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everygame · 5 days ago

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Tales Of The Unknown: Volume I: The Bard’s Tale

Developed/Published by: Interplay Productions / EA (original), Krome Studios / InXile Entertainment (remaster) Released: 12/1985 Completed: 05/02/2025 Completion: Finished it.

I’ve been itching to play an old school western RPG recently–really want to see some numbers go up–and got really excited when I discovered The Gold Box Companion, a companion app for SSI’s legendary Dungeons and Dragons RPGs that–because I was too young for them at the time–completely passed me by.

However… I couldn’t help but feel I’d be skipping a bit too far forward on my (personally imposed) chronology if I jumped to playing Pools of Radiance–I wasn’t satisfied when I played Pirates! that I had the historical context I wanted–that I nosed around a bit to see if there was something I’d previously skipped that might fit the bill.

Hence: The Bard’s Tale.

Now, I’d previously skipped this because I’d heard that it was, frankly, a bit boring. Actually, I was basing that entirely on The Digital Antiquarian saying “long before the end of the first Bard’s Tale it’s starting to get a bit tedious” which probably isn’t entirely fair. But what drew me back was that The Bard’s Tale is one of those games that I think many who grew up in the “video game magazine” generation have–a game that I read about two sentences about but was always longing for.

It’s funny the things that lodge in your mind, isn’t it? Here’s the reader’s letter from Amstrad Action that’s stuck with me since literally 1991:

“Well, if this dork wants it so badly, it must be great!”

What’s funny is that in the intervening, uh, thirty years [“lies. The 90s are ten years ago”–Ed.] I managed to forget, I guess, that Amstrad Action’s “Balrog” ran an entire “The Bard’s Tale Club” section culminating with a short walkthrough just a few issues earlier.

Interestingly, I think this is one of those things where I can see myself maturing in real time–in the matter of months I went from a wean who skipped the Balrog section because it wasn’t about, like, arcade games, to a wee guy who was at least interested in them. That or a guy pretending to be a gnome caught my eye.

All I remember is that I’d missed my chance to get The Bard’s Tale. So, here I am, thirty [“ten… I’ll go as far as fifteen”–Ed.] years later, finally living my childish dreams.

First: if I’d got this in 1991 I’d have been completely baffled by it. Within a few short years I’d be playing Ultima Underworld, but I didn’t really even play that properly, and The Bard’s Tale requires, like Wizardry, a deep understanding of RPG character creation and party management. And also like Wizardry, it’s about as brutal as an RPG can get, killing your party or giving them debilitating, expensive-to-cure status effects that require you shlep all the way back to a temple to solve, in maps that wrap (no! Not again!!!) and are absolutely louping with spinners, traps and dark zones.

In some respects, I’m lucky that I mostly relied on luck and parental largesse to get computer games.

I’m also lucky that there’s a remake of The Bard’s Tale in the form of Krome Studios’ The Bards Tale Trilogy: Remastered, which rights-holder InXile Entertainment had them make (after, interestingly, a remaster from the team of one of the original developers, Rebecca Heineman unfortunately fell through). I’ll be honest, I was originally not planning on playing it, because it has genuinely awful Super2xSal-quality upscaled art. The game looks like this:

When in its best contemporary ports, it looked like this:

I know which I’d rather look at, though in some respects I thank god that the remake came out before they could us AI to upscale it all and make something that looked even worse. The benefit of playing this (nasty) looking versions outweigh the pain of looking at it though, because not only does it make a lot of quality of life improvements such as a shared inventory and doubled experience, it plays perfectly with a controller–so you can even play it with a Steam Deck comfortably.

If you’re a purist, however (and I don’t actually blame you) I have to admit that the version I played isn’t exactly The Bard’s Tale, as the “trilogy” version aligns all three games design, so in this version there are distance mechanics in the combat (enemies can start some distance from you and you have to advance on them) and bows and arrows are added, which I suspect changes the feel of the combat quite a bit. But to be honest, I can live with it. And I never used bows and arrows anyway.

Enough personal history. For the real history, you can of course go to someone like the aforementioned Digital Antiquarian, but it’s worth noting that even though The Bard’s Tale entered my own personal history in 1991, it was released in 1985 and is, I think surprisingly to modern eyes, the best selling computer RPG of the 1980s, selling a reported 407,000 copies.

I say surprisingly because The Bard’s Tale hasn’t lingered in the cultural imagination the way that RPGs such as Wizardry or Ultima have. It wasn’t first; it didn’t inspire much (Japanese RPGs were already divergent by 1985) and the series didn’t evolve any better than Wizardry did. By 1991, the year I discovered it, a cash-in construction set was released for anyone who hadn’t already moved on to the more active style of dungeon crawler begat by Dungeon Master, and it wouldn’t be seen again until The Bard’s Tale in 2004, which is a Bard’s Tale game in name only.

If you’re wondering what made The Bard’s Tale so successful, but then so irrelevant, it comes down to the fact that it is, ultimately, just a Wizardry clone that happened to come out on the popular C64 with nicer graphics than Wizardry years before Wizardry would reach the system, and be pushed by the already mature (and not yet fully soulless) EA.

Designed by Michael Cranford, it was his second attempt to directly make a Wizardry killer after HesWare’s apparently flawed Maze Master. For some reason, The Bard’s Tale is particularly known for the development team all sniping at each other publicly for years after the game’s launch (it even makes the Wikipedia) but it’s all so “he said, she said” and feels kind of… un-illuminating about the game. At least, it doesn’t add anything. The only part I find particularly interesting is that this game is officially called “Tales Of The Unknown: Volume I: The Bard’s Tale” because (and there is some argument over this) the series was supposed to be called “Tales Of The Unknown” but–and this might be a sign of EA’s encroaching soullessness–it was felt “The Bard’s Tale” was better known, so it got dropped.

(And if you’re wondering why I find that interesting, it’s because it would happen again with The Legend of Kyrandia, which was actually supposed to be the “Fables & Fiends” series. I’m not sure how many more examples of this there are.)

Anyway. As I said above, writing about the experience of playing The Bard’s Tale feels almost exactly like writing about Wizardry, bar for a few twists (I like to believe if they’d kept to “Tales Of The Unknown” maybe the sequels would have diverged more.) The main twist people get excited about is that you navigate the town in the same way that you navigate the dungeons (step-by-step 3D movement) but let me tell you this–it just means you have to do an annoying amount of schlepping about and fighting piddly enemies when you want to heal or level up, and I’d honestly rather a menu. The thing I felt like I felt I did the most in The Bard's Tale was stand around outside the "Review Board" save scumming to try and make sure my level up rolls were good...

The rest of the game, despite featuring several dungeons, ultimately boils down to what you’ll do in Wizardry–try and find the best way to grind so you can kill the final boss. In the original game, this was a particular repeatable battle, which led to one of my best ever “this is too specific, that’s not how memes work” memes, clattering out to complete silence:

But in the remake, which has a smoother curve (and only lets you do this battle once) you can get away with just ordinary grinding (thankfully). Now, the game does actually feature some puzzle solving–you do have to find and collect certain items–but moreso than Wizardry, I realized how much I miss a “proper” quest and side-quest system. Here you have to notice text prompts when you step in certain squares (which zoom off the screen immediately in the remake which means you’ll never see them–a big mistake) and piece them together, but getting deeper into dungeons is grimly unrewarding when that’s all you get. I started my game mapping this properly, but the maps get worse than Wizardry even faster! So much of the dungeons in this game are made up of "dark" squares that you feel like you're navigating almost the entire game blind, to the point where I almost can’t imagine trying to complete this without having another map at hand and the in-game automap (I can hear the hardcore crusty RPG types rolling their eyes here…)

It could be alleviated, perhaps, if you could enjoy the combat, but there is almost no strategy to it. While it may partially be a flaw of the remake (where the updates fly off the screen at a hundred miles an hour) The Bard’s Tale has a bizarre difficulty scaling where you start by having your entire team killed by a single mouse holding a feather duster and about an hour later are fighting a squad of forty vampires at once. While it’s extremely funny to imagine them trying to all squeeze into a corridor, the problem is that your melee characters are just meat shields for your magic users. I made myself up the kind of squad that gets recommended for The Bard’s Tale and as much effort as I put into my critical-hit focused “Hunter” character (usually my favourite kind of RPG character! I love them crits!) I barely noticed them doing anything at all with their piddly single hit on one enemy compared to my magic users, who by mid-game have a spell that can wipe out every enemy you're facing in a battle at once.

The game’s focus on the magic users makes it seem even odder that the series ended up going under The Bard’s Tale moniker. While your melee types are stuck in their starting class, your magic users are expected to change class each time they fill their classes’ spellbook, and they start again from level one keeping all their stats (quite unlike Wizardry…) meaning that by the end of the game you have spellcasters who look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime hiding behind a flesh wall. The only reason you can’t ignore melee completely is that your magic users' armour class is so bad–and that matters when you’re facing off against four squads of sixty enemies at least some of whom might get an individual hit off each before you’re able to hit them with the equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

(This magic user focus is symbolic of author intent, however. As Michael Cranford would explain in his GDC post-mortem of The Bard's Tale and its sequel, he was "bored" by melee combat and was interested in making a game with seven different spell-casting classes that your characters would learn until they were able to become archmages, with melee combat your fallback when you ran out of mana. Although this was cut back to four classes with the archmage showing up in the sequel, this original idea explains everything about why The Bard's Tale plays the way it does.)

But let’s be real here: the majority of The Bard’s Tale you spend not save-scumming level ups to make sure your spell-casters can mow down enemies like they’ve got a gatling gun is spend stumbling around in the dark or in battles you barely notice happening. The only real moments of tension are when you get given one of the many annoying status effects (reload–it’s not worth the hassle) or when you have to get out of the dungeon, because the game (sort of interestingly?) gives you absolutely no way to regenerate mana unless you're outside*, so your grinding sessions are always limited by how long your mana lasts. But because you get so many level-ups with your magic users, it’s not much of a problem (by the middle of the game, I was staying down collecting three or four level ups before bothering to climb back out of a dungeon.)

*You can find magic items that let you regenerate mana in dungeons but I never found any. And there's the occasional regen spot in a dungeon, but I only found a couple. So the point stands, largely.

The problem, sometimes, with playing a game like this is that devoid of the context–an old home computer, months of free time, it being the fucking 1980s–you play it as the object it is, rather than the experience it represented. Everything I’ve said is all true, but if you were loading this up on your C64 (or Amstrad!) with a bundle of paper maps in front of you and the latest “Bard’s Tale Club” tips, nursing your RPG party across months, slowly getting deeper into each dungeon, finding and writing down all the clues, I can see The Bard’s Tale as the evolution–a small evolution, but an evolution–of the Wizardry design it is.

You could recreate this if you really wanted! But the problem is that there are simply more fun, deeper, more interesting, less punishing ways to spend your time not even now–even then. Playing the first The Bard’s Tale, the same as playing the first Wizardry, you understand why they died out so quickly for not adapting. When they aren’t all you’ve got, they aren’t what you want.

The funny thing is, that I’ll still remember The Bard’s Tale fondly. Not for when I played it–but when I imagined it.

It looked like this on the CPC, too. Still better.

Will I ever play it again? You can continue the series seamlessly in The Bard’s Tale Trilogy, but the dungeons in the first game are so horrible I would never do this to myself.

Final Thought: Alright, you’ve read everything I’ve written and you still want to play this. You want to say you’ve played the most important RPGs! I get it. Well, for just $1 you can support my ko-fi and get access to my article on How to beat The Bard’s Tale!

Every Game I’ve Finished 14>24 is OUT NOW! You can pick it up in paperback, kindle, or epub/pdf. You can also support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi! You can pick up digital copies of exp., a zine featuring all-exclusive writing at my shop, or join as a supporter at just $1 a month and get articles like this a week early.

#video games #games #gaming #the bard's tale #ea #interplay #1985 #review #amstrad cpc #amstrad action #the balrog #i think you should leave

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fenimores-book-nook · 4 months ago

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Just an update :)

~ November 15th, 2024, Friday ~

(but also technically the 16th because I lost my train of thought halfway through the post, and the 17th because I finally posted it then...shhh)

Enjoy the photo I chose from Pinterest today: we're trying to feel the peace that is captured in it. ;)

Hello and welcome back to the Book Nook! It feels like it has been quite some time since I've written a blog post. I kept meaning to start writing one, but I think I might've been putting too much pressure on what kind of post I wanted to write. Until finally, I told myself, "hey, you can just write an update post; you enjoy those." So. Here we are.

I hope you have been well or at least as well as you can be since my last post! And if life feels like it hasn't been kind to you; it'll get better. <3 That's a reminder that I need to keep in mind too. And that I really don't need to be doing something all of the time. It's truly okay to just sit and be, allowing yourself to not think but think at the same time. It's like, your thinking doesn't have to be constantly about what the answer is to something or pondering the great mysteries of the universe or wondering if what you believe is "right." Your thinking can be calmer than that. And it doesn't mean you're behind. <3

I think I needed that paragraph, I hope you found something in it too.

~ General updates on life ~

Life has been...a bunch of different descriptive words. I am also coming up on some pretty big changes that are going to be happening soon that part of me is terrified for but another part of me is ready for the change. Overall, I think it'll be beneficial. We'll just try not to think of the world as ending within that time. ;)

It hasn't been awful, really, no. Just difficult, for sure. It honestly feels like a lot of effort to do anything other than waking up and reading my books. I don't really want to do anything else, just live in story land. Although, I just had a sleepover with my best friend that was really so much fun. (That's right, you're never too old for sleepovers.) And this weekend I'll be at my sister's place and I think it'll be super nice to get out of my hometown for a bit. Only 45 minutes out of it, but still, it helps nevertheless.

Tonight I have something to look forward to as well: Dungeons and Dragons! (Yes, I am a Proper Nerd.) Our sessions are always full of chaos and fun. I play a character named Kylin Kiels, who is a wood-elf bard. She's got a super fun tragic backstory-we love those-and amazing fighting skills. (Only if you count singing "ABC, it's easier than 1, 2, 3!" to fight off an army of crabs, amazing.) (It didn't work.) So role-playing in a fantasy game = a great time, I highly recommend.

~ BOOK UPDATES ~

It's time for my favorite kind of update!! ;) Before I get into it, Imma just make it clear that I am a HUGE mood reader-if you haven't already come to that conclusion yourself-and if I start a book and I end up not feeling it...it usually goes back on the shelf. Because if it doesn't, it'll sit on my nightstand or near my bed somewhere with a bookmark in it that isn't going to be moving forward any time soon and then my book pile will PILE up and I'll get stressed out. So. Yeah. I hope you enjoyed that little glimpse inside my brain.

Guess what book I've been rereading???? The Fault In Our Stars by John Green!! :D No seriously, lately that's all my brain has been itching to read. And by lately I mean the past two days. People. People. It's so good.

Another main book I've been reading that I actually haven't read before: Christmas Eve Love Story by Ginny Baird. It's a Christmas rom-com (obviously) and I'm loving it. The main character, Annie, keeps repeating Christmas Eve, but instead of it being the exact same day over again, there's changes here and there. The love interest, Braden, works at the mall Annie does and they have a connection, peopleeeee. It's a really cute rom-com and the Christmas feels are all over. ;)

Those are really the main ones I'm reading currently. I did start this middle grade graphic novel that I'm enjoying the easy-read-feel of it. Sweet Valley Twins: Best Friends by Francine Pascal. To be honest though, I’m not sure if that one will get finished by me either. The middle school girl drama is a little much for me, but other than that, I’ve been liking it.

Continuing the book talk, I am currently finishing up-or hoping to-this blog at a coffee shop in a bookstore. Barnes & Noble, to be exact. A great bookstore. A new one recently opened near where my sister lives so we’re spending a good chunk of the day here, surrounded by books. *cue contented, dreamlike sigh* ;) As I was browsing earlier, there was a table for The Assistant to the Villain books, by Hannah Nicole Maehrer. I forget if I’ve mentioned them, I think I have in a past post but you’re going to hear about them again. SUCH GOOD BOOKS AHHHHH!!! They are probably my favorite Romantasy books. (romance + fantasy, for those of you who don’t know) Granted, no, I haven’t read a Whole Ton of Romantasy books, but these ones will always be some of my top ones. I LOVE the humor in them SO MUCH. I think that’s something that I’ve been realizing: I enjoy reading fantasy books more if they aren’t as serious. I was just discussing this with my sister too. She is an AVID fantasy reader. And I love fantasy, but I have to be in the right mood for it. But as we were talking about Assistant to the Villain and Fourth Wing (I’m sure you’ve heard of this one, if you haven’t read it…READ!) and kind of comparing them, she said Fourth Wing has a lot more of a serious fantasy vibe, while Assistant to the Villain and Apprentice to the Villain (the second one) are funny fantasy. And like I said, I LOVE the Villain books, so maybe I should read more funny fantasies. (I already looked some up, ahaha.) On the table they’ve got a cute lil’ plushy of Kingsley-honestly the character that carries the books-sticker packs galore, keychains, and everything, it’s amazing.

