#i think its funny that geralt actually looks dead in this

[lakka-arts]

click for better quality

i said i was going to draw more gerlion

[abluescarfonwaston]

Hi! So, um,, I know this isn't something you should ask a writer so please feel free to ignore this. I was wondering,, , your "the white wolves" story has brought me so much joy and I am grateful that you wrote it! I was just wondering, if you're not going to finish it (this isn't meant to pressure you. If you don't want to finish it that is 100% fine and your choice and I'm thankful for the five chapters you gave us!!!) so, anyway, I was wondering what the conclusion was going to be? If you're comfortable answering that. If not, that's absolutely fine of course and I'm sorry for asking.

Thank you so much for your lovely stories and I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Okay first off, we're totally cool don't even worry about it. I am always touched people still care about and think about an unfinished piece from like 10 months ago. And now that I have seen that it's almost been a year I feel it is important to point out that while this fic has clearly been physically abandoned, it has not been emotionally. Or Else I would not have spent the last hour pacing back and forth angrily lamenting that I do not have more hands. I do not want to provide you with an unsatisfactory summary in an undercut about how the story was going to unfold. It is not that I mind sharing these details - I have done so to others who have asked. It's just that admitting something I still love so dearly may never get done hurts.

Hopefully one day I will find that voice again.

Spoilers for a fic that will (probably) never get finished under the cut. It is 2.6k and includes most of the final section.

The next sequence in the story is them all taking a nap on the side of the road. Jaskier gets up and calls Yennifer for help. Do you know that part in the books where Yennifer saves Dandelion and he doesn't know why? Because I owed you one. You kept him from being alone. I think about that alot. I think that's why she comes. Not then. She meets them at the keep in a few days time. She is too tired to arrive before then.

There is a scene of the four of them in an inn. Of Ciri, afraid to sleep least she destroy the inn like she destroyed that forested grove. We have a moment when he looks at candle on the inn nightstand and remembers a inn fire that almost killed him and how he hadn't wanted to sleep in an inn ever again. (I foreshadowed it. It's allowed. I once read that Regis saved Dandelion from an inn fire. I thought it was canon. I know its not. I think. I only ever read the short stories. They sit on my shelf. One day I'll read them.) He understands. Still he tucks her in and tells her it will be alright. That is the empty words of adults who lie to children that they think do not know better. No. It is the empty words of a bard whose job is to write lullabies that get children to bed on time. Besides it will be fine. Even if things go bad, we will be with you the entire time.

These are the two scenes I largely blame for the fact I stopped writing this fic. I got stuck on Yennifer's conversation and then wasn't sure how to get that inn scene to actually play out. Anyway. Back to the part you were actually asking about. What's the deal with the wolves? Both of them.

They arrive at the keep. They are greeted and loved and yeered at and pestered. Jaskier is nervous and concerned as he eyes the silver in their blades. It is strange they believe the doppler. But he was a very good Doppler. He digs his fingers into white fur. Remember you promised. You promised you were him. Don't let it be a lie.

And oh I have lost the voice but they are in the great hall with Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert and Geralt and Geralt and Yennifer. She peers into his eyes and does not reveal him. Silver medallions brush against skin and he does not flinch or melt. Geralt of Rivia is Geralt of Rivia. Of this there is no doubt.

The conversation turns to Ciri and Jaskier quietly slips out. It is snowing, just a few flurries on the still air. The wolf flows him to the room they set their bags in. Geralt's room.

This was not how it was meant to go. This is not how it was meant to go. Yennifer was supposed to look at the doppler and then at him and go what the hell and they would slip away and break the curse on the wolf - on Geralt. And they would quietly change hands. The Doppler into the wolf. The wolf into Geralt. Ciri would not know of the quiet deception they had pulled. The magicians trick with revolving mirrors.

Because clearly the doppler loved them. Because clearly the doppler had chosen them. Do you ever think about how in the short story Geralt is ready to kill the doppler that wears his face and it knows this because it is also him so it turns into Dandelion. Because he Knows Geralt would never hurt Dandelion? It's falling in with a lie. It is so easy to in love with a lie. Jaskier knows this.

It was supposed to be like this. Laying in a bed in the Keep with a white wolf next to him. Playing ballads for Geralt and Yennifer and Ciri and not hurting. Because he'd lay next to the wolf at night and bury his face in its fur. And in the spring they would run off to the coast together. You can wear a different face, whatever one you'd like, and will prove to you again and again that I still love you.

I am good at loving people. You know this about me. I might not be able to love you first. That might be why you love me. Because I loved Geralt of Rivia first. So completely that whatever motive you had you abandoned for the sake of it. For the taste of it. I know what it is like to want so desperately to be loved. Wearing different faces and personalities in the chance that someone might.

I know that very well.

But unlike you I'm always still just Jaskier.

The wolf slips in the door behind him.

Jaskier rounds on him. 'What the actual fuck? What the fuck are you? You Promised me. You Promised me you were him." The medallion bounces off his chest and he hates it. Rips it from his neck and brandishes it like a weapon. "I kept this for you! I thought you were him! You promised me you were him! What are you?! I told you I would help you even if you weren't him! Why?!"

The circle of the medallion cuts into his hand.

"Is this funny to you? Bringing me all the way up here and making me look a fool?! Making me watch Geralt picker her Again? Is this funny to you? You and this sadistic game?!"

And he throws the medallion. It hits the wolf dead on. Hit's his bowed forehead. Right between the eyes. Just in front of his flattened ears.

He has always been a good shot.

It is snowing outside. Just a few more flurries. The winter stretches out, immeasurably long in front of him.

He knows who Geralt chooses. That those 'I love you's are lies. No. Not lies. Geralt did not mean to lie. Not intentional. But it was so easy when your heart is broken to bury yourself in someone that does. Love you. Drowning men love life boats but they'd much rather be on the ship that cast them out.

He knows. It exactly what he was doing too.

I love you doppler. I could love you too.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

"I can't do this." There is a bag in his hand. A case. "I can't do this."

There is a whine but he does not hear it as he rushes out the door. He can't do this. Down the stone hall. Wind whips through a hairline fracture in the Keeps walls and cuts his cheeks red where they are wet. He can't do this. Out the doors. Through the large wooden gates. He can't do this.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

In the great hall a sickening feeling curdles in Geralt's gut. Honestly its seeing Yennifer again. This is all so wildly out of hand. Even if he knows they need her. That Ciri needs her.

"It's startin' to snow. Your idiot better come back soon."

"What?" He turned to Lambert who had curled up in a mountain of blankets in the window nearest the fire.

"Said it's starting to snow, dumbass."

"No the other part."

"Peacock left a while ago. Think he had the right idea. If I'd know she was coming I'd have stayed down south."

"What?" Snow was coming down hard. Big wet flakes. Could hardly see the keep walls through them. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!"

He shrugged. "His dog went after him."

His gut does a funny thing then. It eases in relief before his brain catches up and yanks tight in terror.

The wolf went after Jaskier.

Jaskier is alone.

With the wolf.

In a snow storm.

Jaskier is is alone in a snow storm. He walks down the mountain alone. As he knew he would. Why did he think it would be any different this time? Why does he never learn? He is a fool.

The wind picks up. The snow buries the path. He huddles in a protected alcove and wishes he'd been thinking clearly enough to steal one of Geralt's cloaks. Just to be petty.

He is probably going to freeze on this mountain. Walking down it alone. He might die. But even if he doesn't something will have died. Something in his chest that he cradled like wounded bird.

How many times must you touch fire, how many times must you be burned before you learn? How many times Jaskier? How many times?

He pulled his doublet tighter around him.

Just the one more time it seemed. Just once more.

Barking. Just one voice barking. Barking into the snow and wind in the distance.

Are you looking for your pack? Did you get lost? Separated? I hope they find you. I hope they answer you. I wish I had a pack to call out to.

The snow drifts down in heavy blankets and there is nothing to do but sleep. All he wants to do is sleep.

There is warmth in his dreams. Heavy and warm and soft and reeking of wet dog and something deeper. Something less domesticated and tame.

"You found him?"

Geralt's voice. Deep and soft. Reaches him. Buried in the snow. Cruel and kind in equal measure. To make him hear that voice before he, probably, dies.

"... Thank you."

There is a gasp. He recognizes it. That shocked little inhale of Geralt's.

"I think... That druid overpaid."

He wakes up to a stone ceiling. To thick and heavy furs covering him. to a wolf pressed into his side. To a man known as the white wolf pressed into the other.

Words will find him soon. But for now they are held back by a dam of confusion and exhaustion.

Geralt reaches an arm over him and scratches at the wolf's forehead. "Hm." Got it. The hum says. The same one he uses when Jaskier reminds him to pick something up in town. Hm. Got it.

The dam breaks.

"Oh so you're just okay with each other now? Everything is hunky dory? Jaskier goes out into a snow storm and you drag him - Unwillingly mind you - back here and now you're best fucking friends?! Well it's not all A-O-Kay over here so perhaps you might let me up so I can demand Yennifer do me the solid of getting me out of this godforsaken keep?" He wiggled under the mountain of blankets that held him captive.

"Wha-" Geralt's hand pressed down on his chest. Preventing escape.

"Or you know just go back to the love of your life, take your one goddamn blessing and leave me be!"

"Jask-"

"Oh don't give me that- you're gonna run right off after Yennifer and we both know it and you," Glared. Bared his teeth at the wolf. "Are a lying manipulative bastard and I hope she turns you into a gnat or a pigeon or - or something!"

"Jaskier!"

His jaw clicked closed. He did not soften his gaze.

"We- He - it's not. He didn't lie."

He scowled harder at Geralt.

"You remember that druid Ciri told you I helped?"

"... Vaguely."

A woman and woman who was not her wife. But was. In his story, in his song, he would tell it as if she was.

You saved my heart, I don't know what I'd have done if she. She. Witcher how can I ever repay you?

What food do you have on you?

Uh.

Fine. We don't have time. Don't tell them which way have gone.

No that's not- perhaps the law of su-

No. No. Lie. That will be enough.

It's not!

"He," Nodded to the wolf. "Was how she decided to pay."

He studied Geralt. Then the wolf. Their matching golden eyes.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Geralt grimaced. Hair falling over his face. "He's a familiar. She made him for me. Of me."

He studied the wolf again, distrustingly. "How does that work?"

Shrugged a shoulder. "You'd have to ask Yen."

"Don't care that much." He tried to wave his hand and the idea off but couldn't get it free from the covers. "Shouldn't you have known then? If he's made of you?"

"We weren't... connected. You have to. Touch."

"Oh and she thought you'd just go out of your way to touch a big white wolf? Honestly what was the plan there? You'd have just killed the damn thing."

"Mhmm."

"Seriously what kind of mad man goes out and pets a two hundred pound wolf? Could have at least tied a note to its neck for explanation before setting it loose on the countryside, wandering around looking for you."

"It wasn't..." He hummed his prodding question. "Looking for me. That's not what it was supposed to do."

"And pray tell what was it supposed to do?"

Geralt was quiet. The charged quiet that said he knew the answer but didn't want to tell him.

Eventually. With a fair bit of glaring and wiggling on his part, he answered.

"She was repaying the favor."

"Oh and what's that supposed to mean?! What you saved her partner and she sent the wolf to go out and save yours?" He scoffed. "What did she magic you 'a white wolf to protect your heart when you could not?' as you did for her? Is that it? Absolutely absurd, I wouldn't write that drivel."

Neither Geralt met his eye.

"Geralt...?"

"That's..." He ducked his head. "Hm."

Right.

"But then why-"

A wolf appears in the darkness. All white fur and golden eyes. Protects him from the bandits. Brings him a rabbit when his stomach growls.

I love you Jaskier. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize.

They lay on the bedroll and Geralt kisses him like a thousand drunken kisses. Like a thousand sober ones. And the wolf follows after Ciri and comforts her when they cannot.

The wolf seeks him out in that ruined clearing while Geralt cradles Ciri. While Geralt debates with Yennifer and Vesemir over Ciri's fate. Her training.

I love you Jaskier.

Protect his heart, white wolf, when he cannot.

"Oh."

He let his head fall to the side. Watched Geralt watch him with those golden eyes he had memorized decades ago. Listened to the sound of his breathing that was more familiar than his own.

"Tell me again."

Geralt cocked his head a fraction. Brow furrowed in confusion.

"Tell me again, what I did not believe. If it is true. Tell me again. Geralt of Rivia."

"Tell you...?"

"I love you, Geralt. Despite all sense and reason. Do not lie to me. Do not pretend if I am fated to walk down that mountain alone again. Do not lie to me."

His eyes widened. He pushed himself up and over him. Caged him in his muscular, scarred arms. Shoved the wolf aside.

It grumbled. Huffed. Walked out of the room. Towards Ciri. Towards his heart.

"Jaskier. I love you." He said again.

And this time. This time he believed him.

"Then, You absolute fool and dullard." With only Geralt to hold him down he worked his arms free. Held Geralt's head in his hands. Traced the stubble of his jaw that he could, if he needed to, shave blind. From memory alone. "Kiss me. I have waited long enough."

Geralt leaned down and did.

He remembered the barking of a single wolf. It's howls into the storm. Searching for its pack.

I hope your pack finds you. He wished to its unseen form.

Mine did.

[tillthelandslide]

Hi, could I please request a fluffy Henry prompt from his POV with the numbers 1 & 14 & 25? 🥺😊

No worries if you have any trouble writing with this request, I’ll just be looking forward to your other writing. But thanks in advance and I hope you have a fantastic day dear!

No idea : Henry Cavill One Shot

A/N: Hi my love, hope this is what you wanted and I hope you enjoy it. My laptop was not working today so I had to type this on my phone. I haven't checked it for typos so I apologise if there is any mistakes.

I hope you (and anyone else reading) enjoys it anyway. Love you all - L

1. Do you have any idea how I feel about you?

14. Just friends don't fuck everyday Yn

25. I can't sleep without you beside me

No idea : Henry Cavill One Shot (based off prompts)

Thinking back, I can't remember a time where I didn't fancy her...fancy... What a juvenile word, I guess the real word is love. I am in love with her. And that in itself was a problem, because we weren't what you'd call 'exclusive'. God knows I want nothing more than to call her my girlfriend but I was too much of a coward to ask her, I wasn't sure if it was what she wanted. This.. Agreement, we had was what I think she wanted.

She was coming round for dinner tonight and to say I was nervous... Well I'd rather be naked in front of a million people than go through with this. I feel its about time I finally tell her how I feel, sure this arrangement is nice but I want more. Im taken away from my thoughts when I hear my doorbell ring and Kals loud bark sounded immediately after, the dog following me as I walked to the door.

"Hi" I say as I open it, a smile immediately appearing on my face when I see her.

"Hi" she says cheerfully, entering my house, dropping to the floor to stroke Kal, the large bear happy to see her.

"I missed you bear" she says as he licks her hand,making her giggle "can't steal all the attention, I've got to give some to your daddy" she says, making my heart beat out of my chest. She grabs my hand, using it pull herself up, a grunt falling from her lips as she did.

"God I'm getting old" she says as she hugs me making me laugh.

"You're younger than me, if you're getting old, what am I?" I ask, making her pull back from the hug.

"Ancient" she says, placing a kiss against my cheek before walking into the living room, plopping down onto the sofa.

"That's rude, don't know why I put up with all this bullying" I joke, sitting down next to her.

"Hmm why do you?" she asks and I smile, shaking my head in disbelief.

"Do you have no idea how I feel about you?" I say, smiling when I see her smirk at me, her lip in between her teeth.

"Care to enlighten me?" she says, as she crosses her arms over her chest. It's only then I realise she's wearing one of my own hoodies.

"You thief, this is mine" I say, poking the matietal of my hoodie.

"Don't change the subject, you were about to say how you feel about me" she says smirking again.

"Yeah... I was" I say nervously making her throw her head back in a laugh.

"I'm joking Hen, you don't have to" she says, before she throws her leg over my thigh, straddling me.

"In fact... We don't have to talk at all" she says as her lips hover over mine.

"Actually we do" I say, making her pull away. I really wanted to kiss her but that needs to wait for now.

"Oh" she says, beginning to move away from me but I hold her in my lap.

"Stay, this is comfortable" I say, making her smile and place a peck to my lips.

"Sorry couldn't resist" she says, a blush creeping onto her face.

"I like you" I blurt out making her mouth open. She's speechless and I'm unsure whether it's the good kind or the bad.

"Say something please" I say, my hand caressing her cheek.

"Henry"

"Say something more than that please love" I chuckle making her laugh which is a good sign.

"I don't know what to say" she says, her mouth falling open again before shutting.

"Say anything"

"I guess I'm a little confused" she says making me furrow my eyebrows.

"Confused? Why are you confused?" I ask curiously. She removed herself from my lap and I begin to be worried as she stands and begins pacing back and forth, her lip in between her teeth again as she crosses her arms over her chest. She's silent again and the beating of my heart is the only noise I can hear and it's making me panic.

"Love please stay still, you're making me nervous" I say, leaning forward on the sofa.

"Let me get this right..."she begins, her eyes flicking to meet mine before she looks back at her feet

"You: The Henry Cavill, like me?" she says her eyes finally meeting mine. I nod before uttering "Yeah. I think you're amazing" I almost cringe at that, why couldn't I be more smooth?

"But... But I thought we were just friends" she says making me chuckle.

"Best friends don't fuck everyday Y/N!" I say, laughing as I stand up, walking to her, placing my hands on her hips to still her movements.

"Yeah... I suppose you're right about that... I just thought that's what you wanted.... What we decided we both wanted" she said, her hand resting against my jaw as she looked at me. She looked so adorable, lines appearing in between her eyebrows her eyes glistening and blown wide.

"I suppose it is what I wanted... For a while... And then" I said, pausing to think "then I fell in love with you" I say, making her gasp as her mouth falls open again, her eyes opening in shock.

