#if someone could help me to get the geralt doppler

[ilonavic]

♕ Favorite green-eyed Elven conquerer: Eredin Bréacc Glas.

And this time I went out of my way to do this for the dearest @cirillach​, but luckily for you I have more Eredin up my sleeve coming soon. (hint: it may or may not be ciredin content)

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it. 

 They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

[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.

[bamf-jaskier]

I’m reading a non-canon short story written by Andrzej Sapkowski about Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding called Something Ends, Something Begins and my heart is literally so full. Even Asaps has to get tired of having so much angst so this short story is a literal fluff-fest and I love it so much. 

So I thought I would share some of my favorite quotes from the story and if you all want to read it, here is the link. 

"One day she'll break her neck," growled Yennefer, watching Ciri galloping in the splashing water, bent, firm in the stirrups. "One day your crazy daughter will break her neck."

Geralt turned his head and without a word looked into the sorceress's violet eyes.

"All right, then," smiled Yennefer, without averting her eyes. "Sorry, our daughter."

She hugged him again, pressing herself against him firmly, bit him in the arm again, kissed him, and bit him once more. Geralt touched her hair with his lips and carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

I am literally...I swear, we finally get domestic Yenralt and it isn’t even in the canon universe. I am literally going to fight someone. This is so damn cute and the way Yennefer is like “our daughter” my goddamn heart. 

The list of the guests wasn't that long. The engaged couple compiled it together and charged Dandelion with sending the invitations. Soon it turned out that the troubadour lost the list before he could even read it. Because he was ashamed to confess, he used a cheap trick and invited whomever he could. Of course he knew Geralt and Yennefer well enough that he didn't miss anyone important, but it wouldn't have been him if he didn't enrich the list of the guests by an admirable number of quite random persons.

Why does it just make sense that Dandelion would fuck this up? It’s so in-character, putting him in charge of the guest list was the first mistake. 

No one invited the golden dragon Villentretenmerth, because no one knew how to invite him and where to look for him. To the general astonishment the dragon turned up, of course incognito, in the form of the knight Borch Three Jackdaws. Of course, where Dandelion was present, one could not speak of any incognito, but even so few believed when the poet pointed at the curly-haired knight and claimed it was a dragon.

The image of Dandelion just pointing at this dude and yelling “He’s a dragon!” is fucking hilarious, especially when you consider most people don’t know dragons can shapeshift. 

"Was it you who invited

Triss Merigold?

"No," the witcher shook his head and silently praised the fact that the mutation of his blood system didn't allow him to blush.

"Not me. I think it was Dandelion, even though all of them claim to have learned about the wedding from the magical crystals."

"I don't want Triss to be present on my wedding!"

"But why? She's your friend."

"Don't make a fool out of me, witcher! Everyone knows you slept with her!"

"That's not true."

Yennefer's violet eyes narrowed dangerously.

"It is true."

"Is not!"

"It is!"

"All right," he turned around angrily. "It is true. So?"

The sorceress was quiet for a moment, playing with the obsidian star on the black velvet ribbon around her neck.

"Nothing," she said at last. "I just wanted you to admit it. Never try to lie to me, Geralt. Ever."

I love the little bickering. Also, like, even though Triss and Yennefer are friends try valid of her to not want her at the wedding. She slept with Geralt!! Love how Geralt tries to deny it at first but gives up ten seconds later. Geralt really tried to pull the “just friends” card and Yennefer was having NONE of it. 

The doppler accused Villentretenmerth of racism, chauvinism and lack of knowledge on the discussion's topic. Therefore, the insulted Villentretenmerth changed for a moment into his natural dragon form, destroying several pieces of furniture and causing a general panic. When the situation calmed down, a fierce quarrel began, in which humans and non-humans accused each other of lack of open-mindedness and racial tolerance. 

A quite unexpected twist in the discussion came from the freckled Merle, the whore who didn't look like a whore. Merle announced that the whole debate was stupid and pointless and didn't concern true professionals, who don't dinstinguish between such things, which she was willing to prove on the spot (for an adequate reward, of course), even with the dragon Villentretenmerth in his natural form. 

