#and geralt goes first

[spielzeugkaiser]

Jaskier is absolutely the parent to do matching outfits!

[kaori04]

Does anybody else wishes that one time Jaskier would just loose it and go apeshit instead of doing his usual coping mechanism joke

[solcorvidae]

Okay y’all. Hear me out. PLEASE.

Ahem.

Gymnast Aiden.

[roughentumble]

modern au of the witcher but all the witchers are different cryptids. but like in the way a date sim would have cryptids, like the sexy version of cryptids. reasoning? i think its a funny idea

[thunderboltfire]

You know that situation when you see a fan video once and it forever engrains in your understanding of a song?

[magdelanesingerin]

Session 13: Self-Image

(A Life Alone, Chapter 4) 3308 words, Mature

“I’ve never really understood why people lose their minds over babies. No one wants to see twenty pictures of your baby,” Geralt scoffs ruefully as he leans across the office to hand Nenneke his cell phone displaying a picture of his infant niece. “But…I guess I’m one of those people now. She’s not even cute yet, she looks like a little old man, or a wrinkled pink potato, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I think my brain is broken,” he says with a laugh. 

Nenneke spends a few moments admiring June, then hands his phone back to him with an indulgent smile. 

“Oh, I don’t think you’re broken. You sound like a very normal doting uncle to me.” 

Geralt chuckles, smiling down at his phone with a soft, bewildered smile. He’s been wearing it a lot for the last three weeks since June was born. “She already looks so much like Eskel. It’s so strange to see my brother’s eyes and lips and chin on this…tiny, brand new person. She even has Eskel’s hands.” He stuffs his phone back into his pocket and slides back from the edge of the couch to sink into the cushions. “She’s just lucky she came out looking nothing like me. I was relieved,” he sighs. 

Nenneke makes a face at him. 

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? Especially since, by your own account, you and Eskel look a lot alike,” Nenneke challenges him with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, I definitely think she’s better off this way,” he snorts dismissively. The chances had been negligible for his genetic disorder to be passed on to her; he and Eskel still didn’t know if they were really half-brothers, or if they’d both just been left with the same old woman by their shitty parents. But all the same, he’d been so relieved to see the shock of wispy, dark hair on her tiny head.

“What about all this would I ever want to see passed on to a kid?” Geralt asks with a disgusted eye roll, gesturing vaguely at his own pasty skin and white hair. He can see the moment that she understands. 

_____________________________________________________

Geralt was quite a bit tipsier than he’d intended, but his head was pounding in time with the eye-burning flare and flash of the club lights strobing over the dance floor and the buzz was helping to take the edge off the pain. He was leaning over a high top table overlooking the slightly sunken pit of writhing bodies below with a highball dangling carelessly from his fingertips, letting his gaze go vague and blurry as he watched the people dancing. He didn’t really pick out individuals; the crowd was a mass of anonymous body parts all melding into one huge, sweaty, tipsy creature grinding and swaying to the thump of the bass booming from the speakers.

That is, until a pair of bright eyes flashed up to meet his across the press of humanity, and he abruptly realized that his gaze had caught and lingered on a tall, lean figure dancing below. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been mindlessly staring, but now the man was looking back with a playful, knowing smirk, so it had to have been more than a few seconds. He shot Geralt a wink and kept dancing with his companions and evidently singing along with the remix blaring through the club. A flush of embarrassed heat rose to Geralt’s cheeks and he turned away quickly, lifting his glass to finish off his drink. 

He certainly wasn’t opposed to the attention; looking for a hook up was half the reason he was out tonight, after all. But it was still awkward to be caught staring. Generally Geralt preferred a little bit of a run up to social interactions, especially flirtatious ones. He’d rather be grounded, settled first, so he could approach them on his own terms. Extemporizing charm rarely went well for him. 

Too bad. 

