#but it is a witcher 3 complainant au :)

[spielzeugkaiser]

I dunno if I missed it but who *does* have Jaskier in the Milek au? (I dread asking after his well being knowing you and your angst mallet lol)

.... Well 👀 I have not talked about it yet! But in wherever cell he is, he's not alone in there..

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 24

!!!SPOILERS FOR SECONDARY QUEST FROM BLOOD AND WINE (WITCHER 3 GAME DLC)!!!

There's a curse inspired by a quest (The Warble of a Smitten Knight) from Witcher 3 B&W so I put a spoiler just in case you don't want any of it spoiled <3 The curse is surprisingly a very small part of the actual quest, but like,,, I don't wanna take any chances! I'm using the curse as my base (ALL PICTURES ARE FROM THE WIKIPEDIA PAGE FOR THE GAME) I see two ways of this starting. EITHER Geralt arrives in a town only to overhear some hushed comments in a tavern about how awful the bard playing is, and how they miss the one that went missing ever since he went into the forest a few years back, followed by the other man at the table chiming in with the fact more men have disappeared in that exact same forest or Geralt is riding through a forest only to find a note that has hastily written "HELP - REDWOOD FOREST" on it, either stuck in a tree branch, on the ground, or attached to the foot of a bird. Geralt meanders around the woods, and no matter which way he learns of the danger, he comes across a huge tree, with a home carved into it. He enters the home and finds it has many floors. Geralt hears someone singing. He climbs the steps for quite frankly an annoying amount of time, before he comes across what appears to be some sort of... Witchy labratory. Note that I'm also heavily inspired by Auntie Ethel from Baldur's Gate 3 so I'm kinda thinking of some sort of hag-witch-thing like her as the villain, but you can change it into pretty much anything with magic and a bad attitude. Geralt sees beakers and flasks and bibs and bobs and an abnormal amount of bone jewelry and furniture, and in the corner of the room is a large birdcage, holding a chained man inside. The man, upon noticing Geralt is there, beams and begins explaining how he always knew help would come for him. The witch (or whatever else) kills anything she deems has "trespassed" too close to her home or too long in the forest in of itself. Jaskier is the only survivor, as she heard his singing and decided she wanted to keep him. To make it harder for him to escape, she has cursed him to have the likeness of the very songbird she likened his singing to. It's songbird of your choice, really. He could look like a lark, a nightingale, orioles like in the original quest, a literal songbird, it's all up to you.

I however like to imagine Jaskier has two large wings on his back, and maybe even bird feet. Now I don't fuck with her "can only live seven more years" or "give some of the curse to another person" outcomes, I like to think that that if Geralt cures Jaskier, he can keep his wings at the least, and there isn't any bad consequences. Perhaps maybe still thinking sticks would be great in his bed or something funny like that lmfao If Geralt can't cure Jaskier, he can just protect him from townsfolk, poachers, and creatures alike. Perhaps they get a glamour spell enchanted item from a sorcerer or something for him to appear human so he can play music for crowds. If he does get cured, perhaps this can be a way they hide his wings!

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 3

Jaskier had been out picking up a set of guitar stings, when he'd gotten Yennefer's text.

Yennefer: Hey, t*sser, we're out of snacks. Can you pick some up? *short list of snacks*

Jaskier: Whatever, sk*nk. I'll stop and get some when I'm done.

Yennefer: thanks, and f**k you

Jaskier: f**k you, too

He stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and was just finishig up grabbing the last thing on the list when he glanced up, and something in the toy aisle caught his eye. Oh, those were so f***ing cool!

He bought two because he knew Geralt would want one.

Geralt did, indeed want one. He'd been non-plused at first, when Jaskier had said excitedly, "Check out this dinosaur mask!" after bursting into his room.

He'd been expecting one of those nightmare fuel character masks that had been popular in the 80's when Samhain rolled round. Those awful plastic masks with the eye holes you could barely see out of, the mouth slit you would always cut your tongue on, and no breathing holes.

He was about to say "No thanks, I'll pass.", when Jaskier pulled out the coolest mask he'd ever seen. It was not the flat plastic masks from the 80's. Geralt stared in awe as the jaws opened and closed as Jaskier talked to him. It looked so real! When had kid's toys gotten so d*mn detailed?

"Yes, I got you one too!" Jaskier said in answer to the hopeful look in Geralt's eyes. "All they had were velociraptor masks, so I got one of each color! You want the gray one, or the red one?"

Geralt took the red one, and moments later, he was quietly teaching Jaskier how to move like a velociraptor. Jaskier was impressed with Geralt's acting ability. He wondered if the Witcher had ever considered being a monster motion capture actor.

When they were finished perfecting their moves, they stalked out the door and, in character, went off to f**k with Yennefer.

Yennefer was sleeping when she slowly became aware that she was being watched. She jolted awake to see two monstrous figures leaning over her. One of them, the gray one, opened it's mouth slightly in the parody of a grin. The red one started roaring, mouth gaping open.

Yennefer: *screaming*

Veloceraptors: *dinosaur noises*

"You jacka**es!" Yennefer shouted, realizing it was just Geralt and Jaskier.

Geralt was too busy laughing at the way Jaskier had 'grinned' to dodge the pillow Yennefer hurled at him. He wondered if Jaskier had known what he was doing, or if it had been entirely by accident.

They ran off down the hallway, making dinosaur noises, and hid in Geralt's room for a while. They came out a little while later, still wearing the masks, and proceeded to run around the house, hissing and making noises at each other.

They kept ambushing Yennefer, jumping out at her from around a corner or doorway, or stalking her around the house.

She was glad when they went off to the kitchen for snacks. It would keep them out of her f***ing hair for a few minutes.

She shook her head as they came running out, each with a bag of jerky in their mouths. Yennefer questioned some of her life choices as she watched Jaskier and Geralt shake the bags in their mouths, hissing and growling.

She signed silently as they crouched on the ground and started eating their jerky, awkwardly shoving their hands through the masks' mouths to reach their own mouths.

She left them to it and went to complain to Wee Roach and Pegasus.

Yennefer mostly ignored them as they followed her around the house afterwards, pretending to be her guard dinosuars. She made the mistake of playing along, giving them commands and pretending to send them on little missions.

She threw the squeaky ball they used to distract Geralt when he was angry (or ignoring their 'Pspsps'), and laughed as Jaskier ran after if, then brought it back to her.

The second time she threw it, Jaskier ran back with it, jumping and tackling her. Jaskier had made a few velociraptor noises, then 'bit' her boob.

Yennefer had gasped in indignation, and then the wrestling match had started. It ended with Yennefer getting him in a leg choke and Jaskier breaking character and screaming for Geralt to help him.

Geralt had been laughing too hard to do a d*mn thing. Every time Jaskier screamed, the dinosaur mouth gaped open, and very time Jaskier babbled for Geralt to do something, the dinosaur mouth flapped frantically. It was sending him.

Jaskier: Geralt, Geralt, help, I'm going to pass out!

Jaskier: Yen, please...I'm...ooh, I'm begining to feel...light-headed.

Geralt: Yennefer, enough. He's f***ing turning red.

Jaskier: *slow blink* B*tch...can ye le' go...

Geralt: Yen, let him go already.

Yennefer: Fine. *lets go* Well, w*nker, at least we know you don't have a choking kink!

Geralt had prudently dragged Jaskier away before he said something that would result in his unaliving. They decided to play by themselves so Yennefer wouldn't end up yelling at them or turning them into something.

The delivery man who came to deliver Geralt's package had been startled when the door had opened and he was greeted by two men in dinosaur masks. Yennefer thought she was going to end up calling the company and apologizing, but she was surprised (and slighly annoyed) when the driver complimented them on their masks, and played along.

The next thing Yennefer knew, Geralt, Jaskier, and the driver were all out in the front yard, posing and taking pictures. The driver had had no trouble convincing both of them to chase his truck down the driveway as he left so he could video it and post it on his tiktok.

And of course, the neighbors had been outside to witness Yennefer chasing them back inside with a broom.

Dinner had been eaten with masks on, at the Dipsh*t Table. Yennefer had banished Geralt and Jaskier from the Grown Ups Table after they refused to take the masks off. They sat at the little table, giggling and trying to stay in character as they took turns snapping photos of each other eating.

Yennefer later heard snorts and giggles from behind the closed bathroom door, and just kept walking. Best just to mind her own business. Whatever they were doing, they were probably wearing their masks while doing it.

Yennefer ended up going to her room to read. She couldn't really concentrate with Geralt and Jaskier's phones going off every few seconds, and their muffled gigging as they showed each other the text messages from Geralt's brothers and social media comments for whatever idiotic thing they had been doing in the bathroom and posted pictures and videos of.

Yennefer finally gave up and went to sleep, hoping that tomorrow would be more normal. She knew it wouldn't. Her boys were idiots, but she could hope!

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Legacy - PART TWO: OPEN SECRET

Summary: Being a Witcher is a daily struggle, so is being a parent. Things become even more difficult, when word reaches the wrong people that Geralt of Rivia has a son with you.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Parts: I

Warning: M - Witcher!AU, Soft & Protective!Geralt, Language, Assault, Attempted Breaking & Entering, Fighting, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Scrappy!Jaskier, Uncle!Jaskier, Magic Use, Nicknames, Mention of Child Endangerment(?), Witcher Hate, Memories, Mention of Past Pregnancy, Fluff, More Witcher Characters - SMUT -> Oral (F Receiving), Love Bites, Body Positivity, Partner Worship, Penetration (M-F), Orgasm

Inspiration: A subject from my story, A Witcher’s Destiny, Season Two of Netflix’s the Witcher and a Quest in The Witcher 3!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to be added A Witcher’s Legacy Tag List, please message me!

I also have the story on my AO3

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“I have seen it with my own eyes! The Witcher and his whore have a babe together, and it's rumored to be of both their blood!”

“How is this possible!?” Stregobor barked, leaning forward in his seat. “Witchers are impotent, their mutation makes them so! We all know it.” He said, looking about the room of other gathered mages.

“Are we sure that this baby is the White Wolf's?” Another of the mages asked, drumming their fingers on the arm of their chair. “The woman could have simply been with child and the Witcher may have claimed it as his.”

“Yes, where did this rumor start?” Another questioned. “Where did you hear it, Jordi?”

“A visitor at the Temple of Melitele.” Jordi answered, as he stood in the middle of the ringed chairs the mages sat in. “He claims to have heard the Witcher speaking to the priestess, Nenneke, almost a year ago now, about how he was assuredly the father of the babe and that he had no reason to believe her infidelity to him. The priestess asked how such a thing was possible, also stating the fact that Witchers are sterile, and the woman was at this time clearly and undeniably pregnant. The Witcher Geralt, replied by telling her, he wasn't entirely sure, but had a suspicion.”

“And what was that suspicion?” Stregobor asked, lifting his bushy eyebrow.

“The visitor couldn't say, because he was found to be spying on the conversation at that point and was thrown out of the temple.”

“This is troublesome, Stregobor. If the Witcher is capable of reproducing, it means they can create more Witchers, without the need of alchemical solutions. If the Continent finds this out, it could spell mass panic.”

“I am well aware of that, Artorius.” Stregobor replied, scratching at his thick, white beard. “We must find out if this claim is true first, and if it is, if the child is truly the Witcher's true born son, then we must destroy it.”

You bounced your son as he cried in your arms, at a loss for why he was upset. You had changed his pamper and fed him, and he wasn't interested in sleeping. There was nothing you could tell that was causing him pain either.

“Please, little one.” You begged him, rubbing the back of his head with your palm and pacing the inn room you and Geralt had gotten in the town you were stopping at. “Fuck.” You snapped, as a loud banging sounded on the door, causing your son to scream even louder.

“Yes?” You asked, pulling the room door open.

“Everyone on this floor is complaining about the wailin'.” A tall and burly male on the other side growled down at you.

“I'm so sorry.” You frowned back at the innkeeper, swaying on your feet. “I'm really trying to calm him, I don't know what's wrong and I've tried everything. My husband is away with a job, so I have no help with him.” You explained to him, meekly.

The man let out a rumbling growl at you and walked away, you sighed and closed the door, returning to your pacing in the small room.

“Come now, Lycus.” You cooed at him. “If we don't quiet down, your father is going to come back from killing his monster to us standing out on the street with our things, because we've been kicked out on a noise complaint.” You tried convincing him. “And, there it is now!” You added, as another knock sounded on the door and opened it again, this time finding a woman standing out in the hallway.

“Yes, I know. The noise.” You nodded at her.

“No, no.” She shook her head at you. “My husband, the innkeeper, has sent me up to help you with the babe.” She explained to you. “I've had six barns myself.” She told you, smiling softly, seeing the exhausted and at-a-loss look on your face.

Your shoulders slumped with relief. “Oh gosh, thank you.” You sighed, stepping back and letting her step into the room with you.

“Do you have a baby blanket for the wee thing?” She asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Yes.” You nodded, going over to the bed and picking up a soft blanket that you made yourself.

“Here.” She held her hand out for it and you handed it over. “Spread it out like this.” She instructed you, laying it out on the bed. “Now,” She turned towards you and held out her arms. “May I?” She asked, her eyebrows lifting.

You looked at her for a moment, no one had held your son other than yourself, Geralt, Jaskier, Nenneke and Vesemir since the day he had entered the world, but the woman had said she reared six kids into the world and if it helped whatever ailed your sweet boy, then—you held him out to her. She took him from you with skilled hands, maneuvering him onto the blanket. You watched her closely as she folded and tucked the blanket in around his squirming body.

“The swaddle.” She said, finishing and gently picking him up, then held him out to you. “Does the trick.” She smiled, as your son slowly calmed down.

You sighed with relief, almost bursting into to tears, as you cradled him in the nook of your arm, smiling into his tears stained little face. “Thank you so very much.” You told her, looking back up at her.

“You're a lifesaver.”

She chuckled at you, shaking her head. “He's very handsome.” She commented, gently rubbing his cheek with the back of her index knuckle.

“Thank you.” You grinned, swaying and looking proud of your son. “He's just like his father.” You added, with just as much pride.

“I'll let you rest now.” She said, nodding her head to you and went to the door, squeaking as she ran into Geralt in the hall.

“Are you all right?” Geralt asked, hurrying into the room, his gold eyes examining you and the baby.

“We're more than fine, now.” You smiled at him.

“What happened?” He asked, closing the door and the gap between you.

“He got incredibly fussy after you left, and nothing I did calmed him down.” You explained to him, leaning forward to gently rest your now sleeping son on the bed. “People on the floor, understandably, started to complain.”

Geralt looked at the door over his shoulder and growled.

“The innkeeper came up to inform me of the complaints, and I informed him of the problem.” You continued, turning back to Geralt and started unstrapping his leather armor from his body. “And, I suppose, instead of kicking us out, he went to get his wife and she helped me calm him down, by showing me how to swaddle him.”

Geralt looked at the sleeping infant, burrito wrapped in the soft, mint-green blanket and smiled. “That was very kind of them. They could very well have kicked us out of the inn.” He said, looking down at you, as you set his armor down, not quite used to the hospitality.

“They could have.” You agreed, nodding. “How was your monster?” You asked, lifting a brow at him, before turning to fill a bowl with water from a pitcher and dipped a cloth in it.

“A pesky selkiemore.” He replied, as you started rubbing the wet cloth over his bloody hands, washing off the selkiemore's blood and guts off his knuckles.

“Fun.” You grinned up at him, dipping the cloth back into the water and wringing it out, before reaching up to clean off a smear on the side of his neck. “Seems you have it all in your cracks and crevices.” You commented, seeing bits stuck in the Witcher's white hair.

“You know me.” Geralt chuckled, grinning at you.

“Mmhm, I do.” You nodded, smiling back at him. “Sit yourself down, Witcher.” You said, motioning to a chair by the small fireplace in the room.

Humming, Geralt pulled off his boots and moved to sit down, while you removed a brush from Roach's saddle bag on the floor by the bed. You stood behind Geralt, gently removing the tie from his hair, then started to methodically brush it, being careful with any knots you found or bits of the monster's blood or guts that matted his hair, using your fingers to detangle a few of them. Geralt allowed himself to relax under your care, his shoulders and back slouching, and extending his feet towards the flames of the fire in the grate; his eyes falling shut.

You smiled at him, it was always nice to see Geralt relax and let his guard down, as rare as it was. Only the most trusted of people were gifted with Geralt closing his eyes and falling asleep. Especially while touching him, and you were at the very top of that list of rare people.

You kiss the top of his head. “Come to bed, me'bleidd.” You whispered into his white and silver strands, resting your hands on his strong shoulders and gently squeezing, not wishing to startle him awake, knowing the detriment it can cause if he was woken suddenly.

“Hm.” The sound rumbled deep inside his chest, before he stirred on the chair, flexing his ankles and toes, as he took a deep breath, dropping his head back to look up at you. “I ordered the use of the tub in the washroom.” He informed you, blinking slowly, much like a cat.

“Well, off with you.” You told him, kissing his forehead.

“It's not for me.” He sighed, putting his boots back on and standing up. “It's for you.”

“Why?” You frowned at him, tilting your head.

“You need to relax and have some time to yourself.” He said, undoing the buttons of his shirt. “Nothing better than a tub of warm and soapy water to do the trick.” He smiled over at you. “Especially since we've been bathing in cold streams and lakes.” He laughed, going to the door of the room.

“I'll have the innkeeper bring up the water and fill the tub for you, then I'll watch our little one.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, as he opened the door, a soft smile on your lips.

Geralt smiled at you, crossing back over to you and kissing you intimately on the lips for a long moment, before breaking it off and going out, going downstairs to the bustling taproom of the inn and found the innkeeper speaking to one of the patrons by the door. He politely waited for the two men to finish talking, but he made it known that he wished to speak with him next.

“What can I do for you, Witcher?” The innkeeper asked, approaching him, folding his beefy arms over his chest.

“Well, firstly...” Geralt replied, planting his feet. “Thank you for helping my wife with our son. We both appreciate it.” He told him, tipping his head in a respective manner.

The innkeeper returned the gesture.

“Secondly, the wash room I paid for the use of. I would like to use it now, if I could have the hot water brought up for it.” He added, explaining his reason for being there.

“Of course, Witcher. I'll have my boy, Simon, haul them up presently, then knock on your room door, when the task is complete.” The innkeeper reassured him.

“Thank you.” Geralt answered, inclining his head and went back upstairs. “The innkeeper's son will knock on our door, when your bath is ready, me'minne.” Geralt said, stepping back into the room.

“Wonderful.” You smiled at him, loosening at the laces of your shirt and turning to sit down, so you could pull your boots off.

Geralt came around the bed, grabbing the chair as he did and sat down before you, he leaned down and closed one of his big, calloused hands around your delicate ankle and lifted it, resting your heel on his knee and started to massage your foot. You moaned softly as he did, his skilled hands hitting all the right points.

“What have you done, me'bleidd?” You asked, your eyes falling closed and your head falling back.

“What makes you think I did something, me'minne?” Geralt whispered back, lifting a brow at you.

“You've spent a precious coin on a bath for me and now you're massaging my feet.” You pointed out, lifting your head and cracking an eye at him. “The last time you did that, I was bearing your son.” You said, a smirk pulling at one corner of your mouth. “And I am certifiably not with child again, unless you've been back to Toussaint without my knowledge.”

“Hm.” Geralt hummed at you, narrowing his golden eyes. “You've grown to know me too well.”

“We've been together for almost eight years.” You retorted, opening both of your eyes and laughing. “How are you to be a stranger to me, after that length of time, Geralt? Surely, you know just as much about me as I do you!” You quipped, amused.

Geralt shook his head at you, letting your foot go to favor the other one. “It's true. But, I've done nothing, and I've certainly not been back to Toussaint.” He answered, pressing his thumbs into your arch. “Since, our last visit, at least.” He added, glancing over at your son, still comfortably swaddled in his blanket and dozing peacefully on the bed behind you.

“I just wanted to...pamper—you.” He explained, gulping around the word.

You narrowed your eyes at it, suspicious. “You've seen Jaskier, haven't you?” You asked, knowing all too well that such a word as, pamper, wasn't generally in Geralt's repertoire.

But, it was in the Bard's.

“I have.” Geralt nodded, rolling his eyes. “He's in the village.”

“And he hasn't come to see me!” You huffed, outraged and hurt. “The jerk.”

Geralt laughed, grinning. “He was accosted by two women outside the inn and swept away not long after we ran into each other, when I was returning from dealing with the monster.” He explained to you, softly. “I'm sure, once they're done thrashing him, he'll come and say hello to you and Lycus.” He assured you, raising your foot to press a gentle kiss to the top of it, before putting it back down.

