#geralt: can you believe this fucking idiot?

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 38

Jaskier has kept a secret for years. The ring with dandelions carved into it that he wears every second of every day is the only thing keeping him from turning into ash. He sleeps with a lovely woman one night, desperately trying to move on from Geralt (it doesn't work, he is still very much in love with his best friend) only to awake in the morning and find- FUCK She stole his ring! That conniving little-! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What does he do!? He races to the mirror and it confirms his worst fear. The glamour the ring gives him is gone. He can't see his reflection. He reaches a hand up to his mouth and feels his fangs. No- Nonono! Then his worst fucking nightmare ON TOP of his worst nightmare happens. He hears the stomping footsteps of a witcher approaching their room. Godsdamn it all. He hears the doorknob jiggle and.. Alright, he'll be the first to admit it, he panics. "DON'T COME IN, GERALT" The doorknob jiggling pauses. "Jaskier? Are you alright?" "Y- YES! Perfectly peachy! Don't come in!" Jaskier rushes around the room, pacing in panicked circles like a caged beast. He was a caged beast. He reaches to close the curtains of the only window in the room and like an idiot, he fumbles in place and ends up with his hand in the direct sunlight. He shrieks in pain and holds his hand to his chest. Geralt, scenting agony and hearing Jaskier yell, barges in without another moment of thought. Only to see Jaskier scrambling away from him in fear. In all his years of knowing Jaskier, he has NEVER been afraid of him. It physically pains Geralt to see it now. He doesn't understand why he wasn't allowed in. There's no lover of Jaskier's hiding in a corner embarrassed at being caught, Jaskier isn't indecent or anything, so why-? Then he looks at Jaskier, truly looks at him, and sees his blue eyes are glowing, and his mouth - Parted open as he pants - reveals fangs. Geralt's eyes dart to Jaskier's neck and it's confirmed. The worst part of it all, is the way Jaskier's eyes keep glancing between the door out of the room, and Geralt's silver sword. Geralt is infuriated. Not only did the woman Jaskier take to bed last night turn Jaskier into a vampire, but she also made Jaskier fear Geralt because of it. When Geralt says he isn't going to harm (let alone KILL like Jaskier had feared) Jaskier for the twentieth time, Jaskier finally believes him, and begs him to help him track the woman down. Geralt is intent on killing the vampire that ruined poor young human Jaskier's life. Jaskier is intent on getting his human-glamour, sunlight-immunity-enchantment ring back from this human he slept with, so he can go back to pretending he's human, like he has been doing for the past hundred or so years.

[wolvesandfoxes25]

"You should leave."

Jaskier looked up quickly from where he was writing lyrics.

"I beg your pardon?"

Geralt wasn't looking at him, eyes facing the adjacent side of the hut.

"Leave for Oxenfurt...or Redania. Find that Prince you fucked."

Jaskier felt his stomach lurch.

How did he know about that?

Clearing his throat, he shoved his booklet into his coat.

"I'm not sure what you're playing at Geralt, but I've no intention of leaving."

He was still facing away.

"You're wasting your time here. I'm sure the noble could provide you with many adventures."

The words came out sardonically and snappish.

Jaskier felt whiplash at the statement.

"We enjoyed our time together. Until afterwards." He mumbled the last part, feeling the same dreg of anger at Radovid come to the forefront. Even if he had apologized, it hadn't changed what he'd done.

What Jaskier hoped he wouldn't do.

He wasn't looking to marry the man, but a romance that was his, where he wasn't pining and panting after someone who would never love him, well, it would've been nice.

"Cut from the same cloth, I bet you did." Geralt growled.

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows.

"And just what do you mean by that?"

Silence.

"You've no right to judge me based on my dalliances, Geralt."

How had the conversation come to this point?

"Dalliance?" Geralt asked, eyes finally turning to Jaskiers.

The brunette looked sideways, being pinned under the weight of those eyes had always been too much for him.

"Where did you learn this anyway?"

Silence.

The dryads were little gossipers then.

"You cared for him." Geralt grit out.

Jaskier pinched his lips together, feeling as if this were an interrogation.

Silence.

Sighing loudly, Jaskier turned his gaze back to the Witcher.

"It felt nice. With him, I felt I was actually being seen. He learned my songs, even if knowing them was just for nefarious reasons. I-I was... lonely. Being back in the thick of this isn't always easy."

Geralt took in his expression his nostrils flaring.

"It used to be."

Jaskier blanched.

That was before Yennefer was everywhere.

He couldn't blame Geralt and Yennefer for their feelings for each other. But, it wasn't easy to always have it in his face.

"Age tends to change things." He murmured, hoping the other man believed the lie.

Geralt grunted.

Guess not.

Jaskier felt the tension in the room thicken.

"Had I known you went for poncey little Princes, I would have left you at a royal court to do their bidding long ago."

Knashing his teeth together, Jaskier stood up in a furious flourish.

"I don't know why you're being such a bloody bastard to me, but I'm not your punching bag, Geralt! Those days are over! Do you understand me?"

The Witchers eyes flashed and he pulled himself up into a piteous representation of sitting up.

"Fuck you."

Jaskier hissed.

"Fuck me? Fuck you." He fired back at Geralt.

What was happening right now? Why was Geralt behaving this way?

The two of them stared each other down.

"I don't know how you can sit there and have the bleeding audacity to berate me over a potential partner."

The golden eyes narrowed.

"Meaning?" He hissed.

Jaskier felt the anger start to build higher and higher.

"You have your great romance! Yennefer! Your sweet little family! Then there's me, who you tossed away like yesterdays porridge!"

Geralt moved to get up, but hissed at the pain.

"Don't do that, you idiotic lump of a man!" Jaskier chided him, moving to shove him back.

Geralt pushed him away, catching his breath to gather himself to his feet.

"Yennefer healed me, I told you that." He snapped, flinging his cane away.

Jaskier watched him sway, but he rolled his shoulders, catching himself.

"But we both know your leg is still giving you trouble, Geralt."

The Witcher glared.

"Easy to leave then, huh? Just like you did on the mountain."

Jaskiers jaw dropped, feeling his balance shift at the fury that ran through him.

"You have the unmitigated, bleeding gall to say that to me? You blame me!?" He yelled.

Geralt scowled, looking away from him in what seemed like shame.

Suddenly... it all made sense.

"You're jealous." Jaskier whispered.

The Witcher moved to leave the hut but Jaskier grabbed his arm to halt him.

Geralt growled.

"How in all the hells are you jealous? You have never expressed anything regarding romantic affections towards me. Ever."

"All those women you were constantly fucking was supposed to tell me otherwise?" Geralt replied sarcastically.

Jaskier threw his hands up in frustration.

"You could've asked me!"

Geralt said nothing as the other man set his hands down upon the bedding of the cot.

"You have got to be the most stubborn, burlish lout I have ever met in my existence upon this earth."

Silence.

"You have no idea how I fe-."

But he stopped himself, the words clogging his throat.

The truth he had figured long long ago. And had told no-one, not Vespula, not the Countess, nobody.

Yennefer had probably guessed after hearing his song in the tavern, but said nothing in reference to it.

Thank the Gods.

"I don't want to continue this conversation further. If you want me to fucking leave so badly, I'll leave. And I'll go back to Radovid and suck his cock in his pretty little throne room. Would that make you happy, Geralt?" He snarled, shoving past him to get some air outside, when a hand clamped over his wrist...

TBC?

[alicepao13]

Hudson and Rex S04E11 - Capital Punishment - Part C

I will finish this. One way or another. I promise.

It took this smooth operator five seconds of standing like an idiot to tell Trina that she looks great.

Rex is watching carefully.

He does.

"But I want him with Sarah."

What did she do to that poor bowtie?

"Where would I be hiding weapons, moron?"

Only internally.

The bowtie has magically fixed itself. Not that I'm paying close attention or anything.

I'm sorry but what use are internet cafes in 2022 when most actual cafes have a decent internet connection?

I'm sure everyone opens doors that way. If he wanted to not get fingerprints on it, he could have used his elbow.

"[...] showed Canadians that extremism isn't just something our southern neighbors have to contend with." Yes, only the US has terrorism. What? Even my country has had a quite deadly terrorist organization.

Well, they usually give awards to the least deserving people. We are the exception, of course.

Tell him, Joe!

"If no one's going to do anything about this, I'll do it myself."

Well, there's no plan for "my dog took off with a bomb in his mouth."

Okay, first of all, this is the funniest way to say "I'll blow up Rex". Second, I think we should be more concerned about the fact that Rex might be anywhere, including (as we saw later) running next to dozens of people. Generally, it's not a great situation, even though Rex ultimately did save the day.

Uh-oh, Charlie has an idea.

"Rex does this all the time, how difficult can it be?"

I think I actually made a Geralt joke (from the Witcher, I mean he'd have been killed from that height) somewhere on this blog the first time.

Okay, Hamilton, how much did you guys pay for that slow-mo? This is embarrassing. And Rex looks like he's lost.

Damn, he has a strong head.

Wow, dude hates us.

That's a nice shot. I'm not particularly fond of the slow-mo on Charlie's expression in the next shot because he has to also hold his fist up and it kind looks weird in my opinion but this one's a nice shot.

This. I mean, I did what to see his expression, I just don't find the pose particularly great.

This I love, though. The music stopping, the sound coming like he's underwater, the sound of his breaths... And then as he punches Houle, there's nothing but the sound of his rage and his punches until he hears Rex barking.

For the record, I believe you should be allowed to punch the guy who you think killed your dog, cop or no cop. John Wick that motherfucker.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm here, man, I'm okay."

He was so worried.

"You did fuck him up a bit, though, right?"

I was very normal about this all the 1564 times I watched it between January 21, 2022 and Mar 23, 2022. The first 1200 times were all on the first week because we were snowed in. I'm not crazy.

"Let me give you a proper lick-up, it lowers the stress level. You silly goose, you really thought I can die?"

Stop it! I'm serious, I don't want to have to open a new post for the remaining 3 minutes!

Jesse: "Charlie is getting an extended vacation?" Sarah: "Jesse, I wouldn't really call it a vacation." Jesse, let the man fuck.

That Iris Cross report must be important. I'm kidding, I know that Jesse is probably trying to find a way to not mention the countless moments of negligence in that report.

Don't read that, there's probably tons of inaccuracies in there.

You can mention the word teamwork a million times, it still seems like nothing.

Yes, yes, we're all Charah shippers. Anyway, I'm into multi-shipping lol. But I mostly wanted to screenshot this to showcase that Rex seems kinda left out, which is not how the moments with Charlie, Sarah and Rex are shot. The latter ones always seem to include Rex, showcasing that they're family. So, yeah, for more reasons than one, I am glad to have this.

Rex: "Oh, fine, I'll allow it. Just because we're leaving tomorrow."

I definitely liked Trina, I'd love for her to come back to the show, obviously not as a romantic interest for Charlie anymore.

I'm a basic bitch, so Charlie became 50% hotter when he punched Houle. I'm unapologetic about it, and I 100% believe that dogs are worth killing for. Also, as an off-duty cop, Charlie did not act as a cop but as a person who loved Rex. If he was on duty, he'd have taken out his gun and shot him, and I would have cheered. Okay, maybe not cheered because there are real consequences from shooting a rat bastard terrorist person but I wouldn't have cared about Houle. This reaction humanizes Charlie, and I'd like for him to lose it a bit every season lol. He doesn't have to beat up people every time, we'll find other outlets.

Furthermore, I think that reaction, should it have ever been reported back to the SJPD, would have carried zero blowback. Subduing a terrorist after his bomb has blown up, and using excessive force off-duty, while saving dozens of lives? They'd have given him another medal. But the most likely scenario is that it would have prompted Joe to keep a closer eye on Charlie, because while warranted, Charlie as a more put-together cop in another time would have tried to restrain himself. My main issue with this is it wouldn't have been reported back to Joe so he wouldn't have had that information, otherwise I'd have liked it to be referenced in the season finale.

Finally, I consider part of S4 as Charlie's slut era, and I think the last time I intimated that, someone blocked me lol. At the time, it might have sounded like I was judging Charlie. But it's not really a bad thing. He's an adult, Trina is an adult, they both know that they'll only have that night and they're okay with it. Sarah is with another guy (I'm assuming they're having sex), was either of them meant to be celibate until they figured their shit out? Plus, I think it re-enforced how much in love with Sarah he was because in the next episode he got back and tried to kiss her.