Geralt turned from his hiding place along the edge with the intention of heading to the bar for another drink, and nearly ran right into him. Geralt blinked at him blearily, feeling thoroughly thrown. The man was standing there by his table, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat under the lights and wearing a wide, boyish grin. He flipped his floppy brown hair out of his eyes with a toss of his head before he spoke, leaning in close to be heard over the pulsing music. He smelled like sweat and rum and some kind of delicious musky cologne that made Geralt want to bury his face in the man’s skin and breathe him in. 

“Well, hello! Are you going to join me for a dance, or are you planning to stand over here in the corner and brood all night?”

_________________________________________________________

“Ah, I see,” she says, nodding. “Does your condition bother you that much?”

“It hasn’t exactly done me any favors,” he says with a bitter smile.

“You’re an attractive man,” she argues with a raised eyebrow as Geralt rolls his eyes. “And it seems that your romantic life hasn’t suffered for lack of interested parties.”

“I’ve learned to adapt to people’s expectations. They like that I’m strong, they like my body,” he scoffs, “but they aren’t interested in me beyond that. I can promise you that if I stopped maintaining the muscle, or if I suddenly put on thirty pounds, all of that interest would dry up very quickly.” 

“Has it always been a source of anxiety or sensitivity for you?”

“I mean, less so now I guess. I’m old enough people just assume that I’m a bit pale and that I went white early. I’ve learned to deal. But a six, eleven, fifteen year old kid with bleached out hair and creepy eyes?” He huffs, glowering off into the corner with his arms crossed over his chest. “Yeah, you might say so.”

“How so?” Geralt stares at her in disbelief. Surely she’s not that stupid. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks flatly, glaring. “I don’t remember exactly how old I was when that fucking movie came out, but I do remember being called ‘Powder’ pretty much every day for years. Or ghost, or freak. They threatened each other, joked about me being able to zap them with lightning or whatever if they got too close, like I wasn’t even human.” 

Geralt sank into himself further on the couch, teeth grinding at the memories that had been stirred up by her question.

“Laughed when I had to wear long sleeves outside, or got so sunburnt that my skin blistered,” he grunted. “I wore thick glasses in elementary school to help with my eye development; I’m lucky that my eyesight is decent. Lots of people like me can’t even drive, but I do fine with contacts, even if my eyes will never be as good as a normal person’s. So I was this weird, white haired little kid with big, shitty glasses that the state paid for…” he trails off, shaking his head. 

continue on Ao3

[thedemonofcat]

In every single version of their first meeting, be the books, Hexer, or Netflix series.

It's always. Jaskier shows up one day to Geralt and goes

“Congratulations, I’m your bard now.”

Geralt has no other option but to accept.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands. 

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely. 

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach. 

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place. 

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within. 

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin. 

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes. 

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit. 

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.” 

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp. 

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.” 

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads. 

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’ 

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!” 

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.” 

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching. 

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?” 

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.” 

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?” 

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.” 

“I do not know, lady,” you answer. 

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.” 

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.” 

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.” 

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded. 

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies. 

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!” 

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings. 

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.” 

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--” 

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.” 

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--” 

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!” 

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries. 

“Father, please, is it a husband?” 

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.” 

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.” 

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.” 

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa. 

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?” 

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.” 

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.” 

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.” 

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.” 

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.” 

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner. 

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers. 

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment. 

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s. 

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt. 

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost? 

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow. 

“One of ya,” he grits. 

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women. 

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate. 

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows. 

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance. 

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia. 

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top. 

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces. 

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it. 

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...” 

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--” 

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you. 

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.” 

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.” 

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight. 

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?” 

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor. 

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down. 

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch. 

[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."

[roughentumble]

heterophobia and canonphobia that yenralt didnt get in :/ shaking you all by your lapels that you did not submit yenralt for me your best friend me. my followers failed me

Round 1 Bracket

Here's the bracket for Round 1! Congrats to all the ships that made it in!

We will be running this bracket in groups of four polls, so the first four will be posted first, then the second four, etc.