“But, before he was taken away, he was right. You are the one primarily taking care of our son. You need time to yourself, to relax and freshen up. I've neglected you in that way, and I'm sorry, me'minne.” He told you, his brow creasing and his molten eyes growing somber.

“Geralt.” You sighed, shaking your head, and leaning forward, cupping his face in your hands. “You have never neglected me, in any way.” You whispered to him. “It is my honor and privilege to care for our son, to care for you. It gives me the purpose in life I have looked for. I want, need and ask for nothing else.”

You gently kissed him and pressed your forehead to his, sharing a quiet and close moment with him, before a soft knock echoed from the door, announcing your bath was ready.

“I love you, me'bleidd.” You said, smiling and rubbing noses with Geralt, playfully.

“And I you, me'minne.” He replied back, nudging his forehead against yours. “Go and enjoy your bath, the both of us will be fine, until your return.”

You lingered for a second longer, before leaving the room, finding a boy standing out in the hall waiting for you. He didn't say a word, but turned and walked down the hall, guiding you to where the wash room was, then left you to relax in privacy. It felt quite strange, as you let your simple dress slip down your body, pooling around your feet, to have the luxury of a huge, full and steaming tub of water, all to yourself.

The steam rising from the water filled the room, leaving you in a thick mist, as you dipped your first foot inside; moaning as the unbelievable warmth enveloped your leg. It was as if you were in heaven. Once inside, you turned your attention to the tray attached to one wall of the tub, holding a thick, white and oval shaped bar of soap and a small, square, wooden handle and stiff bristle, body brush. You lifted the soap to your nose and took a deep breath, a smile touching your lips.

“Lavender.” You laughed, feeling the irony as a distant memory leapt out to the forefront of your mind.

“Geralt.” You mewled, feeling his hot hands grab and knead at your hips, as he pulled you against his body.

“Hmm.” He growled back, his mouth devouring your neck for a moment longer. “You smell...” He moaned against your skin, his nose gliding up your neck and burying in your hair. “Like Lavender and Cardamom.” He purred, turning his head to nibble on the rim of your earlobe.

“Is that a good thing?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Yes.” He nodded, tugging on your ear. “I love it, it's refreshing and sweet.” He whispered, kissing behind your ear and back down your neck, while pushing your dress off your shoulders and body, leaving you to stand naked before him. “It suits you.” He smiled, taking a step back, to admire your nude body.

“Because you are both of those things, and much more.”

You grinned shyly at Geralt, glancing away from him as his golden orbs appraised you with a growing look of love and lust. Geralt reached out, cupping your chin between his thumb and index finger, to turn your face back towards him and smiled at you, slowly leaning in to kiss you on the lips. His hand moved from your face and found yours, bringing it up to the buttons on his shirt, guiding and encouraging you, as you continued to kiss.

Geralt was the first man you had ever lain with, and while he had been wild, hungry and possessive, like a wolf at the end of winter, he was gentle, encouraging and patient with you as well. You rarely catch the scent of Lavender or Cardamom without thinking back at that moment, with fondness.

You lounged back in the tub, disappearing up to your chin the godly water and closed your eyes, moaning softly, feeling the heat seep into all of the sore and travel-worn places your body had from the long rides on Roach from town to village to city, and sleeping rough. It was amazing to feel normal again. But, you weren't aware of falling asleep in the bath, until you heard a strange scraping noise, almost like the sound of mice with metal nails scurrying across the floor, but much louder.

Sitting up, you reached for the towel on the seat of a chair beside the tub, and slowly stood up and wrapped it around your dripping body, then stepped out of the tub, shivering as a cold draft hit your wet skin. You stood silently, listening, but the sound had stopped, as if sensing your movement, however several long minutes later, the scratching metal sound started up again, coming from the door. Biting your lip, you tip-toed over to it, trying to make the worn and warped floorboards of the bath room squeak as little as possible, before gently touching your ear to the door.

The sound of the scraping became louder.

“What?” You whispered, your brow pinching.

You quickly picked up your dress and secured it, before yanking open the bathroom door, and found a man crouched in the hallway, a lock pick in his hands.

“Who the fuck are you?” You barked at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

The man jumped up and grabbed you roughly by the arms, shaking you. “Where is he!?” He demanded, as he shoved you into the room, his grasp bruising your skin.

“Who?” You cried, shaking your head and beating on his chest, confused and frightened. “Geralt!!” You screamed, lashing out and clawing at your attacker's face and anything else you could. “Help!” You yelled, hoping anyone would hear you.

A thunder of footfalls came down the hall and a voice called out your name in alarm, like the ringing of a clear and beautiful bell. “Get off of her!” They growled, picking up the nearest object, a chipped, porcelain vase and smashed it over your assailant's head. Your attacker groaned, letting go of you and stumbling away, holding the back of his bleeding head and crashing into a wall.

“Jaskier!” You gasped with relief, throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank gods.” You sniffled into his shoulder.

“Don't say that just yet!” Jaskier said, seeing the man starting to pull himself together and grabbed your hand, dragging you out of the room. “Geralt!” He yelled, storming down the hallway and looked over his shoulder, only to see the man make it to the doorway and start to summon something.

“Oh gosh! GEERRRALLLLT!” He roared louder, feeling his body prickle with anticipation of the apparent Mage's incoming magic strike.

The door to your and Geralt's room flew open, and Geralt came storming out, just as you and Jaskier came bolting by. He looked between you and Jaskier, then the direction you had come from and saw the Mage about to let loose his bolt of Chaos. Without hesitation, Geralt threw up his forearm to form the sign of the Quen, creating a shimmering shield as the Mage released his surge of Magic, protecting himself, and you and Jaskier behind him, from the blast of magic; depleting the shield with the hit.

“Get in the room!” He barked at you and Jaskier, then charged down the hallway towards the Mage.

“Who the fuck was that!?” Jaskier asked, slamming the room door behind the both of you, startling Lycus awake and causing him to cry.

“How am I supposed to know?” You replied, rushing over and picking him up. “I found him trying to pick the lock to the washroom, while I was enjoying my bath, and he started attacking me.” You explained, trying to soothe your son, hearing the commotion of Geralt fighting the Mage in the hallway.

Geralt rushed the Mage, not giving him the time to hopefully cast anything else at him, throwing a white-knuckled fist to the Caster's face, tossing the smaller man backwards into the tub of water, then advanced on him, grabbing him by his soaked tunic and yanked him up to face level.

“What do you want?” He growled at him, his upper lip twitching. “Why have you attacked my wife?” He demanded, jerking him roughly. “Speak!” He roared as the Mage remained tight lipped, before striking him again out of annoyed rage.

“Witcher!” The voice of the innkeeper barked in the doorway. “What is the meaning of this bedlam?!” He ordered Geralt, having received and heard all the noise from downstairs in the tavern.

“This Mage scum attacked my wife, while she was having her bath.” Geralt replied, yanking the Mage out of the tub and standing him up, for the innkeeper to see. “I want to know why!” He hissed, shoving the Mage into the wall and held him there with a hand to his throat.

“Tell me, if you want to live.”

“They know, Witcher.” The Mage finally answered, with a choking laugh, blood speckling his lips. “They know your secret.”

Geralt frowned at him, shaking his head, confused. “What secret?” He huffed, only growing angrier.

The Mage laughed, before striking Geralt with a rush of Magic, and quickly slipped through a portal before he or the innkeeper could get their hands on him again. Geralt roared with frustration and fury, punching the wall where the Mage's head had been, then shoved past the innkeeper and stomped back down to your shared room.

“Easy, Jaskier! It's just me.” He barked as Jaskier wildly swung a fire poker at his head.

“Thank the gods.” You cried, rushing Geralt and wrapping an arm around his waist, sandwiching Lycus between your bodies. “What happened?” You asked, looking up at him. “Did you find out what he wanted?”

“All he said was he knew our secret.” Geralt replied, wrapping his arms around the two of you. “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked where he was, but I didn't know who he was talking about.” You told him, shaking your head, then saw Geralt's face change. “What?” You squeaked, blinking up at him.

Geralt gulped, his eyes shifting down to his son.

“No.” You shook your head at him, holding him closer to your body. “He's no secret, Geralt.”

“But, we also don't go around telling people that he's ours.” He answered, gently stroking your stiffening back.

“Particularly, that he's the biological son of a Witcher.” Jaskier blurted out.

“But,” You choked on the growth of your overwhelming emotions. “Why would--” You paused, it was fruitless, you knew why, you had been with Geralt long enough to know the hate and prejudice people had for Witchers, and your baby boy was the son of one, and looked so much like Geralt on top of it.

“How then would anyone find out about him?”

“They could have seen him, while we've been traveling.” Geralt said, kissing the top of Lycus's head, deeply bothered. “Perhaps, I should send you both to Kaer Morhen and finish out the last three months until winter comes, then I'll join the both of you.”

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head at him. “Geralt, no.” You snapped, strengthening your voice.

“I won't be going about the Continent, worrying while I kill monsters, whether or not another fucking Mage, or something worse, as come after the both of you.” Geralt replied, firmly. “So, you'll be safer at Kaer Morhen, with Vesemir.” He argued, staunchly.

“Jaskier will accompany you.” He added, looking at his old friend over your head.

Jaskier looked terrified for a moment, before he yielded. “Of course.” He nodded, biting his lip. “I'll even stay, until you come and join them.” He added, trying to smile at you encouragingly.

“Thank you.” Geralt said softly, inclining his head to the Bard.

“Geralt!” You barked, eyes wide. “I'm not going without you!” You told him, stomping your foot in defiance.

“I told you, I would--”

“You know what I'm saying, Geralt.” You growled, cutting him off.

Geralt cupped your face in his hands and drew you closer to him. “I won't have you and our son in danger, and that is what the two of you are in, right now.” He told you, his facial expression set. “There's only two places on the Continent that are safe for the both of you, with me and at Kaer Morhen. I need to finish the next three months, so we have everything we need for winter, then I'll come and join the both of you at the Keep, just as always.” He told you, his voice softening and his thumbs gently caressing the apples of your cheeks.

“I promise, me'minne.” He said tenderly, before leaning in to kiss you.

“Don't think for a moment, I don't know you'll be spending that time looking for the people threatening our son.” You said against his lips, your eyes on his face, critically.

Geralt chuckled through his nose, smiling back at you. “I would never question your intelligence or how well you know me, dear one.” He said, before playfully tapping you on the nose.

“Jesus, you really bring out his mushy side, don't you?” Jaskier said, looking between the two of you, wide eyed.

You looked smugly over your shoulder at Jaskier. “Like it's hard.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “It's good to see you, by the way.” You said, turning to him, now that everything was a bit calmer. “And, thanks for helping me back there.” You added, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

“Hey.” He smirked, his cheeks coloring. “I gotta protect you and my nephew.” He said, smiling at the two of you, reaching out to gently touch the back of Lycus's head. “Hey, little man! Come to Uncle Julian!” He said, holding his hands out for him.

You chuckled and let Jaskier take him from you, knowing how much he loved the Bard, especially when he sang to him. The four of you finished calming down, before Geralt went downstairs to get you all something for supper, not wanting you and the baby downstairs, risking anymore unwanted attention and attacks on you both. But he begrudgingly allowed you both to go downstairs to watch Jaskier perform a few songs, before going up to bed.

But, on rarity, sleep wouldn't find you, as you laid in bed with Geralt, Lycus in his usual spot between you. You shifted onto your side, lightly touching your fingertips to Lycus's rising and falling chest, stilling the paranoia in your mind about his safety, before reaching out to lay your hand Geralt's side, making the Witcher hum in his sleep and stir, but not wake. You couldn't help your brain from jumping around to different memories, from paranoia, fear and trying to soothe yourself.

Like one memory in particular.

There were hundreds of lit candles in the hallways and the entry of the Temple of Melitele, giving it such a beautiful ambiance as you walked the otherwise dark and quiet building. Even though you were exhausted, sore and about to give birth at any moment, you were wide awake and restless, the baby was moving way too much for you to lay down or sit for any length of time, so you hoped taking a small walk around the Temple would help you both settle down.

“Tough night?” A gentle voice asked, startling you some.

“Yes.” You nodded, turning to face Nenneke, the head Priestess of the Temple. “The little one is very active tonight.” You told her, resting your hand on your pronounced stomach, feeling the active kicks against your palm.

“May I?” She asked, holding out her own hand to you.

You nodded your head at her, moving yours away and smiled as she gently laid her palm against your belly. A large smile crossed her beautiful face, feeling the baby beat against her hand, like a drum, memorized by the feeling.

“It never matters how many babies I help birth into this world, they still fascinate me.” Nenneke said, moving her hand with the baby. “They are so sweet and innocent.” She sighed, before drawing her hand back. “I'm surprised Geralt has let you out of his sight. He seems more attached to you than the baby's umbilical cord.” She laughed, her cocoa-colored skin glowing as she did.

“He is.” You laughed with her, nodding. “But, he's finally fallen asleep, so I managed to tip-toe away without bothering him.” You told her, turning to walk with her. “He's gotten even less sleep than I have, since we found out I was with child. He's always awake, watching me at night, then killing monsters during the day.” You confessed to her, showing your worry for him.

“I'm afraid he'll overdo himself.”

Nenneke chuckled softly, resting her hand on your back as you both rounded a pillar. “Geralt has slept like shit all his life.” She told you, honestly. “He can take a lot. But, I know he brought you here for more than just because Melitele is the Temple of Fertility and Birth. He brought you here, because this is a safe place, a haven, and it is a place Geralt has always come to when he needs a safe and healing sanctuary.”

“So, he can fall asleep, knowing we will take care of you, while he rests.”

“He has been a lot less tense.” You agreed, finally seeing it. “He smiled this afternoon, and he hasn't really done that in months.”

“And, you?” Nenneke asked, tilting her head closer, her eyes studying you.

“I'm terrified, Nenneke.” You gulped, thickly.

“You're a new mother, of course you are!” She said, shaking her head. “It would be mad to think you wouldn't be.”

“True.” You nodded, biting your lip, trying to get a handle on your hormone-crazed emotions. “I do feel safe here. Especially knowing, should anything happen, I have you to look over me.” You said, grasping her hand.

“That does take a lot of stress off of me.”

Nenneke smiled at you, giving you the most motherly vibe, her hand cupping your cheek. “You will be fine. You're a strong woman and your child will be strong too.”

You sighed, closing your eyes, and savoring the warmth of her palm against your skin, feeling your fears melt away, knowing that hand would take care of and protect you, and the life inside of you. Nenneke smiled at you, seeing you relax and let out all your stress, with a heavy breath.

“Are you all right?” Geralt's deep voice echoed in the quiet room, his pale face and molten eyes looking at you with concern and worry.

You opened your eyes and stared back at him. “I'm fine, why?”

“Your heart was thundering in your chest.” He whispered, not wanting to wake the baby, as he peacefully dozed. “It's calmer now, but you were bothered by something. Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, reaching out to gently squeeze your shoulder.

“No.” You murmured back, blinking slowly at him, then licked your lips. “But-” You gulped and looked away from him.

“Tell me.” He cooed, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

“I need you.” You sighed, meeting his eyes again.

The ghost of a smile pulled across his lips, but Geralt nodded at you, understanding.

He had needed you for sometime, but it had become hard to do with Lycus always in bed with the pair of you. He squeezed your arm again, before carefully rolling out of bed and going to one of the saddlebags, removing a neatly folded blanket from inside; spread it out on the floor at the foot of the bed, creating a makeshift one for the two of you. You followed his lead, getting up as carefully as you could, so you didn't wake your son, and moved around the bed to Geralt, meeting the Witcher on the staging grounds of the blankets.

“I've missed you, my little firefly.” Geralt purred, his expression softening to a look of kindled lust.

“And I have missed you, Wolf.” You tittered back at him, your own eyes smoldering with the concupiscence pent up inside of you.

Humming, Geralt lifted his hands to the ties of your chemise, slowly untying them as he leaned in and kissed you with a reserved passion, his hands finally got your ties free and pushed inside the soft fabric, his skin tingling as it came into contact with yours. He moaned into your mouth. You moaned back at him, your palms pressed to the burning skin of his sides, smoothing them over to the small of his back, so you could slip your fingers into the back of his pants.

“Beautiful.” Geralt rumbled, having freed your body from the garment and stood back to appraise you.

You glanced away from him shyly, raising your arms to cross them over your chest, you had felt self-conscious about your body ever since having Lycus all those months ago. Your breasts weren't their normal and perky selves, like they were when you and Geralt had first met and made love, many years before. Geralt gave you a disappearing hmm, reaching out and closing his fingers around your wrists to gently pull your arms away from your body, making you lay your hands on his bare shoulders. He cupped one of your breasts in his palm, swirling the pad of his thumb over your hardening nipple, making you whimper and shiver.

“Such silly nonsense.” He hummed, his voice a deeper timber. “Trying to hide such a gorgeous body from me.” He said, smirking wolfishly at you, while giving the teased area of skin a pinch, producing a gasp out of you.

Geralt removed his hand from your chest and made short work of his pants, pushing them down his legs and kicking them aside, before wrapping an arm around your waist and hugging you against his body. His lips found yours once more and devoured them, like they were the sweetest of Toussaint's treats. His hands were hot on your skin as he pawed at your ass, slipping down to your thighs to pick you up and wrap your legs around his lean, scarred waist.

Pressing a hand to your back to steady you, Geralt turned and lowered himself to his knees, while laying you down on the pallet.

“How I've missed your soft folds.” Geralt whispered against your throat, sucking gently on it, while a hand strayed between your legs to caress you, then brought his wet fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a hungry moan.

“I could live off your essence for the rest of my life.” He said, a low growl in his throat.

“Mmph!” You chuckled, brushing your fingers through his loose hair, feeling the ends of it graze your shoulders and breasts as Geralt kissed all over your throat, working his way downward, leaving kisses and love-bites. “Oh.” You gasped softly, your back arching as Geralt's mouth found your pussy, flicking and swirling his tongue at your pearl, with eye-crossing skill. “It's unfair, you barely say a word most days, but your tongue is as skilled as your swordsmanship.” You huffed, gulping thickly, and hooking your legs over his shoulders, using them to hug him closer to you.

He tickled your folds with the rumble of his chuckle, while he continued to lick and suckle between your legs, making your thighs quake, your hand going to the back of his hair as you rocked against his mouth. You bit into your hand as you moaned loudly, coming against Geralt's face, not wanting to wake Lycus. Geralt moved back up your body, wrapping your legs around his waist and slipped in you with ease. Both of you sighing as he settled completely. The feeling of refreshing the physical bond and connection between you and Geralt was everything you had been looking for after all these long months. He leaned in close to you, noses brushing for a second, before capturing your lips in a tender kiss and he started to gently rock his hips into you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, savoring his kiss, as you slipped away into the bliss of Geralt's manhood burrowing inside of you. It had been far too long since you had been elevated to this height, that you allowed yourself to feel anything other than the stress of taking care of your son and the worry for Geralt's safety, while he plied his trade. You hummed softly into Geralt's mouth, a smile tugging up one side of your mouth, breaking the kiss as you pushed your head back, his gently thumping against your chest.

“Wolf.” You sighed, tangling your fingers through his hair.

He grunted back, kissing the damp skin of your chest, before running the tip of his nose up the side of your neck and drawing in a deep breath, taking in your scent. “Firefly.” He moaned back, his warm breath leaving a rush of goose-bumps over your sweaty flesh.

The both of you were nearing your peak, when a soft sound reached you from the bed, making your heart clench with horrified anticipation. Lycus whined softly, wiggling slightly inside the warm and soft swaddle of his blanket, while making a soft sucking sound. Without missing a beat inside of you, Geralt shifted and lifted his head, cocking a brow over the plain of the mattress to his son, eyeing his restless movements, while still thrusting into you, waiting to see if Lycus woke.

But the little boy settled and went silent again.

Geralt looked down at you and chuckled, both relieved and amused.

“Close.” You whispered, gulping thickly.

“I know.” He replied, nodding, understanding. “I love you.” He whispered, as the two of you finally came together.

“I love you too.” You whispered back, floating in the warmth of your fading climax, the assault by the Mage furthest from your mind for the moment.

[calamity-aims]

20 questions!

thanks for the tags @gaeasun @saltsanford @purgetrooperfox <3 love you guys

How many works do you have on AO3?

75

What’s your total AO3 word count?

