#filavandrel fic

[jaskwritesthings]

monthly writing update for january

yep, i'm doing a round up cause i like numbers and stats!

monthly goal: 6200 actually written: 8872 total days writing: 9 percentage: 143% fic focused on the most: accidental warlord jaskier au

and here's a excerpt of my accidental warlord jaskier au, cause there's quite a few geralt stumbles into being a warlord fics but i've not seen one for the bard and i was inspired by this post by @allogrim from ages ago so yeah! also this is an aiden lives au cause why the fuck not. haven't decided if the endgame is geraskier or lambert/aiden/jaskier yet...we shall see how things go. this is set somewhere post mountain break up as well, enjoy!

“None, the mage wasn’t home, but his captive was. My men believed it best to retrieve him and bring him here for you.” Filavandrel says as he waves Jaskier towards the unmoving body. Jaskier frowns, “For me? Why?” “He’s a Witcher,” Filavandrel states, and Jaskier practically flinches back even though the bloody and swollen face before him is in no way familiar. “Fuck me.”

[wren-of-the-woods]

I hear you're where to go for Witcher fic recs! How about some with Geralt being protective over Jaskier? Shippy, if you can find any, but I wouldn't mind platonic! I just want Geralt to look out for his bard. Thank you for your time!

Hello!! Here's what I've got! There's a wide variety of settings and levels of angst, so hopefully there should be something for everone :D

As always, please feel free to add more recs or promote your own work in the notes!

~

Don't Leave Me by @geraskierficrecs (Rated M, 6.2k)

Jaskier’s hands tighten around Geralt before slowly losing their grip, spasming where they fall limp. “Ger--geralt--” “Don’t you dare,” he snarls back, “Don’t you dare try to give me your fucking goodbyes. You are not dying.” “S--silly man.” Jaskier’s smile is full of painful fondness. “Would you fight death for me?” Geralt swings him up into his arms and nearly weeps at the sound of familiar hooves running in his direction. “Every. Fucking. Time.”

If You Give a Bard a Lute by @ghostinthelibrarywrites (Rated T, 10k)

After Jaskier’s father disowns him, confiscates all his possessions— including Filavandrel’s lute— and kicks him out with nothing but the clothes on his back, Jaskier spends a long, hungry winter barely surviving. When he reunites with Geralt in the spring, his witcher is determined to get his lute back, even if it means recruiting his fellow witchers to stage a heist.

Wild Blue Yonder by @jaskierswolf (Rated T, 5.3k)

Geralt's bookshop is slowly falling apart and he's ready to give up when Jaskier wanders into the store

remember me I sing by @echo-bleu (Rated G, 3.1k - also includes Yennnefer)

Filavandrel's gift was so much more than a simple lute. It seemed fitting, that Jaskier’s soul would be made of wood and strings and beautiful sounds. The problem is that now Rience has his lute and is threatening to burn it if they don't hand over Ciri. And Jaskier has never told anyone that his very life is tied to his beloved instrument.

This Is How I Disappear by @stacyholmes (Rated T, 5.4k)

Jaskier keeps texting unknown number. Geralt keeps reading said texts without answering.

The Footsteps We Follow by thiswildheart (Rated T, 16.5k)

Look, Jaskier's got a lot going on. He's painfully aware that there are cataclysmic events happening and that the troubled teenager he knows might save the world or speed along the end of days. He's also in love with a man who's never even admitted that they're friends, which is almost as bad. Oh, and he's still working as the Sandpiper, only now a terrifying eldritch creature has entrusted him with the Song of the Seven to give hope to the elves and help them fight back against their oppression. It's probably the bravest thing he's ever done, but not everyone sees it that way. Luckily he knows some people who excel at last minute rescues. ... then he just has to figure out how to tell Geralt why so many people are trying to kill him. This is going to go great.

Getting Warmer (orphaned) (Rated T, 8.2k) 

Injured and freezing after a kikimora hunt gone wrong, Geralt and Jaskier must wait out a thunderstorm at the bottom of a cliff, huddling for warmth. It is here that Geralt finally confronts his feelings for the bard.

Jaskier and Mountains Just Don't Mix by C4t1l1n4 (Rated G, 3.8k)

Despite the other Witchers' positive reaction to Geralt's bard, Vesemir is reluctant to have a human stay with them at Kaer Morhen so Jaskier attempts to leave and ends up almost freezing to death on the side of the mountain. Hypothermia fic

Immediately, I Love Him (He's Doing His Best) by @hum-my-name (Rated G, 26.5k)

"In which Greg is some sort of guardian angel, I don't know" <><> A few days ago, Joey Batey did an interview in which he created a lovely little character named Greg. A few days ago, I decided to write a cute little thing about Greg and Jaskier being the best of friends throughout the years, with a dash of Geralt and Jaskier friendship as a treat. 13k words later, here we are. Enjoy.

Broken Mirror by happy_hermit (Rated G, 2.1k) 

To Geralt’s credit, he waits until they’re well away from Kaer Morhen to ask the question. He also waits until Yennefer and Ciri have gone to bed, which makes the whole thing feel a bit too calculated for Jaskier’s liking, which is to say that he doesn’t like it at all. “Where’s your lute, Jaskier?” Jaskier doesn’t quite flinch, though his heart does something of the sort all on its own. It is very much a wound that hasn’t healed; as is most of him, these days.

Echo by @kingthunder (Rated E, 29.5k)

Jaskier loses his voice the morning after a concert. As he and Geralt find new ways to fill the silence between them, they realize it isn't only Jaskier's voice that's been lost—and getting it back will bring them closer than they've ever been before.

If There's Any Sleep At Night by @smolalienbee (Rated T, 22.8k)

The mare is but a silhouette of a human and yet at his words something passes through her expression - whether it’s surprise, joy, fear, Geralt doesn’t know. But it’s clear that what he said has struck her in some way. (“She is not some mindless monster, Geralt.” He remembers Jaskier’s words.) A mare, also known as a mara or a zmora - a malicious entity, a bringer of nightmares and a demon of the night. An easy enough contract to fulfill, if only frustrating, or at least that’s what Geralt believes when he first sets out to hunt down one such mare. What he doesn’t expect is to be wrapped up in a tale of a wronged soul, of love and of joy.

Also, because I'm not above reccing my own fics, here's a few I've written!

Wash Away the Blood and Tears by me (Rated T, 1.8k)

Jaskier re-injures his fingers while distracting Nilfgaard from Ciri. Afterward, Geralt volunteers to help wash his hair. Or: In which Jaskier gets a bath and a nap, and Geralt gets a new role in the group.

We'll Build a Den Out of Pillows (And Get Drunk Again) by me (Rated G, 2k)

Jaskier gets sick. When Geralt asks how to help, Jaskier jokingly suggests that he build a pillow fort. He does not expect Geralt to take it seriously. Geralt takes it seriously.

~

If you want more, there’s a Protective Geralt tag on AO3 that I’m sure has many lovely works I haven’t read!

(You can also find my other reclists here)

[astaldis]

My June of Doom 2024 Masterlist

The fics are all for The Witcher (novels & books)

Altogether 52 prompts used and 24,138 words written.

Thank you so much, @juneofdoom for the inspiring prompts and for creating this gorgeous whump event 😘❤️

Prompts: 1 "Help me." & "Fetal Position", 5 "Bite" & "Swelling", 7 "What happened?"

Help Me, He Whimpers

While collecting firewood for the campfire, Jaskier goes missing in the forest. When Geralt finds him, a surprise is waiting for the Witcher. And it is not a nice one. (Words: 2,158)

Prompts: 2 "Scream", 7 "Nightmare", 23 Trembling, alt. "Please don't leave me."

The Witcher And The Kraken Of Hate

While safe in Kaer Morhen, Ciri is having a nightmare - again. To distract his child surprise from her dark memories, Geralt tells her a story - the story of a boy who became a Witcher in order to slay a giant kraken. Perhaps Ciri can even learn something from the story. Let's see if she will. (Words: 4,034)

Prompts: 3 "Hiding" & "Stalking", 7 "Stumbling", 11 "Collapse" 24 "Stitches" & "Bandages"

How I Met Your Uncle

Walking home through the forest one night, you are stalked by an eerie, white shape - a spectre. Will it freeze your heart and rip you apart or will someone come and save you? (Set shortly after the Battle of Brenna in which Coën did not die. Words: 2,083)

Prompts: 2 "Scream", 4 "Impalement", 5 "It's not as bad as it looks.", 22 "Cauterization" and 29 "I'm so cold."

