskier does not look at him. "If this is an apology-" he says, "I do not need it. You were tired and upset. You spoke your mind. And nothing you said was- untrue. From a certain point of view. You do not need to absolve your guilt to me."

"Jaskier," Geralt says. "I'm sorry."

"And I forgive you." Jaskier says "I forgave you even the moment you after spoke. I don't think I would be myself if I could do otherwise."

It is done. The gift given, the apology accepted. And yet the silence still sits heavy in the air. It is not fixed. It is still broken. It is still out of tune and all of Geralt's twisting and tunings have not set the melody to rights.

"Why are you still like this?" He says. Jaskier stiffens. The words are wrong again, he's done it again, and he could scream with frustration, like a child who keeps swinging the sword and cutting himself on the dulled edge.

"Do you know the Countess de Stael bought me a Stradivarius once?" Jaskier said. "You don't know what that is. A fiddle, rarer than rubies. There were only twenty ever made. It sings like nothing else. She presented it to me on a bed of velvet, and told me she loved me. She told me to stay. And I would have."

Jaskier plinks a few idle notes. "She kicked me out a month later. Too mouthy. Too tacky. Too gauche. She had found someone better. She took back the Stradivarius and handed it off to her new minstrel."

"What I am saying, Geralt-" He says. "What I am asking- Is that you not do things you do not mean. That you not give me false hope. That you stop trying to make me love you, because I already do. I already do and it hurts. It hurts so much."

[dear-ao3]

Question for the mods....

HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU MEET???

Like what???

How??

I am so god damn curious about you two. I wanna study yall under a microscope lol

Also ngl kinda envious of how close of friends you two seem to be. (Being an introverted shy af mofo sucks lmao)

I would actually probably read a whole ass book or watch a sitcom or something of the seemingly ever present weird-ass shit that seems to happen on a day-by-day basis.

/gen /lh /nf /pos

2018 newsies fandom. we weren't overly close but we bonded over race and albert a little and then katya dropped off the face of the earth for about a year.

during 2020 lockdown we both independently got into the witcher fandom and somehow ran into eachother again and had the fingers pointing OH MY GOD Y O U !!! moment in our dms. we bonded over hating jaskier. during this time we realized we were both dancers and katya was looking at dance colleges, i was already in college for dance and since it was lockdown and we couldn't go anywhere i told katya my experience auditioning at places to give him a good idea of places. and then i broke every internet safety rule known to man and said hey what if you had applied to my college but didnt know it?? and then one thing led to another and i dished out all the tea on my school. (only After that did we face reveal and give eachother our names lol) and then katya applied. mostly as a joke. until it wasnt a joke because that school gave katya a shit load of money and actually had stuff katya wanted to do. katya ended up coming to one of my zoom ballet classes and it took everything we had to not loose our shit on camera.

during this time we mostly kept eachother sane in lockdown writing witcher fanfic, and sending eachother awful thirst traps on instagram to pitbull music. one of our awful bits was using the dilf filter to make bad frat boy edits.

come august of 2021 we both moved into college. the same college. in the same building. it was wild. i pinched myself several times in shock. we went on a walk around campus with some worms on strings and were like what the hell how did we get here.

we continued to hang out and did weird insane things together. we took a class on the french revolution together where i had to put up with katya and fennec awkwardly flirting (read: making finger guns at eachother).

and then, since i was 2 years older, i was graduating and was going to stay in the area for a job and was like hey. what if we got an apartment together? and then we did. several adults agreed to this. idk why they let us. but now we live together in a real life apartment and we haven't even killed eachother yet. neither of our parents know that we met online. each of them have a different fake story as to how we know eachother and we really just hope they are never in the same room long enough to ask eachother about it. but its insane. 12/10 would recommend.

katya wanted me to include old tumblr screenshots of us talking, heres what i found from circa 2020:

we've always been like this lol

and heres some ancient greatest hits from instagram, i dont have context and trust me you dont want it:

every now and then the two of us look at eachother and go. how the fuck did we end up here??? (we have no idea)

[petew21-blog]

Great Shift stories, Henry and Joey

Paparazzi:"Gentlemen, smile. Look to the right. Yeah. Good"

Henry and Joey were at the front of the hall, where the press conference was about to be held, before the release of the new Witcher season. They were all instructed to suit up and arrive. Henry felt like he was betraying Joey. They were about to announce soon, that he was leaving the Witcher TV series and passing the role to Liam Hemsworth. Henry didn't want to continue playing Geralt if the story wouldn't be more faithful to the books. Unfortunately, Joey already signed his contract and therefore had to play Jaskier for another year without Henry.

They stood next to each other. Joey couldn't pretend that he was happy. He was angry, because Henry didn't tell him soon enough how he felt and that he was leaving, trapping Joey in a job he started to hate. He felt betrayed

Back then nobody knew what happened in the following moments. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was intentional. But all they knew was that suddenly all around them was pure chaos. The whole city confused and screaming. Most of the planet swapped bodies with someone standing close to them. Some were very unlucky, in some cases the swap was lethal or caused many people to die. But some people got really lucky. Just like Joey and Henry here

They were obviously both shocked when they found themselves in each other's bodies. But they were interrupted by the people around them screaming and shouting at each other.

Joey in Henry's body:"Henry? Is that you? I'm you!"

Henry in Joey's body:"Is this real? Is it really happening?"

Joey:"I think it is. And I don't think we're the only ones. Maybe we should go somewhere more quiet."

Joey starts walking away, but as soon as Henry moves his body a sharp pain shoots from the back of his body.

Henry:"Ah fuck. Wait. There's something wrong. It feels like..."

Joey started smiling, realising.

Henry didn't find the pain that bad anymore and was slowly figuring out, what it was.

Henry:"Joey? Is that what I think it is?"

Joey:"I don't know what you're talking about"

Henry started laughing at his old face

Henry:"Hahahaha. No you didn't. Holy shit you're naughty, Joey. You really went to a press con with a dildo up your ass? Wow. I never thought that you'd be able to do this."

Joey:"Maybe we should go?"

Henry:"Oh fuck, we are. I really need to take a proper look at that thing stuck inside of me now "

Joey went first and couldn't stop smiling, as he heard Henry struggling to walk properly

But Henry was getting more and more into it. He never had a dildo up his ass. And this one was BIG.

They got into an empty hotel room nearby.

Joey went to the bathroom first to piss and left Henry outside. Henry started throwing his clothes off to the ground. But stopped, once he felt the thing in him move. He got on his knees and felt his own ass trying to push it in and out. An overwhelming feeling caused him to moan out loud and hold ok tightly to the bed sheets.

He heard the bathroom door open

Joey:"You wanna use the bathroom?"

Henry got up and without saying a word went to the bathroom while grabbing his old body's cheeks playfully on the way.

He wanted to look at himself in the mirror, but he needed the dildo to move. He needed to find a better position. But another unwanted movement caused him to collapse into the bath still in his clothes.