One last book update...I did indeed leave the bookstore with a Romantasy book that I'm hoping will be pretty funny. If not, I'm probably going to try my best to read it all the way through, because this book is GORGEOUS. It's called Bull Moon Rising by Ruby Dixon. The cover of the book is so pretty and the page edges are amazing. Just look at it:

It's so pretty. :,) I'm only about three chapters in, but I have pretty good hopes for it. :)

~ Ending updates ~

Just some random updates to start bringing this blog to a close…I’ve been putting a lot more focus on my relationship with Jesus and it’s been so amazing. For the past few days, I was doing some Bible research that started out good but kind of turned negative. Not because of the Bible but because of how I started looking at it. Like I was trying to prove something to be right or wrong, which I do not think is a good reason to read God’s word. It should be to get to know God more and feel His presence! So, I decided it was probably a good idea for me to step back from doing specific Bible research and just spending time in His word; reading and listening to what He’s telling me through the Bible. This morning I started reading Ecclesiastes and one of my favorite passages was chapter 3, verses 1-8. Verse one is so lovely: “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” (NIV)

I think time spent diving into God’s word is a great way to spend time. :) Doing this way of Bible study has helped keep a consistent relationship with not only God but also with reading the Bible. Journaling to Jesus is also a super helpful habit that I try to do everyday, even if it’s only a sentence or two some days. And even if it’s something that ends up not happening on a day, I try not to beat myself up about it because that’s not from Jesus! Journaling to Him is simply another way to create a connection with Him and talk to Him. Sometimes it feels easier to write down what I want to talk to God about instead of relying solely on saying it out loud. I am also a writer-obviously-and I’ve been journaling since I could remember, so it’s something I love to do. :)

Now that I have made this blog post much longer than I meant it to be…I hope you are having a wonderful time and thank you for tuning in. You are amazing. :)

Until the next one,

Thalia <3

#blog #books #bible study

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lesdemonium · 4 years ago

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romtober day 19: yelling first kiss

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 1977 Summary: Jaskier gets very jealous when Geralt shows interest in someone else.

read on ao3

Jaskier played on, fingering the strings of his lute like he was born to do. The crowd was eating it up--Jaskier had been impeccable at winning their favor. A well-timed wink, a smirk in the right direction, blowing a kiss or two. They were eating right out of his hand, and nearly everyone was dancing, singing, or at the very least stomping their feet. To his crowd, Jaskier was irresistible.

His witcher, however, was another story entirely.

Geralt was not paying attention. This wasn’t entirely surprising--when Jaskier performed, Geralt really only seemed to have a perfunctory interest in what Jaskier was presenting. Though Jaskier ate up any attention he could get, he couldn’t fault Geralt for this. After all, Geralt was his first critic every time, of every song. By the time Jaskier’s songs made it to the public, Geralt had heard every iteration of the lines possible. Even a robust love would temper and fizzle under circumstances such as these, and Geralt had professed no great love for Jaskier’s “pretty lies,” as he often called them.

However, it was not simply that Geralt was not paying attention that was eating at Jaskier--it was that he was paying attention to someone else . Jaskier prided himself on his ability to read a room while also performing, and he had tracked the changes as they were happening.

There, Geralt’s eye was caught by something-- someone --just to the left of Jaskier. At first, Jaskier had giddily mistaken it for a glance in his direction, only to quickly grow hot with shame as he realized that the look was not meant for him at all. As Jaskier turned about the room, he saw the object of Geralt’s interest, and the young man was just as interested back, if his furtive glances were to be believed. Jaskier thought, with no small amount of hope, that this was where things would end. Geralt didn’t often express interest in men, and he even more rarely did anything about his interest.

This time, however, boldness came down to the newcomer. Jaskier missed the moment he stood up--Jaskier had been far too distracted by flirting with a young woman who, in return, gave him a very generous tip. When Jaskier had his wits about him enough to check, the man was gone entirely, only for Jaskier to find him at Geralt’s table.

The worst part, the part that made Jaskier’s heart sink into his chest, was that Geralt was smirking at the man. How many times had Jaskier gone to Geralt with that very same stance, to get nothing but icy stoicism in return? Now this man walked up with half the swagger Jaskier had, like a dimmer, duller version of the bard himself, and he would have the honor of Geralt’s bed?

Jaskier had a performance to attend to. Adoring fans. Pretty women with prettier smiles, handsome men with eyes that sparkled in his direction. Jaskier would just have to hone this energy, this itching beneath his skin, this hurt in his chest, and aim it toward a more worthy nighttime companion. But every time he tried, he caught a snippet of the conversation Geralt and this stranger had, or his eye landed on the way the man was now touching Geralt’s arm, and Jaskier’s blood coursed through him, icy hot and devastating.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, how he could process this better. Should he continue playing, to try to distract himself, or should he end his performance now, leave his audience wanting more, and leave to lick his wounds? The decision was made for him, however, when Geralt and the man left the tavern. There was no continuing after that, after the silent, delicate rush of pain as his heart chipped off just a bit more. Jaskier finished his set, thanked his audience, then retired to their room.

When Geralt found him, Jaskier was nothing more than a lump on the bed, curled up inside himself and pretending to the world he did not exist. Dramatic, certainly. But to fight against one's own heart was futile at best.

Geralt snorted. “Don’t tell me. You drank too much too early, and now you’re already hungover?”

Jaskier didn’t answer. No barb, no sarcastic retort, nothing. He realized, in an absent sort of way, that he probably should have, as that reaction was far more likely to convince Geralt to leave him alone. Still, he said nothing.

“Some lady broke your heart, then?” Geralt teased further. When Jaskier only huffed, Geralt shoved at his shoulder. Jaskier waved him off. “You��re melancholy tonight. Come on. Up.”

His order was paired with a, quite frankly, rude display of strength by pulling Jaskier up and off the bed. Jaskier stumbled as he was forced to his feet, and fell face-first into his witcher, much to his own personal embarrassment. Jaskier shoved Geralt off with a scowl.

“Leave me alone, you great brute!” Jaskier snapped, his hands landing on his hips. “I don’t appreciate you man-handling me in whatever direction you prefer!”

Geralt’s smile was small, but still managed to be shit-eating all the same. “You were on my side.” He shrugged, then pushed past Jaskier and onto the bed.

“Oh, no, definitely not,” Jaskier said, stepping in front of Geralt again. “I am not sharing a bed with you. You are--are sweaty and--and.” He paused, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Geralt. Geralt hardly looked as if he had just had a romp in the hay, as it were. He looked entirely too put together, his hair barely even mussed. Not even the slightly swollen lips that would evidence a particularly heated makeout session. “Why do you look so…. Sheveled?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself. “Sheveled?” he repeated.

“You--I saw you! I saw you leave with that man. Why do you look so damn put together?” Jaskier’s hands went back to his hips. Geralt was trying to make Jaskier look like a fool, Jaskier knew it. He would not stand for it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now, though, he grunted, and avoided Jaskier’s gaze. Instead, he turned his back on Jaskier.

“The hell you don’t! Gods, you must think me the stupidest man alive. I pay attention, Geralt. You can’t just act like I have no clue what I’m talking about whenever I hit on a subject you don’t care for.” Jaskier didn’t want to know, not truly. He couldn’t imagine a subject he wanted less details about than whatever Geralt and this man got up to. But now that he had started in on it, he couldn't stop. He was powerless against himself.

“Jaskier, drop it.”

“No, Geralt, I don’t think I will! You’re the one that condescended to talk to me when I so clearly wanted you to leave me alone , I think it’s only fair that you now have to deal with the consequences of that decision! I saw you . I saw that you were interested in him. So why are you here ? Why are you decidedly unfucked ?”

“Why do you care? What do you need to know of what we did or did not get up to?” Geralt crossed his arms and turned to give Jaskier a hard look, but Jaskier could not stop this forward momentum. Apparently, his mood had turned him self-destructive.

“You go in for that now? You’re so rare about showing affection for men, I had convinced myself you weren’t interested at all! So, what was it about him? Was it his look? I suppose he was handsome, in a common sort of way.” That was a lie. Geralt’s taste truly was beyond reproach, but Jaskier had to dig anyway. “No surprise you like them bold. After all, your last fixation was Yennefer. So, tell me, Geralt. What exactly is your type?”

“What are you--” Geralt started, but Jaskier interrupted him. Jaskier could see the confused look on Geralt’s face, he didn’t want Geralt to voice his questions. Jaskier was half afraid he’d answer them in his tirade.

“And then you don’t even fuck him! Even he wasn’t good enough for the great Geralt of Rivia? Is anyone? No, you just need to exert your own might over everyone. Get their hopes up and then leave and go back to your own room as if nothing happened!”

“You’re mad that I didn’t have sex with him?” Geralt sounded amused. Jaskier did not find the humor in this.

“‘I’m the White Wolf, I’m ridiculously handsome with a body sculpted right from the Gods themselves, I like to force bards out of beds when it suits my needs and force them to talk and when I leave with someone I don’t fuck them because all I really want to do is make people fall in love with me and remain cooly detached from everyone because I apparently get off on it .’”

He wasn’t aware of when he started yelling, but he was definitely yelling at Geralt now. And all Geralt did in return was smile at Jaskier. It infuriated him further. Jaskier would have much preferred if Geralt took the bait and yelled back, turned this into a ridiculous fight. Instead, he smiled. He looked as if he was trying not to laugh. And, oh, if that didn’t make Jaskier feel as if he was on fire.

“Jaskier, are you jealous?” Geralt asked, and his smile turned crooked.

“Of course I’m not jealous!” Jaskier retorted. His face felt hot as the embarrassed flush spread over his whole body. “You are a brute! You just--just do whatever you want with no regard for how those around you might feel. It’s-It’s selfish, it is! And I will not put up with it, and-and--” He stopped, abruptly, and suddenly he felt short on air. Jaskier was so worked up, he could hardly focus on anything beyond the way Geralt was stepping closer to him.

“Why do you care what I did or didn’t do with him?” Geralt asked, and his voice was soft. So soft, so gentle, something in Jaskier’s brain broke.

“Because it wasn’t me !” he exploded back, and closed his eyes in his shame. There would be no coming back from this. Not from the yelling, from the odd ranting, nor from the confession. Jaskier wished more than he had ever wished for anything to just be burned on the spot.

Instead, though, he heard Geralt come closer. He felt the warmth of Geralt’s hand just before it delicately cupped Jaskier’s jaw, turning his head just the slightest bit up. Jaskier melted into the kiss, his bones turning loose, liquid, as he stumbled forward into Geralt’s chest again and grabbed at something, anything, to hold onto. Jaskier’s fingers twisted into the soft, worn fabric of Geralt’s shirt, and Geralt caught him with a hand around his waist.

If they had stayed there even a moment longer, Jaskier would have forgotten his own name. He didn’t think he needed it anymore.

“It wasn’t you,” Geralt agreed. They pulled away, only to breathe, which hardly seemed worth it to Jaskier now. Geralt’s words were hot on Jaskier’s lips and it took a moment before Jaskier’s brain caught up.

“Of all the times to kiss me, you choose when I’m hysterical and yelling at you?” Jaskier groused, but his words held no bite. Especially not when paired with the desperate way he was pecking at Geralt’s lips.

“I wasn’t sure. You’ve never been so jealous before.”

“He… reminded me. Of me. But you liked him , I didn’t think you liked me .”

Geralt hummed, and captured Jaskier in another long, thorough kiss. “I do,” Geralt said, after, and Jaskier almost forgot what they were talking about. That was okay, too. Jaskier had done quite enough talking tonight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier fic #geraskier fanfic #the witcher #my writing #romtober

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

A Lover’s Kiss

Summary: After an unfortunate encounter with a mage, Jaskier finds himself cursed to never be kissed again unless he can find someone who loves him. Enter Geralt. (Also on my AO3)

Based on the prompt: A little bit of the bards chaotic behaviour getting him into some curse and Geralt saving the day? by @innocentcinnamonpun

Geralt swore as he approached the tavern where he’d left Jaskier. He could hear the brawling from the street and the sound drew out a long heavy sigh from the witcher. He hadn’t been away on the hunt long, it was why Jaskier had opted to stay behind to play his lute for coin instead. It was supposed to be the less dangerous place to be, and yet Jaskier had a penchant for trouble that Geralt just couldn’t fathom.

He consider drawing his sword before entering the tavern but that would most likely get them both in trouble. If he was lucky he’d be able to grab Jaskier by the scruff of his neck and pull them both out of there before any real damage was done. He huffed and double checked the fastenings on his armour before pushing open the door to the tavern.

As expected, Jaskier was in the middle of the fray. His doublet was torn open and he was pressed up against the wall by a cloaked individual who had a hand gripped around Jaskier’s neck. Geralt snarled and crossed the room, his presence creating a familiar silence in the tavern.

“Leave him be.” He growled.

The cloaked figure, a blonde woman with a freckled face and soft brown eyes, laughed a cold humourless laugh. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because whatever it is that you think he’s done. I can assure you he’s not worth it.” Geralt shot a weary glare at his friend.

Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed, presumably from too much wine, and his bright blue eyes were twinkling in the candle light.

“Geralt!” He grinned which was quite frankly a foolish reaction for someone who was about thirty seconds from being choked to death. “How was the hunt? Successful I take it.”

Geralt shrugged. “Drowners are dead. More worried about my bard that is currently in a death grip.”

“Shut up!” The woman hissed and Jaskier gasped as her grip tightened. Any protests he may have had were cut off by the lack of air. “Both of you!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed. “What did he do?”

Jaskier croaked and mumbled something intelligible.

“This bastard tried to seduce my wife!” The woman hissed.

Geralt was almost tempted to leave the bard to his fate. How many times did he have to save Jaskier’s life because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself? The rumours of Jaskier being a eunuch hadn’t lasted long as his friend’s insatiable appetite for sexual pleasure had put those rumours to rest rather quickly. Geralt had two options that he could think of, use Axii on the woman and convince her that Jaskier hadn’t even looked at her wife, which was risky in front of a whole tavern, or find a way to put Jaskier’s lecherous ways to a stop, for good.

“I’m afraid there’s been a miscommunication.” Geralt grunted. “The man’s a bard.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The woman cackled. “I know he’s a bard!”

“And part of his job is to charm people out of their gold.” Geralt continued with a tilt of his head. Jaskier was still gasping which meant he was just about able to breathe but he would probably pass out soon if Geralt couldn’t get the woman to release her grip.

“But not into their beds, witcher!” She snapped, and pressed her fingers harder against Jaskier’s neck.

The bard finally had the decency to look afraid, his startling blue eyes met Geralt’s wide and now full of worry. Geralt scowled and licked his lips.

“An act, I assure you.” He said through gritted teeth, as calmly as he could manage. “Please just let him go.”

“No!”

Geralt panicked as Jaskier’s eyes started to roll back. “We’re married!” He blurted out.

The blonde dropped Jaskier and Geralt caught the bard in his arms. Jaskier gripped onto Geralt’s armour and gasped loudly as he tried to catch his breath. “Geralt!” He mumbled. “Oh gods, I thought I was gone that time.”

The woman folded her arms in front of her chest and watched them both with narrowed eyes. “Married?” She asked.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, partly to steady him, and nodded. It was too late to back out now. “Married.” He agreed firmly.

“What?” Jaskier spluttered and Geralt jabbed him in the ribs. “Oh yes, married! I umm… I’m just surprised to hear Geralt say that out loud. We were keeping it a secret.” He muttered before standing up straight and rubbing his neck, wincing as his fingers brushed over tender skin.

Geralt frowned. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

The bard nodded. “I’ve had worse from jilted lovers…” He paused and grinned mischievously up at Geralt. “Husband.” He sang happily and kissed Geralt firmly on the lips.

Geralt grunted in surprise but allowed Jaskier to kiss him. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact Jaskier was a good kisser. Geralt suddenly knew why his bard had never struggled to find a partner to warm his bed. Before he knew what was happening, Geralt was kissing back. He found he wanted to kiss Jaskier, which was a shocking revelation to him. Up until that point he’d only really thought of the bard as a friend, and even then he’d never admitted it before now. The vibration of Geralt’s medallion was the only warning he had before he was torn from Jaskier’s lips and pulled violently away from the bard by some unseen force.

“Oi!” Jaskier snapped as he too was flung back against the wall. “I was enjoying that!”