I hope to get the first set of polls up sometime this week! If anyone has pictures for the ships listed, please submit them! Not all of them came with pictures. Remember that fanart must have credit attached.

Individual match ups below:

Taako/Kravitz vs Eugene/Rapunzel

Rose/Kanaya vs Homer/Marge

Sigurd/Deirdre vs Eva/Ajar

Cecil/Carlos vs Venom/Eddie

Geralt/Jaskier vs Professor X/Magneto

Papa Nihil/Sister Imperator vs Orpheus/Euridice

Gomez/Morticia vs Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

Katara/Aang vs Carl/Elle

Zack/Aerith vs Aladdin/Jasmine

Klavier/Apollo vs Ed/Stede

Alphys/Undyne vs Howl/Sophie

Westley/Buttercup vs Snow White/Prince

Romeo/Juliet vs Lan Wanji/Wei Wuxian

Ariel/Eric vs Beau/Yasha

Vash/Wolfwood vs Marius/Cosette

Ruby/Sapphire vs Sig/Izumi

[alons-ycreeper]

Look I don't write for this pairing I pure read fanfic of it and that's it but this one idea keeps festering in my head so here:

Post-mountain, already at Kaer Morhen but like no Deathless Mother shenanigans. Geralt gets shit faced with his brothers as per the winter usual only this time with the added bonus of all his angst physically following him home. Especially the Jaskier-angst. The bard hasn't spoken much to Geralt instead spending all his time with Yennefer in the lab, continuing Ciri's noble education, or helping Vesemir finally organize the library. Basically Jaskier makes zero time for Geralt except for meal times which always have the bard either sitting with Yenn, Ciri, or Vesemir but never near Geralt.

So when Geralt goes to drink with Lambert, Eskel (both game-canon) and Coën he finds out that Jaskier has been slowly approaching his brothers little by little trying to befriend them. It drives the angst and jealousy through the roof and it's not even midnight before Geralt is flat on his ass murmuring "Toss A Coin" in the softest, saddest tone ever particularly on the "your witcher" part. The boys tell their brother to get some rest and the big sad wolf trudges up the step until he stops in front of Jaskier's room. He can hear the bard sleeping, he just wants to check on him so Geralt opens the door and lets himself in.

The bard is a pretty as ever. Quarter-elf blood goes a long way to keep it like that. Then Geralt notices the quill on the desk still dripping with ink. Jaskier is dead asleep.

Quill. Jaskier. Quill. Jaskier. Geralt has an idea.

Jumping out of bed the next morning, Jaskier rushes down to get whatever breakfast is left over. He doesn't notice the others gawking at first too busy feeding himself and telling Ciri that the lessons with him will be combined with Yennefer's today as they'll be discussing court mages. It isn't until he's done that he notices them. Eskel, Lambert and Coën have this horrified-amused look, Vesemir looks very tired, Ciri is blushing so hard her face is as red as tomato and Yenn is glaring daggers at Geralt who seems to be very pleased with himself.

"Something on my face?" Jaskier asks.

"Go look in a mirror, bard." Yenn says not turning away from Geralt who she keeps murdering with her eyes.

So he does. Jaskier goes to the closest mirror and gasps at what he finds.

There written on his left cheek "Property of Geralt of Rivia". Kaer Morhen is about to be down a witcher.

[spielzeugkaiser]

Just imagining that AU of the AU where Geralt’s feeling the baby kick for the first time and he goes all puppy eyed. “Aww. They like you!”

Oh, I think he'd not feel joy immediately! It's more like f e a r.

[hanzajesthanza]

to be clear i am directly mocking the blurbs on the back of the english editions of the books…

please look at this bullshit (baptism of fire and season of storms).

they never fail to make witcher sound like a middle grade read... (i mean, it certainly can be read by elementary schoolers, but my problem is with how they advertise it over here. sometimes it’s like they did their best to strip it of any deeper meaning).

oh and before i fail to point it out. “places her in the Niflgaard court”. come on man

with our goddamn luck, the next witcher book will be like:

geralt 🐺 and dandelion 🌼 have always been the bestest 👯‍♂️ of friends 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨. but what would happen 🫢 if they broke up 🤯😭?

after a rough argument leaves him alone 🧍‍♂️ and left weakened ⚔️ by his own mistakes, like it or not 🤔 geralt has an apology on his hands 🫡.