A Spear Through The Chest

During a fight against the Usurper's men, Cahir saves Emhyr's life but is severely injured in the process. (Words: 1,749)

Prompt: 6 "Flinch"

"Ouch" Says The Bard

"Ouch!" Jaskier exclaims, flinching back from Milva ... (Words: 150)

Prompt: 8 "Chair"

The Chair

This chair is special, and definitely not one you would enjoy sitting on. Why? Read and find out. (Words: 300)

Prompts: 3 "Well, well, well ...", 4 "Does that hurt?", 6 "Flinch", 7 "Nightmare", 9 "Accident" & "Blame", 10 "Can you hear me?" & Fear, 11 "Collapse" & "Bleeding Out", 14 "What were you thinking?", 16 "At least it can't get any worse.", 18 "I'm fine." & "Headache, 20 "Panic Attack", 23 Trembling, 25 "Guilt", 27 "Or What?" & Defiance, 28 "Numb", 29 "Fever"

The Interrogation Game

Shortly after the fighting at Aretuza, Sabrina Glevissig bumps into somebody by accident. It is the enemy commander who gave the order to shoot the dimeritium-tipped arrows at them! (Words: 11,835)

Prompts: 12 "Grief", 25 "Guilt"

Can You Hold Me One More Time

After the battle of Aretuza, an exhausted Tissaia finds a little solace in Yennefer's arms. (Words: 300)

Prompts: 13 "Sacrifice", 14 "Human shield", 26 "Rage"

Red Rain

Francesca's world shatters when Filavandrel sacrifices himself for her.

(A Thanedd Coup Sonnet in iambic pentameter, Words: 112)

Prompt: 15 "Presumed Dead"

NOT DEAD!

One last time Fringilla looks back at the high walls of Cintra before she flees north. (Words: 300)

Prompts: 19 "Sobbing", Alt. "Broken Glass" & "Obedience"

Breaking

Cahir kills Gallatin (in iambic hexameters). (Words: 140)

Prompts: 24 "Blankets", 26 "Choke", 28 "Say something!", 30 "Shock" & "Asphyxiation"

The Grape

Jaskier, Radovid and their fluffy foundling Esmeralda are having a nice evening in front of the fireplace together. Until something decidedly not nice happens. Can Jaskier save his comma prince? (Words: 1,000)

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup: 6th January - 12th January

Its Sunday possibly ... probably ... hopefully anyway lol)

So, I have a goal. I aim to write 700,000 words this ywar. Which means about 15,000 words a week. It may be doable, it may not, we shall see lol.

But as for this week, i cracked that goal with 18,026 words in 3 fics.

But before I share my fics, recs ofc:

Avalanche - Lalaith_Quetzalli - The Witcher (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (Geralt/Jaskier, canon divergance fic,)

Summary: How much can the choice of one man, one mortal, utterly human, common man, change in the grand scheme of things? The answer is: when the choice is the right one, he can change everything. Change the lives of peasants and kings, of warriors and mages, even change the world…

Of Idiots, Icicles, and I Love Yous - onwardorange - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] (Geralt/Jaskier, who doesnt love a good idiots in love, oblivious idiots fic lol)

Summary: When Geralt shows up at Kaer Morhen one winter with Jaskier in tow, Eskel and Lambert assume they're in a relationship.

The only problem with that assumption is that Geralt and Jaskier are not, in fact, in a relationship.

Think of all the horrors that I promised you I'd bring - janjan_the_ninth - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] (Geralt/Jaskier, BAMF Jaskier for the win!)

Summary: Geralt found himself in a hopeless situation, wounded and with the knowledge that he had failed people he held dear. Here they were, bound to the trees in a Nilfgaardian camp, with no way to escape. By the morning a mage would arrive and everything would be over.

What no one expected was that his Bard was more powerful than anyone could have imagined.

clinging to the moment - not1_2write - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] (Geralt/Jaskier, another BAMF Jaskier fic lol)

Summary: Jaskier drags an unconscious Geralt up the mountain towards Kaer Morhen, cursing all the while. It takes a few days, some stitches and a fever (and stealing some of Lambert's ale) but eventually they do get a few moments of peace.

If You Give a Bard a Lute - ghostinthelibrary - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] (Geralt/Jaskier, very much a witcher unite for our Bard kind of fic lol)

Summary: After Jaskier’s father disowns him, confiscates all his possessions— including Filavandrel’s lute— and kicks him out with nothing but the clothes on his back, Jaskier spends a long, hungry winter barely surviving. When he reunites with Geralt in the spring, his witcher is determined to get his lute back, even if it means recruiting his fellow witchers to stage a heist.

Witcher Wanted - firb (f_ing_ruthless_baz) - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (Geralt/Jaskier, modern witchers)

Summary: Geralt has moved back to Novigrad after half a lifetime on the road, but finding witcher contracts in the big city is harder than he expected. The job offers are all online and Geralt is... not. But struggling musician and self-proclaimed bisexual disaster human, Jaskier, offers to help Geralt find more work on the World Wide Web. Geralt gives him three months to round up jobs for him, or else he's leaving Novigrad. For good.

So turns out this week back in July 24 (I have a lot fo recs we are working through lol) was a bit of a Geralt/Jaskier feast. i only discovered them in June 24 lol. So hopefully someone who follws me likes Geralt/Jaskier.

As always, have a great week <3

So, back to my fics.

Don't Pet It! (Sirius/Remus, reincarnation, semi afterlife fic)

Summary: Sirius died at a much to young age.

Remus is the Deity of resurrection. Imagine his surprise when he was ordered to put Sirius back in HIS body, not a new one.

Imagine his even bigger surprise when Sirius keeps dying as he got older and Remus has to keep fixing his body and sending him bakc into it.

Imagine Remus' surprise when Sirius tells him he loves him for the first time, right before he is sent back to the world of the living.

Harry Poter Double drabbles - Lucigoo89 - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own] (a series of different drabbles in seperate chapters for the Odyssey of the Wizarding World server, Sirius/Remus, Harry George) Summary: Chap 2: Remus is suprised by the way Sirius' eyes light up as he sees him, he shoudn't be ashis do the exact same. Chap 3: Sirius is nervous, but he has to tell Remus, maybe the rose will help. Chap 4: Harry is about to enter the maze of the Triwizard Tournement. He is rightly scared and doesn#t want to leave his boyfriend (George's) arms.

They were meant to grow with you:not die with you - Lucigoo89 - The Hobbit - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] (Gen fic, or Dis & her giref. This is all the fault of a friend in the Acorn and Oak leaves server because Dis is tragic and deserves to have her pain explored!)

Summary: Dis returns to |Erebor a dwarf with a broken heart. One that breaks further when Dain hands her her boy's matching hair clips, the hair clips she crafted with her own hands and placed in their hairs before they left. Clasps that someone else took off the hair on their now dead bodies.

[limerental]

limerental's themed self-rec lists

read my old fics, you cowards! these are majority witcher fics, because i have an illness.

silly goofy modern au

how long we were fool'd - jaskier/yennefer(&geralt)

married neighbors yennskier, suburban dad!geralt, modern witchers, little kid ciri, aroace geralt, relationship misunderstandings, borzoi roach, supernatural mystery, some canon-typical violence, found family nonsense, and my own clairvoyance in writing yennskier husband-wife but it was spring 2020

(don't) poke the sleeping dragon - jaskier/yennefer/geralt

a retelling of bottled appetites but it's a nerdy fantasy music festival, copious drug use, yennefer's sick wizard van, unicorn edibles, golden dragon dildos, outdoor sex, geralt getting pegged and double penetrated, a dialogue only threesome, accidental yearning old friend geraskier tenderness, and someone once told me they wouldn't read this fic because yen had her tits out in the summary and i will always remember that criticism for the rest of my life

as if you were a mythical thing - yennefer/geralt

old married couple, dom/sub dynamics, sex unicorn mention, geralt is very vanilla but loves his kinky wife, and he's too autistic about horses not to ruin ponyplay with horse facts

this one might hurt

long on the road & how light carries on - geralt/jaskier (eventual geralt/regis in the sequel, plus many platonic relationships)

the 80s trucker/hitchhiker au that got away from me, vietnam vet trucker geralt, aging hippie musician jaskier, AIDS crisis, terminal illnesses, dealing with mortality, falling in love, road tripping, copious american geography, period-typical queer community issues, and then... life after loss, aging, grief and mourning, queer and traumatized family dynamics both found and otherwise, finding love again, and watching the sun set on a life well lived

in dark and twisted braids - fringilla &/ yennefer

aretuza school days slumber parties, girlhood crushes, pining, unrequited love, i shook a sorceress and intergenerational trauma fell out, the inherent adolescent horror of making lasting decisions about your future when you are barely 18 but even worse because there's war and violence and permanent alterations to your body and forced sterilization and your little schoolgirl crush on someone you thought was a friend ends in betrayal and bloodshed and you end up on opposite sides of the war and she never even looked your way or thought about you and--

then send down the storm - aiden/lambert, lambert/geralt(/yennefer)

witcher roadtripping, just guys being dudes, horse stuff, winter at kaer morhen polyamory but different, ~trauma~, the mortifying ordeal of accepting you deserve more from life and also of being known, but it's too late (or is it?), grief and mourning and loss and love that was worth its loss, and also, the character death(s) are largely temporary.