238,592 (ooh I'mma celebrate when I hit a quarter million)

What fandoms do you write for?

mostly Star Wars! I wrote fic for some other fandoms early on but we don't talk about those

What are your top five fics by kudos?

your heartbeat's a countdown - crack fic in which the Jedi know the clones are a trap and try to avoid them at all costs

Necessary - a whumpy Voltron Klance fic I wrote after the first season (before the show went to hell)

their days are darker - in which Wolffe doesn't know how to drop anything and Fox is having the worst two days of his life

the broken-hearted rang their steeple bells - tropey Witcher kinkmeme fill that for some baffling reason has tons of kudos

exploitation, hesitation - short oneshot in which Fox assumes General Kenobi is just like his natborn superior officers and reacts accordingly

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I used to reply to every single one (unless it was just emojis) but then I fell off and now I feel bad :( I read them all though! and they are so treasured! one day I will make it through the backlog

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

ooh see despite writing a lot of angst, I almost always write happy endings, so maybe I'll take no gold, I'll take no silver (please read the tags on that one). maybe spit some blood at the camera is pretty sad too, actually

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

all of them!! yayyyy! even if it's not spelled out, I usually resolve things because that's the world I want to live in! every fic is a fix-it fic

Do you get hate on fics?

not really, mostly just people asking when I'm going to finish, although I have seen people complaining that my version of Fox/Corries is banal and overdone which like yeah. I agree. but my brain won't let me move on.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

hell yeah I do! I don't know what "what kind" means - I write characters fucking, never x reader and rarely OCs; and it's usually somewhat kinky because I just can't not

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've written a few fusions/AUs - elysium is as far as to is a Gladiator AU, everyone wants a double feature is a Pacific Rim AU, and more human than human is a Bladerunner AU. but I've never done a straight-up crossover, although there are a few bouncing around in my brain (namely, the GAR joins the Decepticons and another where Boromir meets Rex and falls in love)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yeah I've had real problems with people plagiarizing fics, from lifting whole sections of dialogue to copying really specific scenes

Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope, but one got a podfic

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

yeah I cowrote hold me like a grudge and sometimes a parrot talks (unfinished) with the fabulous @postapocalyptic-cryptic!

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

oh man. I love Quinlan/Fox to death. but I will admit that I was Stucky trash from the very beginning.

What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

ooh there's a lot. Mace/Fox fic, sometimes a parrot talks, deaged Corries, chroma...

What are your writing strengths?

hm. I don't know. I think I'm good at characterization and dialogue?

What are your writing weaknesses?

fukcin plot beyond "there is hurt and then there is comfort". and also explaining more about people's emotions, like, I know what they're feeling but I need to tell other people

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I just use google translate, I'm sorry

First fandom you wrote for?

oh boy oh fuck. The first fandom I ever wrote for was Phantom of the Opera when I was in eighth grade. go ahead and laugh

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

uhhh. aaa? um. probably unexplain the unforgivable, but I also really liked how a once and future sun turned out

no pressure tags for @postapocalyptic-cryptic @meerlichtz @milfmisspiggy @catboydogma @jaigeye

[kayte-overmoon]

Daisy Chain - Part 3

Previous Part / Next Part

Alpha Geralt/Omega Jaskier

Rated E

Pregnancy AU

Full tags on AO3

It takes them both a few days to get back on their feet. 

Vesemir and Eskel are attentive but not smothering. They seem to understand Geralt and his omega need space, so they only stop by a couple times a day to bring food, water, and firewood, and to bring in Jaskier’s belongings from the room next door.

“We weren’t exactly sure what the nature of your relationship was at first,” Vesemir explains, with a look to Geralt that clearly means a message ahead of time would have been nice. “So, we put his things elsewhere. But clearly, this is where he wants to be.”

Jaskier smiles and nods thankfully at that.

Ves leaves again, shooting another look at Geralt. They’re going to have a very long, serious discussion once Geralt and Jaskier are both well again.

Once Vesemir clears Geralt, he takes on the mantle of Jaskier’s care himself. Jaskier pretends to be miffed, complaining when Geralt bundles him in furs even when the fire is roaring and bitching when Geralt insists on carrying him everywhere. Secretly, he loves every second of it. He’s taken to purring when he’s being carried about the keep by his witcher, getting the grand tour and discovering all the places he’ll no doubt be biding his time for the coming months.

They’re both particularly fond of the hot springs.

The springs are a little-known treasure of Kaer Morhen—not that it would become a popular tourist stop if they were advertised. They’re one of the reasons the keep was built where it is. Turns out, when you have a keep full of sweaty, smelly warriors, it’s beneficial to all to have enchanted hot water at your disposal no matter what time of year it is. 

At first, Geralt is hesitant to bring Jaskier into the pools any hotter than lukewarm baths. When Jaskier complains that he’s cold (he’s not, he just knows how to get under Geralt’s skin), he acquiesces and moves them closer to the spring’s source where the water is warmer. Jaskier purrs happily when the heat seeps into his bones, and crawls into the witcher’s lap to show his thanks.

That’s a new development in their relationship.

Geralt is still firm in his belief that he will not be fucking Jaskier until he’s no longer pregnant and fully recovered from the delivery—a belief Jaskier tries relentlessly to dismantle.

There’s little need for modesty in the keep. It’s just the two of them, and Eskel and Vesemir, who have taken to giving them a wide berth after Eskel walked in on them with Geralt’s lips wrapped around one of the soft, perky buds of the omega’s nipples. It had been totally innocent, he swears! Jaskier told him his nipples were sore and he read somewhere that having your alpha suck on them eases the ache…

Which Geralt now realizes was definitely a line to lure him into bed.

Tricky minx.

Said minx has taken to swanning about their room—because it’s no longer just Geralt’s room with Jaskier’s clothing pushing his own out of the wardrobe and his lute taking up space on the chair by the fire, his notes and books strewn on every flat surface—in next to no clothing. If he is clothed, it’s only in one of Geralt’s shirts, which are still big on him even with his belly. He makes it a point to bend over right in Geralt’s line of sight, which must be difficult with his center of gravity thrown off, but he handles it with grace. At night, he’ll push back against Geralt until his cock is slotted between the fat of the omega’s thighs.

And damn him, but Geralt’s self-control can only go so far.

After their first time in the warmer springs, Jaskier drifts off to sleep quickly. Geralt isn’t as tired, so he stays up to take in the familiar sounds of his home, admiring the rise and fall of the bard’s shoulders where he’s tucked in close.

Sometime long after the sun has gone down, Jaskier arches against him with a whine.

Geralt nearly panics, fearing the bard is sick again. Then the scent of Jaskier’s slick rises between them and a soft pair of lips start pressing kisses to his neck.

“Jask,” he warns lowly. 

For a moment, he thinks Jaskier may still be asleep, but then he lifts his head and aims a wet kiss vaguely at Geralt’s mouth. 

He’s incredibly tempting, all soft and pliant and smelling divinely fertile. Geralt is far from unaffected—he is an alpha, after all, and Jaskier could tempt him even covered in viscera and smelling of sewer. Still, he pushes at the omega’s waist to get some distance between Geralt’s thigh and Jaskier’s wet cock that he’s begun dragging against him. “Jask, just go back to sleep.”

“Had the loveliest dream,” Jaskier mumbles, smooshing his cheek up against Geralt’s shoulder but not ceasing his efforts at humping his leg. It wears away at Geralt’s resolve, slowly but surely.

Geralt grits his teeth. “That so?”

Jaskier hums and lifts his head again. “Yeah.” He reaches for Geralt’s face, clumsily thumbing over the witcher’s lips. Geralt kisses his finger, unable to deny himself that one soft pleasure, and Jaskier smiles. “You were fucking me into the mattress.” It’s such a turn from the sweetness of the moment before that Geralt chokes on his breath. Jaskier soldiers on like he’s reciting poetry he’s had memorized since his youth. “Had to cover my head with a pillow so your family didn’t think we were being attacked. Then I woke up before you could knot me. I’m a little upset it was just a dream.”

Geralt growls, an unintentional sound that makes Jaskier’s pulse spike and the scent of slick grow heavier in the air. “Jaskier…” he warns. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Please, Geralt?” he whines. “Just once? I’m all better now. Please, I’m so horny all the time now. If you knot me, maybe it’ll go away?”

Geralt’s being manipulated. He knows this. Subtlety is not a virtue Jaskier possesses.

But Geralt’s tired. The scent of his bard’s desperation is sopping up any common sense he had left. Jaskier is so warm and soft in his arms. 

So, he gives in.

“Fine,” he growls.

Jaskier is so pleased, he makes a sound that’s nearly a chirp, but before he can straddle Geralt fully, Geralt’s grabbing him by his hips and turning him on his side, facing away from him.

“Geralt?” 

“Shh.” Geralt noses under Jaskier’s hair, scenting him. He can practically taste��him on the air. His blood is pulsing hot and quick under his skin. Jaskier is always enticing, but here, in Geralt’s bed, surrounded by the things Geralt has provided him, his scent singing for Geralt, he’s ambrosia crafted solely for Geralt’s downfall.

Jaskier squirms until his backside is nestled perfectly in the crook of Geralt’s hips, grinding against him with the barest pressure that has them both purring, nonetheless. They’ve taken to sleeping in the nude since coming to the keep. It soothes both their baser instincts to have so few barriers between them. If Geralt wanted to, he could merely spread Jaskier’s cheeks and slip right inside. He can feel his slick wetting both their thighs—it would hardly be painful for the omega, even if he’s been untouched for nearly half a year. 

But Geralt still has some resolve.

He lifts one of Jaskier’s trembling legs and slots his cock between his thighs. Jaskier arches, his breath catching as he tries guiding Geralt inside him. But Geralt gently lowers his leg until his cock is nestled in the soft, soaked space between his legs, and Jaskier whines.

“No,” he pants, wiggling to try and change the angle Geralt’s pressing against him. “No, no. Inside me, please.”

“Hush.” 

Jaskier settles. HIs disappointment colors the air, but Geralt quickly urges it away by sliding his hand over the swell of the omega’s belly and taking his leaking cock in hand. Then he presses forward to fuck himself between the omega’s thighs.

One of Jaskier’s hands flies back to tangle in Geralt’s hair, pressing his face to the bard’s neck. Sharp teeth scrape against the scent glands there, and Geralt revels in the whine of desperation it earns him. He squeezes the cock in his hand—hardly big enough for a handful, the head just barely poking out from Geralt’s fist—and Jaskier nearly sobs.

“You’ll have to deal with just this,” Geralt tells him. “I won’t break my promise to you.”

Jaskier pants for several moments, fucking into Geralt’s fist then back onto his cock. Geralt can feel the tight furl of his hole every time he pushes forward, slicking him up and making the slide smooth as butter on hot bread. He’s sure the friction is enough to drive Jaskier insane.

“I don’t care about the promise,” the omega grunts finally. He’s dripping over Geralt’s fist so much, he can’t tell if he’s come yet. If he hasn’t, it’s a testimony to how worked up he must be. In all his years, no one’s ever gotten this wet for Geralt. Granted, he’s never fucked a young male omega who’s apparently smitten with him. “You made the promise to yourself, not to me. Promise be damned, I want your knot!”

Geralt nips at his throat in warning. “I made it to myself for you. I won’t hurt you when you’re carrying the pup, Jaskier.”

His pulse quickens under Geralt’s teeth. “But you’ll hurt me when I’m not?”

Geralt growls. That hadn’t been his intent, but he can taste what his words did to Jaskier. He throbs between Geralt’s fingers, every inch of his skin alight with pleasure. “You want that?” His voice comes out grated and rough, like he’s just swallowed a gallon of venom. “Want me to hurt you?”

Jaskier’s heart pounds harder. “Yes,” he whispers. Another spurt spills over Geralt’s knuckles, and given the way Jaskier trembles, he is coming this time. He speaks through it, shaking all over and barely able to take a breath. “Yes, yes. Please, I want you to hurt me.”

“How?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s mating gland into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth but not biting down. Not yet. Not now. But gods does he want to. He channels his frustration into the pace of his hips pushing his cock between the omega’s slick thighs. It must be too much for Jaskier, all that friction so soon after cumming, but Geralt allows himself this moment of selfishness. As long as Jaskier isn’t pushing him away, he lets himself take. “How should I hurt you?”

Jaskier whimpers, but his cock hasn’t softened in the slightest. His free hand reaches back to dig his nails into Geralt’s bare hip, spurring him on. “Want you to take me, stretch me open on your cock whenever you please.” His mouth is hanging open, unable to control his breaths as Geralt squeezes his cock again and digs his thumb beneath the head. “Don’t even need to use your fingers. I’ll always be ready for you. Even if I’m not wet yet. Want to feel it inside me dry. Want your hands to leave bruises on my hips. I want your bite, on my neck, on my thighs, everywhere. Want you to smack my mouth when I misbehave, smack my face after you spill on it, smack my arse so I remember who I belong to. Want you to hold me to the bed and fill me until I’m—I’m begging you to stop—oh, Geralt—”

It’s by the grace of whatever gods still watch over witchers that Geralt moves at the last moment before he releases so his teeth sink into the nape of Jaskier’s neck rather than the side. He’s not gentle about it. He can feel the moment he breaks skin. Jaskier’s blood spills on his tongue. Jaskier cries out, but Geralt’s own blood is roaring in his ears as he spills between the omega’s thighs, so he barely hears it.

It’s not as fulfilling as knotting, but something in Geralt calms with his cum smeared on Jaskier’s hole and his bite slowly leaking blood on his neck. Their scents are both so heavy, he can hardly pick them apart anymore. Jaskier’s sweet, sticky honey scent and Geralt’s own woody musk mingle until they’re one heady perfume. Geralt would bottle it if he could. Drench himself in it and let it be the only thing he smells for the rest of his life.

Geralt licks his lips, catching his breath, then freezes at the taste of copper.

No.

No, no, no, no, no—

“Geralt?” Alarm colors Jaskier’s voice as he turns around and takes Geralt’s face in his hands. “Geralt? Deep breaths, dear heart. I think you’re hyperventilating. Melitele’s sweet cunt, I didn't know witchers could do that. Deep breaths, love, come on.”

Geralt grabs Jaskier’s wrist and reaches around him to touch the wound on his neck. He winces, and Geralt wants to fling himself from the nearest parapet. “Jask. Jask, you’re hurt. I hurt you—”

“Hush.” Jaskier rolls his eyes then tips his head to kiss Geralt. Just licks his own blood from the witcher’s lips like it’s nothing. “I’m fine, love. I—I enjoyed it. Perhaps too much.” He blushes and looks between them.

Geralt follows his gaze. The omega’s cock is still dripping, clear omega slick and pearly cum smearing over the both of them where they’re pressed together. Some of Geralt’s spend is there, too, and he marvels at how much there is. It’s been months since he’s… taken care of things. He hadn’t realized how pent up he was.

He licks his lips again. Jaskier’s cock jumps.

“You can’t do that, Geralt,” he whines. “Not fair.”

“Do what?”

“Want me like that with your eyes.” He buries his head in the pillow, thighs pressing back together. “Look like you’re about to eat me whole.”

“Can I?”

Jaskier blinks at him. “What?”

“Can I eat you?” Geralt says it without thinking, then shakes his head, amazed at his stupidity. “I—I mean, can I clean you up? With my mouth.”

Jaskier doesn’t respond. He only turns onto his back, stealing the pillow from beneath the witcher’s head, and props himself up so he can watch Geralt crawl between his legs. He kisses apologies into his pale legs, lavishing them with his affection. Someday soon, Geralt thinks, when the pup is born and the sun comes back, he wants to get Jaskier naked and laid out on sun-warmed rocks or hot sand. Get between them just like this, hear Jaskier’s moans spilling out into the open air.

He’s not sure which of them spreads Jaskier’s thighs (perhaps it’s a joint effort) but soon, Geralt’s tongue meets their combined spend.

He sighs as he cleans his omega. His eyes close. His pulse slows. A taste of heaven meets his tongue—it’s their perfume, the one he wants to bathe in. Their scents, the flavor of them both, are mixing. Becoming one. He’d never realized something was missing from his own scent until he tasted them mixed like this.

Jaskier lets out a breath, and with it goes any tension remaining in his body. He melts into the bed. There’s not a single iota of worry or pain left on him—and looking back now, Geralt realizes there was never any to begin with, at least before Geralt began to panic.

He’d never been scared. A witcher had growled and pinned him down and bit him like an animal, and he’d only gotten scared when Geralt did. When the taste of his love’s blood had sent him reeling.

Jaskier gasps when Geralt noses at his cock then licks across his taint. “That’s it, love.” HIs hand fists in Geralt’s hair, gently urging him down. “Fuuuuuck. Yes, please.”

Geralt hums; at the omega’s begging, the hand in his hair, and the taste of new arousal and prior satisfaction blooming across his tongue. 

He licks their combined taste from Jaskier’s cock then spears his tongue against his still-leaking hole. Jaskier moans, his knees drawing further up to give Geralt access. There’s only so far he can bend with his belly in the way, but he does as well as he can. 

It takes little more than Geralt’s tongue inside and a thumb brushing his cock for Jaskier to cum again. While he’s still whining his way through it, Geralt licks away the fresh wave of slick and the cum spilling across his belly.

When he brushes his cock again, Jaskier hisses and pulls him away with his grip on his hair. “Enough, enough.”

Geralt grins, licks his lips, and crawls back up to settle beside him, tracing over him with both hands and eyes, making sure he’s content and relaxed. “Tuckered out, are we?”

Jaskier huffs and pushes him weakly. Then he leaves his hand there on Geralt’s chest. “Yes,” he finally agrees. “You’ve worn me out. Can we go back to sleep now?”

Geralt snorts and moves them back to a comfortable sleeping position, with Jaskier’s legs stretched back out and both of them sharing a pillow. “You’re the one who woke up begging for my knot.”

The omega’s blush is vibrant in the low light, but he lifts his chin proudly anyway. “And I’ll get it one day.”

“You will.” Geralt presses a kiss to his bare shoulder, his eyes finally growing heavy with sleep. “You will.”

⚘⚘⚘

The next morning, they join Geralt’s family for breakfast for the first time.

Jaskier walks of his own insistence but doesn’t complain when Geralt keeps a hand on his back the whole time, just waiting for him to collapse. He never does. Truth be told, he’s stronger now than he has been in quite some time. His fruitful stay in Oxenfurt, plus Geralt’s attention, plus an inordinate amount of rest have all left him glowing and happy, his skin flushed and supple and his eyes bright.

Much improved from his pale, clammy skin when he was ill.

“Good morning,” Jaskier says cheerfully to the other men at the table. Vesemir nods at him and pushes a basket of still-warm bread his way. 

Eskel only smirks, his gaze fixed on the bandage Geralt had insisted on putting on Jaskier’s wound from the previous night. “Morning.”

Geralt knows both his family members are eyeing his omega’s neck, but he ignores them in favor of grabbing a plate for himself and Jaskier. The bard immediately nestles into his side, picking bits of food off Geralt’s plate even with his own right in front of him. Geralt doesn’t say anything about it. He lets him take what he wants.

“How are you both feeling?” Vesemir asks, then pauses. “The three of you, I suppose.”

Jaskier smiles through a mouthful of bread and jam and presses a hand to his stomach. “We’re much better. Rowdier and rowdier by the day.” He swallows, and for a moment, grows serious. “I can’t thank you enough. I can’t imagine what would have happened if—” Geralt puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently. Jaskier takes a breath, blinks rapidly a few times, then continues. “Thank you. Truly. Whatever I can do to repay your kindness—”

Vesemir waves a hand. “Nonsense. Family doesn’t pay family for taking care of one another. I may not have known you existed two weeks ago, but my son has clearly staked a claim on you and your pup. So long as you mean him no harm, you will always find a home here at Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier turns watery eyes to Geralt, who also finds himself uncharacteristically choked up. “Thank you, Ves.” He nods at his brother. “Eskel. Thank you for taking care of him when I couldn’t.”

Eskel snorts. “Nearly took my eye out trying to get to you when he woke up. If you weren’t so clearly enamored with him, I would’ve put a leash on him.”

The bard finds that funny, but something green and ugly rears its head in Geralt’s chest. He growls, too low for Jaskier to hear. His family hears it, though, and offer him equal looks of exasperation and surprise. He ceases the noise immediately, his face growing hot.

Eskel quickly changes the topic before Jaskier can catch on. “Has Geralt showed you around yet?”

Jaskier nods. “A bit. Mostly the hot springs, and one of the old armories.”

“You haven’t seen the library yet?” Eskel asks in surprise.