[sacred-algae]

MCD HEADCANON WARNING:

Sometimes... Sometimes I make myself sad thinking about Geralt dying and Jaskier selfishly keeping his medallion even though witcher funerary rites demand that a witcher’s medallion be returned to their family because he can’t handle the truth and the medallion is the only thing of Geralt he has left and you can’t make him give that up—

Jaskier never taking it off.

Jaskier wearing it under his clothes so it can touch his skin.

Jaskier holding the pendant in his hand as he falls asleep.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Geralt’s supposed to outlive Jaskier. Geralt’s supposed to be fine. And it wasn’t even a battle that took him out like it should have been, it was a bloody infection. And Jaskier barely made it to Brokilon forest where he’s held by the dryads to say goodbye—he walked for days on end with nothing but his clothes and his lute—and Geralt never even knew.

Geralt died before Jaskier could tell him. At least he could say goodbye to his sleeping body. At least he could see him take his last breaths.

Yennefer says Geralt knew, thinking it would help Jaskier—but that just makes it worse.

Jaskier doesn’t sing for months.

And Vesemir only knows something is wrong when Geralt doesn’t return home for the winter, and come spring, he goes to find Jaskier, knowing the bard he’s never met but heard so much about would probably know where to find Geralt.

Jaskier was supposed to be beautiful, according to Geralt. This man was a shell. And Geralt’s nowhere to be seen. And then… it hits him. And all he does is hold out his hand expectantly.

And Jaskier silently moves away, hand over his chest. His voice shakes. “No. No, you can have it when I die.”

And Vesemir can live with that. Because Geralt loved Jaskier. And Vesemir tells him as much. And from Yennefer it’s a lie to him. But from Vesemir? From Geralt’s father?

Jaskier just folds under the grief and disappointment, sinking to his knees, and starts sobbing because he could have had him. And Vesemir just stares. And for the first time in centuries, he feels the urge to cry too.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 79

Jaskier and Geralt have confessed and gotten together, and Jaskier couldn't be happier. It's like a dream come true, being able to kiss Geralt. Jaskier learns that Geralt isn't a big fan of PDA, a tad troublesome for him, but he'll learn and grow to be a better lover for his witcher! He just might forget and try to kiss him a few times before it actually stays in his noggin! However he also learned that Geralt.. Doesn't like talking about them in public. Or insinuating them in public. Jaskier can't even make dirty jokes or ask Geralt where they should go out on dates. Geralt hisses for him to stop talking about it and glances around. Jaskier has been longing to eat at this one fine restaurant in a crowded town for months, and they have a chance to! There's a table still open! With a vase of flowers, and candles, and a dark red tablecloth, and they're sat right next to a small stage where the performers play! Jaskier goes to sit down, only for Geralt to drag him out by the arm, saying that they can't eat there. Jaskier is of course asks if there's poison in the food, or a monster infesting the eatery, only to get a grunt. "Really, Geralt, why can't we eat there?" "We just... Can't." Jaskier just assumes the owners must be some sort of witcher-hating pricks who tried to... To sell Geralt their daughter in exchange for wanting him to kill something that doesn't need to be killed or... Or some other really hateable things. A pity, he's heard amazing things about that place.. But all is well! Soon enough, they head to an inn, and get settled in a room. Jaskier tries his best to seduce his boyfriend, but Geralt just glances around their room and shakes his head. "Not now." Jaskier shrugs, and heads down to play for some coin, and perhaps get a bit tipsy for the fun of it all. He wakes up the next morning with quite an awful headache, and a very annoyed-looking Geralt. Jaskier apologizes for going overboard with the drinks, but Geralt huffs and says that isn't what's upsetting him. What upset him is Drunk Jaskier telling people that he and Geralt are together. But come onnn! Everyone's been saying "The bard is fucking the butcher" for over a decade! Surely some villager's account of a drunk bard saying the same isn't worth all the fuss Geralt is making over it. Another night, Jaskier is sat by the campfire, idly strumming his lute. "Annnd even though today I had to hide in a tree~ I love my witcher, and my witcher loves me~" Geralt suddenly loses his focus and turns sharply to Jaskier. "That's a new song." "It's not a song, I'm just making things up for fun." "So it's not in your song journal?" "...No?" "Good." 'Good'? Jaskier could just play it off as another one of Geralt's teases about disliking his music, but something about this in particular made Jaskier feel nauseous. A week or so after that, Jaskier has finished his set and is excitedly skipping off to meet back up with Geralt when he overhears some conversation from where Geralt is sat. "Your bard sings well!" "He's not my bard." "No? I thought I heard you two were together." "No. Acquaintances at best. Hardly know him." Acquaintances at best? Acquaintances? Jaskier knows Geralt has been offput by the idea of telling people they are romantically involved, but he couldn't even muster up a 'No, we're just friends.' He's STILL not a 'friend'? That's when it clicks for Jaskier. Oh. Geralt's ashamed of him.