aw that just ain't right :/

the witch in her tower - eskel/yennefer(/geralt)

dark fic, fairytale elements, hurt no comfort (mind the tags), morally dubious heartbroken yennefer, pining and years of yearning for geralt eskel, unrequited love, non-consensual mind control during sex, flashbacks to messed up witcher child abuse and violence and cruelty, the inherent horror of mutated and manipulated little boys becoming men who think they can't or shouldn't love paralleled with the inherent horror of enchanted and manipulated little girls becoming women who-- you get it.

the flesh calmly going cold - geralt/jaskier

this one's gross for real, a hunt gone wrong, hurt NO comfort, major character death and it's gross and tragic, gore, necrophilia, organs lovingly described (and jizzed on), basically it's just like that scene in twn where filavandrel exploded but if francesca humped his goo after. sorry.

blood of the covenant (water of the womb) - geralt/&renfri, geralt/stregobor

supernatural pregnancy body horror as revenge, ......pregobor, black sun princess trauma and curses, apocalyptic monster fetus imagery, it's about women and violence against women and evil men suffering for inflicting that violence mostly, and also the evils of standing by and watching evil happen. also, yes stregobor is magical yucky bella swan pregnant and then bad stuff happens to everybody.

[hudine]

Well onto part 4 of my still nameless fic. Right now I’m just kinda posting to tumblr as I write.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

They made it into the mountains following hoof prints when they got jumped by a sylvan and a couple of elves. They came too tied up together in a cave.

“This is the part where we escape?” Jaskier asked as he worked on getting his hands free.

“This is the part where we die,” Geralt replied sardonically.

“Filthy humans,” one of the elves said and hit Jaskier.

“Leave him alone! He’s just a bard!” Geralt exclaimed and managed to head but the elf.

“No not the lute!” Jaskier yelled too late as the other elf smashed it. Jaskier was about to yell at them in elder when a familiar elf joined them in the cave and Jaskier groaned.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” He asked lips turned upwards.

“Just a couple humans. We should kill them before they bring others,” the female elf who had hit Jaskier proclaimed.

“They’re not human. Not entirely anyway. Are you blind as well as sick? He’s not only half fae, he’s also a prince. That’s Prince Julek of the Springtime Seelie Court. Considering they just agreed to take us in I don’t think killing one of the Queen’s children will endear us to my aunt any,” the new elf replied, “Hello cousin. You seem to get yourself in some of the most interesting situations.”

“Filavandrel. Well met. I’d give a proper bow but I’m a little tied up at the moment,” Jaskier replied amiably.

“So I see,” Filavandrel said trying not to laugh at the situation. He knew his cousin could get out of that if he really wanted to. “So who’s your friend?”

“Filavandrel, this is Geralt of Rivia, Witcher of the wolf school and childhood friend of mine. Geralt this is Filavandrel the last High King of the Elves. Also my first cousin. He’s he’s fae on his mother’s side which is actually rather common in Elvish royalty. His mother and my mother were sisters.”

“A pleasure to meet you your majesty. I’d also bow but am also a little tied up right now,” Geralt greeted.

Filavandrel let out a snort of laughter. “No you wouldn’t. You’re a Witcher. You’re also one of Vesemir’s pups. I have no doubt he’s taught you that Witchers are neutral and bow to no kings.”

“Yes well, Vesemir no doubt also tried his best to teach the pup manners and he’s trying to be polite,” A new voice spoke up followed by another man who looked a lot more like Filavandrel, only he had eyes that glowed more unnaturally blue and his ears wasn’t quite as pointed.

“Fuck,” Jaskier swore when he saw the second man, “I’m not going back Blaze!”

“Well I guess this answers the question of where you ran off to Jules. Is that Eric you got with you?”

Geralt grumbled a bit before speaking up, “It’s Geralt not Eric. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. Vesemir made you change your name before you could leave the keep. I don’t know why Witcher’s insist on changing their names before going off on the path the first time. While yes it is true that names have power, knowing one’s true name isn’t some sort of spell to compel people into doing things. I swear humans come up with some of the strangest rumours about my species.”

“They don’t all change their names. Although I suspect that old wives tale has a lot to do with why. I personally prefer to think of it like the old Shobogan tradition dating back to before they where fae, you change your name as a promise to who you are and/or want to be now because you have outgrown your old name,” Jaskier explained.

“Is that why you’ve been insisting on going by Jaskier?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious. “Who are the Shobogan anyway?”

“Yes, the other reason doesn’t matter since my cover has been blown. Shobogan is the name of our subspecies within the fae… lot of people just refer to us as royal fae but once the fae was a huge federation spanning many spheres with lots of different races. It’s why I’m considered fae even though I’m technically only half, it’s because I’m a citizen in the ruminants of that federation. Or species like that sylvan we tracked up here, or dryads for example are also considered fae. The elves first thought the humans where a subspecies of fae because they look a lot like the shobogan. Main difference between the two being our second heart and eyes.”

“You’re telling this Witcher our secrets!” The sylvan shouted, incensed.

“I didn’t go through the trail of the grasses, nor the tail of dreams. Never needed to. I did go through the rest. I’m technically also a Witcher,”Jaskier said as he broke out of the ropes binding them.

“Yes, very dramatic brother. We all know you worked your hands free ages ago and could break free at any time,” Blaze stated, rolling his eyes.

“Yes well. Had to find the best time for melodrama. I wouldn’t be me otherwise.”

“Yes well now I’ve found you that saves me a trip to Kaer Morhen to look for you,” Blaze stated.

“I’ve not had the courage to go there yet,” Jaskier confessed.

Blaze continued as if he said nothing, “Now the question is where is Valdo? He’s obviously not with you.”

“Who?” Geralt asked.

“Valdo Marx. My nephew. Sister’s youngest, the same age as me,” Jaskier clarified.

“And those two have been practically inseparable since he arrived back in our realm after the sacking. Have you seen him? He’s about this high.” Blaze held his hand up to indicate how high. “doesn’t actually look like he’s related because he’s got his father’s dark complexion and thick curly black hair which he wore short last I saw him, and has a thing on his face he thinks is a beard and moustache but really can’t grow one properly yet.”

“No, not seen anyone like that,” Geralt answered.

“I got no idea where Valdo ran off to. I didn’t even know he was missing, besides even if I did know I’m not going to tell you,” Jaskier added, “one of us needs to get out of court at least.”

“I’m not dragging you back to mother. I’m way too busy. Finally talked Filavandrel into bringing his people to our lands. Better to loose pride than be dead.”

“We’re resorting to stealing grain laced with iron from the humans. It seems we really need to move sooner rather than later if they’ve resorted to sending a Witcher up here. It won’t be long before they come looking themselves and probably in large numbers. We’re starving and sick. That’s not a fight we can win. The question is if we can get everyone out by then,” Filavandrel speculated.

“It will take a while to move so many,” Jaskier acknowledged, “Geralt… yes I have heard about the whole Blaviken incident. No I don’t believe you wholesale slaughtered anyone without reason. I know you. That’s not who you are. You don’t have to talk about it. I only bring it up because I have an idea but it does lean into that reputation a bit.”

“What?” Geralt asked, just knowing he was probably going to regret asking.

“Well you know how I can convince people of just about anything if I sing about it?”

“The frost trolls still ask if you are ever going to come back and preform for them after you got us all up the mountain that way,” Geralt replied ruefully.

“What if I make a song that makes people think you got rid of all the elves around here. By the time anyone thinks to look they’ll be long gone.”

“Sure, if you get people to start paying what they owe me while your at it,” Geralt agrees with obvious sarcasm.

“You know you just guaranteed it will make it across the continent and be sung in taverns for the next hundred years, right? You don’t tempt fate like that. She loves irony,” Blaze stated more than asked.

“You’ll need a new lute. I have one laying around doing nothing that belonged to my mother. Got to add to that irony after all,” Filavandrel added.

@xxx|}::::::::::::::::::::> <::::::::::::::::::::{|xxx@

[mimsyaf]

I am watching The Witcher S3:

It is impossible (for me, ymmv) to give 2 shits about anyone in this fucking show except Yenn, that elf guy who Siri Ciri used to hang out with for a bit when she was fleeing Nilfgard in S1, Jaskier (but only because Joey Batey is marvelous), and Cahir because we stan one (1) deranged fanatic, and I guess also Fringilla because she seems as over it all as I am. Oh and Istredd my beloved, who so far has been in a total of 10 seconds of this season.