The bard turns to glare at the man plastered to his side. “There is a library in this keep and you haven’t shown it to me yet? I thought you cared for me, Geralt! How will my poor, tortured soul ever—”

Geralt hauls him into his lap, making him cease his complaining with a giggle. “I was focused on getting you well again, and I knew the second you were aware of the library, you’d never lie down to rest.”

“You are correct.” He seems pleased with his new seat and sinks back into Geralt’s chest happily. “Will you take me?”

There’s a double-entendre there waiting for Geralt’s attention, but before he can point it out, Eskel’s cutting in again. “I could show you,” he tells the omega. “And the greenhouse.”

“Not the greenhouse.” Geralt’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Jaskier argues anyway. “Why not the greenhouse? You would deprive me of a glimpse of nature in this cold, rocky castle?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s an alchemical greenhouse. Mostly herbs and grasses we need for our potions, spell components, magical flowers for research. There are plants in there that could kill you from a five-foot radius without so much as releasing a spore. You are not going in there.”

“Fine.” He has the gall to look affronted. “But I expect a tour of the entire grounds in return.”

“I don’t think you have the energy for that.”

Jaskier frowns at him. “You think I can’t?”

“I think you’re, what, six months pregnant?” Geralt asks. “And it’s winter. You’re not stepping foot outside until the sun returns.”

His frown deepens, but he makes no argument.

Geralt knows Eskel only volunteered to show Jaskier the library so Geralt would have no excuse to continue avoiding talking to their father. He’s still giving Geralt looks across the table that make him feel like he’s a child running about the keep again. And Geralt is old and grown, but that look from the man who raised him makes him feel about as tall as an ant.

They finish eating and Jaskier rises from Geralt’s lap with a parting kiss to the cheek. “See you at lunch?”

Geralt nods and squeezes the omega’s hand before Eskel sweeps him away.

The vast Great Hall is left nearly silent at their departure. A single sound rises above the crackling fireplace at the center of the room: the steady tap, tap, tap of Vesemir’s finger against the table.

“Well,” the old witcher says after a long, painful moment. “Have you nothing to say?”

Geralt’s no longer hungry but he picks up a piece of bread Jaskier had left on his plate regardless. “I won’t defend myself if that’s what you’re wanting. I have nothing to be guilty about.”

“Geralt.” Vesemir rises. He’s not as tall or imposing as he had once been—time and grief have taken their toll on the set of his shoulders, the slope of his spine—but when he stands and Geralt sits, he’s every inch the warrior he still is. “I am aware your beliefs about witchers have been tainted by the world. But we are not the sort to go around stealing omegas and mating them without a thought.”

Geralt rises too, suddenly so angry he can’t see straight. “Do not speak of things you know nothing about.” There’s a growl in his voice he’s never used against Vesemir. He’s never dared to. He’s his father, an alpha, and a seasoned witcher to boot. Only a fool would dare raise his voice against Vesemir.

Ves only narrows his eyes. “Fine.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Then explain it to me.”

“We’re not mated,” he begins, but Vesemir raises an eyebrow and points to his own neck. Geralt’s face heats. He’d seen the bandage Geralt had wrapped around Jaskier’s throat, smelled his blood. “It’s on the back of his neck. It was… an accident.”

Vesemir says nothing.

Geralt takes a breath. He doesn’t want to be angry with his father, but his accusation hurt, no matter that Geralt knew what he would think. It’s what people have been thinking all along: innocent, naive Jaskier was whisked away by some brutish witcher and mated before he could string two thoughts together, the poor dear. He knows how it looks. But he is guilty of no crime beyond wanting Jaskier all for himself. And while that will inevitably lead to heartbreak on all sides he hasn’t quite brought himself to consider, he isn’t breaking any high moral code. A few social norms and expectations, sure, but he’s done right by Jaskier at every turn.

“We met in Posada,” he says evenly. “He wanted to write songs about my heroic exploits—his words, not mine—and we got tangled up in this ordeal with the elves—”

The old witcher barks a laugh. “He wrote that? You must have liked the attention an awful lot to pup him so quickly.”

Geralt’s eyes go wide. “The pup isn’t mine, Ves.”

This information doesn’t seem to surprise Ves, but the tightness in his jaw eases just the slightest. “But the omega is, yes?”

Silence stretches between them.

“No,” Geralt finally says. His voice shakes. “No, he’s not.”

Vesemir snorts. “Does he know that?”

Geralt sinks back onto the bench and puts his head in his hands. “I can’t—Ves, he’s insistent that I’m going to claim him before the pup even comes. I can’t do that. He’s not thinking clearly. There’s all the hormones and the pheromones—”

“Give him more credit than that, son.” Vesemir takes a seat next to him. Now that they’ve done their bristling and posturing, the closeness is nice. Familiar. The proximity of another alpha, his pack, eases Geralt’s worries minutely. “He’s pregnant, not enthralled.”

Geralt snorts. “You’d think he was.”

“Do you really find it so strange that he would be interested in you?”

Finally lifting his head, Geralt meets his father’s eye. “You don’t think it’s… You don’t think I’m taking advantage of him?”

“If anything, he’s taking advantage of you.” When Geralt bares his teeth again, Vesemir laughs and holds up a hand. “Not that you’re going along unwillingly. Geralt, you’re as good as bonded to that boy. Rejecting him will only cause unnecessary pain to the both of you at this point.”

“Why are you—you’re not angry?”

Vesemir huffs. “Now that I know you didn’t manage to somehow defy the laws of nature to put your pup in him?” Geralt blushes full-on, but Ves graciously moves on. “No, son. He’s young, but he’s old enough to make his own decisions. And he’s chosen you. Gods know why.”

Geralt snorts at the half-assed insult. “I’m sorry I didn’t send word ahead. I meant to, but—”

“I understand. New pairs always seem to lose track of things when they get together.”

“You’ll help us? With the—” He makes a vague hand motion.

Ves rolls his eyes and claps a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “The delivery? Yes, of course I will. But you’re going to have to get a lot more comfortable with the terminology if you’re going to be a father.”

Geralt’s heart stutters, nearly stops, before jumping back into rhythm. “A what?”

The old witcher gives him an odd look. “What did you think was going to happen when the pup came? Did you think you could get the omega without his child?”

“No, no. I never intended for that to be the case. I promised to protect him and the pup with my life. I just… never thought of it like that.”

A whisper of a smile tugs at his father’s face. “Parenthood hits you hard, I suppose. Especially when you’re raising another alpha’s pup.”

That strikes a bitter chord in Geralt’s heart. He grabs the hand Ves had left on his shoulder and squeezes it tightly, his lips pressed to a thin line. “Getting a taste of my own medicine, eh?”

Ves, much to Geralt’s surprise, brings their intertwined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of his son’s hand. 

No more words are exchanged between them.

They’ve said what needs to be said.

⚘⚘⚘

Jaskier is late to lunch, which should come as no surprise to Geralt, yet worries him immensely.

He scoops out a bowl of stew big enough to feed two Jaskiers and cuts half a loaf of bread for him then sets out in search for the omega.

He finds him exactly where he expected: bundled up on a sofa in the library, a stack of books beside him, a handful more spread across his lap, a fire raging in the fireplace. He looks up when Geralt shoulders the door open and nearly blinds the witcher with his grin. “Hi, love!”

Eskel, who was set up by the window with a book of his own, catches Geralt’s eye and leers at him. Geralt’s face flames but he ignores it (and Eskel) to come to Jaskier and drop a kiss on the top of his head. “Hi.”

Jaskier hums that near-purr that makes Geralt want to sit at his feet and languish in his happiness and wrestles the bowl from his hands. “You didn’t have to bring me lunch,” he says as he scoops a big spoonful into his mouth.

Geralt chuckles and scoots the books out of the way so they don’t get stewed, making sure to mark Jaskier’s place in each so he doesn’t bitch at him for it. Jaskier’s ability to read several books at a time without issue constantly astounds Geralt. He settles in next to him, letting the warm little omega snuggle up to him while he eats.

“You were late,” Geralt says. “Ves and I already ate and cleaned up, so I figured I’d bring your food so you didn’t have to move.”

Eskel pipes up from across the room. “And you didn’t bring me any, brother? I’m hurt.”

“Yeah, look at him wasting away over there,” Jaskier says through another mouthful. He doesn’t look willing to share, despite his words. “Poor dear.”

Eskel makes a face at him, to which Jaskier merely rolls his eyes.

Clearly, Jaskier and Eskel have bonded in his absence. Eskel hardly ever jokes like this unless he’s fond of someone. It’s nice to see two of the people he cares most about getting along, but still, that monster in the back of his head roars.

“The second someone pups my dear brother, I’ll wait on him hand and foot as I do you,” Geralt says, then turns to Eskel. “Tell me, do you prefer lavender or chamomile oil for me to rub all over your—”

“I’m starving!” Eskel proclaims, springing to his feet and abandoning his book by the window. He’s out of the room, the door shut behind him, before Geralt can continue his teasing.

Jaskier digs an elbow into his side. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it. He’s been kind to me.”

Geralt chooses not to share that he and Eskel have fought over partners before, and instead pulls Jaskier closer. “I know,” he says. “And I’m thankful. I just don’t like sharing you.”

The bard raises his eyebrows, a pleased flush taking over his cheeks. “You’ll have to get used to it soon.” He grabs Geralt’s hand and places it over his belly, moving him around until he can feel the babe kicking against his palm. “Ah—there it is, the little bastard.”

“You can’t call your unborn daughter a bastard!”

Jaskier tips his head back against the sofa, giggling. He rests his bowl on top of his belly—it’s just big enough for him to be able to do that with some success—and watches Geralt caress the bump fondly. “I can so!” he insists. “It’s what she is, esp—ah! Especially when she kicks my ribs like that, sweet Melitele.”

Geralt frowns, gently cups either side of Jaskier’s belly to steady him as he shifts. “You alright?”

Jaskier waves him off. “I’m fine. Just takes some getting used to. She’s rowdy when I’m hungry.”

“Better feed the beast, then.” Jaskier tucks back into his stew now that the pup has settled. Geralt keeps his hands where they are, feeling Jaskier’s steady, unworried pulse and the thrum of the pup’s as well. After a moment, the bard slides a hand over one of Geralt’s. “What is it?”

Geralt takes a breath, smiling reassuringly at him. “Nothing. Everything’s perfect. I just like… feeling you both. Knowing you’re alright. Especially after…”

“Me too.” A shadow passes over Jaskier’s face as he laces his fingers with Geralt’s. “For a bit after I woke up, I was afraid I’d lost her. She stopped moving. It’s been only a couple weeks since I first started feeling her move, but I’ve grown so used to it in such a short time. When I stopped feeling her… it scared the shit out of me.”

“When I woke up,” Geralt says. “My first thought was for you. For her. I couldn’t calm down until I knew you were okay. Nearly took Ves’ head off trying to get to you. If Eskel hadn’t brought you when he did, I probably would have fought them both until I found you.”

“I know what you mean. Eskel heard you waking up. As soon as he told me, I just… I had to see you.”

Geralt sighs and rests his head on the couch, content to watch Jaskier eat and feel his daughter shifting every couple minutes. 

“Ves agreed to help with delivery,” Geralt tells him as he’s finishing his stew. “I knew he would, but…”

Jaskier sets his bowl aside and beckons the witcher closer so they’re sharing the same space on the couch, entwined in a way that shouldn’t be comfortable but somehow is. “You had your talk, then?”

Geralt winces. “You noticed?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jaskier says, “You clearly get your subtlety from your father. I thought you were going to sweat through your shirt. Eskel practically carried me out of the main hall. Figured you needed some long-overdue father-son bonding time.”

“Hardly,” Geralt snorts. “He thought I’d bent the laws of magic to knock you up. Or, I don’t know, bewitched you somehow.”

“But you have bewitched me, witcher.” Jaskier tips his head, looking at Geralt through his lashes in the way that makes him short of breath. “Perhaps not in the way he thought, but you have a pull to me I can’t explain otherwise.”

Geralt knows what he means. He feels the same. It’s the reason he hadn’t left him in the street in Posada. It’s why he hasn’t been able to shake him since. It’s why he came back to Oxenfurt and carried him up a mountain in a snowstorm.

He can’t lose him.

But he’s not quite ready to say any of that out loud.

Instead he clears his throat and says, “He was fine once I assured him you were here of your own free will and the pup isn’t mine.”

Jaskier hums contentedly. He’s growing warm—not feverish, but sleepy and full. He finished the entire bowl of stew and a good amount of the bread. He’s tiring easier these days, so he must be winding down for his afternoon nap. 

Geralt has something to ask before that.

“Jask?”

He hums again, inquisitive even as his eyes are slipping shut and his cheek is smooshing against Geralt’s arm. 

“What role do you want me to have in her life?”

The bard stirs a bit at his question. His eyes flutter back open, alert. He studies the witcher’s face intently for a long moment. “What role would you like to have?”

Geralt shrugs, looking to the fireplace. He’ll need to get up and stoke it soon. He can’t have the room going cold if Jaskier plans to take a nap.

“Geralt, this isn’t one of those times I let you get away with nonverbal responses.”

“Vesemir mentioned… well, he made a comparison to him raising me and my brothers and…” Geralt gives up, sighs, and says, “He said I’m going to be a father. I thought he was joking at first, but then…”

“Do you want to be a father?”

It would be easier if Jaskier wasn’t looking up at him with those big blue eyes, more trusting than anyone he’s ever met. Not for lack of knowing him—he’s seen Geralt at his worst and still hasn’t run away. If anything, he likes those bad parts. Wants to make them better. Cherishes them.

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut. “I just need you to tell me, Jask. I’ll be anything, just don’t… don’t make me choose.”

“There’s no choosing to be done, dear heart.” Soft hands cup Geralt’s cheeks, brushing beneath his eyes until they open and are met with a beautiful, gentle smile. “I’ve considered you this pup’s father since before Oxenfurt. The second I knew I wanted to be with you, something just clicked. She’s yours as much as she is mine, love.”

Something takes flight in Geralt’s heart, leaving him lighter than he’s ever been. “But I’m not her sire,” he says. “I could never be. It’s not in the stars for me.”

“Did I say you were her sire?”

Geralt frowns. “No.”

“I’m not asking you to be that for her. She has a sire. She may meet him one day, if I decide it’s right.” Jaskier’s face tightens. It tends to do that, when the subject of his past comes up, but it’s gone in an instant when Geralt brushes his fingers against the inside of his wrist. “I’m asking you to be her father. The person who will teach her to be strong and kind, who will protect her and teach her how to fight for what she believes in.”

“You can do all that much better than I can,” Geralt says. “You’re her blood. You’re human. You’re intelligent and talented and compassionate.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Human? No, I’m not.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and bites Geralt’s arm in retaliation. “The other things. Vesemir isn’t your blood, yet you call him your father. You and Eskel share nothing but a childhood and a lifestyle, and yet he’s your brother. You, of all people, should know that family isn’t blood.”

“I can’t give her a normal life. I can’t give you a normal life.”

“Did I ask for one?”

Geralt smiles in spite of himself. “No. Quite the opposite.”

“Then the rest of it can wait until we need to figure it out.” Jaskier snuggles closer again, sighing. “Now, is the father of my child done with his emotional crisis, or can I finally get some sleep?”

Geralt laughs as he wraps him in his arms, his chest full of too many things to name. “You’re the one who woke me up in the middle of the night with all your begging.”

The omega’s face heats where it’s pressed against Geralt’s neck. “Shut up. I’ll do it again, just to spite you. You’ll see.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

⚘⚘⚘

Lambert arrives four days later with Aiden by his side and a letter from Yen in his pocket.

While Jaskier busies himself with the former (since he was unable to greet Eskel or Vesemir with his usual charm, he’s determined to make up for it with the rest of Geralt’s family, significant others included), Geralt turns his attention to Yennefer’s message.

“She found me a week ago in the pub where I was meeting Aiden,” Lambert tells Geralt. “Creepy, that. Don’t know how she found me.”

“I’ll let her know you said so.” He slips open the seal and is utterly unsurprised when the parchment unfolds on its own, dropping what appears to be a piece of cloth with runes drawn in red-brown ink across it into his waiting hand. Lambert snorts in surprise. Geralt clutches the cloth, his medallion humming softly, and reads the missive written in Yennefer’s elegant, precise script.

Geralt,

I have considered your generous offer of a place to spend the winter and have decided to take you up on it. However, present affairs prevent me from joining you and your new bard on the mountain for some time.

Triss Merigold will be traveling ahead of me to look after your brood. Since your keep is well hidden even to the eyes of all-powerful mages such as Miss Merigold and myself, I ask that you burn this token to grant her safe passage. I will join you when Destiny allows.

Regards,

Yennefer of Vengerberg

P.S. - Do not burn the token near your little bird. I fear it may impede his ability to sing for you.

Geralt grits his teeth at the mention of potential harm to Jaskier and clutches Yen’s token in his fist. He’s sure it’s nothing dangerous before it’s set alight—Yennefer would have made mention of it, if it’s powerful enough to harm Jaskier—but something in him says to keep it far, far from his omega.

“I don’t like that look,” Lambert says. “Did she send bad news?”

Geralt schools his scowl back into something marginally friendlier. “No. The opposite, actually. She and Triss will be joining us.”

“They will?” Jaskier chirps, appearing at Geralt’s elbow as if he’d been summoned. On instinct, Geralt moves a step away to keep the token away from him. The bard frowns at his retreat. “I’m only trying to read the letter, my love. I wasn’t trying to bite you.”

It’s the wrong choice of words. Jaskier knows this the second they leave his mouth and Geralt lets loose a growl that silences the entire main hall. 

Geralt’s family, stunned to silence in the midst of their hellos, turn to look at him in unison.

“Eskel,” he says gruffly, holding out the hand with the token blindly, fighting the blush on his face. Eskel, who’s been standing by silently, blinks and steps forward. “Take this outside and burn it. Yennefer says it will help Triss find her way.”

His family members catch on at once and graciously ignore his outburst. He relaxes the second the token is out of his hand. 

“Sorry, Jask.” He hands Yennefer’s letter to the man beside him. “Yen says that token would be harmful to you, so I…”

“Ah.” Jaskier smirks up at him sidelong before perusing the letter, mumbling something about the sorceress’ lovely penmanship. “This Triss Merigold? That name sounds familiar. We haven’t encountered her on our travels together, have we?”

“No,” Geralt says. “I haven’t seen Triss since… last Belleteyn? Yes, I saw her at Yen’s birthday celebration.”

“Ah,” Jaskier says once more, but this time there’s a pinkness to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“What is it?”

“Belleteyn. That’s when, um…” He brings a hand to his belly, almost absentmindedly.

“Ah.”

“Well!” Lambert proclaims, appearing behind them and slinging an arm over each of their shoulders. “No one can blame you for partaking in the festivities!”

Geralt doesn’t intend to fling his brother on the floor, and yet he does. 

Lambert clatters to the ground with a mighty thud that shakes the floor and catches the attention of Aiden and Vesemir, who barely pause to make sure the youngest wolf hasn’t been brained before returning to their conversation. Jaskier covers his mouth, but it does nothing to hide his smile.

Lambert pushes himself onto his elbows. “What’s gotten into you? I was only joking!”

Eskel, having returned from his brief trip outside (thankfully without the token that had made Geralt so jumpy), teases, “Perhaps it’s best not to joke about our new friend with Geralt in earshot.” He reaches a hand down to help his youngest brother off the floor. “He’s a bit touchy about it.”

“As he should!” Aiden chimes in. He seems unconcerned that Geralt’s just thrown his mate to the floor with all the ease he would do so with a sack of grain. He shares a conspiratorial look with Jaskier. “You should see little Lamb when I’m nearing my heat. Nearly bit the head off some poor woodsman who came across our camp a few summers back.”

Jaskier’s cheeks are still pink, but his eyes widen in curiosity. “You’re an omega? I thought all witchers were alphas.”

“A difference in the magic used to make the different schools of witchers, I’m afraid,” Vesemir says. “Wolf Witchery forces you to present as an alpha. The potions taken by the School of the Cat left more room for natural presentation. Omegas had lower rates of success, but they weren’t wholly uncommon.”

“Fascinating. Would you mind if I picked your brain about how your presentation and witcher abilities interact?” he asks Aiden, who raises his eyebrows. “I’ve had months to study Geralt, to see where the witcher ends and the alpha begins. I’d love to see how it works for an omega.”

“You’ve been studying me?” asks Geralt, partly surprised but mostly amused. Leave it to Jaskier to make a research project out of him.