Is it because he's a man? Would Geralt be proud to show off his lover if his lover were female? Is it because of Jaskier's looks? He's been told he's rather attractive, but perhaps he looks quite small and delicate beside a witcher. He didn't think Geralt would care for such things, though. Perhaps it's his personality. Maybe the lighthearted remarks between the two of them were more barbed on Geralt's side than Jaskier at first thought. Maybe Geralt really hates his singing, or how much he talks, or how often he turns things into an innuendo. Is he just some quick fuck in the woods? The second they hit civilization he's not even a friend? Jaskier slips back up to their room, completely forgetting to let Geralt know where he is. Oh well. If Geralt gives a shit he can sniff out Jaskier's perfume. For now, Jaskier is going to curl up in their bed and try not to cry. Jaskier and Geralt have confessed and gotten together, and Geralt couldn't be happier. It's like a dream come true, being able to kiss Jaskier. But Geralt has to keep in mind how many enemies he has out there. Personal, blind hatred based on his reputation, blind hatred based on him being a witcher, the list goes on. Geralt worried for Jaskier enough as it is when they were best friends. Geralt would be powerless and completely devastated if anyone were to take Jaskier. Geralt would be putty in their hands if they so much as threatened the bard's life. Now that they're lovers? Geralt cringes to think at how many people would be chomping at the bit for an opportunity to kill the Butcher's one true love. To use him as a hostage for Geralt to do their bidding. For them to torture Jaskier in the hopes of learning things about Geralt. So Geralt makes a plan. He'll keep Jaskier at an arm's length whenever he thinks anyone could see or hear them. It's exceptionally hard not kissing the hell out of his bard whenever he feels like it, but he must practice restraint in order to keep him safe. Jaskier keeps making it harder on him, though. Kissing him, wanting to go eat at some romantic place, telling every soul he can how much he and Geralt are inseparable soulmates who can't live without one another, all in front of so many people. Any one of which could be just too loose-lipped. Any one of which could lead to a snowballing effect that ends in his beloved Jaskier's harm or death. Geralt just can't wait until Winter comes. He plans on bringing Jaskier with him, and they'll be able to do whatever they want the entire winter, with no fear.

[thelostgirl21]

So, you are telling me that Jaskier used to wear outfits the color of the sea in Season 1...

That he constantly complains about his feet hurting, or struggling with keeping his footing while having to wear boots (is the problem his actual boots or a lack of early practice in life?!)...

That he got all excited at the thought that Geralt might catch him a fish to eat...

That a huge part of his identity and the pride he takes in himself is tied to his singing voice and abilities...

That his songs have been described as having the power to sing a king off his clothes...

That helping his best friend in the whole wide world bathe after rubbing soothing chamomile onto his lovely bottom is typical friendship behavior to him...