"You're in love with me? You say you liked me Henry! Not that you're in love with me!" she says but she's smiling which makes me smile.

"Yeah... I'm not very good at this... But is that really so hard to believe?" I ask and she shakes her head but doesn't look quite sure she means it.

"You're amazing y/n, you're wonderful and funny and kind and talented... And you're drop dead gorgeous and I'm in love with you" there I go again dropping those words. But I truly mean them.

"what do you think?" I say when she doesn't reply.

"I think you're mad" she says laughing to herself before placing a kiss to my lips.

"but I love you too" she says against my lips, making me pull back, this time my eyes are blown wide and I hear her laugh again, that perfect, sweet laugh. I pick her up in my arms, kissing her as I carry her to my room. What follows is the purest form of love making, two beings becoming one, almost as if their souls are intertwined, their bodies wrapped up in one another, pouring nothing but love into the other.

She's lying on her front, her head resting on her arms over the pillow staring into my eyes with a smile on her face. I sweep the hairs out of her eyes before gently supporting her face in my hand, leaning forward to kiss her.

"Be my girlfriend please?" I ask and feel her nod before she whispered "of course". I feel myself drifting into a blissful sleep, before I'm awoken by rustling on her side of the bed, I open my eyes and see her blurry figure picking up my jumper.

"Stay, I can't sleep without you beside me" I say sleepily, reaching out for her, my hand lands on her waist and her body lies back down next to me, my arm wrapping around her and pulling her back into me as my eyes struggle to stay open.

"Always. I love you bear" she says and I feel the feather like touch of her lips against my forehead as my eyes shut.

"I love you too" I mumble before sleep consumes me.

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[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Good as Gold pt. 15

[part fourteen] | [part sixteen] [prostitute!jaskier masterpost]

There’s a festival in town and initially, Jaskier had wanted to attend; festivals draw everyone out so the brothel has been quiet today and no one would really miss him. But when he’d headed out, he’d found Vivienne sitting out on the porch and found her invitation of wine and company too good to refuse - there will always be other festivals. So now he’s lounging in the sun with her above him, sitting on the railing and they’re watching people go back and forth toward the festivities. He takes a sip of wine and shuts his eyes, basking in the sun’s rays.

“Who wears a cloak in the dead of summer?” Vivienne scoffs and Jaskier chuckles, slowly opening his eyes to see who she’s talking about. His heart gives a little thump of excitement as he recognizes the silhouette.

“Oh! That’s Geralt.”

“Your Witcher?” she asks, just a touch condescendingly.

“Yes,” Jaskier snarks back. “I wonder what he’s doing in town. Gods, but he is magnificent, isn’t he?”

“You’re drunk,” Vivienne accuses. Jaskier doesn’t take his eyes from Geralt as he speaks.

“I’m not. I’d never let myself get drunk while I’m working. It’s bad practice. It just so happens that Geralt of Rivia is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Plus, he’s the kindest man I’ve ever had in my bed. And thoughtful and actually quite charming once you get to know him.”

Vivienne just gives him a look that clearly says Jaskier, don’t and he laughs it off.

“He’s just a customer, Viv.” But even as he says the words, he silently prays that Geralt can’t hear him. In the moment, he’s not sure which is worse, Geralt thinking Jaskier only thinks of him as another customer or the fact that that’s a blatant lie.

“Jaskier.”

“Listen,” he says, rising to his feet. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Geralt is an incredible fuck and I can’t remember the last time someone actually made me come. Don’t ruin this for me.” He winks as he steps down the stairs and thinks of anything to steady his heartbeat.

It doesn’t matter what Vivienne or Anise or anyone else at the brothel thinks about his relationship with Geralt, but he certainly doesn’t want to say or do the wrong thing with the man himself. Geralt spots him and his lips twitch just so, completely undoing all the hard work Jaskier’s done keeping himself calm and collected.

He pushes himself up from his seat, crossing to meet Geralt halfway to the steps.

“Hello darling,” he hums, wrapping his fingers around the folds of Geralt’s cloak as Geralt’s hands settle on his hips. There’s something intensely satisfying about that and he hopes Viv is watching.

“Who is she?” he asks, looking over Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Vivienne. A friend.”

“She doesn’t seem too pleased to see me,” Geralt muses. Jaskier turns back to find her scowling at him.

“Ah, no. Decidedly not. Don’t worry about her, though, are you coming with me?”

“Of course.” Geralt gives him that little half smile and Jaskier’s stomach flips over itself.

He leads Geralt into the brothel, every bit as aware of Vivienne staring at them as he is of Geralt behind him. But he’s not worried about her or whatever she’s thinking about him - most of which is probably correct anyway. Because Geralt is here now and he’s tense but talkative and usually that means he’s very pent up or already hard. And while Jaskier mourns the chance to get him hard himself, his blood rushes at the thought of Geralt getting worked up for him.

They get up to his room and Jaskier shuts the door and locks it. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust the girls, but his relationship with Geralt has become something of a… talking point amongst the other courtesans. He’s fairly certain there’s even a betting pool of sorts - he’s overheard chatter - but he’s not sure what for exactly and not entirely sure he wants to know. So locking the door is just a precaution - more for Geralt’s privacy than his own. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Just a friend?” he asks, eyeing the door. “She really doesn’t want me here, does she?”

“Just a friend,” Jaskier assures him, “she’s not fond of my ongoing involvement with a Witcher. She’s jealous,” he adds with a wink. Geralt drops into the chair in the middle of the room, looking to Jaskier with an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“I find that unlikely.”

“Yes, well…” Jaskier slips around to Geralt’s front, unclasping his cloak and draping it over his own shoulder before undoing the buckles of Geralt’s armour with ease. It’s funny, he thinks, how accustomed he’s come to Geralt’s armour - and this is new for the third time since they met. It was difficult the first time, but even with the new pieces, Jaskier quickly became speedy at removing them. Another thing he could prove useful for, he thinks, if Geralt would ever allow him to join on his journeys.

He tries not to think too much about that or about Geralt’s outright refusal to let him come with him, despite their continued closeness. But if Jaskier has learned anything about the man over the past couple of years, it’s that Geralt is very closed off and getting him to open up is a slow and arduous process. Which is maybe why no one has bothered to do it. But Jaskier is patient.

Geralt smiles up at him as Jaskier’s fingers slip under his chin, tipping it up. It’s one of those rare genuine smiles that Jaskier has learned are saved for people Geralt feels at ease with - and one of the more prized rewards of Jaskier’s patience with him.

He returns the grin, pushing Geralt’s knees apart with his own and moving to stand between them. He aches to lean down and catch that smile with his own lips, to feel Geralt’s fingers through his hair as they kiss, to feel that wicked tongue between his lips. But he laid down the rules that first night and won’t break them now; his rule about kissing is the firmest line between them now, keeping Jaskier from tumbling headfirst into a love that would certainly consume him.

So he restrains himself, bends to kiss Geralt’s neck the way he always does, moving up his jaw as he lifts the final piece of Geralt’s armour over his head. He ducks down again, kissing Geralt’s shoulders, his neck, his jaw - anything close enough to his mouth that he can pretend. He shouldn’t even allow himself this, but Geralt is always so soft and needy under his touch and he can’t help himself.

Jaskier gets him out of his shirt and pulls Geralt to his feet, slipping his fingers into his waistband. Geralt is aroused already, his cock pushing against the front of his trousers, and Jaskier wants to touch, but he knows how much better it is - for both of them - if he can hold out a little longer.

He draws back, smiling coyly as Geralt groans his protest, and walks back to the bed. He drops onto it, tugging his own shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Geralt’s eyes remain on him, looking him up and down, and even after so long, Jaskier’s body heats under the attention. He smirks, crooking a finger in a gesture for Geralt to come to him. And he does.

Geralt crosses the room and stands between Jaskier’s thighs, resting one hand on his cheek and tipping his head up to meet his eyes. The urge to kiss him returns stronger than before, and Jaskier’s hands fly to Geralt’s trousers to occupy himself. He gets them undone in a moment, shoving them down around Geralt’s thighs and running his hand along the underside of his stiff cock.

Jaskier slips a hand around Geralt’s hip, smoothing over the curve of his ass and pulls him close enough that he can get his mouth on him. He wraps his lips around the head, flicking his tongue against him and Geralt groans, leaning into the touch.

Jaskier’s fucked and sucked more people than he could possibly count, but this is something he never gets tired of - especially when it’s Geralt on the receiving end. He likes the weight of a cock on his tongue, the way his lips stretch around it, the musky scent and almost bitter taste. And he loves the way that, when they’re really turned on, they’ll drool against his tongue. And gods Geralt does not disappoint in any aspect.

He loves the taste of them, of Geralt, and he takes him down as well as he can. One of his greatest achievements of late is how much of Geralt’s cock he can fit in his mouth at once - something both of them enjoy if Geralt’s stuttered moans are anything to go by. His hands are on Jaskier’s shoulders, his face, his neck. In his hair. All over him, and always moving. And gods, Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever wanted someone as badly as he wants Geralt all the time.

Eventually, Geralt’s hands settle on the back of his head, tangling in his hair but never pushing. Jaskier’s never had a customer so gentle as Geralt and he doesn’t know how he ended up lucky enough to wind up with him at all. He presses up into Geralt’s touch as he sucks him down and moans around him. His own cock throbs in its confines, pressing firmly against the front of his trousers and as much as he tries to put it out of his mind, to focus on Geralt, he can’t. He’s weak when it comes to Geralt, prone to doing and saying things he should probably regret. But he finds it hard to regret anything when Geralt continues to indulge him.

Geralt’s hips stutter as he presses forward and Jaskier runs his tongue under him as he pulls off. He presses a kiss to the head of his cock, then another, letting himself get distracted by Geralt’s little pants and groans before drawing away completely.

“Do you want to come like this?” he asks and Geralt’s eyes flick down to his, lidded and dark. Fuck, he’s sexy.

“You’re hard,” he breathes, tilting his head to one side like that’s an answer.

“Not what I asked, darling.”

Geralt pulls up, lifting Jaskier’s hands off of him so he can climb up into his lap. “I want you to fuck me,” he breathes and Jaskier’s breath catches at the tone of his voice. He wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist, slipping his hands up his back.

“Anything you want, beautiful, but we have to get you out of these first.” He pushes Geralt back to his feet, following after and pressing his lips against his throat.

He gets Geralt’s trousers open and shoves them down thoughtlessly, eager to have him naked. He moves to remove his own trousers and Geralt brushes his hands away.

“Let me,” he says, leaning in to breathe against Jaskier’s ear, and Jaskier can’t deny him. He lets Geralt get his trousers undone and pushed down before Jaskier slips from his hold and drops to his knees again. But this time he barely gets his mouth around him before Geralt’s hands are under his arms, pulling him back to his feet and then he’s lifted right off the ground and plopped onto the bed. He tips his head up and Geralt steps out of his trousers and climbs into his lap. He rocks against him and Jaskier groans at the press of his cock, wrapping an arm around his waist to haul him forward.

He lets his fingers wander, slipping between Geralt’s cheeks as his mouth finds his shoulder. Geralt’s breath shudders as Jaskier presses a little more firmly and he smiles to himself, pleased that he can have that effect on the Witcher. His Witcher, he thinks absently. Only Geralt isn’t his, not really, he’s just borrowed for a little while. And if their time together is brief, Jaskier will do whatever he can to make it worth Geralt’s while.

He wraps one arm firmly around Geralt’s waist, holding him against his chest as he leans over to find the bottle of oil he keeps next to the bed. It would be easier if Geralt would keep his mouth off of him for more than five seconds at a time, but he doesn’t really mind the delay. Geralt’s mouth is hot where he kisses him, soft and eager in a way that always makes Jaskier’s heart flutter and his blood rush. And besides, they have all night - Geralt almost always stays the night.

When he locates the bottle, Jaskier straightens up, using his teeth to pull the cork out so he doesn’t dislodge Geralt. He slicks his fingers up, impressed with his ability to not spill oil all over both of them as Geralt wriggles in his arms. He reaches back again, pushing between Geralt’s cheeks and pressing against his hole. There’s little resistance but there rarely is with Geralt; he’s always soft and welcoming to whatever Jaskier presents him with and this is something Jaskier knows he likes. And so he makes it as quick as he can, but Geralt is still too impatient.

He bats his hand away, mumbling that he’s ready after only a few moments and when Jaskier’s hands slide away, Geralt shifts forward, rising onto his knees and sliding onto Jaskier’s cock with ease. He’s quick about it and Jaskier holds him, fingers digging into Geralt’s skin as the tight heat overwhelms him.

Geralt immediately rocks in his lap and it takes Jaskier a second to adjust to the intensity of it.

Jaskier’s clientele consists of men who want to fuck him, men who get off on watching but want nothing to do with touching him and Geralt. No one else ever wants Jaskier to fuck them and even with Geralt, it isn’t every time. But when he does, oh the sounds Geralt makes - it’s enough to drive anyone insane. Jaskier can hardly be blamed for being so affected by him.

Geralt rocks onto him, squeezing around his cock and rutting against his stomach. He’s eager for it tonight in a way he hasn’t been for a while now and Jaskier doesn’t ask why. Geralt doesn’t spook as easily as he used to, but it has been a while and Jaskier isn’t in the habit of prying - least of all with someone as reserved as Geralt. So he wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist, grabs his hips and holds him down, fucks him hard. For a little while, Jaskier can pretend that this thing he feels is mutual and that he’s not just a pathetic child who went and fell for the first person who was genuinely nice to him.

Then Geralt shifts in such a way that he squeezes hard, pulling up on Jaskier’s cock and Jaskier’s breath catches, his head dropping onto Geralt’s shoulder.

“Oh gods,” he groans, “Geralt you feel so good. Fuck, I-” he bites down on the confession, his heart hammering as he realizes what he nearly said. He tamps down the feeling, but it’s too late. Geralt pauses, sitting back on Jaskier’s thighs, and looks at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks and Jaskier curses himself for the slip-up.

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Jaskier offers up a soft smile and snaps his hips forward as if to convince him. But Geralt is not convinced.

“You smell different all of a sudden.”

“I’m just excited to see you.”

Geralt frowns at him. “I know what your arousal smells like,” he hums, “not like that.” Jaskier just groans at him because honestly? that’s kinda hot.

“Don’t worry about it my darling, just let me make you feel good.” He keeps one hand on Geralt’s waist, snaking the other one between them to wrap around his cock, pumping him slow and steady. Geralt’s eyes flutter shut and he tips his head forward but he doesn’t seem to want to argue anymore.

“See?” Jaskier hums, “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Geralt hums and his head drops to Jaskier’s shoulder, his nose pressing in against his neck. It means they’re done talking about it for now, but Geralt won’t drop it entirely. After so long, Jaskier’s learned to read his Witcher, knows what every little gift and groan means and he knows how to take him apart with ease. He also knows Geralt is still thinking about it so he leans into his neck, bites his earlobe gently.

“Stop worrying about me,” he breathes. He moves and Geralt goes with him without much difficulty, shifting up the bed so Jaskier can lean against the wall. But he doesn’t. He rolls his hips and watches the way Geralt’s cock slips between his fingers, hot and hard and practically begging for his mouth. And Jaskier is flexible. And Geralt needs a distraction.

Jaskier presses Geralt back gently, leaving just enough space between them to allow him to bend over. If Geralt was smaller, it might not work, but Jaskier bends over him, flicking his tongue at the head of his cock. Geralt groans, leaning back on one arm and wrapping his other hand around himself.

He moans as Jaskier gets his mouth around him, mumbling something Jaskier can’t quite understand. He presses up into his mouth and when he drops back onto his cock, he lets out another stuttered moan. Jaskier takes as much of him as he can and it’s not a lot but Geralt doesn’t seem to mind when there’s a hot mouth around the head of his cock, a tongue winding its way around him.

He’s close already, his hips stuttering and his little moans and groans becoming less restrained. When Jaskier sucks hard, Geralt’s hips buck hard and his cock throbs against Jaskier’s tongue. Heat sears through Jaskier’s body and he pushes harder despite the discomfort, taking Geralt deeper and pressing his tongue against the underside of his cock.

It doesn’t take long after that before Geralt is stuttering, his thrusts shaky and uneven as he spills onto Jaskier’s tongue.

Jaskier wraps both arms around him, steadying him as Geralt rides through the aftershocks of his orgasm. As soon as Jaskier pulls off his cock, Geralt flops back against the bed, still shifting his hips. Jaskier runs his hands down Geralt’s thighs and rocks into him gently.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “Look at you, darling, you’re so good for me.” He keeps touching him, rubbing his thighs and thrusting lightly into him. Geralt is always most sensitive right after he comes and Jaskier is gentle with him, breathing praise into the air as his fingers slip over his skin.

He comes quickly with Geralt squeezing around him, laid out so bare and open before him, and it’s hardly a surprise when Geralt tugs him down on top of him, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s middle.

“Hello,” Jaskier grins, pulling back just far enough to look at Geralt. Geralt looks at him for a moment before pressing his nose under Jaskier’s jaw. He inhales slowly and Jaskier shuts his eyes as Geralt nuzzles against him. Jaskier forces down the swell of emotion as Geralt’s lips press into his skin and he presses his head against the mattress, working his hips slow and steady. He’s not quite ready for it to be over.

These moments he gets with Geralt are brief and fleeting and while Jaskier knows he can’t ask for more than Geralt already gives him, he wants to. He wants, for once in his life to be greedy, to ask for things he knows he shouldn’t want. Because he suspects, at times, that Geralt might give it willingly.