Blue eyes flick his way briefly. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Lambert barks a laugh as he straightens his jacket after returning to his feet. “What he means is he’s been making mooneyes at you for months and just so happened to make some keen observations while he was at it.”

“I’ll have you know—” Jaskier steps forward, cocks a hand on his hip. “—there are a great deal of scholars who are interested in witchers. So many that I was asked to present my findings to the faculty of Oxenfurt University during my stay the past few weeks.”

“You were?”

The bard looks at Geralt sheepishly. “I wasn’t going to tell you. I know you get embarrassed when I write songs about you—”

“Because they’re vain and inaccurate—”

“It’s called artistic liberty, dear heart. And I took none when I spoke with the faculty. I used only the facts.”

Vesemir raises an eyebrow, and though his expression hasn’t changed much, Geralt can tell he’s impressed (and more than a little amused). “Which are?”

The bard blinks but smiles, pleased to have someone as wizened and academically bent as Vesemir ask for his input. “Witcher mutagens don’t have any effect on biological presentation—aside from the different schools having different odds of presenting as omega, apparently. As I didn’t have that information when I gave my thesis, I’ll have to write to the board to correct my findings.” Jaskier goes on evenly as Geralt leads him to the benches at the table in the hall, not seeming to notice he’s being herded into a seat. “Anyway, as with most things, biological processes aren’t changed by the mutagens. They’re merely enhanced.”

Aiden takes the seat next to him. “How so?”

Geralt’s about to sit opposite his bard, but Lambert catches him by the arm and tips his head to the door. Jaskier is blessedly ignorant, talking with his hands as he explains his findings to his new friend, who acknowledges their departure with a small nod.

Eskel follows Geralt and Lambert back into the courtyard. The snow has stopped coming down so heavily, but the temperatures remain far below freezing. There’s a layer of snow cover thick enough to strangle a dragon. The sun is doing its best to make an appearance through the thick gray clouds, but all it manages to do is bless them with a few thin rays of light.

The token is still smoldering in a pile in the middle of the courtyard. The acrid tang of sorcery wafts their direction, and Geralt makes sure the heavy, enchanted wooden doors of the keep shut firmly behind them.

Lambert crosses his arms and turns on Geralt. “You’ve got some explaining to do, brother.” 

Geralt sighs. “I’ll give you what I’ve told Ves and Eskel. The pup isn’t mine, for obvious reasons. We met on the Path after he conceived, and he’s been with me since the early days of his pregnancy. He’s a bard by trade. Yes, you have him to thank for Toss a Coin. His name is Jaskier. No, we’re not bonded.”

Lambert simply gapes at him in the wake of this flood of information. Finally, he laughs. “I was just going to throttle you for not sending me an invitation to the bonding ceremony, but I suppose that will do as an apology!” He claps Geralt on the shoulder hard enough to bruise had he not been a witcher, then strong-arms him into a hug. “I’ve never seen you so absolutely smitten, brother!”

“Wait until you see him when Jaskier gets all cozy in his lap,” Eskel says, grinning off to the side of their hug, which Geralt is vehemently trying to escape. “He practically melts.”

“Alright!” Geralt wrenches himself free and tries to hide the heat in his cheeks by straightening out his shirt. “Like you’re any better, Eskel. I saw how you lit up when a certain sorceress’ name was mentioned.”

Eskel shoots him a look that could make—and has made—a lesser man wet his trousers.

Lambert cries out in shock. “Her? You fancy Yennefer of Vengerberg? The same Yenna who had our dear White Wolf’s balls in a strangle hold some ten years back?”

Geralt bares his teeth at him, but Eskel only laughs. “Not that sorceress.” He shakes his head fondly and looks to where the magical token is still smoking gently. “Triss Merigold and I have been tiptoeing around something of a courtship for the past three years.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows at that. “I hadn’t realized it’s been going on that long. I only just saw the look on your face when I read Yen’s letter.”

“We’ve been discrete,” Eskel says simply. There’s a look in his eye that Geralt knows well. It’s the same look he got when they were mere pups running about the keep and they finally got caught for some horrible ruckus they’d caused: sheepish, secretive, and only a little coy. “I had no idea she was coming. I doubt she took that into consideration when she decided to join us—”

“Horseshit!”

Eskel barely blinks at Lambert’s exclamation. “Since we agreed we would see each other when the ground thaws again,” he finishes. “I’m sorry, Lambert, did you have something to say about my relations with Miss Merigold?”

“Yeah!” He sidles up to his brother, gets right in his face. “Horseshit!”

The barest tightening of Eskel’s fists betrays his anger. “What’s horseshit?”

“That oh, she probably didn’t even think about me before deciding to come to my ancestral home shit! Of course she thought of you, brainless. Yennefer isn’t so frail as to need company on her trip here.”

“To be fair,” Geralt adds. “Yennefer is shit at healing magic. It’s Triss’ specialty. I only invited Yen because she seemed like she needed company.”

Lambert just frowns at him. “Why the fuck would we need a healer?”

When Geralt only returns the frown with twice the ferocity, Eskel elbows Lambert then makes a terribly unsubtle gesture to his stomach, holding his arms out to mimic Jaskier’s bump. 

“Oh!” Lambert says. “Right, that. Yes, I imagine a healer would be quite helpful then. When’s he due anyway? Tomorrow?”

“Nearly two months,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. It’s truly a blessing that Lambert and his mate were both sterile. He fears what dull monstrosity would come from that union—though with Aiden diluting Lambert’s defunct genetics, the pup would have at least some common sense. 

They’re all saved from Lambert saying something terribly stupid by the sudden rush of wind and dizzying whirl of a portal opening across the courtyard.

Before Triss Merigold can even set foot on the cobblestones, Eskel’s there, holding out a hand to steady her. She meets his eye, her wild auburn hair whipping about them, not seeming to care that she’s utterly bogged down with a stack of books in her arm and an overfull bag slung across her shoulders.

Even from half a courtyard away, Eskel’s brothers see the affection between him and the sorceress. Geralt feels a fool for not seeing it before. He’s been around them in the past three years, both together and separately. The more he thinks about it, the less subtle he realizes they’d been. Eskel had been awfully distracted all last winter, whisking away to write letters when he thought his family was otherwise occupied. Triss had asked after Geralt’s family when he stopped by her shop in Rinde to refill his potion supply some months before Jaskier came into the picture, and she’d been particularly interested in how Eskel was faring. And now that he’s thinking about it, when Eskel got winged by a golem last summer, Triss had dropped everything and ran to them when she got Geralt’s fire message. The trembling of her hands as she’d healed him had only ceased when Eskel, still delirious from blood loss, grabbed them in his own and held on until they stilled.

Discrete, my ass.

“As I live and breathe!” Lambert caws, shamelessly breaking the tension between Triss and Eskel, who’ve just been standing and staring at each other, her hand in his, as the portal swirls shut behind her. “Triss Merigold, you are a sight for sore eyes!”

Triss blinks, as if she’s coming out of a stupor, and pulls her hand from Eskel’s before turning her blinding grin on Lambert. “Little Lamb! How are y—oh!” Lambert scoops her up like she weighs nothing and spins her in a circle around the courtyard. Once she recovers from the shock, Triss laughs. “Put me down, you oaf! You can’t have missed me that much.”

“Missed you?” Lambert sets her on her feet by the doors to the keep, having accomplished his goal of making Eskel go red in the face as he picks up the books that had spilled from the pretty sorceress’ hands when Lambert swept her up. “I worship you, Triss Merigold. If you can take someone as morose as my brother and—”

Geralt cuts off his brother before he can make more of an ass out of himself (and start a bloody battle with Eskel, who’s watching from a distance with fire in his eyes). “Triss.” Geralt reaches for her hand, which she offers kindly, and raises it to kiss it in greeting. “You look well. Thank you for joining us.”

Her face softens. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She hooks her arm in Geralt’s and lets him steer her toward the doors. “When Yen told me you’d picked up a pregnant omega, I thought she was joking. But I can smell him on you.” Triss is too polite to pull down the neck of his shirt to look for a bite, but not too polite to avoid giving his throat a cursory glance. If she’s curious about the lack of a mating bite poking out from his shirt, she doesn’t comment on it. “Is he… how is he faring?”

“Come see for yourself.” Geralt pushes the door, which gives easily under his touch. Triss’ warm brown cheeks regain a bit of their color the second the rush of heat from inside hits them. “We had an eventful trip up the mountain in the storm, but he and the pup both recovered well. Restless, both of them, but in good spirits.”

Jaskier is still explaining his thesis to Aiden and Vesemir (Geralt makes a note to ask about it later when they’re alone) but he looks up when Geralt returns. He stops mid-sentence, his expression souring when he sees Triss on his witcher’s arm, but then after a moment of scrutiny, surprise steals away the jealousy. “Oh. It’s you!”

Triss frowns at him for a moment before recognition overtakes her face. “Julian!” She leaves Geralt (and her bag with him) at the door and rushes to Jaskier’s side as he rises. Her eyes scan him from head to toe as she takes his hands and spreads them to get a good look at the bump beneath his clothes. “My, you look wonderful! How you’ve grown!”

Jaskier is beaming as he guides her hands to feel the pup. “I thought your name sounded familiar, but I didn’t think much of it. I can’t thank you enough for your help last spring.”

“Think nothing of it, love.”

Geralt exchanges a look with Eskel as he and Lambert join them inside, shutting out the cold behind them once more. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls, urging him closer. “Remember the sorceress I told you about? The one I spoke with when I first left home?”

Geralt looks to Triss. “It was you?”

She nods. “I hardly did anything. He already knew he was with child. I merely confirmed it for him.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You did more than that. I was scared out of my wits, and you talked me down. You convinced me I wasn’t making a huge mistake and told me I wasn’t going to die a horrible, gruesome death at the hands of my unborn child.”

“Every parent has the same doubts. You weren’t the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.” She lifts one of her hands to Jaskier’s cheek. A faint yellow glow spreads beneath her palm and her brow furrows in concentration before smoothing over nearly immediately. “You seem strong. Healthy.” Her eyes flick to Geralt, who realizes he’s hovering. “Happy.”

“I am.” Jaskier turns his gaze unsubtly to Geralt as well. “All of the above.” 

“Triss,” Vesemir says, both a greeting and an instruction. “Why don’t you examine Jaskier yourself. I’ve done a cursory look, but it’s not my area of expertise. I’m sure all our minds would be more at ease if you took a look.”

She nods, smiling warmly at the eldest witcher. Jaskier offers his arm for her and leads her out of the hall, chatting amiably the whole way.

When their voices fade into the keep, Eskel rounds on Geralt. “Did you know they knew each other?”

Geralt shakes his head. “He never said.”

“Small world, I suppose,” Lambert declares, swinging a leg over the bench to join Aiden at the table. His mate watches him in mixed exasperation and fondness as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the table, rips off a chunk, and scarfs it down like he’s half-starved.

“Or,” Aiden offers. “There are only a few mages who specialize in healing magic and omega male pregnancies.”

“It’s good fortune, either way,” says Vesemir. “It’s best that they’re well acquainted before your bard progresses in his pregnancy any further.”

Geralt frowns. “Why’s that?”

The old witcher sighs and steeples his fingers together in front of himself. It’s the closest he ever gets to a nervous tick. “Male omegas rarely carry to full term. It’s a miracle he’s made it as far as he has, especially with the stress he’s been under. I suspect it will only be a matter of weeks before dear Triss’ services are needed.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. A matter of weeks. He’s not sure why in his head he and Jask had so much more time left. He knew Jaskier would deliver before spring came (if he didn’t that would be a whole other issue) but the reality of the pup being there, in their arms, before the month’s end, made a swirl of emotions overtake Geralt so strongly he has to sink onto the bench before his legs give out.

“Have I done the right thing?” He doesn’t intend to voice it. His family’s faces reflect his own surprise at his admission, but none of them move to answer, so he continues. “He’s not even twenty. He’d have a much happier life, a much safer one, if I left him with his friends in Oxenfurt, or somehow convinced him to return to his parents’ home. I don’t know how to interact with children. They don’t tend to like me.”

“What about that little girl in White Orchard last summer?” Eskel asks, looking down at his brother with no small amount of compassion and bemusement. “She wouldn’t leave you alone until you picked her up and put her on your shoulders.”

Geralt pressed his lips into a thin line. “She only wanted to see the parade over the crowd, and I just happened to be the tallest one there.”

“Really? Is that why she insisted on putting little braids in your hair while she was up there?”

“Fine. So, one child liked me. That doesn’t mean I’m capable of raising one.”

Lambert rests his chin on his fist and stares at Geralt. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve never seen you care this much.”

As a rule, witchers didn’t get involved with humans. Countless humans had tried using witchers for their own political gain, so to circumvent that, they’d taken up the habit of only getting involved when they had to. They weren’t expressly forbidden from making human friends—they were making their own rules these days, after all—but when one’s life expectancy is more than three times that of the average human, one tends not to get too attached.

“I tried to discourage him,” Geralt says. Though not very hard, or for very long, he adds silently. “But he just sort of… clung to me.”

“And you to him,” Vesemir grumbles. “If any of you have a problem with Geralt’s bond with his omega, you best get over it. Severing it now would only lead to more pain than necessary. And speaking of pain, it won’t be long until Jaskier begins getting territorial. We don’t know how he will react, so I expect all of you—” He cuts his gaze to Lambert, who immediately drops his head. “To be on your best behavior. If he asks for something, give it to him. If he snaps at you, leave him be. Omega male pregnancies are rare and volatile. We cannot let him lose this child. Am I understood?”

Silently, the younger witchers agree.

Vesemir nods, then leaves the table. Geralt watches him go, something nagging at him. He springs to his feet and follows him.

He doesn’t acknowledge Geralt until they’re in his study with the door closed behind them. “What’s wrong, wolf?”

Geralt crosses his arms and leans against one of the tables Ves uses for potions. “You’ve taken a keen interest in Jaskier’s health. Is there something I should know?”

The old witcher sighs and sets about tidying the books and papers strewn about his desk. “Can I not simply show some care for the man my son has chosen as his mate? Can I not ensure both he and his child are safe?”

“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” Geralt squints at him. To anyone else, it would seem Vesemir was merely busying himself with cleaning, but to Geralt, and anyone else who knows him well, his worry is obvious. Vesemir doesn’t fidget. “What are you not telling me?”

With another, mightier sigh, Vesemir sinks into his chair and folds his hands on top of the desk. “You should sit.”

Alarms ring inside Geralt’s head, but he does as he’s told. “Is everything alright? Is there something wrong with Jaskier, with the pup—”

Vesemir cuts him off with a chuckle. “You’re howling at the wrong moon, wolf. They’re both in perfect health.” He cocks his head to one side. “Which is why I’m concerned.”

“You think they’re… too healthy?”

“Don’t make it sound as if I’m complaining, Geralt.”

“I’m only repeating what you’ve said!”

“Geralt.” Ves leans across the desk. “Listen to me. Omega male pregnancies rarely last. Men typically are not built for the strain on their bodies. And since male omegas are only fertile the first ten years after their presentation, they’re often young, scrawny, and depending on where they live, underfed. Your bard is lucky he found you when he did. I think the exercise and your care for him have helped him remain healthy.”

A knot in Geralt’s chest loosens at that. He remembers the change he’d seen in Jaskier after his time in Oxenfurt—the weight he’d gained, the color of his cheeks, the pup’s new habit of kicking his spleen at every given moment. In all his years, he can’t claim to have seen such a healthy pregnant male omega—not that he’s encountered all that many. But the ones he had met were as Vesemir described: thin, pale, often bedridden. And here Jaskier was, mere weeks from delivery, healthy as he’d ever been, even after his scrape with death.

“What are you getting at?” Geralt asks. “I’m taking too much care of him?”

Vesemir laughs, but there’s little mirth in it. “No. I’m glad you have been. But there’s something else I think may be sustaining your bard and his child.”

“Which is?”

“Magic.”

Geralt blinks at him for a long moment. “What?”

“Magic,” Ves repeats, as though Geralt had simply misheard him the first time. “I’m surprised you haven’t picked up on it yet. It’s all over him. Even Eskel felt it before I did.”

Geralt sits up straighter in his chair. “And neither of you have said anything to me?”

“Settle, pup.”

At the admonishment, Geralt huffs and returns to his slump. “So, someone’s cast some sort of spell on Jaskier?”

“Not quite,” Vesemir says with a slight squint. “I haven’t figured it out yet. It’s more like the magic is Jaskier’s himself, yet he seems to have no knowledge of it.”

Sure, there are things Jaskier has kept from him for various reasons (his family situation being the foremost) but the fact that he has magic would certainly have come up by now. If Jaskier has magic, he surely doesn’t know about it. 

“What’s more,” Vesemir continues. He’s got that glint in his eye he gets when he’s found something that fascinates him. Though that usually includes an ancient tome untouched by human hands or a creature none of them have seen before, it’s never extended in such a context as this. “While the magic is all over Jaskier, it’s doubly powerful inside him.”

“Meaning?”

“The pup has magic. Much stronger than your bard’s.”

“But—” Geralt stammers. “But he said the sire was just a stable boy. No one remarkable.”

“Unremarkable stable boys can still have magic, Geralt. Although perhaps…” He pauses, reluctant to continue. “Perhaps he lied to you.”

“He didn’t.” There’s no hesitation in Geralt’s tone. “He wouldn’t.” He doesn’t make note of the fact that he would have known, since he’s been in touch with the changes in Jaskier’s scent for months. He can tell when Jaskier’s lying just from being within fifteen meters of him.

“Very well,” Vesemir says. “If you trust him to be truthful, then so do I. Regardless, some twist of fate, or some machinations Jaskier himself is unaware of have granted him a clandestine pregnancy.”

“Meaning?”

“He and the pup are protected, both of them, with magic I’ve never seen in my long years.”

Geralt slumps in his chair, gnawing on his knuckle. Leave it to him to find the one pregnant omega bard apparently blessed by the gods. Though in his humble opinion, if anyone is worthy of such an honor, it’s Jaskier—biased though Geralt may be, he can’t deny the bard has a certain appeal beyond his looks and his musical talent. He makes friends easily. He’s got a silver tongue that’s gotten him out of trouble countless times. He could flirt his way into a nun’s heart. Animals love him—even Roach, the traitorous little wench, perks up when he’s nearby. He can turn even the most boring encounters into grand epics about Geralt’s heroics. He pretty much single-handedly restored the reputation of the Butcher of Blaviken in only a few short months.

Would it be so outlandish to believe Jaskier really has magic?

He ponders this as he leaves Vesemir to his tasks and wanders about the halls of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier is safe and content in Triss Merigold’s capable hands. Though that invisible thread tugs at him to climb the stairs to wherever the bard’s been whisked away to, he ignores it and walks the perimeter of the keep.

Vesemir does a good job keeping the place from crumbling to dust year-round, and it’s clear Eskel has taken on some of the tasks Vesemir doesn’t care for. His brother’s hand is evident in the repaired benches, re-sanded door frames, and newly carved wooden bowls and spoons in the kitchen. The cracks in the walls have been filled. The whole place could use a good wipe down. Geralt’s not sure the keep even has enough buckets required to mop this whole place before—

Before what, Geralt?

The thought shocks him so thoroughly that he grinds to a halt in the middle of an unused hallway, his own chuckle of surprise echoing around him.

He’s nesting.

Gods be damned, Geralt of Rivia is nesting!

Alphas—because that’s what Geralt is, whether or not he can sire a pup—nest in different ways from omegas. Omegas will often horde soft things, pillows and blankets and furs to line their nests. They tend to seek out sweet-smelling things, like fruits and baked goods. They’ll steal clothing and blankets from their pack members, anything that will help them feel safe and their nest fortified. Alphas, however, get protective of their pack. They make sure there are no unseen dangers lurking nearby and ensure their mates are content and provided for.

He’s a fool for not seeing it sooner.

Geralt humors himself and allows one last lap around the keep before seeking out Jaskier.

He’s not hard to find. 

Geralt’s meeting with Vesemir and his subsequent survey of the grounds took longer than expected, so Triss has concluded her examination and moved onto more pleasant pastimes. 

The sound of laughter echoes down the halls. It’s not a sound Geralt’s used to in recent years. He’s well-versed in the hearty guffaws of his family over too many pints of White Gull, but bright giggles are somewhat foreign to the walls of Kaer Morhen. He follows the sound to the hot springs, where he finds Jaskier and an equally naked Triss Merigold soaking in the hot springs.

Face flaming red, Geralt turns around once he enters. “Apologies, Triss.”