He just sat there leaning on the edges of the bath, moving his ass up and down in the air. Causing the dildo to move up and down. He was now covered in sweat. His body was begging to be fucked

Joey:"You need some help with that?" He pointed at his ass

Henry needed to be fucked. And there was a thing much better than the dildo in his ass

He leaned to the front and grabbed his old semi-hard bulge looking seductively into his old eyes

Henry:"Whip it out big boy. You got a hole to patch. And I need it"

Joey:"Are you sure you..."

Henry:"Fuck me right now!!!"

Joey threw off his pants and boxers. Leaving himself in Henry's Grey shirt only

Henry:"I want you to show me how you can be better than that dildo"

Joey:"I'm not really sure about this"

Henry:"Please just fuck me already. I can't take this anymore"

Joey helped Henry to take off his clothes. He turned him around to let him hold the edge of the bath. He then grabbed the base off the dildo and started moving it up and down rythmically. Henry was moaning in pleasure. No, he was screaming

As soon as Joey got hard, he pulled out the dildo and showed his new huge dick into his old ass. Henry couldn't even tell the difference. But now it was warmer, pulsating. And Joey was pounding him.

They were now one. Combined. Sweaty. Joey was deep inside of Henry moving his intestines.

Henry:"Ah ah ah ah. Fuck me... I need you"

Joey couldn't hold it anymore, he pulled out his new dick and shoot the load at his old back.

He was breathing rapidly from the fast tempo. Henry was still holding on. But Joey moved his head to the side and noticed his old dick leaking cum

Joey smiled. Yeah, fuck the betrayal. He's gonna be punishing him for that very often from now own.

Anonymous inbox request:

What about the great shift strikes. And everyone is swapped with the closest person at the moment. A story where henry cavill gets swapped with joey batey before some press con. And henry finds that joey's body has a dildo up his ass and he's so turned up that he begs joey to fuck him.

[sailorkamino]

sheltered

relatonships: geraskier x magic!reader [tangled au]

word count: 1.8k

summary: your village believed you to be born cursed and would have killed you, if not for stragobor. you've spent your whole life locked away in a tower but now you've got a chance for freedom in the form of a bard, a witcher, and an pretty horse.

warnings: stragobor, emotionally abusive parent, gaslighting, anti witcher prejudice, death/murder, pre relationship, emotional support dogs

a/n: my first time writing for the witcher! what do you think? i might turn this into a series <3

Spring is coming so you’re making new outfits for your beloved hounds. Which isn’t at all depressing no matter what that one judgemental bird thinks. Anyways you’re using golden yellow fabric for Honeysuckle and cool blue for Periwinkle. As is customary.

Then you sense them. Strangers. You become almost dizzy with fear and excitement. A type of desperation only experienced when you live in a forced solitude. You make your way to the window, desperate for a glance. It’s not like they’ll be able to see you. Your entire tower is invisible to outsiders.

“Hey, look at this tower.”

You choke on air. Your dogs leap from your bed to check on you (still in their winter sweaters.) You hold your breath as two people and a horse step into the clearing. Then you meet yellow cat-like eyes and you’re diving to the floor with a startled noise.

“Careful. Magic.”

One of them is mumbling but it’s drowned out by the sound of your rapid heart. Honeysuckle whines in concern, licking your face. Periwinkle takes a protective stance over both of you, growling out the window.

Father has always told you witchers are bloodthirsty savages. They’ll kill any innocent being for a profit. They know no morals, only violence. When you were born under a black sun your religious village wanted you dead. Father hid you away for protection. You’re not looking to relieve the witch hunt experience.

You mentally poke at the witcher, feeling out his aura. He doesn’t seem particularly beastly. Animals tend to be more shallow than people, all instincts and simple emotions. Surprisingly he doesn’t feel that.

A part of you has always questioned your father's prejudice. You stopped voicing it but the concerns remained. Father hates witchers because they kill beasts. If monsters can be good, why can’t witchers? An old argument resurfaces in your memory.

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said, child?” Father asks angrily. “You cry when a rat dies yet defend butchers.” You look away, embarrassed by his mocking tone.

“This is why you stay in this tower. You’re too naïve for the outside world.”

You wonder if that’s the real reason he keeps you locked away. You’re capable of defending yourself now. So is he really protecting you? Or is he protecting the world? All because you were born under a black sun. Why must you be punished for being different? Why must witchers?

You think of the villagers who looked at a crying orphan and saw a threat. Who saw killing an infant as a lesser evil. You don’t want to be like that. Privately you wonder why your mentor sees compassion as a weakness but you’ve learnt it’s better to agree with him. “Yes father. I’m sorry.”

“No need to fear us. I’m Jaskier the bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Could you give us directions to the nearest town?” The colorful man calls out.

Your heart races until you feel dizzy. So this is the butcher. The most beastly and cruel of all the witchers. He’s… underwhelming to say the least. Certainly least nightmarish and more dreamy than you imagined. But you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. You take a calming breath, petting your hounds to ground yourself.

The primal fear inside of you is wrestling with your desire for a real life conversation with a stranger. This could be your chance to hear both sides of what happened in Blaviken. Father always says you’re too naïve but only tells you his point of view. You’re almost sick with nerves when you blurt out rather loudly, “I wouldn't know. I’ve never been in the forest before.”

There’s a long pause and you can sense confusion. Have you already messed up? You don't want them to leave. Well the witcher can go, but the colorful one seems nice. You pop your head back into view, “I don’t leave my tower. I’m sorry. I… like your horse.” Compliments make you friends right?

“Don’t leave or can’t?” A much gruffer voice asks. You shiver. (He didn’t even say thank you for the compliment, how rude.)

“I’m safe here.” The words sound unconvincing to your own ears. You tell yourself it's because of fear. Not because you’re beginning to question them.

“Who says?”

“My father.”

They share a concerned look. You bite your lip in embarrassment. It sounds quite childish when you say it out loud. But you’ve been persecuted before, you aren’t about to let your guard down around a hired killer. So… why are you still talking to him?

Then you notice the brunet’s instrument. What a lovely change of subject. “Is that a lute?”

“It is!”

You’re practically jumping now. Honeysuckle, picking up on your excitement, smacks you with her wagging tail. “I’ve never heard a bard before! Play me something?”

Jaskier goes impossibly sad. You frown, hating the kicked puppy expression. What did you do wrong? Maybe you should just stick to socializing with animals. At least the rats find you charming.

“You’ve never heard music, my dear?”

Your face goes hot, both at the endearment and the pity in his voice. “I have lots of instruments but I don’t think I’m very good. Being self taught and all.”

“Why don’t I come up and give you a lesson? Free of charge!”

Your stomach twists in knots. You don’t know what’s more terrifying. Your new friend coming inside or leaving you to loneliness. You avoid eye contact when you answer. “My father wouldn’t like that.”

“What would you like?” The witcher asks sternly. You freeze. No one has ever cared what you wanted before. Is that concern you sense from him? Sympathy? From a so-called beast? Your silence seems like an answer enough. “So can’t leave,” he concludes.

“Can others enter?” Jaskier asks curiously.