That he vulnerably asked for Geralt to get away for a while with him, and head to the (west?) coast, in the hopes that he might be able to prove himself a worthy [travel] companion (works whether you interpret the interest as romantic or queerplatonic).

And then he basically implied that (returning home with Geralt?) might be what would please him most.

That the very first thing he did after Geralt returned to him and got him out of his cell in Season 2, is take off his top and jump into the freaking nearest body of water!

That he's hypersensitive to the way people on land start stinking after a while (including himself), and will openly suggest they should bathe (or downright bathe them himself)!

That he talks with animals...

That you had him fall in love with a human prince in Season 3...

... then had him sing a song about a human prince that falls in love with a siren to Ciri right before you had him go meet with said prince, share his first kiss with him, and make love to him in a woodshed!

... only to show a clip from "Sirens of the Deep" revealing that the Netflix version of Jaskier is from

Bremervoord

a.k.a. The vassal state of Cidaris and one of the places that goes the furthest west into the sea on the Continent!

Bremervoord, with an economy running primarily on pearls fishing.

Bremervoord, the place where the story of Jaskier's Season 3 song, "A Little Sacrifice" takes place...

A place where a prince (though I think it's a duke in the actual short story) meets a siren, falls in love with her, and willingly leaves his human life behind to follow her at sea.*

*according to the song, at least! And I'm not sure it ends well for the prince of the song, because that part about him sinking to darkest night sounds a bit ominous if you ask me... The book's short story has a different conclusion.

You're basically telling me that Jaskier comes from a place on the coast that goes far into the sea to the west, a place where merpeople and humans occasionally interact, and that he didn't really feel like talking about where he's from, because he felt like the only way for him to ever be able to "become himself" was to leave his home behind...

... AND YOU EXPECT ME NOT TO LATCH ONTO THAT POPULAR MERMAN!JASKIER THEORY?!

OR INSTINCTIVELY START DEVELOPING A BUNCH OF HEADCANONS ABOUT IT?

For example :

What if Jaskier keeps repeating that "he's just a bard" not because he's actually dismissing how good, influential, or powerful he is...

... but because he chose to give up his tail to permanently become a human, and he doesn't like to be reminded that he doesn't quite "fully belong" with humanity, because there's something a bit different and "unique" about his singing.

What if, growing up as a merboy, he'd kept feeling like he was born in the wrong body and with the wrong species given his brethren's attitude about singing as an artform.

What if when merpeople sing, they typically rely on pure melodies without lyrics, and argue that only humans and other species of the land - with their inferior vocal capabilities - must rely on something as primitive as words and lyrics to inspire emotions and make ideas take root into other people's minds.

What if they do have a singing speech pattern, but when it comes to artistic expression, the songs are purely melodic.

But Jaskier, after listening to some of the folk songs that the local bards enjoy singing by the fire at the beach, often accompanied by a lute or other instruments, fell in love with the way the words of those songs flow and sound.

Perhaps he revealed himself to Essi then, and that, instead of being scared of him, she agreed to show him how to play the lute, speak her language, and sing the way humans do.

And when he did fully grasp the beauty and the power of using verbal poetry into songs, he knew he could never look back.

What if Essi was the first person to ever really see him for who he was and treat him as family, hence why he loves her like a little sister.

Maybe "the Lettenhoves" are basically a group of merpeople with no actual blood relation, that lost their own families and were rejected by them when they chose to make the full transition from merperson to human.

By pretending to be blood relatives, they've managed, however, to realistically pass as a large human noble family, acquire a bunch of lands and estates over the years that is passed to each new generation that wants them, and each new member is given a certain amount of money when they become one of the Lettenhoves to begin their new life on land!

They aren't extremely close, because they each have their own lives and personal ventures (very few go into singing careers), but they are still people that understand what being a human born at sea feels like, and that will be there to offer each other help and support if need be!

And so, Jaskier was able to go study at the University of Oxenfurt and learn as much of the human world and its arts as he could!

