#how many will it take before geralt realizes something is up? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poledancingdinos · 8 months

Text

Hostile Territory - Chapter 20

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @persephonepraxidikechthonios @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019

Masterlist

Day 203

After arguing a little, Ash let Leah pay the normal hourly rate for his work and gave her a final hug before seeing her off.

“So,” Sy began as they stood outside the shop, “where to now?”

That was a good question. Leah had been stunned to see Sy—thrilled—but stunned. All she knew was that she wanted to keep him close but she also couldn’t miss her appointment with Ash. After that, well, she’d been too focused on not messing up Ash’s lines to think about what they would do next.

“I’m going to guess you’re starving since all you’ve eaten since you showed up on my doorstep was a couple of strawberries so… Dinner?”

Dinner was the obvious answer considering it was almost six o’clock but what kind? Did she take him home and make him wait while she found something to cook? Did they go out? If so, where? Was this a dinner and a movie type of thing or a drinks at the bar type of thing?

“I am starvin’. Why don’t you tell me where I can get your favorite takeout and I’ll meet you back at your place?”

Leah released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That sounded perfect. She didn’t know why Sy made her so nervous. She’d never been one to turn into a blubbering mess in front of a guy but damn did she feel like a kid going up to her first crush on the school playground. Maybe it was because, for the first time, she really wanted a relationship to work out.

“There’s a little place on 2nd Street. Every time the guys talked about what they wanted to eat when they got home, I thought about their bacon cheeseburgers.”

Sy’s desirous groan confirmed that he was fully onboard with that idea. Leah laughed, holding out her hand.

“Give me your phone and I’ll pull up the address for you.”

Sy did as requested, holding on a second longer than necessary as their fingers brushed together.

“Why don’t ya put your number in there while you’re at it. I figure that’s something a good boyfriend should have.”

Leah pursed her lips as she bit the inside of her cheek. “Is that what you are to me now?”

“Give me the next two weeks then you can decide for yourself.”

Why was this man so damn smooth? And how was he still single? The women in Georgia must have been blind. Or maybe Sy just wasn’t around enough to really get to know anyone.

“If you get me that bacon cheeseburger then you might just be able to do it.” Leah finished up with Sy’s phone handing it back to him. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

After seeing Sy off, Leah rushed home, making a mental list of everything she needed to clean before Sy came back. She started with the living room which had the empty snack wrappers from the previous late night with her brother. She then took the trash out back and moved on to the bathroom to remove all signs of female life. Her wax strips, razor and shaving cream were unceremoniously dumped in a basket under the sink before she threw her dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. Finally, she changed the sheets on the bed, not remembering if she had done so before leaving in order to come home to an already fresh set of sheets.

The front door opened just as she finished fluffing the pillows. She made her way back down, drawn by the familiar scent that reminded her of her many amazing family nights growing up. Sy finished taking his boots off then lifted the paper bag. “Kitchen or couch?”

“It’s probably best if we eat this at a table but we can do a movie on the couch afterwards.”

“Sounds good.”

It was difficult to maintain any kind of conversation over dinner with how messy the burgers were but they both devoured their food so fast that there wasn’t enough time for it to get awkward.

“You were right,” Sy declared after finishing the final bite of his burger. “I’ll be dreamin’ of that meal once we get back.”

“How you just ate two of those and haven’t yet fallen into a food coma I do not understand.”

Although, in Leah’s experience, the more she trained and gained muscle, the hungrier she got. With a body like Sy’s—which looked to be about ninety percent muscle—he was probably capable of eating that much on a daily basis.

Sy huffed a laugh at her comment, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I may still fall asleep during the movie.”

Leah stood, throwing the wrappers in the trash and swapping the empty soda cups for beer bottles from the fridge.

“I need to take the wrap off my tattoo before we do that. My jeans are pressing on my skin and it’s starting to hurt.”

Sy opened his eyes, reaching a hand out to catch Leah around the waist and pull her to sit sideways on his lap. She didn’t resist, letting herself be moved and putting an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t stay uncomfortable on my account.” His thumb traced the exposed skin of her side. “What would ya have put on if I hadn’t been here?”

A shiver ran down Leah’s spine at the gentle touch. “Umm… Probably an old t-shirt and boyshorts.”

“Ya didn’t seem worried about undressin’ at the shop. Would it be different with it just bein’ the two of us here?”

No, she hadn’t been worried at the shop and she wouldn’t be uncomfortable undressing now. However, she did care about her appearance. Comfortable and sexy didn’t often go hand in hand. Leah may not have been trying to tempt Sy into bed but she didn’t want to look like a slob either.

“I guess I shoulda asked before now,” he added after a moment without an answer, “but do ya wanna tell me what your limits are?”

Leah wasn’t quite sure what Sy meant but she’d only heard the word ‘limits’ used in a handful of contexts.

“Like kink limits?”

“That too but I meant any sort of boundaries ya have.”

Sy took a deep inhale, his expression turning thoughtful as he carefully considered his words. The last thing he wanted was for Leah to misunderstand his intentions.

“Imma be honest here,” his tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I don’t care if we don’t have sex or if we don’t do anything else that would get either of us off but it would be real hard for me if physical contact was fully off the table. I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable or do something against your will. If there’s anywhere ya don’t want to be touched I’d appreciate ya lettin’ me know before I do something wrong.”

“Is that why we’re having this conversation with me sitting on your lap?”

Sy looked down as if he hadn’t realized what he’d done. It was like wanting to have her close was so deeply ingrained in him that he’d done it on instinct.

“Yeah, sorry.”

He moved to lift her off but Leah stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“No, it’s okay, I like this. I’m okay with cuddling, kissing or sitting on your lap but…”

“But I should keep my hands in safe territory and avoid anything sexual?” Sy finished when she hesitated for too long.

“Yes but no…” Leah shook her head, making her hair fall over her face. “I know it’s stupid but if you’re doing it for you then it’s usually okay but if it’s with the intention to get me off then it’s usually not.”

It made Sy angry to hear Leah talk about herself that way. It occurred to him that Leah, although confident in her physical abilities and skills in the field, always struggled to express her feelings or share personal thoughts. She usually responded better to specific questions but they still appeared to take a toll on her.

“It’s not stupid. Nothing ya feel is stupid, okay?” He held her tighter, moving a hand the back of her neck in the hopes that the gentle pressure would help soothe her. He was working off a hunch he’d had for a while that Leah had submissive tendencies. Though she didn’t like feeling out of control, Sy had an inkling that she would appreciate giving it up to someone she trusted. And that she needed more praise in her life. “You’re doin’ real good, darlin’, this is helpin’ me understand. When ya say it would be okay when it’s for me, would ya enjoy it or would ya tolerate it?”

“If I was in the right mood, I’d want to make you feel good and I’d enjoy it.”

“But you wouldn’t want me to reciprocate?”

Leah shook her head ‘no’.

“Okay. Thank you for tellin’ me.” Leah leaned into Sy’s hold on her nape, some of the tension finally leaving her body. “Is there a reason talkin' about this is so hard for ya?”

It scared him to ask the question but he needed to know if the reason for Leah’s discomfort was because of a bad past experience or if it was just how she was. Leah had kept her eyes averted the entire time and Sy fought the desire to tip her chin up, not wanting to risk her shutting down completely.

“I guess I find it embarrassing to explain so it was always easier to just act like I was into it.”

Sy touched his forehead to Leah’s temple, closing his eyes as he calmed himself.

“Don’t ever do that with me.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. “If you’re not into it, nothing happens. We don’t need to get deeper into all this tonight but you have to promise me that much.”

Leah shifted on Sy’s lap, turning to face him more fully. Sy’s intense gaze met hers, conveying how deeply he cared about her and her wellbeing.

Feeling a little too overwhelmed for words, Leah pulled Sy forward and gently pressed her lips to his. He let himself be moved, giving her control to slowly explore the kiss.

When they parted, Leah had a shy smile on her face. “I promise.”

“Good girl.” He kissed her temple and tapped her good thigh twice. “Now go get comfy and I’ll finish cleanin’ up in here.”

“If I change then you should too.”

“I’m not the one with a massive wound on my leg but I can take my pants off if that’s what ya want.”

Leah rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Well, it wouldn’t be a hardship but I meant you should put on shorts or sweats or something.”

After Sy agreed to change, Leah went upstairs and made sure her tattoo was clean and dry before slipping on her boyshorts and oversized t-shirt. She looked herself up and down as she tied her hair into a loose ponytail, declaring herself as ready as she could be.

When she returned, Sy had already made himself comfortable on the couch, scrolling through the movie options. He’d changed into what looked like thin sweatpants and was stretched out in the corner of the L-shaped couch.

“Don’t move for a second.”

He watched as Leah pulled what looked like a drawer out from under the main section of the couch and popped it up to form a mattress sized couch.

“Well that’s convenient.”

“Dad got sick of me and Caleb fighting over the single ottoman we had so he bought this couch instead.”

Spotting the instant change in Leah’s mood, Sy stretched out his arm in invitation. She crawled forward, snuggling into his side and gratefully accepting his quiet comfort. Conveniently, Sy had chosen the side of the couch that allowed Leah to rest on her good hip so she made herself comfortable with her other leg over Sy’s lap.

“Did you find something to watch?”

Sy flipped through the titles again. “I don’t recognize most of the names but I’m up for Friday Night Lights, Taken, Coach Carter—”

“Ooh, I haven’t watched Coach Carter in forever.”

“Coach Carter it is.”

He started the movie and handed Leah her beer, taking a sip from his own. The weight of Leah’s body against Sy’s appease an ache that had been growing stronger in Sy since he’d met her. It had started in earnest after the whole Sharpie tattoo incident, turning into a bone deep need for her touch.

After careful consideration, he placed his hand on her thigh just above her knee. When she didn’t flinch with pain, he began tracing patterns over her skin.

They both managed to stay awake throughout the whole movie although Leah was definitely struggling to keep her eyes open. Sy switched off the television as the credits began to roll and slipped off the couch, leaving a grumbling Leah behind.

“Come on, baby girl, I’m sure your bed will be more comfortable.”

She smiled sleepily scooting out from the center of the couch. Sy couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and pulled Leah into his arms.

“I can walk, you know.”

“Yeah, but the last time I carried ya up a set of steps I couldn’t do it how I wanted. Indulge me.”

Leah pressed her nose into the crook of his neck, humming in appreciation. Sy carried Leah into the bathroom, seating her on the counter. “I’ll leave you to it while I go get my bag.”

“Okay. My room is the one on the left of the stairs.”

After brushing her teeth and relieving her bladder, Leah grabbed her trusty ink towel and set it up in her bed.

“What’s that for?” Sy asked as he came in and closed the door.

Leah took the tie out of her hair, shaking it out. “Blood is easy to get out but ink, not so much.”

“Only you could tell me that blood stains are easy to get out as if it’s an everyday occurrence and without a lick of sarcasm.”

Sy reached behind his head, pulling his shirt off by the collar. Leah shamelessly studied his chest and stomach. His hair had grown back but she didn’t mind it one bit. The pants came off next, leaving Sy in only his underwear and the man looked damn good.

“Well,” she began, shaking herself out of her six-pack induced trance and getting under the covers, “all you need is hydrogen peroxide and it comes right out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sy joked, catching Leah’s chin and tipping her head up for a languid kiss that made her melt into the mattress.

“G’night,” he whispered, placing a final peck on her cheek before switching off the light.

Reversing their positions from their night at the motel, Sy slipped an arm under Leah’s head and drew her closer until her back was pressed to his chest. After a short moment of silence, Sy spoke up again. “For the record, the southern charm worked.”

Chapter 21

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson fanfiction #henry cavill #cpt syverson fanfic #cpt syverson x ofc #captain syverson x ofc

37 notes · View notes

tiisshu · 2 months

Text

did i ever post this particular j/askier/g/eralt allergy thing on here? its over on my ao3 and i had to read it before i remembered writing it lol.

Of Course

"Geralt! There you are, old boy!". Chirped a vibrant and cheerful Jaskier. He had been traveling down along this road for the better part of the morning, it had started out as a dreary and damp spring but it had dawned bright and warm and Jaskier had began the trek to some of the smaller villages along the western realm of Velen. He couldn't really remember ever coming this way at this time of year before, usually choosing to stay in the larger cities where warm fires and crowds could chase away the gloom of mud and the smell of the decaying leaves along some of the less maintained roads. But here he was delighted to have happened upon the stopped Witcher near a stream refilling his water bags.

The answering groan made the edges of his smile widen, " Ah there he is, knew it was that overwhelming charm I missed. What you up to, huh? On your way to another Adventure? Monsters to kill?". Geralt recapped the final water bag and straightened, looking the bard over and trying to remember how many years had passed this time in blissful silence. He supposed there were worse times to have run into the chatty and opinionated Jaskier.

Still, he knew he'd regret it as he often did, Jaskier just... never seemed to assess the danger in a situation with any real skill and Geralt was left with far more objectives in a fight than necessary. He was hesitant to send the bard away though, something that had remained a touchy subject but mostly left unsaid since what had happened in the Mountains

. . . .

In truth, it really didn't take long. The regret that is. After a couple hours of travel and Jaskier's incessant ramblings of this banquet and that woman, and various other tedious things the pair fell into a sort of rhythm with Jaskier singing various lines to himself and making adjustments to a ballad he was composing and Geralt riding atop Roach at a pace that allowed the Witcher to go over some details in his mind on a contract he was hoping to pick up along the way. Each of them lost in their own task.

Huh.. ihh...

Geralt snapped out of his thoughts instantly, for a moment scanning the countryside- wondering what had broken his concentration when Jaskier suddenly twisted to the side and aimed a trio of sneezes at the ground.

Hih'Isssh! Issshuu! Huh' ih'Shiew! "ah, Bless me. Hitting the ol' dusty road a little too hard perhaps", He joked as he dug through his pockets in search of a handkerchief.

He always seemed to have one or two on him, though he'd start out the night without one. Odd little mementos of a love affair, he had once quipped after a party had gone particularly well and somehow he had arrived back at their inn with three tucked into his lute case. He supposed adding the tears in while he played "Her sweet kiss" had been a bit much, but he had been well rewarded for the efforts. Thrice.

Geralt hummed and tried to regain his momentum with planning when Jaskier slowed in pace and tilted his head back, lips parting slightly as he hitched, searching with half closed eyes to see if he could catch a sun ray to help it along.

"Huh... Hih' ... Ahhk'SSSHU! Eh'Hisshiew! 'Tsuu! Gods, s..s-still?", he turned away from the path and blew his nose, huffing indignantly when he found it did nothing to quell the itch deep in his sinuses and he could already feel his breath catching. Geralt sighed heavily and leaned forward slightly, swinging his leg over Roach as he dismounted. Jaskier cast him a fleeting look before he was burying his nose in the handkerchief again, his shoulders shaking with each hitch.

Hae'esshiew! Hishhah!.. Hngkxxt! "I.. Hih'.. I was kiddig about the dusty ro-ah- road", Jaskier tried to explain, realizing that this sudden sneezing really could only be explained by some sort of allergy. Fuck .

It didn't take a Witcher's senses to see just how miserable the bard was. The area around his nose and eyes was beginning to take on an irritated pink hue that stood out starkly against his natural complexion.

After each volley of sneezes Jaskier would cough dryly as he tried to catch his breath, a wheeze was beginning to be audible as he scraped in each breath before he was off again sneezing helplessly into his handkerchief.

Hng-xsst! 'tsuu Snf ...hih'Tshiew! Huh.. Heh.. F..fuck...