You don’t know why you answer but you do. “Only with a portal. There’s no door.”

“But there’s a window.”

You frown. Obviously there’s a window, you’re talking out of it right now. Maybe your new friend is a little slow.

“Rope?” he proposes to the witcher.

Your mouth drops open. A rope? That’s it? Years of isolation by a warlock solved with a fucking rope? It can’t be that simple. It just can’t be. “My father is very powerful,” you warn. “And he hates witchers.”

“Him and most of the continent,” the man grumbles dryly. For some reason you feel guilty. Years of indoctrination to hate his kind, forgotten in mere minutes. Maybe you really are naïve.

“Who’s your father, dear? Maybe we know him?”

You sincerely hope not. “Stregobor.”

Dead silence. Then a very empathetic “fuck.”

Your stomach sinks. That’s the most emotion you’ve heard in the witcher’s voice so far and it doesn't sound good. Will they judge you for your fathers deeds? Wait, why are you assuming your father’s in the wrong? Since when did he become the bad guy? (Maybe he always has been but you’ve ignored it.)

“Let me guess, you were born during a black sun?” He asks flatly.

You feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under you. The comfort that’s been growing disappears, replaced with icy fear. You don’t even know this man yet you still feel betrayed. “Are you here to kill me?” You ask, slightly wobbly.

He sighs tiredly. Maybe he gets asked that a lot. “No. You aren’t fucking cursed. You were born during an eclipse. A completely natural phenomenon. A bunch of old bastards made up that curse for power and control.”

Your jaw drops, conflicting emotions raging inside of you. If he’s right you’re not cursed, which is great. But it also means your father has betrayed you. Your whole life can’t be a lie. It just can’t. A sinking part of you knows he’s making sense, even wants to believe him, but you desperately ignore it.

“I hurt people,” you confess abruptly.

“I thought you never left this tower?” Jaskier asks.

“When I was a baby.”

The witcher raises an unimpressed brow. “Did Stregobor tell you that?”

You growl in frustration as a strong wind rustles the trees. Jaskier looks around in bewilderment but the witcher holds your steady gaze. Not easily frightened by your show of power or glowing eyes.

“I’ve met a lot of monsters. You’re not one.”

The words you’ve always longed to hear. Uttered by the man you’ve been taught to hate. You take a moment to collect your flurry of emotions before answering. “Funny,” you smile weakly, “I was gonna say the same thing about you, witcher.”

You steady yourself before asking the next question. Knowing it won’t be easy but needing answers. The more you talk to Geralt the more you question what you’ve been taught about witchers. Maybe you don’t want him to be a monster. Maybe you’re so lonely you don’t care if he is.

“Tell me about Blaviken.”

“What?” His voice is somehow gruffer. Face horribly blank and posture rigid.

“Every story has two sides, yet I’ve only heard my father’s.”

He sighs deeply. Then begins. He tells you about Renfri. A princess born under the black sun. Her step mother was looking for a way to get rid of her and the curse was convenient. Stregobor agreed the girl was an evil mutant that must be isolated but her step mother wanted her dead. Together they ruined her life.

Renfri evaded them. She spent years being hunted, until she became the hunter. Eventually she formed a gang of sorts and tracked Stregobor to Blaviken but couldn’t enter his tower. (Apparently the idea of living in a tower forever was very distressing to your father. You don't know if you should laugh or vomit.)

Both Renfri and Stregobor asked Geralt to kill the other but he refused, not wanting to get involved. Although he hated Stregobor he tried to talk the princess out of revenge. It was too late. She threatened to kill townspeople until the warlock came out.

Your heart sinks at the ultimatum. Your father has never been a compassionate man. By the grim look on the witcher’s face he knew it too. In the end Geralt did what Stregobor wanted him to do. Instead of payment or thanks he was branded a butcher.

The fear-shame-grief rolling off of the witcher (definitely not emotionless by the way) is enough to make your eyes sting. Your gaze settles on Jaskier, who’s gone into full sad puppy mode. You have a feeling he’s never heard the full story either. You clear your choked throat.

“You mentioned a rope, good sir?”

[jay-arts-t]

Posting a a little today but really like the whole bit the boys have over calling Vesemir old. They all just collectively agree “old man old man”

It’s even funnier when notw makes vesemir only 70, or really 60 something years older than them since they’re around 4-8 age group. And he only looks like he’s in his 20s-early thirties. I’m sure Lambert started it. One day he just asks “why are you so old?” And Vesemir is left shocked. He’s not that old!!! But then when they get back to Kaer Morhen and the boys are a bit older Geralt finally gets to ask all his questions about Kaer Morhen he couldn’t ask before.

“How old is Kaer Morhen?”

“I don’t know Geralt. Old.”

“Are you older than Kaer Morhen or as old?”

Vesemir throws his boots at him. Then that’s when the whole “*insert item* is almost as old as Vesemir!”

HE HATES IT.

When Ciri finally joins them, Lambert immediately teaches her the bit. She is RUTHLESS with her insults. Vesemir is giving her a history lesson in the courtyard since it’s nice out. The boys are fixing one of the walls in the background. He’s telling her about a war that happened around 600 years ago.

“Do you remember what it was like in that time? Since you were there?” Vesemir wants to crawl into a hole and die in it. The boys are basically toppled over in laughter. Lambert starts choking from laughing too hard. Ciri seems extremely pleased with herself.

It starts evolving further into “oh you wanna know about the conjunction of spheres? Oh I dunno, ask Vesemir he was there since before the conjunction.” And “what was it like when dinosaurs were alive, Vesemir?”

AND IT SOMEHOW SPREADS. He’s in a growing town in southern Redania with Geralt and they run into Jaskier. Now he’s never had the fortune of meeting him, but he’s heard plenty. He’s about to thank the poet for looking after Geralt until Jaskier goes “so I’ve heard you’re quite old! Tell me Master Vesemir, what was it like when kingdoms started to form? How did the royal families come to be in power?”

Vesemir is SEETHING. Geralt just smiles like the little shit he is.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 109

Geralt is a witcher. Cats tend to distance themselves from witchers. Sometimes Geralt wonders what cats are like. So one day he asks. "Cats are lovely. Beautiful little sweethearts." The old woman who owns the inn says to him. "Cats are annoying varmints, always yowling in the middle of the night when they're in heat, they SCREAM their little heads off, can't catch a wink of sleep with them around!" A man passing by him in the market complains, with the anger of someone who has clearly thought about this a lot. "My cat isn't the biggest fan of being touched, but she's a good girl. Catches the mice." "They're evil little hellions, nothing compared to dogs. Don't even like their owners." "I'd like 'em a whole lot more if my way of living wasn't being a fisherman. They climb in at night and steal my best catches." "They're adorable!" "My cat is the cuddliest sweetest snuggliest little kitty to ever live, I think. Nobody will ever love me as much as he loves me." "My friend has a kitten! She already knows to chase the feathers we wave in front of her! I hope she still plays when she grows up." Opinions are varied in the town, but the majority seem to love them. He wants to know what they're like, not if they are liked. He sits down with a friendlier townie one afternoon and asks in detail what cats are like. What's great about them, what's bad about them, what do they like, what do they hate, what can they do, what have they done? The more she describes cats, however, the more Geralt can't help but be reminded of Jaskier. "They're playful. They love making noise and chasing things."