[hanzajesthanza]

replies on post: "speaking of angoulême and regis friendship..."

@dankomanuels @onlymagpie the floodgates have been opened 🧍

i've already talked a little bit on here about why i think they would get along, catalogued their short interactions across ttos and lotl, and even written a few for myself... (here's their tag and their "posts reminiscent of them" tag if you want to catch up on the vibes)

why i think they have a dynamic

they are very similar kinds of people, with similar struggles and desires. i see a kind of similar personality-story between regis-angouleme and milva-cahir, which is why i see those two relatuonships as the kind of "i Understand you 👁️" of the hanza, and then milva-regis and cahir-angouleme are the "absolute polar opposites" relationships, and then when you divide it by gender you get some dissonance, but uh... learning opportunities lol

everyone gets off to a terrible start with angouleme, including regis, because she not only came from the group that was Going To Make An Attempt on All Of Their Lives, but she intentionally provokes the company to get reactions. however, out of them all, regis seemed quick to reconsider his first impressions and, canonically, became amused by her and found some inspiration in her human charm, i think... related to the breakfast table argument between fringilla and regis :)

angouleme only seems to give a shit about regis' opinion in beauclair as it's a joint opinion between him and geralt ('my two gay dads' much?) but i always love to repeat to myself the line "one does not preclude the other. believe me, angouleme," the vampire said gravely... which i find nice because no one ever takes angouleme seriously, and here regis took her seriously, about something that wasn't even serious and was actually interrupting their discreet conversation! even geralt was like please leave us alone. and regis was like ok Truth. you're right. and this is a pretty deep topic too.

i like how regis seems to see angouleme as having valuable contributions even when no one else does... i think the human-ness that is instinctual to everyone else makes them find angouleme base, but regis is so curious about her because for him he can learn from her example... i explored this most in my katabasis fic.

there's less backing for angouleme to care about regis, so i fill in her character with some projection of my own insecurities that i feel like are characteristic of young adults, or those transitioning into young adulthood without... well...

angouleme when we first grab her out of fulko artevelde's jail comes from such a horrible environment, and i dont mean this out of disrespect, "how did you come to be among criminals, tfu" , but that she was in a foul company, and nightingale didn't respect her and was "known to reduce women to their primal use/purpose" (if i remembered how that line goes...) and it's apparent in the attitudes angoulme carries over, when she says that milva shouldn't come with her and geralt because they won't respect company of three when two of them are women. compare to geralt's company, in which i don't think that anyone would ever doubt that milva would be respected... lol. like tell this bullshit to cloggy and his fucking wooden board wife? anyways

i feel like angouleme would hold regis in some contempt at first, or more just like distrust and dislike because he gives the impression of a haughty intellectual who's never suffered real suffering and just likes to say idiotic platitudes (well the latter is a little correct...) kind of like what ciri accuses vysogota of in chapter 10 of ttos.

regis also didn't help this impression by referring to her with that "i'm not your uncle dear child" ... though he was trying to draw a line between them, like "i'm not your dude"... but that drogie dziecko will live in my mind eternally btw :D

angouleme after an opportunity to learn regis would come to like and trust him, but she just needs to be shown that he's trustworthy, proven to that they are similar, that he understands. i feel like a huge part of being a teen/young adult is feeling like no one understands your pain and no one's ever gone through what you've gone through.

angouleme seems particularly defensive and insecure about her low birth, her background as a criminal, and her addiction to use of fisstech, which it seems (from her vehement pre-defense of) that she has been severely judged and shamed for this by others, or maybe just by general societal attitudes.

by incorrectly gauging regis initially, i set up an amusing thought here where, near the beginning of their story together, they have some moment where angouleme turns her nose up and remarks that regis has no business in her business because he doesn't know what it's like to wake up in the gutter hungover on cheap wine

and he's like........... i'd write like "the vampire's expression was inscrutable." meaning: he was trying not to laugh

tropes and stuff

on this note, i'll take this opportunity to talk about an aspect broader than just their dynamic and interactions, something i haven't spoken as much about on here.

i see them as a kind of played-straight, kind of subversion of a favorite trope of mine: the divine ally.

at least that's what i've been calling it, i don't know its actual name... divine advisor? guardian angel? fairy godmother? (that is actually relevant, for what i may talk about later)

this trope that is unfortunately less frequently seen in contemporary works, from what i can tell... (ugh, tv tropes even says: "This is also a highly Discredited Trope these days, usually associated with the most archaic parts of Fairy Tales, A Discredited Trope is a trope that has aged so poorly that it's rarely if ever played straight anymore.")

i think it still might be used somewhat, in the more general magical mentor trope (like come on. gandalf is right there), but from what i can tell of current trends, especially in YA and chick lit, when the dynamic is between a supernatural older man and a younger mortal woman... yeeeeah, :| , so what i'm interested in just doesn't follow the trend i guess, lol. hence why i hesitate to talk about them. but i will also talk about my reaction to this a bit further down.

for me, this trope is like when a hero is on their quest, and over their shoulder, has a distant guardian with supernatural powers watching them to see how they do, and possibly to bail them out when they need them to come to their side! maybe it's just because i was a percy jackson kid... and classical studies minor in college... but it's a trope that's always been so fulfilling and satisfying to me, pleasant to my heart when a god or an angel appears to help the hero when they're at their most desperate. it's so fictional for me, i think, i love it for its escapism... i think a lot of people can probably relate to being beaten down, desperate, even though you're an atheist you're praying in the dark for an angel's intervention, but nothing comes to save you. yeah.

anyhow, i like them for how they might invert this trope. a guardian angel, a fairy godmother, is usually something distant, ethereal, existing only in the mind, not human. they typically only show up in great times of need, and disappear at other times.

regis kind of does the opposite, as he does in the books... he shows up to geralt when he wants to be rid of him and his advice. he is like your conscience and you cannot get rid of him!

moreover, despite his supernatural powers (which i most often envision as flying, psychic abilities, and immaterial form like not casting a shadow, not feeling temperature, and (headcanoned) ability to glide on water or snow) do not make him a divine character in the classic sense of a god or spirit. he is kind of just a regular person, who likes to play advisor and confidant, can do some cool things, but is not godly by any means. this imperfection, this fallibility, this humanness, is what draws me to him. because especially through angouleme's eyes... okay, i'll get back to this thread eventually, (maybe in another post bc this is kind of the crux of 'book 2' of my fic).

let me get back to first, the other side of the trope: the hero. the hero is often pure, like cinderella or the virgin mary, or virtuous in other senses (odysseus is not a very "pure" character by far, pretty much the opposite LOL, but he is very clever, and that cunning is his excellence, what makes him outstanding). in other words, the hero is someone that the audience feels somehow deserves the divine, the ghostly, the godly throwing them a bone and helping them out.

angouleme is... at least, at the beginning of this arc, not a hero. actually the opposite, she's a bandit that was for all intents and purposes going to be part of geralt's assassination, but didn't get caught on the wrong side of history due to some freak accident (which was the author's pen). initially, she was intended to fade into the background, but sapkowski, like with dijkstra and boreas mun, said that they were characters who "stuck to his pen" and so they were elevated in pagetime. but even so, angouleme unlike ciri is not a princess, not a chosen one, she's not even anyone's daughter. she's a bastard, disowned and often forgotten and left behind (both in-universe, and by the fandom, i believe it's her curse and identity to be an insignificant accessory, a footnote).

so i think it would be so powerful if angouleme, who is used to everyone in her life disappearing on her, forgetting her—and regis, who is used to disappearing (both literally and figuratively, which is why i think it's fitting)��if when she needed him, he wouldn't disappear ... and then, maybe, if he would (for a negative arc, failed state, tragic take... i'll continue this also later).

either way, positive or negative, together these characters could have a really satisfying arc or two set during their time in beauclair.

which i've kind of mapped out.

fic storyline (book 1)

this continues to be a kind of really disorganized infodump so bear with me :) this is extremely unfiltered and unedited! (also haha "spoilers," but who cares though, because by the time i even start writing it you'll have forgotten what i said here. all i ask when sharing fic ideas on here is that no one write them before i do, pretty please)

so i'll now introduce my fic idea (not an actual book, but i just mean it like a volume or installment, since idk how to tell how long this story would be when i write it out). this first book is a lighthearted and comedic story set on saovine.

this idea centers on something loosely inspired by cinderella—a girl wants to go to a ball, but she's ridiculed owing to her low status and chased from her dream. but then, when all seems lost, the ghost of her deceased mother provides her with the most beautiful gifts to attend, and embrace an alter ego of herself, an elegant version no one knew existed, not even herself...

some motifs that regis and angouleme share are parties and revelry (oof), having separate identities (double oof), and being excluded from social engagement, when that's what they desperately crave (triple oof). i mentioned how i see them as very similar, how they are kindred spirits, how regis sees a lot of similarity in angouleme to his younger self, and how angouleme sees (though she's hesitant to trust it) an example of a better future in regis.

that, to me, is a sufficient motivation (initially) for him to help her in achieving her goals. especially because it involves parties and fun (i imagine regis and angouleme, sitting in the dark at the kitchen table, angouleme explaining her predicament, that it has to do with a ball, a big party. and then regis, smiling with fangs in darkness: "i like parties." haha)

and thus they have an opportunity to share the struggle of social pressure, empathize with someone who truly understands them, and then get to that damn party. and angouleme slowly begins to trust, open her heart a little, imagine that someone else could understand her dreams and have her best interests at heart...

also consider how angouleme's mother abandoned her and left a mother-sized hole in her heart. sometimes it's not who you would pray to that shows up.

another trope that i think would be really fun with these two, which i alluded to earlier, is the very common and ancient trope of the malevolent and predatory vampire specifically finding his prey in young women. regis already fucks up this trope into ten million tiny pieces in the series, his role is constantly to be the deliverance of women and girls (the girl from the camp accused of witchery, milva during her miscarriage, ciri about to be strapped to the steel chair). and i'm like, hey! i have in mind a blondie waif who's also in need of this protection.

but also especially because of the relationship between dracula and mina (in. dracula), how he attempts to make her into a vampire and she slips further into this... dracula exerts his malevolent power over her, and she withers, but also, is inextricably now linked to him via a psychic bond...

i kind of talked about how i have anxiety over people seeing them wrong, but i've also incorporated and played with this anxiety in the actual imagined story itself; how they influence each other and in that, it's misread by others as some decidedly dark influence, because as angouleme transitions to, becomes able to embody her ideal persona, a girl who will be loved instead of forgotten, she's now seen by the other characters as a girl to be saved, which invites unwanted attention, this attention being what is actually the exertion of force upon her autonomy.

what i imagine for the fic is a four-act structure. following the failures of angouleme in act 1, in act 2 through some... explosive circumstances that get out of hand, angouleme doesn't exactly fly under the radar in this merriment as she and regis kind of kick up a dust storm of trouble getting her a dress and horse-drawn carriage. there's no bippity-boppity-boo nothing here, so they use freely the strategies which bandits and vampires use.

(or instead of carriage, should i say, calèche, because i'd like another dracula reference here. by the way, just as regis has peak bartender energy, he also has peak uber driver energy. the kind where you get in, have the deepest conversation of your life, then get out. and rate 5 stars and give $5 tip. and never see that guy again).

so in act 3, when she finally gets to the ball and has her little #girlboss spotlight beloved moment where she's charismatically trying to get nobles to invest in her ponzi schemes (this is her character motivation all along... she wants a stable future ok so she is relying on inventing a new personality and scamming everyone into liking her), there's...

okay, i kind of didn't introduce the mild antagonists, but so basically, there's this club of beauclairoise noblemen who needed a hobby, so they became interested in paranormal collections and oddities... and since geralt was away, when the "hey i think a vampire just stole our horses" reports reached beauclair, these were the guys that were called. well, who you gonna call, i guess? maybe think of the witch hunter from good omens and his protege, but less aggressive and more clueless but arrogant all the same. they're comprised of three older gentlemen and one mmm... jarre-equivalent type of guy, young, around angouleme's age. i call these guys vampire hunters despite them having no experience hunting vampires

by the way also, in this introduction of them, i've brought this up slightly before, but regis' noble persona in beauclair (as they all had to assume fake identities, pretended to be nobility travelling incognito, remember)... ok he himself didn't actually come up with any script (with his experience he wanted to wing it this time) but his mysterious nature and constantly talking about the supernatural and his habits of dress, make rumors circulate that he is a vampire............ hunter. a vampire hunter. or at least, a retired one. and that's why he's in the company of the witcher geralt!