"Jaskier".

Huh' Ehg... W-wud? D'esshiew

The Witcher plucked one of the vibrant red blooms from one of the towering shrubs along the path and unceremoniously shoved it up under Jaskier's nose. The bard only managed to tilt his head quizzically and look up at him with those watery blue eyes before realization and the dawning need to sneeze hit him.

"Fuh..fuck Gera-ah-AhhShiew! Hae'eh hih?... Hih'Isshuu! Hngk'tsuu huh.. Ahh'Sssshhiew!

Despite the growing nagging feeling that he should be more sympathetic, Geralt had to roll his eyes, of course the Bard would be allergic to the hardiest and most abundant plant this side of Midscope.

"Honeysuckle", Geralt said then, answering the bard's cut off question. He tossed the picked flower and turned to gather Roach's reins to keep the horse from wandering off grazing.

Jaskier had distanced himself from the offending flower and was mopping futilely at his face as his body tried to rid itself of the invading threat, great allergic tears running down his cheeks and soaking into the collar of his doublet where an angry red rash could be seen cropping up along the jawline.

Heh.. Oh cuh-come on- uH'Hisshiew!

Jaskier at this point thought death might be preferable.

Leave it to him to cause such a scene so soon after convincing Geralt to allow him to accompany him, it had taken absolutely ages, but here he was being a mess in front of a Witcher.

That Witcher, in particular.

He'll tell me to leave again, he thought glumly, blowing his nose as thoroughly as he could now that the sneezing was dying down and being replaced by a dry itchy feeling beneath the surface of his face and a thick oppressive stuffiness that left him needing to breathe out of his mouth exclusively. Lovely.

The next thing he knew though he was being hoisted to his feet effortlessly by the larger man and hauled over to the horse. Geralt managed to extricate the soiled handkerchief from the bard and toss it into an unused saddlebag with a concerning wet squelch.

"Do you need an invitation?", Geralt growled when Jaskier stared at him uncomprehendingly. His watery gaze ping-ponging between the Witcher and Roach.

Geralt prickled with what he assumed was Jaskier just being a little shit and clarified, " Unless... you'd rather stay here", he gestured to further down the path where another Honeysuckle shrub grew.

The Witcher had planned their route down by Pyke Isle where he had heard talk of a few contracts, but as the season was just beginning it's shift towards warmer weather, they'd be better off heading north...

He narrowed his eyes at the bard and gestured toward Roach. Jaskier cleared his throat and seemed to remember himself and clamored to raise himself into the saddle. As if to remind him of what exactly had led to this sudden shift in plans Jaskier felt that demanding tickle buzz to life along the sensitive walls of his sinuses for one last comment and he raised an arm to bury his face in the crook of an elbow.

Hih' Ih... Snf Hih' Isshiew!

Geralt decided that was enough, he pulled a simple square of fabric out of one of the other saddlebags and handed it up to Jaskier before stepping back and tugging Roach's reins gently to begin the trek back to the crossroads so they could travel north.

"You owe me", Geralt said for good measure, couldn't have the bard thinkin' he had grown soft in his old age.

But Jaskier only sniffled and for once was silent.

#sneezeblr #snzfucker #sickfic #snzfic #allergic!J/askier #The W/itcher snzfics #reblog?

12 notes · View notes

friendlyreaderandco · 1 month

Text

Alrighty!!! Hello hello. Since I’ve had such great luck with the fic finding help (thank you for all of the help) I figured I would repost my currently missing scenes and one new ask. These should all be completed stories on Ao3.

1. (New) GeraltxJaskier. These two fall into bed together and the next morning Geralt realizes Jaskier was too quiet the night before based on the other times Geralt’s overheard his bard find his pleasure. He gets a bit insecure and spirals thinking he didn’t please the other so in the next few towns he forces him to keep his distance hoping to encourage the bard to find someone who pleases him. Jaskier doesn’t though and Geralt is baffled. Then the Witcher decides to get hammered and the bard interrupts and says something like “don’t drink too much. I have plans for you and need you sober.” At which point Geralt tells him to find another partner and jaskier finally breaks down and asked Geralt what’s been up with him and Geralt opens up about his feeling and Jaskier says, “first of all darling we’re going to talk about how many times you’ve listened to me. Second I was simply overwhelmed and didn’t want you to be (maybe annoyed) by my talking.” Then they leave before Jaskiers finished his set, which Geralt asked about and he says some things are more important and they live happily ever after.

2. (RE-ASK) Stiles x Derek. I remember less about this one but I did try to find it by keyword with no luck. In this one Derek and Stiles are going on a first date and Derek is driving them. Stiles is acting odd. And Derek asked him why he’s not fidgeting or touching his stuff without permission and finds out one of the ladies (Erica and Alison maybe) “reminded” stiles that he’s super annoying and to curb all of his behaviors. Then Derek has to tell him how much he likes stiles for who he is! I know it’s a bit vague. I also kind of remember stiles sitting on his hands, getting permission to go through the glove box and put on a different cd and I believe their date was in a diner type setting.

3. (RE-ASK) JaskierxGeralt had recently gotten together and they are camping in the woods when Jaskier wakes up in the middle of the night (possibly due to a nightmare but I wouldn’t count on it) and decides to go take a bath in the river nearby and after a few moments Geralt joins him. During their conversation Jaskier says he has to act and Geralt should be used to it. So of course Geralt takes that in the worst possible way and says something along the lines of “you have to act in front of me?” Luckly Jaskier reads his self-hatred quickly and panics trying to explain that he doesn’t act because of Geralt but has to sometimes in front of him. I know, vague. Probably why I can’t find it 😭 I don’t remember anything else!!

Any way figured I’d try my luck once more, just in case anyone knew with some answers stumbled across it. Any help in locating these is greatly appreciated!!!

Ahah! Number 1 has been located by myself as I delved the Archive! For anyone interested, please see the link below for What Happens Next by Xxenjoy!

#geralt x jaskier #ao3 #fic finder #geralt of rivia #gerskier #jaskier #the witcher #please help #send help #derek x stiles #sterek fic search

7 notes · View notes

fandom-junk-drawer · 2 years

Text

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Fighting

Jaskier is not much of a fighter. Or, at least at he doesn't look like much of one.

He mostly relies on his Scary Dog Privilege when Geralt is with him to get out of having to fight. Being Besties with a Witcher Pack has it's perks.

Not many people want to mess with you when there is a big, scary looking Witcher following you around. Even less want to mess with you when you are regularly seen hanging out with five.

The only problem is that he can't seem to keep his mouth shut. He always has something to say when someone insults Geralt, or gods forbid, Yennefer. And he usually ends up having to have Geralt save him.

While he talks and jokes a lot and will sometimes get into minor fights when he's with Geralt or one of the other Kaer Morons, he is much quieter when he's alone, or with his band. He desperatley tries to avoid confrontation when he's alone.

If he can't avoid a fight, then he'll try to throw the first punch and then run like the devil. It's not the most dignified technique, but it works.

Fearing for his safety, Geralt had tried to teach him how to fight, taking him out to Kaer Morhen to train with the other Witchers.

Lambert thought it was a joke at first. Surely no one could be that mediocre, could they? The Witchers kept waiting for him to show some kind of improvement and start beating their a**es, or at least land a punch, but it never happened.

Jaskier just kept ending up getting layed out over and over. It seemed that the only thing he was good at, and got even better at was dodging their strikes.

It was almost comical, the way he squeaked and squawked as he barely managed to dodge, looking as if he was managing by pure dumb luck. But the longer it went on, the more Geralt noticed the oddness.

Jaskier didn't seem to be putting much effort into landing a hit. It was almost as if it wasn't that he couldn't, it was that he didn't want to... The few punches or jabs he did throw seemed to be purposfully bad, more of a distraction than an attemtp to strike. There were a few times where Geralt noticed some of his dodges seemed way too fluid and deliberate to be accidental.

Geralt had a talk with his brothers. There was definitely something there, some kind of skill, but their current technique wasn't bringing it out. Jaskier knew they weren't trying to hurt him. They came up with a plan. It ended up being a very bad idea. For the Witchers.

At the next training session all four of the Witchers had come at him at once.

Jaskier had mangaged to dodge a few strikes at first, going with his comical dodging act, had thrown a few punches and kicks, and then he'd tried to run, becoming more frantic as he tried to find an escape route. He'd floundered up after getting hit a few time and started begging them to stop, an odd desperate note in his voice. When they didn't let up, his tone took on a strange, hard edge. He'd felt a hand grab him by the arm...and the knives had come out, and everything had gone to h*ll.

Yennefer had been p*ssed when she found out after they contacted her to come calm him down. She'd spent the afternoon healing the more serious knife wounds and b*tching at them.

How dare you push Songbird to that point!

Ar*eholes, every single one of you!

I'm seriously considering taking away your Bard Priviliges for a week!

Come on, Lark, you are coming home with me!

You're sleeping on the couch when you get home, Geralt!"

Geralt finally understood why Jaskier resorted to trying to talk or joke his way out of a situation if he was alone, and in a heavily populated public space.

Geralt finally realized that Jaskier would fight someone twice his size, or fight any drunk who put his hands on Yennefer, because he knew Geralt would step in before things...went too far.

Jaskier had a feral side that could ruin his reputation, his image, and his career if any bystanders saw it.

After finding out about Feral!Jaskier, Geralt always tried to make sure that either himself or Yennefer were with Jaskier when he was out. It worked for the most part, except for the one time it didn't, and Geralt ended up having to call his brothers to do clean up duty.

267 notes · View notes

emma-ofnormandy · 1 year

Text

hey look, i managed to write a thing despite my muse going the way of my energy as well. a little yenralt thing because they’re on my mind and I am countering my reoccurring fears for them in season 3.

“What are you watching?”

The deep tenor of Geralt’s sent the sorceress’s heart leaping in her chest. Lost in her own whirling thoughts, Yennefer had not realized that he had awoken.

They had made camp off the main road a way, a clearing by a creek their haven. Ciri had promptly drifted off to sleep, the days of travel wearing on her and Geralt had not been far behind. It was not long before their snores had mingled with the bubbling of the water and Yennefer had been left to her own devices. As exhausted as she was, sleep had been elusive, and she had soon sought solitude in the sky above.

“The stars,” she answered vaguely, her violet gaze never pulling from the inky expanse.

She had a fondness for the burning lights of the sky, their presence a recurring comfort she had grown to rely on. Much of her life had been weighed down by abandonment, her trials and tribulations across the centuries taking those closest to her away, but the stars had remained, and she had come to find herself reliant on their steadfast appearance.

“Have you found the answers to our problems up there, by chance?”

It had been the first lighthearted thing he had uttered to her since they had set out from Kaer Morhen and a glimmer of something resembling hope trembled within her.

“I do not believe they hold the key to defeating malefic elven specters, political unrest, or vengeful kings,” she countered. If only their situation was simple enough that the answer could be found within the binding of an astrology book.

“That is too bad.”

Though there was a fair amount of space between them, she could feel the heat from his presence as he shifted beside her so his gaze, too, watched the stars.

She wondered what it was that he sought in them. Did they also bring him a sense of comradery or comfort like they did her or were they simply something he’d grown used to watching in the years spent traveling alone.

It was not long before a streak of light shot across the steady backdrop.

“They say a shooting star is good luck.”

His words had been spoken so softly that she had almost missed their utterance. “I cannot see how that could be as they are falling into obscurity.”

Though it was too dark to see, Yennefer knew he watched her, uneasy with her bleak response.

“Some survive.”

A bitter chuckle echoed in her chest; the likeness was not lost on her. Some did survive, a few for centuries, but their continued existence was not something many saw as a sign of good. She had heard men tote the end of civilization based on the recurrence of a falling star.

“You are right, some do survive. They survive long enough to hit the ground and destroy everything in their path.”

The sorceress did not dare chance a glance at Geralt as the morbid words hung between them. She knew the Witcher had no intention of insinuating such a bleak end to an event most found marveling, but after all that they had been through, their disastrous beginning to this misadventure, how could she look at such comparison any other way.

It was only when his fingers brushed against hers and she felt the weight and warmth of his hand over her own, that the tremble of hope she felt extended not only to their rekindling but also to the regretful end she feared.

#yenraltsource #yenralt #geralt x yennefer #the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #the witcher netflix #geralt #yennefer #mine: writing #otp: important to someone

53 notes · View notes

thenightling · 1 year

Text

Which Witcher is Witch?

Note: I know there are multiple-in universe Witchers. This post is specifically in regard to the title of the franchise. It's time to address something in The Witcher fandom. In the Witcher novels you have a monster hunter (called a Witcher) named Geralt of Rivia, who adopts an orphaned princess from a fallen kingdom. Her name is Ciri. Geralt had accidentally claimed Ciri via a magical invocation known as "Law of Surprise." When you call upon Law of Surprise in front of someone, whatever they gain next now belongs to you. It can be as random as a sack of flour or a puppy. But the thing about Law of Surprise is it invokes Destiny itself and once invoked it cannot be denied. The person who called upon Law of Surprise cannot decline what he has claimed and the person who has to give the thing cannot refuse to give it or Destiny will intervene to make it happen. Geralt had invoked Law of Surprise (without realizing it) in front of a pregnant royal. When he learned she was pregnant he fled rather than take her child. Twelve-years-later the kingdom was sieged and Princess Ciri was the only survivor, forcing Geralt to embrace his Destiny and accept her as his adoptive daughter.

Now, when I first got into The Witcher a fan boy scolded me that Ciri could not count as a "real" Witcher and that "the author said so." He insisted that because she never underwent the Trial of the grasses she would never count as REAL Witcher no matter what was said in the novels or video games. This was before I learned how the novels and video games actually end, mind you, or perhaps I would have had a better rebuttal for this totally-not-a-misogynist. Recently I saw some interviews with the showrunner and writer for The Witcher Netflix TV series. I am well-aware that there have been many deviations from the novels but I do find it a suspicious tell that the two main things that seem to offend certain fan boys are 1. The canonical realization that Jaskier is bisexual / pansexual and 2. The idea that Ciri will become a Witcher, herself...

The best scenario ending of the third Witcher video game (Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt) is Ciri becomes a Witcher, herself, and goes off on her own adventures. In the novels Ciri eventually ends up in another universe (possibly our own) where she rides off the Knights of The Round Table. The TV series is already hinting at going in the direction of Ciri becoming a Witcher, herself. And now the showrunners have pretty much confirmed that Ciri is the actual main protagonist of the show. But there are angry fanboys whining "But Geralt is The Witcher!" No. Not necessarily. The title may be subversive. You thought you were following the adventures of The Witcher this whole time when you were watching Geralt but the reality is Ciri is who the title is for. Ciri is also The Witcher. Now there are angry fans whining and bemoaning the idea that Netflix has "changed The Witcher" and made Ciri the main character even though "The title is for Geralt." Not necessarily. I'm not sure why so many of the fans seem to be reacting badly to this. It was kind of expected the whole time. It's how the video games end, which are actually set after the novels. And in the novels she rides off with some of King Arthur's men. She's pretty much The Witcher there too. I'm getting deja vu of the angry "My adventures with Superman" fans from just a few days ago who whined about what a "Simp" Clark is for Lois- meaning he's doting and devoted to her and wants for her happiness. Superman was always like this... Fanboys, this sort of sexism went out style in the sixties.