But, while his voice remains a bit more powerful and influential than most humans that were born on land, that influence comes with a "curse"...

Most people that instinctively fall under the charm of his melodies (note: Jaskier can use his voice to make an audience more susceptible to anger and annoyance when he sings, too. An especially useful skill to have when you're relying on food being thrown at you to eat... Hence why Geralt's lack of emotional response to his singing when they met was so intriguing!) will typically only care about how they make them feel, rather than how Jaskier himself was feeling when he wrote his songs.

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri are all immune to his siren charms - and dwarves appear to be more resistant as well - but, while his songs inspire people, and hearing him sing them "live" with his actual voice tends to make people become instantly infatuated with him (or immediately hate him, should Jaskier wish to repel rather than attract them)...

... they rarely ever see him or seemingly attempt to connect with him on an intimate, emotional level, like they would with another human being.

And so, every time Jaskier is reminded of how much influence he appears to have over how people see the world when he uses his voice, Jaskier's tendency to remind them that he's "just a bard" is because he wishes people would connect with his humanity, too, rather than what he can do.

Regardless of him being able to pass as someone that was born on land and started his life in a fully human body, he knows that his voice will always carry some remnant of his siren abilities.

And that this difference appears to be preventing him from emotionally and physically connecting with other human beings that weren't born at sea like him, the way he wishes he could.

And so, that's why he was initially hesitant to sing for Radovid, and he kept insisting that he wasn't in a "singing mood" that day.

Because he knew that, the moment Radovid heard his singing voice, he might stop listening to him and trying to connect.

But there was something in the way Radovid insisted - while asking for Jaskier to pick his favorite song and showing a sincere curiosity about listening to what pleased him most - that made Jaskier ultimately choose to risk it.

And, while Radovid was obviously affected by the sound of his voice (to the point where he felt the need to pretend his speechlessness was caused by drunkenness), it was also very clear that he'd been listening.

Not only was his gaze very sharp and his eyes clear and bright while Jaskier was singing - seemingly attempting to analyse every note and word - but, for once, the things Radovid was complimenting him about weren't related to his ability to make people feel and experience things...

For once, what Radovid was claiming made Jaskier so special wasn't the beauty or power of his voice, or how catchy the melodies of the songs he'd sang to him were.

It wasn't even about how Jaskier's lyrics had made him feel.

He'd told Jaskier that what made him so special was his ability to see people for who they really are rather than who they pretend to be.

He'd essentially told him that his ability to truly comprehend those around him was his gift - that he had a unique ability to connect with them at the core... the very thing Jaskier had always felt that he was lacking.

And when Jaskier pushed him for more, all Radovid told him was that he didn't know yet, but was determined to figure it out.

"You connect strongly with others and my desire is to understand and connect with you."

That is what Radovid had taken away from who he was, even after having heard him sing, and Jaskier couldn't help but feel like he'd found a kindred spirit in that human.

Someone stuck in a world and a birth family that simply couldn't understand and accept him as he was - constantly hiding parts of himself to survive.

Radovid had then agreed to help him with the whole situation with Rience - despite the fact that Jaskier hadn't used any song to attempt to suggest he should, just genuinely asked for his help.

And - if that hadn't been enough - that prince had gone one step even further by asking him if Geralt knew how lucky he was to have him, after Jaskier had been singing about his self-worth issues when it came to relationships and his fear of never being good enough - or human enough - for a fellow human (or mutated human) partner.

He'd been listening to him.

He might have been born on land, and he might not have been immune to Jaskier's siren abilities, but Radovid still hadn't lost sight of who he was, nor been tempted to start obsessing about owning him or treating him like a prized possession.

And so, Jaskier tentatively begins to allow himself to hope...

Until Radovid does something truly unexpected that none of his prior human, elven or dwarven suitors or lovers had ever done before...

Learn his song.

Sirens are typically immune to the power that another siren's voices carry... until they fall in love.