“If you really are married then I assure you there won’t be a problem.” The woman who was apparently some kind of mage hissed. “You, bard, will not be able to kiss or bed anyone who is not in love with you.”

Jaskier spluttered. “Oh yeah, sure, Not a problem. None what so ever!” He smiled too sweetly, trying to regain his composure.

Geralt couldn’t help the faint smile that graced his lips. Now that was one problem solved for the foreseeable future, although he also did not doubt the bard’s ability to make anyone fall in love with him. At least it would put an end to the more casual trysts.

Geralt glowered at the blonde one last time for good measure before grabbing Jaskier’s hand and pulling him away from her. “Whilst I appreciate your concern, witch, if I see your hands on my husband again, there’ll be trouble.” He growled and then tugged Jaskier from the tavern.

They’d barely moved two feet away from the door when Jaskier let out a long groan. “Geralt.” He whined. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Geralt smirked and patted his bard on the shoulder. “You should have thought about that before you tried to sleep with a married woman, again.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you! I’ll have you know that she didn’t tell me!”

“They never do.” Geralt sighed. “Come on, let’s get Roach and move on.”

Jaskier grumbled and pulled on the lute strap across his chest. “Easy for you to say, you’ve not been cursed.”

____________

Jaskier was going mad. It had been three months since his run in with the mage and he hadn’t even been able to go to a brothel to satisfy his more lustful urges. It was like a constant itch just under his skin that he couldn’t scratch. It was irritable and quick to anger, even Geralt was pissing him off more than usual and normally Jaskier had a remarkable tolerance for the witcher’s grumpy moods.

He had hoped that the mage’s curse had been faked but a few failed attempts at even just kissing some truly stunning people had proved his hopes to be false. He hadn’t even had the time to woo anyone. He’d been too busy travelling with Geralt and gathering new stories for his ballads and poems.

It didn’t escape his notice that his last kiss had been the witcher, and oh what a kiss it had been! He hadn’t expected Geralt to kiss him back. He’d simply been taking advantage of the witcher’s lie to satisfy his own curiosity. Honestly, he’d been in love with Geralt since the moment he’d laid eyes on him in Posada but he’d never really expected to have a chance to kiss his crush, so he really couldn’t be blamed for seizing the opportunity when it arose.

He sighed and plucked too harshly at the strings on his lute. The tightest, highest string snapped under his fingers and he yelped. “Bollocks!” He groaned and sucked the now bleeding fingertip.

Geralt looked up from where he was prodding the fire with a stick and sniffed the air. “You’re bleeding?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can see that, Geralt.” He hissed and stuck his fingers back in his mouth.

Geralt sighed and crossed the camp in two long strides, taking Jaskier’s wrist gently in his hands and pulling the bleeding fingers from Jaskier’s mouth. He examined the wound carefully and hummed.

“I have some salve if you want but that should heal quickly on its own.” Geralt murmured and gave him a soft smile.

He’d been doing that a lot recently, smiling, especially at Jaskier. It was wreaking havoc with Jaskier’s feelings. His love for Geralt was burning brighter than it had in years. It almost felt like the brand new fire he’d felt in those first few years of travelling. After a while it had dulled to embers, never dying but more manageable and less painful, but now that love resembled a pyre or a brazier, a wildfire that spread through his entire body and there was nothing he could do to put it out.

It probably didn’t help that he couldn’t temper the flames with another warm body in his bed.

He was truly going mad.

He pulled his bleeding fingers from Geralt’s hand and glared at the witcher. “I’m fine, witcher.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not fine, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah well, whose fault is that?” He snapped. “Married.” He muttered. “You couldn’t have thought of a better excuse?”

Geralt scoffed. “I saved your life, Jaskier.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the witcher and then flailed his arms. “To the contrary! I am dying, Geralt!”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Geralt grumbled.

“I am a bard!” Jaskier pouted. “Bards need to be kissed! To be loved!”

Geralt’s brow furrow and he huffed, spinning around so Jaskier couldn’t see his face.

“Oh yeah sure, just runaway from your mistakes. Again.” He snapped. He winced at his own words. It was a low blow after Cintra but Jaskier wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind. He made a note to apologise later when he’d managed to calm down a bit.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled and then spun around again, freakishly fast. He cupped Jaskier’s face in his hands and pulled Jaskier into a blistering kiss.

Jaskier squeaked, surprised by the sudden movement. Of all the things he’d expected Geralt to do, kissing him had been the last thing on the list. He’d been hoping to get away with not getting punched in the gut again after his cruel words.

But Geralt’s lips were on his and all other thoughts left his head. Geralt was kissing him…

Geralt was kissing him.

He pushed back on Geralt’s chest firmly with an indignant yelp. “Geralt!” He pointed at the witcher accusingly and stumbled back. “You. You kissed me!?”

Geralt blushed. Jaskier hadn’t even realised that was possible for witchers but here was Geralt blushing brighter than a ruby in the sunlight and all because he’d kissed Jaskier. The witcher grunted and stalked over to Roach.

“Oh no. No, no, no. No!” Jaskier trotted after him. “No riding away from me now, Geralt.”

“Shut up Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

“You love me!” Jaskier blurted out and then covered his mouth with his hands to stop a peal of laughter from escaping his lips. “You love me.” He mumbled again.

“Apparently so.” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier beamed at the witcher and bopped him on the nose. “Since when?” He laughed.

Geralt snarled and scrunched up his nose. “Doesn’t matter.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically. “Of course it matters, Geralt. It matters to me.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Jaskier tilted his head and gave the witcher his most charming smile. “Because I would like to know how long we could have been snogging each other senseless for.” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?”

“Oh my dear witcher. Surely you know that I love you? I’ve not exactly been subtle with the songs and the whole…” He waved his hands “following you around the Continent thing.”

“What?!” Geralt repeated with wide eyes.

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, taking Geralt’s hand in his. “I love you, Geralt. I have loved you since the moment I saw you. So forgive me for wondering when you began to feel the same way.”

“Not sure. Some time after the mage and the curse.” He grumbled. “Maybe before that. I never did like it when you fucked around.”

Jaskier laughed. “Oh ho ho! Geralt were you jealous?”

“No!” The witcher snarled. “Maybe.”

Jaskier couldn’t take it anymore he squeezed Geralt’s hand and leaned in for another kiss. Neither of them were surprised this time. It wasn’t as heated as the last kiss, they knew they could finally take their time to relish in the feeling. The kiss was slow and filled with all the yearning that had followed Jaskier around for years. He poured his heart and soul into the kiss hoping Geralt would see that it was alright to love him, that he didn’t need to hide it.

Geralt hummed as they pulled away. Jaskier opened his eyes to find his friend gazing at him with gorgeous amber eyes, smiling that half smile that drove Jaskier mad. “You love me.” Geralt murmured as his fingers stroked Jaskier cheek.

Jaskier nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “I do. I always have.”

Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s and closed his eyes. Jaskier smiled and chuckled, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. “She was right then.”

“Who was right, darling?”

“The curse. It won’t be a problem after all.” Geralt laughed quietly at the revelation and Jaskier soon joined in before pulling the witcher into another kiss.

The first of many, he hoped.

Tag List: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @awitchersbard @genkitaco

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #a lover's kiss #I wrote this during Skyrim loading screens today #i hate skyrim loading screens #Sorry it took a while!

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pressedinthepages · 4 years ago

Text

Breeze

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: reader request: [Hello! I read that you would like to write something other than x reader from time to time, so I have a (hopefully cute 😳) Geraskier-request for you: Geralt saving money and surprising Jaskier with buying him his own horse. And Jaskier is deeply moved by that action (maybe he's crying) and Geralt just laughs and gives him cuddles/kisses him. 😌] awe dumb softe bois

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a wonderful beta :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, ~yearning~, geralt has to use his voice to communicate

Two idiots and a horse get another horse.

“Geraaaalt. Why aren’t we staying at the inn? I can literally see it from here, the soft bed and the warm bath beckoning to me through the dark. ‘Come to me, Jaskier,’ it’s saying, Geralt. It’s not like we’re strapped for coin, either. The alderman actually paid you pretty well for that bear ghost-”

“Barghest.”

“Yes, yes, exactly. But back to my earlier line of inquiry. I ask again, why in the shit are we staying out in the middle of the woods for what feels like the thousandth night in a row?”

Geralt sighs, staring up at the stars on the clear night. “I’m trying to save my coin.”

Jaskier scoffs, drawing a raise of the brow from the Witcher. “For what, pray tell?”

“New armor.”

“Oh, so the Witcher can get new armor every other week and it’s fine, but when I go and buy a new outfit for a performance, it’s a ‘waste of coin, Jaskier?’”

` Geralt hums with finality, listening as Jaskier just continues prattling on. There’s no real heat behind it though, and Geralt does feel bad making Jaskier rough it out here with him. But he knows that if he lets the bard wander into town on his own, Geralt will end up having a much larger and more annoying mess to clean up.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hums, listening as he stops his ranting. “Come get some sleep, I’d like to get down to Blackbough by the new moon.”

Jaskier huffs in response before he undoes the little buttons down the front of his doublet. He shucks it off of his shoulders and drapes it over a log on the ground, rolling up the sleeves on his chemise up to his elbow. Geralt tries quite desperately not to watch, but his eyes are drawn to every new inch of skin revealed under the low light of the embers.

Jaskier’s bedroll flaps loudly as he sets it between Geralt and the fire. He plops down onto it, stretching out and turning to face Geralt. The Witcher peers over at him, admiring quietly the way that the last few sparks of light dance over the high planes of his cheeks.

“Ah, Geralt. Another day, put to rest. Sleep well, dear Witcher.” Jaskier turns over with his back to Geralt, scooching back a bit, close enough that Geralt can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Geralt hums, his fingers flexing at his sides, itching to touch, to hold, to gather Jaskier into his arms and never let him go.

Instead, Geralt only gives a whispered, “Goodnight, Jaskier.”

***

The sky is black when they do finally arrive in Blackbough, bespeckled with stars far and wide. Jaskier leans against a post while Geralt checks over the notice board in the center of town, the bard kicking off one boot and digging his thumb into the tender skin of his sole.

“Fuck, Geralt. My feet are exhausted. Don’t get me wrong, I would happily trot along at your side until the end of my days, but I may need to invest in some new boots sooner rather than later if that’s to be the case,” Jaskier groans, sliding his foot back into the soft leather of his boot. Geralt hums as he tears a slip of parchment from the board, watching it flutter between his fingers.

“Wind’s howling,” Geralt rumbles, tucking the parchment into his pack atop Roach.

“Yes, dear Witcher,” Jaskier’s hair flaps about his face, “thank you for the weather update.”

“Why don’t-” Geralt starts, peering over at the bard. “Why don’t you head to the tavern, see if they’ll let you play for a night in a room. I’ll be out scouting this contract, so you should absolutely stay here.”

Jaskier looks back at the little building, noting the light shining from the windows and the voices still floating in the din of the evening. He nods, and Geralt raises an eyebrow at the lack of argument. “Oh shut it, Geralt,” Jaskier grins, “you know that I would typically be more than happy to traipse through spooky fog and poky underbrush. Alas, I am fucking tired. So, on this one occasion, I will admit that you are right.”

Geralt gives one of his rare smiles, a cheeky turn of the corner of his lip, and turns to lead Roach out of town. “I’ll come collect you in the morning. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

Jaskier scoffs half-heartedly, swinging his lute case around as he turns towards the tavern. Geralt listens to be sure that Jaskier is secure in the building before he changes course, heading instead to a large structure situated just on the edge of town.

***

Geralt stands in Jaskier’s room, surrounded by the dulcet tones of his deafening snoring. He has called out to the bard several times, but nothing has been able to wake him. That is, nothing until Geralt decides to grab a sweet bun from the innkeeper and a cup of steamy tea.

Jaskier hums when he smells the herbs next to his face, smiling a bit when he sees Geralt brooding in the corner. Jaskier takes a great bite out of the pastry, moaning quite obscenely at the taste. “Have a nice night, Geralt?”

Geralt hums, gathering Jaskier’s stuff from around the room. By the Gods, he was only here for a few hours. There is a doublet over a chair, trousers on the dresser, one boot by the door and one by the fireplace, and blankets and furs all over the place.

“Alright, Bard. Let’s go, I have something to pick up before we leave town.” Geralt chucks the pants to Jaskier. They hit him square in the face before falling into his lap, revealing quite the impressive side-eye.

Jaskier sighs, sipping his tea as he goes about getting dressed. Geralt watches once more, chuckling to himself as Jaskier tries to ruffle his hair into something that doesn’t quite resemble a harpy’s nest.

The two of them head out of the tavern soon after, the morning sun greeting them through the dew. “Geralt, where’s Roach?”

“Stable.”

Jaskier responds by strumming a chord on the lute with a look over to Geralt, confirming his permission to play for the time being. Geralt gives a short nod of the head and Jaskier begins, something quiet and slow as the world warms in the dawn.

The stableboy sees them approaching and ducks inside, leaving Geralt and Jaskier standing alone. Geralt closes his eyes and just listens to the tune that Jaskier hums, relaxing into the sweet tone that drips like rainwater off of a fresh flower.

The stableboy comes back out, followed closely by Roach and a second horse. She is palomino blonde and slender with a spring in her step. Jaskier quirks his brow at the latter, stepping confidently towards the stablehand, who most certainly does not get paid enough for this.

“Thank you sir, but it’s just Roach for us. Geralt, would you mind-”

Geralt tosses the kid an extra coin as he takes both sets of reins, passing the palomino to Jaskier. But Jaskier only looks at him, even when he gives the soft leather a good shake in the bard’s direction. Roach butts Geralt on the shoulder, wisely prompting him to use his words. “She’s uh...she’s your horse, Jask.”

“What? Geralt, I don’t have a horse. Did you get hit on the head or something, you silly Wi-”

“I bought her, Jaskier. I bought her for you.”

Jaskier finally shuts up, taking the reins from Geralt’s hand with a tentative grip. The palomino steps closer to Jaskier, snuffling his hair. He giggles, setting something quite tender alight in Geralt’s heart.

“Geralt, I-I don’t quite know what to say...I thought you needed new armor?” Jaskier’s voice is quiet as he scritches along the horse’s nose.

Geralt shakes his head, fiddling with the straps on Roach’s saddle. “No. Wanted this to be a surprise.”

Jaskier goes silent, and Geralt can’t quite bring himself to look over at him. But then Jaskier sniffles and Geralt looks up, finding tears on his cheeks and a soft look in his eyes.

“You-you got her for me?”

Geralt nods, struck by a sudden boldness. He moves forward, grabbing the soft fabric of Jaskier’s doublet at his wrist. “I don’t like seeing you hurt. You-” Geralt huffs, grappling for words. “You’re far too important to me.”

“I-do I need to actively hold onto the reins all of the time, Geralt?”

“No, why?”

“Because I would very much like to kiss you right now, and I would love to have both hands free for that.” Geralt’s eyes widen a bit and he nods, his breath catching as Jaskier drops the reins and surges into him. Jaskier’s lips are so much softer than Geralt had ever let himself imagine, and his fingers in Geralt’s hair feel like the closest thing that he will ever get to true paradise.

They part, but only far enough to look each other in the eyes. Geralt looks into those eyes, the clearest blue rivers rushing to raging seas. Geralt’s hands rest on Jaskier’s hips, his thumb rubbing little circles into his sides. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead onto Jaskier’s, reveling in the way that Jaskier’s heart speeds up and his breathing tightens a bit in his embrace.

“Thank you, Geralt. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you,” Jaskier whispers, light as a feather between their lips.

Geralt hums once more, still holding fast to the bard. “We should be leaving soon.”

“Can I have another kiss?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt can hear the smirk in his words.

“I suppose,” Geralt smiles as he leans back into him.

#geraskier #fluff #THESE TWO #i love them

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atomicblasphemy · 4 years ago

Text

Eda becomes some kind of flying taxi service

Amity: So I told Malphas he needed to have a talk with Gary about our coffee break space.

Emira: Mhmm.

Amity: I mean, for one, Gary never cleans after himself. Like, I once saw him leaving his mug dirty for over a week. A WEEK. It was disgusting. It was just sitting dare on the table for days. I didn’t want to clean it, I’m not a doormate. But it was dire and I had no choice. And don’t get me started on the fridge situation. My lunch has been getting smaller by the day and I can’t seem to figure out the culprit.

Emira: That’s nice, Mittens. Isn’t it nice, Edric?

Edric: What?

Amity: Will you guys pay attention? I need some advice on...

*Windows cracking”

Edric: What the...

Hooty: AMITY FELICITY BLIGHT! IT IS I, HOOTCIFER, HARBINGER OF THY DESTINY. COME WITH ME AND I SHALL REVEAL WHAT JOYS THE FUTURE HOLDS FOR THEE.