#The Witcher #Ciri #Geralt of Rivia

26 notes · View notes

annmarcus63 · 2 years

Text

Geralt wakes up with a heavy gasp, sitting on his heels trying to discern the surroundings. Nothing seems missing, the camp is as he left it, before he passed out, that is. Roach comes to nuzzled at his side, in worry for his master, who pets her with affection, the witcher pushes her aside with a comforting pat and stands up. Nothing hurts, not really, There's only the faint memory of burning pain, and something he can't quite place, resting inside. His head hurts, he's having flashes of something, a sorceress. She's threatening him, no, not him, Jaskier, but the bard is not here, he's at the next town, waiting for him as accorded last winter.

What do you want from him? If you're here you surely you're aware he's under my protection

Bastard played with my poor heart

It is dawn, the birds have not yet woken up. Geralt finds his way back to the camp and begins to pack his things, leaving the metal pot for last. He heats a cup of water to wash off the gritty feeling in his mouth. He suspects a curse has been placed upon him. Though it seems, not a strong one. It's possible the sorceress wasn't expecting to face a witcher. No, she did mention the White wolf as her objective. And then, Geralt realizes that he can remember her words, but separated from each other. Every word makes sense, but when he tries to put them together, he fails to give them mening.

Roach finishes her breakfast, which consists on the patch of tall grass she slept on the night before, and the rest of the apple net that Geralt bought for her two days ago. "Sorry, girl. Once we get there, I'll make sure someone takes care of you." He knows the mare is tired and hungry, both are.

"Sorry, girl. Once we get there, I'll make sure someone takes care of you." He knows the mare is tired and hungry, both of them are. Four days on the road without proper rest and a decent meal takes its toll sooner or later. He prepares her, making sure her gear and saddlebags are well tied but not too much, she gets grumpier when the pressure on her belly makes her slow. He hopes to find Jaskier unharmed, and if he’s unharmed, oh how he long to shout at him for his stupidity. Jaskier’s cock is a natural trouble bringer, maybe he should cut it off for him, that way he'll never have to save his bard from himself ever again.

He arrives by noon. On the outskirts of town, humble little houses of farmers and minor merchants. Children stop their plays to look at him with earnest curiosity, mothers and fathers look at him with distaste. Despite Jaskier's songs, he's still an unwanted guest, although, it's nice to be look with distaste rather than with hatred.

He can distinguish the tall roofs from the wealthy houses and temples downtown. Surely, Jaskier would be waiting for him in the fanciest inn, but Geralt wouldn't go there, yet. If someone can help him with the aching feeling in his chest, that someone must be living outside of town. He asks around and yes, a young lad with muddy hair points him to an old house near a wrecked pig farm.

He can smell the characteristic scent of herbs, poison and magical ingredients before knocking on the door. An attractive woman with gray hair and brown eyes regards him with indifference. "Do you require ingredients, witcher? I'm short on a few of them" she says, stepping aside to let him in. She closes the door with a tired sigh. The house is rather small and has too many objects hanging from the ceiling. He bumps his head with a couple of them before settle in a safe corner. Geralt wonders sometimes is better to ignore the curiosity. A cat died once for it. Yes, he laughs internally at his own joke.

He takes a pouch full of coin and throws it at a small table next to her. She turns instantly to grab it and count the coins inside.

"I'm listening" she says with a satisfied smile on her dry lips.

"A sorceress pay me a visit last night. She placed something in me"

"A curse?"

"You tell me" The woman approaches him with her arms raised, to place her hands on his chest.

Geralt tenses at the unwelcome touch. She talks under her breath so quickly that Geralt can't understand and then she jumps with a joyous screech, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"This is gold. It's not a curse, witcher, is something far more disturbing"

"What is it?" Says Geralt, angry at her blissful way.

"It's not a curse. You surely must know that magic doesn't work the same on your kind" Geralt just glares.

"It is a simple spell. Neither harmful nor durable. A love spell to be precise"

"A what?" Fuck.

You'll stay away from him

Alright, alright. I'll go and leave him alone. After all, I already found his someone else

"A vengeful love spell particularly directed at someone close to you, of course." The sorceress explains. His mind stops when a nasty hunch settles in his guts.

Jaskier.

Unrequited love.

Vengeance.

Well, fuck.

"Can you get rid of it?"

"I'm afraid not. It’s a too powerful spell for an old rag like me. But there's is no need to worry. Based on your expression I imagine you know for whom the spell was placed" He'll kill Jaskier. No. He'll punch him so hard that his balls will fall off.

"You'll have to avoid this person until the spell worns out. Two weeks at least" Great, Jaskier is just around the corner. If he's lucky, he could slide through town without meeting him. He'll send him a message with some excuse.

But there is something missing "No, you are mistaken, I don't feel love for that person." He cares for the bard, sometimes a bit too much, but well, the fool worth the trouble. Most of the time. But it wasn't love, is it?

"It's a spell for you, but a curse to the other person." Apparently, his internal fight is visible "You'll love this person, knowing you're under a spell but you won’t be able to tell. The spell will disappear, and with it your love for them."

I already found his someone else

"A broken heart" Geralt whispers with a sinking feeling. Is Jaskier in love with him? No, he isn't. Geralt would have known. He can identify the gooey scent that accompanies love in all people. Like orange peles and guava left under the sun. Jaskier never smell like that around him.

"You'll only need to stay away from this person. Now, if you don't require anything else from me..." Geralt grunts while closing his eyes, in a futile attempt to ease the ripping feeling on his chest. It's unfair, so fucking unfair, not for him but for Jaskier. If he's really in love with the witcher then this will destroy him, Geralt will destroy him. No, Geralt would not allow it. He'll not hurt his friend.

He walks to the door desperate to leave the place, to leave the city. "Are you sure that four months will suffice?" the woman nods with a reassuring smile.

"Close the door behind you, please" And Geralt does.

The unpleasant smell of pigs and shit reaches his nose in a hot wave. Roach is tied to a small post in which he left her, she'll be really huffy when Geralt takes her back to the road. Damn, he promised her food and rest, she's tired, even when Geralt isn't anymore. Maybe he could ask the farmers to sell him a net of hay, but he's out of money. He was counting on the bard's money to rent a stall at the stable inn for Roach. What is he going to do? He sees the muddy lad from before carrying two buckets of water. He would send a message with him to Jaskier asking for money. No. Impossible. The idiot would come down running to meet him.

He would have to take a nearby contract in exchange for Roach being fed. Yes. It seems that's the better option, but first, to send the message to Jaskier. He searches for the famous muddy boy, when the most terrifying sound reaches his ears.

"Geralt? is that you, you gorgeous bastard?"Jaskier's voice

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt #jaskier x geralt #based on a old fic idea i had but can't find #lovespell #Geralt it's a good friend #a bit softer than WitcherNetflix #but still somber and taciturn #one of those ships where one guys is the moon and the other the sun #and the moon shines bright like a diamond nearing the sun

63 notes · View notes

merlot-and-chardonnay · 9 months

Text

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 42

Chapter 41

Masterlist

"Geralt?" Jaskier looks over to see his friend standing by, covered in blood as a result from the fighting that took place earlier.

Upon seeing the man, knowing exactly who he was after seeing him in the throne room years ago, Criston was quick to draw his sword and get in front of Aemma and Aemond. Ivan did the same out of sheer reflex. Swords pointed at the witcher as he attempted to approach. Geralt stood back, confused.

"Whoa, whoa, what's going on?" Jaskier gets in front of the two knights. "What the fuck is this?" Roche runs to the side. "Stay back!" Criston warns Geralt. "Ser Criston!" Aemma tries to call out. "You didn't think I'd forget the likes of you, did you now...White Wolf?"

Upon hearing those words, Aemond drew his own sword, ready to slay the witcher himself for Aemma's sake.

"Aemond, stop! Criston, Ivan! Stop this!" Aemma runs in front of the trio next to Jaskier. "Princess, stand aside," Criston insists, "this man is dangerous." "I know," Aemma nods, "he is. But he is no danger to us, Ser. Sheathe your sword."

"White Wolf?" Ivan realized, turning to Criston, "Ser, I know exactly who this man is. This is Geralt of Rivia. The witcher." Criston gave Ivan a somewhat incredulous look, "how do you know him?" "He is well known throughout the Continent, everyone knows the white haired witcher. He saved my village once from a pack of monsters many years ago. Before I was born that is, but the elders would tell this tale many a time when I was a child."

"Sir Criston, put your blade away," Roche orders, "the witcher is under my protection. Whatever grievance you have with him must be put aside." "Is this not the same man who is wanted for regicide?" Criston scoffs, "the same man who assassinated your king?" "It was a different man, a different witcher," Aemma speaks up, realizing what Criston was implying, "Geralt never slayed any kings. If anything he tried to prevent it, tried to stop the same man from taking me to the Scoia'tel, but it was too late."

"There see? A trustworthy eyewitness here to affirm Geralt's innocence," Jaskier exasperates.

"Didn't you want this man dead before, Aemma?" Aemond brings up, "for taking your mother away? You had plans, if I recall. To make him confess his crime before stabbing him in the heart and feeding his body to your dragon."

Jaskier looked to Aemma, shocked, "Aemma? What-" "That was my desire once before," Aemma admits, "but new information has come to light, information that...greatly contradicts what was told to me as a child. I...I don't know what to think," she turns to face the witcher, "I don't know what to think of this man. But I don't wish that anymore. Now sheathe your swords," she turns to Ivan and Criston, to which Ivan quickly obeys, though Criston waited, "...by order of your princess," Aemma narrows her gaze, and Criston reluctantly does as he was commanded.

Sensing her determination, Aemond also put his own sword away; it was unwise, after all, to anger Aemma any further then she was already was with him.

Seeing he wasn't in any immediate danger, Geralt turns to Aemma, taking out a sword. Criston was about to draw his own again, as was Aemond, but Geralt turned it over, presenting Aemma the hilt, "I believe this is yours," he tells her. Attached to the hilt was also the silver medallion Vesemir had made for her.

Eyes wide in surprise, Aemma took both items, clutching them close, "I didn't think I would see these things again. I thought the Scoia'tel would've destroyed them or sold them or something along those lines. How did you get these back?"

"One of the Scoia'tel was using them during the fight," Geralt explains, "I took it back." Aemma looked to Geralt, surprised he would've done something like that for her. She nods in understanding, "thank you."

Aemond tilted his head a little at this interaction trying to get a better understanding of this man. He didn't know much about witchers, specifically this witcher, save for what little he heard from Aemma as a child, and none of it had been good. He did hear stories of Geralt's kind from Continentals who came to visit back in King's Landing, when he and Aemma snuck to the docks that one night. Mutant freaks. Unholy, demonic spawn stripped of their emotions like the monsters they slay for coin. Another thing Aemond had also picked up concerning witchers was their unrestrained proclivities towards women, the likes which could make Aegon look like a prudish saint in comparison.

Geralt, however, didn't strike him as such an individual as the witcher stood there in his stoic demeanor. He did, after all, selflessly return Aemma's possessions, surely someone deprived of their emotions would not have acted in this way.

The white hair witcher was definitely something of an enigma.

The contemplation was rudely interrupted when a certain individual started yelling various curses both in Elven and the Common Tongue.

The Woodland Fox himself, who had been captured during the battle, was struggling against his bonds as two of the Blue Stripes kept him restraint.

"Is that the one?" Aemond whispers to Aemma, to which Aemma nods in response. "Iorveth the Scoia'tel commander, the one who wanted justice," Aemma confirms. "He is quite a fighter I will give him that," Criston speaks up, "these Scoia'tel don't play fair, that much is certain."

"What exactly happened?" Aemma inquires.

Criston gave the prince and princess a summarized version of the fight.

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

After the two knights along with the Blue Stripes snuck out of Flotsam, while Jaskier was giving his distraction, the group ran into the forest. Roche apparently had an informant somewhere in the woods that gave him the bandit's whereabouts, though neither Criston nor Ivan knew it had been the witcher. Upon finding the Scoia'tel, the Blue Stripes soldiers did not hesitate to ambush the bandits and a fight ensued.

Unknown to Criston or the any of the Blue Stripes, Geralt had been in the middle of enacting his own plan with Iorveth. With the information from the captured second in command Kieran, knowing that the witcher Letho had double crossed the Scoia'tel, Geralt had Zoltan take him into the woods to meet with the Scoia'tel Commander to deliver him this grim news. Naturally, Iorveth did not believe the white hair witcher's claim, and so had plot a ruse to pretend Geralt had captured Iorveth so as to deliver him to Letho at the old ruins. The moment Letho confirmed for himself that he had betrayed the elves, Iorveth did not hesitate to have his men appear from the trees with the intention to execute Letho.

Before that could happen, however, Roche and the Blue Stripes came onto the scene. A fight broke out as a result. At least Geralt had been kind enough to give Iorveth his sword so as to give the elf a sporting chance against his enemies. Geralt meanwhile had took after Letho, but not before swiping Aemma's sword and medallion away from one of the elves.

Iorveth struck down every Blue Stripe he could get his hands on until he finally came up against Roche himself, a moment Iorveth has been waiting years for. The two clashed swords, seemingly at a stalemate at first, until Iorveth got the upper hand and disarmed Roche. Before Iorveth had a chance to deliver the final blow, Criston stepped in and parried the elf's sword. The two engaged in a one-on-one fight. This felt familiar to Criston in certain ways; it brought the man back to days past, from before joining the Kingsguard, before coming to King's Landing, when Criston had been sent to fight off the Dornish incursions. Like the Dornish soldiers, the Scoia'tel had a habit of engaging in asymmetrical warfare, albeit in a different landscape. There was also something else, in the way the elven commander fought; Iorveth was fast, light on his feet, not quite unlike the way Ivan fought when he and Criston would spar.

Alas, Criston was outmatched and quickly disarmed by Iorveth, who kicked back the knight. Once more, Iorveth was prepared to deliver the final blow, but then Ivan pushed some Scoia'tel elves aside to jump front and block Iorveth's sword.

Ivan pointed his sword at the older elf, panting from his earlier exertions; the young half elf did his best to steel his expressions, feeling rather intimidated from the hard stare Iorveth was giving him. There was little doubt in Ivan's mind that the older elf knew exactly what he was, despite keeping his ear concealed behind a scarf. That suspicion had been confirmed when the elven commander addressed Ivan in his native tongue,

"You take their side, In'hied?" Iorveth questioned, tilting his head in curiosity, "you keep your elf blood well hidden, do they even know what you are?" "I am a knight of Westeros," Ivan answered back in the same language, "I have sworn to protect the blood of the king and his family, that includes the princess you have stolen away. It would be in your best interest to return her to us so we may go and leave your comrades be." Iorveth only made a small mirthless smile at that, "you refuse to answer me question, boy. Very well..." Iorveth then made a fighting stance, "you wish to side with those who soon see you dead should your true blood be revealed, than so be it...I shall treat you as I would any other d'hoine."

The two clashed swords. Being light on his own feet, Ivan was able to match Iorveth step for step and steel for steel. While Ivan had youth on his side, Iorveth was the more experienced fighter, having centuries of fighting on his side compared to what he saw as a small boy in his eyes who was barely past two decades of age at most.

Being occupied with fighting Ivan, Iorveth didn't see Criston sneak around and hilt the elf in the back by the hilt of his sword, and then sucker punched Iorveth across the jaw. Ivan then kicked Iorveth's dropped sword away from him, leaving the elf defenseless. Iorveth faced Criston, contempt in his eye, which became more intense when Roche joined in and apprehended Iorveth. "What is your name?" Iorveth had inquired of the knight. "Ser Criston Cole," was what Criston answered. "Huh..." Iorveth said back, "Ser...and here I thought you Westerosi knights prided yourselves in being honorable...even in battle."