“Oh, don’t be such a monk, Geralt,” Triss huffs. “Join us. We’ve both seen each other in worse states.”

Geralt obeys, toeing off his boots and stripping easily before slipping into the water. Jaskier meets him halfway. He’s barely taken a seat along the low stone outcropping on the edge of the pool before the bard’s legs are slinging up over his own, one arm thrown around Geralt’s shoulders.

“How was your examination?” Geralt asks them both, politely ignoring both their states of undress. Triss, beautiful as she is, is easier to ignore. Geralt’s a gentleman, despite what others might say, and with Jaskier completely nude and in his lap, it’s hard to focus on much else. 

Triss pushes a stray curl back into the haphazard bun she’s tied her hair back into. “Right as rain,” she chirps. “Both of them are strong and healthy. Jaskier needs to up his protein intake, but other than that, everything is going swimmingly.”

Geralt frowns at Jaskier, worry finally dragging his thoughts from the hairy thigh dragging against his own. “Is that bad? Should I have made sure you were eating more meat?”

Jaskier visibly bites his tongue at the joke he clearly wants to make at that. “No, darling,” he says instead, cupping Geralt’s cheek with a warm, wet hand. “It’ll be good for the pup’s development in the last couple weeks and help me gain some more strength. Triss also says I should try and walk more. Rest is good, but it’s also good to get my blood moving.”

Geralt nods faintly. 

“Geralt,” Triss says softly, grabbing his attention. “You’ve taken care of Jaskier amazingly well. There isn’t a single thing I would have advised you to do differently.”

That soothes him more than the warm water or Jaskier’s hand stroking down his neck could.

Before any of them can continue the conversation, the door to the springs opens, and Eskel enters. He cries out when he takes in the scene, slaps a hand over his eyes, and in a perfect mimicry of Geralt when he’d entered, spins to turn his back to them. “My apologies, om—Triss. I should’ve knocked.”

The sorceress’ cheeks redden deeper than they had been before, but she rolls her eyes. “You witchers and your propriety. How half the Continent thinks you’re all brutes is beyond me.”

Lambert appears from the hallway and ducks under Eskel’s arm and begins stripping himself of his traveling clothes, leaving them in a puddle on the floor before jumping into the pool. He makes enough of a splash to soak the current occupants of the springs. He surfaces and shakes his head to rid himself of the water, further baptizing them all.

Geralt turns to Triss, who has merely watched the whole affair in open-mouthed mirth. “Does that answer your question?”

⚘⚘⚘

Unsurprisingly, Jaskier pulls him into bed again that night, absolutely soaked and nipping at the witcher’s throat.

“Are you sure you won’t mount me?” he moans, his hand already down the front of Geralt’s trousers before they reach the bed. He seems to have accepted Geralt’s unwillingness to fuck him for the time being, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a bitch about it. He brings it up every night they fall into bed together, unable to leave Geralt to his convictions.

Geralt growls softly, which he’s come to realize Jaskier really likes, if the spike of his scent is indication enough. Jaskier seems adamant to bend over the side of the bed, but Geralt can’t stop thinking about putting strain on the pup, so he eases Jaskier onto his back on the pillows. He loses his pants somewhere between the door and the bed, his shirt hanging loose over his cock, his knot already swollen at the base just from Jaskier’s hand. He looms over Jaskier, pins him to the bed with only his stare and his arms boxed on either side of his head. “Are you testing me, Jask?”

“I’d never!” 

Geralt doesn’t need to see the flutter of his pulse at his neck to know he’s lying.

Geralt strips him gently, soaking in the scent of Jaskier’s skin and the oil he’d put on after his bath. Witcher senses have made it hard to appreciate such luxuries as scented soaps, but whatever it is Jaskier brought with him from Oxenfurt is sweet and soft and just tempting enough for Geralt to want to sink his teeth in. Though all that could also be accredited to Jaskier spreading his now-bare legs and drawing Geralt between them.

They don’t take their time with it. Jaskier’s worked up from pregnancy hormones and Geralt’s worked up because Jaskier’s been worked up for hours. It only takes a hand around each other’s cocks for only a few minutes for them both to spill, panting into each other’s mouths.

Geralt rolls off him after cleaning him with his tongue—the part of this he insists upon every night. The omega sighs in content, rolling up into a blanket and tucking himself against Geralt’s side.

He can tell Jaskier’s drifting into sleep already, his soft little huffs and sighs as he gets comfy lulling Geralt into restfulness as well. But there’s something clawing at him, keeping him from slipping off.

“Jask?” he whispers. 

There’s a low fire burning in the grate—he’ll have to stoke it shortly when he’s sure Jaskier won’t wake when he moves. It gives him just enough light to see the shine of the bard’s eyes when he blinks them open, humming softly. He’s never looked so soft, so sweet, so open.

Geralt hates to ruin it.

He needs to.

“Triss…” Geralt begins softly. “This morning. When she first saw you… she called you another name. Not Jaskier.”

Two dots of pink rise high on his cheeks, but Jaskier makes no move to extricate himself from Geralt’s embrace. “Ah,” he sighs, turning onto his side a bit so Geralt can see more of him. “I was hoping you hadn’t heard that.”

“It’s none of my business,” Geralt says, then doubles down when Jaskier side-eyes him. “Truly. I’ve vowed to protect you and to love you, but you are now, and always will be, your own person, Jask. Your secrets, your past, are yours to keep. Either until you wish to share them with me, or beyond the grave. Nothing about you could ever make me want to stop being right here, beside you, for as long as you’ll have me. I just… wanted you to know that.”

Jaskier goes a bit misty-eyed, but he frowns into the distance, pulling the blanket higher on his shoulder. “I love you, Geralt,” he says, and it’s not an answer, but Geralt would let him leave it at that. However, Jaskier continues. “Jaskier is the name I’ve chosen for myself. It’s the one I prefer, the one I wish to be called. But it is not the name I was born with.” His jaw works like he’s trying to gnaw through bone. “And if it’s all the same to you, I think I would like to just be Jaskier for some time. I will tell you my real name, one day. When I’m ready. But for now… I just want to be Jaskier.”

“My Jaskier.” Geralt reaches up and tucks his love’s hair behind his ear. It’s fruitless—his hair is too fluffy and just the slightest bit too short to stay where it’s put—but he likes how Jaskier’s eyes soften when he does it, how he turns to press his nose to Geralt’s wrist. “Jaskier the Bard.”

His lips brush against Geralt’s pulse as he speaks. “And His Witcher.”

And that is enough for Geralt to draw the omega’s legs around himself once more. 

Previous Part / Next Part

[jawanaka]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @herbalinz-of-yesteryear! Tagging @poetikat, @squiddviscous, @andordean, @kuwdora and @traumschwinge

1. How many works do you have on A03?

Twelve

2. What's your total A03 word count?

210,622

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Witcher (books/games), Cyberpunk 2077, Kingdom Come: Deliverance, Star Wars (though specifically Andor), House of the Dragon and one brief sojourn into Ace Attorney

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

That would be The Queen Who Never Was (but once), The Sins of Fathers, The Swallow of Novigrad, Love is the Value of Life and Lord Edgeworth and the Inn by the River

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. Because i want more lol. But also because I want to scream with people and love seeing what particular things people liked or picked up on.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think that would be The Traitor's Daughter, my Andor fic. Because I was thinking of giving the characters catharsis and a happy'ish ending and decided naaaah

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think its toss-up between Where Paths Lead and Let me be your armor because they both literally end with people in love riding off into the sunshine.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. Got one person complaining recently that no HOTD AU should be allowed a happy-ish ending but you know...

9. Do you write smut?

No but I'm inching closer.

10. Do you write crossovers?

No

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

So last year some loon stole The Swallow of Novigrad and tried to sell it as an self-published ebook on amazon, which was wild. The thing that amused me the most I remeber was that they chose a picture of Cavill!Geralt for the cover, which is funny since a) I don't write in the show canon and b) Geralt doesn't even appear in the fic.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! @herbalinz-of-yesteryear does occassionally work on a chinese translation of Swallow (when not writing her own excellent work) and also there's a Russian translation of the same work.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since the Star Trek fic I wrote in High School

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I don't know, I don't really ship as such even do I have alot of ships (Ciri/Morvran, Yennefer/Geralt, V/Judy, Keira/Lambert, Theresa/Henry/Hans) that I enjoy.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'm increasingly sceptical I will ever write the final part of my Ciri triology but we'll see

16. What are your writing strengths?

Vizualisation, dialogue, introspection

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Currently finishing things lol. But also connecting dialogue with action.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Naah. I think most con-lang is overrated. There are some cases its warranted but usually unneccesary

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Trek

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

My Ciri duology is my pride and joy but if you want me to give you a totally honest opinion its The Queen who never was (but once) because I walways wanted to be able to out together that kind of epic short story, if thats the word.

[nirikeehan]

happy friday!!! can i request thalia/samson, the world tarot prompt? 🌎🔮💜

Once I stopped screaming, I decided to commit an atrocity. Then I made myself sad.

the world: fulfillment, experience, completion;  “Do you remember, back when…” possible AUs/settings/ideas: old age, happy end, fantasy world au

I'll just go ahead and spoil the game and say this will likely go at the beginning of the next chapter of Through a Glass, Darkly as a dream sequence Samson has. Any similarities to the opening scene of Witcher 3 is entirely intentional.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1142

CW: Implied misogyny, a tiddy or two, a fake child briefly in peril I guess???

---

The warm breeze wafted in through the open door to the balcony, bringing with it the smell of spring. Samson thought he might never get that scent again: the sea salt mingled with flowering juniper as it blew up from the Wounded Coast. The sunlight gauzy filtering through the was yellow as lemon. 

He stood in the tower of the keep, the chambers they’d chosen for their own. It had all the trappings of splendor: a four-poster bed; large, round tub in which to luxuriate; vanities and armoires and writing desks for the lady, and of course the large, taxidermied halla atop which some of their more adventurous love-making had taken place. 

How long had it been since they’d settled here? He chose not to remember. 

He moved freely, easily, with no armor nor burden. Weapon and shield had been lain down a number of years ago, and it was strange to admit he didn’t miss them. He had spent so much of his life fighting and scraping for survival, but he had traded it all in when the battles had been won. 

And of course, the main attraction. Stretched nude on her side on a chaise lounge, long hair wrapped in a towel from her recent bath, Thalia faced away from him, nose buried in a large tome. He admired the view, the shapely curve of her hip and ass, the barest hint of breast. 

He chuckled low in his throat. “That book really so interesting you couldn’t wait to put clothes on first?” 

“I don’t hear you complaining,” Thalia replied drily. 

“No, and you won’t, neither.” He sidled closer. The tilt of her neck was delicate and supple, her skin creamy soft. A fair number of years separated him from her, but that had never bothered them. He might be sliding gracelessly into old age, but Thalia remained as beautiful and nubile as the first time he saw her.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss on her neck, then her shoulder. “D’you think it’s odd, the way we met?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice was light and coy. 

“Oh, you do.” 

He gently pulled the towel from her head, letting the damp wine red waves fall down about her shoulders and back. He threaded one hand through her hair and with the other reached around to squeeze her tit. She let out a delicious sigh, arching her back into his touch. 

“Remind me,” she whispered. 

He buried his face in her scented hair. “We were trying to kill each other,” he murmured. “You and that bore of a Commander, you were trying to find a way to break my armor. And I was working for a deluded monstrosity who fancied himself a god.” He felt a thrill of triumph, saying the words aloud. Like uttering blasphemies in the middle of Chantry service. 

Thalia dropped the book and twisted around to face him. She threaded arms around his neck and pressed herself close to him. “Ah, yes. I do remember now.” She threw her head back and looked at him through coquettish lashes. “I’m glad we managed to get past that, aren’t you?”

Maker, he wanted to take her right here, on this damn reclining chair. He climbed onto it beside her, and she pulled him down, giggling. 

“Don’t forget,” Thalia murmured in his ear as he showered her with kisses, “you’re wanted in the yard.” 

Samson groaned, halting with his lips on her clavicle. He rose above her and gazed down, annoyance mixed with fondness. “I bloody forgot.” 

“You forgot sword practice? For shame.” Thalia wriggled beneath him, smiling brightly — the little tease. 

He pushed himself to sitting, scrubbing a hand down his stubbly face. “She’s your daughter. What’s she need with swords? Can’t she just—?” He waved his hand around in a vague approximation of what it seemed to him mages could do. 

“She’s your daughter too.” Thalia leaned down beside him to retrieve her book. He watched the graceful curve of her back, the spring to her bosoms as she righted herself. “And she wants to learn swordplay.” 

Samson sighed, squinting out the round archway to the sweet morning. “She’s probably at the smithy anyhow, with Maddox.” 

The name hit him like a sour note in a pleasant melody. His chest twinged. Why should Maddox be here? The poor lad is—

“Teaching her everything he knows,” Thalia finished, although he hadn’t spoken aloud. Or had he? He stared at her, confused, but her pretty head was buried again in the wide, heavy tome. “You think soon she’ll start bringing us those little paper cranes he makes?” 

Samson stood, unsettled. “I never told you that.”

“Never told me what?” She did not look up. 

“The cranes. I never told anyone. That even after they made him Tranquil, he could still—” Samson broke off, his throat tight. 

“Love, what are you talking about?” Thalia gazed at him, wide eyes as blue as the day’s azure sky.  

“Nothing,” Samson said quickly. “It’s nothing. Forget it.” He leaned down and kissed her on the top of her head. “I’ll go check on the little one.”

He left her, strolling to the tower balcony that would lead him down to the inner bailey. Samson curled his fingers around the marble balustrade’s edge and fought his growing sense of unease. Everything was fine. Everything was bleeding perfect. Why did he have to ruin it? Why did he always have to—

A glint of red below drew his attention, and Samson caught sight of her: the tiny ragamuffin, with a mop of curly hair that matched her mother’s, but his dark eyes. She was dressed in old Templar recruit leathers — Maker knew where’d she’d got those — and proudly hoisted a wooden sword over her shoulder. She waved at him in the bright sunshine, flashing a gap-toothed smile. Nine, now, maybe? Or ten? The years hardly mattered anymore. 

“You comin’ down or what, Papa?” She sounded born and bred in Lowtown, just like him. 

“In a minute, sweetling.” Samson wanted to savor this moment for a little longer. Before… before what? 

The red of her hair captivated him — the deep scarlet, pulsating almost, like the veins that had cut through the towering crystals. Lyrium. Red lyrium. When it had once threatened to consume the world. 

A cloud passed over the sun; the sky darkened, and Samson’s mouth drew as dry as ash. “Wait. No. No, this isn’t right…”

There was a great crack of thunder. The blue sky disappeared, as did the thick tree line that extended toward the horizon. Above, clouds roiled in grey and green. The little one let out a scream. Surrounding her were the great glowing crystals, extending up and up, overtaking the walls of the keep, choking out the forest, blotting out what was left of the sun. 

[d-andilion]

I posted 3,593 times in 2022

91 posts created (3%)

3,502 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@blaidd-gwyn

@thisislisa

@d-andilion

@jaskierswolf

I tagged 1,113 of my posts in 2022

#sr - 126 posts

#gj fic - 80 posts

#gj - 73 posts

#geralt - 36 posts

#yen - 30 posts

#my fic - 28 posts

#mine - 28 posts

#jaskier - 25 posts

#ask - 24 posts

#ciri - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#id love to say id never cave as an actress on my natural look but having bloodthirsty strangers after me every single day for having the

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

a change of plans

@witcher-bows-and-arrows day 6: confession

(geraskier, established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, 474)

read on ao3

Jaskier rouses to the gentle brush lips on his bare shoulder and strong arms around his waist. He shifts, shoving his face further into his pillow and stretching his body from head to toe with a soft groan. He hears a familiar rumbling laugh in his ear, feels it through the firm chest pressed against his back.

“What are you doing here, Witcher?” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillow.

He isn’t complaining, of course. Waking up in Geralt’s arms is among Jaskier’s top-five favorite things, but the Witcher should have left for his contract hours ago. The only reason Jaskier agreed to sit this one out was because it involved getting up before dawn. It wasn’t anything interesting anyway, just a minor nuisance for the local farmers.

“Change of plans,” Geralt mutters. ”Taking care of it later.”

See the full post

211 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#4

magic word

@witcher-bows-and-arrows day 5: promise

(geraskier, friends to lovers, getting together, fluff and angst, 1.4k)

read on ao3

For a Witcher, there is no such thing as a guarantee. Geralt can’t say with any kind of certainty where each day will take him, not even from one hour to the next. A peaceful day of travel can turn on a silver mark to disaster. The path he walks is dangerous, unpredictable. It has only grown more so since Jaskier marched into his life.

The bard is a magnet for chaos. Half the Continent wants to murder him, and the other half just haven’t met him yet. Despite the admitted improvement to Geralt’s reputation, he finds himself chased out of towns about as often as he ever was; the only difference now is that he’s running from angry fathers and cuckolded spouses rather than bigots with pitchforks. He never knows when he’ll have to abandon his warm bed at an inn to save the bard from an impromptu execution, or if a hunt will go awry by Jaskier’s presence even though Geralt told him to stay at camp.

With an existence so marred by uncertainty as his, Geralt makes an effort to avoid making promises. The bard’s added complications should only make him more resolute in that regard. Yet, since he met Jaskier, Geralt finds himself making more promises than he has in his life.

The first one hardly counts as a promise. Jaskier has been following him around for a few weeks, and Geralt hasn’t abandoned him in the middle of the night for a reason he can’t pin down just yet.

See the full post

225 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

#3

If you're looking for a prompt, can you do something inspired by that vlogger comic?

Congrats and hope you're having a wonderful day ❤️

(part 1/ part 2//)

i really did intend to do something super short but i should have known better than to think i’m capable of that lol 

the art in question is this adorable modern au comic by @zellydoodle, definitely check it out!!

thank you so much for the prompt - enjoy <3

~

The next time Geralt sees his new neighbor, they’re both squeezed into their building’s tiny laundry room, neither of them looking their best. The only clean shirt Geralt had left was the lime green tank top Lambert gave him as a gag for his birthday a few years back and, based on Jaskier’s mismatched pink t-shirt and bright orange shorts, he’s on the last scraps of his own wardrobe. 

Geralt had half a mind to turn around the moment he saw Jaskier loading a machine. Call him a coward, maybe he is, but being in close quarters with the cute guy from next door after the conversation he had with Lambert last week was the last thing he wanted.

‘Conversation’ is probably generous. It was really a string of incomprehensible key-smash texts and laughing emojis on Lambert’s side and pointed refusal to respond on Geralt’s. Somewhere in the middle of it all was a link to a YouTube video from a vlogger with almost a million subscribers. A vlogger who looked very, very familiar.

Geralt didn’t even need to watch it to know what it was about. The title said it all. 

         my neighbor is so hot :(

See the full post

288 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#2

GERASKIER FAKE DATING

sorry for yelling I'm excited

okay i took my time filling this one but i think the results are worth it - i hope you think so too 😊

~

Jaskier is, surprisingly, a very good boyfriend.

Though being around old school friends and distant relations must have tempted him to abandon his anti-social plus one, he’s hardly left Geralt’s side all day. He introduces Geralt to everyone who approaches them and takes the lead in every conversation to minimize how much Geralt has to talk to strangers. After every interaction, Jaskier leads them inconspicuously to the edge of the room for a welcome break from the buzz of the reception hall around them.

Of course, being a groomsman and brother to the bride means Jaskier has had to step away for round upon round of pictures, but he never goes far and he returns the second he’s able. The only point over the course of the entire wedding where Geralt has had to speak to someone by himself was just after the ceremony, and even then it was only Jaskier’s grandmother. 

She was a sweet, stout old woman who smelled of the boiled sweets she pulled from her handbag every so often and popped into her mouth. She ambled up to Geralt the moment Jaskier stepped away, taking his arm as if she belonged there.

“Diedre,” she said. “But you call me Nan, everyone does.”