One of the ways to know if a fellow merperson is alterously or romantically drawn to you is to sing back one of their own melodies to them, and see how they will respond.

Should they feel that instinctive, near irresistible pull towards the melody, and vice versa, then the two sirens will often start trying to discover and explore different ways they can learn to harmonize and use their voices to complement each other's, and create new shared melodies that will resound through the sea.

And, for the very first time in his life, Jaskier finally understands how people feel when they listen to him sing.

Despite the fact that the "siren's melody" being sung back to him is a human song he wrote, with human lyrics, accompanied by human instruments...

Despite the fact that Radovid himself is most definitely not a siren but very much human - fumbling a bit with Jaskier's lute, visibly nervous, too shy to allow his voice to rise above a whisper...

To Jaskier, it's the most beautifully mesmerizing "siren's melody" he's ever heard in his existence! It's filled with warmth, love, understanding, a promise of unconditional acceptance and safety...

It's absolutely intoxicating, he can barely breathe, feels like he's on the very edge of losing his sanity, and it takes all the power he has to avoid launching himself right at him!

And if a human can make him feel this way singing back to him a song filled with poetry and lyrics - rather than a classic, traditional siren's melody - then maybe there's never been anything wrong with Jaskier or the way he's always preferred to sing!

His people made him feel unwanted, but the sea never did! It probably would have been welcoming to a lute-playing merman singing like a bard, if his people hadn't been such close-minded arses!

Jaskier feels at home on land and has never once regretted his choice, but maybe he still has a right to also be a child of the sea, regardless of him having ultimately chosen a pair of legs over his fins!

And maybe Radovid would love to see parts of his old home some day - even if they can only access the surface of it, rather than go explore everything hidden in the water's depths (unless Yennefer has a spell that would allow Radovid to breathe under water as he does. Because Jaskier would never trust a sea witch with Radovid's life!).

And if Jaskier himself can be mesmerized by Radovid's song and feel like he would let that man lead him anywhere and do whatever he wants with him, without any desire to own and control him; maybe he'd simply been trying to connect with the wrong people.

Radovid is the first person he's ever met that seems to be able to connect with both the human and the siren part of him. And when Jaskier offers to help him work on his lute playing and singing, what he's truly saying is that he wants them to learn to harmonize their voices together and create their own melodies...

It's an intimate need Jaskier still has, and he's finally found himself a mate that appears to fully get him, and be able to fulfil those needs.

Of course, then the whole mess with Cirilla happens, and for a moment there Jaskier loses faith that any of it was ever real!

Who was he kidding!? The Redanian Intelligence kept insisting that they knew everything about everyone! Maybe they'd figured out Jaskier used to be a merman, done their research, noticed that Jaskier "fancied" the prince, and instructed him to surprise him and trick him into lowering his defenses, by courting him the way a fellow merman would!

He really should have known!

But then, when he finds Radovid alone, lost, and hiding, he realizes that Radovid had never meant to trick or hurt him.

Radovid had just been genuinely afraid, and trying to deal with the threat of a looming war as best he could by seeking Ciri's help.

And now, the war he'd attempted preventing from happening had begun, he'd clearly internalized Jaskier's earlier blame, and that spoon of a man was sufficiently bonded to him by now that he might just allow himself to be captured and killed if he doesn't do something about it!

And then, Jaskier himself might end up symbolically 'washing ashore' somewhere and letting himself die of heartbreak, for fuck's sake!

Because merpeople are dramatic as fuck and they feel the loss of friends and family in a way that's devastatingly sharp. Being rejected by a queerplatonic or romantic partner - or having them die on them - is the worst type of injury one could inflict upon them!

When he'd sung about having also survived, no thanks to Geralt, he'd fully meant it! That loss had nearly killed him!

If he wants to survive this, he needs to figure out a way to keep Radovid safe, and then make sure that Geralt and the rest of his family are safe also, because he doesn't know how he'd manage to continue to live in this world if the war ends up taking everything from him in a way where all hope would be lost of ever getting any of them back!