Criston ignored that insult and turned to address Ivan, "what was it, he said to you?" he asked. Ivan wasn't sure how to answer that truthfully, so he offered this as a response, "he thought me at a disadvantage due in part...to my age."

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

"Once the battle was all but concluded Commander Roche deigned to search for the two of you amongst the ruins," Criston finished his telling of the story.

"Your efforts are to be commended then, Ser Cole," Aemond praises, "Same as you, Ser Ivan."

Ivan looked over to where Iorveth was being held by the Blue Stripes, only to quickly averting his gaze when he saw the look of seething hatred and contempt in the elf's green eye.

"Considering these two were instrumental in the capture of Iorveth, I am inclined to agree," Roche quips in. "The kingslayer is still out there," Geralt speaks up, "he escaped during the battle." "We'll have another chance," Roche assures.

Aemma tried not to react to that news, tried not to let it get to her that the same man who kidnapped her and then tried to drag her back to the Scoia'tel camp was still on the run, and was still possibly holding a grudge against her- no not her, her father- and still wanted justice of his own.

Aemond turned his gaze to the Woodland Fox, trying to form an opinion of him now that he was captured and not likely to cause harm. This was the elf who called for justice from Aemond's arrogant uncle, the who apparently orchestrated the assassination of the Temerian king and the kidnapping of Aemma to hold as a hostage. From Aemond had heard back in Flotsam, Iorveth had a reputation- putting it mildly- for his seething hatred of humankind and what they did to him and his people, and having more human kills to his record than any other elf still alive. Aemond had to wonder if part that hatred stemmed from whoever took the elf's missing eye- something Aemond could disturbingly relate too as he still held a similar grudge albeit on a subconscious level. From what he heard from Cole, Iorveth was also a very skilled fighter, fast and light on his feet, making Aemond think of the way Ivan fights.

Must be an elf thing, the prince thinks.

Iorveth brought his attention to aforementioned prince, "you..." he sneers, "Mine eyesight must be getting old, or the dragon lords had thought to send someone else in place of the one we asked for." "Your plans have failed Iorveth," Roche states with a certain air of triumph, "your own calls for justice will be awaiting you at the capital." "...that remains to be seen," Iorveth says in a low tone, standing straight to remind the Blue Stripes Commander of their height difference, before turning his head to address Ivan in his native language, "no matter how close you are to their family, the dragons will come for you eventually...especially when they begin to notice how slowly you age as the years go by. Did that ever occur to you, boy?" Ivan turned away to face Criston, refusing to make eye contact with the older elf. Of course, he has thought about that, though not necessarily at the time he took the Kingsguard oath; Ivan knew half-elves do have a longer life span compared to humans, but he was never told how long those lives can last.

Iorveth then turned his attention over to the princess, shocking everyone by addressing her in High Valyrian of all things, "Gaomagon ivestragon aōha kepa ziry owes nykeā gēlȳn naejot se Aen Siedhe. Daor matter skorkydoso olvie jēda emagon rēbagon, nyke nykeēdrosa intend naejot gūrogon zȳhon egros hae issa trophy tolī nyke behead zirȳla rūsīr ziry." (Do tell your father he owes a debt to the Aen Siedhe. No matter how much time has passed, I still intend to take his sword as my trophy after I behead him with it)

Aemond moved in front of Aemma in response, "do not speak to her, bandit" he warns, "especially in the Valyrian tongue." Iorveth only made a small, mirthless smile in response, clearly proud he was able to rattle the young Targaryen prince. The elf stood straight once again, reverting back to his native tongue, not seeming to address anyone specific,

"And to think the Virgin of Aedirn wanted to meet you. She was certain you were the one."

Aemma stopped in her tracks upon hearing those words, something that didn't go unnoticed by Aemond. He gave the elf a hard stare, wondering what he was he said that Aemma picked up on (worth noting that while Aemond does know Aemma knows some rudimentary elven, he doesn't know she's fully fluent in it thanks to Vesemir). Ivan and Geralt, both also fluent in Elven, did a better job hiding their surprise at that cryptic statement.

"...back to Flotsam with you," Roche states, shoving Iorveth forward, "there's a place in the prison barge just for you, you whoreson."

"Are they going to execute him?" Aemma asks. "...it is a possibility," Jaskier admits, "the question is if they will even bother with a trial beforehand."

Aemma had mixed feelings about that. She may not care about Iorveth or the Scoia'tel considering what they put her through personally, but that didn't mean their grievances were not legitimate, she understood that now. And part of her was curious to Iorveth's cryptic message.

"Well we better follow," Jaskier states, placing a hand on Aemma's shoulder, "As I said before, we have much to discuss."

Aemond took another look at Geralt who followed Roche before addressing his cousin, "what made you change your mind about him?" "I don't think I have fully," Aemma admits before giving a brief description of Geralt's amnesia, hence her hesitancy to carry out any justice she believed was due, "it wouldn't seem right to do something like that right now," she concludes, "especially when it turns out I don't even know the full story. I only know what my father had told me when I was a child."

"Hmm," was all Aemond said.

-------------Flotsam Tavern------------

Back in Flotsam, there was a celebration it seemed amongst the locals, especially when they saw Roche walking into town having the Scoia'tel commander held captive. Despite Commandant Laredo's initial anger at the Blue Stripes and Jaskier for their deception, he decided to let that insolence slide in favor of commending the group for the removing the threat to the village. Roche took Iorveth to the prison barge and Geralt had disappeared to wherever most likely for some unfinished business.

At the tavern, Zoltan had ordered a mug of ale when he the Westerosi trio walk and behind was a woman he had not seen before, but could see right away this was the long lost princess the trio had been searching for. He smiled, thankful to Melite that the daughter of the Lady of Larks was safe and unharmed. Having remembered the Lady Lark, the dwarf could see the resemblance in Aemma as well.

Jaskier had gone off shortly once they arrived to remove the frock and put back on his usual ensemble before the lot at the tavern with hopes of making up lost time with his niece. Aemond insisted he, Criston, and Ivan move to another spot in the tavern so as to grant Jaskier and Aemma that space to bond with conversation.

It started with some small talk over a meal, to which Aemma was quick to devour given how long it's been since she a decent meal to fill her belly. Once satiated, this soon led into Jaskier regaling Aemma of his own adventures as well as her mother's adventures as well. "She did not!" Aemma laughs at one tale, finding it difficult her mother could've found herself in such a situation. "Oh but she did," Jaskier insisted, taking a sip of vodka he ordered, "those soldiers wouldn't leave those two she-elves alone, so she took upon herself to give them a taste of their own medicine. Obviously it pissed them off, and rather than acknowledge their hypocrisy, they saw fit to chase her out of town. Not that she minded, she was more often than used to the road life."

"...nobody ever told those kind of stories before," Aemma realizes, "whenever anybody told me about my mother it was always either about how beautiful her singing was...or her approximation to my father...it's almost like she wasn't even a person half the time, just a wisp of what she really was. She had a life before me, before her time in court, a crazy, complex beautiful life."

"It really is a shame about that," Jaskier says in a low tone, "...what did your father ever say about her?" "she was someone he loved dearly," Aemma tells him, "someone who was taken away from him by...by a bad person, and he never saw her again after that." "That person being Geralt, the one you wanted to feed to your dragon at first," Jaskier realized to which Aemma nods.

"Gods, that man really did brainwash you," Jaskier mutters, though Aemma didn't notice. "I know the witcher doesn't have any memories of me or my mother," Aemma says, "the sorceress Tris said she was trying to work on that." "She is," Jaskier nods.

"I told Geralt if he can regain those memories he would tell me what he knew of the nature of my parent's relationship," Aemma explains, "but now that I found you, my mother's brother, maybe you could tell me something about it."

The joyful demeanor on Jaskier's face disappeared at that request.

He remembered that time when he was reunited with his sister once again when she was taken by the sorceress Yennefer to save her when she was at death's door. He remembered when they were on the road to Nilfgaard, how (y/n) how fought hard to make it appear she was well and that her time in King's Landing had not effected her, tried to deny both to others and to herself that the abuse Daemon had put her through hadn't damaged her in any way. The reality was the opposite, and he remembered the times (y/n) would thrash in her sleep at night, only to wake up screaming in terror, and still thinking she was in danger, only to calm down when she realized she was safe and away from King's Landing and from the Rogue Prince. This had also led to (y/n) crying upon realizing that not being there also meant she didn't her daughter in her arms anymore. There were even times during the day when (y/n) would experience full blown panic attacks on the road seemingly out of nowhere, and not even his nor Geralt's soothing assurance could dissuade her during those times.

It had taken a great deal of time and patience along with some wise counseling from their vampire friend Regis for (y/n) to finally admit that her captivity and the abuse she endured along with having Aemma snatched out of her arms had caused significant intrinsic damage to her psyche.

It had taken some time longer for her to process the trauma, and come to terms that even though she wouldn't be the same person, even though she would still get upset about it at times, she was not damaged beyond repair.

Jaskier wanted to tell her all, and yet...

"It's not a happy story, Aemma," he tells her, "and even if I could, it is not my story to tell." "What do you mean?" Aemma frowned a bit. "your father...he did things to your mother. Bad things," Jaskier explains in a somber tone, "your mother kept those things to herself at first, especially when I came to see her in King's Landing, but I could tell something was wrong. Those bad things had a way of bubbling up to the surface at times. She had nightmares, both during her sleep...and when she was awake."

Aemma put her hand over her mouth to contain the shock. She knew her father could be scary at times, but he was never cruel, not to her, her stepmother, or her sisters. What were those horrible things her father inflicted upon her mother?

"But how- I mean...no, he couldn't have hurt my mother. He loved her, why would he hurt someone he loved? He tried to protect my mother, he tried to protect me from the White Wolf."

"He really did drum that into you, didn't he," Jaskier realized, "Aemma, your mother wasn't taken away from you that night, she wanted to leave. Geralt and myself, we did everything we could to get the both of you out of there, but then your father ripped you from your mother's arms before the two of you could get past the portal-" "my father took me from my mother?" "He didn't- of course he wouldn't have," Jaskier exasperates, "he would have conveniently left that part out."

"But why would-" Before Aemma could finish her question, she looked in Jaskier's eyes and saw flashes of memories past to that night in King's Landing, where Jaskier along with Geralt and (y/n) and some strange woman Aemma did not know were crossing through a portal. It looked like they were in a hurry. She saw Jaskier cross and eagerly await the rest of the party, only to see Geralt and (y/n) go through and the portal close without Aemma in her mother's arms.

She saw her mother cry out at that moment,

"AEMMA!"

The flashback ended and Aemma had no words to say at this point.

"Aemma?" Jaskier gives his niece a confused look at her newfound state of shock.

Aemma quickly gets on her feet and runs out of the tavern past her cousin and the two knights, who were now wondering what the Bard had said to upset the princess.

Chapter 43

#hotd #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #oc #aemond x oc #vernon roche #criston cole #daemon targaryen #zoltan

19 notes · View notes

ladyclwriter · 2 years

Text

Exile

Geralt x gn!reader x Jaskier

Summary: Geralt, your ex, didn't expected that Jaksier's new fiance was, well, you.

Angst, spicy mentionings, white wolf toxic behavior, Jaskier call's reader "daisy" ( the flower

Not even slightly close to any canon chronological line

He could recall perfectly those days. The sun always seemed to shine brighter when you were by his side, so those memories were all golden to him. Even the blue-ish white snow looked warmer every time he pictured you struggling to take your boots out of it. His smile was always genuine when he lifted you up to Roach, cursing about you could do it alone. Indeed, with you, his smile was always genuine.

Geralt didn't knew if his bard friend actually gave any fake smiles on his life, but he could see you had the very same effect on him. With one puffy arm around your waist, Jaskier laughed in pure joy, proudly showing off his partner while you didn't really looked any shy by his side.

The white wolf froze instantly as soon as you both entered the room. He died a little bit inside — if there was anything alive on him — once the realization hit, holding him where he was, standing far away near a huge marble cornerstone.

Minutes, maybe an hour after you arrived, he noticed you weren't as happy as he thought you were. Yes, you were still as shiny as back in the travelling times. Your smile was as pure as his friend's, and you two seemed like the perfect pair of two little happy canaries. Except for some forced smiles you cracked. Eyes drifting away from time to time, shifting weight from one feet to another. He knew those signs now. You were uncomfortable, maybe bored. And you probably didn't wanted to be there. Still, you laughed at your boyfriend's jokes, and even brought some up.

Geralt felt, for the first time, the weight of his body battling with gravity. He couldn't move his feets, couldn't take his eyes way either. And whatever those feelings inside him were, he was barely dealing with them.

Some bard started singing in another side of the room, Jaskier screaming something about being offended. It took 5 minutes to a duet start, and only then, the Witcher saw your eyes daze towards his. You were laughing at your boyfriend, but without any specific reason, your gaze got pulled into that direction. The whole world seemed to darken and freeze.

You would spot that silvery hair anywhere. The sensation of golden eyes fixated on you, sending shivers down your spine would always be familiar — maybe that's why you've been feeling so uncomfortable and terribly fighting to look at the direction it came. It was an accident. Something inside you guessed it, you knew he was there, even if you fought to believe and accept it. You didn't wanted to look at that specific point, but laughing and swinging with Jaskier, you lost the control of your curious eyes. And you regretted instantly.

As inconsequential and childish your boyfriend could be, he always knew when something was off. He did felt it before, but now he got it straight. “My daisy? Are you alright?”

You couldn't answer. Not when you suddenly forgot how to breath, starting to gasp for air, tearing up with a wolf staring directly into your soul with a grey frown. So you started walking, as fast as you could without calling attention, towards any sight of exit. Opening double doors, you found yourself in a balcony, desperately taking in the winds of the night.

“For fuck's sake, daisy!” he appeared on his puffy clothes, closing the doors behind him, rushing towards your crying self holding at the stone fence. “Are you alright? Anything happened? Did I did something wrong?”

Worried hands took your face gently, turning you to him, so he could search up the answer of his many questions. “Can you talk to me? Can you even breathe? Come on, my daisy, was it Barbara? I know she's a bitch. Was it that bitch?”

“Jaskier!” you exclaimed, silencing him instantly. But he succeeded at stealing a little smile from your lips. “Just... Just give me a moment”.

He held you still, blue eyes filled with worry, eagerly waiting to get the reassurance that no, he didn't did anything wrong. Anyways, some seconds later he walked away, not taking his gaze off you; hanging head with hands on the stone, trying to recover yourself. It took you long minutes to look up, thanking silently the night serene for embracing you. Then you smiled as you realized your favorite bard was there, looking at you all the time, with a puppyish face.

“Feeling better, daisy?” he asked sweetly. You agreed, back of hands wiping face. He didn't knew if he should break the distance, but give you your space seemed better anyways. “We can go home if you feel... Sick”

You felt like it, yes. But his quiet understanding made you own an answer to his questions. So, avoiding blue eyes, you mumbled. “I saw my ex”.

He paused. Blinking, processing and recalling all those stories you told him at your most vulnerable moments. “That one who left you alone in the woods?” shook your head yes. “Oh no. I'm so sorry, my daisy. I would never guess he was from royalty”

“He isn't. But it's not your fault, so don't be sorry” taking a deep breath, you approached his red-cotton dressed body. Arms around him, head under his chin, you inhaled his perfume.