Jaskier slips a hand around the back of Geralt’s neck, drawing him closer as his thrusts deeper until he’s rutting into him, holding Geralt’s body close against his own. A second orgasm creeps up on him and he comes just like that with Geralt’s nose pressed into his cheek, teeth slightly grazing his jaw. His hips stutter and Geralt’s hands slip up to his shoulder, holding him close.

For a few minutes, he lets himself linger against the warmth of Geralt’s chest, before prying himself away. But he’s barely disentangled himself when Geralt sits up and looks at him almost sadly.

“Do you ever not want to have sex?” he askes, dropping his gaze to the mattress.

“All the time,” Jaskier admits, “but I can hardly say no to someone who’s paying me for it.”

“You can and you should,” Geralt huffs and Jaskier realizes with a start that maybe he thinks that was the problem tonight. He reaches out, cupping Geralt’s cheek in his hand.

“I choose who and when. If it was really bad, I would say no.”

“If it’s with me I want you to tell me.”

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh, ducking his head. He knows he shouldn’t say the words, but they come out anyway. “It’s never with you.

"But if it was-”

“Geralt, are you worried that I didn’t want you tonight?”

“No, I can smell it on you.”

“Then why the sudden worry, love?”

“Something about you was different tonight.”

Jaskier shuts his eyes, wishing he’d had more control over himself. “It’s nothing,” he whispers, “I’m fine, just a momentary lapse. Lie down and I’ll fetch a washcloth.”

“Not yet,” Geralt mumbles and when Jaskier looks at him, he looks almost worried. “Stay for a moment?” Jaskier smiles and lays back down, slipping an arm over Geralt’s hip. He draws him close, breathing in his scent as Geralt tangles their legs together again.

[vagrantblvrd]

Modern day spy/assassin AU where former singer/musician/~artiste works in a cozy little coffee shop neatly sandwiched between a bookstore and, idk, a flower shop.

Expected to be one of the hottest new stars coming out of Oxenfurt if it hadn’t been for that scandal with fellow band member and rumored lover Valdo Marx over alleged song theft and so on. Followed by a messy break up - band and personal - and a drawn out legal battle that drained what money Valdo hadn’t stolen from him.

(And a year or so after all that Jaskier doesn’t like to think about too much before he got his feet back under him and a friend mentioned this coffee shop she frequented, and anyway, he’s doing much better now and also somehow ends up owning it himself when its previous owner retires and sells the business to him for like, five bucks, because the power of friendship or something, idk.)

One day on his way home he stumbles over someone half dead in an alley and is like oh, oh, no because the last thing he needs is another scandal attached to his name?

Like.

He’s kept his nose clean for just over six month now, has been playing around with new melodies and bought a new notebook for lyrics and whatnot. Looked into playing at some local places, not really wanting to be a megastar or whatever these days, but he loves music and performing in a little bar somewhere would be nice, you know?

ANYWAY.

Turns out the guy isn’t actually dead, thank goodness but might as well be? Has this medallion around his neck, a cat? Which, okay, whatever he’s seen stranger and he’s getting his phone out to call an ambulance or whatever, crouched next to the guy.

Memory from the CPR course he took in college surfaces in his mind - the instructor was hot and even if Jaskier never got the guy’s number he learned valuable life skills. (And also met Shani and that proved better than getting the guy’s number because she’s one of his best friends and also incredible and anyway.)

Reaches out to check for a pulse, which is when the guy grabs his wrist - surprisingly strong grip for someone who looks like he lost a fight with a freight train - and hsi eyes snap open and they are...extremely striking and not at all normal - cat eyes, to go with the cat medallion and hahaha, oh shit, this is bad, bad news, isn’t it?

The guy tries to threaten him, which. Not as effective when the growl he’s trying for just sounds sad and pathetic, and anyway, there’s something...not fear, no, in his eyes, that has Jaskier forgetting to put the call through for an ambulance.

It’s very close to fear though. Worry? Concern? Something that Jaskier relates to in some incredibly fucked up way.

(The way he felt when Valdo Marx fucked him over and everything he’d built fell apart around him, and anyway, yes.)

He doesn’t even know why, he does, or why he ends up hauling the guy up to his apartment and patches him up best he can with wwhat he has on hand.

Will probably end up being murdered by the guy the moment he’s on his feet, but eh, that’s a problem for future Jaskier, really.)

Anyway, Aiden - because of course it’s Aiden - is super suspicious of Jaskier and his everything and there is indeed a moment where he pins Jaskier to a wall with a kitchen knife - it was an apartment-warming gift from Shani and Essi and Jaskier’s more worried about it being damaged than Aiden slitting his throat, which just confuses Aiden?

Because what even is Jaskier and his priorities???

But he doesn’t kill Jaskier and the knife gets put back and aside from that little bump in their relationship they actually become friends after that.

Jaskier takes to referring to Aiden as a stray cat whenever one of his friends or whoever asks why he buys more groceries or hurries home after work instead of sticking around to gossip a bit the way he usually does.

 Aiden thinks it’s hilarious as opposed to insulting, which is great seeing as how Jaskier’s pretty sure the man’s a hitman or assassin or other similar career?

(Might be the way he mentions past jobs and his dark sense of humor and also the time he could have killed Jaskier if he felt he was a threat? So, yes.)

And Aiden, okay.

Got burned or something to leave him half dead in an alley for just anyone to stumble over and since Jaskier hasn’t made any fuss about him moving out decides he might as well stay where he is for the time being, you know?

He goes and gets a job...somewhere to help with rent and so on. Offers Jaskier enough hints to make it sound like he’s out murderizing people right and left the moment he’s out of the apartment, but then Jaskier sees him helping Triss bring in deliveries out behind the flower shop so he knows Aiden’s been fucking with him on that front and is like, dude, not funny.

(Aiden begs to disagree, but whatever.)

And then!

A month or so after Aiden’s back on his feet Jaskier runs into one of the owners of the bookshop next door?

New management and so on, and oh no, he’s exceedingly hot.

White hair and gold eyes and, sure, he’s not the most talkative guy around? But Jaskier’s cracked tougher nuts or some other way of phrasing it that doesn’t sound like a euphemism.

Also, also, there’s another painfully attractive man working there who is incredibly sweet and has a menace of a goat that they have instead of a bookstore cat?

Which.

Seems like a bad idea since Jaskier often hears about how Lil Bleater nibbles on the books if someone isn’t watching her and anyway, it means he gets to listen to Eskel lament about her latest misadventures while Geralt stands there and tries not to let on how amused he is by both the bookstoer goat and her owner and Jaskier is like shit, because Geralt and Eskel are so, so hot and he’s only human and Aiden, Aiden, do not laugh at his pain, you utter bastard of a man.

ANYWAY.

Shenanigans in which Geralt and Eskel think Jaskier has this insufferable bastard of a former stray cat at home and Jaskier piiiiines like a sad bastard while Aiden laughs and laughs and laughs.

(It should be pointed out that not once in all the time Aiden started working for Triss - and Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert - who Jaskier has heard all about but not yet met - have seen one another even though they spend most of the working day a few hundred feet apart, because Plot Reasons.)

And then!

Some shenanigans in which Geralt or Eskel - who are totally spies who are using their cozy little bookshop as a cover - get tangled up in trouble and Jaskier stumbles on them with this incredible sense of deja vu.

He drags them into the coffee shop to patch them up, and he forgets to lock the front door, which is convenient because then Aiden wanders in hoping for a free coffee?

(Power of ~friendship, and also roommates, and yes.)

Jaskier is kind of covered in blood - Geralt and Eskel’s - and Aiden is immediately in Assassin!Mode because he’s fond of Jaskier, right, owes him his life and such.

But also, Geralt and Eskel who have also had their oh, oh no he’s hot moment when it comes to Jaskier are likewise fond of him - and working up the nerve to ask him for a date, but that’s neither here nor there - go into Spy!Mode and there’s an honestly kind of terrifying, kind of sad stand-off.

Jaskier is in Adrenaline!Mode because fuck his life, of course Geralt and Eskel can’t just be incredibly hot bookstore owners and is like “If you fuck up my coffee shop I will not be happy, and also please consider my delicate sensibilities,”

Which manages to stop whatever fight was about to break out and he essentially does the Chris Pratt with the raptors thing, only with a couple of spies and his assassin roommate.

Pretends the three of them aren’t throwing menacing looks at one another as he patches Geralt and Eskel up and then is like “Well, that was fun!” because no, no it was not, and his heart is going to burst with all the tension and whatnot in the air. and hahaha, this is fine.

Which of course is when Lambert comes stomping through the front door and there is even more Drama and Angst because his ~forbidden relationship with Assassin!Aiden and heartbreak when it was assumed he’d been killed by his agency a few months back, but wait, he’s still alive???

And idk, just a lot of ridiculous spy movie cliche nonsense in which Jaskier is reluctantly dragged into things because he saved Aiden’s life that one time, and is piiiiining for Geralt and Eskel and of course he gets taken hostage and they have to band together to save him but shenanigans and ~plot twists and so on.

(And then when it seems all is lost Triss and her utterly terrifying girlfriend Yennefer actually save the day because they, too, are spies and Jaskier would honestly like to know if he’s the only normal person he knows or what, because really, what are the odds???)

Whenever the death-defying events and such are over Jaskier does, actually, go on a date with Geralt and Eskel and some smooching happens.

(Technically not their first, because that happened after they saved Jaskier’s life in that oh thank god none of us died moment after all the danger and excitement, but none of them mind, because smooches.)

Lambert and Aiden make fun of the three of them, but gently because they, too, are prime targets for mockery as they also decide to try a proper relationship and not just stolen moments here and there, and anyway, anyway

A year or so down the road Jaskier gets tired of coming home to find the two in compromising situations and is like, why, though, which conveniently happens around the time Geralt and Eskel approach him about moving in with them somewhere and he’s like, well, if he must, like he’s not thrilled about it because he’s kind of gone on the two of them, you know?

So they get this place big enough for the three of them and Lil Bleater and Aiden and Lambert get his old place and it all works out?

Sure, sure, there are a few close moments where Geralt and Eskel’s work puts Jaskier in danger, and that time whoever tried to kill Aiden targets Jaskier and so on?

But he’s like, eh, it happens, because obviously it does.

Which means Geralt and Eskel take it upon themselves to teach him to defend himself - and half the time it ends in smooches and sexytimes because hand-to-hand and being pinned to mats and adjusting his stance while learning how to use firearms and such, you know?

But also Aiden and Lambert teaching Jaskier knives and explosives - “I’m sorry, but one of these things is not like the others,” in regard to Lambert and his explosives, but it’s a ~bonding moment, so whatever.

(Also, also, that time Jaskier was able to defuse a bomb in some highly improbable and ridiculous bit of shenanigans with spy nonsense and Lambert being a smug prick about it for forever afterwards.)

And then Jaskier finds out Geralt has this incredible kid with Yennefer and what the hell is his life that all these people know each other and he doesn’t find out about it until ages afterwards, but anyway.

Ciri is awesome and after her Vesemir comes to meet the guy two of his sons are in love with, and Coen shows up along with other assorted characters I’ve forgotten and anyway, yes???

(Also, also, Yennefer happens to find out about Valdo Marx and she straightens out that mess quietly and efficiently in such a way that Jaskier doesn’t realize it until long after the fact and is like hm, because he didn’t think she particularly liked him, but apparently he was wrong? Which leads to brunch dates with her and Triss and gossiping about the other idiots in their lives and discussing Jaskier giving Ciri music lessons and anyway, yes.)

[jaskiersvalley]

Your fic Nontraditional was amazing! I love it when strong, brooding characters are protected and allowed to be vulnerable and cared for. Especially when they are used to everyone expecting them to protect, provide and care for everyone. Great job! 💛💫

I am so pleased you liked Nontraditional! We’re both in the same boat of loving strong, brooding characters being allowed to be vulnerable and cared for. Which got me thinking about another small ficlet idea...

Work was drying up. Over the centuries and decades, people were slowly learning how to create fewer and fewer monsters, how to bury their dead and be respectful. Which was great in terms of death by creatures but not so great for witchers who were struggling to make ends meet. They were a dying breed, Geralt hadn’t seen any of his fellow wolves in a long while. He didn’t know if they were still alive. The last witcher he’d seen had tried to kill him for a contract on a few sad drowners of all things. As much as Geralt hadn’t wanted to fight and was willing to bow out of the contract, the other witcher was still threatened by him. Much to Geralt’s chagrin, he ended up with a dead witcher and a small pouch of coin for taking care of the drowners.

The whole continent was mostly clean. Except for one little pocket near the coast. It was a veritable hotbed of creatures and nobody could figure out why. Cockatrices roamed the region along with drowners, werewolves and basilisks. Slowly, Geralt made his way over and found that there was an almost steady source of income. He’d heard whispers of a couple of other witchers nearby and he stayed clear of them as much as possible until he was tackled to the ground with a yell by not one but two familiar idiots.

Lambert and Eskel looked surprisingly well compared to rumours about the fate of witchers. Given the scarcity of contracts, they had decided to team up but Geralt suspected their partnership went deeper than just fighting side by side. And the fact that they didn’t offer Geralt the chance to join them made it all the more obvious. Though, if Geralt were to be crude, he could have just admitted that their scents had blended over time into one curious mix but he didn’t want to think much about it. And definitely not because he was jealous that they had each other. It had been so long since Geralt had any kind of companion, not since he and Jaskier had parted ways.

Rumours of a manticore reached them before Geralt left the two to their own intertwined path. It was a big job for one witcher to deal with, two stood a better chance but the money was good enough that the three could work together. So they did, their prey was rampaging through some old woods near an abandoned mansion. It was oddly easy work, the manticore raged against them but it didn’t seem to have the wild streak of previous hunts. If anything, it seemed almost as docile as a manticore could get.

“This was too easy,” Geralt grumbled as he watched Lambert take the head off as proof of their success.

“This region has been, the monsters are there but they’re tame. Even the cockatrices feel hand reared by a gentle soul than a master,” Eskel agreed.

They knew what they had to do, find the source of the monsters. There was nothing natural about the cluster of creatures in the area, all the type that involved no death of humans. It seemed that the witchers had a benevolent is eccentric benefactor who wanted to keep them busy and with ample coin. Such thoughts made all three of them bristle, they were not some kept beings reliant on someone’s generosity to stay alive.

Their searches led them to smaller and smaller segments on the map, narrowing down the source of the creatures. It had to have both forests and waterways nearby to serve as breeding grounds for the variety of creatures spawned. And it needed to be a relatively isolated but large, private area too. They boiled it down to the abandoned mansion where they had found the manticore.

“It’s the old Lettenhove mansion. The old Viscount still lives there but nobody’s seen him. Has a young lad come do all his business in his stead.” The local alderman was more than happy to tell three angry looking witchers whatever they wanted. “Buys a lot of unusual things, leftovers the market doesn’t take. We have no idea why but really, money is money so we don’t question it.”

Suspicious. And the name sounded familiar to Geralt, even if he couldn’t place it. In the end, he chose to not worry about it, they needed answers and a fool to educate in creatures. Though, given the wide range the idiot could create, it seemed that they were familiar with monsters already.

They didn’t bother knocking, instead choosing to barge through the door. Everything looked old, worn but clean, comfortably lived in. A three headed puppy scampered up to them, barking in excitement and an all too familiar voice was calling from a room off to the side of the hall, chastising but fond at the same time.

“Don’t worry about Roach, only the middle head nips now!” And Jaskier walked out into the entrance hall. “Oh. It’s you.”

He looked no different to the day they parted ways, youthful and vibrant, only the look in his eyes betrayed he’d lived a lifetime or more. They were old, had a stare to them that spoke of hurt and love and joy and so many other things.

“Jask.” Geralt couldn’t believe it. But it was definitely his bard, there was no doubt about it. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lambert and Eskel turned to look at Geralt like he was the one with more than just one head. It was a rich look coming from Eskel who had picked up the pup and was trying to stroke three chins at once with one hand.

“Come on, Geralt,” Jaskier looked a little offended, “look around you. You witchers have done too good a job and were dying because you weren’t adapting. So I made sure you had something to keep you going. Nothing too dangerous mind you.”

“A manticore not too dangerous?” Lambert cut in with a sneer.

“Oh hush now, Buttercup was the epitome of manticore etiquette. She didn’t even throw you around too hard.” He actually had the gall to look a little upset and grief stricken. “Anyway, you’re here now. So tell me, do you want to keep this charade up? Or are you ready to get with the times?”

The idea of being kept like pampered hounds, let out for a hunt that was entirely engineered was something that rubbed them all up the wrong way.

“We’re not your pets.” Despite his reputation as the softest of the three, it was Eskel who gritted that out, establishing the boundaries and rules he felt were needed. Instantly, Jaskier was agreeing and spouting about how he was merely helping out friends and future friends because he was certain they would get along nicely once introductions were made. He was simply anticipating things.

There were rooms already prepared for them, Geralt didn’t want to think about how long Jaskier had been prepared for their arrival. Nobody said anything when there was some noise in the middle of the night and in the morning, Lambert’s room was missing its bed while Eskel’s had gained an extra one pushed against his. Three days later, the two single beds were replaced with one large one without anyone seeming to know how it happened.

The grounds were split up into areas and Jaskier showed them around, pointing out where he encouraged toads to breed and his chickens so he could hatch the odd basilisk. And the cockatrice cavern, plus the manitcore habitat which was empty for now.

“I’ll keep releasing a couple of them every one and then,” Jaskier informed them. “There might be more witchers out there in need of a helping hand. But I’ve also put out whispers of invitations. If they’re out there, they might heed the call.”

The question of how he managed to release them off the estate safely was met with a laugh and an “I sing and they follow, silly” which they all decided was Jaskier’s way of telling them off for being too nosey.

The more time that elapsed, the less hope any of them held for other witchers. Yet Jaskier never gave up hope. He was proven right in his optimism when a knock on the doors revealed a tired and scarred man he’d never seen before. Introductions were made, Coen was shown to a room and he was settled in too.