And you might say, well Mimsy, that’s a lot of people. To which I would reply that THERE ARE SO SO MANY FUCKING PEOPLE IN THIS and it is so confusing but not in a “keep up with the clever twists” kind of way but a what the fuck is ever happening at any given time kind of way. Like, everyone’s got at least 3 agendas and are double crossing each other all the time but I can’t keep track of ANY of it. And there are just too many existential threats. But anyway, despite the people I mentioned above that I do want to actually see, instead I am watching hours of footage of That Fire Dude, the king’s ambiguously rascally gay brother who I want to like but I seriously don’t have a clue what his deal is and also he needs to open his mouth more when he talks, Fucking Francesca and Filavandrel (I thought HE was supposed to be King of the Elves or whatever, but he just mopes around after her sorry ass), Fucking Francesca’s Brother Who Is At Least Now Dead, that other elf guy who talked like Bill Pullman and who was annoying but at least he also hated Francesca, Meanface Tissaia, That Very Hot Sorcerer Guy from S2 who I guess is sleeping with Tissaia and is leading the sorcerers or at least the AMAB ones (do THEY get turned into eels, or is that fate just reserved for girls), that guy who I think is supposed to be a dwarf but is mostly just Scottish. that Redanian king and his spymaster Dykstra or however he spells his name (actually I would climb that old man like a tree but I hate his stupid storyline also because I have no idea what he and bird lady are even trying to DO), The White Flame Who I Guess Used To Be The Hedgehog Guy but seriously the actor playing him is like 30, I guess he fathered Ciri when he was 16, Ciri Herself, Geralt’s offscreen-fridged mother, that Druid lady (I like her werewolf bf though), that fake version of Ciri who sometimes talks in a weird voice, and The Wild Hunt. Who I guess are supposed to be terrifying but who just remind me of Gwar tbh. Oh and maybe Simon Callow is in it, or was? Above all I do not give a flying fuck about Geralt, which is kind of a problem. He’s BORING. He’s so BORING. And he’s onscreen so much of the time.

I dunno, people’s fic about the video games made them sound fun, were those fun? This is decidedly more unfun with each season although it is kind of queer and has many many beautiful people to look at. It also has a lot of non-specific vibes and I guess I’m watching for that. But if one more person says “The Continent” again I am going to lose my shit.

[definitely-not-iorveth]

titles!! (i only know how to title things with allusions, i'm sorry)

knight of cups

consider the lilies

a game of cards

<3

oohhh 'consider the lilies' really speaks to me.

it gives me the image of iorveth stuck in temeria very much against his will, post-tw3, forced to play nice with the dh'oine.

therefore, i present to you: iorveth aén fidháil, filavandrel aén fidháil's cousin. and seeing as dol blathanna can't have a relative of their former king and current queen's advisor running wild doing dana meadbh only knows what, they track him down, very politely ask him to return home, and then cart him off to temeria as an elven ambassador.

he's not thrilled with it, and neither is roche.

and then they fall in love, of course.

since this resonated with me very strongly, i've written a smol snippet that will hopefully transform into a full fic some day 😌

“Consider the lilies,” Francesca drawls. “We want to make a good impression.” Iorveth turns his head away from the glittering display in front of him to give her a sneer. “No, you want to make a good impression,” he growls. “Filavandrel just wants me out of the way without loosening his hold on the leash. He couldn’t care less whether I make a good impression on the dh'oine.” Francesca gives him a sweet smile and struts her way over to his side. “Be that as it may,” she picks up a golden chain adorned with three nacre lilies nestled within two large leaves elaborately carved out of jade, “you would do well to remember that as of the present, I am the queen, and he is merely an advisor, however much treasured.” She wraps the chain around his neck. “And as the queen, I can make your life quite unpleasant.” The clasp closes with a quiet click, and it feels like a collar snapping shut. He glances back at the display as she glides to his front to adjust the pendant over the richly embroidered, fur-trimmed tunic. “Vyzima is quite a way off from Dol Blathanna,” he notes snidely, and she pauses in her movement. “You underestimate my reach, little fox. You will find no burrow deep enough in all of Temeria to escape my grasp.” The sensation of her cool fingers sliding down his cheek feels more like a slap than a caress that it is. Just to spite her, he picks up a rose brooch with petals of white agate and pins it over his heart. The corners of Francesca’s lips turn down, but she doesn’t comment on it.

the other two would be much shorter:

knight of cups: another sequel to ssof. geralt, currently a tourney knight in toussaint, visits his two old pals to share stories of his knightly conquests and vineyard success stories. then he drinks them both under the table, earning himself the title of the knight of cups in their eyes.

a game of cards: this one would be very short, maybe a drabble. set during tw2, roche's path. geralt witnesses the stripes nagging ves to play strip poker (strip gwent?), and roche just throwing his hands up and leaving. so geralt asks him if he's really cool with it, seeing as ves seems kind of like a little sister, kind of like a daughter to him? and roche just waves him off. 'see for yourself.' and geralt does, and what he witnesses is ves stripping all of the stripes bare.

thank you so much for the ask! 💚😘 i enjoyed coming up with these very much. 🥰🤗

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[lookouttherearellamas]

for the WIP word game, how about "strike"?

technically that appears in two of my ongoing fics, though one is strikes rather than simply strike so i'll let you decide if that counts.

Before Filavandrel could strike the bard again, Geralt instinctively jumped away, landing in his house.

His face is pale and there are dark circles under his eyes, which strikes Geralt as strange.

ta-da! (that first one probably won't make too much sense out of context, but the second is pretty self-explanatory xD)

[montcumbry-gaytor]

Nepenthe. chap 04

act one : tacenda

THIS IS AN OC INTEGRATION FOR THE WITCHER, IT IS NOT AN X READER FIC.

— boy oh boy!! I'm trying to keep up with writing this so I don't feel pressured to keep publishing chapters in the future, y'know!!

— I hope y'all r enjoying this so far because I am so excited for shit to start to get into the big picture.

tw for : canon typical violence, cursing, blood, gay shit as usual.

(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence.

"This is the part where they kill us!"

Geralt snarls in response, he shuffles left then right, trying to gain some leverage on his bonds, but finds no avail.

"Who's they?"

The bard asks, and quickly swift blows are stricken, one to the bards jaw, another to Geralts cheekbone, and I feel a foot plant at the crown of my head.

"Shit."

I groan, and I feel blood trickle down my lips, and when the Bard goes to ramble Geralt snarls out a 'Shut up!' Only to be kicked again, the stranger cursing in elder.

When the bard makes a comment about his partial understanding, and when the girl translates, he says something I can't quite understand, but the way it rolls off his tongue was, a little attractive, albeit not the best time to think that way.

"Do you want to die now?"

"As opposed to later?!"

Geralt growls, only for the girl to continue her abuse, and I lull my head lightly as she kicks into my gut.

"You beat bound men, to scared to even look them in the eyes!"

The bard growls, and I try to avert my flickering focus on getting out of the binding, my teeth grit as I taste that irony liquid, it's mixed with spit and lack of breath.

When the girl kneels I can see her features out of the corner of my eye, she's ginder and her hair is pulled high, showing off her elvish features.

"Do you like my golden palace, hmm?"

She hums, holding Geralts chin, convulsing as she's headbutted square in her nose, letting out slim breathes and coughs.

"W-Wait what's wrong with her?"

The bard asks, and the familiar voice of the creature when we were first attacked rings in my ears, i listen carefully as I roll my wrists around the binding, it burns at my skin and is going to leave undeniable bruising, but I persist.

"Oh and who's this?"

The bard asks, and the beast continues.

"He's Filavandrel, King of the elves."

My hands freeze, and I feel myself lean onto Geralt as some form of support, and he lets me before speaking up.

"You were stealing for them."

He says to the Sylvan, and the beast replies, saying he pitied the elves, and when the bard tries to interject, arguing that the elves gave up their home, the unfamiliar voice I can only assume is Filavandrel speaks.

"Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? to starve? to have a Sylvan steal for them?"

He asks, before the aforementioned Sylvan scolds the girl, who responds.

"What's three humans in the ground when countless elves have died?"

"—One human."

Geralt says, before adding on that they can release the bard, and the king goes on about how humans will find out, amongst other things, and kneels in front of Geralt.

As they speak, I weave my hands through the binding, and act as though I have them still bound, and lightly tap Geralts hands before I slowly begin to work on his, and he keeps up the conversation, keeping the king oblivious.

When the king goes to draw his blade, the Sylvan grasps his wrist.