Jaskier was safety. You never, never had that fear of waking up and not seeing him by your side. You never hesitated before saying something, and mostly, you didn't even had to say anything. You were always shining with him, but he never required you to. And he was the one there with you. “I didn't wanted to ruin your party, dandelion”

“You know I'd trade all these peacocks for only two minutes with you”

“No need. You have me forever” meeting gazes, the smiles were as reciprocal as all your feelings. And just when you delicately approached faces to kiss each other, the doors got open.

Shutting your eyes closed, your grip on Jaskier tightened as you desperately kept taking his scent. You knew who was there.

“Gods!” your boyfriend almost screamed. “Geralt of Rivia himself! And in fancy boots! But, um, as much as I love meeting old friends, I'm busy right now”

But you tilted your head up, frowned at him with a hint of anger and intrigue. “Friend? He is your friend?”

“A very old one, indeed. What's the matter?” his smile was so pure and innocent that you could barely believe your ears. Then, just because it was necessary, you looked towards the intruder. He looked as shocked as you were. “What? Why do you two look like if you discovered the queen's most nasty secret? Is there something on my- oh.”

The three of you were frozen, taking in whatever the destiny arranged. “Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck” he put one of his hands on his forehead, the other one on his waist, taking some steps back.

“What the fuck is happening here?” you asked, even if no one seemed to have the answer.

“This must be witchcraft” you trembled as you heard his low, husky voice. Now, his eyes avoided you.

“No fucking way. You two will tell me what the damn plan you made!”

“I didn't see Geralt in ages!” the bard physicalized the time with a gesture of hands. “I didn't even knew he was still alive. I didn't knew you two knew each other!”

“So do I!” you shot back, a little louder than you wanted. Now you were with a hand on the forehead, turning your back to the two. “For god's sake”

The three of you stood there, no one daring to say anything or move a finger. Indeed, the only one who didn't looked conflicted and full of things to say was the bard. So, he cleaned his throat, crossing arms with the cold breeze.

“Geralt, you... What did you wanted here?” cutting the chat, the blue eyed asked, very low and cautious. He was conflicted, seeing his love and his only one friend there. Even more when he knew your side of the story, and knew the Witcher way much more than he wanted to.

Gold and blue sky met, in a silent short conversation. “I wanted to talk to your partner”.

“We have nothing to talk” you stated instantly.

“Look, I know what I did, but I can explain-”

“No need to. Now get back inside there”, you said it like an order, without even hesitate.

Geralt looked at his friend, looking for any help. Jaskier loved you enough to know he had to interfere. You would never be able to move on from your past relationship without this talk. So, he walked until he was in front of you, and touched your arms, lightly rubbing his thumb. “My daisy. We both know this is for the best. Please, give him a chance”

“Why? Why should I? The facts are facts, and I'm with you now. There is nothing to discuss” you insisted, but Jaskier didn't looked like he would give up.

One hand on your face, he looked into your eyes before kissing you. Gently, slowly caressing your lips with his, making your body warm even with the cold of the night. “Yes, you are with me. Just talk to him, and we're going home. Alright?”

Home. How you fucking wanted to be home. Knowing he was stubborn, and always did anything he said he would, you turned around to face your past. Crossing arms and leaning your body against your boyfriend's, you raise an eyebrow. Geralt took a minute to watch his old friend wrapping arms around his old lover's body, breaking his very own heart a little more.

“A monster was following us. Something you could've never faced, I could've never killed with you by my side” started after cleaning his throat, now staring at you, and only you. “Indeed, I had to battle with things that would use you as a weakness. We would not stay together further”

“So you leave me in the middle of the night, in that creepy fucking forest, full of wolves and moving trees?” there was no way you could pretend you weren't angry.

“I said, a monster was following us. I got away before he attacked, and my plan was to come back after defeating him” turns out I didn't, he wanted to say. “But the battle took me away from the camp, and there were more of them. I finished after dawn, and realized I went too far”.

You pressed yourself more against Jaskier, who held you stronger, noticing your anguish growing. He gave kisses on your cheek, neck, and put his nose in your scented hair.

“You would be gone before I came back. So I took it as a... Fate sign. And moved on”

“Just like that? Like if I was nothing?” oh, how it enraged you. Fighting tears, your voice got as high as it could without becoming a shouting. “Like if we were nothing?!”

“Don't you say things like that. You know damn well what you meant to me” he took one step closer, pointing a finger towards you. You too stepped out, but Jaskier kept you close.

“Guess it wasn't that much, since you just fucking left!” you screamed the last words, involuntary tears in your eyes. “I almost died, Geralt. Those fucking wolves and branches almost took my fucking life!”

“Do you really think I do not feel fucking miserable everyday? Don't you think I feel guilty for loosing you? No, you could never know how I asked for death every night I spent without knowing if you were safe” spitting words, you could see golden eyes shine with tears.

“You could never know how I wanted to kill you for believing that you left me to die”, you whispered.

You fainted, covered by bites and deep cuts and blood. Woke up at an stranger's house, a family of merchants who took care of you. Of course, you had to pay back by working for them for a while. And it was at one of these jobs that you met Jaskier. He was singing “burn, butcher burn”, and even after beating up some men that owed the family you worked for, you couldn't stop laughing at him.

Now you weren't. The pieces clicked together in your head, and you stared at your boyfriend. So the song was about Geralt.

“As much as I want to clear things between us, I don't think none of us wants to fight now” none of us are ready to get rid of our bad bloods, for they are the only thing keeping us apart. “I came here to ask for your forgiveness. I know you are with Jaskier, and I don't plan to be friends or anything. Just, please, forgive me, so I can try to move on like you did”

“You won't stick too long to be friends, anyways” you shot, glancing back at him. “Oh, and I know how much of a shitty friend you are. You and your sharp tongue and cold heart”

“You never complained of my sharp tongue those times” it came out in a growl. He only realized what he said when both you and Jaskier looked deeply offended, his eyes falling to the ground. “I'm sorry”

You crossed arms, feeling one of your boyfriend's hands caressing it. Breathing deeply, you started pondering. Indeed, he had a sharp tongue in all possible meanings. You would never dare to try to be friends, for sometimes, in the middle of the night, you missed him. He felt the same.

With him, you felt at the top of the world. Living dangerously with adventures and heavenly tent fucks, he was your very own crown and a home that never settled down. Now, you were both your own exiles. At least, you had the sweetest man alive by your side. And Jaskier did had a sharp tongue too.

“I know it doesn't bring any good to me to hold a grudge against you, so you can have my forgiveness” you said lowly, a big and bright smile growing on your boyfriend's face, who kissed your cheek, happily.

“It's the right thing, darling. I'm happy for you” indeed, every single time you talked about your ex, he wouldn't stop buzzing about the forgiveness part.

Taking Jaskier's hand, standing by his side, your face was like stone, certain of every word. “Now go, Geralt. I don't want to see you ever again” even if something inside you did wanted to.

“I'll go. I'm leaving by the side door as soon as the musicians start. But” oh no. “Can we talk alone? Thirty seconds”.

“No” you answered instantly. Then you felt Jaskier's hand slipping away from yours, for whatever reason popped on his head.

Despair made your body shiver inside, blood heating no longer just with hate, scared of anything that would come from those “30 seconds” that Jaskier strictly mumbled in a possessive way, before closing the doors.

You froze, but Geralt walked towards you with the most intense glaze ever. He always looked like a predator whenever you turned him on back at those times, and it would always drive you crazy. But now, years after that burning passion, you did felt like he was a wolf. Golden eyes piercing, burning every trace of you. But he didn't stopped too close.

“Daisy. He calls you daisy” whispered on his very own growl way. “I called you love”

“So what?” your voice barely came out, a whisper as you cursed yourself silently for wanting to feel his hands in your body, fighting the urge to touch him. One step closer, he lowered himself, your faces inches away.

You closed your eyes, not because you expected one of your hot, messy kisses. But for you couldn't look at him that close. Jaskier is outside. He trusts me.

“I'm his daisy, and he's my dandelion”

Geralt took a deep breath, warming your ear as he bent down even more. Not daring to move one finger — he knew he didn't had to —, he breathed again, showing your urge for him was reciprocal. At that little second, all your time together came back to your mind. The screams, whether for anger or pleasure. The crying and laughing. The back-to-back battles, the stargazing. Every single moment came back at you, turning your whole self to crumbs. He knew it, for he felt like that too.

“And you are my love” for fuck's sake, you didn't knew his voice could get that low. You shivered, trembled visibly, frowning to control your emotions.

You almost fell to your knees. It was hard to come back to the crowd, having to kiss Jaskier wildly to not cry on his arms, to not regret everything you did all your life, to keep focusing on your healthy and happy relationship. He knew what he was doing, and you both knew it was truth, when he said, before walking away:

“And I will, forever, be your love too”.

I feel like this could've been so much better worked and written. Please tell me your thoughts, my insecurities are eating this whole thing 😁

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. Reblogs are appreciated 💕💕💕 love ya

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @sunndust

#the witcher #the Witcher fanfic #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #love triangle #exile #taylor swift #the witcher imagine

127 notes · View notes

on-a-lucky-tide · 2 years

Note

I've been trying to put this into words since you put If These Scars Could Speak back up. First off, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Scars is one of, if not the, fic that has stuck with me the most. I must have read it a dozen times before you took it down. It was actually a tab that I kept open on some of my harder training exercises.

(A brief aside, because I'm afraid I cannot always make words work as I intend them to. I am in no way, shape, or form trying to guilt you, or hold any animosity. You did what I assume was best for your mental health, and I respect that immensely. If anything, it was my fault for not saving myself a copy. Please don't take anything that I am saying in a negative way.)

The first time I read Scars, I was blown away. The story is amazing, the characters have so much depth, I am a sucker for your Lambert/Aiden, yes, but it was Geralt who held me captive and kept bringing me back. Because my dear - you wrote me.

From the time I began to suspect I was neurodivergent way back in secondary school, I ruthlessly suppressed it (often to my own detriment). Because I had known from an even younger age that I wanted to join the military, and now, despite being damn good at my job and not once having an issue, I would be medically discharged if I ever ended up in front of a psychologist. (Even now, it puts my heart pounding to write this, but I told myself that since you had the strength to put it back up, I would find the strength write this.) The military has yet to realize that these things exist on a spectrum, and just because there are some people who absolutely should not be allowed to serve, there are just as many who can take their divergence and make it work for them, as your Geralt does.

Here was a character who thrived in the military and was not a walking stereotype (and do you know, I did something similar, finding myself a small unit where I'd only have to handle a dozen or so people). This is the kind of representation I never imagined finding, and to stumble upon it…I don't have the words to adequately express what your story means to me. Thank you for the care you took with this story, for the time and heart and love you poured into it (and your portrayal of PTSD…God, how many of my own brothers I saw in them). I will never stop being grateful that you wrote this. For whatever people said to you, please know that there is at least one person out there whose life was changed absolutely for the better through your words. This is so far beyond a comfort fic - this is what I read when I need to feel like I am not alone in this. Thank you, thank you.

Non, I read the start of this ask and ran away for a bit, but then I took a deep breath and read it properly.

When I tell you I cried, I'm not being hyperbolic. I've had... let's say an interesting couple of months, and it's the small things getting me through. But this is a big thing. It's overwhelming. I am so humbled.

Thank you for letting me know. Really. The story is so precious to me. There are parts of me in every character, parts of the people I know, all woven in with the characters I love. I needed hope when I wrote that story, even with all its clunky bits, so the fact that others connect with it too? I don't have words to express how that makes me feel.

I am always baffled by people's kindness, but I am so, so grateful for it.

I hope you have family and friends that love you like Geralt's does. You deserve the biggest hug and the fluffiest dressing gown to eat chocolate in. Much love, Non.

#asks #I wrote this out so many times #it's so hard to not sound disingenuous because I am blunt af ig?#argh #i cried #the lip quivered #I was gone #GONE #but I'm ok #thank you Non

20 notes · View notes

samstree · 2 years

Text

Dark Bird (3)

Jaskier gets captured by Nilfgaard. Geralt tries to fix things.

(The Time Traveler’s Wife AU, see tags and warnings on ao3)

The first things Jaskier notices upon waking are the ironclad shackles around his wrists. They are pulled tightly above his head, pinning his arms to the wall.

“What—” Jaskier calls out, pain shooting from his shoulders. “Geralt?”

His head throbs with every pulse of his heart, his temple covered in something sticky and cold. He must be bleeding.

And held prisoner, apparently.

“Anyone?”

The walls of the dark prison cells don’t answer him, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the aches of his body to stop. The shackles dig into his wrists, rubbing his skin raw. He lets out a pained gasp, struggling against the restraints, his breath shuddering.

“How?” Jaskier asks the empty room.

He remembers their honeymoon at the coast, the flowers in his hair, and those short blessed days that followed. They were married, away from the war, and they were happy.

Until the day Geralt was pulled through time and came back shaking, his face pale as a sheet.

Oh, yes. It all changed quickly. Too quickly.

Geralt asked Jaskier to pack in a panic, but there was no time. Nilfgaardian soldiers found them in their home. Jaskier climbed onto Roach’s back before realizing Geralt is not doing the same.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier’s face. “Go,” Geralt whispered like he was saying goodbye. “I won’t let them have you. I won’t.” He kissed Jaskier’s ring finger. “I can’t.”

Before Jaskier could protest, Roach started to run, taking him away from Geralt. Jaskier looked back at his husband, silver hair lined with gold in the sunset. The soldiers surrounded Geralt in no time, drowning out the glint of his sword and the dance of his attacks. It’s always a joy to watch Geralt fight, his movement always precise and elegant. Not that day, not when fear seized Jaskier’s throat, and all he could hear was the sound of Roach’s hooves hitting the ground.

She took Jaskier away from the coast and she ran for the whole night.

Until the dawn brought them right into the next trap.

An arrow pierced the air at the first ray of sun, missing Jaskier’s ear but enough to startle the mare into a halt, throwing Jaskier off her back. He hit the ground hard. There was blood in his eyes as soldiers dressed in dark colors pulled him up.

The last thing he remembers is shouting for Roach to run before someone knocked him out from behind.

And now, Jaskier is here, in a cold prison cell, not knowing what became of his husband.

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s breaths pick up from panic. There were too many of them for Geralt to fight alone, and Jaskier was away.

Geralt sent him away.

The world spins, and Jaskier blinks away the spots in his vision.

“Hello, Jaskier.” A tall figure pulls open the door. His face is obscured in the shadows, but his voice chills Jaskier to his core. “The witcher thought he was clever, but you see, you are here. It won’t be long until we have him too.”

Jaskier’s legs give out beneath him, his shoulders sagging.

Geralt isn’t here. Geralt is safe. Geralt is safe…

He repeats it like a mantra, under his breath, until the words disappear into a laugh.

“You won’t,” Jaskier smiles, grimacing. His wrists can’t take all of his weight. He can’t feel his fingers already. “You will never find him.”

A punch lands in his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Jaskier grunts, biting into his lips. He spits into the man’s face and gets another punch in return.

“Tell us where he is, and I could spare you.”

Jaskier draws a breath, and another, his lungs seizing. He laughs, the half-choked, half-broken sound echoing in the dark cell.

“He is safe. He is safe…”

And Jaskier needs to keep it that way.

“Tell me.” The man’s voice grows dangerously cold. “Where did he hide the princess?”

Jaskier lifts his head defiantly.

“She’s dead.”

Magic hums in the air and the chains suddenly drop from the wall. Jaskier falls like a rag doll, his back hitting the stone floor. The mage kicks Jaskier in the ribs, his anger exploding. He kicks again, much harder this time, not giving Jaskier a chance to suck in a breath.

Something cracks under the man’s boot. Pain lights up deep within Jaskier’s side, blinding like white-hot flames.