Amity: I... What?

Hooty: DOTH THOU DARE DEFY FATE? *Swallows Amity*

Emira: ... What just happened? Wasn’t that Eda’s house demon? You know, the one we met before Grom?

Edric: I think it was. I’m not sure though, he sounded more... ominous...

SEVERAL EMOTIONAL MOMENTS LATER

Luz: It’s early... Do you really have to go already?

Amity: Yeah... I still have to finish homework, and I have work tomorrow. But I’ll come back here tomorrow... If you’re okay with it, that is...

Luz: YES! I mean... yeah, I’d love that...

Amity: Anyway... I guess I should get going, we’re not exactly neighbors after all. See you tomorrow then.

Luz: Wait, I have an idea. *Turns around* EDA!

Eda: *Not stopping her flight practice* What?

Luz: Do you think you could give Amity a lift back to her place?

Eda: Oh? Not walking your girlfriend home? Thought you’d be more chivalrous.

Luz: *Showing that Amity’s tomato like properties are infectious* EDAAA!

Eda: Sorry, sorry. But yeah, sure. *Picks up Amity and flies away at neckbreaking speeds. She soon slows down to a more reasonable pace* So... Amity, before I give you that whole “What are your intentions?” scare there’s something I’ve been itching to ask you. What made you chose to dye your hair of all colors, and how did Odd-alia react?

Amity: Luz... Me... Girlfriend...

Eda: Ugh... Don’t make me regret making harmless fun of young love, kiddo.

ONE AWKWARD TAXI EDA FLYING SESSION LATER.

Eda: *Placing Amity on the Blight Manor’s front porch and looking at the two bewildered faces watching her* Sup. *Turns to fly away* Oh right, I guess purple here is in not in the mental state to give any explanations.

Amity: Small ceremony... Human realm... Only friends and family... Boscha is not invited...

Emira: Are you... Edalyn Clawthorne?

Eda: Last I checked I was.

Emira: You look different.

Eda: Oh right... Look, it was a very eventful night so let me start with the simpler one. King, you remember him, right? Tiny, angry, looks like a cat, was the MC at the last Grom along with Goops.

Emira and Edirc: Yeah...?

Eda: He’s harnessing all the powers of yelling. I guess all children his age kinda do that but he went above and beyond and actually learned how to make things go boom with his voice alone, and that’s why both Luz and your sister are still alive. And now I’m realizing I should probably go hide all those Death Metal records I got in human realm. Can’t risk turning my son into a weapon of mass destruction. Not yet.

Edric: That’s... nice... I guess?

Emira: How about Mittens?

Eda: Right. She and Luz are an item now. It was adorable, I called her Luz’s girlfriend then I think it finally really hit her and that made her go all catatonic on me. Sorry about that.

Edric: WHAT?

Emira: Okay, okay... So came out with it? Ed and I have some scores to settle.

Eda: I... Both, I guess? I don’t know, it was sort of at the same time. But I don’t want to spoil it for when she recovers. So I guess us three are kinda family now, huh? Tangentially at least, like you’re my nephew and niece-in-law or something like that, I don’t know.

Eda: The important thing is: there’s a huge waterway under my house and I think it is actually part of my property. Now I need to figure out a way to find out how big that place actually is without letting town hall know so my taxes won’t go up. Can’t push my tax evasion skills. I mean, can you imagine it? The Owl Lady, the most successful outlaw in Boiling Isles history: arrested for fiscal crimes.

Emira: Okay... That’s... cool.

Edric: Yeah... Not to pry though, but what happened to you?

Eda: Oh... Me? I got very high. Not on purpose. Then I became a Harpy. Also not on purpose.

Emira: ... I’m sorry but I’m not following the cause and effect relation between those thing.

Eda: Neither am I. All I remember is: Hooty spiked some cookies; I revisited that time I gauged out my dad’s eye, also not on purpose; then when I push my ex away (You know, Raine Whispers, current head of the Bard Coven, lead a small revolutionary guerrilla, now under mind control. Oh, yeah, guess they’d make to sure to keep it under wraps, anyway...)

Eda: Then it got pretty weird. I got trapped by this tall hooded sun and moon figure and I’m not sure whether that was an actual memory (I did get arrested a few time after all) or if it was just a hallucinogenics induced manifestation of the subconscious trauma of being persecuted for years by the state. Anyone’s guess to which was it.

Eda: And then I became Icarus, fell into the sea, and became a piece of paper. Then I was at the beach, the piece of paper was also there, but that’s not important... I hope... Anyway, so, my curse was there too an for a moment there I thought we were gonna play some chess, but nah.

Eda: I did have an epiphany though. The sky changed colors and now I’m a Harpy. Gotta a lot of stuff to process right.

Edric: *Wide eyed and mouth agape* Mother of Titan...

Emira: *Same as her brother* Do you... need a hug or something?

Eda: Ehh... Don’t worry, I’ll get through. I mean, I’m a badass Harpy woman now, what else could I want? I appreciate the thought though. Anyway, I’ll get going, Luz has probably been stuck in the same place ever since I left. Was nice seeing you guys. *Turns around*

Edric: WAIT, EDA.

Eda: Yeah? What is it?

Edric: Can you take me flying a little bit like you did Mittens? Pretty please?

Emira: *Elbowing her brother* EDRIC!

Edric: What? There’s a tall and friendly winged lady standing in our front porch and calling us family...

Eda: Kinda family.

Edric: Kinda family. And we only went flying, on dad’s staff mind you, like twice. And I mean, look at her. That’s clearly a person with next to no regard for speed limits or any form of flying safety. *Turns to Eda* I mean that as the highest of compliments, by the way.

Eda: *Nodding and smiling* Well, I’m not one to brag... But you’re on point there.

Edric: *Turning back to Emira* See? It will be fun. *Turns back to Eda while making puppy eyes* So, pretty pretty please?

Eda: Eh... What the heck, why not? I do need to get a better hold of this flying thing after all. Fair warning though, I only had these for about an hour, I’m not taking responsibility for any loss of limb or life. *Picks Edric up and place him on one of her shoulders and turns to Emira.* You sure you don’t wanna come with? There’s plenty of room.

Emira: ... I never said I didn’t want to...

Eda: *Placing Emira on her other shoulder* Alritty then, make sure to hold on tight to my hair, just don’t fall into it. Can’t promise I’ll find you if you do. And up we go. *Takes off at neckbreaking speed*

Eda: So... I tried that to Mittens herself, but she was too lost in elation to form coherent sentences. What’s the deal with her hair color change? Why did she pick that specific shade of... pink? Lavender? Purple? Whatever, I was a tad curious about that choice coming from one of Odd-alia’s offspring. So either of you can shed some light on it for me?

Emira: Eh, what can I say? Our little Mittens is growing up, coming out of her shell. I mean, if you told me a month that she’d have a girlfriend by now I’d call it bullshit. Though I would have guessed Luz as being the most likely candidate. In any case, I’m pretty proud of the steps our baby sister is taking, not gonna lie.

Edric: Yeah... Same. But I can’t shake the feeling that it is at least in part an act of rebellion against mom. She did always have that weird fixation with Amity’s hair after all...

Eda: Hum, I see. This actually takes me to my follow up question. How did your mom react when she saw it?

Edric: *chuckling* Oh, I thought she’d have a stroke right then and there.

Emira: Yup. Never saw mom that mad. You’d think the two of us would be the ones to cause it but nope, Mittens beat us to it. Again, I’m a proud big sister.

Eda: Hehehe Sounds about right. You two are the troublemaking type then huh?

Edric: That’s a way of putting.

Emira: We like thinking of ourselves as practical entertainers however. We are in the Illusions track so it comes with the territory. Buuut...

Edric: We indulge in some prankery every now and then, and there’s no one better at it than us.

Eda: Is that so? Ever get in trouble for it?

Edric: Sometimes... When we (kind of accidentally) cause more property damage than intended because SOMEONE botched their end of the spell and caused Bump’s office to almost go up in flames.

Emira: Awww. Ed, I told you already. Don’t beat yourself over it. Accidents happen. You’ll do better next time.

Edric: HEY!

Emira: Anyway, Eda. Why were you asking about Mittens’ hair?

Eda: Oh... You guys are going to love this. I think. Anyway, did you know that me and your parents attended Hexside at the same time?

Edric: Yeah, I remember mom seeing one of your wanted posters a while back and calling you “Ewdalyn Clownthorne” or something like that.

Eda: Ah, haven’t heard that in a minute, Titan those were the day. Anyway, as you might have guessed by now me and your mother we... had a bit of a rivalry. Unfortunately, I couldn’t top the nickname she gave me, best I could do was Odd-alia. No offense, but Blight doesn’t give much to work with in terms of puns, can’t get funnier than that. Especially when thrown at her.

Emira: None taken. And yeah. I mean, it is fun when people call us stuff like “The Blights of Hexside”. But it is kinda sad to know we’ll never get a nickname as cool as Owl Lady or Lord Calamity.

Eda: Oh, my fame still precedes me huh? You know, I think the three of us will get along just fine.

Edric and Emira: Yup, we sure will.

Eda: Anyway, flattery aside... Part of the reason why I love poking your mom with a short stick was, other than how aggravated she’d get and how surprisingly good at paying in kind she was, the fact that she was in the Oracle track. You see, that made her a challenge. And given how she would actually prank me back (successfully, mind you, I have no shame in admitting that) I feel like like we actually a weird sort of friends, or at least we reached some kind of agreement that we were fair game for each other. And trust me, she was ruthless, and very good at escalating things.

Emira: Wow...

Edric: That sounds nothing like the mom we know. Other than the ruthless or the escalation part, that is still true.

Eda: Yeah, anyway. Part of our little game was keeping it hidden. Neither your dad or my sister actually ever realized what was going on until... well, I’ll get to that.

Eda: Anyway, so some lovely day I notice how weirdly obsessed with her hair Odd-alia was. This gives me some ideas, but I know I have make this the mother of pranks, so I decided to just keep a watch, to figure out what the best way to go about it would be. And I was also making those smaller pranks, something to throw her Oracle powers off-balance, you know?

Eda: Well... Back in the day your mother wasn’t monochromatic as she is nowadays. She’d circle through all colors you can think off on her accessories (which she used an ungodly amount, and no judgement it just never seems physically possible). But I noticed that there was one very specific color that she never got anywhere near her.

Edric and Emira: No way...

Eda: And as I said, she was weirdly obsessed with her hair... And as top student of the Potions track making hair dye was child’s play for me... So... do the math... And guess what very specific color was? I may be bad at color names, but I won’t ever, EVER, forget that particular shade.

Edric and Emira: No... freaking... way...

Eda: Yes... freaking... way... I mean, seriously, the first time I saw Amity’s new hair I had to do a double take. The resemblance was just too uncanny.

Emira: And what did she do?

Eda: Well... For a couple weeks there I thought I’d have to place a restriction order on her or something like that. Ultimately the two of us, along with Lilith and Alador (they were our attorneys, no they were not qualified for the role.) sitting across from each other in a very formal looking table, signing a contract. An actual freaking contract setting clear limits to our mutual pranks, like what was off limits like her hair or my then partner, how long was the maximum period a prank could last, so on. Surprisingly enough that was Al’s idea.

Eda: And let me tell you, that was probably the toughest negotiation I ever been a part of. Shame it was not long before I dropped out so never could really put it to use. You know, sometime I think this actually made Odd-alia realize she wanted to be a business woman. I mean, before that she’d go off about how she’d join the Emperor’s Coven all the damn time.

Edric: Wow...

Emira: I second that. Really, wish I had brought something I could take notes on. You completely blown anything we ever did out of the water.

Edric: No wonder she never told us that. You know what? I think I’m dying my hair that color first thing tomorrow.

Emira: Can we tell Amity this story?

Eda: Are you two actually thinking of antagonizing her? Are you crazy? First off, she’s your mother, she holds power over you. All you’d accomplish is getting grounded. Not to mention that she has decades of experience on you, even if she wasn’t your mom, she’d demolish the two of you. No offense, you’re still young, naive, you lack guidance in the ways of the pranksters.

Edric and Emira: *Dejectedly* Ohh... You’re right...

Eda: Hey... Don’t look so gloomy. I see a lot of potential in you, in both of you. *Sighs* I can’t believe I’m gonna take more kids under my wing... But.... Have you guys ever heard of the Bad Girl Coven Initiative? We annoy our foes into submission.

Edric and Emira: WE’RE LISTENING.

Eda: Heh... We’ll get along just fine indeed.

#THE OWL HOUSE #the owl house hooty #Edric Blight #Emira Blight #amity blight #luz noceda #king clawthorne #the owl house boscha #raine whispers #I lost track of what was trying to accomplish halfway though writing this. read at your own discretion.

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wolf-and-bard · 4 years ago

Text

Proper Procedures for Wooing Witches

for @littoraly-art because you are amazing and I already said this, but I hope you have an awesome birthday <3

Pairing: Yennefer/Jaskier

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: T, some explicit language

„My darling Yennefer,“ Jaskier calls out as he swoops into his Oxenfurt apartment with a flat carton wedged under his arm. It already nicked the lavender mesh overlay of his newest doublet, but for once, he absolutely cannot be bothered by that. It’s too nice of a day. “Hello?” He kicks off his shoes.

High noon’s just gone by and Jaskier doesn’t expect Yen to be up yet – which means she will hex his ass if he wakes her. His giddiness outweighs his fears though, heart warming, as he takes in the cluttered entryway. Several pairs of shoes are strewn about, his and hers mixing on the ground. Yen’s all look like they could double as a lethal weapon and are some variation of black and white (though one pair is tinged brown from blood that crusts the bottom, he doesn’t want to know). It’s awfully domestic, a product of the temporary living situation they are in.

When Yen requested to use his rooms for a week or so, she explicitly asked for Jaskier not to be there, but, well, he is weak, he wants her, he couldn’t have stayed away if he tried. Yen’s been snippy from the moment he welcomed her with open arms and the prospect of sharing a bedroom, snippy to the point of grumpiness. That’s fair, Jaskier supposes. It’s also fair that she slips out at the most random times of day, coming back only when Jaskier’s gone to the academy for lectures or the pub for drinks with his colleagues. All fair and good. He catches her about once a day which is more than he can say for most of the year. Fair, yes. Nice, even though Yen is rarely, if at all, impressed with his affection for her. A bard can dream.

“Yenny,” he shouts again and whistles to himself as he slides through to the main room. To his surprise, she lounges at his dinner table by the window, one hand curled around a steaming mug, the other holding up one of his most beloved poetry collections (not only because he wrote several of the entries). Her hair falls in rich raven curls that cover her chest, barely concealed by the sheer black dressing gown she wears. It’s the only thing she wears, Jaskier notices, gulping heavily. Yen doesn’t look up from her reading, her lips are pursed and her tone clipped as she replies.

“For every time you call me that, bard, your balls will grow the tiniest fraction until, one day, they will explode, never to grow back.”

Jaskier considers it. Directs his attention downward. They do feel a bit strange, don’t they? But that’s only because he’s thinking about them. Right.

“I shall not be fooled,” Jaskier says, grinning. “But if you so insist, ‘beloved’ will do just as well. I brought you a gift.” Brushing past his dusty bookshelves and cluttered desk, he struts towards the table and drops the carton on it. It lands with a thud and swirls up more dust – how is it this dusty already, Jaskier could swear he cleaned the place, like, last month?

Yen licks her finger to turn the page which makes Jaskier laugh out loud. He rounds the table to glance over her shoulder, but immediately has to retch. There, catching Yen’s precise attention, is Valdo’s vomit-inducing sonnet about his first time taking a tumble with what Jaskier assumes was a professional. It has to be, no self-respecting person would bed the man free of his coin. Jaskier makes a mental note to spread another rumour about Valdo and various sexual diseases, then plucks the book from her hands and lets it drop to the table. She sighs softly under her breath and allows him to put a hand on her shoulder. Is that… does she lean into him? The tiniest bit? Oh, dear.

“That better not be a dress,” Yen says, reaching out. Her fingertips trace the edge of the carton as if she’s in deep debate on whether to pop it open. This is a game they’ve been playing excessively, him bringing her gifts, her making a show of whether to accept them or not. On the few occasions that Yen invites him for a drink or gives the acoustic properties of his lute a small magical boost, Jaskier fails to reciprocate her cool attitude. He’s too in love to feign indifference and it’s not like she would believe him either.

“If we’re using dress in terms of the precise cut it implies then no, no dress,” he replies, thumb rubbing her skin through the slippery material of the gown mostly to work through the tightness in his throat. It hurts sometimes because this farce makes him think she doesn’t want him. Hell, most things Yen does are aimed at making him think she doesn’t want him. But then there are fractions of admittance like this, like when her gravity shifts towards him or he finds her in his rooms, barely dressed, that make him think there might be more there. Jaskier simply has to practice patience.