"Geralt, please, can't I play my lute? It's been fourteen whole minutes of SILENCE! Let me play a song!" "Why do you stay?" "Maybe I just like following you, Geralt. It's nice only having to pay for half of everything, after all."

"They're moody little things. Cats will want to cuddle you one second, and be left alone the next, and if you can't read their mind, they'll give you an annoyed little pouty face, as if you were meant to know better!"

"Geralt, do you mind if I...?" "If you what?" "Sit here?" "...My lap?" "That is where I'm sitting, yes. May I?" "...Mm." "Great thanks!~" "Geralt, you pissing idiot! I can't believe you! Don't touch me! Don't even look at me! How could you do something so so so SO stupid!?" "This is my job, Jaskier." "And apparently sewing up your arm is mine!" "I can take care of it." "Oh, I'm meant to just trust the man who went off and got mauled by a werewolf, then?"

"They enjoy a good sleep. Cats nap more than my old man, if you can believe it. They love comfort and luxury."

"Geralt, can't we stay at an inn? It's been so long." "Can we rest? Just for a bit? Pleaaaase? I want a nap. Don't I deserve it?" "Geralt, not to be ungrateful, but I think sleeping on the dirt would be better than this inn. Don't tell me you're making us sleep here. There's probably snakes nesting in the pillows."

"But at the same time, they love the grittiest bits of the outdoors. Chasing rabbits through tunnels, climbing trees after a songbird- My childhood cat used to dive in the swamp to catch frogs."

"Geralt, taking a shortcut through the bog is the easiest way to get to the competition in time! Now hurry along! Either I cross the bog alone, or you come with me!" "Geralt, I went looking for potion ingredients while you were skinning the deer!" "Geralt, are you going to cut the damn thing's head off or what? Wait, darling, are you alright? Are you hurt? Let me do it-"

"They sometimes bring you dead critters because they want to feed you. It's oddly very endearing."

"Geralt, I bought you some honey buns!" "I found some lovely cakes, do you want one, Geralt? You haven't eaten at all today." "I- I killed it. It was coming straight for you and I panicked. Am I bleeding? I can't quite tell because of the adrenaline, so am I bleeding or not, Gerelt? Can you tell me? Are YOU bleeding? Did I get it in time?" "I got so many tips last time I played, Geralt, you can get a bigger meal."

"They get themselves into trouble a lot, though. Places they shouldn't be, things they shouldn't touch, things they shouldn't eat."

"Geralt, I didn't mean to cause all of this. I'm sorry." "It's nothing, Jaskier. I'm just glad you're unharmed." "...Um... Geralt? Can you let go of my wrists now?" "Don't. Touch. Anything. The plant's spines are poisonous." "Jaskier, spit it out! SPIT IT OUT! I told you to stop fucking eating things in Yennefer's place" "Then why was it colored like a nice candy?"

"When they're scared or angry, they can make a right mess out of you. Don't let their cuteness fool you, they can do some damage."

"What else was I supposed to do, Geralt?" "Not punch him!" "He said you were a monster!" "I am!" "Do you want me to punch YOU?" "Geralt, I lost my dagger. It was in one of the bandits we chased away." "Geralt, will you teach me how to use a sword? Nothing fancy, just how to kill something."

"But above all, they're loyal, and loving. Ever so lovely. They'd die for you, if you treated them nice enough." "Thank you for telling me. I.. Have to go." Geralt stammers out, racing away to the inn he left Jaskier in. "Oh, hello, Geralt. Did you find a contact?" And Geralt yanks him close, and hugs him. He should try kissing him one of these days. Either way, Geralt won't mourn for the cat he can never have, for he has a Jaskier, and it's close enough.

[annmarcus63]

It's a pleasant night. His belly is full, his feet throbbing after dancing all over the tavern like he was the eighteen-year-old bard he used to be. He's no longer that foolish child, not after everything. The only thing left from the eighteen-year-old Jaskier is Geralt. Jaskier smiles at the thought. Speaking of a certain witcher, he's sitting on the chair by the window, the light from the fire coloring his side with an auspicious orange hue. He’s so handsome. 

It's been a while since the last time he traveled with Geralt, quite a while since the last time they were traveling to a big town, Oxenfurt specifically. That's the reason he feels so content, lightheaded in the best of ways and a little bit excited. You see, he's received a letter from the university. He will be named Artist of the Decade in a major award (obviously) as part of the Oxenfurt Music and Arts festival. Artist of the decade, him, Jaskier. Valdo Marx shited in his pants when the results were published, Jaskier imagined.

"I hope he'll be there! I want to see his cherry plump face when I'm called to the stage. ‘Vulgar art’ he said, he called me untalented, the bastard" The bard is beginning to remove his clothes before going to bed, he's undoing the laces of his boots while talking like eighteen-year-old Jaskier used to. "I'm sure he'll be there. That snake. There was a time he told everyone at the music guild that the lyrics of my song were false, that you weren't even my friend!” 

"Most of the lyrics aren’t exactly true" says Geralt in the background, Jaskier ignores him. 

"Oh oh oh I want to see his face when he sees you there"

“Jaskier” Geralt calls

"Take that mister 'i'm better than you' "

“Jaskier” Geralt calls 

"Yes, darling?" Answers Jaskier with fond exasperation. He's having a big monologue here and that's the moment Geralt decides he wants to add to the conversation. He's been quiet lately. 

"I'm not going" Jaskier feels a bold blow on the center of his chest. His heart hunching on itself at registering those words. He understands perfectly well but decides to play dumb anyway. "Where, darling?" and apparently Geralt wants to play dumb too because he stays silent. 

"Can I ask why?" Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest, already defensive and Geralt is there, still sitting, with a somber expression. This is going to end in an argument, both of them can tell.

"I can't" 

"Alright..." Geralt hates being prompted to talk when the conversation is tense, but Jaskier can help it, and doesn't want to help him.

"I'm sorry" at least here he looks remorseful. 

"No, no, Geralt. You promised!" 

"I'm sorry, something has come up..." Jaskier takes two steps forward and Geralt stands raising his hands in a placating manner. 

"What has come up...?" And then Jaskier remembers, the black speck against the window in the middle of the night a week ago. "Does this have something to do with that raven?" Geralt growls, sometimes he forgets his bard used to be a Redanian spy. “Is it because of Yennefer?”

"I'm sorry" Geralt nods, giving the truth. "Is important" 

"This is important too!" 

And now the bard is shouting at Geralt, he hates doing that, but the witcher is not helping either.