“Oh, little bard. We both know she isn’t.” Slender fingers grab Jaskeir’s arm, digging into the wound at his wrist. “Tell me where they are, and it won’t come to this.”

Fire flickers alive in front of Jaskier’s eyes, held in the mage’s palm.

Jaskier whimpers, his mouth full of the metallic scent of blood. He tries to hide, to retreat, but the mage pushes him against the ice-cold wall with a twisted smile.

“She’s…dead,” Jaskier says stubbornly, and the mage’s twisted smile fades.

Fire licks up the tips of Jaskier’s fingers.

He screams.

☆

Jaskier is left on the ground, his hands still bound, the burnt fingers held at his chest.

The trembling won’t stop, and neither will the fog in his mind. The fire mage has come in more times than Jaskier can count, and his consciousness fades in and out until there are no coherent words from his broken lips. There is no use for him anymore. They can’t get to Geralt through him, and all Jaskier feels is relief.

The pain doesn’t matter. The tortures don’t matter. He could die here, knowing Geralt is far away from this place, keeping Ciri safe.

So he dreams. Curled into himself on the hard stone floor, he dreams.

Jaskier is eleven again, seeing a witcher’s golden eyes for the first time under Lettenhove’s darkened sky. He is seventeen, kissing Geralt in the warm greenhouse, safe within his witcher’s arms. He is eighteen, meeting Geralt in a dingy tavern in Posada, his heart broken at the lack of recognition in those golden eyes. He is twenty, thirty, and then, he is Geralt’s husband. They find each other through time. They find each other, always.

They went to the coast.

Jaskier opens his eyes. His cheeks are soaked with tears.

“Oh, but you see, Rience. You have it all wrong,” A woman speaks above Jaskier, her hand pressed against Jaskier’s temple, magic flowing between her fingers. “You needn’t ask the bard at all. The witcher shall come to us on his own.”

The fire mage said something—Rience. They are arguing, but Jaskier can’t keep himself awake long enough to catch it. The magic works still, penetrating his mind, pulling at his memories. He is too tired to fight.

“I can break him,” Rience says. “The witcher—”

“The witcher is linked to him by destiny. It’s a temporal bond, far beyond the understanding of the likes of you.”

Voices are raised, and the fire mage is lashing out. Fire flashes in the dark room, and Jaskier flinches.

“We cannot just wait!”

“That’s precisely what we should do. This human is the anchor of the witcher’s existence. He will be pulled here whether he wants to or not. Destiny will send him if the bard is in need. I’ve seen in all in his memory.”

A hum, and footsteps retreat into the hallway. “I’ll prepare the dimeritium.”

“Sleep, bard.” The woman’s spells seep into Jaskier’s mind. “You may be of use to us yet.”

☆

Dreams turn into nightmares. Jaskier is hot all over for one moment, and freezing cold for another. An infection settles in, the fever burning bright.

Jaskier is Geralt’s anchor, and now he will betray Geralt simply by existing.

Don’t come, Jaskier pleads. Not for me.

Neither of them can control when destiny brings Geralt to Jaskier through time, and for the first time since being captured, Jaskier feels real fear rising in his chest.

He listens as the guards lay traps around his cell, dimeritium cuffs clinking at their hips. He struggles against the chains until blood drips down his arms. He screams at them. He curses the mages. If they are hurting him, they won’t be thinking about getting to Geralt. He yells at them to hurt him.

And Geralt can’t end up here. With the cuffs, he won’t be able to escape, and Ciri…

Ciri.

“Don’t worry, bard.” The woman stands above Jaskier’s head, tall and proud. “The lion cub will join us soon.”

Jaskier’s fists wrap around the chains, the burns on his fingers blistering, keeping him lucid.

“You’ll pay for it,” he says, voice low. “If you hurt them, you’ll pay for it.”

The woman only lets out an amused huff. She leaves. The door is sealed shut, and Jaskier is alone.

He stays on the floor, touching the patch of bruises stretching from his sternum down to his stomach, where Rience likely broke his ribs. He’s fevered and sensitive, like an exposed nerve.

The air is getting thin.

Every breath is more difficult than the last. Still, Jaskier breathes, and waits.

The night settles in, silent and lonely. They’ve taken away all the light sources. Jaskier blinks his eyes open in the pitch-dark room, not wanting to fall asleep, but he doesn’t realize when he’s closed them. It could be minutes, or hours. Jaskier wakes from his fitful rest, shaking like a leaf, his back covered in cold sweat.

In a brief moment of weakness, he wishes Geralt was here.

He wishes Geralt would come to him.

It’s selfish, and it’s wrong, but Jaskier is tired to the bones. He just wishes his husband could hold him again. He just wishes a gentle hand could touch him again.

The familiar swoosh breaks the silence, and the next thing Jaskier knows, Geralt’s weight appears next to him, solid and real.

Just like that, Geralt is here.

No.

“No,” Jaskier says in anguish, realizing what he has done. “No, not here. Not for me…”

“Gods, Jaskier,” Geralt lets out a horrified gasp in the dark. “Where are we? When are we? You are bleeding. There is too much blood.”

Despite how much fear is in Geralt’s voice, despite the mistake of the situation, despite their doomed fate, Jaskier weeps at his husband’s voice.

“Geralt…”

“Hey, Jask. I’m here. Don’t you worry. I’m here.”

A hand cradles Jaskier’s face, and he nuzzles into it.

“You are,” Jaskier croaks, his throat ruined from hours of screaming. He allows himself a moment of respite, just a moment, to feel Geralt’s skin against his. Jaskier catches Geralt’s hand in his broken ones, holding it to his bloody lips. “You are not a dream.”

“I have to get you out. You are hurt. Jaskier, how—”

“There is no time,” Jaskier interrupts. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to run.”

He can’t see Geralt’s features, but he can picture the frown on Geralt’s face as clear as day.

“What are you talking about? Jask, I won’t leave you like this.” Geralt’s hands travel down Jaskier’s arms, finding the chains.

In a panic, Jaskier’s lungs seize. A coughing fit rattles against his chest.

“It’s a trap—” He draws a painful breath. “They found us, at the coast.”

“We’ll run. I’ll send you away. Roach can take you to the next town within a day.”

Jaskier shakes his head, his chest heaving.

“It’s…too late.”

“I’ll keep you safe, Jaskier. I’ll send you away with Roach. This can’t happen. I won’t let them get to you.”

Oh, but they did. It was all Jaskier.

“It was me. I wished... I’m the reason we are here.”

Geralt is here because of Jaskier. He went back and sent Jaskier away, because of Jaskier. That’s precisely how they will find all of them now. Time is playing the cruelest trick on them.

“Stop it, Jaskier. Just…let me save you.”

Geralt pulls off one of the chains from the wall with a grunt. Jaskier’s head lolls to one side from exhaustion. “You are more important, Geralt. Think about Ciri—”

Light splits the darkness and a portal opens in the middle of the small cell, the brightness forcing Jaskier to look away. He hears shouting, from the mages, from the Nilfgaardian soldiers.

Geralt is gone from his side.

Aard sends half of the guards flying, but the rest keep coming in. The fighting begins, but Geralt can’t beat all of them. He isn’t carrying any weapons.

They were on their honeymoon, after all.

“Geralt…” Jaskier calls out, but he can’t keep himself upright. His other hand is still chained to the wall, held behind his back, keeping him away from Geralt, but he reaches forward.

Geralt screams a deep, rumbling scream as they knock him off his feet, his face pressed to the floor and arms twisted back. A guard brings the cuffs, and Rience clicks them shut.

“Didn’t I promise you, little bard?” Rience smirks in the cold light of the portal.

All Jaskier can see is his husband, whose eyes are equally fixed on him. Geralt looks guilty, like he’s failed Jaskier, somehow.

Why can’t he see? He can never fail Jaskier.

“You can’t keep him,” Jaskier whispers.

“But we have, and there’s nothing you can do,” Rience continues. “Now, witcher, where is our princess?”

“You will never find her,” Geralt growls at the mage, the rumbling in his chest animalistic and furious. “You will pay for this.”

“You two sound too similar. Is that what they say about married couples?” Fire ignites in Rience’s palm, illuminating his crooked smile and Geralt’s face. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the princess.”

In the bright light, Geralt catches Jaskier’s gaze. Something flickers in his eyes. It’s subtle, followed by the faint hum of magic in the air. It’s the sound that Jaskier used to hate when he was a child. All he looked forward to were the little pockets of time they got to spend together, until the hum of magic pulled Geralt away each time. Right now, the same hum is music to Jaskier’s ears.

Geralt’s time is up.

“I’m coming back,” Geralt says, the promise solemn. “I’m coming back for you.”

It all happens within a heartbeat.

Geralt throws his head forward, knocking Rience off balance, the fire in his hand turning into sparks. Several guards charge forward to keep Geralt in place.

Only to stumble into nothing. Dimeritium cuffs fall to the ground with a clunk.

Geralt is gone, back to the coast.

Jaskier lets out a whimper, rolling onto his back. He could laugh at Rience’s dumbfounded face, so he does.

Bony hands wrap around Jaskier’s throat in anger, cutting off his air. They loosen after a brief moment, and Jaskier gasps violently, but he pays no mind to the mage anymore. They can’t keep Geralt.

It doesn’t matter what they do to Jaskier now.

☆

Rience no longer bothers with Jaskier anymore. The chain that was broken by Geralt is left as it is. Jaskier spends his days fighting to breathe but mostly failing.

He touches the tender parts of his side. The broken ribs put a strain on his lungs, shooting pains into his limbs with every rise and fall of his chest. He has heard about this condition. It happens amongst injured soldiers who slowly die from a chest cavity that no longer draws breath. It’s like drowning on dry land.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, not knowing the passage of time. They send him water but he doesn’t remember drinking it. The fever comes and goes, preventing any of his wounds from healing. The burns on his fingers are swollen and sensitive. He wonders if he can still play the lute after this, and then, he wonders if there is an after at all.

He worries for Geralt, his Geralt, always placed out of time. What happens after he dies? Will he still be the anchor? Will Geralt be pulled to his presence, but only find his tombstone?

Jaskier clutches the fabric at his chest. He pictures the child by the road, with brown curls and big eyes, being pulled from his quiet life only to watch a sad, old bard die. The idea makes his stomach roil.

Bile rises up, and Jaskier gags. He spits out the bitter liquid until he tastes blood.

When rescue comes, Jaskier barely registers the noise.

There is an explosion, he thinks, and the ground shakes with raw, unbridled chaos. The guards are drawing their swords, but the sound soon becomes their wailing. The scent of lilac and gooseberries fills the air. When the door to his cell opens, Jaskier meets violet eyes.

“Jaskier?” Yennefer is gentle with him. It’s a rare sight. “Can you hear me?”

Jaskier only stares, searching. In the distance, swords clash, and he catches the shouts of a little girl. Ciri.

“Ciri…” He opens his mouth but no sounds come out. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“Ciri is fighting. So is Geralt,” Yennefer says, her hands weaving a spell. “You better not give up before a little girl, bard.”

Jaskier wants to laugh at her joke, and the coughs wreck his body again, choking all the stubbornness out of him. He wheezes, not being able to get air in. Yennefer’s spell settles in, and suddenly all the pain disappears.

It’s like he’s lying on top of the clouds. He could sleep right there and never wake up.

“Stay awake.” Yennefer sounds desperate. If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he’d even think she’s worried for him. “Geralt!” she shouts. Now, he’s sure the great Yennefer of Vengerburg is worried.

When Jaskier opens his eyes again, he is held in Geralt’s arms, his body hanging limply. There is daylight in the corridors of the prison, and Geralt is beautiful. His hair is a mess with soot and blood, his eyes bruised from exhaustion, but he is, and Jaskier tells him so.

“Beautiful…”

It comes out a hoarse whisper, and Geralt looks down at him.

“Keep breathing, Jaskier,” Geralt kisses his forehead before crossing a portal. It jostles Jaskier, making him grimace. “Just keep breathing.”

Oh, but how difficult that is.

It’s like a mountain sits on top of Jaskier’s chest, squeezing out all the air. Every step Geralt takes sends shooting pains from Jaskier’s ribs, pulling him apart from the inside.

His airway grows tighter and tighter, but he can’t give up. Geralt is here, and they can go back now. They can go back to the coast, to the little cottage they call home.

“He can’t breathe. Yen, he can’t…”

“…Get him to Triss…have to…quickly!”

It’s like his head is bobbing at the surface of the sea. The waves drown out the sound, muffling out the world.

Jaskier drifts, and lets the waves wash over him.

☆

There is murmuring, and herbal water poured down Jaskier’s throat.

Too many people are handling him. He recognizes Yennefer and Ciri. Their hands are soft, wiping the blood and sweat from his face. Magic seeps into his lungs, easing air into him. He breathes gratefully at the faint outline of Triss’s hair. Her eyes are warm and reassuring.

When sword-callused hands finally wrap around Jaskier’s wrist, darkness sinks in again. It drapes over his eyes like a heavy curtain, forcing him to sleep. When he comes to, the night has receded, and golden light kisses the back of his eyelids.

The bed beneath Jaskier is soft, and the covers light, but he startles awake in fear.

The coldness that surrounds him is gone, but his skin remembers the phantom touch of the stone floor and the ironclad shackles. He struggles against it but gentle hands stop him by the shoulders.

“Where—”

“Yen’s safe house. You are okay,” Geralt says, his face impossibly close. “We got you out of there. They won’t touch you again.”

It’s morning already. Light spills through the window, casting long shadows in the room. Jaskier’s vision blurs when he looks at anything that is not Geralt, so he looks at Geralt again.

Jaskier’s fever dream was right. His husband is the most beautiful man Jaskier has ever seen.

He’s keeping his hair down for once, letting it drape to one side like a waterfall made of silver. There are dark circles under those golden eyes and tight lines around his lips, and all Jaskier wants to do is to soothe them. Geralt looks drained, exhausted.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Darling, are you alright?”

He’s surprised to find his voice. It’s still rough, with barely any force behind it, but it’s his voice.

Geralt looks incredulous like he’s just heard a terrible joke. “Am I alright?” he huffs. “You gave me quite a fright yesterday. Can’t say I’m too well.”

Jaskier reaches out from under the blankets to touch Geralt’s face, only to notice the thick bandages around his wrist and the spasms in his muscles. Geralt catches his hand to stop him from trembling.

“My hands?”

“They’ll recover. It’ll take time and exercise, but you will play again, I promise.” Geralt kisses the bandage. “Your voice will come back too.”

“You’ll be here when I sing again?”

“Of course.”

Jaskier nods, satisfied. “Your hands are cold,” he says a moment later, frowning, and Geralt softens.

“Well, you nearly died from a collapsed lung. Guess we are even.”

Jaskier is not amused. He hates it when Geralt doesn’t take care of himself. Even with his enhanced biology, there is no need to be uncomfortable like this. He must have sat at Jaskier’s bed through the night to get this cold.

“Here.”

Jaskier pulls Geralt’s hands into the covers where it’s nice and toasty. He wants to rub some warmth into them, but his wrists are too weak. They end up holding hands near Jaskier’s heart, letting his body temperature do the work.

“Easy. You are on a lot of potions. You may not feel all the wounds yet.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, the expansion of his chest pulling at the aches in his side. He grimaces, winking in mischief. “Oh, I feel them.”

Instead of smiling, Geralt’s face falls. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a bit funny.”

Geralt’s shoulders tighten. His expression looks like a kicked puppy, and that’s how Jaskier knows he’s crossed a line.