It was the middle of a storm when frantic knocking had Jaskier opening the door. A boy from the nearby village was out of breath, panting about a witcher collapsed on the edge of the woods, the villagers didn’t dare approach but he wasn’t looking to be in good shape. Jaskier ended up riding out with Geralt to investigate. Rushing Vesemir back to the mansion, Jaskier was surprised when Geralt was calling for all the others who crowded into the room.

Pushed to the back, Jaskier watched as Eskel and Coen took over, bossing the other two around to light a fire, get water, throws and the like. It was quite mesmerising. But it was efficient and worked. All too soon, Vesemir was propped up and drinking a warm tea while his pups were gathered around him.

“So, run this by me again,” Vesemir was saying. “This place is run by the human who used to be Geralt’s bard?”

Murmurs of agreement and Vesemir was twisting to look beyond the others until he laid eyes on Jaskier who waved merrily.

“Okay if he’s Geralt’s human, why the fuck does he look so young?”

Oh shit. Jaskier paled and his smile turned a little cheeky as the witchers looked at him.

“How long do humans live then?” Lambert asked, he wasn’t known for being the most knowledgeable outside of monster facts.

A small, nervous laugh erupted from Jaskier. “Funny you should ask, I’m not actually sure.”

“So what are you?” Eskel asked.

“I’m Geralt’s bard.”

[ahh-fxck]

The Ahh-Fxck Fic Masterpost!

Hello, and welcome to my blog! If you are looking for any of my fics, here is the place to find them! Prompts always welcome. 

Warrior’s Blues

Warrior’s Blues is my long fic modern soldier gay bar AU. Geralt gets kicked out of the army under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. When he meets Jaskier, the owner of a gay bar, neither of them have any idea how much their lives are about to change...

This fic has gotten up so much steam (and it has so many chapters!) that I’ve given it a MASTERPOST all of its own. Click through, you won’t regret it! This is by far my best fic.

CLICK HERE FOR THE MASTERPOST.

Squeak Squeak

A prompt from the lovely @dhwty-writes, who asked: Happy birthday, you wonderful person! I hope you're having a great day and receive a lot of prompts and other presents you enjoy. Along the same vein, might I ask for some geraskier banter? Just two idiots being sassy. Maybe they're discussing a song of Jaskier? Judging other people? Just lovingly insult each other for the fun of it? Have fun writing! 

It turned into a funny little bit of fluff featuring snarky cabin fever Geraskier.

Rating: T

Link to Tumblr and Ao3

Soul Music

This fic is my gift written for @/demisexualgeralt for the Witcher Secret Santa 2020 event! It is my first attempt at a soulmate AU. I am particularly proud of how it turned out. This is a Geralt x Jaskier fic.

Rating: Mature

Tags on Ao3

Everyone is born with a song. It is the one gift that Creation leaves each of its children. A small magic to comfort them in the lonely silences of life, a healing love when their hearts ache or shatter. Every child knows their song as well as the pattern of their breath. Legend has it that Creation left each child with one more gift, a hidden secret that few ever discover. For the songs are more than simple wordless melodies, though they are that. They are also harmonies, one-half of a duet meant to be sung with one’s soulmate. On the day that duet is sung, voices twining in the air, lyrics will appear for the first time on the skin of each lover. No magic can wipe them away. Sharing soul music with one’s true love is the only way to find out what the words are meant to be.

Here it is on: Ao3

Heat and a Healer

This fic is my gift for @/mossymel for the Witcher Secret Santa 2020 event, where I stepped in as a pinch hitter! This is my first Geralt x Reader.

Rating: Explicit

Tags on Ao3

Here it is on: Ao3 +Tumblr

Pretty Ugly Duckling Mistletoe

Someone wanted a fic about Geralt and Yennefer under the mistletoe, with bonus Ciri.

Rating: Mature

Tags on Ao3

Here it is on: Ao3

Reunion

This is an answer to an ask on Tumblr by @geraltsays:

It ended up being some very Softe Geralt x Eskel smut. Enjoy!

Rating: Explicit

Tags on Ao3

Here it is on: Ao3 + Tumblr

A Sparrow Flies

This is an answer to an ask on Tumblr by @geraltsays: “ok but i just saw this AU "My incredibly stupid cat just jumped out of my apartment window after a bird and you caught her in your arms like a baby and looked up, stared me dead in the eye and said "I think you dropped something” and this is geraskier y/y? :D?“

But then I actually had some plot bunnies about immortal Geralt in the modern age meeting Jaskier all over again.

I am vvvvvvverrry slowly working on this fic. It’s requiring more spadework and research than I thought it was going to. BUT IT IS HAPPENING. Check back in this space there will be more soon.

Rating: Mature (so far)

Tags on Ao3

Chapter 1

Shambling Mound

This is a one-shot of tooth-rotting modern AU fluff written for @geraltsays

It features Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, and a Very Terrible Shambling Mound.

Rating: Gen

Shambling Mound

Another Day at the Office

This one-shot is a modern AU ficlet inspired by an ask by @geraltsays. Geralt is an office worker who uses his day job to support a secret second job. Jaskier is a coffee barista who he sees every evening on his way home from work. Jaskier is a musician, and he and his buddy Lambert do the evening shift in the cart every day. No one knows what Lambert does. Jaskier finally gets up the courage to give Geralt his number, they get very drunk together, and their pants come off. At the end, you get to find out what Geralt’s hobby is. This is 80% gratuitous smut and is just for fun. Enjoy!

Rating: Explicit. No really, this is just smut.

Tags on Ao3

Another Day at the Office

Purple and Gold

Purple and Gold is a continuation of the Another Day at the Office AU… Yennefer comes back home from overseas. Geralt gives great oral sex, Yennefer pegs the living daylights out of him… yup, this one is like 90% smut. Hope you like it!

Rating: Explicit. Ditto for the above, the officeverse is apparently where all my thirst is collecting lately.

Tags on Ao3

Ao3 here

Two Part Drabble Game

This is a series of shorts for a drabble game. They’re a bit longer than drabbles but they’re fun.

Tags for all of these on Ao3

Did We Really Have to Hide in a Sewer? Rating: M

Geralt and Jaskier are hiding from an angry mob in a sewer, and Geralt wonders why Jaskier follows him everywhere. 

Special Place

Rating: M

Geralt’s plans to bring Yennefer to a special place are thwarted. Instead, he brings the special place to her. This one is very romantic, if you like Geralt being head over heels in love with Yennefer, this one may be for you.

Cinnamon

Rating: M

Jaskier is getting old and gets some nice oil to ease his aches. He had no way of predicting the effect it would have on Geralt…

[jaskierrrrrr]

-I don’t even know what this is, I’ve been listening to the horror and the wild for two days straight and just feeling a lot of stuff- this is set a couple of months after the fight- Geralt’s been looking for Jaskier all this time and finds him nearly dying of hypothermia??? is a summary I guess

***

Jaskier feels the cold seeping into his bones, the icy wind cutting like a knife on his cheeks and bringing tears to his eyes that freeze before they can roll down his cheeks. He shrugs his shoulders up to try and retain the sliver of warmth remaining in his chest. He can’t feel his hands that have turned white, locked around the strap of his lute that’s bouncing against his back. He bitterly mourns the loss of his cloak; his summer jacket is doing nothing to keep him warm and it’s all he can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He’s aware that climbing higher into the mountains is stupid and dangerous, but it’s the only path he can see through the swollen flakes falling thick and fast around him, and he’s more likely to find some sort of shelter on a well-trodden path. He’s also keen to avoid the shadowy figures that seem to flicker across the fields surrounding him, even though logically he knows they’re just a trick of the light Not that has had any luck in the hours he’s spent trudging through the snow. And now the light is fading, and all his energy is focused on just staying on the path.

He stumbles over nothing and goes flying. His hands don’t unclench in time- at this point, he’s not sure they’ll ever loosen up again- and he lands face first in a bank of snow, which soaks his clothes and makes the fading bruise on his side throb like it’s just been inflicted. His breath comes out in a startled gasp; he didn’t think he could get colder than he already was. He wipes away a trickle of melted ice from his forehead and looks down in surprise at his fingers that are coated with red. He must’ve hit his head on something, he thinks. That would explain the dizziness. Says the all too familiar sarcastic voice in his head, that Jaskier hasn’t heard out loud in months. He lets out a hysterical giggle, which quickly turns into a sob.

He drags himself to his feet- at least concentrating all his energy on walking pushes all thoughts of Geralt out of his mind- but he doesn’t get far before collapsing again. The funny thing is, he doesn’t even feel cold anymore, just bone tired. He curls up, exhausted. He just needs five minutes to rest his eyes, so his head can stop spinning and the light that appears to be bobbing in the distance will disappear.

He exhales, and his breath is ripped from him by a particularly vicious gust of wind. As he closes his eyes, the shadows dancing in the wind seem to consume him, and the howling wind is replaced with blissful silence.

***

When he wakes, he’s warm. So warm it would be insufferable if it wasn’t such a relief to not be cold anymore. He attempts to open his eyes and grimaces, which worsens the pain in his stiff and cracked face. He must look horrendous. Still, at least he’s alive.

As he manages to slowly work his eyes open, he takes in his surroundings. He’s in a small cave with a narrow entranceway that’s been partially blocked off with branches; he can only assume it’s an attempt to keep the snow out, as there’s no evidence of meltwater in the cave, despite the fire that’s crackling near the entrance. Jaskier feels a mild sense of panic when he sees his own clothes hanging up to dry; with a huge effort, he pulls himself into a seating position and throws aside the cloak wrapped around him. To his immense relief, he’s not naked- he still has his trousers on, but his sodden undershirt has been replaced with one much larger and older that’s surprisingly soft considering how worn it is. Someone’s even taken great care to wrap his hands in bandages for cuts he was too cold to feel, and there’s some kind of salve coating the bruise on his side. 

He assumes it’s a salve- he supposes there’s every chance it’s some kind of poison. That would be typical- rescued from freezing to death only to be experimented on by his saviour.

Jaskier shivers violently, disrupting his musings. The fire’s dying down, and there’s nothing to feed it, so he grabs the cloak, meaning to pull it back over his torso when he stops dead, staring at its hood. There’s a very familiar mending job hiding a tear that curves upwards like a crescent moon. It’s almost invisible to the eye thanks to the incredibly fine stitching, but Jaskier would recognise his own repair work anywhere. 

He’s still struggling to understand how it could be possible, and whether he even wants his rescuer to be who he thinks it is when the branches are pulled back, revealing the dazzling white snow that’s almost immediately blocked from view by the figure stepping into the cave, a bundle of logs under each arm.

Geralt looks exactly the same as he did the day Jaskier left, all those months ago. The only difference is that the expression of fury Jaskier had last seen has been replaced with one of surprise, those amber eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He stares at Jaskier for several long seconds, as rigid as a statue, and Jaskier can’t help but stare back. After all, Geralt already knew he was here- Jaskier hadn’t had the luxury of preparing for this moment.

‘Jaskier.’ Geralt says weakly, in a voice so unlike his own it sends a chill down Jaskier’s spine that has nothing to do with the snow.

Of course, it’s awkward. He was stupid to think Geralt would actually want to see him- saving him was just the decent thing to do, it didn’t mean anything. Masking his disappointment that’s pooling in the pit of his stomach, Jaskier nods in response.

‘Uh, hello.’

It doesn’t seem likely that Geralt is going to fill the silence that follows; he’s still unmoving next to the fire. Jaskier swings his legs out onto the dusty floor of the cave and reaches for his boots.

‘Thanks for, well… you know. The rescue,’ he says as he pulls on his boots, ‘I’ll get out of your hair now.’

His words finally seem to awaken Geralt from his reverie. He tips the logs onto the ground as Jaskier stands, trying to ignore the trembling in his legs. He can’t remember the last time he ate, but judging by the black spots in his vision, it was a while ago.

‘What are you talking about? You need to rest, Jaskier. You were lucky I found you when I did, or who knows-’ He cuts off, and something passes across his face. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say it was fear. 

Jaskier’s ‘Honestly, I’m fine,’ is undermined by his legs giving out after taking only a couple of steps towards Geralt, who lunges forward, wrapping strong arms around Jaskier’s waist to stop him falling to the floor. Jaskier’s arms come up reflexively and land against Geralt’s chest. He feels the all too familiar heartbeat and wrenches his hands away. Geralt still hasn’t let go. Ignoring Jaskier’s feeble protests, he essentially hauls him back onto the makeshift bed. He stares down at Jaskier, the line of his jaw set before turning to stoke the fire.

Despite the time they’ve spent apart, Jaskier can still read Geralt’s body language without thinking. He takes in the muscle jumping near his temple, the fingernails dug into his palms, and opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, because obviously something is, but Geralt beats him to it.

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ He growls through gritted teeth. ‘Wandering into a fucking snow storm with nothing but a lute? No food? No cloak? Were you trying to get killed?’

‘Obviously not,’ Jaskier replies, exasperated, curling up to sit cross-legged, bracing his back against the cave so he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Geralt, ‘I had a plan- and a cloak- but unfortunately my travelling companion decided to relieve me of both.’

Geralt frowned. ‘Companion?’ He almost sounds hurt.

‘Just some merchant I met in the tavern a few days ago. He offered safe passage across the mountains and I figured it was probably safer than making the journey alone.’ He winces and his hand rises to the bruise on his side, the memory of the boot that had inflicted it stinging more sharply than the wound thanks to Geralt’s healing salve. ‘Obviously I was wrong.’

If looks could kill, Jaskier really didn’t fancy his chances right now. He’d rarely seen Geralt this angry before, although the expression on his face stirred a bitterly painful memory from the mountaintop. It had always amazed him how strongly Geralt felt, even though he always said Witchers didn’t have emotions. Maybe it’s just the positive emotions they don’t feel, he thinks, even though he knows that isn’t true. He’s seen Geralt happy, even ecstatic before. Even heard him laugh occasionally at one or two of Jaskier’s stories. 

Although his happiness was more often related to Yennefer’s presence. The hurt rises like bile in his throat. He manages to get out, ‘well, not everyone is as chivalrous as you.’ He’s aiming for a lighthearted, jaunty jibe, but even as he says it, he can tell it falls flat, his tone betraying him.

Geralt rises from the fire, stomping over to the far side of the cave to bring his gear closer to the fire. ‘It’s nothing to do with chivalry.’ His turns his back to Jaskier, who suddenly can’t take it anymore. Geralt’s had months to get over his anger and yet he still can’t bear to look at him.

‘Oh well,’ he spits, aiming for sarcasm, ‘no harm done- what’s the worst that could have happened anyway?’ He makes a grab for his boots again, he needs to get out of here, he knows his heart can’t take another beating like last time. Geralt’s shoulders tense and he spins round, incredulous. 

‘The worst thing?’ He says, his voice cracking, eyebrows knitted together in disbelief, ‘Damn it Jaskier! You could have died. What the hell do I have to say to make you take this seriously?’

Jaskier only mutely registers what Geralt is saying beyond the first few words. The bitter memories of the last time he’d heard those words are flashing before his eyes, he can hear them over and over, the vitriol and malice cutting deeper than a knife. 

It’s overwhelming. He’s tried to suppress these memories for so long that they’re spilling over and threatening to consume him. He isn’t sure where he is anymore, the blood rushing in his ears sounds remarkably like the howling winds from the cliffs, his rapid heartbeat the footsteps he’d strained to hear but never did. He’s drowning in memories; he drops his boots and starts clutching at his throat as if silenced by the djinn once more. He feels like he can’t breathe. His thoughts are erratic and wild- he almost wishes he was back in the snow. At least that had been silent, nothing screaming inside his head. He thinks he finally understands why Geralt always seemed to prefer the quiet.

Dimly, slowly, he registers strong hands gripping his arms, pulling his shaking hands from his throat, rough and calloused thumbs running over his knuckles. ‘Breathe, Jask. Breathe,’ he hears. He doesn’t know if it’s from inside his head or not, but he listens anyway, gulping air greedily. One of the hands comes up to cradle the back of his neck, and the slow, rhythmic pulse he can feel in the fingertips pressing gently against his skin help to bring his breathing under control.

As he feels the panic in his chest quieten, he opens his eyes to see Geralt’s own amber ones staring back at him, brimming with concern and guilt. He attempts to open his mouth, wanting to say that he’s okay, but Geralt holds up the hand that was covering Jaskier’s to silence him. Jaskier’s about to mourn the loss as Geralt steps away, but he sits next to him on the bed, pressed up against Jaskier’s side.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. His tone is soft, but tight with guilt, ‘and I know that isn’t good enough, and I’m not just saying it.’ He twists his hands in his lap, suddenly unsure. Unthinking, Jaskier takes one in his own. Geralt blinks down at their entwined hands before raking his eyes back up to meet Jaskier’s.

‘Those things I said... were unforgivable. And I don’t expect forgiveness- they were cruel and vicious, but please believe me when I say I didn’t mean them. I was angry, and I took it out on you. And not a word of it was true.’

He looks away, seemingly overcome. Jaskier waits patiently, his hand still pressed against Geralt’s. Geralt takes a deep breath, and continues.

‘I never told you how much I enjoy your company. You’re a good man, Jaskier, and I’m not worthy of you. You did so much for me, and I took it all for granted. I pushed you away, but you continued to fill the silences by my side. That day with the djinn, when I thought I’d never hear your voice again, was the worst day of my life.’ His voice cracks, and Jaskier is startled to see wetness in his eyes. He reaches up a hand to caress Geralt’s cheek and wipe the tears from his eyes.