(beauclair nobility voice) "i fucking connected the dots" "you didn't connect shit" "i connected them". so the vampire hunters are like omg hi regis whats up you want to join our exclusive club of cool guys? and he's like um... ok lol. well. i'll participate in this conversation because it's funny lol. but i got my own things going on

anyways that's act 1 stuff. back to act 2. this 'crazy vampire shit has consequences' plotline is brewing underneath regis and angouleme doing said crazy vampire shit. switching POVs appropriately.

in act 3, angouleme, via making some awkward blunders (she got a little tipsy) gives them the "evidence" they need to scream "vampire" - except, they scream it in the wrong direction - at her.

cue the flight from the ball (of the cinderella story) and getting lost in the woods. after some moments spent lamenting, in fear, in regret, the two meet up and have the emotional resolution, heart-to-heart, about desperation to be someone else, fit in, be who people will love...

that kind of doesn't solve that guys are chasing them with stakes though. sooo there's a bit of an indulgent moment, for me maybe, here. regis is like: sooo, they want to fight a vampire... :D ok

angouleme is like "you're going to KILL THEM 😳☹️??? ... nice im watching this shit go down 🥺🍿." regis is like 😑 noooo...

they just scare them a little ;). it is saovine after all, and they are in the middle of some spooky, dark woods. as angouleme got her scene in act 3 charming the nobility, regis also gets a moment of excellence here.

i've played around with another joke here where the boy (blonde, grey eyes, big nose, skinny, freckles, hopeful and dreamy, but shy and anxious... i've been calling him jacek ig but i'm not set on a name yet) is the last to not get psychic-blasted or tormented by shadows or turned over on his feet out of being scared by voices in the dark ... idk what regis is doing to these guys lol...

jacek runs into angouleme and grabs her and is like "No No it's ok i'll save you i'll help you 🥺" and angouleme (to regis over his shoulder) is like 😬 making 'axe this guy' motions or eyes to him, but before regis smacks him into the fourth dimension or whatever, amidst his promises he's like "and we'll marry and you can share my fortune" and angouleme suddenly like waves her hands like 'no don't get him', mouthing exaggeratedly and pointing 'he has money' LOL idk. giving angouleme a love interest when she's not interested in love is funny. he's gone by the next installment anyways (engagement didn't work out)

so she allows him to try and 'save her from this infernal curse' and takes her (in the company of the other vampire hunters) back to beauclair, along the way they ponder over how clueless they are about this whole thing and how they don't actually know how to cure her (she's been sitting this entire ride with a garlic bulb in her mouth and her arms crossed, with jacek making big eyes at her but too scared to get close, holding a wooden stake between them lol). as they're approaching the foot of the city they realize oh shit there's an an entire guy we forgot about that knows so much about this

so they knock on regis' door and are like hey can you help us cure this girl of some Evil Vampire Affliction.. and regis and angouleme just look at each other like 😑😑 lol... anyways he kind of bats a laurel branch on her shoulders and flicks some holy water on her forehead and is like "all clear" and jacek is like yayyyy 🥺 and regis is like (gus from breaking bad smile drop meme) "but she might turn back if you get too close without brushing your teeth first ..." and angouleme (over shoulder) is like 😅👍👍 thx regis lol

so, all's well that ends well. friendship achieved, survived, fun and laughter was had and nobody died.

mmm, now onto 'book 2'... which is more of a tragedy. but i'll leave the story where it is for now :D maybe i'll continue in another post?

[cxmplicatedbynature]

Today’s goodnight quote is actually a comic panel and it’s brought to you by Dandelion’s disastrous love life, which is a source of constant amusement for Geralt.

[princecharmingwinks]

Sterek Fic Rec - August 2022. Evening all, time for some new fics to add to your reading list. Enjoy :)

written in the cards by elisela (1/1 | 2K | General)

Stiles should have known it was too good to be true. Hot men don’t just show up at his door for no reason and despite doing regular tarot readings for people, Stiles doesn’t actually believe in fate or any type of higher power that would listen to his stupid, lonely, post-finals drunken wishes.

“You need to tell Jennifer that I’m not her soulmate,” the guy says. When he crosses his stupidly buff arms over his chest, Stiles can practically hear the seams of his sweater begging for mercy.

Jesus, she hadn’t been lying about her boyfriend being absurdly attractive.

Nailed It by Poppets (1/1 | 2K | Mature)

“Seriously, dude? Stiletto nails?”

Derek has a thing for marking Stiles. Stiles decides it’s time to return the favour, but first he needs a good set of nails.

Toss A Coin To Your Alpha by fairytalesandfolklore (1/1 | 625 | Teen)

Stiles walks through the forest, high on post-battle adrenaline, having a grand old time strumming the stolen lute in a series of tragically out of tune powder chords, belting out parody lyrics to a familiar melody Derek recognizes from a tv show he recently watched, replacing all instances of Geralt with Derek and white wolf with sourwolf.

An Alpha's Mark by Piscaria (1/1 | 12K | Explicit)

Stiles never thought he'd get a tattoo -- then he found out human pack members could grow stronger by taking an Alpha's Mark.

Baking is Whisky Business by Leslie_Knope (1/1 | 7K | Mature)

But Stiles’ most distinguishing feature, besides the pretty eyes and the mussed hair? He makes a fucking mess every time he bakes, and Derek is the unlucky soul who’s stuck cleaning up after him. Seriously, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Stiles was doing it just to screw with him.

(Or, the one in which Stiles is a Great British Bake Off contestant, and Derek is the long-suffering production assistant.)

I want to be that person by unholy_obsessions (1/1 | 1K | General)

“Oh you’re mad at me now?” Derek asks rhetorically. It’s unnecessary, Stiles notes, for him to be so worked up. He isn’t even that hurt, he’s definitely had worst injuries.

“I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this Derek,” Stiles replies, voice rising and arms flailing in frustration.

“Because I love you!”

Achingly Infinite by whenwordsmakesense (1/1 | 2K | Teen)

"Derek..." Stiles says, voice so low it's almost impossible to hear. They stare at each other for who knows how long, and when Stiles finally unfreezes enough to come forward further, Derek steps back. Stiles' magic isn't stopping him, so he moves as far away as possible, stands at the door to drive home the point that he's done with this conversation.

He stares at the blindingly bright sky visible through the window as he says, "I don't deserve good things, Stiles."

Arrows Made of Desire by loserchildhotpants (1/1 | 6K | Explicit)

There's a MOTW, Scott's an idiot and a Bad Friend, Stiles has a magic bat (not a euphemism), and Derek submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known (true, but also a euphemism).

But I'm Only Human by spaceprincessem (1/1 | 3K | Teen)

“Who did this to you?”

He watched Stiles flinch, taking a small step backwards with wide, fearful eyes. Derek felt his heart ache and he used all of his will power, the sweet lingering scents of vanilla and cinnamon, to anchor himself.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Stiles,” Derek said hesitantly reaching out, the boy's bruised and bloodied face illuminated in the street lights, “who did this to you?”

(500) Days of Sitting In Front of the Computer by orphan_account (1/1 | 4K | Teen)

The boy, Stiles Stilinski, had always been into MMORPGs. The other boy, Ithuriel, had always been into MMORPGs as well, albeit secretly. The Alpha, Derek Hale, was possibly the object of Stiles's affections. One day, Stiles met Ithuriel.

But be warned, this is not a tragedy in which Derek Hale saves Stiles's virtue from Ithuriel. That would be ridiculous.

This is a love story.

princecharmingwinks special mention (This is a little darker than my normal reads but it sucked me in straight away and I loved the sterek dynamic, it is sizzling!)

Enemy of My Enemy by calrissian18 (1/1 | 8K | Explicit)

Stiles blinks hard. He can’t argue that he’s not quite all there, a little woozier than he would like, but he’s done more difficult things a lot worse off. The wolf didn’t know shit and Stiles sure as hell didn’t need him. He huffs out a little laugh into his own chest, leaning back against the armrest and chin dropped to his sternum, head lolling slightly. His eyelids are heavier than they were a minute ago. “What makes you think I wouldn’t use the opportunity to gut you? I hunt werewolves for sport, and so does everyone I have left.”

A careful claw tilts his chin up and it takes Stiles’ eyes a second to bring the face in front of him into stark relief. “You can barely keep your eyes open,” the wolf says softly, “I don’t think you have the upper hand now, human.”

Man, I just love this pair! You writers make me fall in love with them all over again every time I open AO3. I am very greatful. Remember to leave kudos and comments for our amazing writers. See you next month!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Voltehre teaches Lambert to read.

When Lambert arrives, he can't even write his own name. That's not unusual for boys that arrive at four or five, but eight? The others ridicule him. Children that grew up in the keep see a boy their age without his letters and assume he's an idiot. That stops after Lambert sends several to the infirmary.

Lambert has walls up. He can't be seen to fail. To fail is to invite mockery and pain. So he won't risk it. He snarls and spits at the instructors. Throws their books at them and tells them to fuck off. The words jump all over the place on the page, they're just fucking shapes, the pen feels wrong in his hand, the sounds make no sense...

Voltehre can tell Lambert's smart. He sees the world differently to the rest of them. Seems to know how it's all meant to slot together and picks up new things so fuckin' quickly. As long as he doesn't have to read or write it.

"Witchers need to be able to read, boy," Vesemir growls impatiently one afternoon, the tatters of yet another manuscript at his feet.

"Guess I'll never be a Witcher then," Lambert hisses back, and storms off to hide in a dark corner.

Voltehre starts by sitting at Lambert's side and reading aloud. He runs his finger beneath each word as he says it. Lambert tells him to get fucked at first, calls him annoying, rolls his eyes, but bit by bit, he begins leaning over and following Voltehre's finger. Voltehre can see his mouth moving around the words, savouring them carefully, eyes squinting.

Eventually, Voltehre convinces Lambert to hold a pen and he teaches him how to write cusses and insults in cursive. The first time Lambert writes his own name, they both stare at it for a moment, until Voltehre turns the 'L' into a dick and ends up in a headlock.

It's not all smooth sailing. Sometimes, Lambert struggles, and Voltehre can see the tears of frustration in his eyes. "S'all good, Bertie," Voltehre says, "I know you'll get it next time." He tugs the ruined parchment away and places another in front of Lambert.

Lambert tries again, because Voltehre thinks he can do it, and Voltehre knows about these things. He gets it right this time. Voltehre rewards him by collecting his mead that dinnertime.

And with the ability to read and write, the world opens up for Lambert like never before. He consumes knowledge rabidly, spending hours at Voltehre's side in the stacks, learning how to create the biggest explosions and how the tides moved and why the mountains were there and--

Voltehre is the first person to believe in Lambert. To hold out his hand while pointing at the rest of the world: I want to share this with you. The first person to not give up when Lambert lashes out in defence. He is... was... Lambert's first friend. His best friend.

Years later, Ciri finds one of Lambert's journals while she's scurrying around the castle. She's managed to leave Vesemir asleep in one of the work rooms but knows she doesn't have long until Geralt finds her. She opens Lambert's journal with a grin, expecting to see sketches of naked ladies, and blinks at the last entry...

'Dear Voltehre,

Today, I read to Ciri. Thank you, brother.'

[kingthunder]

Oh prompts! Can I request “I need you, you idiot” or “I think about kissing you all the time” for yennskier please? 💛

Jaskier hadn’t been expecting to run across Yennefer of Vengerberg in a tavern in the ass end of nowhere. He did a double take when he saw her, for a split second even thinking he might be seeing things, but even if he couldn’t pick her out of a lineup blindfolded based on her terrifying aura alone, she dispelled all doubt by meeting his eyes across the room and making a beeline for him.

“You,” she said at the same time that he said, “I didn’t do it.”

“You did,” Yennefer said. “You wrote a song about me and people are singing it from here to Nilfgaard.”

“Oh, that,” Jaskier said. “Yeah, okay, I did that.”

“You ass,” Yennefer said and ordered a drink.