“Jaskier,” Geralt starts. “You were tortured. For days. They broke three of your ribs and left you to die.” Guilt sits between Geralt’s brows. “It was all because of me.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not your fault.”

“I disagree.”

“It was me.” Jaskier takes in another labored breath. Talking still takes a lot out of him. “In that cell, I wished to see you, and there you were. Don’t you see, Geralt? This happened because of me. They found out about us from my memories. They knew all they needed to do was wait, and they were right. All of it happened because of me.”

Geralt’s fingers link with Jaskier’s, careful with the bandages around his burns.

“I sent you away with Roach, because of what I saw. I tried to prevent you from getting hurt, but I sent you right into a trap.”

“You almost fell into their trap too, because of me. Rience almost had you.”

Jaskier shudders, a few coughs bubbling up in his throat. Lying down puts too much pressure on his chest, so he struggles against the covers.

Geralt wraps his arms behind Jaskier to help him sit up. He also brings a cup of water, and Jaskier drinks it gladly, his throat soothed from the coolness. He looks down to find his torso also wrapped in heavy bandages, the aches throbbing underneath. A sheen of sweat has broken out on Jaskier skin when the coughs die down.

“He’s dead now,” Geralt says, dabbing Jaskier’s forehead with a soaked cloth, avoiding the healing wound on his hairline.

“And the woman?”

Geralt’s lips press together. “Fringilla. She’s gone. Yen wanted to track her, but it could expose all of us.”

Dread sits between Jaskier’s breastbone, but he stays quiet.

“You look pale. Is it the fever?” Geralt presses their foreheads together to feel Jaskier’s temperature. “It hasn’t gone down yet.”

“Just thinking.”

“You are never this quiet when you’re thinking.”

Jaskier smiles tiredly. “Just want to go home now. Back to the coast.”

Geralt sits back, his expression grave. “Oh,” he says, “we can’t. They found us there.”

“In a few years, then. When the world has forgotten all about us.”

Now, Geralt looks properly pained.

“Jaskier, they burned down our house.”

The morning light blinds Jaskier’s sight for a moment, and he has to look away.

The small cottage on the cliff, the home where they were handfasted by their family, is gone. It’s not rational to mourn a building, perhaps, but Jaskier mourns anyway.

“I see.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “Of course, what was I thinking? Of course they did.”

“Jaskier…”

“If only—” his breathing quickens. “—If only we were still there. Just a few days ago, before everything changed. No destiny, no wars, just us. If only we could go back.”

Geralt guides Jaskier’s lax body to lean against his, letting his head rest comfortably. Jaskier lets out a whimper, his chin wobbling. It’s pathetic to be sad about something as inconsequential as a small cottage. Everyone is alright, after all. It shouldn’t matter, but Jaskier is too hurt to care.

“I’m sorry, Jask.” Geralt says under his breath. “It’s all my fault.”

“Again, not you.” Jaskier will repeat as many times as he needs. “It was just bad people, doing bad things. They used us both.”

“What if we could—”

Geralt cuts himself off before finishing the sentence, and Jaskier hums.

“What if we could…?”

A sigh, followed by a kiss. “Nothing.”

Jaskier looks up, confused. “You were saying?”

Geralt is wearing that determined look on his face, the look that is equally tragic and doomed. He only does it when he’s decided to do something incredibly self-sacrificial, and therefore incredibly heroic and stupid. Jaskier hates that look.

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it.

“We’ll talk later.” Geralt rubs Jaskier’s back to soothe him. Or dismiss him. “You must want to rest.”

“That’s all I’ve done,” Jaskier argues. “And you said half of it already, so you must tell me now. It’d be incredibly rude to toy with a bard’s curiosity like this, you know?”

Jaskier’s attempt to lighten Geralt’s mood fails, and the shadow in his husband’s eyes only darkens. He might as well be walking towards the gallows.

Geralt sits next to Jaskier, cradling his hands gently. He looks like he’s trying to muster all the courage for what he’s about to say. It’s becoming really unnerving.

“Jaskier,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jaskier answers, his frown deepening. He waits for Geralt to continue. “And?”

“Yen has been studying Ciri’s power, helping her control it.”

“Yes, I know this.”

“She believes Ciri has the ability to manipulate time. The past, present, future. All of it.” Geralt pauses. “She believes she can harness it.”

“It sounds like a powerful thing,” Jaskier says, not sure why Geralt would look saddened about this fact. They’ve been studying Ciri’s magical abilities for a long time, and there’s finally a breakthrough. “But what does it have to do with me?”

Geralt touches the bandages on Jaskier’s wrists, his thumb running the familiar soothing motion. He’s so nervous that Jaskier wants to let it go for a second.

“Yen thinks, with Ciri’s help, there could be a way of undoing the bond between us, and I want to let her try. The temporal magic is ancient. It’s as old as destiny itself, so it will be tricky and the spell won’t be ready for a while yet, but there is a chance it could work. We’d need to look after Ciri in the process, of course, but she has enough chaos to protect herself…”

The world narrows down to the words I want to let her try, and the rest fades into the background. Jaskier’s heart beats steadily in his chest, and for a few moments, he does not register the meaning behind those words.

“…it’ll be for the best. The Nilfgaardians are still searching for me. We can’t let them get to you again.”

“What are you saying?” Jaskier hears his own voice from a mile away. “Surely, you can’t do that.”

“We can. The bond is strong, weaved into destiny itself, but more powerful things can break it. A Djinn, perhaps,” Geralt says. “Or a Source.”

Jaskier stares, unblinking, and then he’s laughing at the first truly funny thing he’s heard since being captured. It’s nearly hysterical.

“Oh, Geralt. How silly! Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter how Yen can work her wicked spells. The past is in the past!” he explains, as if to a child. “Everything we’ve been through together has happened already. If she breaks the bond, what of the past? Our lives are weaved into the same, tangled since the beginning. The same bond brought you to me when I was a child. What of those days? Will they just disappear into thin air, like they’ve never exis—”

The laugh freezes on Jaskier’s face, his stomach twisting.

“Oh, Jaskier…”

The look on Geralt’s face is now of sympathy.

“They will just disappear, like they never existed,” Jaskier repeats. “Our days together will be erased.”

Geralt’s nod is almost imperceptible, gentle, but it may as well be a punch in Jaskier’s gut. He flinches, recoiling from Geralt’s touch.

Jaskier curls into himself, inhaling sharply, one breath after another. Distantly, he notices the pain in his ribcage. It begins as a spark, only a faint stinging of his broken ribs, but soon it takes life, radiating through his core.

“We never would have met,” Jaskier murmurs. “But I waited for you. I waited for you my whole life.”

“You wouldn’t have known I existed, Jask. You’d just grow up in Lettenhove—”

“Alone. Without you.” Jaskier swallows, his throat constricting. “The past will be lost.”

“It’s the only reason you are in danger. If we had never met,” Geralt explains gently, a faint smile on his face, “they’d never have hurt you like this.”

He looks like he truly believes it to be a good idea.

“Is it because of me?” Jaskier asks, his breath hitching. “Because it was my fault. They used our bond because I was weak.”

“No, Jaskier—”

“But it was only a moment. I know better now. I won’t make the same mistake,” he pleads. “You mustn’t blame me, Geralt, not too much, not for long.”

Jaskier is panicking, and he’s breathing too fast. He realizes that, but he can’t bring himself to care. Geralt wants to leave.

Geralt wants to leave again, after all this time.

It was only a moment of weakness. Jaskier was hurting and he couldn’t stay strong. He only missed Geralt, just a little, and let his mind wander.

Surely, his husband should forgive him.

“Jask, no. Listen to me, it was not your fault.” Geralt’s eyes have gone round, his hands holding Jaskier’s cheeks, making sure their eyes meet. “My brave Jaskier. It’s not what you think. It was never your fault, only mine. I’m the reason you are hurt, over and over again. I’ve been selfish enough to let it happen for decades, but when I found you in the cell…I—I couldn’t live with myself anymore. It was too close this time.” Geralt swallows like he’s going to be sick. “Too close.”

“You got me out of there,” Jaskier insists childishly.

“Barely.” Geralt’s eyes are vacant, haunted by memories. “Had we been a moment late—”

“I’m fine now.”

“You are very much not!”

The words come out too loud, and Geralt winces, ashamed to have raised his voice. The room is quiet, except for Jaskier’s rattling breaths.

Panic morphs into anger, licking up in the midst of pain.

“Don’t I get a say in it?” Jaskier says, voice low, teeth clenching. “I don’t care if it’s the price of being with you.”

If it’s the price of loving Geralt, he’d choose to bleed and burn a thousand times over. He’d choose it any day. It’s the same choice Geralt made once, the old aches in his joints a solid proof.

“Oh.” Geralt’s thumb ghosts over Jaskier’s split lips. “It’s not a price I’m willing to pay.”

And yet…

He’d deny Jaskier the same choice.

The room spins in front of Jaskier’s eyes, dizzying in the bright sunlight. Out of nowhere, Jaskier musters the strength to push away Geralt’s hands, his body toppling to the other side.

“No!” Jaskier shouts, panting violently. “You don’t get to—” He coughs, hoarse and painful. “—you don’t get to give up on us.”

Jaskier clutches at his collar, gasping for air, his lungs rattling pathetically like an old ship in a storm. It’s like Rience’s hand is around his throat again. Waves of nausea crash into his trembling body, but Jaskier holds himself upright out of sheer spite.

Tentative hands rest on his shoulder, trying to help him. “Jaskier, you are hyperventilating.” Geralt sounds scared now. “Shit. Something's wrong.”

“You…” Jaskier rasps. The world blacks out for a second. The ringing in his ears grows louder and louder until it drowns out his own voice. He isn’t sure if the words are spoken, or if they are just an echo of his anguish. “You promised me.”

Geralt promised, under the pine trees of Kaer Morhen, on the grassy cliff by the sea. He promised with their hands wrapped together. He promised not to leave.

Geralt is choosing to leave now.

“…Jaskier…you need to breathe…”

He will leave the child who waited at the lake, in the cold mansion of Lettenhove. He will leave Jaskier to the lonely days of his childhood. He will leave, on top of a mountain, and never return.

“…Please…breathe…”

The ringing pierces Jaskier’s mind, and the world quiets.

“You promised,” he whimpers.

Warmth rises from Jaskier’s throat, metallic and cloying, filling his mouth. He throws his body forward, splattering the sheets with crimson. He coughs and chokes, watching helplessly as blood drips onto the bandage around his fingers.

Jaskier feels strangely calm.

He looks up, and finds people rushing into the room.

Ciri is standing by the door, her eyes wide with fear. Jaskier must be quite a sight. He has been tortured and starved, and now, covered in blood. He never wants to upset Ciri. She has gone through too much already.

Yennefer is yelling at Geralt, that much is sure. Her mouth is opening and closing, and she looks cross with him. She opens a bottle of potion, but Jaskier doesn’t care about the pain anymore. Triss’s hands are around him, her magic vibrating against his skin.

And Geralt…

Geralt looks as scared as Jaskier feels. He’s calling Jaskier’s name, again and again, begging him to answer, but Jaskier can only remain still.

It’s like he’s floating outside of his body, watching himself break apart in silence.

Can’t Geralt see it? Rience’s fire couldn’t do it, nor could Frigilla’s magic and destiny’s cruel jokes, one after another.

But Geralt can.

He breaks Jaskier easily, by holding his heart within his palms and casting it aside. Jaskier shutters into pieces right there.

The pain spreads through his limbs, seeping into every cell of his body, reaching every inch of Jaskier’s soul. It makes sense it’s the worst pain he’s ever felt—he’s grieving a part of himself. It’s the best part, tangled with Geralt from the root. It is now being pulled out alive, leaving an empty, gaping wound.

Tears trail down, salty like the blood on his tongue.

Jaskier collapses in despair.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the time traveler's wife AU #jaskier whump #hurt jaskier #i've been waiting for 40k of words just to get to this scene :'D

33 notes · View notes

titlemewickedwonderland · 2 years

Text

Shift My World: Chapter 2 (The Witcher Fanfiction)

Summary: Shifting is all grand and dandy for those who believe in it. Does it work? Who knows! Some people say it does while others don't, perhaps it's just something in the mind. Olivia Watson found the truth behind it as she transfers herself into the world of The Witcher one night after a drunken movie night with her friends! Only she wasn't expecting to get stuck there and worse off...she didn't expect to love them as much as she did.

Prompt: In honor of Henry Cavill who no longer will be with us on The Witcher as Geralt of Rivia after season 3. I have decided to take my ongoing story from Wattpad to share with you guys!

Wonderland's Workshop

She should have brought a jacket or cloak. Something that help her bite back the cold that nipped at her skin. With just a thin shirt that most likely; no most definitely was Geralt's and her pair of leggings that she'd woken up wearing. But without a jacket, gloves, hat, and maybe boots to help keep herself just slightly warmer she knew she wouldn't last long. Her idiot's brain hadn't even thought of the weather. It was winter after all but all the excitement that she'd been through had derailed her common sense. The entire situation made it hard for her to act rationally. She was used to being the one to act rational and with a strong head on her shoulders because she was relied on by many back in her reality but here she felt as if she was nothing but a brainless idiot wandering the forests. She breathed in the cold air and looked around at the forest; it hadn't looked so scary in the light as it did during the night but she knew just what kind of creatures lurked in these woods. She had to find him though. If anything, her only purpose was to find Killua; the one thing in this world that was familiar to her from her reality. When she would find him she'd figure out the rest of it all. She remembered in her fever-hazed brain that Geralt had said that Killua was in the woods. So she'd just have to find him.

She did not know how long she had traveled through the forest; cold feet crunching twigs and leaves beneath them and she knew her stupidity would be the death of her or the loss of her feet as she looked down at the pale and dirty appendages. How did no one realize that she was only half-dressed and not said anything? Well, no one expected her to just run off after starting a fight either. God, she was an idiot. She wondered if she would be able to survive in the woods by herself. She'd have to build herself a house or if she had any luck she'd find an abandoned home somewhere in the woods to be able to hide away in until she found a way back home. It wasn't like she hadn't been camping before so she knew how to survive...well if she had supplies, that is. She didn't. She barely had any clothes and with this season biting at her skin she knew she had to do something and fast. Olivia had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn't seen where she had been walking and like the classic damsel in distress with the worst type of cringe reaction her foot met air instead of ground and she was pitched forward into space. Her blue eyes widened when she looked down to find a long fall down a rocky hillside and in her panic she flung her arm up and grabbed onto a branch of an old tree that had fallen and gotten caught between a half-sprouted tree and a rock.

A small scream left her throat as she flayed in the air a few moments before she clasped her other hand onto the branch. Her fingers were hurting her from the cold and her strength was not fully recovered from her injury and illness so she knew in her gut it would be only a matter of minutes before her frozen fingers would break their hold and she'd fall to her unsavory doom of tumbling down a cliff face like some unimportant character in a horror story that would be killed off first. Her side flared up in pain again at the stretch and strain her body was forced into due to her lack of mindfulness and she swore in that exact moment that if she miraculously survived then she'd do whatever it took to change herself and do better. Her eyes filled with tears as she closed them tightly so she would not look down at her impending doom. She always found it rather funny how people referenced such things as 'life flashing before their eyes' at the moment before impending death scenarios in movies but as she hung there minutes before her own she realized that it was not funny at all because although there was no cinematic replay of her entire life rolling behind her eyelids she did have shocks of her most treasured memories in her life that was a stepping stone to where she came. The day she had met McKenzie as little girls; pulling at each other's hair and they became best friends; shared so many good memories and how despite the big leap met an amazing new best friend in Kason when taking the step to better her life and career. Her mother's lovely voice sang her lullabies as a little girl to help her sleep, memories of her father as he took her out for a ride on a nice summer day on his motorcycle. Camping trips with her high school kids. Falling in love with her first crush in high school and although it broke her heart in the end; the strength she gained in her confidence was a lesson well learned. While her Grandfather gave her Killua as a pup that he'd found whilst hunting one day. While memories of her grandmother teaching her to play guitar and piano; encourage her to be more confident in her talents.