“Julian, do I seem like a woman easily impressed with shallow gifts of clothes? In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a very particular style.”

“Oh, I noticed. Trust me, Yenny, you are very much one of a kind,” he replies, mesmerized by her fingers dancing on the cardboard. She loses no time in jabbing back.

“And yet you revert to common courting techniques? That’s pathetic and you know it.”

“Bold of you to assume I am courting you.”

“Bold of you to claim you are not. If I remember correctly, the last time Geralt was with us you got drunk off your ass and asked him for his permission to woo me. Which was sweet but not at all his place to allow. Then you continued to exert yourself into my life on every possible occasion with flowers and picnics and awful love songs. How else am I going to interpret all this?” Yen asks, craning her neck to look up at him from under dark lashes. Gods, she is gorgeous.

“Touché. But do not think I would waste the efforts of my best tailor on just anyone. This is advanced courting, dear.”

“I fail to see its distinguishing qualities.”

“The difference is that these clothes are hardly a gift and more a means to an end.” Jaskier winks which has her eyes narrow, fall back to the carton.

“You want to take me somewhere” Yen asks and, of course, she untangles his intentions immediately.

“Not just somewhere. My cousin’s forwarded me an invitation to a ball put on by some countryside nobleman or other. His work keeps him in Kerack so I’m to go in his stead. That is to say, I’d hoped you would go dancing with me.”

Yen looks up once more and Jaskier starts a little. He will never get used to the vibrance of her violet eyes, how they see through him. Once, she said it took no effort at all to pick at his thoughts, that she always feels as though he’s screaming them right at her. So, he does.

Please, he thinks, mouth twitching into a soft smile. Please, just this once. It would mean the world to me.

Yen huffs a small laugh and shakes her head, then draws the box towards her. Inside, she finds a slim-cut blouse made from the finest black cotton in the city, complete with white lace trim down the front and flaring out at the cuffs and collar. With it, Jaskier had the tailor make a white corset belt and a pair of deep black pants that have applications of the same lace. It would look precarious, almost edgy, on anyone else, but on Yen… the thought alone makes Jaskier’s chest tighten with adoration.

“Jules, this is beautiful,” Yen murmurs as her fingers trace the line of the seams on the blouse. Jaskier puts his other hand to her shoulder and holds on for dear life as his ear twitches. Was that? Did she just? Oh, how he itches to make a quip about the nickname. Because it’s funny, yes, but it also gives him palpitations. He feels like a lovesick puppy trying to befriend a wild cat. Which also means that any violation of trust can ruin what they have. It’s just so fucking precious, this whole affair, and if he were on the outside of it, he would squeal in delight and write a whole novel about it. He still might.

“I’m glad you like it. And it will look absolutely stunning on you. You will look stunning in it. Ah, not implying that you don’t usually look stunning. What I am saying is, the other attendees will be stunned.”

“You’re ridiculous… and stupid too. Are you certain you want to take me to the ball? I’m not exactly popular with the local nobility.”

“Quite the tragedy,” Jaskier says and because he feels daring, he bends down and kisses the top of her head. Then, he saunters over to the stove, pours himself a mug of tea and takes the seat next to her. “And yes, I am certain. In fact, there is nothing I’d love more. Let the people talk.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Yen says on another sigh. “Not about what they say or think or do.”

“Which is part of what makes you so damn sexy.”

Yen rolls her eyes and folds the clothes back into the carton.

“These are lovely, but I will not wear them to the dance,” Yen says. Which means she will go with him at least. It’s not enough, Jaskier is dying to see her wear what he picked out, dying to show the world that such a brilliant woman would choose to spend the evening with him. Most of all, he wants to make her happy. “Trust me on this. You have a reputation to worry about and bringing me along already risks that. Bringing me along in that can and will mess with your career.”

“Trust me, when I say that it won’t matter. I’m already famous and folk love to gossip about famous people. Probably more than they love my songs. I could imagine worse truths to be spread about me. Besides, didn’t you just say you don’t care what people think about you? Why then would you worry about what people think about me?”

"Well I never," she says, but her lips soften into a smile and her hand rises to fiddle with her pendant. Jaskier gently pries it off and brings her knuckles to his lips.

"I don't care either," he whispers. "I just want to go dancing with you."

"I'll portal to my rooms in Kaedwen and get one of my old dresses.” Her face is all smiles, but an edge has stolen into her voice which makes her sound forlorn, sad even, and her eyes flicker over to the folded clothes in the box. Jaskier’s throat tightens.

"Why are you so stubborn? It’s obvious you want to wear them. You don’t need to start giving a fuck now.”

"I'm trying to do something for you here, Julian. I don't usually go out of my way to attend stuck-up parties with peacocks such as yourself."

“Please,” Jaskier says. He still holds her hands in both of his and because he has no shame, and because this really does mean the world to him, he sinks off his chair and onto his knees before her legs. Yen’s eyes widen a fraction. “For me.”

-----

They dance. Oh, how they dance. Jaskier always considered himself a great dancer, he has music in his veins and has flirted and whirled his way through every ball room and banquet hall on the Continent, and it’s clear that Yen is no stranger to this art either. They are exuberant, relentless, they laugh and pirouette and demand their ground, much to the detriment of those with lesser skills. The lack of a dress doesn’t subtract from their flair, if anything, it allows for a broader range of motion

"The only way we could draw more eyes is if we'd brought Geralt along,” Yen giggles. Fuck. She’s so carefree it brings tears to Jaskier’s eyes.

"Gods no," he laughs. "He would ruin all the fun with his growling and brooding. If you're looking for more attention however..."

"Jules-"

Jaskier twirls her and, in that motion, catches her around the waist and dips her low, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips which are parted on a yelp. Before he can tug her up again, her hands come forward to cup his face and she presses into him, grins into the kiss.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” she whispers.

“Admit it,” Jaskier drawls as he brings her back upright and they fall into an easy basic waltz, closer to each other than the dance strictly necessitates. “You love me.”

“That is awfully presumptuous of you.” But she laughs, and kisses his cheek, and Jaskier thinks that maybe one day, she will. “Don’t bet on it, bard.”

#the witcher #witcher #jaskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer x jaskier #yenskier #I'll reblog with ao3 link later #ficlet #my writing #fluff

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scarlettwitcher · 5 years ago

Text

Úlfur minn Part One

Request: by @laneygthememequeen: Hello lovely! I just saw that youre open to requests and are itching to write something for soft boi geralt! If you’re open to it, can I request a geralt x reader where reader seems like super innocent but is like an actual warrior/badass and he’s just like in awe. Or maybe where the reader is in like a dress for some reason and she usually doesn’t wear dresses because they’re inconvenient for fighting and ends up having to fight in the dress. take care and I hope you have a wonderful day💖

Summary: After Jaskier is finally able to convince Geralt to be his bodyguard for Pavetta’s betrothal dinner, shit goes down and Geralt has to make the decision of whether or not he should tell Y/n how he really feels.

Characters: Geralt, Reader, Jaskier, Calanthe, Eist, Mousesack, Pavetta, Duny, mentions of secondary characters in the show.

Word Count: 2336

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of guts, lots of angst, canon typical warnings, also the title is in Icelandic, it was just something cute for plot.

Author’s Notes: So, I’m not gonna lie, this one got away from me. I found that Episode 4, Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials fit this request perfectly. This will be a four part mini series. I’m actually really excited to release this to y’all. Million of thanks out to my girl @queenxxxsupreme. She’s been such an amazing help with writing The Witcher. Everyone send her lots of love! I am accepting requests so please, send them in! If you’d like to be a tag as well, just let me know! Thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!

“I tell you no lie. It swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found!” The man took a second to breathe before scowling at another. “Of, don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” The man stood up for emphasis as he recalled the events he had witnessed earlier. “The White Wolf! And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a Selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth!” You tried to stifle your snort as everyone gasped. You took a drink of your ale, quickly scowling at the cup for the foul taste. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher… whole!”

“Oh, this is brilliant!” You giggled quietly to yourself as you heard Jaskier and slowly reached over, poking his head gently making him look up at everyone staring at him in confusion. “Oh, sorry. It’s just Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. Uh… and then what happened?”

“He died.”

“Eh… He’s fine.”

“Look, I was there. I saw it with my own-” The door swung open, cutting the man off as Geralt slowly walked into the room, a thick awful smell filling the room. Everyone parted immediately, giving Geralt room to walk straight towards the man. Your eyes widened as you saw him, covered head to toe in guts and it took everything in you not to rush to his side to see if he was okay.

“See?” Jaskier let out a loud laugh and you elbowed him as you stood, making your way over to Geralt, touching his elbow gently before moving to the other side of the tavern, knowing Geralt would make his way over there.

“Oh… What’s that stench?”

“Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.”

“Toss a coin to your witcher. O, Valley of Plenty o-oh-oh” As you heard the song leave the bard’s lip, you smiled softly to yourself knowing how much Geralt hated it. Soon everyone joined Jaskier and cheered as they were now monster free.

Once Geralt received payment, he made his way over to you, laying his sword on the table as you smiled up at him and pulled out your handkerchief that you always carried with you and started to wipe his face. Geralt watched you with a reserved softness that he only had for you. Before either of you could get a word out, Jaskier approached behind the both of you.“You're welcome. And now, Witcher, it’s time to repay your debt.” The bartender handed Geralt a mug of ale but before you could advise him not to, he took a sip, and immediately spit it out to the side, getting some on your pants as he stared the bartender down with what could be called rage. “What debt, you’re probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I’m asking for is a teeny, teeny-weeny little favor.”

“Jaskier, let the man breathe would you. He’s covered in guts.” The Witcher shot you a soft glance. He’d never admit it to anyone but he loved the way you cared about him. He never knew how you could be so kind, caring, and...innocent.

“Y/n, please. Geralt’s already ready for the nex-”

“Fuck off, bard.” You giggled as Geralt gave you a side smile and Jaskier rolled his eyes at your antics. He knew you both had some kind of feelings for each other but would never admit it, because frankly, you both were stubborn idiots.

“Listen Geralt, for one measly night of service you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of-” You watched in amusement as Geralt turned around to leave, showing he didn’t care for what the bard was offering. “Fuck! Food, women and wine, Geralt.”

This made Geralt stop in his tracks before slowly turning to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes drifted to you for a second, a bit of guilt creeping in as he saw the way you had momentarily slumped into yourself at the mention of women. Geralt sighed before nodding once, making his way out of the tavern, you and Jaskier following him in haste as you made way to an inn. Before long, you had rented a large suite for the three of you. You walked into the bathroom and prepared a bath for Geralt as he silently followed you into the room, carefully stripping himself of his clothes, not wanting to drop guts on anything else in the room. You knew what he was doing and instantly turned your back to him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You already saw him shirtless and felt the need blossoming in your chest like it always did when you saw him or any part of him.

“You didn't have to.”

“I w-wanted to. It gives me a chance to see how you are. Besides, Jask has been on you since we left the tavern and we have a few minutes now, Úlfur minn.”

“You worry too much.” With that, Geralt slowly sat inside the tub. You finally turned around to look at him and it took every ounce of strength of your being to not look down. He knew he was affecting you as your cheeks turned a darker red and smirked as he watched you.

“A s-simple thank you would've been nice.”

“Thank you Y/n.” Geralt mumbled softly. You felt yourself melt at the way he said your name and cleared your throat, moving around the room, getting the necessary items to help him wash off the monster guts now dried on his skin and hair. You grabbed a chair and sat behind him, laying the objects on the floor. You rolled the sleeves of your shirt (or in this case, Geralt’s shirt that you suspected he never noticed you took) and scooted closer to him. If he didn't stink so much, you could have sworn on your life you would've laid a kiss on his head. Before you could even do anything, Jaskier barged into the room and grabbed the bucket of water you had on the side, dumping it on Geralt's head. He grunted angrily at Jaskier as he looked up at him with disdain.

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night body guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh. Oh, really? So, Y/n is your friend but I’m not? Do you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom or even Y/n?” You looked at Jaskier with confusion as you looked down at Geralt and you could’ve sworn he sunk a bit in the tub as he remained quiet and watched Jaskier, his eyes watching his every move threateningly. You took this opportunity to grab some soap and rub it into his hair, washing away all the grime he had. Geralt immediately relaxed under your touch and even leaned into your hands, relishing in the way you dragged your fingers in his hair, grunting quietly when a finger got caught in a knot. He would never say it but this was one of his favorite things: when you played with his hair.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” Geralt watched unfazed as Jaskier threw salt into his bath and you smiled proudly at Jaskier’s confidence and even did a tiny fist bump in the air for him to which he responded back with a tiny, dramatic bow.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” Geralt scowled at him, already regretting the decision he knew he was going to have to unwittingly take. You scrunch your face at Jaskier, wondering how he could sleep with so many women, how the both of them could. You would never admit it to the Witcher but it always pained you to watch him walk off, knowing he was in search of a warm body for the night. Jaskier always consoled you in those dark nights but after a while, you became used to the pain.

“Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.” Geralt grabbed the mug of ale you had brought him earlier, bringing it to his lips, but before he could take a sip, Jaskier had plucked the cup and moved it away from him. “Ohh, on second thoughts… might wanna lay off the Cintran ale.” Geralt groaned and you moved your hand quickly to his back, gently massaging him. It worked and he relaxed once more under your touch. Jaskier could only watch in amusement. You both acted like a couple but were just friends. ”A clear head would be best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Geralt glared at Jaskier before leaning into your touch once more. “Ugh, is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous? Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

You knew Jaskier was poking the bear. This wasn't the first time the bard asked Geralt this and probably wouldn't be the last but you hated how Geralt responded every time. You always scolded Jaskier when he asked the Witcher this. Jaskier was the only one who knew of your feelings for the big, white haired man and had bestowed the honor upon himself of getting you two together. But it never worked. It just confirmed your fears over and over. Geralt didn't feel anything for you other than strictly platonic emotions. Jaskier looked at you with sympathetic eyes before they dropped down to Geralt. He saw the conflict behind his eyes. His answer was always you. He wanted to tell you but since the first time you met, you made yourself perfectly clear that you only wanted to be friends. Ever since, he's got amazingly well at hiding his feelings for you. “I want nothing.”

Jaskier could only internally groan as he wanted to scream at the both of you. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier stared at you as he spoke and your eyes widened as you shook your head violently. Jaskier sighed as he looked at Geralt. You looked down at your hands, thinking of an excuse to get away from the two men. You didn’t notice the way he turned to look at you, his eyes softening. He turned back around to Jaskier, his face hardening quickly.

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet…” You stood up so quickly, the chair you were sitting on fell back onto the floor. You almost ran out of the room, feeling your eyes hot with unshed tears. Jaskier sighed and shook his head, pointing towards the door where you had run out of. “Here we are.”

“Hm... Jaskier, don't start with this again.”

“If only you could see the way she looks at you.”

“I said don’t.” Geralt needed a distraction as his head was now invaded with thoughts of you. The way you ran out because of his words gave him just a little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything Jaskier bugged him about, day and night, was true. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in Selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway you’re not going tonight as a witcher and neither is Y/n going as the healer she is. I’ve got clothes for both of you, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Jaskier took his leave into the next room where he found you sitting on the bed with your head in your knees. He slowly approached you and rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the bard, red rimmed eyes, staring down his sad ones.” I didn’t think he'd answer so….I’m sorry Y/n.”

“I-it’s okay Jask. You’ve just been wrong. He really doesn't even look at me as more than a friend. That's all I am, a friend. Besides, he doesn't want a prude like me.”

“You're not a prude Y/n.” You stood and took a deep breath as you walked around the room with pensive thoughts clouding your head. “Look, I was able to get you a rather beautiful dress and I might've bedded a hairdresser...She agreed to help.” You frowned at Jaskier as you quickly shook your dress.

“Dress? Oh no, no, no. I don't like dresses. You know this Jask.”

“You're gonna have to deal with it Y/n. If Calanthe can wear a dress, then so can you.” You groaned loudly at him as he laughed softly. You nodded at him to show you the dress and thus, you all prepared to attend the dreaded event.

*~*

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean @authoressskr @sorenmarie87 @reigningqueenofwords @goldenolaf25 @giftofdreams @winchesterprincessbride @chelsea072498 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @itakeawfultoawholenewlevel @fictionalabyss @gabby913 @angelkurenai @sea040561 @sleepylunarwolf @smoothdogsgirl @carryonmyswansong @feelmyroarrrr @evyiione @supersassyprobablysad @sofreddie @sis-tafics @nitelotus @trexrambling @dancingalone21 @manawhaat @mermaidxatxheart @winchest09 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @mrswhozeewhatsis @just-another-busy-fangirl @lovebodymindstuff @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @chook007 @akshi8278 @evansrogerskitten @bringmesomepie56

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wolfish-trickster · 4 years ago

Text

Lost traveler

5/?