‘The worst day, at least until yesterday. I’ve been trying to find you all this time, always a few steps behind, but when the folk in the village told me you were here, I couldn’t believe my luck. But then I saw you lying in the snow, and I thought you were dead, and I-’

He’s cut off, this time by Jaskier, who turns his body and pulls Geralt against his chest, tucked under his chin, his face buried in tangled, white hair. Geralt’s arms wrap around his waist as if he never wants to let go. 

They stay locked in embrace for God knows how long, Jaskier’s hands combing through Geralt’s hair as he speaks.

‘I forgave you,’ he starts, hesitantly, ‘before I even made it down the mountain. I think I knew, deep down, that you were just angry, but that was the first time you’d explicitly asked me to go, so I thought that you really meant it. So, I did.’ 

He chuckles softly, and Geralt lifts his head to look at him, mild confusion in his eyes. 

Jaskier bites his lip, ‘I told myself it was fine, better even. No cleaning monster guts out of your hair or getting attacked by harpies or whatever trouble you attract. But oh,’ he whispers, ‘I missed you. I missed you so much it hurt. So, you don’t need to apologise, or feel guilty, because I already forgave you.’

He’s been staring at a point above Geralt’s head as he spoke. A firm hand tugs gently on his chin, and their eyes meet once more.

‘Thank you,’ Geralt says, and the tenderness is almost too much to bear for Jaskier, who adds, 

‘Plus, you need someone to write incredible ballads about your heroic deeds, otherwise Roach will have to go without carrots.’

Geralt smiles, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he laughs, deep and true. The sound warms Jaskier more than the fire.He pulls Jaskier onto his side and tucks him into his chest, pulling the cloak over both of them.

‘Go to sleep, Jask,’ he murmurs, running his hands through Jaskier’s curls, ‘there’ll be plenty of time for ballads later.’

And Jaskier, who’s easily being lulled into sleep by the gentle rise and fall of Geralt’s chest, knows he’ll never be cold again.

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (5/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again).

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

V - A Surprise Is Executed

Jaskier is so very in love as his niece sits in his lap.

Zofia couldn’t be more perfect. She’s so curious about everything, so cheerful and full of awe, like a tiny, beautiful sunbeam. From her father Nasir, she got her eyes almost as dark as coal, her medium-brown skin and her raven-black hair, while she resembles her mother – Jaskier’s sister Amelia – in angelic facial features and a mop of curls atop her head. She turns one-year-old tomorrow, which funnily falls on his and Geralt’s wedding day, and Jaskier couldn’t love her more.

With immense fascination, Zofia plays with Jaskier’s necklaces, tugging at them and trying to put them into her mouth. When Jaskier tells her not to do that, she looks up at him, seemingly surprised to find him there, but then recognition dawns on her face and she smiles.

“Unca!” she exclaims excitedly.

Jaskier melts.

“That’s me, Zosia,” he replies, his voice wavering. “I’m your uncle Jaskier.”

Zofia flashes him one more smile before her attention is caught by the floral pattern of his shirt. She grabs at the material and he giggles, explaining the names of the flowers to her. The girl tries to repeat some of the words he says, failing hilariously. As Jaskier laughs at her attempts, he hears another person chuckling too.

It’s only then that he realises that Yennefer has been here with them the whole time.

They are sitting in the comfortable armchairs in the music room in his house. Amelia has gone out shopping together with Rozalia, Ciri and Dara, leaving her daughter in Jaskier and Yennefer’s care. Not that Jaskier cannot be trusted with small children by himself. Yennefer is just a... coincidental backup. She only came here to drop Ciri off so that she would hang out with Dara. Really.

As Jaskier tears his eyes away from Zofia, he’s surprised to find Yennefer gazing at him and his niece... wistfully. The emotion is gone the moment she notices him looking.

“We didn’t get to meet Ciri when she was this little,” she says defensively.

“Would you like to hold her, then?” he offers.

Yennefer’s gaze turns sharp, lightning-like, but before Jaskier can start rambling and take it back, she answers, “Yes.”

He takes Zofia into his arms and carries her to put her in Yennefer’s lap. The girl fusses and begins crying, scared by the closeness of a person she doesn’t recognise. Jaskier crouches at Yennefer’s side and tries to talk to Zofia soothingly. When that doesn't work, he shows her his necklaces and this, at least, distracts her enough to stop her weeping.

When Zofia calms somewhat, Yennefer puts her hand on the girl’s back. Zofia looks up at her and Yennefer smiles so warmly, so beautifully, that Jaskier’s heart flutters a little bit. She talks to Jaskier’s niece in such a soft, gentle voice that Jaskier just sits down right there at her feet and watches her, stunned.

“You’re a sweet child, aren’t you, little Zosia?” Yennefer croons, still smiling, when Zofia touches her locks with a delighted giggle.  

“My, my,” Jaskier murmurs, with a certain degree of awe he finds himself unable to conceal, “When one bears witness to you like this, it is not a hardship to believe that you have a heart.”

Yennefer snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she replies, not looking away from Zofia.

“Of course!” he laments. “Her affections are held by but the chosen few and alas, I’m not among them. With me, she knows no mercy! Woe me, for she swore to strike me with a near-fatal blow. After all, she’s stolen the heart of my very own guardian angel!”

What he means is Yennefer’s recent relationship with his long-time agent, Triss. Yennefer doesn’t show an ounce of shame about that.

“If you think that everyone’s thoughts revolve around you,” she answers, allowing Zofia to play with the rings on her fingers, “Then I’m slightly concerned for your mental well-being, starlet.”

“Concerned, she says!” Jaskier exclaims. “You wouldn’t be concerned about me even if I were on the brink of death. Such is my miserable fate, despised by the world’s most powerful woman!”

Yennefer sighs in a way painfully long-suffering. “Your dramatics are exhausting, starlet, and I refuse to suffer them. Leave it for tomorrow.”

It is then that it hits him.

“Oh my god,” Jaskier breathes out. “I’m marrying Geralt tomorrow.”

Yennefer gives a very Geralt-like hmm. “Who would’ve thought.”

“Oh c’mon,” he protests, “I’m quite a catch!”

She raises one perfect eyebrow. “It baffles me that some people seem to think so, and Geralt most of all.”

“You’re just bitter, witch,” Jaskier grumbles.

Yennefer actually chuckles at that, her violet eyes glimmering with amusement. Zofia gets bored of sitting in her lap and tries to get off, so Yennefer puts her on the floor. The girl reaches out for Jaskier. He takes her little hands in his, helping her stand up. They make a slow round around the room until Zofia decides to head back to the armchairs, sit on the carpet and play with one of Jaskier’s Gucci slippers.

All throughout, Yennefer watches her with that gorgeous, affectionate smile. Jaskier can see why Geralt was mad about her.

“You two are a very unlikely pair,” Yennefer remarks when Zofia crawls to her and inspects her shoes.

“Yes, well.” He shrugs. “Opposites attract, and all that. I like to think that we’re two puzzle pieces. A perfect fit.”

“Puzzle pieces!” she repeats, barking a harsh laugh. “Oh, starlet, if only it was this easy.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he bristles.

“Don’t be foolish,” she chides. “A real relationship starts after three years. Before that, it’s just a romantic comedy.”

Jaskier purses his lips but doesn’t argue; she did spend almost a decade married to Geralt.

“Any advice, then?” he asks jokingly.

Yennefer actually considers it.

“Always be kind to each other,” she tells him, her face twisting with echoes of old, deep pain.

Jaskier only nods. They don’t speak for some time, focusing on Zofia. The girl starts getting moody after not seeing her mum around for such a long while. It’s a miracle she hasn’t got upset much earlier anyway. Thankfully, Amelia and the rest return a few minutes later.

“I think you haven’t shown us the wedding rings,” Yennefer says apropos of nothing after she returns Zofia to the safety of Amelia’s arms.

Jaskier blinks in surprise, realising that she’s right. He and Geralt had them made only two weeks ago. They decided on two silver bands, as gold felt too impersonal, both with a satin finish, Jaskier’s ring additionally encrusted with diamonds. Since Geralt entrusted them to him for safekeeping (and possibly also because Dara is their ring bearer anyway), Jaskier’s been, delicately put, protective of them. He only allowed anyone to see them in pictures.

“I haven’t, actually,” he admits. “Do you want to see them?”

Everyone nods. Reluctantly, Jaskier heads to his bedroom, where the box with the rings is hidden deep in a drawer of his bedside table. He’s more than certain to find them there. His heart stops when he discovers that they’ve somehow disappeared.

Gut-twisting panic rises within him. With shaking hands, Jaskier rakes all the drawers, then looks everywhere in the bedroom, but the box is gone.

“Fuck,” he curses with feeling. “Fuck, fuck fuckitty fuck!”

He more or less runs to the kitchen, where the rest waits.

“I’ve lost them!” he cries. “Help me look!”

Without another look at them, Jaskier goes about rummaging through the whole place frantically. Living room, the two guest rooms, the bathrooms – and still, nothing. He whimpers, wondering how’s Geralt going to react. He’s going to be disappointed, of course, but not surprised maybe, Jaskier did fuck up greatly once already. God, what if –

“Jaskier!” Ciri calls from the living room.

“They’re here!” Dara.

Jaskier rushes to them and sees the rings, resting in their box, on the coffee table, which baffles him so much that he stops dead in his tracks. He’s sure they weren’t there when he searched the room a few minutes ago.

“What,” he says, “the f – hell.”

Dara giggles. Ciri does too. Suddenly, everyone else is in the room, laughing hysterically.

“What’s so funny?” Jaskier demands. “This isn’t funny!”

Between one wheeze and another, Rozalia chokes out, “Of course you haven’t lost them!”

“You guard them like a dragon guards its hoard!” Amelia adds. “It wasn’t easy to take them away from you.”

Letting out a scandalised gasp, Jaskier points an accusing finger in the general direction of his sisters and Yennefer. “You – !”

“Your panic was extremely gratifying,” Yennefer says with a shit-eating grin.

“I hate you,” he grouses, shooting the three devious women a sulky look. “Why would you do that to me?! It wasn’t funny!”

“It was,” Dara objects. Ciri nods in agreement.

“Not you too!” Jaskier complains, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re supposed to be on my side, young man! I’m surrounded by trai –”

“Just look on the inside of the rings, Julek,” Roza sighs tiredly.

He frowns, taking the bands to inspect them. “There’s nothing on the inside –”

There is, in fact, something on the inside of the rings. An engraving in small, elegant cursive, which wasn't there even a few hours ago.

Lead me, dearest, to the coast of tomorrow

Jaskier swallows hard, his throat suddenly tight. It’s such a sweet sentiment – his own lyric, the words he wrote for Geralt, in Geralt’s favourite song of his, with a lovely twist.

For a good minute, Jaskier is rendered speechless. When he finally manages to speak, he looks at his sisters and whispers hoarsely, “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank us,” Amelia replies. “This was Yen’s idea.”

Jaskier stares at Yennefer, his mouth hanging open.

“The rings were lacking,” she explains with disdain that he sees right through.

Before Jaskier knows what he’s doing, he’s moving. He sweeps her into a tight hug, ignoring her protests about it.

“Oh, witch,” he murmurs to her, “You’re so wonderful.”

“That I am,” she replies. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He chuckles, giddy all of the sudden. Yennefer shoves him away.

Jaskier laughs harder and blows her a kiss, enjoying her disgust.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Bewitching the Witcher Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Your sickness plays its last hand. As Geralt rushes to save you, will anyone’s efforts be enough to keep you alive? Or is this where you meet your death?

Series summary: You and The Witcher aren’t meant to be together. In fact, the only thing you two should be doing is getting as far away from each other as fast as you can. You shouldn’t. You really fucking shouldn’t. But he’s just too tempting to resist.

Author’s note: This is the final chapter in my first series for The Witcher fandom, and also my first series that I’ve written on tumblr. When I wrote the first part to this I never imagined that the story concept would get as much love as it did. So thank you everyone who has read to this point. SIDENOTE: this part doesn’t contain smut. It’s written purely for the plot. However, the parts prior to this chapter all contain plenty of Geralt love, and I will also be writing more oneshots/headcanons for both the infamous Witcher and his Bard.

You knew it was the last day of your life, but you kept that knowledge to yourself. If you brought it up to either of the protective bastards you’d come to love in the last six months, they wouldn’t let you enjoy it. And you’d be damned if you didn’t enjoy the hell out of your last day on earth.

So you didn’t bother to elaborate when you asked Geralt to make his famous roasted pork. He hunted down a worthy animal in less than twenty minutes and cooked it slowly over the fire, just how you liked it.

And you didn’t let Jaskier evade you when you cornered him in the woods and asked him the question that had been burning a hole in your brain for weeks: “Why did you never try to fuck me?”

Of course, you enjoyed the way his entire body seemed to go red as a tomato in a matter of seconds. “W-what?”

You rolled your eyes at his innocent facade. “Oh, please. You’ve groped everything that breathes. You’ve lied with every woman from Cintra to Nilfgard. So why didn’t you ever try to sleep with me?”

He looked everywhere but directly at you.

“Do you not think I’m beautiful, Jaskier?” You almost laughed at your own question. You hadn’t seen a mirror in a few weeks, though you had no doubt that you resembled a skeleton more than a living, breathing person. You’d never been further from beautiful than at this moment.

But you remembered who you used to be, when the Witcher blood ran strong in your veins. You’d been the perfect height--tall enough to look down on most people but not too gangly--with legs for miles. Your muscled body had curves in all the right places. Your breasts had been huge, your ass even bigger. Eyes followed you wherever you went, as did a line of drooling men. Back when you’d been a goddess of beauty, you hadn’t cared about any of it. Now you longed for it.

“Of course you were, Y/N,” Jaskier replied, then quickly added, “I mean, of course you are. Are, not were.”

“Just tell me why, then,” you pushed.

He laughed, clearly uncomfortable, though he knew you weren’t going to drop it. “Honestly?”

You nodded.

Jaskier kicked the fallen leaves and small tree branches at his feet, still avoiding your gaze. “I used to tell myself it was because you’d probably cut my manhood off if I tried anything.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you. Jaskier had once been terrified to get within five feet from you. Now, of course, he was like your protective, annoying older brother. That might have been the one good thing that had come out of your sickness: your newfound relationship with the ridiculously talented bard.

“I wouldn’t have gone that far,” you finally got out, still grinning at him.

He shrugged. “I know.”

“So that wasn’t the real reason,” you realized.

Jaskier finally brought his blue eyes back to yours. “No.”

You sighed. “Don’t make me beg for it, Jas!”

He hesitated. Then, “Because I knew--even from the night Geralt and I first ran into you and you tried to kill him and nearly did--I knew that you were his. You were always his, Y/N, and he was always yours. I’ve never believed in soul mates. I actually think that concept is complete bullshit. We get to choose who we love in this life, that’s what I believe. But you and Geralt... if there’s a better word than soul mates to describe the two of you, then I don’t know it.”

Oh.

You hadn’t been expecting that. Not from Jaskier. Not now--not today.

“Is that a good enough answer for you?” Jaskier wondered, breaking the silence.

All you could do was nod.

...

You convinced Geralt to take you on a hunt. There was no better way to end your last day alive than by killing a monster. And so, after an hour of pleading and convincing, he finally agreed, though probably just so you would shut up about it.

It didn’t take long for you two to find a creature roaming through the woods: a berserker. You found it ironic. On another hunt for a different berserker in a different mountain range during a simpler time, you and Geralt had finally revealed your feelings for each other. A berserker had started all of this. It was only poetic that a berserker would end all of this, too.

But before you could even strike the killing blow to the creature, your nose began dripping. Geralt beheaded the monster for you, much to your annoyance. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. Geralt’s eyes widened when he glanced back at you. You didn’t have a chance to ask him what was wrong before you were doubled over in a coughing fit. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, it was stained with blood.

Your nose was bleeding.

You were coughing up blood.

You didn’t have to be a medic to know that your time was just about up.

Geralt, on the other hand, wasn’t about ready to accept it so easily. In a flash you were in his arms and he was running back to your makeshift camp. He didn’t even explain himself to Jaskier before throwing you over Roach and climbing onto the horse behind you. Roach ran like he was desperate to save you, too.

You arrived at the nearest town in a matter of minutes. Geralt carried you in his arms, screaming wildly in the streets for a medic. Finally one approached you. Geralt followed after him.

All you were concerned about was the horrid, metallic smell of your blood. You were covered in it now. You’d also managed to dampen Geralt’s clothes with it, too. If he didn’t always wear all black, his clothes would have been stained.

You laughed at the thought, though it wasn’t particularly funny. Both you and Geralt knew it was a hysterical laugh; your time was down to minutes now.

“Hold on, Y/N,” Geralt muttered to you. He spoke so softly you could barely hear him. “Hold on for me.”

You stared at him as he carried you in his arms. Something hit you, then. The infamous Witcher, the wild beast of a man that Jaskier had written about and made famous throughout the land--most people feared him because he resembled a monster more often than he resembled a man. But with the fear in his eyes right now he looked so... human.

Your fingers were moving through his hair before you’d even realized you’d told your hand to move. “You’re so beautiful, Geralt. Such a beautiful human.”

“Y/N...” There was a warning in his voice, though you couldn’t figure out what he was warning you about.

“It’s okay, my love.” He had to know you were okay, that there was no better place for you in the entire world than in his arms, feeling his Witcher heart beat slowly against your head. “My love... you’re my love, Geralt.”

The world faded around you. All you could see was a man in the distance--a gloriously beautiful man. His dark hair was clipped short and his shining blue eyes looked longingly at a woman just a few paces from him. The girl’s blonde hair flowed in the wind, circling her tiny body.

The girl was--the girl was you. You, as a human. You, with no Witcher blood inside of you.

And the man who looked at you like you were the center of his universe--

That man was Geralt. Human Geralt.