Jaskier cautiously ordered one as well, and Yennefer didn’t growl at him to leave, so he stayed. They drank in silence for what felt like a century, the air between them growing thick and charged, until Jaskier muttered “fuck it” and drained the rest of his drink in one go. He leaned in and said, “I haven’t heard from him either.”

Yennefer’s shoulders collapsed like a wet towel.

“Fuck,” she said. “Was I that obvious?”

“Yep,” Jaskier said, popping the p. “Another drink?”

“You can buy it.”

“I wouldn’t dream otherwise.”

Two hours later, his words slightly slurred, Jaskier said, “the worst part is that I don’t even know if any of it ever meant anything to him.”

This was some time after he’d admitted that he and Geralt had been fucking for years, and hadn’t that been a wild thing to say out loud with his mouth—to Yennefer of all people, his sworn enemy and only rival for Geralt’s admittedly intermittent affections.

“It had to,” Yennefer said. “He stayed with you for twenty years and there wasn’t even a spell making him do it.”

Jaskier remembered Geralt’s mouth on him in the dark, the way Geralt’s hands sometimes trembled in his hair when Jaskier made him come, and he wanted to believe her. He wanted that more than anything.

The line of Yennefer’s mouth was unhappy, and Jaskier had the absurd thought that he wanted to kiss it better. The thought percolated through his alcohol-soaked brain that the djinn spell fucked her up as much as Geralt’s decades of refusal to commit had fucked him up. His eyes wandered to her throat, where her dress had pulled low enough to reveal her collarbone, and he wanted to kiss that too.

“No, that was just my own stutip—” Jaskier stumbled on the word and then righted himself to say with perfect diction, “stupidity. My dedication to the art of being an idiot is both unparalleled and regrettable.”

“Did he ever—” Yennefer started. She looked at him and caught him looking at her, and he didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t doing it. “What kinds of things did he say to you, when you…?”

Jaskier felt a spark of indignation that she thought she was allowed to ask him things like that and expected him to actually answer. And then he realized—she was grasping just like he was, for proof that it ever meant anything. The empty spot in his heart went out to her.

“He never said much at all,” Jaskier said truthfully. “But the way he got all cuddly afterwards said a lot. Or at least I thought it did.”

An arm around his chest, heavy and solid. A muscled leg thrown over his hip. Geralt’s face nuzzled into the crook of his neck, both their sweat cooling. 

“Yeah,” Yennefer said, and she was still looking at him. Their hands were nearly touching on the table. Jaskier inched his pinky towards her. She let him brush up against her and they both shuddered.

“I keep thinking about kissing you,” Jaskier whispered, and immediately turned his face away, cheeks burning. He pulled his hand back. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave, didn’t want to stay at this inn anyway, they have bedbugs I think, and this ale is way too strong? I—”

He was rambling but he couldn’t make himself stop.

“No,” Yennefer said. She grabbed his doublet to pull him back around. “No, you don’t get to say that and then pretend you didn’t.”

“I didn’t say anything at all,” Jaskier said, just to be an ass, and he expected her to fry him to a crisp or maybe knock his head into the tabletop or at least give him a good verbal whipping, but instead she grabbed his doublet more securely and yanked him closer.

It pulled him off balance and he fell half into her and then she was kissing him.

He made some kind of undignified noise and he couldn’t figure out where to put his hands and oh Melitele that was her tongue.

“Ah,” he said when she let him go. Frazzled, he righted himself, scooting back into his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Ah. That was. Ah.”

“Did it live up to your expectations?” Yennefer said. Her back was stiff and her cheeks were red and this time she wouldn’t look at him. It was the closest thing to nervous he had ever seen her. She hiccuped, the only indication she’d given so far that the ale was affecting her at all.

“Yen,” Jaskier said softly.

When she finally met his eyes he deliberately got up and knelt on the floor at her feet. She parted her knees enough to let him in. Gods, he had spent so much time hating this woman that it had distracted him from how much she needed the opposite.

“Yen,” he said again, and tilted his face up, and she leaned down to kiss him, lingering and soft, her hand on his cheek.

When they broke apart, Yennefer was smiling. He had never seen that smile before, all the way to her eyes, years of stress melting off her face. Shit, Jaskier thought. When did I fall in love? I missed that part.

“Idiot,” Yennefer said.

“Yes. But let me be your idiot, for now?”

“For now,” Yennefer agreed.

[thearvariblues]

The Mysterious Case of Jaskier's Immortality

Word count: 3601

*

“So nice to see you again, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, putting on one of his many fake smiles.

“Jaskier,” she replies with a smile that almost looks genuine but Jaskier is pretty sure that it’s not. Which she confirms a few seconds later by saying: “Shouldn’t you be dead already?”

“I see you’re as kind as always, my dear. But don’t you worry, Geralt is doing a very good job when it comes to protecting me.”

“Hm,” Geralt sighs resignedly, clearly regretting his decision to spend the night in an inn instead of the middle of a forest.

To be fair, it was Jaskier who suggested it, claiming that he refused to be eaten by angry drowners, no matter how many times Geralt tried to explain to him that the probability of finding a drowner in the middle of a very dry forest is extremely low.

If Jaskier knew they were going to run into Yennefer in the inn, he would have risked the drowners.

“I don’t doubt that,” Yennefer smirks. “But seriously, how old are you, bard?”

“No idea. I stopped counting after fifty, I think.”

“You know, you don’t look fifty,” she says.

“Oh, well, my mother had an elf lover before I was born, so there’s a fifty-fifty chance that I’m not gonna age anytime soon. Sorry,” Jaskier smiles again, sweetly – and this time, it’s genuine.

“As if,” Geralt grunts.

“I’m sorry, dear?” Jaskier blinks.

“Come on, Jaskier, it doesn’t work like that. You’re a viscount, that means your father must have been a viscount, too.”

“You don’t know much about nobility, do you, Geralt?” Yennefer snorts.

“Hm,” Geralt grunts. “Still, he’s not a half-elf.”

“Let me guess, you’re a Witcher, therefore you could smell it if I was? I hate to break it to you, dear heart, but you’re going to have your nose checked.”

“You’re not a half-elf, Jaskier,” Geralt repeats. “You’re not immortal, you just… look young.”

“Yeah, right, you got me,” Jaskier shrugs. “I just look good because I moisturize. Happier now?”

“Much,” Geralt nods. “See? You can be honest if you want.”

“Yup,” Jaskier nods. “Honesty personified. Now please excuse me, I need to go and moisturize some more. Internally. With ale.”

*

“I’m actually a mermaid, you know?” Jaskier grins the next time he’s asked, this time by a very confused and very old Valdo Marx.

“A siren, Jaskier. Not a mermaid,” Geralt sighs, praying to Melitele to give him strength. “And you’d know that, of course, if you actually were a siren.”

“Just so you know, the term siren is actually quite offensive to my people.”

“You mean idiots?” Geralt chuckles. “You’re not a siren, Jask.”

“Can you prove that I’m not?”

“Well, last week you tripped and fell into this creek that was like… knee-deep, and you nearly drowned.”

“I was in shock!” Jaskier proclaims dramatically. “But I have a proof that I am, or at least could be a siren.”

“What proof?”

“Well, my lovely voice, of course!”

“Not as lovely as you think it is,” Valdo Marx snorts.

“Come on, Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, ignoring the old troubadour. “You have much better voice that any siren I’ve ever heard.”

“Geralt of Rivia!” Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “Was that a compliment?!”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. “I didn’t mean…”

“Really though, Jaskier,” Valdo says. “How?”

“That’s a secret I’ll take to the grave, I’m afraid,” Jaskier grins. “Once I manage to reach it.”

“Keep on with the bullshit, Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “and you can reach it tonight.”

“Fifty years traveling with him, and he still thinks he can scare me. Cute, isn’t he?” Jaskier laughs. “Oh, Geralt you could never.”

“Try me.”

*

“All right, I’ll tell you my secret,” Jaskier winks at Ciri, who lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve got this neat… magic ring.”

“Hmmm,” Ciri observes. “Looks like a normal signet ring to me.”

“Well… Yeah, well, it looks like it, all right, but actually–”

“Jaskier, I was born a princess. This is clearly a Pankratz family signet ring.”

“Damn,” Jaskier groans. “Like father like daughter, eh?”

“Sorry,” Ciri shrugs.

*

“I got myself cursed.”

Triss Merigold lifts an eyebrow.

“Somebody cursed you to live forever, is that so?” she asks and her voice is almost dripping with disbelief.

“More like cursed me,” Geralt murmurs.

“Oh, shut up, Witcher, you know you couldn’t live without me,” Jaskier smiles brightly, and Geralt has to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling back.

“Hm,” he says instead.

“Eloquent as ever,” Jaskier nods.

“Would you like me to...” Triss clears her throat. “You know, try to lift the curse?”

“No!” Geralt yells before he can stop himself.

“See?” Jaskier beams. “You could never live without me!”

*

“A bruxa,” Jaskier repeats to a young man who claims to be his son, but looks older than his supposed father.

“You’re not a bruxa, Jaskier!” Geralt whines.

“Excuse me, and how would you know?”

“Because I’m a fucking Witcher?!”

“Well, you’re clearly a fucking horrible Witcher if you haven’t noticed until now!”

“I think I’d notice if you tried to sneak out of the camp at nights to feed,” Geralt comments, crossing his hands. “You can’t even sneak out to take a piss, Jask.”

“Maybe I do that on purpose!”

“Besides, bruxae are mostly women.”

“Mostly being the important word here.”

“Fuck’s sake, Jaskier. You won’t even eat a piece of meat if it’s not so well-done that it’s almost cremated.”

“Do you know how disgusting the blood is, Geralt?!” Jaskier groans, and then immediately blinks when he realizes what he just said. “I meant…”

“Case closed,” Geralt nods, satisfied.

“Oh, dear,” Jaskier mutters. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Uhm, my lords, if I may,” the young man says.

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but if you’re aging like a normal human, you’re probably not my son,” Jaskier shrugs. “Sorry. I get it why your mum might be confused, though. It was quite a night, with at least four–”

“And that’s enough,” Geralt says, grabbing Jaskier by the collar and pulling him away from the man. “You know, lifting the curse seems like a good idea now.”

“There isn’t really a curse, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs.

Geralt sighs, his lips curling into a tiny smile that Jaskier cannot see.

“Thank fuck.”

*

“You see, we were in a crazy mage’s tower and I saw this bottle and I thought it was slivovitz, so I drank it, but it seems that it actually was some sort of an immortality potion,” Jaskier explains to a lady at the ball, whose grandmother he’d apparently fucked once, when said grandmother was still a young, unmarried woman.

Geralt only blinks, because it’s the first truly plausible explanation for Jaskier’s mysterious immortality.

“Oh, that must be so horrible to watch everyone you love die!” the woman nods enthusiastically. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it in private?”

“Of course, my dear…” Jaskier smiles. “Just… wait a second. How old is your mother?”

“Forty-seven, why?”

Jaskier’s lips are moving silently for a few seconds while he counts, and then thy turn into a wide grin.

“No reason, dear,” he says, offering her his arms. “Shall we?”

When Jaskier and the lady flee the ball, Geralt pulls out his flask of White Gull and pours its contents into his empty tankard.

So, a potion…

*

“There is no such thing as an immortality potion, Geralt,” Yennefer shakes her head.

“How can you be so sure?” Geralt asks. “Maybe this mage really did find a way to at least make the human life longer!”

“And why would he do that?” Yennefer scoffs. She has been doing that a lot since she finally ended their relationship for good about twenty years ago. (He later found out that she had left him for none other than Triss Merigold, but Yennefer still doesn’t know that he knows, and he’s having way too much fun with it to break the fact to her. So right now, he is pretending he doesn’t notice that Triss is eavesdropping on their conversation behind the door leading to Yennefer’s bedroom, and that he absolutely believed Yen when she claimed that the loud thud a few minutes ago was caused by a cat.) “We are immortal, Geralt, unless killed. There is no reason for any of us to make a potion that would make a human live forever.”

“Well, perhaps this mage fell in love with a human and wanted them to stay with him!”

Yennefer pauses, inspecting Geralt from head to toe and back again, and then she sighs.

“Oh, Geralt. Really?”

“Really what?” Geralt blinks, genuinely confused.