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 573

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

Summary: A mysterious traveler visits Asgard and thanks to an accident has to stay for longer than she expected. Bonds are created but also shattered along the way.

A/N: reader has elemental powers, something like avatar the last airbender.

Sun was finally setting. Chirping of birds was replaced by owls howling. A cold breeze ruffled your hair. The entire forest became calmer. You loved it.

You wanted to be alone for a few while and enjoy the tranquility of the night time. So you volunteered to gather wood for bonfire.

Unfortunately Thor and Fandral went with you, more to show off their muscles than help you. Both of them were....odd. They wanted to be around you all the time, telling you of their strength and abilities (Thor wanted to show you some of his lightnings but got quickly turned down by Loki) and generaly tried to impress you.

You soon found out that Thor is a god of thunder, not a lightning thrower like you previously thought. Loki was god of mischief and chaos.

Sif told you she was to be the goddess of fertility but thretened you to keep it a secret

The rest were also gods, but they didn't have a certain domains like princes. They were just warrior gods.

When you returned with arms full of twigs and branches Loki, Volstagg, Hogun and Sif were already sitting around a circle made from stones. Loki jumped to help you and all of you started to place one branch after another inside the stone circle.

"I will lit it," Thor annoumced after you finished.

"Thor, I already told you, your powers are unstable. You can't use them otherwise you will hurt everybody around you!" Loki scolded him.

"Relax, it will be alright. Everybody, stay back," Thor pushed you behind him as his fingers started to sparkle. Suddenly a loud noise teared through the air as a giant lightning striked from the sky. But to a nearby tree, not the fire place.

"Perfect Thor, just perfect," Loki took out the fire from the burning tree with his magic. He played around with flames a little while longer. You watched him transform them into a bird and make it fly around you. You giggled at his tricks.

"Show off," Thor spat

"Look who's talking. I'm not the one who took off his shirt whenever she was watching," Loki grinned.

You ignored them and their argument. Your fingers were itching. You desperately wanted to firebend, but you couldn't. Not yet.

Sif nudged you. "They are like giant kids, aren't they?"

"Siblings argue. It's like their specialty," you shrugged.

"You seem like a sibling professional. Do you have one?"

You watched as Loki made the bonfire inbetween arguments. "No, but I met a lot of them on my travels," you both sat down as did the others.

"Speaking of travels, can I ask you something?" Hogun sat to your other side.

"Sure."

Loki plopped down directly opposite of you. "If you want to know where she is from, she won't tell. I tried," he smirked at you.

"I can't reveal everything the first day! Gotta keep some of my secrets," you laughed.

"That was not what I wanted to know. I meant to ask you if you've been to Midgard?" Hogun brought your attention back to him.

"Depends on what it looks like."

"Well," he began, "it's full of forests, animals, small stone villages,-"

"Don't forget mortals," Thor interrupted.

"Mortals?"

Thor nodded. "Aye. They are small, weak, quite dumb."

"From what I've read," Loki slipped in, "they aren't dumb. They are just slow learners."

Thor rolled his eyes. "Where's the difference?"

"The difference is, dear brother mine, that you only have to tell them once to not use their powers."

Thor showed him what you suspect to be a lewd gesture. In response Loki blew him a kiss.

You giggled. "No, I don't think I've been there. Why are you asking? Have you visited it?"

All of them shooktheir heads. "The Allfather forbade us to travel across the nine realms. He says we aren't old enough."

"Oh," you sighed.

"May I ask Astrid?" Volstagg broke the silence. "What is the most interesting place you've visited," Volstagg took his chance

You thought for a while. All of the planets are interesting in their own way. "Hmmm, I don't know. One of the more exciting planets has to be Pandora I guess. I have stayed there with a Na'vi clan and they showed me how to hunt and survive in woods. There are giant mountains hovering in the air with beautiful waterfals and the whole planet glows at night and there are dragons and giant wolves and spiritual trees," you counted down from memmory.

"Sounds exciting indeed. I must visit it someday," Loki mused.

"You must! It's really easy to find it. It's a blue planet rotating around a gas giant."

"So it is techicaly a moon, correct?"

"Yeah, it is," you said excitedly. You finaly had someone to talk to. Frigga was right, you will find a friwnd among them.

"Booo, nerds," Sif made fun of you two. "Now tell me, are at least these Na'vi guys handsome and strong? You can hardly find any good material among this," she gestured to boys sitting around fire.

"I will preted I haven't heard that," Fandral brushed his fingers through his hair.

"If you are into blue giants," you shrugged.

The atmosphere changed suddenly. It was no longer lighthearted and playful. All of them had a stone hard cold stare. You shifted in your seat. Did you say something wrong?

Thor coughed. "We don't really get along with blue giant folk," he fisted chunks of grass by his sides.

"What you just described wasn't Jotunheim, was it?" Hogun asked.

"It can't be. Jotunheim is a frozen piece of a rock. She said Pandora has floating mountains and rivers," Loki burried his dagger into earth at his feet.

"Are there also blue giants on Jotunheim?" you chose your words carefully.

"Yes, it's the land of Frost Giants. Monsters we talk about at night."

Hogun cleared his throat. "I have seen the injury they cause. On one soldier a long time ago. His whole arm was frozen and black as coal. I heard aome healers in halls talking abouthis whoel arm falling off when they touched it."

"They say," Thor said in a dark tone, "they know a secret passage through realms. And one day, they will invade Asgard and freeze everyone in their path. When they comw here, I swear to all my ancestors I will-"

His telling interrupted a distant screech from mountain which startled everyone. It sounded familiar, you just didn't know where from.

"I think that's a cue to shift to another story," Sif said.