You tried to cry out to him, to get his attention, to say something, but you had no voice. All you could do was watch as the Human You neared Human Geralt and looped your hands together. He kissed the top of your head and you swear you could feel it on your own head, your Witcher head. And then Human You and Human Geralt walked side by side until you disappeared in the distance, never needing to look back because all you needed was right beside you.

You wanted that, you realized. You wanted a long life with Geralt. More than you wanted to be a Witcher. More than you’d ever wanted anything.

You wanted him.

You wanted to be happy because of him.

You wanted him to be happy because of you.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to fight tooth and nail to get that happy ending.

...

The medic told Geralt and Jaskier that you were dead before the medic could have tried to save you with a potion or elixir. The news made Jaskier erupt into a screaming fit, only occasionally broken up by a painful wail. Geralt, by contrast, became still as a statue. He didn’t move for several minutes. Those long minutes eventually stretched into hours. The night passed. Still, he never left your bedside, despite your body growing colder with every passing minute.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier finally dared to speak up in the first light of dawn.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t do anything but stare at your body like his gaze could bring you back to him.

Jaskier called his name again. “She deserves...” He swallowed back a hiccup before beginning to sniffle. “She deserves a proper burial.”

Geralt didn’t even acknowledge Jaskier’s presence.

Jaskier moved towards your body on the other side of the bed. Finally, Geralt broke out of his trance. He jumped up and threw his arms around you, cradling you into his chest. Jaskier froze. Geralt’s gold eyes were wild and frantic, his sharp teeth blaring, and Jaskier knew that Geralt would kill him before he could get his hands on you. The Witcher resembled an untamed beast claiming his territory. Jaskier wasn’t about to get in the middle of it.

Jaskier left once the sun had fully appeared in the sky, off to get food for him and Geralt and--though he didn’t include this part--to get flowers for your corpse. Months ago, he’d heard you say that lilies were your favorite, so he went off in search of those.

Geralt remained by your side.

It was surprising, in the end, how your witcher had failed to notice anything changing within or outside of your body. His Witcher senses picked up nothing--not the first beat of your heart, a heart which now beat as fast as a human’s and not a Witcher’s; not the way the heat returned to your skin, bringing a pale color with it, brightening your cheeks and reddening your lips; not even the way your eyelids began to flutter like you were dreaming.

In fact, he was oblivious until Jaskier returned and pointed out that you looked eerily far off from dead. That you looked like you were alive and breathing and--

And that you no longer looked like a Witcher. The physical improvements that had transformed your body after you’d passed the witching test--the longer legs, the muscles that rarely tired, the nimble limbs that allowed you to move as fast as the speed of light--were gone.

Geralt watched you with a frozen awareness, waiting for--for something. He didn’t seem to know what to expect. Neither did Jaskier, which became obvious when he squeaked and moved to the corner of the room upon seeing your eyes open.

Your Witcher eyes had been silver. Not gray, not a soft shade of blue, but silver. They’d glowed as ominously as Geralt’s gold ones did.

But now, the eyes that blinked up at the two people you loved most in the world were an undeniable shade of jade green.

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier moved, unsure if you were a ghost or the undead or what.

They watched, Geralt’s hand moving to hover over the dagger strapped to his side, as you lifted yourself into a sitting position. The room was deathly quiet as you took in everything around you. You must have been staying in an infirmary, which you guessed from the sight of a million tiny jars of potions and healing ointments on the table beside your bed. That was the only decoration in the room besides the bed that you currently occupied. It was completely impersonal.

Your eyes flicked to Geralt. It was strange and unexpected, the feeling of terror that crashed through you. You’d only ever known him as a Witcher yourself, and the sight of another mutant like you hadn’t scared you. But now... now your heart was beating fast, and that was human fear running through your veins. Still, despite the warning signs in your mind screaming for you to run from him, you took in the sight of him with relief. Geralt. Your Geralt. Your Witcher.

You never thought you’d see him again.

The tears blurring his gold eyes were the only sign of his relief. His hand still hovered over his weapon, always cautious. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the stressful eighteen hours he’d just endured. But he’d never looked more beautiful to you.

You forced yourself to look away from him and turned towards Jaskier. The satchel at his side was full, probably stuffed with bread and cheese and cheap wine for him and Geralt. Orange lilies were crumpled in his hand as he took in the sight of you--very much alive, when you hadn’t been the last time he’d seen you.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” you said. Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears. Not as loud or as demanding; it no longer contained the strength of a Witcher. “But I don’t think they’ll be any good funeral. Perhaps a wedding?”

“You’re... alive.” There was no connotation in Geralt’s voice, the shock too great for him to generate a tone of voice.

You smiled at your Witcher. “I’m alive, my love.”

“H-how?” He blinked his tears away, though a few slipped down his cheeks. You resisted the urge to wipe them away. “The medic, he said you--”

“That Witcher we found a week ago,” you said, a thoughtful frown on your face, “her words finally make sense to me.”

The men just blinked at you, unable to follow along.

You closed your eyes, remembering the words of that ancient Witcher: “The only cure for my sickness is death.” The men were still frowning at you when you looked back at them. “I had to die before I could get better. Death wasn’t the sentence; it was the antidote.”

“You’re... better?” Jaskier asked, looking doubtful.

You looked between the men. “Well, that depends on your perspective, I think.” You looked down at your hands, thin and bony and small--not Witcher hands. “I’m no longer a Witcher. I’m human.”

Geralt sniffed. You looked to him, thinking he’d begun crying, and realized that he was sniffing the air--for your human scent. He paused when it hit him. His eyes went wide. “You are human.”

You hesitated. “Does that... disgust you?”

He didn’t answer with words, but rather with a quick kiss to your mouth. He held you tight against him, his arm wrapped so tightly around you that you could no longer breathe, but you didn’t dare ask him to stop. His mouth moved against yours, every touch a declaration of his relief.

Jaskier cleared his throat.

You two broke apart, looking over at the bard.

“So you’re just... you’re okay now?” He asked you. “You’re not sick?”

“I don’t think so, though I’m not sure,” you admitted. “But I think my Witcher magic was enough to fight the sickness. I think, now that I don’t have my magic anymore, I don’t have the sickness either.”

“So you’ll be okay?” Jaskier’s eyes widened hopefully.

You let yourself smile. “Yes. I’ll be okay.” You looked back at Geralt, whose eyes had never left your face. “Geralt, I’m human.”

He smiled back at you as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “So I’m hearing.”

He wasn’t getting it. “We can be together now.”

He frowned, the realization finally hitting him. “We can be together.” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

You looped an arm around his neck and pulled him back against you, giving his mouth a whisper of a kiss. “Marry me, Geralt.”

He pulled back, surprised. “W-what?”

“I want to be with you,” you said. “I want to spend every second for the rest of my human life by your side. I want to be yours--and I want you to be mine. So marry me.”

He laughed. “I never imagined myself being married.”

“Well you should start,” you told him as you slowly rose to your feet, unsure how stable your human body was. “Because I want to marry you. Not in a year, not in a month. Now. I want to marry you today, Geralt.” You pointed at the orange lilies in Jaskier’s hand. “And I want those to be the flowers I carry down the aisle with me.”

[dapandapod]

All kinds of pointy

Soooo I asked for prompts, and kindly enough innocentcinnamonpun stepped up and offered me this:

“ Funny interaction with feral!Jaskier being outraged over peoples treatment of Geralt who’s soft ™ for his protective bard? <3 thank you " 

I just finnished it, it’s three in the morning, and I had so much fun.  You can find it here on Ao3 or down below.

And Im sorry, I might have strayed a little. Soft maybe inched its way towards just a little hard. Just a little.

Enjoy! _____________________________________________________

Things have most definitely changed since the bard entered his life. Calm nights at the taverns is but a memory. Wherever they go Jaskier sings loudly, flirts shamelessly and demands that every eye focus on him when he performs.

Most of all, Jaskier accepts no insults. None at all. And it turns out that this flowerysmelling man with a garment in every possible colour is fierce while defending their honor. Geralt quickly learns it is a safety measure to not give Jaskier a dagger. Less dead bodies that way.

It happens all the time. A snide comment in passing, a raging youngling with too much confidence, an innkeeper denying them a room. Every time it does Jaskiers hackles rise and his eyebrows get all kinds of pointy. An indication of murdertime and for Geralt to step in and save some lives.

His bard is truly not to be trifled with. It warms him in all kinds of ways that probably isn’t normal. He is not used to feeling cared for like this. It’s nice. He keeps those moments in a special place in his mind.

When Geralt is alone he still thinks back to the moment when someone dared tell Jaskier red is not his colour. It still cracks him up, honestly. “You will regret saying that, you impotent, slow witted, assfaced ratsarse!” The face of a snarling bard, eyes shining with rage, is a terrifying thing to behold. If Jaskier had fangs, he would without a doubt have ripped the offenders throat already. And if Geralt weren’t actually holding onto his doublet at those times, he might very well have tried.

Smiles can be a deceiving thing. You are not safe when Jaskier smiles, no matter the fluttery feelings it might have given you. Like that time Geralt insulted his singing. “Like a fillingless pie, you say?” Jaskier swaggers up to him, a smile stretched across his lips, his eyes taking in the witcher, up and down. “Alright. I can take criticism.” Geralt knows for a fact nowadays that he can’t. He didn’t know then. He wasn’t scared of that smile yet. Jaskier puts a hand on his shoulder, takes a breath. “You know, that song I wrote about you? Toss a coin and all that? Let me write you a better one, my dear witcher.” Patting his shoulder and walking past him, Geralt feels a false sense of security.

In the next tavern they set foot in, Jaskier performs a song about the benefits of chamomile for tender witcher behinds. Geralt never, ever remarks on Jaskiers singing again, and the song is blissfully forgotten.

~

They are in a tavern in a nondescript small town somewhere in the south, their patrons a loud and brutish sort. It is almost tradition that at least one patron throws an insult at Geralt in these kinds of places. He would be more worried if they didn’t, it would most likely mean that they were planning something worse. Insults are good. And when the insult came, he was lulled into a false security.

Jaskier gets spitting mad again and stops his performance mid song to actually throw a piece of bread at the brute. Geralt smiles into his drink, expecting this to turn into a shouting match. Jaskier is extremely good at outwitting tavern lowlifes.

Sadly, there is no shouting match. There is nothing actually, and the evening carries on without more disturbances. But when Jaskier goes to take a leak he is gone for a suspiciously long amount of time. He can see all the barmaids and there are no men that seem to be Jaskiers type here tonight (the slightly older, brawny type, preferably with a longer hairdo he noticed) that have gone missing with him. So Geralt deems it safe to go look for him.

And finds him and three of the men from the bar in confrontation with Jaskier.

One of them holds a knife, and Geralt can see Jaskiers eyes gleam even from where he stands at the door.

Shit.

The bard quickly and deftly disarms the man with the knife, just like Geralt showed him years ago when he still thought the bard was in need of assistance.

And this is where Geralt realizes Jaskier means business, because he tosses the knife up in the air and catches it again in a very showy fashion.

Shit shit shit, Geralt has to stop this now. He hasn't seen that move since they met Jaskiers arch nemesis, another bard named Valdo Marx. The other bard had sent brutes to trash Jaskiers beloved lute before a music competition and boy, did Jaskier not take that well.

Jaskiers grin is feral, he is showing all of his teeth and whoever said the pen is sharper than the sword needs to have a talk with this man. “So tell me again lads. Do you still think the lumpbrain with the eyes the colour of piss needs to come save his whore bard? Really, is that the best you can think of?”

There is a fluttery feeling in Geralt's gut. One he normally refuses to acknowledge making a reappearance.

And this time it is impossible to ignore. It tingles, burns, coils, whatever creative metaphor you want to use. Geralt is not the poet here, he is but a victim. There is something wrong with his face, because he can feel his frown go away and be replaced by something soft and not at all fitting for a witcher.

That is also the moment when Jaskier looks up and spots him.

And fucking winks.

One of the brutes takes a step forward and that is Geralt's cue. Geralt moves at the same time as Jaskier.

Time to do hero stuff.

Body language may not be his forte, but he can read fighting. Jaskier will slaughter them.

So he rushes forwards, grabs Jaskier round the middle and hoists him over his shoulder. “Oii, what the fuck Geralt?!” Jaskier protests, but Geralt pays him no heed.

Geralt tips his head in greeting when he passes the three angry men and with big steps walk them to the inn a few streets away. Luckily they seem in no mood to pursue them.

Jaskier splutters, flails his arms, and Geralt takes a firmer grip around his thighs to keep him from falling off.

“I can walk! I have legs! Let me down you absolute lumpbrain!” Jaskier complaints loudly and Geralt snorts. “Don’t forget eyes colour of piss please. Promise not to run back and mutilate them?” Jaskier clicks his tongue and Geralt can practically feel the eyeroll happening. “Tch. No.” “There you have your answer.” Geralt smiles, patting Jaskiers butt.

And then he have to forcibly make himself not freeze up, because that stirred up something in his brain he did not intend.

He just touched Jaskiers butt.

Jaskier seems to have the same struggles, because he lets himself be carried without more complaints.

And now it is kind of awkward. Should Geralt carry him all the way inside the inn? Put him down now, confirming how very awkward he suddenly made it?

Always helpful, Jaskier helps him make the decision. “Alright. I promise.” He sighs, and Geralt lets him down.

And something must have been fundamentally broken after that wink and that pat, Geralt has no filter between mouth and brain anymore.

“Will you walk beside me or do I need to hold your hand?” Geralt says. He must be drunk. That must be it.

“Stop teasing me.” Jaskier mutters, changing the grip on the knife he is still holdning.

“Or what?” Geralt smirks at Jaskier, and hell, did he learn nothing?

Jaskier whirls on him, pushing him up against a wall, knife still in hand. If Geralt really wanted, Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to do that. He can easily break the hold, push him away, but the thing is… he doesn’t want to. It’s thrilling to have him this close, to be at his mercy.

“Or I will tease you.” Jaskier murmurs, his breath hot against Geralt's face. “I see the way you look at me. You like it when I talk back to them.”

Yes. Yes Geralt likes that. And fuck, he likes this too.

Jaskier leans in a little, their noses almost touching. They are almost of the same height, Geralt having only a few more inches on the bard. Jaskiers blue eyes miss nothing, a wide smirk breaking free on his lips.

“Say it, Geralt.” Jaskier whispers, and Jaskiers hands on his shoulders, his all-kind-of-pointy eyebrows, that fierce glint in his eyes, it does things to Geralt.

Geralt surgest forward, grabbing Jaskier and pulling him against himself. He kisses Jaskier desperately, and he can’t tell which of them is growling, but it doesn’t matter. Jaskier lets the knife fall and kiss him back, all teeth and tongue and fierceness. A hand is pulling at Geralt's tunic, seeking skin.

“They were right.” Geralt says between kisses. “Red isn’t your colour. You should take it off.”

Things are definitely still changing.

~~

Bonus:

Geralt is a peaceful man in general. His threshold is so much higher than his bards. But there are exceptions to every rule.

“Man, that is the dumbestlooking fucking horse I have ever seen.” “Hold my beer.” Geralt growls, pushing it over the table towards Jaskier. Nobody talks about Roach like that. “Geralt! NO!”

[cats-obsessions]

Mark Your Love in Ink

A geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Read on ao3

Summary:

Jaskier has always known he has a soulmate. The ink of tattoos have been appearing on his skin since he was born. He spends his whole life wondering who they are, what they'll be like. When he's eighteen, he gets a tattoo to let them know he exists, but there's no response. Three years later, Jaskier begins to wonder if he'll ever meet them at all. Funny how fate has a way of bringing people together.

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

Jaskier always knew. There was not a second of his life that he hadn’t known he had a soulmate. He was born with the silhouette of a wolf on his ribs. At first, it looked like a blotched birthmark, but after a few years, the shape became clearer. His parents had wondered if he was cursed, but after a visit to an herbalist and a pellar, it was clear it was just a tattoo- the mark of a soulmate.

Something about the purposeful act of marking one’s skin was transferred through the bond. Other things like piercing and scars weren’t shared. Most say that’s because damage is rarely chosen, but who really knows?

Not everyone has a soulmate, but some do- people scattered across the world that their souls are bound to. No amount of space or time can separate them, nor can simple magic remove the bond. Its furiously romantic, at least Jaskier had always thought so.

It was entrenched in their society; people going as far back in time as tattoos themselves wrote of marking themselves when they came of age in hopes of finding another meant for them by fate itself.

The ink appearing across his skin over time sparked as much curiosity as excitement. There were questions, whispered between his parents when they thought he couldn’t hear, musings and worries. Why were the marks appearing at such a young age? What kind of scallion would have all these tattoos? Do they not know they affect someone else? Will he be able to get a job with his markings? Jaskier always rolled his eyes at that one.

They made him cover up, shoved him in turtle necks and long-sleeved shirts even through the sweltering summers. The more he got, the more ashamed his parents became, but Jaskier only felt more of a thrill. They were beautiful, too- tastefully placed and clearly done by good artists. Though he was always most fond of the wolf, he loved each of them: a large arch-griffon showed up on his bicep in middle school, some Latin quote on his chest his senior year, the skull of something very inhuman on his calf in college- a leshen, he thinks.

There weren’t too many, and they seemed to revolve around the fantastical world of monsters and myth- the types of things that were rare in this world. They still existed, but humans had driven many innocent creatures to extinction.

That was another point of contention with his parents, though most things were. It wasn’t a surprise when Jaskier left at the age of sixteen, flying across the continent and enrolling in Oxenfurt University. Two years later was when he got his first tattoo- he thought of himself as pretty clever for it, too.

---------

It’s late autumn when Geralt sees it.

He wakes up late, the wind howling outside against the rickety windows of his apartment. He had dealt with a drowner problem the night before. Of course, the contractor he was working for said it was only a few when it ended up being at least a dozen. And of course, he was underpaid again. But it was work. The results of it, though, left him exhausted and sore from the unexpected battle. He stumbles into the little, dimly lit bathroom to take a shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he does so.