“Oh,” Yennefer murmurs. “Oh, no. Really?”

“Really what, Yen?”

“You mean you don’t… Oh, dear gods. Really?”

“Yen, I swear that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Geralt grunts, frowning.

Yennefer rolls her eyes and tries counting to ten to calm herself down. She doesn’t even get to three before Geralt’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed, Geralt,” she nods solemnly. “Fuck, indeed.”

*

“I found a djinn, he granted me a wish,” Jaskier says when Geralt asks him, about five minutes after his meeting with Yennefer. (He agreed to use a portal to get to the bard as soon as possible. A fucking portal!) The bard is sitting in a tavern and eating his dinner, utterly undisturbed by the sudden appearance of an angrier-than-usual Witcher.

“You never mentioned a djinn,” Geralt growls. “And after your last encounter with one, I sincerely doubt you’d engage with another.”

“You clearly don’t know me at all–”

“Besides, Valdo Marx, as far as I know, had an apoplexy while fucking a young student on his desk, and I don’t think you’d ever let him die like that if you had a choice.”

“You see, that was kind of a my mistake, since I didn’t specify the time and the circumstances of his apoplexy in my wish, so…”

“What was your third wish?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your immortality, Valdo Marx dropping dead, that’s two. What was the third one? And don’t even try to mention the Countess de Stael, since you’d have to dig her up first.”

“That was disgusting, even for you, you know that, Geralt?”

“How are you immortal, Jaskier?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Jaskier puts a piece of bread in his mouth and grins.

“Maybe some other time, Witcher.”

*

“I am a fae,” Jaskier replies a day later.

“You’re not a fucking fae, bard.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you fucking lie, Jaskier. All the time.”

“Fuck. Didn’t think of that.”

*

“You see, there was this artifact–”

Geralt closes his eyes, turning Roach around.

“Let’s consult Yennefer about this.”

“Oh, mother of…” Jaskier whines. “All right, no artifact, there was no artifact! Geralt, I’m telling you, there was no…”

*

“You’re not a succubus.”

“But it would be a perfect explanation, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re not succubus, because if you were, you’d know that a male one is called an incubus.”

“Oh, you and your stupid Witcher terms again.”

“You’re not an incubus, Jaskier, because if you were, I could never let you near Eskel.”

“All right… Explain, please?”

Geralt grunts.

“I’d really rather not.”

*

“A dragon,” Jaskier grins victoriously.

“No,” Geralt says, shaking his head.

“No,” Jaskier agrees with a sigh.

“You know you could just tell me the truth and be done with it, right?”

“Hm… No.”

*

“All right, enough is enough,” Jaskier growls that night in their rented room, tossing his doublet aside. “You’ve asked me three times today, Geralt. Why the sudden interest in my immortality?”

“As you said, enough is enough. You’ve been traveling with me for what, a hundred years?”

“A hundred and four.”

“Yes, and you still look the same as the day I met you in Posada!” Geralt growls. “And it drives me mad!”

“It wasn’t driving you insane for at least fifty years, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“Fuck off, bard. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”

“But you do, Geralt,” Jaskier says, taking a step towards the Witcher. “Why?”

He’s standing in Geralt’s personal space, his chemise half undone, and he’s watching Geralt with those sincere blue eyes, and Geralt can’t fucking think…

“Because I love you, you idiot!” he snaps. “Because I fucking love you and I need to know if I can love you, or you’re gonna just drop dead one day without a warning!”

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, his lips forming into a huge, happy smile. “Oh, fucking finally.”

“Fucking… what?” Geralt blinks, his arms suddenly full of an enthusiastic bard.

“I love you too, you silly Witcher,” Jaskier laughs. “I’ve loved you for a hundred years! Well, a hundred and four, but who’s counting?”

“You…” Geralt mutters.

“Silly, silly Witcher,” Jaskier repeats, pressing his lips against Geralt’s in a kiss that could be described as chaste, or at least the chastest Jaskier has ever been capable of. “We’re going to Lettenhove in the morning.”

“We are?”

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier whispers. “See, I’ve told you the truth about the source of my immortality once. But I think you need to see it to believe me.”

“Wait, you have? When?” Geralt asks. “Was it the artifact? Just tell me, I promise I won’t make you consult it with–”

“Shut up now,” Jaskier says, kissing Geralt again with way less chastity than before. “And in the meantime, believe me this – you can keep loving me, and I’m not planning on dropping dead anytime soon. Also, I’ve spent the last hundred years imagining fucking you senseless, so if you’re not opposed to the idea, perhaps we could, well…”

The kiss that this idea gets him is as far from chaste as one could possibly get.

And Jaskier definitely isn’t about to complain.

*

“You sure this is a good idea?” Geralt asks as they march towards the Lettenhove castle’s gates. He tugs at his doublet’s collar, way too tight for his liking. He’d much rather walk in there wearing his usual attire, but Jaskier insisted that Geralt must look presentable if he wants to meet his family.

It turns out that it only takes a single I love you to turn the bard into a manipulative bastard. Who would have guessed?

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jaskier replies, grinning cheerfully. “And stop frowning, you’re gonna scare the servants, love.”

“How long it’s been since your last visit here, Jaskier?” Geralt says, his frown deepening. “Who rules Lettenhove now, hm? Aren’t you only going to be a distant relative, a great-great-uncle risen from the grave?”

“I sure hope not,” Jaskier chuckles, stopping in front of the guards by the gate. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Viscount Julian, here to see the Viscountess Madeleine.”

“How can you still be a viscount?” Geralt blinks when one of the guards promptly disappears inside.

“We kind of decided to, you know, share the title,” Jaskier shrugs. “Seemed fair. Besides, father, well, the former viscount, insisted that I inherit the title, but he never mentioned anything about Mads not inheriting it, so…”

“How could your father have known who the viscount is going to be in almost a hundred years?”

“He really didn’t,” Jaskier chuckles. “See, it will all start to make sense once you meet her.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

*

The guard returns a few minutes later, telling them that the Viscountess will meet them in the garden.

Geralt, knowing a thing or two about nobility, think it’s a little weird, but isn’t about to protest. He only thinks he could have left the fancy clothes at the tavern.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Jaskier chuckles when Geralt voices this thought. “You look gorgeous.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned it a few times. But I didn’t have to look like that, because we’re going to meet the ruler of this land in a fucking garden, and–”

“Julian!”

A woman in a long white dress throws herself at Jaskier, who happily catches her. Geralt’s first instinct is to reach for his sword, only to realize that he (luckily) left it in the tavern – because Jaskier insisted, of course.

“Madeleine,” Jaskier chuckles. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Oh, yes. Shocking, isn’t it?” she laughs, pulling away from him, and for the first time, Geralt truly looks at her.

The woman is shorter than Jaskier, slim, and her dress is much, much simpler than Geralt would have expected considering the fact that is supposed to be a viscountess. She has dark, long hair and her face is so beautiful that it almost – but only almost – takes the focus off her pointed ears.

“Lady Madeleine,” Jaskier grins, “may I introduce Geralt of Rivia, my Witcher. Geralt, this is Lady Madeleine, the current ruler of Lettenhove and my younger sister.”

“You’re…” Geralt blinks.

“A half-elf, yes,” she nods. “Julian! You haven’t told him?”

“Hardly my fault. I really tried,” Jaskier shrugs. “But he just wouldn’t believe me.”

“So you brought him here to prove it to him, rather than to visit your beloved sister? You are a horrible, horrible sibling, Julian!”

“Your… sister,” Geralt mutters, all his thoughts speeding through his head, colliding and falling down, one over another.

“Yes, we definitely share a mother,” Jaskier confirms. “Most likely a father, too, and trust me, it wasn’t the old viscount. Madeleine got the elvish looks, I only got the non-aging bit. Well, apparently.”

“But…” Geralt blinks. “Your father. The title.”

“Yen was right, dear heart, you really don’t know shit about nobility,” Jaskier snorts. “But I admit that even though our dear departed noble father knew that Mads wasn’t his daughter, obviously, it never occurred to him that I might not be his true son.”

“But you don’t age!”

“In his defense, that only became clear after his unfortunate passing.”

“And you aren’t going to start to age anytime soon,” Geralt mutters. “You really aren’t.”

“Told you so, didn’t I?” Jaskier winks, letting go of his sister and wrapping his arms around his lover instead.

“I… I…” Geralt stammers. “Fuck.”

“Maybe later, love,” Jaskier smiles. “Madeleine, my dear, wouldn’t you say that my return calls for a feast?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I have started the preparations the second my spies informed me that you have crossed the border.”

“Oh, so we have spies now?”

“It’s really only a net of nosy old ladies, but it works wonders,” Madeleine laughs. “I must admit, though, that I was only planning a feast to celebrate you coming home, but now I see we have a much better reason to party. Tell me, brother, did you finally get your stupid Witcher?”

Jaskier smiles brightly, turning his head to Geralt.

“Yes. I finally got my stupid Witcher.”

“Party,” the Witcher in question growls. “Is that why you made me dress like a pompous prick?”

“No, that was because while I find your usual self extremely attractive, you still look much better when your hair is properly combed and you’re not covered in monster blood.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums, but wraps his arm around the bard to hold him close.

“Oh, yes, about monsters,” Madeleine says with the most innocent expression Geralt has seen since Ciri broke Vesemir’s favorite vase at Kaer Morhen. “You see, we have a tiny problem with a cockatrice…”

“Right,” Geralt nods. “I’ll go grab my armor from the tavern.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have already arranged for your things to be brought to the castle. And your horse,” she adds before Geralt can even open his mouth. “You can leave for your quest as soon as the servants get here.”

“So much for you not being covered in monster blood,” Jaskier sighs.

“Hm,” Geralt grins. “Lady Madeleine, I suppose you happen to have a bathtub somewhere in the castle?”

“Of course. In fact, there is a private bathroom right next to Julian’s bedroom.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier purrs. “You know me so well.”

“Yes, and I expect to get to know you even better. In another hundred years or so.”

Jaskier laughs, pulls Geralt closer to him and kisses him.

“Another thousand years, I’d say.”

*

“What… the… fuck?!” Geralt croaks, staring at the smouldering remains of the cockatrice that would have surely killed him if Jaskier… If Jaskier…

The bard looks at his hands, then at the cockatrice, and then back at his hands again.

“Geralt? I have a feeling that I’m not really… A half-elf.”

“No shit.”

“I think I might be… Uhm…”

“Oh, shit,” Geralt whispers.

“I suppose, uhm, you know…” Jaskier stammers, wiping his palms on his trousers like he could wipe away the feeling of literal flames shooting out of them mere moments ago.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to consult this with Yen.”

“Splendid,” Jaskier sighs. “Can it at least wait after the feast?”

“After more than a hundred years of you not even knowing, I think one feast will be fine.”

“Thank the gods. Madeleine would kill me if I tried to leave now,” Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s go, then. We need to get the fried monster remains out of your hair.”

“You’re… I was fucking right! You’re not a half-elf!”

“Yeah, you’re a great Witcher,” Jaskier nods, grabbing Geralt’s arm and dragging him away from the monster. “Didn’t notice I was secretly a fucking mage, but otherwise a great Witcher.”

“Explains a lot, though.”

“Does it now?”

“Yeah. I always had a thing for mages, you know.”

“Oh, Geralt. You’re such a fucking idiot,” Jaskier chuckles.

“Made you laugh,” Geralt shrugs, smiling.

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m so, so gonna drown you in that bathtub.”

“My love,” Geralt grins, “you’re more than welcome to try.”

***

Tagging @lottelorelei - I’m sorry I always forget to reply to your lovely comments, but believe me, they always put a big smile on my face! :)

[julek]

“fight me, figuratively speaking” and Geraskier 💖

“Jaskier—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” came from under the covers.

“You know we can’t—”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, his tongue flicking on the t. “It is negative— it’s negative zero fucking degrees outside—”

Geralt frowned, confused. Negative zero...?

“—cold as fucking balls, you cannot simply expect me to move and much less exist in such weather. I simply won’t have it.”

Geralt was still reeling. Could zero be negative? He shook his head. “You know we have to keep moving,” he said softly into what he hoped was Jaskier’s blanket-covered ear. “We won’t make it to the keep otherwise.”