"The witcher could've killed me, but he didn't.. he's different, they both are.. like us."

The Sylvan pleads, before being nudged aside, and I can see Filavandrel contemplate his choices, and I get Geralts hands untied to the best of my abilities.

"If you must kill me, I am ready."

Geralt says, and I can feel my body rush with adrenaline, ready to fight our way out of anything.

"..but the sylvans right, don't call me human."

Geralt says, and I add on to his sentence.

"Us."

I say firmly, I can see Filavandrels gaze flicker over the evident scar tissue and dark green eye that stares him down, almost perturbed by the sunken loss of the empty socket where my left eye should've been.

And when he stands, he goes between Geralt and Jaskier, holding his blade just above their heads, before he kneels again, and cuts away the binding from the Bards wrists.

"I must say, getting out of that rope must've taken inhumane determination."

He hums, and I pull my hands in front of me, sliding around to face him, he smiles almost fondly and shakes his head, and i realize what's happening.

"Considering how it was tied, yes."

I say snidely, and he lets out a soft chuckle and pulls away the rope, the bard shoots up and flips around like he'd never see the light of day again, and Geralt slowly rises from his position, rubbing his wrists.

In gratitude, Geralt gives the hefty pouch of coin from the young man in the tavern to Filavandrel, who reluctantly accepts it, still humble even in a time of need.

In return of the remains of his old lute, Filavandrel passes his off to the bard, who seems giddy at the fine made instrument.

The king sees the three of us off, before the girl from before rushes up, she briefly apologizes for her violence.

"You'll need it to survive, I'm not complaining."

I say, and I see her curtly nod as she runs back off into the mountains, and I briefly find myself wondering what'll become of her.

We find our horses, who are still tied to the same tree, and they shiver in delight as their deep eyes land on us.

"I cant wait to be out of this fucking heat."

I hiss, mounting my horse and whispering 'Good boy, Emir.' And trot onto the main path, this time beside Geralt.

"Credit where credit is due, that whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant."

Says the bard, before he imitates Geralt in a gruff voice, which, sounds pretty accurate if I do say so myself.

"They just let us go and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves."

"Filavandrel's lute not gift enough for you?"

Jaskier eyes his new instrument, and picks up his pace with a bit of energy, a smile you could only describe on a fool plastered on his face.

"Yeah she is a bit sexy isn't she?"

"Mhm."

I say, it's half minded but I can agree that the piece is well crafted, he's lucky to have it.

"This is where we part ways for good, Bard."

Geralt says, and the bard is quick to snap back, swinging his new lute around and begins to strum away, I can't help but enjoy the song he comes up with, he's not a half bad bard.

"That's not how it happened, where's your newfound respect?"

Geralt interrupts, and I look over as Jaskier contemplates his answer.

"Respect doesn't make history."

He comments, before he continues playing as he walks, and this time I ride past Geralt to follow, listening to him sing in silence, and at the end I give him a small applause.

"You're not as shit as I thought you to be, Bard."

"It's Jaskier."

He says, though he grins in my direction, and I purse my lips for a second, before I reply.

"Kael."

��� HEHEHEEE..... YAY!!! the second episode DONE!! I hope y'all enjoyed what I did to fit Kael in here </3

[saiaisaiko]

So, I have searched for my reply on a comment under one of my fics (Chapter 4 of 'A bards earned favor' on ao3 for all who want a clean documentation) and under the Clcut is the whole citation, but everyone remembers the History line, few seem to remember that Yennifer and fringilla who had been in nilfgard at the time, recognized Filavandrel and had hope as they recognized him, the mercyful king of the elves. Jaskier has more songs that we never hear in the series, as Filavandrel was never mentioned in 'Toss a coin' or the various scars from Geralt a prostitued had pointed out. So yeah, I put it into the best words back then 'Yeah, and respect doesn't make history. Victories and the winners make history. [...] And I always thought that Jaskier was doing those elves a favour. Thought dead, nobody would be looking for them. And songs are always up for interpretation. Geralt dealt with the problem and Jaskier made it into a song with many, many metaphors. And nobody cares for a simple musician. What would he have to say? What would he know?'

"Thank you! Yeah, and respect doesn't make history. Victories and the winners make history. And bards, they remember. And I always thought that Jaskier was doing those elves a favour. Thought dead, nobody would be looking for them. And songs are always up for interpretation. Geralt dealt with the problem and Jaskier made it into a song with many, many metaphors. And nobody cares for a simple musician. What would he have to say? What would he know?

Yeah, that with the talent always strived me as odd, but the one saying his songs are rubbish are Geralt, who probably doesn't do well with loud and constant noises and was horribly sleep deprived on the occasion he commented on the quality of the singing, and the barmaid, who admittedly had to hear him sing about his heartbreak for months. I would want to put something in my ears too, if I would have to constantly hear someone else's business. The other time Geralt commented his singing was about the accuracy of his song, the monsters within not existing. Yennifer commented on him being a sing-songy twit, not saying he was bad at it.

I actually put the travel time into account, as is seen in the next chapter. There has to be a considerable amount of time to travel, months unless something makes him magically faster. I am not above thinking he is not paying some mages for portals, he wouldn't be able to travel through half the continent and back during three seasons otherwise, but I also think he tried to ignore his feelings about Jaskier. From Netflix standpoint, Jaskier would be the only 'normal' human to treat him with kindness. Especially if you take his childhood trauma into account. Nightmare of a wolf is tied to the show after all. And he has many problems feeling responsible for somebody, bound and needing someone. Him pushing the one thing that he fears and needs away makes actual sense from this standpoint, but it doesn't mean it hurts him and Jaskier less.

And Jaskiers songs travel far and wide, as Fringilla has heard them far in the south were Jaskier doesn't go. So his heartbroken song must have reached Geralt at some point, and he may have hoped the suddenly very public fallout will protect the bard from the people looking for him. Especially if they would be searching for Geralt. What would a bard, who had such a fallout with his witcher after months and nearly a year know about the whereabouts of a witcher?

And Jaskier, he is a loveing and giving person, shown numerous times throughout the show. He probebly forgave Geralt, realising that he came to him and asked him for help, he really didn't need and they both now that, as a sign to reconnect. And I go with Joey Batley here, Jaskier just wanted his friend back, but made sure to be sure, he wouldn't be left on a mountain, again. Not sure the end of season two didn't foreshadow that, but that is a whole other can of rotting worms.

Anyway, this reply clearly spirald out of control too, so don't feel sorry for that. I was absolutely delighted to see your comment and to read your opinon on this thing, it actually made my day.

Have a nice day and more fun with the rest of the story.

Some of yall overlooking season 1 Jaskier. In the episode we meet him(or so, I think), his WHOLE perspective of elves gets turned on its head, he is able to find respect and understanding for them and STILL writes "toss a coin." And in response to Geralt's criticism, he responds "respect doesn't make history" in just the most sad but accepting way, before sauntering away and continuing his song.

This man was never quite the pure cinnamon roll we make believe. He was cynical to begin with, and I just feel like not enough people realize or talk about that.

[lambden]

I feel like I am very predictable with this prompt, but how about (old) Vesemir and Filavandrel with “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”? for that juicy h/c <3

G, 784 words, hurt/comfort but no major warnings Drabble list here!

This is officially his least favourite time ever having Filavandrel in his arms. Vesemir supports most of the elf’s weight on his body as time slows down like he’s in combat, but the only enemy here is the unknown. He lowers them both to the warm stone ground cautiously, counting the seconds as they crawl by.

“Fil,” the witcher tries, uncertain and wavering. “Filavandrel!” The elf doesn’t react, lids still drawn shut and mouth still gently parted. Only a moment ago he had been as sharp as ever, cracking jokes despite his racing heart. Vesemir had foolishly assumed that his lover’s heart was beating fast due to him— a vain mistake he now direly regrets. 

He moves the arm braced under the elf’s shoulder and turns his head with a free hand, frantically examining his body for signs of life or death or some evil limbo. Ciri has gone cold like this in Geralt’s arms before, but always recovered (usually after having some cryptic, awful vision of peril to come). And Vesemir has cradled others both young and old as their exhaustion or injuries overtook them, but never in his long life has he felt this helpless.

Fifteen seconds pass, then twenty. “Come on,” Vesemir insists, raising his voice in frustration even as he gently brushes the pad of his thumb over his lover’s cheek. “Come on, Filavandrel. Not like this.”

The words strike a strange memory in his mind from another century, when he and the elf had been young carefree men ignorant to their higher callings. There was a festival of some sort; he doesn’t remember the name, nor the location, only bundles of pink flowers tied to every fencepost and doorknob in town. Something to do with fertility, or true love, two alien concepts to an elf and a witcher. Couples and friends and youth alike had all kissed in the street, a new chorus of cheers erupting every time they did. Vesemir had begged a kiss from Filavandrel who had spurned him over and over and over, until the teasing grew plaintive and the refusal grew sharp. ‘Not like this,’ Filavandrel eventually barked at him, wearing a strangely honest expression as he shoved Vesemir away.