Stark black lines stand out against his pale skin below the wolf on his ribs. It’s a phone number. Above it are the little words “call me” embellished with a heart.

Fuck.

He feels like he’s on fire, that hot sensation in his cheeks he’d recognize as blush- if he could blush. Which he can’t, right? But there’s panic, too. How could this possibly be?! Witchers don’t have soulmates. Fuck, most people don’t think witchers have souls! And look at him, he’s given this person more than enough ink against their will. That thought makes him sick. Almost as sick as the thought of having a soulmate.

He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t get another tattoo to offer an explanation or anything. He just ignores it, which isn’t that hard to do, really. It’s not in a terribly visible place, and if he keeps his eyes away from the mirror when he showers, he almost forgets about it. But he still feels it; every time he remembers it, it’s like fire burning a hole in his side, taunting him, reminding him someone out there is waiting for a prince charming, and he’s what they got.

---

Three years pass like that, Geralt ignoring the tattoos that pop up on his body from time to time, none of which cover the phone number. The other tattoos aren’t bad- even beautiful. He gets a set of flowers on his shoulder blade, lovely and shaded perfectly; a set of oddly specific music notes appear on his foot, though he doesn’t know what song they’re from; a songbird on his arm, adding to his collection perfectly; his favorite is a small minimalistic portrait of a wolf surrounded by yellow flowers that appears on his wrist one summer.

Late at night when he’s alone with his thoughts, Geralt lets himself imagine that they got that because of him- because of the first wolf tattoo he got. He lets himself think maybe they think of him fondly, associate the wolf with him, and chose to put that tattoo in such a visible place for him.

It’s not true, though, and he knows it.

Even if it were true, they would change their mind if they knew him- knew what he is.

--

He gets a contract to clear out the warehouses on the edge of the city, deep within the less savory parts of town. Here, humans are more likely a danger than monsters, but still, some do stalk the streets, especially late at night.

The man that hired him said he didn’t know what beasts laid in his warehouse, simply that a worker had turned up dead with what looked like scratch marks, time of death estimated around midnight. Blind jobs were always the worst. If the man died at midnight, Geralt will have to wait until then to approach as some creatures only transformed or showed themselves deep into the night.

He decides to kill time at a local bar in preparation. He has never been here before, some odd little college bar, but the food smells good and they have alcohol; nothing else matters.

He sits by himself, running through his list of things he needs to do this week as he waits for his food- maybe he should buy Roach a new toy if this pays well… his eyes shift to wander around the room and take note of the patrons. They’re the usual, grungy broke college kids and people with drinking problems. There’s an alarming overlap between the groups. Then, his eyes shift to where a single musician is setting up for live music.

He looks young; soft hair frames his boyish face with big blue eyes. He’s bright: bright smile, bright eyes, bright clothing- he wears a denim jacket with far too many buttons and patches stuck to it, a colorful floral T-shirt underneath, too tight black jeans, and are those white converse hand-painted with yet more flowers. The kids are still doing that?

Yet, as he begins to sing, Geralt can’t help but keep glancing at him. A song or two go by; his voice is lovely, deeper than he had expected, and it gets harder and harder to look away. It’s a ballad that really captures the witcher’s attention. It’s sad and lonesome, singing about longing for love. Something about it weighs heavy on his heart.

“They say love is mankind’s greatest joy/

But what if I can never find you?”

When the waitress comes by with his food, Geralt finds he doesn’t even glance at her, somehow transfixed by the young man’s singing. His singing is magical. Of course, Geralt knows it’s not literally magical, but it has been a long time since he’s felt drawn to someone like this- if ever.

The song ends and the singer shifts to something more upbeat, some attempted crowd-pleaser, and Geralt shakes the feeling off. He returns his focus to his meal, scrolling through mindless nothings on his phone.

--

When Jaskier finishes his last set, only a few claps can be heard throughout the bar. One asshole says a little too loudly “He’s finally done!”. He sighs in defeat, but this isn’t exactly the live music kinda bar. It’s… actually gross. The floors are awfully sticky. If only he could get a spot in one of the better venues in town, then maybe he could get a break. But music is competitive here.

None of that matters when his eyes lock on the mysterious and gorgeous man brooding in the corner of the bar. He seems to be the strong silent type, sitting alone with his food and an empty beer. He has long white hair, pulled half up. T-shirt under, leather jacket, and are those biker boots? He looks like trouble- no, he looks like danger and heartbreak, and exactly what Jaskier needs in his life.

The musician snags two beers off a waitress’s platter, ignoring her fussing as he moves in closer toward the man.

“As a musician, patrons are typically supposed to offer me free drinks, but I figured I’d make an exception this once.” He says, placing the darker beer in front of the man, hoping he got his preferences right.

He seems to ponder it for a moment, breathtaking golden eyes assessing the beer, then Jaskier. Finally, the man accepts it, taking a long drink before scooting his basket of French fries towards Jaskier “Would the starving artist like a fry?” His voice is deep and gravely and perfect.

“Who said I was starving?” He grins, though he does take a fry, quite happily.

The man ‘Hm’s at him, thoughtful, yet somehow playful “Must be if you’re playing in a dump like this.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier smiles- or, continues to smile. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

His companion doesn’t reply immediately, eventually responding “Geralt.”

“So, Geralt, you know I’m a starving artist. What do you do?”

That seems to entertain him as Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, a sly smirk on his face. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jaskier scrunches his eyebrows together “That’s why I’m asking?”

Geralt huffs amusedly “Call it security.”

“For shitty bars?”

“No.”

Jaskier fakes a pout, fluttering his eyelashes “Aw, and I had already been planning to come back to see you.” He watches as Geralt rolls his eyes- his golden… cat eyes. In the dim lighting of the bar, his pupils had been big enough to seem round, but Jaskier notices them contract slightly, forming something more adjacent to slivers. And suddenly, it makes sense. His hair, the medallion around his neck, the brooding- the musician gasps “You’re a witcher!” he says, almost giddy with excitement.

There’s nothing meek about Geralt in the slightest. Yet, for a moment he looks as though he wants to crawl under the table. It doesn’t bother Jaskier, though, who is nearly grinning ear to ear “Oh, how wonderful! Tell me everything,” he demands, leaning farther across the table.

Geralt gazes at him quizzically, actually surprised by his reaction “Not really supposed to share details with strangers.”

“Ah, you probably don’t want to talk about work, anyways. Perhaps another time,” he adds slyly. The witcher does not offer to redirect the conversation, seemingly content with his silence. Though, he doesn’t object when Jaskier snags more of his fries. The musician goes as far as leaning across the table to dip them in the little container of ketchup Geralt has sitting in front of him. That’s when he notices the squiggly outlines of black on Geralt’s arm, just barely showing under the cusp of his sleeve.

“Oh, you have tattoos,” Jaskier points out cheerily.

He had expected Geralt to offer to show him, but he only gets an affirmative “Hm,”

“I love tattoos!” he pushes “I only have a few myself, but I always want more. They’re addictive, you know. Can I see them?”

“Fine.” Geralt says as if it were a burden, but he sees him smirk, however subtle. Ah, so Jaskier chose the right topic, after all.

He watches a little too closely as Geralt shucks off the leather jacket. At first, Jaskier focuses on his muscles- gods he’s muscular. It almost looks like he’s going to rip his shirt, the way the fabric strains as he pushes off his jacket. But then, with his arms showing, Jaskier’s eyes freeze on the tattoos- the familiar arch-Griffin, his wolf with flowers, the swallow. Jaskier’s tattoos. And suddenly he feels like he can’t think, can’t process what’s going on. The sound of the bar patrons in the background all but drowns out to the pounding of his heartbeat.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it, then tries again. “Why didn’t you call me, you prick?!” Jaskier exclaims, nearly jumping over the table with the way he’s out of his seat in an instant, the chair making a loud squeak against the hard floor as a result. A few people turn to look at them, but he doesn’t notice.

He thought his plan was foolproof, thought for sure that his soulmate would call, and when they didn’t, the tattoos stopped too. It was the worst feeling Jaskier had ever experienced. He doesn’t know how long or how much he cried. He thought they might have died!

“Do you know I had to pay a hundred dollars to keep that phone number last time I switched phone providers? Just in case you called!” Jaskier fusses, though that really probably shouldn’t be what he’s most concerned about right now.

“What are you talking about?” Geralt asks, voice suddenly cold and harsh.

Jaskier rushes to push his jacket sleeves up, hands shaking with anticipation. However, when his tattoos, and heart, are finally bared to the witcher, he recoils.

“We’re soulmates, bounded by fate!” Jaskier beams, hoping his excitement will rub off on the other man. “I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

The words are flat and dull, said as though they weren’t crushing. Jaskier tries not to take it personally. A lot of people are frightened when they meet their soulmate. And- well, Geralt’s a witcher. They’re notorious for being loners.

Still, he pushes. “Come on, we’re connected for a reason.”

“No, we’re not” Geralt barks back with a frown. He’s on his feet in an instant, digging through his wallet and throwing down some bills on the table. He’s tall. Oh, heavens he’s even taller than Jaskier, only by a little, but his broadness makes it more obvious. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening before the witcher is walking away from him, strides heavy, confident, and broody. Of course, he got the broody one.

He doesn’t let his soulmate’s negativity deter him, though. Jaskier throws his guitar over his shoulder and scuttles after Geralt.

--

The cold night air should be refreshing. It should help him clear his mind but hearing the boy’s hurried footsteps and thundering heart behind him does little to calm Geralt. It had been fine, just a bit of non-committal flirting and a free beer until tattoos came into play. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Jaskier asked to see; it wasn’t the first time he’d had someone ask. He never expected to meet his ‘soulmate’ and especially not some college kid in a dive bar. If the adrenaline coming off Jaskier in tidal waves is anything to go by, he wasn’t expecting this either.

Speaking of the devil, Jaskier catches up with him, speaking much faster than before, all nerves and pent up energy. “Look, I’m not proposing to you right here and now. Hell, I’m not even asking you to hop back to my apartment for a celebratory romp- not that I would be opposed, regardless of the tattoos, but- oh, shit, you could be straight. Gods. I know it might be a lot. But we’re connected!”

“It’s just haphazard, faulty magic. Some people claim to see the future by sniffing cheese. Do you believe everything they say, too?” Geralt tries to reason with him- or with himself. He isn’t quite sure which one needs convincing more.

“I’m just asking to get to know you. As friends.”

“No. I don’t do friends.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve spent my whole life wondering who you are. I- gods it all makes sense now. You’re a witcher. You must be quite a bit older than me. I was born with a tattoo: the little wolf. My whole life I knew I had a soulmate, and all I ever wanted was to meet you, and now you’re pushing me away?!” his voice cracks on the last word, and Geralt feels the guilt shoot straight to his gut. “Just give me a chance.”

Geralt stops in his tracks, turning to face Jaskier. The sudden movement has the man tripping over his feet to come to a halt. “I’m sorry,” Geralt says finally.

Jaskier gawks at him, confusion evident on his face.

“If I had known, I would’ve never gotten all these tattoos. I’m sorry.” He reiterates “That must have been rough.”

“Is that why you stopped getting them after I got one?” Jaskier murmurs. The way he looks at Geralt with those round eyes makes his stomach churning. It’s like he can communicate every emotion so clearly through a glance- pain, hurt, hope… Geralt nods, and the rawness of the moment is gone in an instant, replaced by Jaskier’s confident prattling once more.

“While I admit, most people don’t start seeing tattoos until they’re in high school at the earliest, I never resented them. I adore them- really. I suppose I’m quite fortunate. You have fantastic taste in tattoos.” He grins

That makes Geralt smile, just in the slightest, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “I’m not the kind of person someone like you wants to be around.”

“But I do.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me. I want to change that. That’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt breathes in deeply, holding it in for a second before releasing and allowing the tension in his shoulders to subside. It's his habitual method of getting ahold of his stress, but it has the inadvertent effect of inundating him with Jaskier’s scent; he smells like flowers, a combination of some cologne and his naturally sweet smell, something Geralt wishes he didn’t notice.

What options does he really have? He’s already marked up the boy’s skin. What kind of man just walks away from that? He gets the feeling that if he did, it wouldn’t be the last he would see of Jaskier- seems like a persistent bugger. Maybe one conversation would sate his curiosity enough to drive him away.

Finally, he speaks “I have two hours, then I have to go to work. What did you have in mind?” Before Jaskier can open his mouth, he adds “Somewhere public.”

“Of course, of course- I would never threaten your honor.” Jaskier chuckles, “I know a place not too far from here that serves boozy milkshakes,” he offers.

“Fine.”

[regrettablewritings]

Do you do writing for The Witcher now? If so, can we please get some slate, teal, azure, and baby blue for Jaskier? Thank you!!!!!

I mean, I can try . . . Stuff below the cut!

Slate (How do they feel about the rain?): It depends on where he is. If he’s inside a nice, warm establishment (preferably the bed of a lovely lady), he’s quite content. A warm bed is the best place to be when it’s pouring out, after all. If he’s traveling, it’s . . . less than pleasant. Jaskier may try to find beauty in nature, but only really when it serves as inspiration for his work. Otherwise, he hates how gross and dreary it gets, and how it messes up his clothes. Adventurer or not, these threads are not cheap! Going back to how he uses nature to inspire him, however, if he’s inside but not with a paramour and left with little else to do, he’s probably dramatically gazing out the window, notebook in his lap, staring at the falling rain as though the droplets contain the lyrics to his next great song. (”Geralt, what rhymes with downpour?” “Attention whore.” “Very funny; the context is supposed to be melancholic.”)

Teal (How do they flirt?): Well, we’ve seen it: It’s not very good. There’s a reason people see him as a disaster. However, clearly he does well enough that he’s gained enemies all over for banging their wives, mothers, countesses, etc. I think the big determining factor is how much power he feels he can exert over them. Jaskier clearly has a type, and that type generally is dominant, intimidating, and often out of reach. He can usually skirt by with women considered out of reach or inappropriate to have and be pretty alright on that end. We can assume that the means he is able to even attract them are through his boyish looks and lovely singing voice. (Plus, I can imagine his slight awkwardness also has its charms to more maternal figures. Worst case scenario, they don’t like it and tell him to shut up. Which he will gladly try to do because let’s face it, Jaskier is a submissive switch if anything.) But then we see him trying to appeal to Téa and Véa: Sure, he doesn’t exactly bust out his singing chops, but it’s probably because he knows it’s not going to sway them. So he’s dead in the water and drowning in a sea of nervousness and also attraction, and probably masochistically loving every moment of it even though he continues to try and appeal to them. In short, if it’s someone whom he’s pretty sure he can have some hold over, his music and pretty boy features are his way in. And since they come so naturally to him, he barely considers it flirting. But if he’s posed against someone who won’t be swayed, he becomes awkward, his wordsmithing completely out the window and flying yonder, and he’s absolutely smitten.

Azure (Are the protective?): He tries to be, but Jaskier is without a doubt more of a lover than a fighter, even when he wants to actually fight. Which is just about never. The man knows he’s about as strong as a lone uncooked spaghetti noodle. That being said, he’s actually more protective on a mental and emotional front. He can’t throw fists for shit, but he can definitely put himself out there and point out to someone when they’re entangling themselves in a toxic situation. It comes off as being clingy (and, frankly, it actually is) and obnoxious, so many tend to brush him off. But if he cares about you, he genuinely does have your best interests in mind. If he thinks you ought to be kinder to yourself or play less to pessimism, he’ll say so. Granted, he’ll throw the words about like flower petals to seem more appealing. It has . . . varying effects.

Baby Blue (What Greek god/goddess are they most like?): Dear god, can I just, for this once, let Narcissus be considered a god? I mean, he’s a demigod, shouldn’t it count for something? This guy is an absolute peacock of a man! Though if not, I suppose he’s something closer to Apollo on the account of his youthful appearance, artistic endeavors, and association with brightness. Plus, if we’re to take into account how many children Apollo has sired, they match in horniness. Jaskier also seems to fit right in with being a Muse, particularly Calliope of epic poetry, Euterpe of music, and Erato of love poetry. These should be pretty obvious as to why, but if I had to choose amongst them all, it would probably have to be Euterpe because technically her music can encompass epics, love stories, and everything in between, much like what Jaskier does when he’s able to go from an epic recounting Geralt’s travels to love songs to downright bawdy tunes. (Plus, given that he’s a viscount who apparently hightailed it, I feel like he would enjoy the technical status of being a god, but because he is a minor one, his spotlight doesn’t have to be so intense and he can pretty much just go about doing as he pleases.)

Thank you very much!

[griimreaping]

@utternocries​ Lower chapter 2

Chapter 1

AO3 link

Once inside the cavernous walls of the manor, the persistent hum of Geralt's medallion changes pitch against his chest, and it has a rare reaction from The Witcher. It makes him slightly nervous. Their host still holds Jean with a vice-like grip against his side, strange bony fingers stroking her forearm. Watching this, Geralt wanted nothing more than to rip her away from that man and perhaps punch him for good measure. He can see the tension in her body; she'd said from the moment they walked up the front path that there was something off about this place.

Shivering shadows are cast through the meager lines of sunlight, which weakly shine through the thickets of vegetation covering all the windows. Faint tapping noises against the glass sound vaguely like a hoard of spirits trying to pour into the skeleton of the home. It chills Jean more than the pressing cold, which filled up the space around them like a presence. It breathes with her as they walk, and she wants nothing more than to look over her shoulder to try and see if Geralt is still there. Of course, the Witcher is still there, where else would he go? Yet that suggestion of going to wait back at the inn now seemed like an unobtainable hope, snuffed out by these dark stone halls. Who's to say that he too hadn't gotten swallowed up by the great maw of darkness that leered at them from every crevasse?