Finally, Jaskier’s head peeked out of the patchwork blanket. Geralt bit back a laugh at the sight of him — eyes barely open, cheeks still flushed from sleep and warmth, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd places. He looked lovely, pouting lips and all.

“But Geralt,” he whined, like a small child, while tucking all the corners of the blanket around himself. “It’s so cold.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Happens in winter, yeah.”

Jaskier stopped arranging his blanket and shot Geralt what should have been a venomous look, but that looked fairly non-threatening at the moment. “Don’t play smart, Witcher,” he huffed. “Enough that you’ve managed to convince me—”

“You didn’t need convincing.”

“—to come and lock myself away at this, this fortress for the whole winter. I cannot yet fathom what possessed me to say yes.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow, defiant. “Then I guess you can just stay here,” he said, inspecting his nails. “I’m sure this tiny backwater village will be an endless well of inspiration for your work.”

Jaskier was a little more awake now.

“Yes,” Geralt continued, tone deliberate. “I’m sure Lambert won’t have any of his usual epic tales to share with us this year, anyway. You know how it is— how uneventful a Witcher’s Path can be.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jaskier said, peeling the blankets away from himself and crawling into Geralt’s lap. “You’d never leave me.”

Geralt smirked. “Wanna bet?”

“Fight me, you big idiot,” Jaskier said, exasperated. Then spotted Geralt’s swords laying by the fire. “You know, figuratively speaking.”

Geralt leaned forward, nuzzled his nose against Jaskier’s. “I won’t leave you,” he whispered, watching as Jaskier’s eyes grew big and fond, “if you finally decide to get up and get dressed.”

Jaskier groaned, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s for a second, before throwing back the covers and finally getting up. “Such a cruel Witcher,” he grumbled as he looked around for his forgotten boots. “Can’t believe I’ll be stuck with you all winter.”

Geralt smiled. “I can’t wait.”

[jaskierswolf]

Jaskier has the softest hair. Pairing up to you :)

I went with Lambskier! Enjoy my dear! - AO3

_

Beauty in the World

The hot springs were quite possibly the best part about returning home for winter. Lambert didn't much care for the old draughty keep, and really he wasn't a fan of their mentor. The food sucked half the time, and yes it didn't matter that he was to blame, it still sucked. Even the beds were lumpy and old... really Kaer Morhen was a relic that should be forgotten. But... It was home. There was family, and a place to return to even after a cold and lonely year on the path. And of course - the hot springs.

That year they were filled with the sounds of a warm tenor voice, lilting and beautiful as the bard soaked in the warm water. When Geralt had said he had adopted a bard, Lambert had laughed. It was ridiculous. The mere idea of a human companion was stupid, let alone one trained with a lute instead of a sword. A knight would have been a better option if they weren't all witcher hating pompous idiots.

But after a long and miserable hike up the mountain to the keep, Lambert had welcomed the warmth that the colourful bard had brought to their home. It no longer felt draughty and cold and sterile. The music had banished the ghosts of the past, and Lambert found himself staring at the bard more and more each day.

Jaskier was Geralt's bard. He had to remember that. It was clear the idiot was unreasonably fond of his grumpy older brother, and that hurt Lambert more than he'd expected. Still, watching Jaskier whistle to himself as he ran his hands through his hair... was entrancing. Lambert had never known anyone with hair as soft as Jaskier. He had a habit of lounging across the witchers in the evenings, his head in one of their laps, and Lambert always eagerly awaited his turn.

Witchers lived a hard life. They weren't allowed soft things, but Jaskier just didn't seem to care. He would hum happily as Lambert tentatively stroked his fingers through the messy brown locks, babbling away about his day. But it wasn't enough. Lambert was selfish and greedy and he wanted more. He couldn't have the bard... but perhaps he could steal whatever tricks the idiot used on his hair.

"I can feel you watching me, witcher," Jaskier hummed from where he was rinsing the soap from his hair, not opening his eyes. "You know you do that a lot?"

Lambert cursed and went to run from the room, but Jaskier just called him back. "That- That's not a bad thing, dear heart."

Turning back towards the peacocking poet, Lambert snarled a little. "Oh yeah? What's it to you?"

"I am a bard, Lambert, a poet, a troubadour. I adore the finer things in life, beauty, music, art. I am the pinnacle of fashion, and master of the seven liberal arts. I far prefer silk to leather, honey buns to bread. I lived my youth in luxury...."

"Fuck off, bard."

"Patience!" Jaskier trilled, his bright blue eyes finding Lambert's. "I gave all of that up, Lambert. Do you know why?"

Lambert bit back another insult. His instincts to fight and defend himself warring with the desire to let the stupid idiot in. With a growl he considered the question. There was no logical reason for Jaskier to follow Geralt. They didn't know much about the bard prior to his life with Geralt, but it was clear that he was no peasant. It was a topic that had been widely debated in the years that Geralt had known Jaskier, and one that they had never found the answer to. Not one of them could work out why anyone would give up a pleasant life for one with a witcher, especially one as infamous as Geralt. Lambert had always firmly believed Jaskier was in love with Geralt, something that the White Wolf adamantly denied.

"No," he grumbled. "Why?"

Jaskier waded through the water towards Lambert, until his forearms were resting on the edge of the pool. His hair was wet and sticking to his face, tiny little curls starting to form as it slowly dried. It wasn't as soft like this, but no doubt by the time it was dry it would be more divine than the finest silk, and Lambert still couldn't work out why... he also couldn't work out why he cared, but that was a problem for another time.

"Anyone can find beauty in a castle. Any idiot can look at a sunset and write the finest sonnets the Continent has ever seen. Even Marx's attempts aren't half bad," Jaskier chuckled as he rolled his eyes. "But," he smirked and cocked his eyes. "It takes real talent to find beauty in the things the rest of the Continent believes is ugly, and you dear witcher, are perhaps the most beautiful of all."

Lambert froze. His brain just... melting. All he could do was stare and blink at the bard. His heart raced in his chest, and every instinct he had told him to run, to reach for his swords, potions, daggers... anything. Jaskier, the most handsome man that Lambert had ever seen, thought that he was... beautiful?

"Oh...." he mumbled, feeling his face heat up uncomfortably. That was new. It felt like those fever things the humans got when they were sick, or like coming down from potions when he took too many. "Right... what does that mean?"

It was better to ask, to be clear. Lambert had been burned too many times in the past to trust poetry and lies.

"It means, Lambert, that I think you should kiss me. If that's quite alright with you?"

Lambert couldn't believe his luck, but he didn't need to be told twice. He squatted by the side of the pool and Jaskier reached up to kiss him, his lips warm and wet from the hot spring. It was a chaste kiss, despite Jaskier's state of dress... but it was only the beginning of what Lambert hoped was a fun and exciting winter.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @geraltslastcoin @contemplativepancakes, @marvagon, @slythnerd

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: Either out of embarrassment or being a little shit, Jaskier lies outrageously to Geralt about humans (on the level of “I’m molting” or “These? They’re rocks, to snack on.”) and might get away with it?

Hi Dahliavandare! I always love seeing you in my inbox. I changed this just a *teeny* bit. WARNING: VERY SLIGHTLY HORNY (it’s Jaskier, duh) There is also a little bit of angst because Jaskier gets sick.

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

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“What?” The young bard yelped. “I wasn’t even singing that time.”

“No, you just--hmmm.”

“I just hmmm what?” Jaskier asked, pausing in his near-constant strumming.

“You smell like...hmm.”

“I smell?” Jaskier said, both hands planted on his hips. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, my friend--”

“Not friends.”

“You smell like a barn. Anyway-”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, running one, gloved hand through his hair. “Witchers can sort of smell emotions, right?”

Jaskier looked up at him, a sudden hint of anxiety in his scent. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Not entirely.” Geralt shook his head as if clearing a thought from it. “We can’t smell complex things, but joy, fear, anger...desire.”

Jaskier, for once, didn’t look at Geralt, studying instead the flowers at the side of the road. “Desire?”

“I-yes.” Geralt said. “And I wanted to know if all humans smell like...”

“Desire?” Jaskier said, then began talking fast. “Oh yes, of course, most humans, especially my age, well, they smell like this all the time. All the time. Naturally.”

It sort of checked out, at least to Geralt’s thinking. Young humans were horny, and although the overriding scent when Geralt was around was fear, he remembered being a teenager, with all the baggage that entailed at Kaer Morhen, and yes, constantly horny was among those memories. Jaskier himself was definitely still young by human standards, perhaps twenty or so from his youthful features. 

Geralt chalked the horniness up to humanity and hormones and left it at that. 

--- 

Later on, Geralt had other questions related to humanity, more specifically that part of humanity that included Jaskier. 

“I thought humans couldn’t eat those?” Geralt couldn’t, he’d eaten one during training on a dare and spent the next day with his head in the privy.

Jaskier looked down at the mushroom in his hand. It was a beautiful, bright red, with little white spots. He’d been snacking on similar ones for the last mile or so. 

“Of course we can,” he said. “Humans eat these all the time.” There was a rising tone in his voice that indicated something, but as Geralt had mentioned before, witchers couldn’t actually smell the more complicated emotions. 

“They, um,” Jaskier said. “They just can’t be eaten by humans during-er- during summer. It’s fall now, so it’s okay.”

Geralt shrugged. What did he know of human biology? He wouldn’t be eating another of them ever, at any time. His stomach lurched a little just at the thought.

---

“You didn’t buy the ring.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, eyes bright in the sunshine. The bustle of the market around them pushed against him like a tide, but a little patch of space was left around Geralt. Jaskier stepped into the space. “The ring?”

“You liked it,” Geralt grunted. “I could tell.” It had been a little thing, cheaply made of poor materials, but the bard’s eyes had lit up upon seeing the little buttercup detailing, and he’d admired for several minutes, although without touching. 

Jaskier shrugged. “It was made of iron.”

“And?”

“Human’s can’t wear iron, Geralt.”

“Then why did the man sell it?” 

“Well some humans can wear it of course, those with very tough skin, but I’m delicate.” Jaskier sniffed. 

“Humans...can’t wear iron?” It didn’t sound right.

“Not right up close to their skin,” Jaskier said. “It turns us, um, purple.”

Geralt shrugged it off. He’d once been called to a castle where a baron had believed himself cursed because his finger was turning green, but he’d simply been wearing a cheap brass ring.

---

After the first winter they met again in the spring something was definitely different.

“Your freckles,” Geralt said.

“What about them?” Jaskier said, looking away.

What about them indeed. They glimmered like chips of mica. At first Geralt had thought it a trick of the light, but no, there was a definite glitter to Jaskier’s skin.

“They’re...shining?”

Jaskier cocked his head at Geralt, cheeks shimmering. “Geralt,” he said slowly. “You know humans shimmer in the spring...right?” 

Shimmer?

“I’d never noticed,” Geralt said. Admittedly he paid a little more attention to Jaskier than perhaps he ought, but still, one would think he’d have seen this before.

“It’s part of the growing process,” Jaskier said. 

---

“Jaskier, your cheeks are red,” Geralt said, stepping out of the small bathtub the inkeeper had brought up. He stepped closer to the bard, still naked and dripping water, and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Nnhgh,” Jaskier said.

“Are you well?” Geralt asked, cupping Jaskier’s flushed face with his other hand. It didn’t feel like he had a fever.

Jaskier pushed his hands away, face even redder than before.

“I’m perfectly fine, Geralt,” he said, higher pitched than usual. “Human faces get red for no reason now...put on some pants.”

---

“Jaskier you’re drunk,” Geralt said. It was a pretty obvious statement, considering he had his bard draped over him like a shawl.

“Hehe, yep,” Jaskier said, reaching up with one, long finger and tracing Geralt’s jawline with it. 

“You didn’t have any alcohol, I’m sure of it.” Jaskier normally had an extremely high alcohol tolerance in any case.

“‘O course not,” Jaskier said, leaning even more fully into Geralt’s hold. “Had milk.”

“Milk can’t get people drunk.”

“Milk can’t get witchers drunk,” Jaskier slurred. “Get’s humans drunk though, dunnit?”

“Can it?”

“Yeah, definitely, not the kids, but like, how often do you see, like adult humans drinkin’ milk?”

Not often, Geralt thought. He put Jaskier to bed in the inn and it was like pouring an octopus into a bucket. One loose yet gripping arm pulled Geralt closer to Jaskier, the bard leaned in and brushed soft lips to Geralt’s cheekbone.