In the here and now his lover stirs, perhaps roused by the blunt pressure of Vesemir’s fingers— or by his witcher shaking him silly, which he stops immediately. He pulls Filavandrel close, unwilling to admit how scared he had been. The elf, still queasy, takes advantage of the new angle to gag and spit something out over Vesemir’s shoulder. 

Vesemir doesn’t give a damn; he’d let Filavandrel throw up right on his favourite boots if it meant the elf was okay. He strokes his lover’s back, still holding him tightly enough to bruise. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” replies Filavandrel, quiet and wobbly. “What…”

“Beats me,” Vesemir says, trying to summon his old braggart attitude to hide his fear. “You were fine one moment, and the next, you fainted— straight into my arms, I might add. If you wanted my attention you didn’t need to go to such extremes.”

“I think I need to rest,” the elf mutters, slumping forward against Vesemir. Vesemir is of the opinion that Filavandrel actually requires close care and definitely not more sleep, but he’s hardly going to fight with the most stubborn person he knows when said person is clearly unwell. So he lifts the man into his arms, reassured by the strength with which Filavandrel grabs hold of his neck. “And my face is burning— why is my face burning?”

“Like a blushing maiden,” Vesemir tries. Filavandrel shoots him a glare that is one hundred percent pure unadulterated Fil, and it reassures him greatly. As he carries Filavandrel towards their rooms, he rambles, “I think you’ve been out in the sun for too long, my love. I need to build you a shaded area in the courtyard; I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the sight of me training. What do the elves call it again? A veranda?”

“Perhaps I fainted so as to catch a break from your unending tirade of bad jokes,” Filavandrel deadpans. Vesemir squeezes him closer, smiling despite how concerned he still is. Some amount of worry must show on his face because Filavandrel reaches up with shaking hands to rub the wrinkles between his eyebrows, smiling oddly at him. “I’m fine, witcher.”

What he wants to do is reprimand the elf; they aren’t young men anymore and maybe they need to start acting more responsibly. But Vesemir can’t bring himself to be stern when Filavandrel is watching him like that, so he just nods and adjusts his grip on the elf. “Veranda it is.”

[candied-cae]

Big Season 2 Spoilers Below 

How is nobody talking about our biggest loss this season? 

Not Roach.

Not Eskel.

Not the other dozen unnamed Witchers.

Not even Francesca’s Baby.

Or all the other babies. 

We lost Filavandrel’s Lute... 

Bestie gave her all to provide us with so many bangers, and now she’s dead- what’re we to do?!?!?!

More Witcher

[wishicouldpostfromsecondaryblogs]

[Ao3] [Part One]

He wakes up to the warmth of the sun and Jaskier singing softly as he puts away their things- they’re splitting up for the next few months; Jaskier to collect the things he’d left behind when he’d fled Oxenfurt and help Shani resettle the university into normalcy, Geralt to clear out an bruxa nest in the far North. He doesn’t like it much, still paranoid about the bard getting caught, but even he has to admit the war is well and truly over now, safe for them to travel alone again.

(He can’t voice that he doesn’t want them to split. It had been something rankling at him until yesterday silently, then blown to a thunderstorm of panic when he’d heard that he was losing Jaskier- that his friend was slipping through his fingers; then cooled again as he realized that he was needed space before he fucked it up again by moving in too quickly and too intensely.)

The voices from yesterday are silent, the numbness and anger and loathing and sadness gone like they were never there, quicksilver emotions that they are nowadays. All Geralt is left with is determination, a confident fierce understanding that he’s going to try his absolute best to get Jaskier back, no matter the cost.

And also contentment, really- he stretches out in the bed as far as he can go and closes his eyes into the sunlight, fed and well-rested and warm, not tired or hurt or out of his mind with worry for the first time in a long while. He hears Jaskier huff in amusement at him as he accidentally knocks the extra bedsheets to the floor and envisions the curve of Jaskier's bare feet hitting the ground to make the exact familiar footsound as the bard approaches him.

“Don’t you look happy?” He teases gently and Geralt snorts and shifts slightly on the small bed to make space for Jaskier. Jaskier blinks in surprise, and Geralt’s mood dips slightly with a scratch of pain at the look, at how Jaskier is so skittish around him and is surprised every time Geralt shows him affection, at how he no longer throws himself onto Geralt and demands space to be made for him.

But Jaskier makes his way over, albeit a bit stiffly, and they sit in silence and bask in the sunlight and peacefulness. Geralt forces down an irrational snarl when he sees Jaskier carefully still not touching him in the small bed, and grapples for his good mood again with renewed determination. He listens to the ambiance from outside as the village wakes up instead of focusing on the silence between them and uses the time to etch out a plan to fix what he'd callously broken between them.

First thing to do is buy the bard a lute. Jaskier could play other instruments, sure, but the lute was the one he was a true master of. And he could play other standard lutes- insisted on it, in fact, to prove the rumors of his music being enchanted by the elves wrong- but Jaskier deserved the best one Geralt could get his hands on, and he deserved the superiority of an elven one.

Easier said than done.

Even if they're at peace now, Geralt is still the father to the ex-princess of Cintra, and is very much identifiable at a single glance, even though he’s tucked his medallion inside his shirt and put on dark green instead of his usual black. People shoot him uneasy looks as he walks past and he tries to move faster and tries not to go for the singular knife in his sleeve every time someone brushes too hard against him, chaos agitatedly lashing around within his skin at the loudness of the city.

It's for Jaskier, he thinks, gritting his teeth. Jask needs a new lute. I can do that much for him. He can't live without one anymore than I can live without my swords. Geralt shudders and pushes the teeth growing in his mouth back to human and pulls the hood of his cloak lower before his usual brand of luck somehow gets him in trouble. Again.

The luthier's shopbell jingles as he walks inside, and breathes a sigh of relief at the feeling of eyes scraping along his arms finally disappearing, even as the elf at the counter nearly falls off her stool.

"Gwynbleidd!" She exclaims and Geralt resists the urge to grimace. All of Vesemir's efforts to make teenage him choose a nice, simple name, and Jaskier goes and saddles him with this. "How may I help you?"

"Lute," Geralt says shortly, dumping the bag of coins on the table. It had taken him three seasons to save up, as well as begging money off his amused brothers whenever he passed one of them, swiping several artifacts from abandoned noble houses he was contracted at and selling them, and capturing a pair of griffins, as well as their kits, and displacing them instead of killing- something the town had been insistent on. It’s a toss up on whether the first or last one was harder- but at least he had collected enough money to buy a moderately sized estate now. "How much for the best one you have?"

"At least three times of the coin you've got," The luthier says, looking into the bag with raised eyebrows and a grimace.

Geralt groans and swears at the ceiling loudly. Un-fucking-believable. She shoots him a sympathetic look- it’s not hard to deduce who it’s for, that it's supposed to be a gift and Geralt pushes down the embarrassed snarl crawling its way up to the surface at the look in her eyes. "My best is also one of the oldest pieces we have, hence the price. For what you have, you could get the second best- any of the ones on this wall here."

Geralt looks to the side even as his lip curls disdainfully at the idea of second best. He critically scans the lutes adorning the shop wall, all beautiful in their own right, brightly colored and elaborately patterned, strings shimmering slightly with what Jaskier has said are tuning blessings- but none of them right .

Sentimentality, a dead witcher says scornfully. It's bad enough that you're here, a witcher in a lute shop, a basilisk in a town square, a monster in a palace. Just fucking take one and leave.

Shut up, Geralt thinks at him, and imagines Lambert shouting scathing insults at the voice at the top of his lungs. The memory of his brother's voice yelling your fucking brain is filled with frozen piss at a trainee twice his size is enough to make him snort quietly, quelling the panic that had been slowly rising within him.

He's staring blankly at a yellow one and wondering how he could possibly fucking raise the money to triple its amount when this itself had taken so many fucking months to gather, when the luthier speaks up suddenly.

"...But I suppose you can have the lute, regardless.”

Geralt jerks his head towards her sharply, wondering if he heard wrong. She smiles at his clear surprise, looking pleased even as her eyes go a little haunted. "Sandpiper and his friends helped me escape when the soldiers closed in on my village. It's the least I can do."

"Thank you," Geralt says, endlessly grateful, and she smiles at him and retrieves the lute from the stand behind her. He spares a moment to sigh in relief that all of his efforts weren't for nothing and then moves forward to take the instrument from her delicately- even if the golden carvings on it are infused with protective spells, intricate and beautiful, the wood feels old- at least twice as old as Geralt is, and he handles it in the way a masterpiece like it should be.