“It’s an award, you have plenty” 

“It’s NOT an award, is THE award” 

They are standing in front of the other, speaking to the other’s face, up this close Jaskier can see the pattern of tiny scars all over Geralt's face. The bard takes a couple of calming breaths, trying to keep his temper. He hates arguing with the witcher. "Can't she wait?" he asks, but Geralt only denies with his head, already so sure "What is it about?" the witcher doesn't reply "You don't even know!" There goes Jaskier temper again, the bard throws his arms in the air, exasperated and frustrated. This is important to him, and Geralt knew it and it pains him to realize that the witcher would so easily push him aside. A if Jaskier achievements aren't a thing to cherish and celebrate, as if... he's not important. "She didn't tell, she said It's important" Says Geralt followed by a heavy sigh indicating that he thinks  Jaskier is being childish.

"This is important to me, Geralt - "

" - I know..."

" I asked you to come last year, remember? I told you that I might win the award and you promised you’ll come! I know you don't like big cities but..."

“-I’m sorry” And that's it. Jaskier can feel his heart turning into dust and falling heavily to the pit of his stomach. It's not the same as the mountain, but it feels similar in a way. Jaskier is realizing just how much he means to Geralt. Again. Jaskier holds Geralt's eyes from below, at least the witcher looks ashamed. 

And then after a long, resigned sigh the bard murmurs "Whatever" It keeps happening, repeatedly, suddenly and inexplicably he keeps getting hurt with by his own naivety by thinking that someday Geralt would choose him, not over Yennefer, Ciri or the other witchers. Just choose him because he wants to. Because it's fair, because Jaskier wants him to be there. 

He likes Yennefer now, he even catches himself thinking of her with love. The kind of love you have for the one that makes your true love happy. But he also knows that she can fend for herself and that it is possible for Geralt to wait at least a day before responding to her siren song. She gets to have him forever, why does Jaskier can't have him only for a fucking day? And now he's being pitiful, and he hates himself a little bit for that.

Maybe he's overreacting, maybe it's not that important… but it is! He wants Geralt to be there, to share the award with him. But at the end it's not Geralt's fault, he'll not resent the witcher for having priorities, a family to take care of which includes Yennefer and the others but not him. Maybe it's time for Jaskier to find his own. He has already spent enough effort in becoming part of Geralt. Jaskier goes to search his travel bag for his notebook, he needs to rework on his acceptance speech. 

"I'll gather we'll be parting ways at the crossroads tomorrow?" Jaskier turns around briefly, wanting to see the witcher’s expression, to be suddenly confronted with an uncomfortable and unexpected feeling at reading on Geralt's face, a lot more than surely the witcher wants to convey. Shame, uncertainty, fear of not knowing what went wrong and how to prevent it from getting worse. And Jaskier feels sympathy, despite everything that has happened, what is happening, Geralt tries, on his own, albeit slow way.

"Yeah" 

"Good"

Geralt starts fidgeting on the same spot from before, when Jaskier decides he has had enough and turns. The witcher hasn't moved an inch, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, the bard can tell. But it won’t come to that. Not anymore. Enough of this, enough of scraps. 

"I'm going out, don't wait for me" Jaskier murmurs  when he's at the door. Geralt calls for him, but Jaskier pretends to have not heard. 

In the morning Geralt arrives at the stables to find Jaskier already waiting for him by Roach. They travel side by side all morning, Jaskier holding his notebook in front of his face, he seems to be reading and rereading the speech, which is weird because he said he's already memorized it. They haven't spoken much, and Geralt hates it. He should be saying something, anything! Something along the lines of "I'll go with you" but Yenn... what if? 

Jaskier stops and turns around to face him from below, one hand scratching Roach's neck. They are at the crossroads; it's almost noon and Geralt doesn't know what to say. Their gazes lock for a long time, the wind singing softly around them, the leaves of the trees falling like orange rain. It's so calm. "Take care, Geralt"  Jaskier says in the softest of voices and turns right. Geralt watches marching away, wondering why it feels like a goodbye.

It's funny how loneliness comes in the strangest of forms. Surrounded by dozens of people shouting his name from the square in front of the stage. Wasn't this what you wanted? his mind supplies unhelpfully. Yes, he did want this, the love and admiration of the masses. He is, after all, the artist of the decade. But, well, in retrospect he was young with little knowledge of life. It's only natural that your aspirations may change through the years. Don't get him wrong, older Jaskier wants the same as younger Jaskier, but now, he understands that the love of the masses can't fill the void of being unloved and unwanted by people close to him, or people he thought were close to him. So, he accepts the award with the biggest smile on his repertoire, mocks Valdo Marx and goes to the tavern with a bunch of scholars like him. He drinks, he laughs, he sings a lot of his songs, flirts and plays gwent.  And with every sip of wine and ale he peels a little bit of his sorrow, his wounded self-esteem, his beaten heart, and self-pity. He wished Geralt was here, with him, but he's not here, so be it. Enough of wanting, enough of this ever-present loneliness. He's resolute. He'll find a place to call home, and he won't resent Geralt. Ok maybe a little. 

The celebration has reached the part where everyone is drunk enough to dance and sing at the top of their lungs. Jaskier is standing on top of a table surrounded by the taverns, he's leading the song. He's sweating all over, his hair a brown wet mess. He's happy. When the front door swings open, it's Geralt. The witcher removes his hood and instantly locks eyes with the bard. Like a hunter finding his prey. Jaskier stops singing, right there and then, hopefully no one notices because the song continues its course. 

No, no, it's too late. Jaskier thinks. I've already made up my mind. The bard climbs down from the table and pushes through the crowd. His mind it's a volatile compass, pointing at his resolution and to Geralt. It tries to decide how to proceed. It tries to decide which path will hurt more or less. 

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier is proud of his steady voice. Not even the ale could break him.

"I thought I'd make it on time, ''Geralt replies , his eyes trying to find Jaskier's, but the bard is looking at a spot on the witcher's shoulder. 

"You're late" In that moment the blue eyes look up to meet yellow ones, defying Geralt to name the issue. To name the hurt on Jaskier’s eyes the night before. To name the emotion that is now on the bard's eyes.

They both know this isn't about the ceremony, not anymore.

"I'm here now" Geralt says heavily and Jaskier laughs cause it's funny really. i'm here now so it must be enough. 

And this is the thing, he forgave Geralt many times thanks to sporadic care and attention that would be forgotten later. His heart is screaming within his chest, the poor thing wants to take Geralt back. But no, Jaskier won't listen to it anymore. 

"And you are late" 

A girl walks past them holding a tray of beers, Jaskier takes one and drinks half of it in one go.

Geralt watches him, anxiety sewing itself on his veins. He can feel that is it. He fucked up, again, but this time for good.

"I thought Yen’s message was important" Jaskier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, cursing internally, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. He sounds bitter and resentful. He hates it.

"It is, but this is too" and oh the witcher is trying but instead of being charmed Jaskier gets angry.

"Oh, now it's important, I see. Well, maybe if you have arrived on time for the actual ceremony..."