Geralt wondered if it was another mystery of humans that the spot seemed to tingle all night and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

---

Geralt clutched Jaskier as the bard fell to his knees, groaning. His face was sickly in it’s palor and he was trembling. He’d just lurched up from the table at the inn and stumbled to the door. Geralt had followed him and the young bard had just collapsed like this.

“Jaskier,” he said, clutching a chilled cheek, his other hand seeking one of Jaskier’s. “Jaskier what’s wrong.”

“Lemon,” Jaskier whispered, lacing shaking finger’s with Geralt’s. “In the fish, there was lemon.”

“Lemon’s fine, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, slow heart racing as he looked into eyes that were becoming glassy and clouded.

Jaskier shook his head and it seemed to exhaust him.

“’S fine for humans.” He said. “Not fae.”

“Fae,” Geralt said, cradling his friend. “Jaskier you’re not making sense.” 

“Mmh,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly. His face changed, his eyes going glow bright and his ears lengthening a little. His skin took on a slightly green tint. 

Geralt looked into the face of his fae bard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and the shimmering freckles there. “How do I heal you, you have to tell me.”

Jaskier blinked slowly, eyes dimming further.

Geralt shook him, desperation taking over.

“Jaskier what heals a fairy?”

What heals a fairy? He’d learned that at some point hadn’t he? Long ago. They were rare, and most witchers never saw one in their whole lives but if you could help one they’d grant you one wish, not tricks. 

Poetry. 

Fuck.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, throat feeling dry. Those beautiful eyes blinked at him, slowly. 

“I...I think you have pretty eyes,” Geralt said. “And I like when they, um, match the skies.”

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, brow wrinkling slightly.

“You look pretty in blue,” Geralt managed, inventing wildly. “And look pretty in green. You look lovely in about every shade in between.”

Some of the deathly palor was fading from Jaskier’s face now and Geralt sought more words. “I thought you were pretty that day you wore purple,” he said. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, idiot he was an idiot, nothing rhymes with purple. 

“I like your spirit, your moxy, your...your yurple.”

Jaskier was indeed looking better now, and he was smiling.

“I like the way you talk to me, and how you’re always there,” Geralt whispered. “I like the way you hum to me when you help me brush my hair.”

Jaskier sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light.

“I like the way you give treats to Roach, um, and I like the way you smile,” Geralt gulped at the look on Jaskier’s face. “But most of all I like how much I love you, so I want you to promise to, uh, stay? For a while?”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said, cupping his cheek. “That was bad.” Then he kissed him and Geralt’s brain went very very fuzzy.

A little later, in their room in the inn, where Geralt was finishing the fish and Jaskier was having stew avec no-lemon-at-all, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaskier tilted his head thoughtfully as he chewed a piece of potato. “Well, at first I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he said. 

Geralt nodded. Fae were a feared and reverred group amongst humans, so caution was reasonable.

“Then it became a sort of game,” Jaskier said shrugging. “I couldn’t resist. So I left you little hints. I thought you’d figure it out for sure with the freckles or the milk.”

Geralt huffed a little sheepishly.

“I don’t care that you’re fae,” he said after a moment.

“I know,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t care that you’re an awful poet.”

“It worked, didn’t it.”

“It did, and now you get a wish, no tricks,” Jaskier held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

Geralt thought for a moment. A wish from a fae was no small thing. It should be something powerful, something earth shattering and precious and rare.

“I wish you would kiss me again.”

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

Oop, here it is (after quite the wait, sorry about that) I’m actually so proud of this and it’s super sweet and fluffy.

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Love (I Can’t Forget)

Pairing: geralt x jaskier Warning(s): minor jaskier x other Rating: mature

Summary: Jaskier is quite enjoying his morning with the innkeeper's daughter when he hears the cry of a golem. He knows a contract has been put out for a Witcher and that everything should be perfectly fine. Only the contract put out was for a rock troll.

There are few things in his life that Jaskier regrets as much as his extensive knowledge of all things monsters. And not even the majority of the time, just right now on this particular day at this particular time.

He's been stuck in Hamm for three days on his way to Cintra to check in on Ciri. But there's a rock troll that's been blocking the only safe route out, chucking rocks at travellers and being a general nuisance. Rock trolls aren't much trouble otherwise, but this one is affecting trade and travel, so the town has put out for a Witcher. Judging by the chatter in town, the witcher arrived this morning. So, unable to leave and unwilling to go out and get involved with the Witcher and his business like everyone else, Jaskier has holed up with the innkeeper's daughter Penelope and he's quite enjoying himself.

Or, he was, until he heard the cry.

Because right now, he's quite happily trapped beneath layers of lace and silk, pinned between soft thighs, and all he can think of is that the contract was put out for a rock troll and that sound? that was a golem. Which means that right now, there's a Witcher thinking he's going up again a calm and peaceful creature and is very much not prepared for what he's about to find. And Jaskier is torn.

Because on the one hand, he doesn't want anyone getting hurt, especially due to miscommunication - intentional or otherwise. But on the other hand, the likelihood of Geralt being the Witcher called to deal with the problem is very high. And Jaskier doesn't want to see him.

It's been months now, close to a year since he last saw Geralt, having received no apology or even acknowledgement since the dragon hunt. Which is fine; Geralt's an asshole and he can travel alone if he likes, but if that's the way it's going to be, Jaskier simply does not want to see him. Ever again, if he can help it. But he also doesn't want to see him die.

"Fuck," he mumbles and Penelope giggles as he drops his head, hair tickling her thighs.

"Mmhm, I hope so."

Jaskier crawls out from under her skirts, running his hands up her thighs and doing his best to look apologetic. Because he is; he'd rather spend the entire afternoon making her come than face Geralt for even a second, but he can't sit idly by when the man he, regrettably, still loves could be in danger.

"I have to go," he says softly and she frowns. "I'm sorry and believe me, I would much rather stay here with you, but an old friend is in danger, I can't leave him alone."

"The Witcher?" she asks and Jaskier nods. She must have heard the cry too. "Isn't it his job to fight monsters?"

"Yes, when he's given the correct information, but that's not a rock troll out there." Penelope sighs but pushes her skirts back into place, tidying them.

"You'd better go find him then."

Jaskier dips down, pressing a brief kiss to her lips before gathering his things quickly and hurrying off to find the Witcher. He prays under his breath that it isn't Geralt, but even as he does, he finds himself looking for traces of the man. He knows Geralt's habits, knows where he'll set up camp - the people here aren't friendly enough to welcome a Witcher into their homes or even host him at the inn - and so Jaskier heads for the woods.

It takes him a remarkably short time to come across the meagre camp. Roach is tethered to a tree just a few feet from the fire pit and Jaskier's heart aches to see her. She dances excitedly and he swallows back a lump in his throat.

"Hey, girl," he whispers. "I've missed you too, but I can't stay, okay? Geralt could be in trouble." He gives her a quick pat, regretting that this will likely be their only chance to see one another.

Jaskier drops to his knees next to Geralt's pack, rummaging through it. He finds the satchel of oils first, pulling them out until he recognizes the bluish hue of elemental oil. He sets it aside and continues looking for potions. Immediately, he finds swallow and thunderbolt sitting neatly in their sheaths and his heart clenches. He grabs them both and a third vial he hopes is white rafford's and tucks them all into his pockets, turning to hurry in the direction of the fight.

It's not hard to find them. The golem is loud and Jaskier follows the sound of its roars until he almost stumbles over a log in his urgency to get to him. Geralt rolls in his direction, dodging a blow from the beast, and when he sees Jaskier, his expression sours.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jaskier?"

Jaskier stiffens, immediately defensive. He has to bite his tongue as he crouches down next to Geralt, still keeping one eye on the golem. It seems to have lost its target for now, but Jaskier knows that won't last long.

"Rude," he retorts, "considering I'm here to rescue you." He empties his pockets, listing off the supplies as he pushes them into Geralt's hands. "I thought you might need the assistance since a golem is a lot harder to talk down than a rock troll."

He's seething now, all the anger and hurt of the last year bubbling to the surface and it takes everything in him not to cry in front of Geralt. He's always been an angry crier and he hates it. But Geralt's head jerks up and a little bit of pride peeks through the anger. Because he does know what he's doing. He pointedly ignores it, eyeing a scrape on the side of Geralt's face that will need tending to later.

"Take the thunderbolt now," he says, "don't risk going at it again without it."

Geralt scoffs but he makes no attempt to take control of the situation, letting Jaskier continue. Jaskier focuses on the golem; there's no way Geralt can get the jump on it from here, so he'll have to distract it once he's ready.

"Oil your blade," he says and Geralt eyes him suspiciously, but he's already got the rag in hand.

Once he's finished, he keeps his eyes on Jaskier, no longer waiting for a command, but skeptical of what comes next. Jaskier knows he's realized something is up or else he would have just gone after the golem again, but he's waiting, he's letting Jaskier help.

"You're not going to like this," Jaskier says, rising to his feet, "but know that I'm only doing it for you."

He darts away through the trees and he can hear Geralt yelling after him, but it's too late. He ignores him, pushing on until he hears the golem turn its attention on him. This is closely followed by an angry fuck and Jaskier knows his plan is working.

Geralt still isn't at full strength, but with a distraction, he shouldn't have trouble taking the golem down. He just needs to keep it away from him without being killed until he has the chance. It's only then, that he realizes he didn't think his plan through all the way; once again, he was too concerned about Geralt's safety to consider his own and that's proved ill for him in the past.

He trips over a root - a root! - and fumbles backward to keep out of the way, but he's expecting this to be the end. He shuts his eyes and braces himself, but just as he can feel the golem's breath on his skin, it lets out a cry and whips around to turn its anger on Geralt.

Jaskier cracks an eye open to see it swinging at Geralt, now caught up and wielding his silver sword. Jaskier sighs in relief and scrambles to get up, ensuring he hasn't lost any of the supplies he brought with him. He doesn't stick around to watch the fight, heart still hammering in his chest, instead finding himself a safe spot to look out for Geralt until he takes the golem down.

And he does, shortly now that he has the right supplies, dodging its blow and pirouetting around behind it to deal a deadly blow. The golem collapses, shaking the ground beneath it and Jaskier holds his breath as he waits for Geralt to emerge from the pile of rubble.

But he doesn't and Jaskier can stand the wait any longer so he rushes out to him. Geralt's eyes are open when he reaches him, but his eyelids droop and his breath comes in hot heavy puffs. Jaskier drops down next to him, careless of the mud and blood that soaks into his trousers.

"'M fine," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't sit up or make any attempt to move and in Jaskier's opinion, that's not fine.

He hauls Geralt up into his arms, propping him up against his chest and pulls out the remainder of the potions he brought with him. Geralt scowls and bats his hand away.

"I didn't come all the way out here to watch you die," Jaskier tuts, "I was having a very nice morning and I'd appreciate it if I wasn't interrupted for no reason. Take the potion."

Geralt rolls his eyes like a petulant child and takes the vial from Jaskier's hand, downing it like a shot of liquor.

"See," he says, "fine." Jaskier wants to smack him.

"Get up."

It's a struggle to get Geralt to his feet and Jaskier suspects his physical injuries are worse than the exhaustion, a prospect that has his heart racing, much to his chagrin. Geralt shouldn't mean anything to him anymore and yet he can't keep himself from feeling sick at the thought of anything happening to him.

Geralt uses him for support, leaning on Jaskier's shoulders as they make their way slowly back to the camp. Geralt complains about getting the necessary proof that he killed the golem and Jaskier does his very best not to call him a fucking idiot about it. He promises, with as little irritation as he can manage, that he can return for it in the morning.

He sits Geralt next to the fire and as he crosses back to Geralt's bag to collect spare linen and salve, Roach nibbles at Geralt's hair, nudging him with her nose. Jaskier smiles softly at her worry, he can understand it well; Geralt all but left him for dead, and here he is pulling him out of danger and bandaging his wounds like nothing has changed.

When he returns to him, Geralt has two of the clasps on his armour undone, but he can't reach the third and he's frowning at it. Jaskier sets the linen down with the rest of his supplies and sighs softly.

"Let me."