See the full post

289 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so where did ciri's training outfit come from?

sure, the shirt and pants came from old clothing tailored to fit her, that all makes sense. but what about her little corset thing?? it's got to be custom made, it's clearly intended to support a young lady so she can run around the woods comfortably. i doubt strongly that they had that on hand and i doubt even further that ciri, a princess who has likely never had to so much as mend a sock, knew how to make it.

what i'm saying is a bunch of wolf witches + ciri hunched over a table of fabric trying to figure out how to make this thing. "the panels should go like this" "that's too much fabric" "how do the strings go?" "wELL YOU DO IT LAMBERT SINCE YOU'RE SUCH AN EXPERT" *various crashing noises*

i'm just seeing a lot of muscley guys crafting into the wee hours to get this kid a supportive garmet and i'm enjoying it a whole lot

749 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[childofsolace-write-ups]

I posted 31 times in 2022

26 posts created (84%)

5 posts reblogged (16%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@slash-reblogged-content

@skyeknight-hyperfixations

@frustrated-writer-skyeknight

@skyeknight-hogwarts-adventure

I tagged 31 of my posts in 2022

#the witcher - 6 posts

#geraskier - 5 posts

#dwp - 4 posts

#jim hawkins - 3 posts

#natm - 3 posts

#draft reveal - 3 posts

#troy x ryan - 2 posts

#akhmenrah - 2 posts

#hiccup haddock - 2 posts

#encanto - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#being in a country with typhoons annually and hearing how devastated people are when they lose their homes because of said typhoons

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Random prompt

When they start travelling again, and Ciri is with Yen (once she's actually, completely, gained their trust again), Jaskier complains once that his legs are starting to cramp from all the walking and ask if they can find a camp quickly.

They can't because they saw some Nilfgaardians and Geralt wants to put as much distance as they can.

He does get off his new "Roach" though and sets Jaskier up before mounting once more as well and continuing on.

Jaskier.exe stopped working.

18 notes - Posted February 17, 2022

#4

Random prompt

When Geralt gifts Jaskier a new lute as further apology for the whole mountain thing, that's when a random patron comes in and drunkenly praises Jaskier for the last song he heard Jaskier sing from another town and asked if Geralt was the witcher from "Burn Butcher, Burn"

Geralt stares at Jaskier.

Jaskier hugs the lute. "No do overs! You can't take this back! It's a gift, you can't take back a gift!"

Geralt hums and goes "I won't." and then adds "It just made me realize I should get it extra strings for when you... Burn off the use from the current ones." And leaves to do just that; finding new strings.

Jaskier doesn't know how to react after that.

22 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

#3

Random prompt

Larry getting his job back eventually just because, and just in time for Jedidiah and Octavius wedding.

As a wedding gift, on the next sunrise after the wedding night, Larry and Nicky worked on making a even tinier figure in the form of a child that the two basically adopt as their kid.

Akh asks him later if he can make a bigger figure for their child.

Larry turns red.

24 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

#2

Random prompt

I have no logic for this prompt but

Larry Daley eventually getting his own statue because the guy he covered for had it done to appreciate him.

When they all come alive at night, the statue doesn't.

Which was odd because supposedly most things in the Museum did because of the tablet.

Larry sees the statue in his visit, it flattered him.

The others are happy when he visits.

They get sad as time go on when they see Larry getting notably older. Especially Akhmenrah.

Eventually, Larry dies as humans do.

And the night after his burial,

Well

The statue of him finally comes to life too.

When Akh finds out, he runs over and kisses him silly.

36 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Draft reveal

HiJack - Brave AU

"C'mon Hic, it's not too late yet." Jack said, flinching a bit as Hiccup snatched the bucket of fishes he was carrying to dump it into Toothless's stall. "you just... Have to really talk to him; how you don't want your marriage partner chosen this way."

"Talk to him? Have you met the guy?"

"Yup," Jack nodded, popping the 'p.' "Gotta say, still the most terrifying moment of my life. Even compared to the first time you convinced me to ride Toothless with you."

Hiccup snorted, returning to stand directly in front of his best friend. Well, best human friend. "Then you understand that listening isn't his strong suit."

"Well, runs in the family." Jack quipped, earning a glare from the brunette. The servant boy cleared his throat, "But I've also seen him with you and your mother; if he realizes how upset this would really make you he would have second thoughts in forcing you into this. Just... Do something to make him really listen. Make a stand, or something."

Hiccup looked thoughtful. 

"My name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the Third!" The brunette intoned, looking over at everyone present at the field. Jack's mouth popped open, pretty certain he didn't have this in mind when advising him the other day. Green eyes stayed a moment longer at his father's, but when it reaches Jack, it was maintained. Even he looked as shell-shocked as everyone else did, "And since Jack can't participate since he's 'not a chief's son' I'm his stand in proxy. If I win, I'm marrying him because I love him!"

Jack turned bright red. In any other situation, he would be elated that Hiccup's liked him all this time. But the utter shock and bubbling up rage Stoick was sporting put a damper to the moment. "Oh Hic... We gotta talk about timing..." Those around him looked towards him. he shrunk back sheepishly. "Yeah, okay... I mean, I consent and reciprocate but for the record, let it be known, I did not tell him to do that."

"HICCUP!" Stoick bellowed with Valka sighing and trying to calm him down. "Get off that dragon and out of that race!" A horn flared as response, and the racers flew off...  including his son. He glared at the man who flared the horn, "GOBBER!"

"... Sorry." The blond responded, looking chagrined. "It was very moving."

See the full post

44 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[valandhirwriter]

@astaldis: i did not mean to hit you with a wall of text. ;) Regarding the "woke shit" that accussation annoys me too, no matter the fandom. Some people never tire from throwing that around.

Now, back to the Witcher - up till the end of Season 2 I liked the series. I didn't mind the departures from the book, the changes, that was all good. The series had something inspiring, something that sparked stories and ideas inside of me, and I liked it for that. Season 3 was a total letdown for me. I quit after half, because it was so embarrasing. Not just the Vilgefortz fight (heard about it, never saw it) but Geralt/Yen/Ciri playing house in episode 1, not to mention some of the costumes, the vibe... I was honestly totally disappointed and not because I am book purist. I love interpretations, and if a series became a seriously good AU fanfic, I'd be on board for it. Witcher S3 really failed for me, and I have yet to make myself watch the rest. Which is sad.

While I am not an Asiof fan, HotD worked for me, because I could take the story, the plot, seriously. I might not like it, I might hate some of the characters, and I dislike my favourite two are dead (some of my friends laughed hilariously, and said they saw it coming from a mile away, that my favourites would be the Cargyll twins, especially Erryk.) but I can take the story, the series seriously. it's not like with Witcher S3, where you had forced funny/embarassing moments, or total WtF stuff. Take Jaskier and Radovid, I am slash writer, I'd love a good male pairing center stage; I loved Bel Riose and Glawn in Foundation, for example, but that whole thing with Jaskier and Radovid was a mess, WTF and the "funny" scenes were only annoying.

Maybe it is my fault, that I am more drawn to stories that have little comedy. They can have humour, some witty barbs, some black sarcasm I appreciate, comedy not so much. I guess that is me being me. I think I only ever wrote one funny story in my life myself.

I agree totally with you, that the Witcher fans who complain want Geralt to hunt monsters, take names and be an overall tough guy. Coming into town, killing the monster, riding away... that kind of thing, and that's not the main story. I am honestly afraid what S4 will bring. Not because of Liam taking the role, but because of the split story, Ciri with the Rats (my least favourite part of the story) and Geralt and the Hanse (also not my favourite part.) It will be hard to create good dynamics there and the books weaknesses will translate harshly onto the screen.

While I think it is true that HotD is better than Witcher S3, I think the 17% on Rotten Tomatoes are mainly review bombing. It's becoming a popular sport in certain groups.

Oh my... the next wall of text. Sorry. I didn't mean to blather at you. And in case it was not clear: i totally respect your view on the matter and I admire you for standing up for the Witcher.

Why is House of the Dragon allegedly so much better than The Witcher?

Just watched House of the Dragon S2 and I must say - I found it pretty boring in many parts?

Sorry, but the whole thing mostly and disappointingly feels like a very long and repetitive prologue to what might come in S3. And they do many things that are loudly criticised in The Witcher, some even a lot worse, but with HotD people seem to not mind? Honestly, this really puzzles me. Yes, the costumes and make-up might be better, but:

It's all over the place on the whole continent of Westeros and even outside of Westeros with people traveling from place to place in no time at all. OK, on dragon back, you can do that, but they also do it on foot and by boat. I remember some of the geography of the continent because I was very much into Game of Thrones some years back when it aired and also read all the Song of Ice and Fire books that were available (not the ones HotD is based on though), but the constant jumps from one place to the next are really confusing imo and you'd need to have a map by your side all the time to remember where is what. When the Witcher does that, it is criticised heavily.

Same with people, there are so many main and minor characters, some even with similar or the same names, how the fuck are you supposed to remember who's who and who is related to who and how, who belongs to which house, and who's allied to who and who's feuding who without looking it up again all the time somewhere on the internet? With all the incest and extramarital activities resulting in a host of illegitimate progeny, I found this extremely confusing, a lot more so than in The Witcher.

And does anybody have a shimmer of an idea of how much time has passed since the old king's death? Must be at least months but you hardly ever get any hints about it. And this poor girl, how long is she wandering around the desolate highlands alone trying to find the wild dragon? Must have been weeks judging by the other things that happened in the meantime ...

Maybe it's just me, but I did not find any of the characters really compelling. Not that they are not well acted, the acting is good enough, but emotionally they did not really leave any impression on me. Maybe the only character I find a bit interesting is Queen Helaena and this very young Lord Tully who shows unexpected spine and stands up to Daemon in front of the Riverlords. There are so many seemingly random new side characters popping up all over the place, too, miraculously gaining importance that one is supposed to keep track of, but also none of them that was in any way inspiring it me. And the poor cute Bracken knight only drew his sword and was already dead in the mud on a battlefield with hundreds of men hardly a second later ...

Rhaenyra suddenly and out of the blue kisses this lowborn woman (was her name even mentioned? I cannot for the life of me remember it). I don't have anything against women kissing, not at all, but why? There is no mention of anything going on between those two at all afterwards. Are they in a secret relationship now or not? I haven't read the book and don't know if it's in there, but how is that kiss, as it seems to have no relevance to the plot at all, not 'woke' catering to the LGBTQ community? But everything the Witcher does is?

Then there are the dragons you have to keep track of in addition to the many people and places. How many dragons are there? And who rides which one? And why the heck would a dragon in its right mind choose this dubious Ulf character who accidentally stumbles into its cave as a rider???

And the plot? Honestly, was there, beside the one fight between the three dragons, anything that was really exciting? I remember nothing, no battles, no good sword fights, nothing but TALK. At lest 90% of the plot is repetitive talking about politics and plotting and scheming. I have nothing against a nice political intrigue and of course that's what happens at courts and it can be interesting too. It was in Game of Thrones where you had really interesting characters, too. But here I found it mostly boring and uninspired. And The Witcher is criticised for having too much politics and too many side characters although it has a LOT less so than this season of HotD.

They also seem to have conveniently forgotten that in GoT they established that Targaryans would not burn from fire. In the books this happens only once because some kind of blood magic was performed, but in the show it happened several times, so it seemed to be the rule, not the exception. HotD thus kind of refutes their own made-up lore, which I found confusing and had to look it up online. (They could easily have made Aegon suffer from bad injuries due to the fall instead.)

The music was rather uninspiring, too, imo, except for the intro which is the well-known one taken from GoT and the music at the end of E8 which was partly based on the Rains of Castamere, otherwise there was not a single piece of the soundtack that would make me want to buy and listen to it. The Witcher has quite a few that I listen to again and again (including, of course, Jaskier's songs, but many more).

What I also like a lot better about The Witcher: It does not take itself that seriously and there is quite a bit of humour in it. In HofD S2, the imo funniest piece of dialogue was: "I want you to fuck my wives." - "How many wives do you have?" (that was between this pirate commander, don't remember his/her? name, and Lord Tyland, was that his name?) . And maybe the truest sentence in the show by this random braggart in the tavern who miraculously turns into a dragon rider Ulf: "A sense of humour would do you all good."

All in all, the only thing that I have found to be really good and outstanding about HotD S2 are the dragons. Without them, it would be less than mediocre. I don't think I would want to rewatch it and feel no desire to look up any of the characters and their relationships etc to find out more about them. I cannot say in how far it is or isn't faithful to the source material as I have not read the book(s?) HotD is based on, but even if it's more faithful to the source material, this has failed to make it a great watch like GoT (minus the ending, that was worse than the poorest fanfic could have thought it up). With the dragons it is alright to watch once, hoping for a more exciting S3, but there is absolutely no way it deserves higher critic/audience scores/ratings than The Witcher S3, the contrary.

Update: To clarify, I don't really mind many things that I mentioned about HotD, I can totally live with an unclear timeline and many characters, even if it's not easy to remember every name, relationship etc. If I really like a show or character, I simply look it up, no problem. But these are all things I have seen people criticise The Witcher for on social media, and then they say HotD is so much better. That's what really puzzles me. What I definitely liked about HotD is the diverse cast and that there are many female characters with a lot of screen time and importance. It's not a bad show, only I like The Witcher much better despite its flaws. This is not meant as an anti HotD post but a pro Witcher post.

[afroplatypus]

I like that we, as a fandom, appear to have collectively and silently decided that a modern Regis would definitely wear a sleeveless jumper and one of those old-timey bathing suits

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (arranged marriage Au)

Part 1 is here, finally! Title a reference to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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Vesemir’s slap hit Geralt firmly on the back of the head. Two seconds previously Geralt had been complaining about his upcoming, politically motivated marriage to some nobleman’s son. 

“It’s a good thing, lad. Other witcher schools would kill for something like this,” he said. Geralt knew it was right, legal punishment for those who shortchanged or attacked witchers. It set a precedent, and apparently the earl was very influential. It could change things.

“And there isn’t a fidelity clause,” Eskel said. “It doesn’t have to be more than a sort of partnership.”

“No consummation requirement either,” sniggered Lambert from the other side of the campfire. “You don’t even have to fuck the bugger if he’s ugly.” This earned him a sharp elbow from Eskel. 

“What I don’t understand is what they get out of this,” Geralt said. It had been bugging him. 

“Ah,” Vesemir said, looking uneasy. “It seems that the payment is...taking the viscount off of the Earl’s hands, officially. It seems he’s something of an embarrassment.”

The unease in Vesemir’s voice was subtle, but after so many decades with their teacher, the wolves of Kaer Morhen knew the slight variations of tone and expression. His discomfort was twofold, first, the obvious implication that the Earl was sending his son to live a dangerous life alongside a witcher in order to...deal with him. A death sentence, from father to son. The second was that Geralt, already saddled with a political marriage, was also to be saddled with a nuisance of a husband. 

“But why me?” Geralt knew he was whining like a child, but he couldn’t help it. It was three days to Lettenhove, and then they’d be there at least a week for the wedding and he’d have to act courtly. 

He wasn’t good at courtly.

When he thought about it none of them were. 

“It couldn’t have been me,” Eskel said, a little shyly. He was right. Eskel believed his scars were horrible, made him unlovable and undesirable. Geralt didn’t buy it, but nobles could get a bit stroppy about appearances. And if they humiliated Eskel because of his scarring...no, Geralt wouldn’t let that happen.

“Couldn’t have been me,” Lambert said, mouth full and rather cheerfully. No. It couldn’t have been him either, no manners and no filter, they’d be at war with the entirety of Lettenhove within a day.

“And I’m an old man,” Vesemir said. He didn’t actually wink, but he might as well have. Older though he was, he was still three times the warrior of any young human man walking about these days. But from what Geralt had heard, and it hadn’t been much, the Viscount was young, not quite twenty, and it wouldn’t be kind to marry him to someone so much older than himself. Geralt reflected grimly that he was nearly four times the youth’s age.

Three days of riding passed far too quickly for Geralt’s liking.

Chateau de Lettenhove loomed. It was a fairytale castle built by a man expecting a siege. There were high, rising towers with huge windows and artful buttresses, but to the trained eye of the witchers, it was a fortress. The towers had carved, decorative arrow slits, the windows all had iron grates over them, wrought like lace, and the buttresses could be easily used as defensive positions. All in all, it was a castle that growled, albeit genteelly.

They were greeted first by a footman, and then a line of servants increasing in rank, until a very snobby servant, likely the head housekeeper from the way all the maids scuttled away from her, brought them to an anteroom. At this point courtesy dictated that she bade them sit down on one of the lavish sofas. She did not. She chose instead to turn up her nose and sweep away.

The four witchers remained standing, not looking at one another. Geralt could feel Lambert stewing about the obvious slight beside him. He reached out, still staring straight ahead, and tweaked Lambert’s ear. 

This was about to result in much brotherly retribution and probably a brawl when the housekeeper returned, followed by another woman.

“His lordship the Earl of Lettenhove is attending to vital business,” the housekeeper said, tone of voice implying that the arrival of four witchers who were muddying her nice clean floor were certainly not vital. “I present, her ladyship, Countess Amaria Elizaveta de Lettenhove.” 

The countess curtsied, it was a polite little bob, and she smiled a little dazedly as the witchers all gave their best attempt at courtly bows. A small but significant part of Geralt’s brain was panicking, and it dealt with this new form of terror by imagining that the school of the wolf, seen from the outside plying their newly practiced bows, must look like a line of seagulls vying for a dropped crumb.

Vesemir stepped forward and, in a rather more suave gesture than Geralt had been expecting, took the Countess’ hand and bowed over it. Two bows seemed excessive to Geralt, but since it seemed to indicate that Vesemir would be taking over the speaking for now, he certainly wasn’t about to bring it up. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Vesemir said, straightening and releasing her hand. “May I introduce the school of the wolf. Eskel is--”

The countess had waved a limp hand. “Plenty of time for that at the feast, deary,” she said, smiling dreamily. There was something in her eyes that was a little absent, possibly more than a little if her calling Vesemir ‘deary’ was anything to go by. Geralt looked the countess over. He had been given to understand through the brief letters from the Lettenhove estate, that this wasn’t the viscount-Julian, the letters said-’s mother, but rather his step mother. She was a petite lady with mousy hair and rather absent blue eyes. Her dress was obviously of very fine material, rose pink and probably silk, although Lambert would know better than him, but a simpler cut than Geralt had expected. 

His examination, done in a split second, decided that she wasn’t an immediate enemy, but probably not a terrible useful ally. 

“I’m to give you this courting gift,” here she proffered a small but beautifully carved wooden box. “And to show you to your quarters.” She smiled again, and it was warm, but still vapid.

“Custom usually dictates that the fiancé give the courting gift,” Vesemir said, cautiously taking the box.”

“My husband wanted someone else to present it,” she said. “But your grandson can give his gift in person when he meets Julian. Now what...” she trailed off, not even noticing Vesemir’s slight sputter at grandson. “Ah yes, your rooms, right this way please.”

She got lost on the way to their rooms and a shaking footman showed them up to a suite, then kindly took her by the hand and led her away.

They sat, silent, in the nice but not lavish quarters. Four beds in curtained alcoves off to the side, and in the middle a room with a table and chairs, and a sofa and more comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace. It was already blazing and the witchers stared into it for a minute.

“That was strange,” Eskel finally said, and the others just nodded.

“Should I have insisted on giving her our courting gift?” Geralt said after another pause. “I thought they were usually given in person.”

“I think you’re fine,” Vesemir said. “If they broke that tradition they can hardly fault you for doing the same.”

Lambert, sprawled across the sofa, said, “When’s dinner?”

“I think I’m supposed to meet Julian first,” Geralt said. “Someone will probably come get us. 

“When we meet Julian you mean,” Lambert said, sitting up. 

“No, I’ve been thinking about that and I want to meet him alone.”

Vesemir nodded, “Sensible, we don’t know how he will react to one witcher, let alone four.” Then he smirked, although not unkindly, at Lambert. “You will be introduced and have a chance to be nosy later. At dinner perhaps.”

They unpacked their belongings, potion bottles and swords looking out of place along the old but nicely carved furniture. After days of tension on the road as Geralt wound himself tighter and tighter with anxiety for his...wedding, yes his wedding, now this pause was jarring. Eskel tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a look.

Geralt turned around to give Eskel room to work.

On the Path, witchers are rarely, if ever touched. Certainly not in a friendly way if the other isn’t being compensated. It wasn’t therefore, unusual for the wolves of Kaer Morhen to be tactile with one another. Not hugging and cuddling sweetly, but rough housing and wrestling ending in exhausted dog piles. But Eskel had a gift, he had magic hands, literally and figuratively, and he carefully oiled his hands while Geralt took off his travel stained shirt. 

Geralt sunk into himself, half meditating as Eskel dragged the tension from his shoulders and beat the knots from his muscles. It wasn’t a relaxing massage, but it always left him feeling like liquid, if slightly bruised. When it was over and the liquid feeling had left him, or at least subsided enough that his knees could hold him, he stood, clapping Eskel on the shoulder in thanks.

Then came the hard bit.