Turning a corner, the smell strikes both of them like a slap in the face. Geralt swallowing thickly, and Jean's chest shuddering momentarily for breath. If her arm weren't so tightly grasped in the governer's grip, then she would have clapped her hands to her mouth and nose to stifle the gag. For now, all she could do is put on as brave a face as the man behind her and hope that their host didn't think she is rude. For the way his eyes stared unblinkingly forward as he leads them through these dark and shuddering halls, Jean had a feeling that slight discrepancies could hold serious consequences.

A corpse. It reeked like a corpse had been left somewhere in these maze-like hallways and now festered behind a locked door. Perhaps the family's deaths that the letter had urgently spoken about were still left here, rotting for whatever beast roamed these halls. Or worse, left behind for the scraps picked off by the governor. Geralt clenches his molars together so hard his jaw creaks to try and focus on something other than that raw putrescence that forced its way into his lungs with every breath. Not even corpses in the battlefields and bogs smelled this bad. Then he noticed that the odor didn't seem to affect their host whatsoever. The man's vague smile still in place and those fingers clawing covetously against Jean's sleeve. He still hadn't blinked. The two chalk this up to the man possibly being used to his home's conditions at this point, maybe not even noticing the smell anymore. But that only raised more confusion about why he was subjecting himself to such abysmal circumstances willingly. With the amount that most political figures made in monthly allowances, he should be able to leave this place and take up residence at any inn or apartment in Novigrad at his leisure.

"Manners! My goodness, I've seemed to have misplaced mine. As you may know from the letter, I am Consulate August Clark and this is my immaculate abode. Of course, you are Witcher Geralt and Alchemist Jean, who are here to assist me with a matter of most urgent importance indeed. A matter of darkest dreams and malevolent specters." As August speaks, Jean has a very distinct feeling that the words are not coming from the man who guides them. Instead, his emancipated body was being used as some brand of meat puppet for the amusement of something far more sinister. Able to sneak a glance over her shoulder at where Geralt walked behind them, Jean knits her eyebrows together in worry, her expression conveying the foreboding that she knew he felt as well.

Startling when her attention turns back to their host, Jean finds those cold dead unblinking eyes boring into her from deep within August's sunken sockets. Thin skeletal fingers dig sharply into her arm as he leans in far too close, fetid breath wafting across his face as an insane little giggle bubbles up from the man's chest.

"Is that incorrect? Hm? Are you another set of imposters come here to my home only to bring pestilence and pain? There are no more nightmares you may give me specters I have already lived and endured them all at his behest. Now I only have the knowledge to give! This frail body grows weaker still as we dawdle here." Voice now high with madness as he babbles on Jean leans back away from the bruising grip trying to get free, before Geralt wraps a large hand around the governor's bicep and peels him off.

Tittering and giggling to himself as he takes a step back, August seems to be consumed with fits of laughter as if what he'd just done is a particularly good joke. Geralt smoothly pushes Jean behind him and out of the line of immediate fire as he eyes the man before them, a hand hovering over the hilt of his blade as he carefully responds,

"We are as we say, but you better state your actual intentions, or else we're leaving." Voice, even the underlying threat is still there, no more funny business. Even as she peers around Geralt's shoulder, Jean knows that whatever this madman had in store, it would probably be well worth the almost five thousand crowns he was paying them. That was more than a dozen contracts combined, but now it's the questions of what cost.

Witnessing a shudder go across August's face as if something is shifting uneasily beneath his skin, Geralt tries not to look disgusted. Features settling down into something akin to mild disappointment, the set in August's shoulders change. A sudden shift in personalities as whatever babbling creature that had possessed him a moment before dissipates.

"I was aware that Witcher's were testy but still. Amusing that you still think that leaving is an option with such a large sum on the table Witcher Geralt. Now come, I wish to have tea and discuss before we delve into dark matters." Tone crisp now, the former hysteria has vanished, leaving behind a cold governor who turns on his heel and begins to walk briskly away.

Placing a hand gently at the center of Geralt's back, Jean applies the smallest amount of pressure to get him to follow. Even feeling how nervous she was, he only hesitates for a heartbeat before following unless they would be left behind entirely in this dark labyrinth of hallways.

"There will be additional compensation for my behaviors. I realize now that I have not been the most gracious of hosts to you both, and for that, I sincerely apologize." August continues to speak, not even turning his head to look at the pair as they trail at a cautious distance. Staying behind Geralt, Jean can take in their surroundings without the clutching fingers of August prying at her arm like he was trying to peek back her skin.

Crypt-like coldness seeps into her bones, only exacerbated by the persistent whispers that still beckon her from outside the narrow windows. With so much plant life covering up every spare inch of space on the building, the interior is cast in an almost constant breathing darkness that's beaten back by weak candlelight from interspersed tables along the stone hall. Leering down at them from the walls, rows of massive canvases depicting tortured battle scenes, or the stern faces of what could only be August's relatives watch them pass. Jean could have sworn their heads turned to follow them down the hall. She didn't look at the paintings anymore

Turning left at a forked hallway, Jean had begun to lag behind the pair of men, who were forging through the darkness ahead. Glancing right at the fork, she spots a large iron door. It's studded surface like a slab of night cut into the silvery stone wall.

"Come home." The voice, almost blending in with the rest of the whispers, which were white noise to the Druid at this point, slices through into her consciousness like a blade. Her mother's voice rooting the woman to the spot, she stares aghast into the murky shadows. It's just a trick of the mind, too much plant life around the Druid rises to justify it to herself even as feet haul her closer to the door. A low ringing in her ears blots out everything else except for the loud rush of her pulse, muffling the retreat of August and Geralt's footsteps as they continue. August back to prattling on bits of madness while the Witcher listens, trying to pick out significant bits that would make some sense to them.

"Come home." Again? Once is a coincidence, twice... Jean's fingers land on the ice-cold doorknob, and a shuffling of something immensely heavy slides across the other side of the door.

"I can't." Responding in a whisper to the thing on the other side of the iron, Jean presses her cheek against the metal and feels it breathe. How many times had she told herself that there was no home to come back to? Only ashes and scorched land that now laid as a smudge next to that glassy black lake their house had crouched beside. The same one that her mother forbid her from going close to. She couldn't remember the explanations they'd given her as a child about the odd shadows that would bubble under the surface, or the hooded figures that gathered on the other shore and her father had to chase off. The same figures that were hiding in the back of the mob that came to-

"Come in." A clatter of metal and a dry sigh of musty mildewed air wafts across the Druid as the door swings silently inward. Before her, a long set of stairs descend into the void. Alabaster white stones, expertly carved going lower, lower, and lower still before disappearing. Calling the Druid down into the unfathomable depths with a voice so much like her mothers. Jean takes the first step and vanishes into the darkness.

[thisyearingaming]

2011 - This Year in Gaming

Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective - Nintendo DS, January 11th

A quirky adventure game where you are fucking dead, and you gotta work out who killed you. Ghost Trick is like Ace Attorney at first glance - it looks similar, and is made by effectively the same development team. Give it a shot on iOS.

Dead Space 2 - Multiplatform, January 25th 

Dead Space 2 was the undisputed king of alien horror until Alien: Isolation released. Yeah, you battle massive acid-spitting aliens, but it’s the necromorph babies you’re gonna be shit-scared of. It isn’t quite as unique as it’s predecessor, but it’s definitely much better to play. Bring your brown pants.

The Nintendo 3DS Releases - March 27th

The 3DS was like magic when you first fired the 3D slider all the way up - then it became a gimmick you never used again. Releasing with a few decent launch titles and being able to boast Street Fighter IV as playable, the 3DS arguably didn’t really pick up much steam until a few months after launch. While more powerful than the original DS which was six years old at the time, I can’t remember being particularly interested in it at the time.

Portal 2 - Multiplatform, April 19th 

Valve’s final single player experience until their jump into VR was a bloody good one - very funny and amusingly written with the best Steve Merchant performance since The Ricky Gervais Show, Portal 2′s puzzle solving adventure is rarely a chore to play through, and has thousands of custom maps courtesy of the Steam community.

L.A. Noire - Multiplatform, May 17th

Rockstar’s foray into adventure games has stood the test of time as an enjoyable and often startling journey nto the seedy underbelly of 1947 Los Angeles - as Cole Phelps you’ll threaten a Jewish man with the gas chamber, arrest a paedophile instead of a clearly guilty father, quote Hamlet to a prop skull at the scene of a car crash, destroy thousands of dollars of property, and yell at a child whose mother’s just been murdered. Great fun!

The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings - Windows 

CDPR hit it out of the park with a fantastically improved sequel to 2007′s Eurojank diamond in the rough The Witcher, and really introduce Geralt of Rivia to more people for the first time with this game. A branching story that sees Geralt hunting Letho, the killer of King Foltest, and allying either with smelly hippy elven leader Iorveth and his terrorists who don’t appear in the sequel or the very cool but quite racist Vernon Roche and his special forces group, who are supporting characters in the sequel.

Alice: Madness Returns - Multiplatform, June 14th

A surprisingly charming, unsettling dive into the fractured psyche of the Victorian equivalent of an actual goth gf, Alice is a sequel to American McGee’s Alice from 2000. Surreal as fuck and absolutely drowning in atmosphere. Just don’t look at any of the YouTube comments on videos of the soundtrack. Rather bizarre show...

Duke Nukem Forever - Multiplatform, June 14th

Sometimes it’s best NOT to bet on the Duke. I bought this game to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and I did neither - DNF is fucking boring, and I blame it ALL on Randy Pitchford’s devotion to ruining things I like. DNF could’ve been brilliant - either embrace your heritage like Doom Eternal would eventually do, or make it into a “last hurrah” kind of thing where Duke realises he’s getting old and can’t kick ass forever. The greatest disappointment of the 2010s so far - but worse would follow with it. The King is dead - hail to the King, baby.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution - Multiplatform, August 23rd

The piss-tinted prequel to 2000′s excellent conspiracy RPG Deus Ex, Human Revolution is like smashing Robo-Cop into a world where Detroit is not a humanitarian disaster zone. Adam Jensen, the gravelly-voiced biomechanically enhanced security chief of David Sarif, is dragged into a world of American conspiracies involving FEMA death camps, the government enforcing martial law in US cities and massive Chinese conglomerates plotting to control the world. Just like real life! DXHR is my favourite in the series for its design, atmosphere and narrative.

Dead Island - Multiplatform, September 6th

Eh. Wasn’t that good. Notable for having the most misleading fucking trailer since Metal Gear Solid 2, but nowhere near as fulfilling upon release. An open world zombie survival game with a focus on melee weapons more fragile than your granny’s second hip. Oh great, now there’s a dead kid on my page. Thanks, Techland!

Driver: San Francisco - Multiplatform, September 6th

A game you literally can’t buy anymore, DSF was incredible to play when it came out and has only really gotten better with time. It’s still so unique for a driving game that I’m surprised Ubisoft have had the good sense to just leave it and not go pants-on-head retarded with the franchise since. Nick Robinson had to buy Subway gift cards just to purchase this game. 

Batman: Arkham City - Multiplatform, October 18th

Arkham City was so cool at launch and it still is today. A proper Batman epic with twists, turns, and the most addictive combat arena for years. This whole thing is gold from start to finish, except for the Harley Quinn DLC. I can’t even go into detail about it here, but I fucking LOVE this game.

Sonic Generations - Multiplatform, November 1st

Sonic Generations is the best Sonic game since 3 & Knuckles, but has now unfortunately convinced Sega that not only do people despise the Adventure games, they also really want to see Classic Sonic and Green Hill EVERY GODDAMN DAY. Generations is like a proper celebration of Sonic’s history, even including stuff from every reviewer’s favourite punching bag Sonic 2006 - I really like Generations and it has a stellar modding scene on PC.

Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception - Sony PlayStation 3, November 1st

The “finale” of the Uncharted series until Naughty Dog decided it wasn’t. Uncharted 3 may not be as tight as Among Thieves, but it’s just as enjoyable. As quipping invincible action hero Nathan Drake, you’ll ruin historical artifacts and “incapacitate” about 4000 guys in your quest to find Iram of the Pillars, chased by Cruella de Ville and her mercenary squad of a million faceless Englishmen. 

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 - Multiplatform, November 8th

God I was so excited for this. World War 3 never looked cooler, and then it came out - and it wasn’t that good. It didn’t feel as epic as MW2, not as well-written as MW, and not as interesting as World at War and Black Ops. Multiplayer was... fine? I think this is the point where most people realised that Call of Duty was basically downhill from here.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - Multiplatform, November 11th

See this paragraph? You can read it. Another installment in Bethesda’s cross-franchise “Little Lies” series, Skyrim has been released more times than China’s created a pandemic. But it’s still really good and when you rub it the right way it comes all over your screen like a particularly excited storyteller, ready to point in the direction of adventure.

Super Mario 3D Land - Nintendo 3DS, November 13th

Yeah this was the point I decided I wanted a 3DS. It looked incredible and so fluid, and it really was! Playing this was great fun. That’s really all there is - I can’t be funny about it, nor overly critical. What do you want from me?

Assassin’s Creed: Revelations - Multiplatform, November 15th 

I didn’t like this when it came out - I thought the new graphic style was bad, Constantinople was dull, and the music was too different. Ezio was angrier, older, and the complete lack of any supporting cast from Brotherhood had me thinking this was a game that nobody wanted to work on - but now that I’m older, I can see this for how good it really was. Revelations blends the Ezio and Altair stories together, culminating in a satisfying emotional climax. 

Saints Row: The Third - Multiplatform, November 15

This video speaks for itself.

Minecraft - Windows, November 18th

There’s something beautiful about those early builds of Minecraft. Quiet, unassuming, and riddled with potential for exploration. I could talk for hours about the first time I was thrown into Mojang’s survival experience, about how I still get a bit weepy hearing Wet Hands by C418, about how shit-scared I still am of the mines and caves. Minecraft is immortal, and always will be. 

[gridelincarver]

For the Witcher asks, 1, 5, 7, 9, 30, 32, 33, 38, 39

omg posi thats a lot but ill do it !! thank u!

(questions are from this ask meme)

1.  What’s your favourite monster? ah fuck this is a hard one, leshens probably have the coolest aesthetic i won’t lie but i also really like the cool winged but still scaly and terrifying siren/ekhidna design in the witcher games!!!!  i always had trouble reconciling the bird creature sirens from greek mythology with the fucking awesome marine sirens that drag u to your death and i think the ones in witcher 3 look fucking awesome and i love their movement patterns

5.  Did you free the Tree Spirit? YES i always free the tree spirit, like to me all those books praising the crones (and the whole village of downwarren) are definitely a culty thing & freeing the orphans and seeing them later in novigrad is what i always do, because to me any dent to the power of the crones is a good move.  i do wish that if you free the children and downwarren dies then there would actually be an effect later in the game where the crones are weaker bc they dont have their worshippers, food, and ears.

7.  What did you do “in the Heart of Woods” and “the Nithing”? uhh for these i did a different ending on each playthrough! for the leshen im still a little conflicted bc the ethics of that quest are sooo interesting and i dont quite know what i’ll do in the next one, but for the nithing i feel like its not really a witcher’s job to kill a person for being so petty like when ppl are the monsters they just need to work their shit out jfc

9.  What is your favourite main quest and why? ...a am i allowed to say blood and wine ?  if not, i actually really like all the character moments in Ugly Baby (specifically the forktail and trial of the medallion subquests) where ur like bonding with eskel and lambert, it really endeared me to the characters and i love those wolf bois now.  i also really like through time and space!! i think avallac’h is an interesting character so

30.  What happened to Syanna? ok so technically i did do one playthrough of b&w where i saved at some critical forks and went through every ending.  HOWEVER i mean posi. u know me. she’s dead and i let our boy dettlaff go (literally like.... i think 3-4 times now...)

32.  How do you feel about Gaunter O’Dimm? he’s a lil bitch. a manipulative and intelligent one but still a bitch.  like seriously you have THAT much power and all u do is fuck w people’s lives to take their souls? get a HOBBY bro

33.  How do you feel about the Wild Hunt? i think it’s really interesting in the sense of Eredin being consumed by his knowledge of the apocalypse (like the white frost) and letting it turn him into a desperate person who doesn’t care about the losses as long as there’s a chance he can relocate his people, but the other thing is in the game you don’t really ever get an opportunity to talk or anything so even though the backstory and thought process is cool as a villain its just like “ooo creepy armor guys gotta kill em” you know??? also i think its SOO fucking funny that theyre not actually wraiths they’re literally just dramatic-ass elves in fucking massive skeleton plate mail with voice changers like wow... drama queens

38.  On what difficulty level do you play? I’ve actually played on all difficulties!  my first two playthroughs were on story & sword (normal), and i recently started two deathmarch playthroughs (one from scratch, one NG+).  when i start a game to just do HoS or B&W i generally do blood and broken bones, and when i stream blood & wine with my friends so they know the plot and can fall in love w regis and dettlaff i play on just the story (easy) bc the fight scenes rly arent that engaging when ur just watching ur friend do it (and also it’s laggy and difficult to fight bc streaming)

39.  What did/would you do differently in your second playthrough? well my first playthrough i romanced triss just so geralt wouldnt be alone and then in my second one i was like FUCK that nobody here is good for geralt emotionally. regis is his husband. thanks and goodnight i do not take constructive criticism. (also in my first game i played b&w before finishing the main plot bc i was so excited to unlock the last area of the map and ended up like riding up to the wild hunt battle at level 50 with tesham mutna armor it was wack, so now i do the main plot and HoS before doing b&w) otherwise i mostly dont change much bc i kinda am That Person who looks stuff up on the wiki so even in my first playthrough i generally picked all the major decisions that i knew i would stand by hahaha

this was actually super fun to do thank u posi !!!!!