#geskier

[myrkky]

here we have Jaskier and Geralt happy and well

[viking-raider]

Can Geralt not bathe himself???

Every time we see him in the tub, its either with Yen or Jaskier. Or that one lady of the evening that Eskel brought to Kaer Morhen!

[artistanilu]

Shout out to my friend @oyitsjessica who gave me this prompt!

[beli-heart]

tw // bite mark , alcohol use

✨Server Exchange gift! Mini comic! 3 pages!(page number on bottom of each page) (Text from pages written below!)

Geskier, non/traditional a/b/o (alpha Eskel, omega Geralt, alpha Jaskier), hurt/comfort.

Summary: Jaskier first sees them in a tavern, bonded mates Geralt and Eskel. After years traveling on the path together he realizes he loves them both, but they’re already bonded so why would they want him too, he thinks. He hides his feelings away till one day Geralt drunkenly confesses that he and Eskel are in love with him. Everything else falls into place.

This is my first comic and honestly I didn’t have a clue what I was doing half of the time. Lol, still I’m really proud with how it turned out. Took me a month to complete and I had loads of fun! Also, this was the first time I draw game version Eskel, so I’m glad I had multiple chances to draw him! Also also, there’s a fourth(4th) page that is nsfw which can be found on my twt. :3

Text reads:

Page 1, Jaskier says,

“I saw them and knew, but… why would they want me?”

Page 2, (drunken confession),

- Geralt “Jask…I’m ‘n love with you.”

- Jaskier “Geralt, you’re drunk, and that’s a cruel joke.” “Eskel, dear, w…” (gets cut off by Eskel)

- Eskel “Julek, he’s not joking. ••• We’re in love with you.”

- Jaskier “You-what” “I didn’t think…” “Your love me?”

- Geralt “Yes, Jask. Do you…”

-Jaskier. “My dear witchers, I’ve always loved you both.”

Page 3, Jaskier says,

“Silly witchers.”

[elalalune]

I binge watched unsolved yesterday.

[venator-signum]

I haven't seen a fic yet where geralt hears burn butcher burn and I need his reaction so help me god I will write it myself if I have to

[frostedwitch]

More 'Jaskier brings a puppy au'

He loves Princess Angelina Snootywoo Softpaws The Third so much, he often will just sit cooing over how cute she is.

Geralt tries to downplay how much it amuses him to see the bard fawning over a fluffball

Roach actually likes her, noses her gently and will kill for her.

Side effect of more women coming to coo over the adorable little puppy, Jaskier is quick to swoop in and start wooing.

And there was only one bed! The first inn they make it to only has one bed on offer, which is fine. They've shared plenty of times but now the pup is here.

Geralt: The dog is NOT sleeping on the bed.

Jaskier: You expect OUR daughter to sleep on the floor??? Geralt how could you be so cruel!

Geralt: That thing is not our daughter.

Jaskier: Either she sleeps in the bed or I'm gonna cry all night.

Geralt: ...fine

At 3am Princess paws Geralt awake, licking at his face for cuddles.

Geralt (sleepily) ... our daughters awake

Jaskier: ... when I'm asleep she's your daughter...

Princess is a spoiled little lap dog born in the courts but when she first sees a Drowner on the path she charges in head first, barking and stamping her little feet. Jaskier screaming at her and Geralt just sighs, pulls out his sword and runs in after her.

Once the Drowners are all dead she's sitting beside a decapitated head, wagging her floofy tail and beaming in pride at "her" victory.

[bob-belcher]

[jimtwobraincellskirk]

the Witcher, but it's just Jaskier saying 'Geralt' and Geralt saying 'Jaskier'

you're welcome :)

[myrkky]

Geralt protecting Jaskier, and then Jaskier saving him in return

[acaciajules]

Creep (Bardcore | Medieval Style with Vocals)

So this is my new obsession. These are amazing. I stumbled across them due to reading Geralt/Jaskier fics (which I only started reading due to fucking tumblr....)

[otaku-tyriq]

I did a thing

[aangarchy]

Y’know what would have been infinitely funnier? If they actually went through with the whole “Jaskier is immortal” thing and nobody ever acknowledges it. Jaskier just failed to mention it and Geralt being Geralt he just doesn’t notice that no matter how much time passes Jaskier just does not age

At some point someone asks them how long they’ve known each other and Jaskier casually answers “about 115 years, time flies don’t you think” and Geralt just has a good scream

[artmadval]

pls geralt just notice him

[elalalune]

drawing prompt? how about jask braiding geralt's long, thick hair with flowers? (and maybe geralt returning the favor?)

They might be a little ooc but I just really wanted to draw them being soft

[liron-ao3]

Everything hurts

Everything hurts. Not only his tiny, stupid, broken heart. That one knows the drill.

Loving – hurting – writing – singing – healing – repeat.

It’s not Jaskier’s first heartbreak. It isn’t even the first time someone took him down amid soulful agony, Jaskier just collateral damage in someone else’s explosion, the fragments of someone else’s shattered love piercing through him as easy as through threadbare fabric.

No. This time is different. And Jaskier doesn’t understand how or why.

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

Jaskier’s boots slip on the gritty path more than once. His feeble fingers pack his bedroll after several futile attempts. He nods at the others, without really seeing them. He has no words for them. And why bother?

‘See you around, Geralt.’