"Agreed," everyone said simultaniously.

~~~

Cracking wood lulled everybody to sleep. After hours and hours of war stories and forgotten legends one by one young warriors and a traveler laid to get rest.

Loki had a light sleep. His mind was still wrapped around Frost Giants. How theymight enter Asgard any second and slaughter them all in their sleep. If what Thor told was true.

A sound of someone standing up and walking away woke him completely. He knew how each person's step sounded, this was unfamiliar one. 'Where are you going little traveler?'

He stood up and followed you, hidden in shadows.

You stopped near a river deep in the forest. Asgardian moon shone bright in its water.

He watched you sit down next to it and stare at the night sky through oak leaves.

Just as he wanted to walk towards you, you started to play with little droplets of water in the air.

"What a turn of events," you dropped them upon hearing his voice.

"Loki, you- why are you up? Did I wake you?"

"No," he sat down next to you, "you didn't."

You started to fidget with your fingers. "How much did you see?"

"Enough. Why didn't you tell me you were a sorcorer as well?"

"A what?"

Loki chuckled. "You called me a warlock, remember? We call those who deal with magic sorcorers. One of their ability is aquakinesis."

"Huh?" you looked so cute when you were confused. Loki made note to confuse youmore often.

"Water control."

"Oh, sorry. I call it waterbending."

Loki hummed. "Makes sense."

"Sooo," you looked at him, "are you going to tell them?" you pointed towards where the group was sleeping.

"Why would I? It's your power. Your secret. You tell them when you are ready. But," he pulled a ball of water from the river and held it above his palm, "I can teach you more of that waterbending than just control few droplets. If you'd like me to, that is."

You smiled. "I'd like that. Oh and by the way," you looked to side and scratched your head, "Astrid isn't my real name."

"I know."

"What?" you looked at him startled.

"I can tell when people are lying, and you," he placed his palm on your shoulder, "are a terrible liar," he chuckled.

Your giggle joined his. "Sounds fair. Anyways, I'm Y/N," you axtended your hand.

Loki took it in his own and bowed his head. "Pleasure to meet you Y/N. I am Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief," and hopefully he can add 'your friend' to the list of titles.

#loki x reader #loki odinson #loki #thor odinson #loki fluff #young loki #young thor

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abluescarfonwaston · 5 years ago

Text

Shapeshifter Au 6

Heads up at the top this one is our “Last Wish Special”. It’s extra long and what should be no surprise to anyone- Jaskier does not have a good time! Please take care of yourselves as we move into plot territory.

Part 1 Part 5 Inspired by @spielzeugkaiser art here And Also now on Ao3 cause that’s probably easier for everyone.

Sometimes, when Geralt got hurt, he’d use his shapes against him.

Help was the word he’d use. To help him. But if Geralt preferred to think of him using his shapes against him then so be it.

“Get off me Jaskier.”

He looked down his snout at Geralt and grumbled his reply before returning to his composing. They would at very least wait until the bleeding stopped to ride back. Since Geralt insisted the injuries were not so grievous as to require proper attention.

He might very well have been right about that. Which meant they could afford to wait for it to stop before returning for the reward.

If Geralt wanted to treat his wounds then he’d let him. But he wasn’t going to let him ride off and make everything worse because he was a stubborn ass. That was Jaskier’s job. Being a stubborn ass. Not that he made a habit of being farm animals. The risk it would sour him to the taste of their meat was far too great. He refused to be vegetarian. Grass just did not taste very good. No matter what Roach claimed.

“Jaskier get off me or I will throw you off.”

He shifted more of his near 400 pound weight onto Geralt’s torso to demonstrate exactly what he thought about that.

“I can.” He growled.

He puffed up his fur telling him exactly what would happen if he tried.

He had bigger forms yet. If that’s how he wanted to play- well. He wouldn’t bet on Geralt winning. Witcher enhancements be damned.

Geralt, seemingly having realized this, ceased his struggling and ventured a new tactic.

Insulting him.

Which got him grumbling and growling at Geralt. But didn’t get him off him. Geralt knew well enough what he was saying. He didn’t need to transform to express his displeasure.

Geralt, a versatile and clever man, switch tactics yet again.

Reciting history facts but slightly wrong- the year was 1123 and he was a duke not a prince Geralt- asking questions about agriculture – cereal crops deplete the soil of nitrogen. Legumes fix this. A fallow field is left for weeds and grazing. The three fields are rotated. Together this system allows farmers to plant more crops and increase production. – and finally just asking him to play for him.

He, personally, admitted that his bear vocals left something to be desired but he didn’t let that stop him from belting out a few heavily modified versions of his favorite tunes.

Geralt covered his ears and glared at him.

It was only after three verses of Fishmonger’s daughter that he finally popped down into his human shape to do the finale justice.

Geralt shoved him off breaking his sustained note.

“Rude.” He squawked from the dirt as Geralt stood.

“I stopped bleeding three songs ago!” He growled at him.

“I’m well aware.” He grinned. “But I do so enjoy a captive audience.”

Geralt threw the bedroll at his head. Which did hit him. But he managed to catch it on the rebound, which counted as a win in his books.

“I don’t need you mothering me bard.”

“Is that what you think this is? I’m trying to keep Nenneke from murdering me next time you need her services. The woman terrifies me Geralt.”

She did. A little. Not in the way he suspected she expected to be feared though.

It was because her eyes always held too many questions about why he’d arrived before Geralt, knowing exactly the condition of the man’s wounds, even though he lacked a horse while Geralt road in on Roach.

He’d fly ahead, unhampered by the twisting of the roads, and set them to prepare for Geralt’s arrival. Or, when the situation was far graver, have them send a cart to meet him. Transforming on the road just outside of the temples view.

His skin itched when she stared at him too long. Like she almost knew what he was and if she watched him closely enough she might figure it out.

Luckily, “I mean the woman already hates me Geralt.” She was easy to annoy into not looking closely. “No need to worsen her to me by damaging the one reason she even tolerates my presence at the temple.”

If all she wanted to see was an airheaded flop of a bard that was all he would show her. Staying within the confines of expectations worked well enough to keep people from digging.

“She does hate you.” Geralt agreed with a smirk. Pleased he’d befriended someone Jaskier had not.

“Naaaah deep down she likes me.”

Geralt bobbed his head, half conceding the point.

People were complicated like that. She hated Most of him. But she liked that he cared about Geralt. Even if she didn’t always agree with how he cared about Geralt.

With how they cared for each other.

So maybe he shouldn’t have poked the insomniatic bear that was Geralt as he dredged up the lake at Rinde. But he was a bear often enough and he didn’t mind being poked. Sometimes Geralt needed to buck up and face his problems head on!

Then his throat started closing.

Which was scary. Sure. But there were plenty of forms that didn’t need his throat to breath. He’d play catfish or pike or bream or – he was just listing fish again- something while Geralt sorted out the curse the djinn smacked him with.

Except.

Except none of them would come.

He tried to shift bigger and his skin pulled too tight like it was yanking away from the muscle and he tried to shift down and his organs compressed in his chest. And he was left folded over in pain from his throat and his lungs and from being trapped.

Trapped in one form. Perhaps forever.

“Can you shift?” Geralt asked him, looking between him and Roach. Debating.

He managed a ragged sob that Geralt translated as the ‘no’ it was.

There was the bumpy ride on Roach- poor girl they weighed far too much together- and the elf with the painkillers – which helped a little. But the world continued its painful descent into darkness.

Geralt was scruffing him by the doublet. Dragging his limp form. Somewhere. He liked being scruffed. It reminded him of the old mouser in the kitchen who’d claimed him as kin when he was barely a boy. Whenever he got in trouble, or was lonely, or scared he’d just run to the old tom and pop down into a kitten. Instantly be scruffed and pulled under the cabinet for a bath and cuddle.

Scruffing meant that soon everything would be okay. He was in pain and terrified but soon. Soon everything would be alright.

Everything was not alright.

There was a very scary woman with an amphora on her belly and-

And she was a mage.

A powerful mage.

Something in him was singing. Singing at her notice. Her attention.

He didn’t much like that part of him.

His knees near buckled under him as she gripped his nethers and pressed a knife to his throat.

“If you want to keep all you have familiar,” She squeezed him tighter. The singing and terror crescendo-ing in his ears. What do you want me to be? It sung, heart racing in his chest. “Make a damn wish.”

He reached. Reached for. Something. Some shape that would get her away. Small or big or cute or monsterous or something.

Her magic threw him to the floor and it crackled over his skin- she wants you to be human so that is what you shall be – lighting up every nerve with delicious power – do as she says. So that the powerful one might keep you – and burning the tapestry of thread he didn’t know was woven underneath his skin.

“Make your damn wish! Do it now!”

This one is better. Powerful. Be what she wants. “I don’t- I don’t know!” Lightning ran through his veins and fire blazed through his chest and- and- Be her’s. Wish to be hers. Exalted one.

He didn’t want that.

“I wish very much to leave this place forever!”

She turned from him, the burning fading. The singing loud in his ears. Scolding, screaming, begging him to go back to her as he scrambled from the building.

And Geralt was there.

Geralt was alive.

Geralt left him to that witch.

“Jaskier. You’re okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” He fumed.

The singing was quieter now. The smoldering in his chest easing next to Geralt-

Geralt was going back inside.

The building collapsing.

“She could not have survived it.” The elf from earlier- Chireadan- said.

There was coldness in the shape of the lightning flowing through his veins. Ashes in the stitching of his soul where Geralt once resided.

“Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch?”

“Because she was magnificent.”

She was. The song wept.

His knees hit the ground, the pain of the gravel collision distant, over the shapeless void that pulled him to nothing.

“What am I supposed to do now, hm?” What would be left when this form collapsed into the emptiness in his chest? “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

You should have died with him.

No.

“I’m gonna write you. The best song. So that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw.” There was a lifetime there. In the spaces they shared. Not a human lifespan perhaps. But it wasn’t like he was human anyway. “And I will sing it. For the rest of my days.”

“He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.”

A joke. Between him and a dead man.

If he wanted to correct him he should have stayed alive.

Chireadan knelt before him, laying a hand on his shoulder. A tiny beat of comfort in a symphony of pain.

“They’re alive.”

They were very alive.

He ran his fingers down Roach’s neck, unsure how he was supposed to feel.

Relief that Geralt was alive? Jealously that he’d gone to Yennefer? Jealously she choose him over you?

Anger?

Joy?

Hollow. He felt hollow.

Roach nudged him.

He was nearly draped over her.

He wanted that old tom cat to scruff him and pull him under the cabinet. To lick and squish and purr him back to whole.

What would he be if he shifted now?

Nothing. It called to him that nothing.

Nothing wasn’t a shape. Nothing wasn’t Jaskier. Jaskier wasn’t nothing.

Still it called to him.

Roach lipped at a saddlebag. The one he’d nested in as his wing healed.

He shoved his bloody shirt in as a makeshift nest and fluttered in.

If Geralt wanted his peace he could dump him on the side of the road.

Until then. He breathed in the way the leather bag blended Roach and Geralt into itself and fell asleep.

He drifted back to the shores of sleep welcomed by the gentlest smoothing of his feathers.

He readjusted, further nesting into the callouses of Geralt’s hand.

“I thought.” The pain in Geralt’s hesitating voice forced his eyes open. “That the djinn took your voice and your shifting from you.”

Geralt was laying down on their bedroll watching him with those big sad eyes. Which hurt.

But not as much as the fact Geralt had stopped petting him. He shifted into Geralt’s petting hand demanding he get back to work with a sharp chirp.

Geralt resumed his gentle stroking, lips twitching slightly upward. “So bossy.” He complained.

They laid there as the sun went down; quiet and exhausted.

“We used to do this a lot. When your wing was broken. It was nice.”

He softly trilled an agreement.

“I could smell you on Roach when I got back you know? I thought you had left. I understand if you’d left. After what I did.”

He blinked tiredly at Geralt before standing to shift up. He didn’t want to have this conversation now but if Geralt did then. Well then they’d have it now.

“Don’t.” Geralt’s hands shifted slightly, like they were caging him in. They weren’t. He knew he could get out. Knew that if he wanted to leave Geralt would let him.

He settled back into Geralt’s fingers, more than happy not to.

“Tonight. Can we be that again? Just for tonight.”

Be simple. Be easy.

Nenneke always scolded Geralt for thinking he could deny destiny. Because she cared about him and knew destiny would have her way, willingly or not. It would he agreed. Geralt couldn’t run away from her forever.

But he did help him run away from it. Sometimes. Like tonight?

Tonight destiny could go fuck itself.

Tonight they were just a bird and a man sharing each other’s company.

Tonight they were easy.

#Geraskier #geralt x jaskier #shapeshifter au #shapeshifter!Jaskier #geralt #jaskier #post in the tags darn you #writing

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pressedinthepages · 4 years ago

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Sidetrack: Jaskier

Summary: In which there is an answer (sort of) to the age old question: What The Fuck is Jaskier?

Series Masterlist

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

A/N: THE FINAL PIECE TO THE PUZZLE. Thank you so much to everyone that has stuck around, and I am so thrilled with this final bit of the series :)

Jaskier had always been an odd child. He was never quiet by any means, always humming and babbling even before he could really talk. His eyes always shone a bit too bright, and his feet would take him to wander as far as he could before being swept up by his nanny.

As Jaskier grew, so did his hunger for something more. His fingers itched towards the lute, and for any and every instrument after that one was mastered. There was an ache deep in his stomach, one that could not be quenched by food or drink. He yearned to follow the sun as it set, trying to find the line behind which it sank every night.

Something pulled at him, leading his feet to take him past where his eyes could see. And Jaskier didn’t look back as he finally gave in to that urge. He played his way through cities and courts, for knights and peasants. And yet he still felt incomplete, still felt that hook buried deep in his chest, yanking him towards more.

But as Jaskier watched the Witcher with the bright silver hair make his way out of the tavern in Posada, he felt his soul being pulled along behind. So he packed up his lute and followed along, despite Geralt’s best attempts to keep him at bay. Soon enough, the Witcher even started to tolerate Jaskier, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

And who could blame Jaskier for falling for Geralt, anyway? Sure, it started with lust, as most of Jaskier’s encounters do. Big, strong Witcher with a voice like honey-coated gravel and thighs that one would wish to be crushed between, what more could a bard want?

Soon enough though, it turned into something much deeper than Jaskier could have ever imagined. Every fiber of him was alight while at Geralt’s side, and the words of worship poured out of him. Everywhere that they traveled together, the people sang his songs praising the White Wolf.

When they would part, Jaskier would sequester himself away at the University, teaching to get by and to ignore the void which clawed at his insides. The moment that the snow would start to fall, his bag would be packed and waiting by the door, every single year.

Twenty years, the two of them traveled together. Closer than Geralt had ever allowed anyone to get to him. They shared food, wine, beds, warmth, even a woman on one quite memorable occasion. But all of that had been thrown to the wayside atop a mountain, chucked over the cliff to tumble to the bottom.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands,” Geralt had said. A part of Jaskier died that day as he trudged alone down the mountain. The wind bit at his nose and he rubbed his hands together for warmth, but nothing could soothe the ache in his bones from his soul being ripped out of his chest.

Jaskier was back to wandering, but now it just felt empty. He knew what would quell the anguish, but it had sent him away. So he tried in vain to fill the gaping hole in his chest. As the next spring rolled around, filled with sprawling fields bursting with life, Jaskier curled up cold and truly alone.

He wasn’t quite sure what exactly happened, but from one day to the next, something quite drastic changed. Jaskier began to see the world in all of its futures, and the people themselves in the destinies they chose to create.

It was poetic really, that the man who spent half of his life telling the stories of another’s destiny found himself so woefully intertwined within everyone else’s. And he found himself going back, rewatching the pain wrought upon his life atop that mountain, forced to witness the endless pining from behind his own eyes.

He wandered further, seeing countless futures laid out before him, and he knew that he could reach out and change them in the blink of an eye. But he felt no urge to change, no. those decisions should be made by the people themselves. But if they only knew what could be, maybe they would have more of a chance.

Jaskier soon found himself atop another summit, but now he only observed as a Witcher lay dying. The hulking figure was curled on his side, the blood pooling beneath him in a cruel wash of bright red. His swords lay just out of his reach, and his dark hair was strewn over bright golden eyes, so similar to those that Jaskier gazed into for so long.

And suddenly, a new figure burst through the trees to fall at the man’s side. She was striking, visibly strong and had two swords strewn across her back, and she grasped at the dying man on the ground as if he were her only hope left in the world. As the blood stained her hands Jaskier knew that he had to fix this story.

And so he did. He went back to a tavern in the middle of nowhere, finding the two Witchers leading their horses into town, along with a little goat that stole Jaskier’s heart. And then, when he finally sat down before the woman, he saw the story behind her eyes of how their story was meant to end.

At heart, Jaskier was a bit of a meddler. Sure, it had gotten him into trouble a few times, but it had paid off many more. As he spent his days trailing behind these two hopelessly in love idiots, he felt the pull behind his stomach less and less. Instead, as he watched the warmth bloom in sweet golden eyes, his heart swelled and he felt whole in a way that he hadn’t in a long time.

Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat when they all walked into Kaer Morhen and saw Geralt by the fire, younger than Jaskier had ever known him. He could feel the cracks in his heart that entire winter, but felt them fill with mortar watching his two charges fall further and further in love.

And there may have been a hiccup or two, but with a little nudge in the right direction, his two Witchers walked back down together, closer than ever. He watched from afar as Geralt headed straight for tragedy, but that was a destiny that was far larger and more complex than he would dare to meddle with.

And finally, finally, in a great field of poppies and buttercups, of which Jaskier was quite enamored with, thank you very much, his two great ding-dongs professed their love. Maybe their destinies would take them further, or maybe this was the final spot for them, and anything that happened after was out of his hands.

It didn’t matter. Jaskier was whole, and he knew that his Witchers were as well. And no one knew quite better than him:

Hollow things seek to fill their emptiness.

#hollow things #eskel x reader #eskel #jaskier #is not quite right

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crownarg-the-watchers · 4 years ago

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Old Favorites

The royal Scribe leans against a tall bundle of straw, the wooden planks of the boat rocking beneath him with the waves. It itches against the back of his neck, through the collar of his silk robes, and he sits forward to pick up the small cup of rice wine, the tilt of the floor beneath them sending his drink splashing precariously up against the cup’s sides. With the thick fog, he can hardly make out the matching bundles of straw on the opposite side of the boat, but he can see the man in front of him’s smug and accomplished smirk. Around them – the thundering beating of drums, forcing the Scribe to speak loudly in order to be heard.

“Respectfully, you are absolutely certain that this will work? If it does not, your execution is an unavoidable outcome.”

“The outcome is certain,” the statesman replies, taking a sip of his own wine. “Just as war is certain, and this fog was certain, so much so that I knew of it three days in advance. Just as you asking to accompany me was certain, Scribe.”

“It is true what you say,” the Scribe says, and shoos a glowing red eye back into his long sleeves. “And what you predicted – it is also about to become true.”

A sound like cracking whips and rushing wind and leaves under boot is drowned out completely by the sudden thump of thousands of arrows into straw bundles and wooden shields all around them. The drummers go on, shouting and pounding their instruments like a war cry, and in beat with the rhythm, arrows thud into wood and grass all around them.

“His imperial majesty will be greatly pleased,” the statesman tells him. “And also greatly displeased.”

“Displeased?” the Scribe asks. “You have achieved exactly what you were ordered to do.”

“Friend, you know very well that his imperial majesty ordered upon me this impossible task, and rejoiced when he was certain I would fail,” the statesman says with a smile. “It is a foolish man who cannot see that his majesty only wanted a reason to kill me.”

“I am not so foolish. I simply wanted to hear it from you.”

-=-=-=-

They watch from within the growing crowd as the bearded poet sings a long story of his own creation – he had been standing on the stone steps reciting it since early that morning, with his Muse always nearby to listen. Their dark hair is hidden beneath a curled wig, their face behind a sheer veil. Dressed in long chiton and peplos, the Muse can still see their poet with their eyes hidden, his gaze landing on them briefly as he continues –

“...for all the pain his lays may cause me I will salute him nonetheless; bards are honoured and respected throughout the world, for the muse teaches them their songs and loves them.”

The Muse tilts their head, smiling secretly to themselves. They are a keeper of stories, not one who tells them, but the prose of the writer and aoidos was something they would lend their memories to willingly. To play the role of Calliope, a minor goddess though she was, would surely have their poet scolding them for their hubris, though it was no such thing. It isn’t overconfidence if it is true, after all – but Calliope was a name they would have to abandon soon.

It was a performance, a story of length that was recited from dawn to dusk, in the beating sun on stone steps, no food and little water. The Muse helped their poet to his inn, and over his evening meal told the last words of that decade-long war, of snakes that strangled a prophet to death, and a princess who perfectly mimicked the voices of those women who she had never met. Their poet drank wine and remembered, and his Muse disappeared in the night.

-=-=-=-

The Archivist waits by the city gates late into the night, a red glow and faint crackle emanating from her as she looks out into the night. Distantly, a part of her can hear the numerous thundering of footsteps marching towards the city, the steady clang of swords against armor against bronze shields. From the city itself, there is a skid of sandals against a stone yet unnamed, a girl with hair done up and eyes powdered sliding down towards the gate. She sees the one waiting and tenses, and the Archivist knows exactly how she looks.

Dark hair loose from braids or even curls, with her palla worn as a dark hooded cloak over a men’s tunic, and a red glow lighting her inhuman and foriegn-shaped face. She must look like the goddess Trivia or Invidia, here to strike the girl with justice from the heavens for her attempted treachery. The Archivist plans to do nothing of the sort.

“Come down from the rock, daughter,” she calls, and the girl slides down to the gate. She is trembling.

“I’m sorry, goddess, for my treachery,” the girl cries, falling to her knees. “Punish me, Vesta, goddess of fire with your burning eyes. I hear the crackle of flames around you. I am by nature a fool, and a traitor, so greedy as to seek to be above my honorable station, of which I am not worthy – and I am undeserving of you to appear before me.”

Being not Vesta, nor anything of the sort, the Archivist puts a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, and helps her to her feet.