Olivia saw all those memories sift through her mind like memories of sand sliding through her fingers and no matter how tightly she tried to hold onto them they slipped through her fingers until the fingers holding onto that branch lost their grip. A rush of air blew her hair into her face and she felt weightless all for a second before her eyes flew open in shock when a hand caught her wrist halting her descent. Her head snapped up and she stared into the slightly panicked golden eyes of the white-haired witcher. His jaw was clenched and teeth bared in a grimace as he used his strength to pull her up. She scrambled with her feet to gain purchase to help him some but in the end, the Witcher's strength overruled her efforts and she was yanked up onto land once more. She let out an exhale of breath as the air got knocked out of her chest as her body landed on a hard surface. Her blue eyes looked down through the tendrils of inky black hair cascading over her shoulders curtaining herself from the world beyond. Golden eyes stared up into her blue as their faces were inches apart and it took Olivia's brain a second to register that she was lying on top of the witcher as he laid on his back on the cold ground.

"Are you alright?" his voice broke her staring contest with him and she scrambled backward until her back hit a tree.

Geralt grunted as he rose to his full 6" 1' height and looked down at the frightened and shell-shocked woman. He frowned at her before sighing and holding a gloved hand out to her to help her up. His wolf-like eyes lowered and a crease formed between his brows as he gave a 'hmm' making her look down realizing the black shirt she wore - his black shirt; was soaking in a darker shade of dark along her side. She didn't have to say anything to realize that her wound had reopened and was soaking into the shirt through the bandages. Her body told her that much.

"You should be more careful next time." Geralt stated as he took a step towards her and reached out as if to pull her shirt to examine the wound but she pulled away and gave a shaky smile.

"Thank you...I-Thank you for saving me. I'm fine." she couldn't allow him to come closer to her. Not for either of their sakes.

Geralt frowned deeper wondering why the girl refused his help but chose not to say anything else and turned to pick up his sword that had fallen. It was just then that Olivia realized that he looked as if he had just returned from a hunt looking all muddy and tired with his hair a slight mess hanging around his face. She wanted to instinctively ask him if he was okay but had to bite her tongue from speaking. She could not get familiar with him. She had to focus on getting back home. Just then a voice broke the silence making Olivia look away from the fall imposing figure to find another shorter man scrambling over logs and through the brush to get towards them.

"Geralt! Hey, what are you doing? Don't just run off like that without-" Jaskier's familiar voice broke off his sentence when he saw the figure of the dark-haired woman standing there and then his self-proclaimed best friend standing there holding a sword.

He blinked looking between the two before he snapped his attention to Olivia. "Ah! that's where you ran off to! Gods woman you are accident-prone aren't you? If Geralt wasn't there to save you you'd be dead!" he exclaimed when he realized what had happened; well at least had an idea of what had happened.

Olivia snorted with a half-smile and looked away; she could not deny Jaskier's charisma and funny idiocy were rather amusing. She never imagined that a character like Jaskier would bring her more comfort rather than the main character. Maybe it was because he reminded her far too much of her friends back home that she instinctively trusted him...she trusted him. Looking over at the brunette she met his inquiring gaze. Olivia couldn't help it and she burst out in laughter. She did not know what came over her. Perhaps it was the near-death situation or perhaps it was her tired brain but she could not help but laugh even when his joke was not funny. Wiping away the tear that lingered at the edge of her eyelash from her laughter and clutching her side Olivia attempted to regain her breath to find the two men staring at her like she had two heads. Well, at least Geralt looked at her like that. Jaskier seemed a little confused at her reaction but the slight smile on his face told tall tales that he seemed pleased with her mindless reaction.

"We should go back. Your wound will need medical attention." Geralt's voice broke the silence making Olivia's gaze snapped to him. She looked back down at her side and then at her red-stained hand.

"Ah, right. You're right." the energy drained from her and she slumped against the tree with a shaky breath just happy to finally be on solid ground again.

They'd begun walking then. Stopped by a small makeshift camp where Geralt had been staying long enough for him to tack up his horse before leading the way back towards the nearest village.

"Are you sure you can walk? You look like you'll stumble and fall any second Beauty." Jaskier asked as they walked with Geralt at the head leading his horse Roach ahead of them with Jaskier keeping up beside Olivia behind him but she was beginning to lag.

Olivia lifted her tired-eyed to glance over at him with a raised brow at the nickname but she did not question it instead she gave a slow nod. "I'll be alright..." her dragging feet tripped over a small branch and Jaskier had to catch her by her shoulders.

"Geralt!" the bard's voice called to the tall man up front who turned at the sound of panic in the younger man's voice.

"Fuck." Geralt's guttural voice responded as Olivia's eyes fluttered a little and she grew limp against Jaskier's side who held her up.

He walked back with his horse to his two companions to examine the half-conscious girl being held up by the bard. He noticed that she was looking pale and realized that she had downplayed her injury. Pulling the soaked fabric of the shirt away from the woman's side he saw the damage of how bad she was bleeding and cursed softly under his breath again. Good thing he had gotten more supplies. Granted, Geralt was not pleased to have come back to the tavern to find that the girl he'd rescued had vanished without a word. He was later told by the barkeeper's wife of what had happened and realized that she probably was with Jaskier. But when he'd caught up with the bard he was without the girl sending Geralt into search mode. Why he wished to find the girl he did not know. But something inside of him pulled her towards helping her. Now that he was looking at her again he realized she was not fully out of the woods just yet. He swung his large frame onto the chestnut mare before holding his arms down towards the bard.

"Give her to me. I'll ride ahead," he told Jaskier who swung her up into his arms quickly before transferring her into the witcher's who positioned her against his chest.

As time was ticking by for the girl he pushed Roach to canter on ahead leaving the bard to follow by foot behind to catch up later. The worried expression on his face as the horse sped off was lost on the witcher as he urged the beast faster toward the nearest town. When Olivia finally reopened her eyes she found that she was inside some sort of room again. The faint glow of candles illuminated a warm light around her and as she sat up she came face to face with the scene of the witcher slumped back in a chair across the room by the window with his eyes closed and his sword resting on the floor by his feet. He looked as if he was sleeping but Olivia knew that he was not. This Witcher never really slept. The nightmares always kept him up. She remembered that from the show but as she sat there in bed watching him from across the room she realized that her mind needed to stop this. She needed to stop comparing the scenes of a show to the reality she was living. This wasn't just a character of a show but an actual person. Whether it was a show or not there were worlds out there that held such circumstances. This world may be fiction to her world but it was real to the people living in this world. Just like that white-haired man sitting in that chair. She looked down at her hands in her lap before realizing that she was changed yet again into a different shirt. Lifting it a little bit she noticed that her bandages were redone and her side did not hurt as bad. A part of her wondered where they were getting all these different clothes from but was thankful nonetheless that she was not in blood-soaked fabric.

Pulling the covers back she slipped out of bed and winced when the floorboards creaked under her feet as she landed barefoot on the cold wooden floor but a glance at the witcher revealed that he had not stirred at the noise. Looking around the room she saw a bundle of clothes on a stool by the bedroom door and she walked over to find that it was a folded pile containing female clothing; a pair of reddish-brown leggings, a brown dress tunic with white sleeves, and a corset. On the floor by the chair was a pair of brown boots with some socks stuffed inside of them. Her lips parted in surprise at the kind gesture as she fingered the leather of the corset. She nearly jumped when Geralt's voice spoke up behind her not realizing that he had woken up.

"Jaskier insisted on buying you new clothes," he said.

Olivia spun around to face the witcher who had not moved from his slumped back position; his head still resting tilted back against the chair's back but his eyes were open partly to watch her with those golden orbs. She gave a small smile and shook her head as she crossed her arms across her chest; a habit she had when nervous or uncomfortable.

"He shouldn't have. I-I can't pay him back for this. One because I don't have money and secondly because I don't even know how much it was...I mean I could always-" she began

"He doesn't want you to pay him back." Geralt sighed rising from the uncomfortable wooden chair. "He got those for you so you'd stop ruining my shirts."

Was that a hint of undertoned amusement in the witcher's voice? Olivia felt her cheeks flush a little and shook her head looking back at the clothes. "Sorry about that...I-I'll find a way to pay you back for them. I know money is hard to come by," she said.

Geralt hummed and moved towards a satchel that was resting by the window and grabbed it. Searching through it he grabbed a small glass vile before turning towards her. He saw how she was watching him warily and he secretly found that look rather amusing because he knew exactly what was going to happen as he walked over and held the vile towards her expectedly. Olivia looked at it and frowned. She had an idea of what that vile contained and she did not want to drink it.

"Please tell me that's just some...." she trailed off.

"It'll help heal you. Tastes like a rat's ass but it does the job." when she did not take it right away he sighed and walked over to the nightstand by the bed and set it there lightly with a clink.

He went about the room collecting his satchel and sword before slipping past her out the door to give her privacy to dress in peace without an audience. He did not say this as such but Olivia liked to think that was the underlining message of his actions as he closed the door behind him. She saw it did not have a lock on it but a keyhole to a key she did not possess naturally so she snatched the clothing quickly and slipped them on. She neatly folded the clothes she wore previously and made a mental note to wash them later when she had a chance as thank you. She did not know where she would go from here but it seemed that Jaskier was fond of her and since she had nowhere else to go perhaps she could tag along with him? All she really could do was ask anyways. The clothes that Jaskier bought her fit her surprisingly well and they were rather comfortable all things considered. There were no mirrors around for her to look at herself so she had to do the best she could with her long unruly hair. God knows how long its been since she brushed her hair but the dark waves were tangled which made her desperately crave a hairbrush or comb instead, she combed what she could with her fingers before wrapping it up in a braid; using the black hair band she had in her hair previously to tie off the end. The woman was about to walk out of the room when she halted looking behind her towards the vile sitting on the nightstand. She sighed and turned back around not having the heart to ignore Geralt's efforts and grabbed the vile. Uncorking it revealed its nasty odor as soon as the wooden stopper was removed and she nearly gagged but she sucked it up and downed the concoction. Nearly choking on the horrendous flavor that stuck to her tongue. It was the worst thing that she had ever tasted but she did it anyway because she'd feel guilty that the witcher had gone to so much trouble to find the herbs to make a said concoction for her to heal faster.

Once that was done she slipped the empty vile into a pocket of her tunic and nearly folded the sheets on the bed before slipping out. She was not raised as a slob by her mama no matter what age she came from. Hearing loud voices below she descended the staircase to find herself standing in the doorway to a decent size tavern. She did not recognize the people there so she knew this was not the same town and tavern that she had woken up in previously and it made her uncomfortable when she remembered just what kind of unsavory people liked to hide away in the taverns to drink. Her blue eyes looked from face to face until she spotted the familiar face of the bard singing yet another silly song. Olivia smiled and leaned against the archway watching as Jaskier skipped and danced around with his instrument singing loudly and riling up the patrons with his lively tunes. The carefree smile that held a fondness for the bard quivered when blue eyes met gold and she felt heat flush her cheeks as she looked away back to watching Jaskier. When she looked back Geralt was gone from his seat. She looked around only to find the tall figure approaching her with a mug. She watched him until he was leaning against the other side of the archway.

"You look better fully clothed." Olivia's jaw dropped a little. Was the a compliment? Because if it was it did not come off as such.

Geralt winced realizing just what he had said and how it must have seemed before he amended. "Sorry, I'm not used to speaking to women casually. I meant to say you are looking better."

Olivia smiled slightly and shook her head. "Thanks to you, you mean." she glanced at him from the corner of her eye as her face grew serious. "You've saved my life twice now and I have no way to repay you. All I can do is thank you," she said softly.

"Hmm." Geralt nodded slightly and looked away. "You need to be more careful next time though. I won't always be there to rescue you when you need me to."

Olivia's eyes rose to meet his but he was watching the crowd around him. A look of confusion crossed her face as she hesitantly asked. "What's that supposed to mean?...you make it sound like we will see a lot of each other?" her statement was left hanging in the air a little as an unspoken question and she saw the grimace on the witcher's face.

"Jaskier has forced me to accept that he's adopted you and since I can't get rid of him you aren't going to be going anywhere," he replied straightening up.

Olivia's eyes widened and a slight laugh escaped her. Jaskier adopted her? Well, that was an interesting way of saying that the bard was fond of her and didn't want her to leave. Not like she had anywhere else to go. But she did not want to burden the witcher if her presence would be more of a burden than it was of help. She wanted to say so as much but before she could Geralt was already walking out the tavern doors leaving the dark-haired woman standing there dumbfounded. She did not know if she should be thanking the bard or cursing him with bad luck because her feelings were waging a war with themselves. Before she could fully comprehend the feelings that were inside of her to confirm what she must do next a familiar voice broke her consciousness and an arm slung around her shoulder.

"Hello, Beauty! Glad to see you up and about! I hardly recognized you now that you're clean and properly dressed." Jaskier stated grinning over at her.

Olivia elbowed him in the side with a slight scowl. "You men have to learn how to talk to a woman I swear Jaskier!" she stated huffing before she had a realization that made her freeze a second. One was that she'd just called him out and two she'd just said his name despite them not being introduced properly yet despite everything they'd been through together in the span of a few days. She hoped he did not mind; Geralt was very forthcoming to names.

But the slip up did not seem to surprise Jaskier and instead, he just smiled at her and said. "You know my name! I'm famous!"

She laughed a little and shook her head relaxing a bit. "A famous idiot maybe." she teased back and nudged him with her shoulder. "I'm Olivia by the way; not Beauty," she said holding her hand out to him.

the bard grinned down at her and grabbed her hand kissing her knuckles instead of giving it a shake as expected. "Pretty name but I think I like Beauty better," he replied.

The raven rolled her eyes and pulled her hand back. "I swear you are insufferable." she chuckled before pointing a thumb over her shoulder. "Geralt left already. Should we follow him? I seem to have been unceremoniously adopted into your group so..."

His eyes lit up and he twirled her around before clasping arms with her and leading her outside. "He's probably talking to Roach at the stables. Don't worry!"

Oh, she wasn't worried. She knew though even if Geralt went off somewhere on his own without talking to either of them about it Olivia would be just fine where she was. She did not need the Witcher to be safe or give her adventure; the bard did that just fine. The adventure didn't always mean being saved and nearly dying from some monsters even if it did make a better storyline. Olivia didn't know how long she'd be in this world as she hadn't even thought to think about how to get home yet. Or try to remember what she wrote in her manuscript because frankly. She was already falling for this world and its dynamic characters. She knew she did not belong here but somehow she still felt as if she could live here. Like going to a real-life medieval fantasy festival. The longer she spent the day with Jaskier and tried to keep him out of trouble the more she forgot who she was and where she came from. The fact was, she didn't think she'd want to leave anytime soon.

Chapter Coming Soon ~

#the witcher #the witcher geralt #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fic #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x ofc #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia x oc #geralt x oc #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia x fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #titlemewickedwonderland #shift my world #henry cavill

8 notes · View notes