No, he won’t. He may be a nuisance, a leech, a nagger—but he isn’t stupid. He can ignore half-hearted attempts of shoving him away, but this wasn’t one of their playful banters. This was Geralt telling his truth. It would be disrespectful not to take his words at face value.

Jaskier can accept a man’s word, can stay out of someone’s hair if they don’t want him around. It’s what he knows just too well, after all. And singing a song about a man who wishes their paths had never crossed? No. That wouldn't be respectful at all.

So, Jaskier doesn’t ask for the rest of the story, doesn’t bother more innocent people than he already did today, and swings his lute over his shoulder.

He walks for hours. He has no idea where his feet might carry him. Straight to a monster, if he’s lucky. One that’ll swallow him whole, end his miserable existence.

Because not only his heart is broken. Jaskier feels like every cell in his body is a razor-sharp fragment of the man he used to be—the bard, a connoisseur of women, wine, and minnesong, a begrudgingly beloved friend.

Was he ever any of it? He can’t feel it anymore. He’s numb, and still, he can feel every single cut even more intense than the moment it was administered.

Oh, Geralt’s words, as few and rare as they were, were all the more weighted than those of others. Quips made Jaskier soar, insults cut through his very being, no matter how much he joked about them in return.

But he understands now. Quips weren’t quips. They were born from pity. And insults were meant from the bottom of Geralt’s heart.

The bard had joked about using the word ‘friend’ back before the djinn incident, when he was ‘heartbroken’ over Countess de Stael. Oh, he’d been such a fool. He hadn’t known pain like this, then. But this time, he might die a brokenhearted man for real.

On the surface, Jaskier is a man of grand gestures, big words, and thick skin. But he isn’t. Not really. He’s a tender soul in a semi-strong body, not a fighter unless it’s for joy or love, and mostly with words, not physical force. But what do joy and love even mean?

Fair ladies could spark his talent, endless words of praise and longing travelling on parchment and over his tongue inspired by their cherry lips, heaving chests, and succulent folds. But no one, not a single one of them, has fed his art as the witcher had done.

Stories of heroic deeds, the slaying of monsters—they flowed easily and made him some coin in taverns. The others didn’t flow as smoothly and only found their way into his repertoire wrapped into a masquerade of women’s names, non-white hair and not amber eyes. They became caricatures of his love, a diversionary manoeuvre, disguising his true emotions, until nothing was left but a chimaera, something people could still latch onto with their own desires and dreams, but so far detached from the object that even borrowed tunes felt closer to Jaskier's heart than these words from his own quill.

Maybe if he had dared sing Geralt the real, unedited version…

No! The witcher never wanted him around in the first place. And Geralt’s heart never belonged to him, not once, not even a little. Jaskier was just the annoying yowler coming back to him like a pesky, pulicose stray dog, a midge sucking his blood. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Jaskier walks and walks, ignores the setting sun, the cold of the wind creeping through his clothes, and the hunger that should have gnawed at him half a day ago. He doesn’t feel it. It’s just one more broken piece that makes up the mosaic of this all-encompassing pain.

His head is as empty as his stomach, no thought staying long enough to be unravelled. It’s just bits and pieces of dialogue and facial expressions that he prided himself on being able to read, maybe the only human to ever manage that.

But it was all a self-inflicted lie. He never could. He didn’t make a difference in Geralt’s life. Only the sorceress did, and she not only took big parts of Geralt’s heart but also the tiny space that Jaskier thought to have carved out for himself in there.

It had been Jaskier’s home, the one point to return to for his wandering heart. But it likely never existed in the first place. The witcher’s grunts had never been fond, had never meant anything but ‘go away’.

He didn’t see it coming, hadn’t known that his loyalty, the strength he had drawn from their friendship was a flight of fancy.

He chuckles without mirth, the wind answering him, howling a laughter of its own. Jaskier closes his eyes, his feet stopping on a sharp edge, the bottom below already hidden in the twilight. Just one step. It would be easy enough, even for someone as unlovable as himself. It would be an act of kindness, really.

“Don’t you dare!” a voice comes from behind. It’s not the one he longs to hear.

“Why not?” he asks, not even turning.

“Because he’ll need you one day.”

Jaskier scoffs.

“He won’t. He never did.”

“You fool,” the voice says. Maybe it’s real or just born from his vivid imagination.

“I’m not even his jester. For what might he need me one day? As bait?”

There is no answer, just the wind rustling through the leaves, and Jaskier takes a step back. From the edge, from his life, from the songs that used to flow through his veins. No melody will leave his lips, no chord will sound from his lute ever again.

Jaskier is empty, and numb, laced with a pain that might hold his frays together, but will never leave his body—not in whines, not in song, not even in words.

He will carry this pain for the rest of his life. Not on his sleeve, but in his hunched shoulders and the heaviness of his steps. Jaskier, the bard, is gone. What could possibly make this songbird sing again? His love not only rejected him. He destroyed him, took what little he had accepted from him and trampled on it as if it were less than dust.

Well, it was for Geralt. His friendship was nothing of worth to him. Nothing to cherish. Nothing to honour.

Jaskier slumps to his knees and curls into a ball right where he fell. Maybe the night’s cold will have mercy on him. At least, it would be a poetic funeral, the bard all covered in tiny stars, frozen, a warning for everyone willing to listen to never fall in love with a witcher.