“You wish to be punished, daughter?” She asks, and the girl nods frantically, torn with guilt. “This is not the great empire I once knew it to be. This invasion will either strengthen it and make the Empire stronger, or the Capitol will fall. Daughter of Vesta: when the soldiers come, open the gate in exchange for that which they wear on their arms – then you shall be punished for your treason, and the Empire will be tested. Now – I hear the march of their armies. Fare well.”

Deftly, the Archivist opens the gate and slips out into the dark night, closing it on the still-kneeling vestal behind her.

-=-=-=-

There is a demon in her closet – there is a Watcher in those shadows. He is dark haired and black-eyed, and he is not human. The other girls under her aunt's care often bring men into their rooms to share their beds, but the Watcher knows his presence meant that the girl that he watched would not dare to do the same.

After all, she is only thirteen, and so lonely that she would tell him whatever he asked of her – and so he is careful to ask after only her music lessons, and gossip among the other girls. Not of her family, who gave her to her aunt because of poverty, nor her thirty-six year old music teacher, whom he knows follows the girl around at parties.

She comes crying to him, and she is a sweet girl still – kind despite her family and absent aunt, her music teacher and the other girls. As much as she cries, she laughs easily as well, and after a flash of red in his bedroom disturbs the much older man away from her, she looks forward to dances again. The Watcher is glad for her, for the girl that treats them like a journal to talk to every day. He knows he is the only man who doesn’t make her skin crawl when he looks at her, and he is not even a man, not truely. Still, she speaks to him in shift only, sometimes, and though he does not cover his eyes, they do not stray from her face.

Still, she brings up to him a dog from the courtyard, and coos over it while still holding it up high enough that it doesn’t track mud across her carpets. She is not broken yet, and the Watcher encourages her to take a break from her studies with a soft smile, a puppy sat contented in her lap.

“Pet ‘t, dearest demon! Is it's fur not so soft and inviting? Thou knoweth thee wanteth to, and the mistress wilt soon returne home, and maketh me bringe ‘t back to the courtyard,” she calls, pushing the dog towards him. He does so, and her face lights up.

“‘t likes thee as much as thee doth love ‘t, mine dear. Just recall to returneth ‘t ere thy mistress make thee, or thou wilt bet troubled greatly.”

The girl smiles, and her eyes are bright. The Watcher is not eager to watch them cloud over, not just with tears but with despair – but he knows some of what is to come. “Thou art correct, but at which hour art thee not? I wilt speaketh with thee again, and doth wish for me that none of the servants or other girls see me passe.”

“I wilt wish for thee. Wend, and hie back.”

-=-=-=-

The pine needles are soft under the Observer’s boots, snow lying in drifts at the sides of the path. Whistling through the trees, a winter wind blows him reassuringly in the right direction, towards the rumors and the exceptions and the outcasts. That was, he knew, where the stories were made – with the solvers of impossible puzzles, set upon them by unreachable figures. With the writers, and the storytellers, and the investigators, who get their hands dirty to make history accessible. Stories laid with the traitors and the rebels and the guilty consciences, with those who had been wronged by whom they should have been able to trust.

The Observer had sought out his entertainment for eras, and – as he rubbed his hands together and blew out white steam – this mineshaft in the woods had the makings of something truly interesting.

#writing #jack the observer #server carg

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missingartist · 5 years ago

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The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 21

It had taken a little over ten days to reach the Witcher stronghold. At day five, Geralt had felt ready to crawl out of his skin and demanded that one of the mages conjure up a portal to take them to Kaer Morhen. The itch under his skin had grown into a raw pain gnawing at him, his dislikes for portal didn’t matter he would just cover his eyes and plunge deep into the gateway. Triss with a piteous frown as she refused to state that ‘both of you need space’ and Yennefer simply smirked and turned away. It meant Geralt spent the next five days barely sleeping or eating; he had gone through a gallon of the smelly gloop to keep the fever at bay. As soon as silver tower peaked over tops of the trees, Geralt charged Roach off in a mad dash to the castle. Bracken and brambles tugged at his leathers, but he barely noticed them in his focus of her scent. It was everywhere, that blend of apples and the ocean, soothing and heady. But there was something different, something else mixed in with it, tangy and fresh. Zesty and fury like ginger and lime. It has a seductive edge to her usually nubile smell.

His heavy footfalls echoed through the valley as he stomped up the stone staircase and threw open the heavy oak doors as it, they were weightless. The scent of her was enough to send him into a frenzy; it was everywhere. Beads of sweat began to slide down the side of his neck; he had been able to smell her for the last two day, the slight scent on the wind. He had smelt the slight change in her scent, but he couldn’t imagine it would affect him in this way. In his half-fried brain, he half expected her to throw herself into his arms; if she had suffered the way he had, she would be a mess of need. But there was no one to welcome him, just stretch after stretch of empty halls. No Jaskier or Ciri or Vesemir. No Adva. He had caught a glimpse of his old master’s mare wandering around the field, grazing on the wild grass and weeds. Tearing from room to room he searched in vain, ever room he dismissed the scent grew stronger till, at last, he found them on what had once been loosely called a veranda, that had been repurposed into some sort of outdoors study. Books stacked chest high. Piles of manuscript tucked neatly at the side and stacks of paper protectively held down from the wind by a furious wolves head paperweight roaring at him.

‘Where is she?’ A gruff voice barked out, breaking the three from their study.

Ciri and Jaskier eyes immediately snapped up to the tired-looking Witcher before sharing a dark look. His mentor, on the other hand, didn’t show much as look in his direction, merely turned the page and continued reading. Vesemir didn’t need to see his student to know what sort of state he was in. His voice was like gravel, and there was no energy behind it. Jaskier frowned at his friend and a twinge of guilt; he had been somewhat hard on the Witcher last time he saw him. Geralt looked exhausted, dirty and dusty, hair an unkept mess and harrowed eyes lost their glow but still held that ferrous intensity.

Ciri also saw it, but Witcher eyes also gave her the keen sight to see past beyond the surface, he was barely clinging on to his sanity, his eyes were mad and crazy. It scared her; his eyes had always been impassive seeing them so full with emotion was disturbing.

‘Cooking dinner. Apparently, they don’t like my cooking.’ Vesemir growled out at the young bard; his narrow eyes swept over them before resting on the younger Witcher. The harsh eyes soften slightly as he took in Geralt frame before hardening again, letting them full down on the page with a scowl.

‘Well someone had to tell you at some point, it pretty diabolical. Hello, sweetie, I see you have done lots of research already’ Triss smiled as she slides into the room silently trailed by the violet-eyed mage.

Triss lent in and peaked the younger girl on the cheek before dropping down exhausted into one of the seats.

‘Good. Adva and I were pressed ganged into slating the roof yesterday, I have tar in places I didn’t know it could be stuck, and Jaskier has actually been helpful for once getting all texts from the archive.’ Ciri playful smiled across at Jaskier who sat ideally tunning his lute having given up research several hours ago

‘You let her up on that death trap.’ Geralt growled inching toward the older man.

‘She is a good worker, and the roof needed doing. And don’t give me lip boy you aren’t too big to get a hiding.’ Vesemire stood, chair strapping dangerously on the stone floor as both men took the measure of the other.

It broke him to see his young ward to look so…so broken. His hair was wild and covered in blue smears. His eyes were glowing a dangerous orange and always moving, body twitching with excess energy, but he looked tired, exhausted even, deep bruises had formed underneath his eyes, making them appear sallow and hollow.

‘She could have fallen and broken her neck. She is not a servant for you to order around.’ Geralt snapped edging himself closer to his former tutor

‘Adva wanted to help out, and frankly, if you hadn’t let that mage of yours off her leash, that mate of yours wouldn’t be mopping around the castle looking for a distraction from the shit show that usually comes with your romantic relationships.’ Vesemir spat out.

‘This is not going to end well…but it will make an exciting Ballard.’ Jaskier half-whisper is stunned awe as both Witchers sized up to each other.

Geralt gazed down at the older man, their size had never really come up, there wasn’t much difference in it, but Geralt was just slightly taller, but that bit of height gave him the ability to look down at the older man. Never in his entire life had he wanted to strike him, they had always had a solid bond, a close a Witcher could get to a father and son relationship. With a silent snarl, Geralt gave him one last look before storming off toward the kitchens.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once upon a time when Kaer Morhen had been a flourishing Witcher stronghold, the kitchens feed hundreds of people. The hearth was large and spacious with room to roast several roasting pigs. There were three large stoves, and an open smoking pit and oven, along with a prepping bench that stretched across the large kitchen and large open window shone light from across the valley where the sun rose, and the sunset providing the kitchen with light every possible moment of the day. Back in Brightwater, this would have been her dream kitchen; it was light and airy with every possible thing she wanted or needed. The one in the brothel was windowless and had what you would barely call a roasting pit which billowed out smothering smoke that blinded and choked her. It made her sad inside to know that the kitchen would only service a handful of people anymore; it seemed such as waste.

Despite her heavy heart, she felt okay, just incredibly numb. Food had no taste; fire had no warmth; the wind could barely be felt against her skin. Even Jaskier’s silliness did not affect her. She knew he was funny, playing the jester to make her happy, it was hilarious, but she had to force herself to laugh, to smile and join in, but she felt cold inside. She was content to hide away in the kitchen pandering to Jaskier need for edible food or help repair the dilapidated castle anything that made her forgot for a brief moment. Forget that she might be a mermaid, forget about Geralt and Yennefer.

‘Adva’

She tensed as she felt Geralt’s gruff tones echo across the pantry. As soon as she turned around, she regretted it, he looked so adoring, so in sorry and it broke her heart. Quickly turning, she forced herself to focus on the meal she was preparing in front of her—a simple meal of leavened bread cakes, eggs, and spiced vegetables. The dried meal had been soaked in oils and herb and roasted in the pit with garlic and sliced figs. The Witchers had been self-sufficient here with various trees and vegetable patches planted which meant her meals could be that much more flavourful and at least better than whatever that dish Vesemire had prepared on their arrival.

‘Look I really don’t want to talk about it.’ She sighed as she placed the bread cakes in a serving bowl and slicing the meat into mouthful chunks if she turned around now she would be a goner, she knew that and kept her gaze trained on the chopping board in front of her.

‘Avda…’ Geralt croaked.

Throwing her knife down, she half screamed in frustration ‘Geralt! It's fine; I get it. You prefer Yennefer to me, it's fine. I understand I am not upset. We will find the book you can break the bond, and you can go off with her. Can we just not talk about it please I just want to forget about it.’ Tears were now welling up in her eyes and threaten to spill onto her cheeks.

‘Adva, please.’ Geralt pleaded. ‘You need to listen to me. We need to talk, please….. I know I messed up by not telling you….but I have been so confused. I have been attached to Yennefer for so long… But all I can think of is you, every fibre of me needs you. You are my soul mate….Please Adva.’

Geralt reached out his bronzed hand and grasped her forearm gently turned her to face him. Blue eyes met gold orbs, and she felt herself melt. The warmth of his hand felt good against her skin; she could help but sigh as the feeling it was the first time she had felt anything in so long, it gave her more pleasure than anything before ever had, well almost. The hungry look in his eyes took her back to that night. She wanted nothing more than to push him down on the table behind him and…. The though were more explicit than she ever thought herself capable of.

It would be so easy to full into his arms and forget the events of the last ten days, but then that violent eyed mage face entered her mind.

‘No…just no. I can’t; I just can’t be near you right now. Please leave me alone.’

‘Adva…How can I prove to you that I don’t want her, just you, only you.’

‘You didn’t tell me. You go from Yennefer to me because of your ‘bond’, and I won't be there when you change you mind.’ Adva’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘You know that not what this is….I could never do that. Let me worship you my little flower.’

Pulling herself out from his grasp, she could look at him; she couldn’t trust herself to look at him not now. ‘Just…just stay away from me. I can’t; I just can't right now. Stay away from me.’ She whimpered out before escaping out the room into dark ache way to collect herself away from the sounds of crashing furnisher.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

‘Dinner’ Adva called, swiftly made her way to the library and pulled open the dumb waiter and immediately began to offload the food onto the table. It was not a very fancy meal but it smelt good, but she couldn’t force herself to feel hungry. A sickness bubbled in her stomach, and she carried the food to the table, bowl by bowl. She agonised over her discussion with Geralt. Part of her believed him, but the other part felt relieved; she knew this story all too well. It had happened to too many of the girls on the brothel, promises of love destroyed them, made them totally dependent and vulnerable to the men that promised them everything, only for them to be cast them off and move onto a new woman leaving behind a wreak. It happened to one girl, in particular, Soffie, a pretty young thing, 18 and bright-eyed whisked off to some exotic land but an elegant merchant. The blonde woman child followed after him and returned 18 months later looking ten years older having whore her way across the country to get home. Soffie was never the same as that her eyes lost that spark in her eyes, flirted with died eyes as she took man after man to her room. She refused to be like that, but every part of her schemed she was doing the wrong thing.

The food smelt wonderful, full of fresh herbs and toasted spiced, the buttery bread gave an oddly comforting aroma, but she felt no hunger or want to eat in fact she felt sick thinking about have to force it down her throat. Jaskier slid in next to her and Ciri wedged herself next to her, sandwiching themselves either side of her. Geralt stalker over and slide himself opposite her, staring darkly across at her.

‘Have you cleaned?’ Yennefer asked in the manner only suited to a queen, arrogant and dismissive. ‘I am glad to see you putting the creature to work.’ She sneered at the group huddled around the table.

Five pairs of eyes glared up at Yennefer as she sneered down at Adva, her eyes slide over to the prepared food, and her lips curled back over pearly white teeth. Adva was torn between wanting to shrink back in her seat and wanting to throw the plate of glazed vegetables into her perfect face or pour the bitter ale over her head and ruin the stunning dress that clung to her body. If you could call it a dress, it was a thin strip of silk that wrapped around her shoulders and dipped down to her naval where it was tied in an attractive knot and bellowed down into a floaty skirt. Truly, Adva had never wanted to harm someone as severely as she did now.

Instead, Adva lifted her shoulder and pulled on a piece of bread, nibbling on a corner. It was soft and chewy, but it turned to ash in her mouth. ‘Have you found anything?’

‘Not really, just a lot of lore and eyewitness story.’ Ciri breezed as she poured himself a long drink. ‘

‘Did you find anything more in the archives’ Adva smiled sweetly as Jaskier who was devouring a bread cake laden with the roasted vegetables and meat.

‘Just this…It an accord from the last war with the Merfold and the Humans. It nothing interesting but look at the signature.’ The bard pushed the scroll into the centre of the tabled.

It was an elegant piece of material. It was not the usual discoloured yellow but a pale green. It shimmered in the sunlight, and the smell of seawater still lingered in the air. Reaching out a pale hand Adva brushed the paper with her middle finger, the silky parchment slide across her flesh as she traced the signature on the paper. The curl of the letters spelt across the bottom of the page next to a scruffy scrawl.

‘Cersi…’

‘It appears Cersi and Mousesack acted as arbitrator between the two parties. The Empress Azalea, First of Her Name, The Protector of the Deep and Waves, Queen of Navacis, Sovereign of Sirei, Mother of all and ruler of the Great Sea met with Leopold the Ready to discuss the peace treaty between the two kingdoms.’ Ciri explained pushing the document toward the Mage and the Witcher.

Geralt skimmed the document, narrowing his eyes at the lengthy text—a mix of sonic script and Novigradian. How a text like this got into the archives was strange, it should have been locked in some vault or the archives at Oxenfurt. Underneath it was the incomplete family tree of Empress Azalea, deep crinkles wove their way onto his brow as he gazed down at the small pile of papers. A page about the full history of the high court and the great families of the Great Sea. Mermaid were notoriously private, which meant little was known about them and that their research would uncover nothing that would illuminate the situation. Something caught the corner of his eyes, something that felt important but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on it.

‘So you think that Cersi became friendly with some Mermaid who gave her a child to look after who she abandoned to a torturous mage and then brothel.’ Vesemir scoffed, scooping up another palate full of meat and vegetables.

‘Cersi put her in the brothel to protect Adva. The mermaid physic emits pheromones which could have put her in danger from others…it’s the only thing that would make sense.’ Triss smiled across at her young pupil.

The caramel eyed mage took the hand of the young mermaid. The poor girl's hand was icy cold and sweaty. For her sake, Triss hoped that Cersi had placed her in that brothel for that reason, it was the only thing that made sense, a less Cersi had a darker motive which she prayed to god she didn’t, she didn’t know how much more Adva could take.

Ciri glanced around the table, all, ever Yennefer seemed to be in deep thought, somberly munching on their food. Pondering on the fact, Ciri spoke ‘Have ever you thought that maybe Cersi is her mother? And she had an affair with a male mermaid.’

‘Titian. No, I would have smelt it’ Geralt muttered pushing the document away from him. ‘Besides being a Mage it's unlikely, most are infertile having gone through their…. Transformation.’ Geralt muttered, glancing behind him to the stoic raven-haired Mage.

Adva knew what that entailed, Cersi had spoken a little about her regret about seeking out her transformation and losing her womb. Part of her often wondered if Lord Brightwater and Cersi kept her for the temple of mages to keep her from that vicious alteration to her body. Part of her wanted to say that if she had been training in the Magely arts that she would have refused the procedure, but there was a lot, she would have changed. She would like to be taller and slimmer; she was all curves and thick body parts. She would keep her eyes and lips, and her noise though slightly too big gave her character. Her breasts were too small and hips too big. Maybe she would have changed them; her womb didn’t seem that big a sacrifice to her, hers didn’t even work anymore that’s to Tradi’s nightly beating.

Vesemir bleached loudly ‘It not impossible. Merfolk is the oldest document race. Many scholars believed they were the first race before some cast themselves out of the water and crawled onto the land. It would not be surprising if they had access to some sort of fertility magic or something. I once met a sailor who claimed that a Mermaid cast as a spell on his seed and he went on to have 13 children.’ The older man shrugged dipping his break in the mean juices.

Yennefer look down at the girl who was looking gloomily poked at her food, casting a curious eye over her figure. If that was true, the girl might be a useful tool in her pursuits of a family. A smirk stretched across her lips as the girl glanced up. The smiled faltered as Adva blue eyes met her violet orbs. A swirl of angry and hatred burnt brightly. The little fish was starting to turn into a shark.

‘Cersi smell is wholly different from Adva; it improbably they are related. Mothers and daughter usually have the same base smell.’ Geralt gruffly added.

Vesemire nodded, started to know one another piece of meat

‘What about I ask Crispin? He might have something in his book collection that could share some province.’ Adva piped up. ‘The Earl, he did say that he had a large collection of books on creatures and plants, he hinted about some rare pieces in his collection.’

‘Oh, it Crispin now?’ Geralt snapped. Jealous surged within him, she could barely speak his name, but she freely spoke about a man she barely knew.

Triss rolled her eye at the stropping Witcher, ignore the sound of several doors the slammed behind him ‘I will send a message to him, he should be back at his manor by now. He might be able to help…I hope.’

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Adva paced. Might be a word she had come to hate. Might be able to help. At this point, hope wasn’t enough. Everything that she found raised more question then answers. If she really was a Mermaid, had her parents given her to Cersi? Or was she stolen? Was Cersi her mother? The question was enough to bring her to tears. Up until now, her life had been uneventful; in the past four months, there was enough to last her a lifetime. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the heady scent of oak and spice. Geralt. Angry tears welled up in her eyes, shining in the moonlight. Gods! Her body was burning with a need for Geralt while her mind was screaming at her to run away from Geralt and Yennefer as fast as she could. She hadn’t seen Geralt since he stormed off during dinner. Yennefer, on the other hand, had stayed in the library till they all retired for the night. Yennefer had been very quiet, but the glares she sent across the table where vicious and menacing. Part of her wanted to run a hide somewhere, but a bigger part of her wanted to rip her apart. It scared her. Never had she ever wanted to hurt anyone with such a ferocity of feeling, she could feel the energy simmer under skin throbbing away violently.

Throwing open the window, the cool breeze caressed her skin. In the darkness of the surrounding wood, a figure stood vigilant beneath a mighty oak. Even in the darkness, she could see the outline of a man bundled up in a fine black cloak his face hidden in the shadows. She didn’t know why, but it gave her an overwhelming sensation a dread. The man had no right being up here, it was the hidden sanctuary of the school of Wolf and the long-kept secret to the world, how a man had wandered up here and found it scared her. Even at this distance, she could sense the man's face twist into a scowl as he tenses himself.

She watched the shadow hesitate against underneath the door—the wind dying in the air.

Creak! The floorboard screamed under the immense weight of a heavy boot as they moved through the corridor.

Whirling around, wide eyes fell on the door. The thick line of light shone out across the darkens floor shifted as a figure passed over it. She knew, she just knew who it was. The figure shifted outside the door wavering on the threshold. Geralt was looming in front of the door. Her breath caught in her chest as she watches the shadow shift from side to side. A soft groan vibrated through the wood as a weight lent against it. They both knew they could sense the other separated by a thick strip of wood. All he had to do was to turn the handle. All she has to do was to turn the handle. But they didn’t. A low growl grew from behind the door, shaking as it built in intensity, making the air thick with electricity.

Adva gulped as she watched the shadow retreat from the door before the warm orange glow disappeared descending her into darkness, only the pale light of the new moon illuminating her room. Turning back, the figure was gone leaving the lonely oak tree surrounded by a deep dark shadow. Blinking several times, she refocused on the patch of dirt where the man stood to find nothing but a lonely branch waving in the wind.

She was losing her mind, squeezing her eyes shut, she slipped under the quilted blanket, snuggled down into the bed and flung the cotton over blanket on top of her shivering body as anxiety twisted and knotted in her stomach.

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I am so sorry I have taken so long to update. I finally got my qualification, and I am now a teacher! This has meant I have been trying to set up my classroom and set out a lesson for next year and as a lot of them are practical and need equipment, it meant I had to try and sources all the stuff. So much fun! --__-- After about Jully 22nd I should be able to relax and get back into a solid update a week.

Just to let you know shit is going down next chapter so please stay tuned!!

As always please leave comments and likes. If you want me add you to the tag list please direct message me. Lots of Love!

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