“…I tried”

"Maybe it wouldn't be too fucking late" A young couple turn to look at them. Feeling embarrassed, Jaskier lowers his voice and continues. "I appreciate the effort, Geralt, but it is an unnecessary one. I’m sorry my friend” says Jaskier, reaching out to place a hand on the Witcher’s muscular arm, trying to convey comradery, an olive branch if you will, for Geralt to take and be gone without blame. If Jaskier dared to look at Geralt's face one more time, he would find sadness, grief, shame, and fear. Every emotion that the witcher always tried to conceal from everyone, especially Jaskier.  “There's an open bar, enjoy the celebration. Rest. I'm going to sleep" In that instant Jaskier's heart broke even more. Oh, how he wanted this man, how he longs for him, decades on end. Even in his resolution he still wants him. 

He needs to rest too. He's not young anymore, his feet hurt, and his thighs are trembling from the exertion. So, he turns around up the stairs to his room, closes the door behind and with clothes and all, he gets into bed and sleeps like death.

---

I'm posting this fic again because I just realized that I never posted the ending. I'm stupid. I'm sorry.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Excellenttttt! Can I req something with (male) witcher reader x jaskier in a soulmates!au?

Maybe reader gets a contract to take care of a monster(s) that's been terrorising the village/city jaskier was staying in, somehow they meet (maybe reader saves jaskier from said monster) and find out they're soulmates <3 ok that's all ty

Of Monsters and Melodies

Pairing : Jaskier x Male Witcher Reader Tags: soulmate Au, Flirting , pre relationship, Word count : 1533

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the bustling market square of Lyria, where villagers keenly traded their wares and exchanged pleasantries of the day. Yet beneath the vibrant hustle and bustle, a tense atmosphere lingered. Whispers of a lurking monster that had been terrorising the outskirts of the village floated through the air, casting ominous shadows over the laughter of children and the scent of fresh bread.

Y/N approached the village at a slow, deliberate pace, his sombre demeanour in stark contrast to the lively surroundings. As a Witcher, he had experienced more than his fair share of hatred from humans . His grumpy disposition had earned him a reputation that often preceded him. But tonight, he was here to eliminate a 

a ghoul A horrible, low, and nasty beast.

As he made his way to the tavern, the villagers sent him wary glances. Witchers were known as outsiders, monsters in their own right if you asked some folk—different with their silver hair, cat-like eyes. Y/N preferred it that way. The less attention he drew to himself, the better. Lost in contemplation, he barely registered the cheerful singing that emanated from the nearby tavern.

Inside, the tavern was filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and a melody that seemed too joyous for a village beset by fear. A bard stood center stage, strumming a lute and pouring his heart into a tale of bravery and love, of knights and damsels.

Jaskier’s bright eyes sparkled as he spun tales, but Y/N’s irritation began to grow. Why was he so effortlessly cheerful? Didn’t he realise the darkness lurking beyond the tavern’s walls? But as much as Y/N hated to admit it, he found himself caught up in the rhythm of the music, despite his reasons to remain grumpy.

“Ah, and a Witcher, he bravely shall stand!” Jaskier’s voice rang out, drawing Y/N’s attention as the bard spotted him. “To confront the ghouls with sword in hand!”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Y/N muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t want the bard’s attention, not now. He made his way to the tavern keeper to ask about the contact.

The tavern keeper, a burly man with a bushy beard and a wary eye, leaned forward as Y/N approached.

“What brings a Witcher to our humble square?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with an edge of suspicion. “We’ve enough troubles without you stirring the pot.”

“I’m here for the ghoul, not to make trouble,” Y/N replied evenly, his tone devoid of warmth. “I was told I could find a contact here,”

The tavern keeper frowned, wiping down the bar with a rag that had seen better days. “Aye, the ghoul has been coming closer to the village. There’s a farmer, old Braeden, lost a son to one of those beasts not long ago”

“Tell me where the creature was seen last?.”

“East of here, by the old ruins,” The tavern keeper said, voice low and harsh. “It comes at dusk when the light fades—snatches up livestock”

Before Y/N could respond, the bard was at his side, grinning widely. “Ah! The mighty Witcher! How could I ignore such a striking figure?”

Y/N crossed his arms, unwilling to be flattered. “I’m merely here to do a job, bard. I don’t have time for your foolishness.”

Jaskier’s expression did not falter; if anything, his smile widened. “Who said doing a job had to be devoid of charm? Surely, even the most seasoned Witcher needs a little mirth to brighten the path ahead?” He leaned closer, an impish sparkle in his eye. “Tell me, do you have any exciting tales of ghoul-slaying? Perhaps a war wound or two?”

“Just the job, bard,” Y/N replied tersely, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t want to share his burdens with anyone.

As he made his way toward the door, Jaskier's voice followed him, a mix of exasperation and playful incredulity. “Oh, come on! At least let me come with you! I can sing about your glorious feats while you’re out slaying! It’s a win-win!”

Y/N paused at the entrance, glancing back at the cheerful bard whose exuberance felt unbearably misplaced.” No, piss off Bard” he said before leaving slamming the tavern door closed and heading towards the woods.

He surveyed the woods just beyond the village limits. He cared little for the townsfolk, but he felt the weight of desperation in their urgency. He had taken this contract, not for their fear, but for the promise of coin. Yet now, as dusk fell and shadows lengthened he was growing more irritated.

A familiar voice broke through his thoughts, singing with far too much passion, “Oh, to love so sweetly, as the moon does to the sea! To find a heart that beats so true, oh, what joy it must be!”

That damn bard was back, of course. He was a whirlwind of charm and mischief, a stark contrast to Y/N’s more stoic demeanour. The bard had followed him.

“Do you ever stop to breathe,?” Y/N muttered, not bothering to turn. “I have a contract to fulfil, and I can’t have you getting in my way.”

Jaskier huffed indignantly. “Getting in your way? I’m here to aid you, brave Witcher! Can’t you see? I’m your loyal bard, your fierce companion against the horrors of the world!” He flourished his arms dramatically.

Rolling his eyes, Y/N turned to face Jaskier, trying to maintain his usual gruff demeanour. “You’re a Fucking nuisance. Stay here, out of trouble.”

However, trouble had a way of finding the bard. Just as Y/N prepared to plunge deeper into the woods, a guttural roar echoed from the trees. The sound sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine—one he recognized all too well. He unsheathed his silver sword, instincts sharpening with every heartbeat.

Before he could warn Jaskier, a massive creature burst forth, its scaled body glimmering in the dwindling light, eyes blood-red with rage. Jaskier barely had time to react before Y/N was upon him, pushing him behind a sturdy tree for cover.

“Stay here!” Y/N barked, and the bard nodded, eyes wide.

The fight was a blur. Y/N moved fluidly, The creature was a formidable adversary, and he could feel the weight of its danger. But it was the sound of Jaskier’s voice, rising in panic, that made his heart race.

“Witcher! Watch out!”

With a powerful swing, Y/N barely avoided a swipe from its claw, redirecting his focus back to the monster. The air crackled with tension and magic, and Y/N found himself driven not merely by instinct but by an unexplainable pull toward the bard’s safety.