Geralt needed to be courtly. He scrubbed the bits he could with water and a cloth from a little washstand, but he hoped he could have a hot bath later. Afterwards Vesemir advanced on him and battled the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a stiff brush before attacking his hair with a comb. Geralt sat on the ground like a child, his brothers looking on in amusement as Vesemir sat behind him on the couch and teased the tangles from his hair. He was making faces, he knew, but Vesemir wasn’t gentle, and he hadn’t detangled his hair in some time.

Scrubbed raw, with his hair floating around his shoulders like a silver cloud, Lambert presented him with a doublet. 

It was black, which was good.

That was the only good thing about it. It was most likely a very nice, extremely fashionable doublet. Lambert might take delight in embarrassing Geralt, but he didn’t mess about with clothing. The issue was that it was attention grabbing, it was subtle in a way that seemed to play itself down while actually drawing every eye. It was black, in the same way a raven’s wing was black, every shimmering shade shifting as the fabric moved.

And he would be wearing it. 

He did wear it. 

His hands shook as he buttoned it up. 

He was just examining himself in a slightly tarnished hand mirror when there was a sharp knock at the door. The footman let himself in right after and bowed swiftly. 

“I am to escort the witchers of Kaer Morhen to meet Lord Julian.”

“Just the one witcher,” Geralt said. Vesemir pressed his courting gift, and the little carved boxed nestled on top, into his arms.

The footman didn’t seem to care and simply turned away, leading Geralt through hallways that all looked the same and down two very winding staicases, the second of which was so narrow his shoulders actually brushed the walls. They stopped outside a plain wooden door. The footman bowed and smiled. It looked, Geralt couldn’t help but feel, rather cruel. Then he left. Geralt knocked softly on the door, feeling very large in the narrow, low ceilinged hallway.

Eskel had told him once of a myth he had read, about a beast, half man half bull, hidden away in a maze. Geralt felt like such a beast, too large and rough and probably going to barge in and do everything wrong.

“Come in.” 

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door. 

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Oooh I’m naughty for leaving it there, but it’s almost 2000 words already. @llamasdumpsterfire here it is at last, I hope it lives up to expectations.

[k-laconia-bug1]

Pjo/Witcher crossover where jaskier is percy au

Jaskier decided once after going to camp he was going to start packing canned foods to bring to Geralt and donuts for Blackjack and Roach

After Geralt found out about Jaskier heratige it took Jaskier alot to convince Geralt to travel to his universe for the summer

When Sally met Geralt she just hugs him pinchs his cheeks and forces him to eat some food

During the camp fire Geralt gets told of Jaskiers stories his accomplishments

Geralt witnessing a Jaskier with zero filters

One of the Athena kids teaches Geralt greek

Geralt calling Jaskier a hypocrite when Jaskier complains about Geralts story telling considering Jaskier downplays his own

When Geralt finds out Jaskier fatal flaw he just hugs Jaskier and doesn't let go for awhile

Geralt being extremely confused when some runs to Jaskier saying "Oh gods please Percy help me do the ill-kill-you-later-stare"

Geralt even more confused when the Hunters show up and how they all despise men expect for Jaskier

Geralt asks them to he's responded with "he's not like the others he treats us like equals"

Geralt being terrified when he sees a little big 3 fight break out

Everyone's like oh gods get Annabeth

Geralt admires Annabeth for ability to stop Jaskier stupidity but also little terrified when Annabeth tells him "look when it comes to Percy's plans go with it cause you'll come put alive maimed mind you but alive"

Jaskier tries to convince Geralt to get the other witchers to join for capture the flag

[woogyu]

A World Tinted Gold | Mingyu; Chapter Two

Kalon; beauty that is more than skin-deep

streamer!y/n x werewolf!mingyu

notes; werewolf au

word count; 1749

previous | next | masterlist

summary; The only werewolves you encountered were the ones living inside your video games. They were nothing more to you than mythical creatures you often had to kill in order to complete objectives. You had a good thing going with your online gaming setup. Your supporters were kind and usually tipped well during streams. Sure it meant you had to deal with the occasional creep sliding into your DMs, but it was worth it. Playing games online was putting you through college. Little did you know your quiet life was about to be turned upside down at the hands of someone you didn’t think existed outside of the virtual world.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Are you seriously watching that steamer again? Why don’t you just play the games yourself?” Seungcheol questioned as he stepped into Mingyu’s room, chuckling as the younger wolf quickly turned around and blushed.

“It’s not the same… I’m not really interested in the games, I’m interested in her” Mingyu admitted sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so transfixed, but he had a hard time tearing his eyes from the screen. Hell, just the other day when you read his comment aloud, he was over the moon.

“It’s rare for you to show interest in a girl at all” Seungcheol remarked, eyebrow pulled up in question. Until a wolf found its mate there was little reason to get involved with or show interest in others romantically. There were of course some wolves that preferred being unmated; it allowed them to be explorative with their romantic partners. Not all wolves longed to find their mate, and not all wolves would end up finding their mates. He knew destiny had a hand to play in it all, but the thought of never finding who he was supposed to be with made the wolf in him whine. Mingyu wasn’t an unmated wolf that enjoyed exploring his options, he was desperately waiting for the day he met his mate. Right now, Mingyu wasn’t sure if he was simply lonely or if there was something more going on.

“There is just something about her…” Mingyu started, pausing for a second to find the right words, “I just have a hard time tearing my eyes away from the screen. There is something about her that just draws me in” Mingyu explained. He wasn’t doing a very good job at explaining the feelings that bubbled up inside him when he saw you on screen. When he tried to explain it he could never quite describe the feeling that settled over his chest and body, it was a warmth almost like a subtle glow within him.

Seungcheol didn’t comment on it any further as he moved into the room and crossed his arms over his chest. Mingyu knew better than to ignore the alpha, closing his laptop he turned to face Seungcheol fully. Their pack had a different dynamic than most. Normally a thirteen-member pack would be impossible because of the strain it put on the head alpha. It worked for them because while Seungcheol was their main alpha, they had two secondary alphas, Jihoon and Soonyoung. The three of them shared the work of looking after the group and it worked perfectly for them. He liked that the alphas didn’t abuse their power, there was a lot of lenience in the pack and it made for less confrontations.

“Joshua has to head into town tonight and won’t be able to run the perimeter. Would you be alright with doing it?” Seungcheol asked, pursing his lips as he looked down at the younger wolf. Mingyu normally enjoyed running the perimeter, it meant he got to shift and stretch his body, but this time he was a little bit more hesitant with his answer. Mingyu knew that later on tonight you would have a new video posted and he would have to wait even longer to watch it. It seemed like a silly reason, but his heart ached at the thought of not being able to ‘see’ you on screen until early tomorrow morning.

“Sure! I don’t mind” Mingyu answered with a half-smile, Seungcheol never asked him for much so he figured he could help him out with this. Seungcheol breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned back against the wall.

“Thank you, I didn’t really want to be the one stuck doing it again” Seungcheol admitted, the alpha had been on perimeter duty for the past 3 nights and must have been eager for a good night’s sleep. Mingyu smiled and nodded his head a few times, his own wants would just have to be paused for a little while.

Before leaving the room Seungcheol patted him on the shoulder, yawning a little bit as he headed toward what Mingyu assumed was his own room. Mingyu was thankful that Seungcheol’s parents had left him their families pack house. Coming from a family of alpha’s certainly had its perks, and it meant they all got their own rooms.

Once Seungcheol was gone he checked the time, he had roughly 4 hours before he would have to head out.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I just don’t understand what this trend is supposed to be” you complained to Ciri for probably the 20th time over your video call. Apparently, there was a trend going around among streamers to recreate video games in real life. You hadn’t thought much of it when it first gained popularity, but now Ciri thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to join in on it. Her big plan was a two-part video where the two of you recreated iconic aspects of the Witcher 3 video game. You should have known she would want to do it, she already owned a Cirilla cosplay.

“It’s going to be fun” Ciri reminded you, drawing out the last syllable as she drew a fake scar along her face, effectively transforming herself into the iconic video game character.

“Come on, I even sent you the Yennefer cosplay and everything!” she exclaimed, using her make up brush to point at the camera accusingly. You rolled your eyes as you reached up to adjust the dark black wig that you now wore. To her credit, Ciri had sent you everything you would need to transform yourself into Yennefer of Vengerberg. How she somehow guessed your sizing right you would have no idea. Probably the Witcher powers.

“I wish we lived in the same city” you sighed, leaning your head back and looking up at the ceiling. Things would be so much easier if you and Ciri, and the other girls, didn’t live so far away from one another. But that was the price you paid for finding your friends online.

“Me too” Ciri said with a gentle sigh, setting her make up tools down and picking up her phone, her face coming into full view.

“I sent you the script, I won’t be able to stay on the call with you while we are filming because data rates are crazy, but I know you’ll do amazing” Ciri said with a reassuring smile. You would have to film all of this on your own, which was just a little bit intimidating. Ciri’s script mostly just directed you to do a lot of handwaving and she would add in the ‘magic’ elements later.

“Just find a good spot in the woods and it’ll be perfect” Ciri finished with a nod of her head. You sighed, straightening yourself up and looking down at your phone.

“I’ll call you later on when I’m finished to send you the video” you mumbled, pouting a little bit as you stood and picked up your phone.

“Good luck!” Ciri told you, waving a little bit before ending the call. Great, now you actually had to go do it…

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were lucky there was quite a bit of woods around where you lived, the problem was going to be trying to get to the woods without anyone seeing the ridiculous clothes you were wearing. You threw on a huge coat, effectively covering up most of the costume. After grabbing the bag with your equipment, you ventured outside, keeping your head down as you walked to avoid drawing attention.

Twenty minutes later you were standing in the middle of a beautiful calm forest. Now that you were here you questioned why you didn’t come out here more often. You couldn’t hear the loud noises that came with living in a bustling city and the air felt fresh on your face. Once you reached a small clearing by a river you laid your things down and took a deep breath, basking in the coolness of the air. Maybe this trend wouldn’t be so bad.

After setting up your camera in a place you were at least half sure wouldn’t result in it falling over, you walked into frame and took a deep breath. You briefly checked your phone to see what Ciri’s notes asked of you, before you began doing your best to follow directions. Your portion of the video wouldn’t be long, but you did re-film it 4 times to try and get your motions to be less stiff.

After forty-five minutes of waving your arms around, you walked back to your camera, picking it up before taking a seat on a nearby log. Reviewing the footage, you winced at how awkward it looked, you seriously hoped that Ciri could work some magic on this because you didn’t have it in you to film it again.

The forest around you was darkening as the day began to draw to a close, but you couldn’t bring yourself to head back right away. The forest was too peaceful and serene. Reaching up you pulled your wig off, stuffing it in your bag as you sighed with relief. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing in on the sounds of nature around you. Maybe coming to the woods would become a weekly thing for you, like therapy.

A low deep growl broke you out of your trance, your eyes flying open and flickering around to find the source. Your heart hammered against your chest, and your whole body stiffened in fear. A few moments later a dark black wolf emerged from the trees, larger than any wolf you had seen on tv. You could vaguely see blood dripping from its muzzle, and its dark red eyes were focused right on you.

It paused at the edge of the clearing, its lips pulling back to reveal sharp blood-stained teeth. Your breath came quick as you leaned back, unsure if you should run or try and hide behind the log. Both seemed unhelpful in this current situation, but you were really low on options.

The wolf’s body tensed before springing toward you. Your hands instinctively grabbed whatever was nearest to you, which happened to be your very expensive camera, and threw it toward the wolf. This did nothing to deter the predator from its prey, and within seconds the beast was on you.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au -4

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3  Inspired by @spielzeugkaiser art here

So. Geralt knew.

He didn’t know how long Geralt had known for. Didn’t particularly want to know.

Had he just worked it out from his scent as a bear? Had he recognized the lute that was smashed on Filavandrel’s floor? Had he used his Witcher senses to figure it out when he was a lark with a broken wing sleeping in his saddlebag? Was it some little tick that had given him away of there months together?

He didn’t want to know.

He woke up the morning after the incident and promptly shifted into his human form. Packed up his part of camp and waited.

Waited for the questions, for the false promises, for the placating words.

‘I wont tell’ ‘How does it work?’ ‘You’re still Jaskier’

Geralt groaned, sitting up slowly. Blinking sleep from his bleary eyes that rare way he did when he felt safe upon waking. Found him across the burnt out fire.

He tensed.

Geralt nodded and slowly set about disassembling camp.

The world skewed slightly to the left as they set off.

He waited for Geralt to snap at him to ‘just turn into something Roach could carry’ when he complained about his feet hurting too much.

Waited for Geralt to tell him to ‘shrink into something more manageable’ when the bed at the inn was too small for both of them to reasonably share.

Waited for Geralt to request he turn into something useful- to help track down a monster or carry his weight or or or-

It was easy to not shift. He went weeks without shifting as he waited. Waited for Geralt to make some attempt to be reassuring about how he ‘knew’ what Jaskier was or some request that made it clear Geralt thought he was some party trick or. Or something.

And still Geralt was silent on the matter.

It was annoying. It was so damn annoying.

That’s all it real was. He was annoyed. Annoyed that the song he’d worked on for two weeks had gotten a tepid reaction and that his chemise kept static sticking to his arms and it was hot and the bar was loud and and and-

And he wasn’t entirely sure why he was yelling at Geralt but he was and Geralt didn’t even have the decency to look affected by it. Just said his name warningly. And sure maybe he’d be embarrassed about acting like a tantruming toddler later but he wanted to hiss and scratch and draw maybe just a little fucking blood. So that maybe- fucking maybe- someone would understand just how pissed he was.

For the first time in weeks he wanted to shift. Shift into the angry tomcat he felt like. Small and angry in a world that was so much bigger and more dangerous than him but that still had claws. Could still yowled and scratch and make bleed because he might have been small but that didn’t mean he was helpless.

But he couldn’t. Because they were in a bar and everyone was staring at him or pointedly not staring at him and Geralt was throwing him over his shoulder and hauling him to their room. His fingers digging into Geralt’s shirt as he struggled to keep them from becoming claws ripping little pinholes into the fabric. He couldn’t shift because there were people and he was still yelling because he was still so fucking angry-

The door slammed closed behind them and Geralt shifted him so he was holding him up by the armpits and at least he had the decency to look a little irritated but he didn’t want to be held so he shoved a hand at Geralt’s face to push him away and-

And the shape collapsed under him.

He shoved his orange paw against Geralt’s face and lashed his tail and hissed all the same.

Orange. Most of his forms were brown. Because brown was the color of his hair and he liked his hair. But someone told him once that all orange cats were male and whether or not that was true he liked that. Liked that when people saw this form they’d know he was a boy.

Sometimes that felt important.  Because most people couldn’t tell what gender most animals were and would just pick one for him. Usually it didn’t matter because he didn’t care but sometimes he did and he liked that maybe his gorgeous long orange fur made that more obvious.

But now Geralt wasn’t even looking irritated anymore! Even with his paw unsheathing claws threateningly against the stubbled skin of his cheek.

No he looked surprised and then it melted into a disgustingly soft smile. Swear to gods If Geralt tried to pet him right now-

Geralt glanced down at his tail, lashing back and forth without pause.

“Ah.” He was swiftly deposited on the bed, Geralt settling back on the floor. “The bar was loud wasn’t it.”

Well he didn’t know what that had to do with anything but Geralt just sat across from him, staring at the wall above his head. Not attempting eye contact.

That helped. He needed to watch Geralt but eye contact would have been too much for him to handle right now with every too loud noise from the bar still scraping at his skull.

Slowly his tail settled behind him and he let his eyes sink close. Safe in the knowledge Geralt wasn’t going to do anything.

He’d explained cat body language to Geralt several months back. Because Geralt had explained (heartbrokenly complained really) that cats didn’t like him. Because he was a ‘mutant’ and they knew it.

Which was complete hogwash.

They didn’t like him because he was a big unfamiliar person approaching feral cats who were better acquainted with the toe of a shoe to the belly then the gentle curl of fingers under their chin. Because he tried to approach them like dogs and didn’t have the time to win over anything but the cuddliest of cuddle slut and there just weren’t that many of those around.

Lucky for Geralt he was a proud member of the cuddle slut kitty brigade. After he’d concluded his lessons on how tail lashing was not like tail wagging on dogs- it meant they were highly stimulated and which could easily pass into Overstimulated- and how to introduce himself and all the best places to pet he’d taken his leave of Geralt for the evening.

Approached him as the cuddly fluffy orange cat he was within the hour. Making his home on Geralts lap and purring as loud as he could demanding all the cuddles he’d been denied in his human form.

That. That might have been when Geralt figured out what he was now that he thought about it.

He still wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had given him away. Especially if he couldn’t change it- like his scent. Or if he could- because then he’d have to. To stay safe.

He jumped off the bed and head-butt Geralt’s hands until Geralt started petting him. Laid down across his lap as Geralt gently covered himself in his fur with each soft stroke.

He should look into a white form. So he could really mess up Geralt’s all black color scheme.

Geralt’s hands eventually stilled and he begrudgingly shifted up. Tucking his head into Geralt’s neck he mumbled, “Shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Seemed like a bit of an overreaction to me eating the last mushroom.”

“You know those are my favorite.”

Geralt snorted and ran a hand through his brown hair. “It was my plate.”

“I have no idea what your point is.”

“Right.” He nuzzled into Geralt’s neck. He couldn’t really smell how they mixed together as a human but the shapes that could always found comfort in it. “You.” He paused. “Transformed again.”

His heartrate picked up and his gut start churning. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Ever really. He’d never had to and he didn’t know where to start. Didn’t want Geralt to say something that would make him angry or sad or break his heart. He just wanted to be a human for Geralt. Simple and easy and human.

Not that he was simple or easy. Or human. Probably.

Whatever he was it probably wasn’t human. Not really. But he wanted to be. For Geralt.

Geralt’s other hand came up and squeezed lightly around the long healed bone.

“I wont ask.” Geralt said as Jaskier swallowed a sob. “But I’ll help. If you want.”

“It’s not a curse.”

Geralt hummed acknowledgement.

“It’s just me. It’s always just me. Okay?”

Geralt made a noise like he maybe understood. A little. But not much.

“I can.” It felt weird to say it out loud. “Shift into anything so long as it’s still me.”

“Anything?” He saw the smirk and pointed stare he was making at the chair.

He smacked his shoulder. “If it’s me.”

He was living. Living and breathing and moving and thinking. How was he supposed to be something that wasn’t?

“Not like a Doppler then.”

“Would have thought the bear shape rather gave that away.” Dopplers could become anyone- but were restricted by mass. He wasn’t. Sure he shifted down or up in steps normally but that was because it was easier. Because feelings normally built in size instead of appearing all at once.

Geralt conceded the point with a nod. “Does-“ He stopped.

When it became clear Geralt wasn’t just collecting his thoughts he nudged him. “Ask.”

“Does it hurt?” Geralt wasn’t looking at him and his face was flat but he could feel the tension under his hands.

“Nope!” He reassured. Geralt tensed further.

“In the woods-” He started.

“Those were extenuating circumstances! I’m sure it looked terribly grisly from your perspective but I just couldn’t find a form that fit because.” He stopped.

“Because you were scared.” He nodded into Geralt’s neck. “Of me.”

He stopped nodding.

“Everything’s not about you Geralt.” He pulled back enough to glare at him. Geralt returned it. “It’s Not. Sure I was scared of you but I wasn’t scared of you. I know you wouldn’t lock me up and sell me to a circus to turn tricks or a mage for experiments or anything. I know that. There’s just a difference between knowing and knowing. Okay?”

Geralt studied him before slowly nodding. He tucked his head back into Geralt’s neck.

He wanted to stay here. Here with Geralt. It pulled a question from his gut that he didn’t want to ask- that filled him with fear even as it spilled from his tongue.

“What do you want me to be?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed and he turned his head to the bard.

“Come now you must have a preference.” A voice that was cocky and sure prodded. A voice that was his but was not his. “A shape you’d prefer me to be?”

His face turned and he felt distantly as his eyes glittered and a smile blazed on his lips. Feeling terribly out of control as he begged his heart to race. To respond.  To fight whatever power directed his body without his command.

As Geralt’s lips began to form words he could feel the magic preparing to shape him. Bind him in that form. Lock him without shackle or key into whatever Geralt wanted him to be.

“What would it matter?” Geralt said, face relaxing into a small smile and raising a brow. “It would still always be you.”

He sank into Geralt’s shoulder as the compulsion faded, taking with it his fear. He didn’t know what that was and he didn’t particularly like it but- “It would be.” He agreed.

It would always be him.