“Welcome,” She says warmly. “Do tell him to spread the word, though? My shop hasn’t really gotten much business, to be honest.”

“Of course,” Geralt inclines his head and then turns around and nearly walks into a spear. “Uh-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Filavandrel hisses at him. The manic look in his eyes that’s been there since they first met has lessened- probably because of Xin’trea finally settling into itself, the elves healing slowly but steadily, no longer in charge of the survival of his species- but it’s still there.

Geralt raises the lute silently, looking at the wary guards behind Filavandrel, hoping he’s not about to get stabbed. This is one of his nicer shirts and he doesn’t think it’ll look great with blood soaked into it- if nothing else, Hemrik and Ciri and Eskel will shoot him disappointed judgmental looks when they next have to dress up and Geralt does not want to deal with them as a collective force anytime soon.

Filavandrel narrows his eyes at it, but thankfully doesn’t shout again- he and Jaskier had hashed it out last time, although both walked away angry and Jaskier’s eyes had been red-rimmed at being accused of not taking enough care of his lute, like he hadn’t risked his life for that stupid instrument multiple times.

Geralt straightens up at the reminder of it- Jaskier hadn’t talked to anyone for the rest of the day, even snapping nastily at Geralt when he’d come over to comfort him. But he’s not suicidal either, so he grabs the pouch from his belt and tosses it over to Filavandrel.

“Vesemir said to give these to you,” Geralt says, and cringes as Filavandrel’s expression immediately smooths out into a smile as he looks at the bag in his hand. He very, very, very, very much does not want to fucking know the history between them. At all. Diever had overheard them talking once and come back pale and green at the same time, and collectively they had all decided to never talk about it.

“What a great man,” Filavandrel sighs happily. He narrows his eyes at Geralt. “Don’t know how the poor thing got saddled with hellions like you and your brothers.”

Geralt valiantly does not respond to that in the many ways he can. “Right,” He says instead, and intelligently flees the music shop.

-

The lute is extremely hard to travel with. Geralt is hyperaware of it as he walks, even splurges on enchanted cloth to wrap it up and keep it safe from the rain and wind in a fit of anxiety. It’s clunky and unmissable, with more than one person looking at the case cunningly, calculating it’s worth. Geralt’s respect for Jaskier goes up a notch, and he feels a twinge of guilt when he remembers how many times he’d snapped at Jaskier over it, had rolled his eyes at the offended ranting he got back.

Another regret. But still, all the indignant lectures he’d gotten out of it come in use to help him take care of the instrument as he travels, until-

"Geralt," Jaskier says faintly a few days later as Geralt presents it to him. "I say this with complete and utter adoration. What the fuck is that, where did you find it and how long are you going to be in debt over it?"

"Didn't think a Master Bard such as yourself would fail to recognize a lute when he sees one," Geralt teases, smiling at him. "It's a gift. For you."

Jaskier's mouth works soundlessly, eyes flicking between Geralt and the lute, wheezing a bit. He slides from the chair to the ground in front of Geralt and stares some more, trembling fingers hovering over the instrument.

Geralt chuckles, far too fondly and tenderly for their public setting. He shifts around on his knees to take the pressure off the healing right femur and gently takes the lute out of the case on the floor. "You can touch it, you know. It is for you."

"I am not touching her. You should not be touching her," Jaskier says, staring at the lute without blinking. "Geralt, go put her back at once before you get us both cursed."

"I bought it, Jaskier," Geralt laughs, holding it out to him. "She's yours."

"And what did you pay for it, an arm and a leg?" Jaskier asks hysterically. "Basilisk teeth? A small kingdom?"

"Jaskier, breathe," Priscilla says even though she doesn't take her eyes off the lute either, much like everyone else in the Oxenfurt luncheon hall, students craning their necks to get a glance. "You're going to pass out."

"Look at that thing, Priscilla," Jaskier hisses, shooting out a hand and gripping her arm with his nails, shaking her. "Look at it."

"Jaskier, for fuck's sake," Geralt says exasperatedly, though he still can't pull the smile off his face. "Take the lute. It's for you."

Jaskier bursts into tears.

"Fuck," Geralt panics, maneuvering the lute delicately to the side- ten people jump forward to hold it before he can place it on the floor- so he can pull Jaskier into his arms. "Jaskier?"

"I fucking hate you," He sobs into Geralt's neck, hugging him so tight that he hears a few of his own bones pop. "You're the absolute worst. What the fuck is- that’s a- that lute- Who even does something like this, Geralt? Stars, I fucking hate you."

Geralt huffs softly, smiling at the little of his friend he can see and wraps his hands tighter around Jaskier, basking in the feel of it. "I hate you too."

-

"I know you all must be tired of listening to them all by now, but my lovely muse over there has gotten me this absolute artifact of an instrument for me to sing his songs, so let's hear it for the Song Cycle of the White Wolf!"

-

“What has gotten into you?” Jaskier asks him a few days later, pushing through the bushes with a huff. “I think this is the most I’ve ever seen you sulk.”

Geralt jerks in surprise and turns to snarl at him, dropping his bloody, half-eaten hare to the ground. Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him and nonchalantly takes a seat on the forest floor, patting the ground next to him.

Geralt blows out a breath and picks up the rabbit, feeling rather embarrassed as he sits back down next to Jaskier, surreptitiously trying to wipe the blood off his mouth as he throws himself down next to the bard.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the rustle of the trees and the whispering of the wind between them.

Jaskier snorts suddenly and jerks his chin towards the gore clutched in Geralt's hand. "Eat, you fool. It's not like I've never seen you do it before."

Geralt starts and hesitates, feeling unusually uncomfortable with giving into his instincts in front of Jaskier. Jaskier's smile fades slightly the longer Geralt doesn't move, and something hisses at him that Jaskier is going to be more offended if he doesn't; and resumes crunching down on it immediately.

The tendons rip under his teeth, bones giving way to splinters, blood gushing out from the veins under the force and dribbling down his mouth, over his hands. The first bite into the raw meat has him losing it again instantly, digging into the dead animal with renewed hunger and viciousness.

Jaskier sits next to him without a lick of fear, casually humming and lying back on his hands to watch the clouds as Geralt devours the hare whole within a few moments in broad daylight, slobbering over it like an animal.

Normally he wouldn’t dare do this under sunlight, never lose himself so close to humanity, but Jaskier is right- he’s done this in front of him before. The first time had been in a fit of anger- anger he remembers being so fierce and wounded and harsh that it feels like it belongs to a completely different person now- furious that Jaskier wasn’t taking the hint that Geralt wanted to be left alone, that he had to stay away before something bad happened- that following a monster, no matter how tame, would only end badly for him.

He’d shot a deer and dragged it back to camp and then ignored all of Jaskier’s chatter as he dropped it down and dived straight into it. He’d heard Jaskier’s voice faltering and then trailing off as Geralt tore into the meat with nothing but his teeth and claws, blood staining his lips as he ate, wild.

He’d heard Jaskier’s heartbeat increase, then jackrabbit further when he lifted his head and snarled at his staring. Geralt remembers exactly how it felt- crouching there in the moonlight and firelight, warm blood on his hands and mouth, meeting widened cornflower blue eyes and waiting for Jaskier to scream or run or shout or smile awkwardly and begin drifting slowly away, violently smothering the small part of him that had cried out in protest of losing the first human companionship they'd had in years.

And he also remembers how he almost fallen backwards by the sudden scent of thick arousal in the air slamming into him out of nowhere, Jaskier’s eyes shining excitedly but voice tempered and curious when he walked around the carcass and plopped down next to Geralt without a care in the world and asked, “Is that a thing you have to do then? Eat food raw? Does it help with the witchering and such, or is it something that you just do because you have to?”

Geralt had stared incredulously at Jaskier, wondering if the bard was insane and if he should be tracking down a healer of some sort for him. “I like it,” He replies slowly, going straight for what was the most disturbing thing about the whole situation. Jaskier continued staring at him, unbothered. Geralt had wondered if he was the one who needed a healer. “All witchers have... animal traits in them, from their School's mutations. Us Wolves need to sate the need to hunt once in a while, to eat raw meat. Keeps us sane.”

Jaskier, impossibly, had not so much as blinked at that, instead humming in interest and turning to scribble something down in a worn notebook. “Fascinating. Truly fascinating. Wait, does that mean you have other wolfy traits in you then? Do you howl? Scratch your head with your foot sometimes?” The amused look on Jaskier's face had suddenly gone serious, and Geralt had to fight to keep his mouth from dropping open when Jaskier had suddenly looked him up and down, the scent of lust increasing as he asked excitedly, “Wait, are you that flexible? Can you put your legs over your head?”