In a flurry of movement, he struck true, and the beast collapsed, lifeless, at his feet. Breathing heavily, sweat mingling with dirt on his brow, Y/N turned toward Jaskier, who had emerged from his hiding spot with a wild mixture of relief and awe. “By the gods, that was astonishing! You—”

Before Y/N could respond—or push the bard away—Jaskier reached out to touch him, grasping his bicep from adrenaline and in that very moment, warmth radiated between them, a sudden surge of energy felt by both men.

Y/N stumbled back slightly, startled. The sensation was not something he expected. Nor was the mark that he was sure stung, his arm probably matching the bard's mark on his palm —a circular design that swirled in shades of blue and silver formulating into an intricate pattern, shimmering in the dim light.

Y/N stared,. Soulmates. He had heard of such phenomena but had always dismissed them as tales woven by drunk storytellers. Jaskier electrified with excitement as he looked at his own palm, then back at Y/N, his face split into a radiant grin.

“You know, I always thought the day I met my soulmate would be more romantic.” Jaskier clasped a hand over his heart with a melodramatic flair. “But this? This is a marvellous tale ready to be shared!”

Y/N scoffed, his grumpy nature faltering at the bard’s infectious enthusiasm. “You’re ridiculous. This isn’t a story. We’ve received marks. It’s hardly romantic.”

“Not romantic? A fateful encounter, a valiant rescue—how much more poetic do you want it to be?” Jaskier countered, eyes glimmering with mischief. “Admit it! We’d make a magnificent couple!”

“You aren’t supposed to be excited about this,” Y/N said, his scowl strained as he attempted to maintain his gruff exterior.

“Think of the songs, Our lives twined together by destiny! Adventures to sing about for the ages!” Jaskier’s enthusiasm was infectious, even if Y/N tried to ignore it.

“Right — adventures,” Y/N said, rolling his eyes, but despite himself, he felt warmth blooming within him. It was annoying, actually.” “We’ll make a plan on how to… deal with this, but stay out of my way songbird”

“I make no such promises!” Jaskier declared, his laughter echoing in the stillness. With the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Y/N sighed and  nodded, unable to suppress a faint smile. 

“Fucking bard”

[thequeeninyellowlace]

Jaskier was being forced to return to Lettenhove—he got word that his cousin died, and he needed to be present for the service. Geralt could tell he’s miserable and afraid at the thought, so he agrees to go with Jaskier.

Jaskier’s mother and father are rude to Geralt. No shock there. Geralt can tell Jask is offended for him, but uncharacteristically, he doesn’t say anything. After an uncomfortable and cold dinner with Jaskier’s parents in a formal dining room that smells like dark wood and old misery, Jaskier and Geralt are ushered into a smaller study with his father.

Jaskier carefully, precisely, pours them each a measure of whiskey. He’s stiff and he smells all wrong. He serves his father first, and the man takes the tumblr as if it were filthy, glaring down at the fine liquor and at his son. “Still can’t measure a dram, I see,” he snipes. Jaskier keeps his eyes on the floor as he passes Geralt a tumblr, and Geralt does not like it. This scared young man is hardly recognizable as his bard.

Jaskier’s father looks him up and down. He looks vaguely disgusted. “Still dressing like a whore.” Jaskier clenches his teeth. Geralt squeezes his glass. Jaskier is wearing his favorite doublet, the blue one that makes his eyes glow.

“Father,” Jaskier starts.

“Shut up, boy,” his father snaps, and Geralt stiffens. “I can’t believe you had the gall to return here. You ruined our names. Shamed us all.” The man begins a diatribe, listing every imagined sin Jaskier has committed against his family.

Jaskier shrinks in on himself. He hunches his shoulders under his father’s tirade. Geralt growls. He drops the tumbler on a small table.

“And you!” Jaskier’s father snaps his eyes to Geralt. “I should have known my slut of a son would take up with a mutant monster!” Jaskier jerks upward, suddenly enraged. He jumps forward, into his father’s face.

“How dare you! Do not speak to him like that!”

Jaskier’s father’s hand snaps up, and his fist strikes Jaskier across the cheek. Geralt sees red. Jaskier falls to the floor as Geralt unsheathes his sword and swings.

Jaskier’s father’s head thumps to the floor. His body follows it.

Jaskier screams.

Geralt drops his sword. He did not means to do that. But the mark on Jaskier’s cheek is blinding him. He scoops Jaskier up off the floor.

“Oh god, Geralt, what did you do? Oh my god!” Jaskier begins wailing, and he clings to Geralt as he sobs.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier! I didn’t even mean to—he hit you! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Jaskier is gasping, and Geralt sees his eyes are fixed not on his father’s head or the pool of blood, but on his father’s hand. The count’s ring of office is still on his finger, its shape matching the mark on Jaskier’s face.

“Oh no. Oh god no.” Jaskier moans.

“I’ll tell them what I did, Jaskier. You won’t be in trouble. Don’t worry. We’ll leave and never come back, not if you don’t want to. And I’m so sorry for killing him. I know you…loved him.” Jaskier’s eyes meet his, and Geralt is shocked at the desolation he sees there.

“I hated him. And he hated me. I’m glad he’s dead.” He glances down at the ring on his father’s hand again and shudders. He squeezes Geralt tightly, and he smells of an agonizing, confusing grief.

“Geralt, now I’m the count of Lettenhove.”

[thelostgirl21]

How to solve the whole situation once they've found Ciri...

Jaskier: I think Ciri should marry Radovid.

Geralt: Are you insane? He's way too old for -

Radovid: If I may, he's talking about a purely political alliance. I can assure you I'm gay, and I've got absolutely no matrimonial interest in your daughter. I do, however, so happen to have a kingdom that I'd very much love to abdicate from in favor of a queen that might actually have an interest in running it.

Ciri: I could use a kingdom! One that would treat elves, dwarves and humans as equals...

Jaskier: See? She'd make a great queen! They get married, Radovid renounces the throne, they divorce, Ciri inherits Redania - and with it the most powerful army in the North to keep her safe... Oooh! And Yennefer could be her mage adviser!

Yennefer: You sound like you've been giving this way too much thought...

Geralt: Wait. Redania legalized divorce?

Jaskier: And gay marriage, too. *Tries to sound casual about it.* Not that this is, you know, at all relevant to the the current situation.

Geralt: And why should we believe the King of Redania would be keen on giving up power so easily?

Radovid: Look, all I really wanted was a pretty song...

Geralt: *Eyes him suspiciously*

Jaskier: No, he's being honest. Had my doubts, too, but turns out all he really wanted, at first, was a pretty song.

Geralt: *Slowly realizes what this is about, an amused glint in his eyes as he looks back at him.* I thought you didn't do pretty?

Jaskier: *Dramatically throws his arms in the air, slightly annoyed.* Well, apparently I do now, don't I?

Radovid: *Smirking smuggly* I'm "pretty".

Ciri: *Totally missing the innuendo* You really are!

Radovid: *Delighted and preening* Thank you.

Yennefer: *Snorts*

Yarpen: *Points to Jaskier and Radovid* Wait. Has the lute-playing walloper been fucking a King?