Geralt remains silent as Jaskier unstraps his armour and pulls his shirt up over his head. He's bruised mostly, but there are a few fresh wounds including one that spans nearly his entire stomach. There are a few scars he doesn't recognize, too, and Jaskier doesn't want to think about what caused those.

He cleans his wounds first, then wipes down the rest of his torso, relieved to find most of the gunk on him is not actually blood.

Once he's finished his work, he leaves Geralt to get dressed and gathers more wood for the fire. He lights it with bits of flint from Geralt's pack and while the smaller branches begin to crackle, Jaskier sets about finding something for them to eat. He's never been very good at hunting - that was always Geralt's job when they travelled together - but he knows his plants and with what he still has in his pack, he fixes something up for them. Not that he feels much like eating.

It's not until Jaskier is about to leave that Geralt finally speaks. Jaskier is just on the edge of sleep, exhausted from worry and the effort it takes to be so close to Geralt right now and he very nearly misses it.

"Why did you do that?"

"What part?" Jaskier asks.

"Risk your life. For me."

"I had to. I couldn't just let you die because someone was too stupid to know the difference between a rock troll and a golem."

"I'm impressed that you knew."

Jaskier's stomach does a little flip-flop and he curses himself for being so weak. "I learned from the best," he quips. "But you should sleep. I'll come back to check on you in the morning."

There's a long silence as he gathers his things and then, "Stay?" Geralt asks and Jaskier's heart clenches.

He wants to. Gods, he wants to. To lie down next to him and look up at the stars like he always has and to fall asleep to the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of Geralt breathing next to him. But he shouldn't. That part of his life is behind him now and Geralt made it very clear that he doesn't want him around. This was just a means to an end; he couldn't with any good conscience, let a Witcher die on bad information. Even if that Witcher is the same one who broke his heart on a mountaintop so many months ago.

"I miss listening to you sing while I rest," he says and Jaskier's legs shake under him.

"You.. do?"

"Mm, I didn't realize how much I appreciated it until it was gone."

Jaskier stands still, unable to think through the rush of blood in his ears. He was angry and hurt and spiteful for a long time, but maybe it's time to let go of all that.

"Alright," he breathes.

He tries to remain calm as he can because he knows Geralt can tell when he's not. He can hear the sound of Jaskier's traitor heart and the way his breath comes just a little too fast. And he'll know what it means, the insufferable git. But in the end, it doesn't matter because Jaskier will always choose him over anyone.

He lays down in the dirt, folding his arms back to rest his head on - he's already covered in muck and Geralt's blood, what's a little more dirt? - and he sings. It's not an active choice, but he sings a love song. It's a lovely little tune, not one of his own, but one he's always been fond of, and as he sings, he closes his eyes and lets the warmth of the fire wash over him, remembering the nights when this was a common occurrence. Geralt is quiet, apparently genuine in his desire to hear him sing and Jaskier isn't quite sure what to make of that.

When he finishes, he thinks Geralt is asleep and he settles as well as he can against the rocky ground. He's tired enough that he could fall asleep anywhere, but then Geralt goes and opens his mouth again

"I looked for you," he says, "at first." Jaskier doesn't know how to respond, but Geralt doesn't seem to want a reply and he continues. "I knew what I said was wrong and I knew I'd hurt you so I tried to find you. You must have made it down the mountain before me. I was angry about what happened with Yen, I didn't mean it."

"I know," Jaskier whispers and he does. He realized a long time ago that he was not the intended target of Geralt's rage, but it didn't help to heal the wounds and it didn't bring him back. He's not sure what else to say and his heart beats too fast.

"Come here," Geralt says softly, shifting slightly to make space for him under the blanket.

Jaskier moves to lie next to him and Geralt pulls him close, wrapping an arm around him. Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's shoulder, burying his face so Geralt can't see the emotion it betrays. He smells off, tangy, like blood and it makes Jaskier's chest tight.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'll be fine."

It's not a good answer, but Geralt tips his head down, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair and it's good enough. Jaskier presses closer, allowing himself this small bit of comfort.

In the morning, he wakes with Geralt's cloak over him, but Geralt himself is gone. As he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes that Roach is still there, grazing happily at the edge of their camp and that means Geralt couldn't have gone far. He doesn't know how welcome his company will be, so he waits for Geralt to come back, but when he doesn't Jaskier starts to worry and he goes after him. It doesn't take long to find him.

Geralt is sitting on the edge of the forest, looking out over the town though they're far enough away that no one looking would notice them. Jaskier drapes his cloak around his shoulder and sits down, just slightly behind him.

"I thought about you," Geralt admits, "just before you showed up."

"Oh."

"I didn't think I'd see you again. I didn't want to die knowing you hated me."

"I don't," Jaskier says a little too quickly, "hate you. I can't, I tried. I was angry at you for a very long time and I was hurt for even longer, but I could never hate you." I love you too much for that.

"I have a... habit of saying things to you that I regret. Twice now I've nearly lost you for good and our last words would have been unpleasant."

"Twice?" Jaskier asks.

"Mm. The djinn."

"Right." Jaskier doesn't remember much about the djinn incident - it was fairly traumatic for him - but he does remember Geralt wishing for peace and quiet and saying some awful things about his singing voice. He mentions it, a little of the bitterness bleeding through.

"I didn't mean that either," Geralt swallows, "you have a beautiful voice." That voice fails him now as his stomach twists into a knot.

"Why now?" he asks because that's all that will come out.

"I miss you. I miss your company and seeing you again," he sighs like it's the most difficult thing he's ever had to say. Jaskier forgives him for that because this is already more than Geralt has said to him in a long time. "It makes me realize I was wrong before." He pauses again and Jaskier waits, nearly breathless. "I didn't actually expect you to leave."

"Then what did you expect?" he snaps, "Geralt I've put up with so much of your shit and I've stuck by you despite it. But you told me you didn't want me, that I was a nuisance, that I-" he turns and Geralt is right there. His words stick on his tongue and his throat goes dry.

"You're not a nuisance," he says and Jaskier nods dumbly. He looks at him and he can see how hard this is for Geralt to even get out this much and it's better than he was expecting. Anything else they can work out later if Geralt was genuine about wanting him around. Jaskier opens his mouth to speak to offer a compromise, but Geralt interrupts him.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he says, "I didn't want to, I wasn't thinking."

"Geralt-"

"You're important to me, Jaskier. And you saved my life yesterday," his lips quirk just so and Jaskier stares for a moment, trying to figure out if he's really seeing this.

"You never were very good at taking care of yourself," Jaskier shrugs. "You should have someone to look after you. Someone who knows something about these monsters you hunt."

Geralt huffs a soft laugh but says nothing, meeting Jaskier's eyes and holding his gaze. He tips his head to one side and Jaskier can feel the breath catch in his throat because Geralt is so close and it's been so long. He doesn't move, afraid to disturb the peace between them, but Geralt leans in, closing the space between them and cupping Jaskier's face in his palm. Their noses bump together, then Geralt's lips brush against his own so faintly he thinks he imagined it. But when he doesn't pull away, Geralt kisses him properly, leaning into it. Jaskier lets himself be drawn forward, lost in the press of Geralt's lips against his own. He hums softly as an arm winds around his waist, bringing him closer, and when Geralt breaks the kiss, he presses their forehead together.

"I know it's not fair," he breathes, "to ask you to come back after the things I said to you, but I want to make amends. Tell me how to fix this."

"Come back to the inn with me," Jaskier breathes, "I'll talk to the innkeeper, get you a room - or you could stay with me?" he's still a little hesitant, but this is Geralt. "We can talk about what comes next after a bath and some supper."

"Will you join me?"

"In the bath?" Jaskier stutters and he can see the flush that creeps across Geralt's cheeks.

"I didn't mean -" he starts, before glancing down at Jaskier's muddy trousers. "But if you want-?" Jaskier barely remembers to breathe, but he settles himself.

"Supper first," he says, "then we'll see about a bath." Jaskier smiles at him and Geralt smiles back, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself looking forward to whatever comes after.

[horsedadgeralt]

It would be the funniest thing ever if Jaskier turned out to be a shitty kisser and Geralt is the first one to point it out to him after they first kiss.

"Jaskier, why the fuck are you licking my lips??"

"Ah, people always get all flustered when I use that move."

"Because it's creepy! I can't believe you wrote all those ballads and still think this is romantic!"

And of course Jaskier doesn't believe him at first — he has snogged and slept with basically half the Continent, or at least so he says, and "everyone said I was their best lover yet, Geralt!"

"Probably because they were sleeping with their idol, you idiot."

It starts with Jaskier asking very awkward questions: "So people don't like it when your teeth clash?" — "No." "What about when you bite their lips?" — "Did they end up bleeding?" "Yes." "Were they into it?" — "...no." — "Then no."

In an insanely kitchy rom-com kinda way, Geralt ends up teaching Jaskier how to kiss: how you can use your tongue, but by no means does it mean you have to. Where to put your hands, when to maybe pull on your partner's hair.

"Pity my lessons are wasted on the public," he says after a particularly intense session. "Cause you're not going to be kissing anyone else ever again." At least he can reap what he sowed.

[lovelyrita1967]

As  You Wish ✨💙

“Geralt!” Jaskier whined. “You HAVE to wear a costume.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored his roommate as he continued chopping potatoes.

Jaskier threw his hands in the air. “There is absolutely a law against hosting a Halloween party and not dressing up!”

Geralt slid the potatoes into the pot and reached for the carrots.

“Oh, I see. We’re doing that thing where you pretend you can’t hear me,” Jaskier sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter.

“I can hear you,” Geralt muttered as he chopped. “I’m just not wearing a costume.” He side-eyed the bags Jaskier had draped over the kitchen table.

“But I already RENTED them,” Jaskier complained as he picked up the spoon to stir the stew.

Geralt frowned and took the spoon from him. “Don’t touch.”

"Your costume is entirely black!" Jaskier pouted. "It's perfect for you!"

The chef went back to ignoring him as he slid the carrots into the pot.

Jaskier pursed his lips and glared, mind whirring. “What if I cook dinner every night for an entire month?”

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched. “Pass.”

Jaskier gasped indignantly. “Rude!”

Geralt stirred, trying not to smile.

“I’ll do all the laundry!” Jaskier tried.

Geralt grunted as he shook his head and added some salt.

“Pleeeeease...” Jaskier gave up on the bargaining and went back to begging. “I cannot be Buttercup with the Dread Pirate Roberts! It’s pointless!”

“Buttercup can stand on her own,” Geralt countered. “She’s iconic.”

Jaskier sagged against the counter with a groan.

“Maybe Lambert or Eskel could be Westley?” Geralt suggested, trying to be helpful.

“But I want to do a costume with you, ” Jaskier mumbled, fiddling with the jars of spices Geralt had out.

Geralt put the spoon down and looked at Jaskier. “Why me?”

Jaskier laughed softly and shook his head. “For someone so smart, Geralt Rivia, you sure are an idiot.” He pushed off the counter and grabbed his phone. “I guess I’ll text Lambert.”

“Wait...” Geralt’s arm shot out and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist. “What does that mean, I’m an idiot?”

Jaskier’s eyes met Geralt’s. “Do you really not know?”

“Know what?”

“For Melitele’s sake, Geralt...” Jaskier shook his head. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I love the way you pretend not to care about anything, but you do, deeply. I love the way you treat everyone as an equal. I love the way you chop the peppers and onions so small for the nachos because you know that's how I like them. I love how you work so hard for your students because you believe each one can achieve great things. And I love how you look in black,” Jaskier chuckled, taking in Geralt’s usual outfit. “Fuck. I can’t believe I’m saying this. But I love you so much, I don’t even care. I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. All I’m asking...” he took a deep breath and stared hard into Geralt’s wide eyes “...is for you to wear that fucking costume with me on Halloween.”

Geralt threw the spoon onto the counter and took Jaskier’s hands. “I...” And then he kissed him.

Jaskier made a noise of surprise, but his hands quickly wound their way around Geralt’s waist, sliding up his broad back. Geralt’s fingers wrapped around Jaskier’s jaw and threaded through his soft hair

When they finally pulled back, gasping for air, they watched each other in silence, eyes wide and blinking. They ignored the strew about to bubble over.

“Does this mean you’ll be Dread Pirates Roberts?” Jaskier finally asked, still short of breath.

Geralt smiled at him, tilting his head. “As you wish.”