Geralt hadn’t answered him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he tore his own hair out. He’d gone back to eating his deer while Jaskier chattered at him happily and silently given up on ever getting rid of the bard, because clearly the part of Jaskier’s brain that felt fear was irreplaceably broken. He hadn’t- and still didn’t, actually- wanted to unpack the arousal part of the whole fever dream interaction, because Geralt is quite sure thinking about it will tip him into insanity as well.

But no- it hadn’t bothered Jaskier, then or the hundred other times he’d done it. He’d pulled faces and made teasing quips on his table manners, sure, threatened to put Geralt’s messy eating habits and subsequent satisfied rumbling into song every time Geralt playfully offered him some of the kill and chased him around the campsite with hands that were dripping with blood, but he’d never looked twice at him for it. Never treated it as anything other than normal.

(Once, after they’d spent a bit too long in Toussaint, they’d been attacked by bandits. Geralt had lost it immediately at the threat, already frayed thin by the city, and had a dozen dead at his feet when the world came back into focus, heaving for breath and blood dripping from his sword, still aching for a fight.

Jaskier had walked up to him from behind and Geralt had reacted instinctively, throwing the bard against a tree and snarling at him, sword at his throat. There had been a spike of fear for the barest of moments, but Jaskier’s eyes remained steady and understanding as he slowly reached for Geralt’s armor and unbuckled it, one by one.

He’d stared at Jaskier, still panting, trembling with the force of holding himself back. Jaskier had removed the armor silently, then reached out fearlessly and grasped the hilt of the sword where Geralt had held it white-knuckled, claws so long they had drawn blood from his own hands. Geralt growled fiercely, but Jaskier only hesitated long enough to look back at him, still fearless, still steady, and then gently pulled with all the force of a light breeze, somehow making Geralt let go of the blood soaked weapon.

“Go,” Jaskier had said knowingly, stepping back, inclining his head towards the forest. “Go hunt, Geralt.”

Geralt had wanted to thank him, demand how he’d known, but his teeth had already sharpened in his mouth and he’d turned and run.

When he’d come back, covered in blood and dirt, the bodies were all gone and there was a fire burning, the scent of roasted nuts in the air. Geralt had stared at Jaskier brushing down Roach and singing small ditties to her from the shadows, unable to understand him. Roach had whickered softly in greeting and Jaskier had turned to him and met his unblinking gaze evenly.

“Better?” He’d asked with a soft smile, tilting his head, and Geralt had thought, you know I could rip you to pieces. You know I could do anything to you. You’ve seen what I can do.

Then, covered in still-warm blood, he’d nodded and smiled back.)

“Better?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt blinks and looks at him, caught off guard by the dissonance. Jaskier smiles, not as soft but still just as knowing. “I was wondering when you’d need to hunt again, considering you've been here for weeks. Although, I would have recommended the glade to the East instead- it has deer.”

Geralt hums. He shifts closer, intending to lie next to Jaskier on the ground- then freezes when Jaskier flinches backward. They stare at each other, Geralt feeling slightly nauseous, wondering what he’d done.

“Oh, I just- you have blood on you,” Jaskier says awkwardly. “This is a brand new outfit, you know, rather wouldn’t get it stained so soon.”

Geralt nods slowly and sits back up. It’s a valid reason- a long-standing joke between them, even, but the hurt and panic is slow to fade still. The air between them hangs tense and stilted, practically a physical reminder of how uneven their relationship had become.

“What, uh-” Jaskier resumes after a while, thankfully breaking the silence. “What were you sulking about anyway? Not that anyone looking at you wouldn't be able to tell with that huge thundercloud over your head, but Shani said you haven’t been seen in the library the past few days, and I know quite well that I usually have to drag you by your hair out of those. Or threaten to steal our lovely Plotka all for myself.”

“Don’t touch Plotka,” Geralt says with mock snappishness, and smiles when Jaskier laughs loudly, both of them back on familiar ground. “...And I wasn’t sulking.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow judgmentally and Geralt scowls. Jaskier stays silent and tips his head to the side even more judgmentally and Geralt sighs. “Something that I planned didn’t work out, alright? And I feel…stupid for thinking it would.”

He does. He has no idea why he subconsciously expected everything to go back to normal once he'd finally given Jaskier the lute. He’d stayed in the luncheon hall as the bard sang for everyone, lute playing beautifully, his voice twice as melodious, but hadn’t been able to pay attention to it himself, too busy trying to keep himself together after hearing that he was still relegated to ‘muse’.

Jaskier clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Ah, that sounds like it sucks. But even without knowing what it was, I’m sure your neurotic ass did the absolute uttermost for it to work, so don’t feel bad, sometimes things don’t work out. But hey, at least we’ve made progress!” Geralt looks over at him and Jaskier aims a shit-eating grin at him. “We’ve finally got you to admit that you’re stupid.”

Geralt barks a loud laugh, surprised out of him, and reaches out to smack Jaskier gently. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Seriously- it’s a momentous occasion, Geralt!” Jaskier cheers harder. “I should send a raven to all your brothers, we should celebrate it each year- ack!”

Geralt tackles him and they go rolling in the grass, laughing. He loses himself to it- putting up a fight without hurting Jaskier and also trying to win as the bard pulls at his hair and knees him in the balls and tries to fight dirty; and only remembers the state of himself too late, faltering when he suddenly sees the blood now smeared all across Jaskier’s clothes.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier says with a grimace, looking down at it. “Shit. Maybe I can get it out if I run back to the laundress?”

“Maybe,” Geralt says, delight fading as he sits back on his haunches and surveys the damage. Melitele, why does he always have to fuck it up? “You go on ahead. I need to get my boots.”

Jaskier nods, getting to his feet, leaving an impression of himself in the grass and his scent on Geralt’s clothes behind. He starts running, then suddenly skids to a stop at the edge of the clearing, turning back. “Oh, and Geralt?”

Geralt grunts and looks up at him, away from where he was morosely wondering if all he was ever going to be left with were shadows and memories of their friendship.

Jaskier smiles- a hint of the old softness in it, and Geralt's heart skips a hopeful beat. “Whatever you had planned, try again. Don’t be a pessimistic idiot about it, alright? You deserve to have whatever it was you’d wanted.”

Geralt smiles at Jaskier, dipping his head in a nod, and the bard grins back and disappears into the trees.

Chin up, pup, Vesemir’s voice says steadily. Retrace your steps and find a different path.

Geralt sighs and leans back, staring up at the sky. Alright then. He could do better.

[sargassostories]

femslash february - day 4 - child

I needed more fringilla and frinfran today, please enjoy @witcherladiesamirite

"Just warmth."

Her fingers still tingled with the memory of the child like she was made of pure chaos.

And there was a kind of magic here, older and deeper than Fringilla had ever known.

She watched two hearts left threadbare by loss, grief, and wandering touch again. She hadn't even known Francesca and her general were in any kind of relationship until a few days ago. It wasn't quite what humans would call a marriage-- too typically a contract uniting families more than anything that could be called love. It was more a promise to simply be there, and one that, for them, had dwindled and stretched the strength of its meaning.

And now here they were, faces bright and exhilarated, glances warm and deep with the years. And the most beautiful woman in the world looked up at her, gave that joy, that exhilaration, to her.

She went out to announce the news to the elves, to set their celebrations alight, and when she returned.

Francesca looked for her, reached a hand to her, inviting her as she struggled to get the child to latch. Filavandrel sat behind her, supporting her, and Fringilla took her hand and her smile.

She'd never known anything like this before.

Even as a child, holding her baby brother for the first time and then many, many times after, a surrogate nurse desperate to help, to give-- it was just the two of them, until he was old enough to move from nurse to tutor, and they were separated.

She'd forgotten that feeling until now. That part of her she wished to give. Warmth.

Francesca gasped and squeezed her hand as the baby latched.

She could still feel the child in her arms.

[no-te-lo-voy-a-dar]

hello bard enjoyers

after weeks i finally finished my Jaskier centric fic and I'm excited to share it so

✨Just a song of safety

⭐️Jaskier centric

⭐️Post-S2. Kind of canon compliant. Includes hurt and feral bard, elves on the run, implications of how names have power and meanings

⭐️11.7k words

⭐️Complete

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36468046

my editing skills aren't very good, but i had A LOT of fun writing it and then making a quick edit to add when i posted it

and I'm promoting it bc since it's not focused on any relationship (aka there's no tags about so in the fic) i fear it won't have as much circulation. Maybe I'll add a Jaskier & Geralt one later, but it's...not true to the essence of it

anyways, I'll see how it does and then if i modify the tags