Geralt: *Groans and sighs* Again, real subtle, Yarpen.

Yarpen: *Whisling while looking at Jaskier, somewhat impressed.* Didn't think you'd have it in you, friend!

Radovid: Well, technically -

Jaskier: Aaand on that note! I'll also need Ciri to divorce him, so I can marry him after.

Ciri: *Excitedly* You two are getting married?

Jaskier: Only if you are! Which, I'm aware, makes very little sense...

Radovid: I actually did offer to marry him first - and have Redania become the first kingdom to have two kings - but that triggered a bit of a panic attack.

Jaskier: Look, I stopped using that viscount title and left nobility behind for a reason. If Ciri can make room in the castle for a retired king and his traveling bard, I'd be fine spending a few weeks or even months living at court from time to time. Especially at first, so Radovid can help her get settled and update her on the most important issues that need to be addressed and resolved in the kingdom.

Ciri: Of course you'd always have a home here, and I wouldn't just kick Radovid out! Actually, would it be okay for me to let him keep his prince title? Just in case anything happens to me, and -

Yennefer: *Firmly* Nothing's going to happen to you.

Ciri: Yeah but -

Geralt: No buts. We won't allow it.

Ciri: What if I accidentally portal myself to another dimension? Wouldn't want to force me to leave the Kingdom unattended until I get back, would you?

Jaskier: Hate to say it, but she does have a point.

Radovid: Look, if that would give the Princess some peace of mind to have someone willing to be holding the fort in case of emergencies... But, if that were to happen, I'd be needing Jaskier's help.

Jaskier: *Shrugs* I mean, I guess that would work. It's not that I don't want to get involved in making people's lives better in the kingdom, or share in any of those responsibilities. It's just that, no matter how much I love any of you guys - and I really do love you - I tend to get quite antsy and unpleasant confined to a single location for too long.

Radovid: And personally, I've always wanted to travel, meet different people, and experience some of the tales that have inspired Jaskier's songs for myself.

Geralt: You know he makes a lot of those things up, right?

Radovid: *Shrugs* I think Jaskier's always told those stories the way he sees them - for what they are or mean to him according to his own emotional truth, rather than facts. For example, I've always thought that "Toss a Coin to Your Witcher" was about how the world tends to forget that, behind every larger-than-life heroic figure, there's often just someone that needs to be looked after, too, offered a drink from time to time, listened to, and treated as a friend. If accuracy or factually reporting events had been his goal, then he'd have become a historian, not a bard.

Yennefer: That's... surprisingly insightful.

Jaskier: *Swooning* I know... *Sighs happily* He really is quite brilliant, isn't he?

Radovid: *Blushes brightly* I take it my humble interpretation's not too far off?

Jaskier: *Leans in to whisper into his ear.* I'll let you know just how close you got later...

Geralt: *Confused* Okay, what's actually happening here?

Ciri: *Chuckles* It's called poetry.

Jaskier: *Dreamily, mostly to himself* You'd have to be a spoon to get it...

Radovid: *Now also confused* Wait. What? Now I don't get it.

Jaskier: *Winces slightly* Sorry. That one's on me, you're missing context. You're a spoon, Geralt's a hammer - just...

Radovid: ...different tools for different purposes?

Jaskier: *Makes a half strangled noise, as his legs threaten to give up on him.*

Yarpen: *Motioning to Jaskier while looking at Yennefer, bit puzzled* Does your bard usually do that?

Yennefer: *Looking deep in thoughts, seemingly analysing the situation* Not that I've ever been aware of.

Geralt: Yeah, no. That's new.

Ciri: *Incredulously* You've been travelling with him for, like, over 20 years, and you're telling me you've never seen him have a crush before?

Yennefer: Oh! Oh. Yeah, that's um - okay. I think you're right - I mean, I can see the nuance.

Jaskier (*slowly coming back to himself*) & Geralt: What nuance?

Yennefer: *Innocently* Nothing! Just enjoy your spoon, bard. I'll explain it to the hammer later.

Geralt: *Huffs thoughtfully*

Jaskier: *Still looking unsure* Alright...

Yarpen: You know what, I think it's safer if I don't know.

Radovid: I'm actually not entirely sure I follow...

Yennefer: *Uses magic to telepathically communicate with Radovid, making him blush even brighter.*

Radovid: No, I mean, that seems...

Yennever: *Continues to telepathically communicate with him, looking fondly amused, and just the slightest bit smug.*

Radovid: *Bashfully* I'll ah, I'll take your word for it, and thank you...

Jaskier: What did she just say?

Radovid: Nothing bad, and I'll tell you one day, when the time's right, I promise.

Jaskier: *Doesn't look quite convinced.*

Yennefer: *Rolls eyes* I promise it's fine, Pankratz. Now stop pouting!

Jaskier: *Sighs dramatically* Fine!

Radovid: But,to go back to the whole political royal union thing, I did look to see if I could just hand the kingdom over to Ciri - simply name a successor and step down. Sadly, changing the laws of succession would appear to be a complete nightmare!

Geralt: Meaning we have to trust that you'll honor your end of the agreement, and -

Yarpen: What? You really think that King's going to attempt to stay married to your kid with the amount of eye fucking that's been happening between him and your bard?

Geralt: *Groans* Yarpen, for fuck's sake!

Yennefer: That's a bit of a crude way to put it, but he's got a point.

Geralt: You know Dijsktra and Philippa won't be happy about this, right?

Jaskier: Yeah, well, good thing you and Yennefer are scarier than Dijsktra and Philippa.

Ciri: *Crosses arms on her chest, pointedly looking at Jaskier* Why are you overlooking the fact that I'd totally rip their spines out if they tried to come after you and hurt my family?

Jaskier: Gods, I love you kid! *Pulls Ciri into a tight hug*

Radovid: Didn't you say Yennefer was the scary one?

Jaskier: Like mother, like daughter.

Yarpen: *Proudly* I actually taught the cub how to rip out spines.

Geralt: *Gives two vigorous pats on Radovid's shoulder, almost making him fall over* Welcome to the family, Radovid! *Whispering omninously* But, should you ever try to hurt Jaskier or Ciri, trust me, you'll be wishing she ripped out your spine.

Yennefer: Yes, because I know how to eternally trap souls into an infernal dimension.

Radovid: *Hesitating* That's... oddly reassuring. *Visibly relaxing while looking at Jaskier* You were right, love - Dijsktra and Philippa aren't so scary after all, are they?

Jaskier: *Smuggly* Told you!

Yennefer: Are we sure we shouldn't have been warning Jaskier not to hurt him?

Geralt: Hmm... I was just thinking that, too.

[thistlearts]

The witcher s3 is out, but I can't make myself watch it. As much as I loved the first season, I completely hated the second. And from what I've seen happening, I'm not going to like the 3'd.

Even canon bi Jaskier can't lure me back, unless they would make Geraskier canon, but it's not the case, obviously.

So I'll just share my old watercolour Geraskier fanart from the times when I've watched the s1 and boarded this ship.