In the silence that fell abruptly in that instant they heard the female medium proclaim that she's willing to do the same, and for free. Villentretenmerth quickly changed the topic and began discussing safer topics, such as economics, politics, hunting, fishing and gambling.

Everything about this sequence is perfect, absolutely prime. Dragons and Dopplers fighting, Merle saying she would fuck a dragon in dragon form. This has EVERYTHING. 

"I'll get going right after the feast," Ciri repeated. 

"I want... I want to feel the wind in my face on the back of a galloping horse again. I want to see the stars on the horizon again, I want to whistle Dandelion's ballads at night. I'm longing for a fight, the dance with a sword, I'm longing for the risk, for the delight victory brings me. And I'm longing for solitude. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," Geralt smiled sadly. "Of course I understand you, Ciri. You're my daughter, you're a witcher. You'll do what you must. But I must tell you one thing. One thing. You can't run away forever, even though you'll always try."

"I know," she replied and cuddled herself closer to him. "I still have hope that one day... If I wait, if I'm patient, then I, too, perhaps will live such a beautiful day like this... Such a nice day... Even though..."

"What, Ciri?"

"I've never been pretty. And with that scar..."

"Ciri," he cut her off. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Right after Yen, of course."

"Oh, Geralt..."

"If you don't believe me, ask Dandelion."

"Oh, Geralt."

Ciri telling Geralt she wants to travel and move on is just heartbreaking but it makes sense. She has more adventures to go on. Geralt’s story is ending. Hers is beginning. Also Ciri feeling insecure about her appearance and Geralt being a good dad and comforting her? Amazing. 

"I have unfinished business there," she hissed. "For Mistle. For my Mistle. Even though I avenged her, but for Mistle one death is not enough."

Bonhart, he thought. She killed him out of hatred. Oh, Ciri, Ciri. You're standing on the edge of an abyss, daughter. Not a thousand deaths would avenge your Mistle. Beware of hatred, Ciri, it consumes like cancer.

"Watch out for yourself," he whispered."I'd rather watch out for others," she smiled ominously. "It pays off more, it works better in the long run."

I will never see her again, he thought. If she leaves, I will never see her again.

"You will," she answered unexpectedly and smiled with a smile of a sorceress, not of a witcher. "You will, Geralt."

When Geralt asks what Ciri plans to do on her travels she literally says: I am going to avenge my dead girlfriend and murder some people. Which is not a healthy coping mechanism but damn if the idea of a gay revenge story doesn’t sound good to read. 

The priestesses Iola and Eurneid also sobbed, when Yennefer refused to put on the white wedding dress they had made for her. Not even Nenneke's mediation helped. Yennefer cursed, threw around hexes and dishes, while repeating that she looks like a fucking virgin in white. 

The enraged Nenneke began yelling, too, and told the sorceress that she behaved worse than three fucking virgins at once. Yennefer responded by conjuring a ball of lightning and demolishing the roof of the corner tower, which had its good side, too. The crash was so terrible that Caldemeyn's daughter got shock from it and her diarrhea stopped.

Once again, this scene has EVERYTHING. Yennefer getting so pissed it demolishes a tower. The shaking being so bad it stops diarrhea. Also, why does Asaps use diarrhea so often in his books? You know what, I don’t want to know. 

Triss Merigold and the witcher Eskel from Kaer Morhen, were seen again, sneaking, arms linked, into the garden summerhouse.

Is that...IMPLIED TRISSKEL?? OKAY THEN. All the Trisskel friends out there: They hooked up at Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding I don’t make the rules. 

"Yen..."

She looked breathtaking. Black wavy locks, curled up with a golden tiara, fell in a shining cascade over her shoulders and the high collar of a long white brocade dress with black-striped sleeves, pulled together on a bodice with countless drapes of lilac ribbons.

"Flowers, don't forget the flowers," warned Triss Merigold, all in dark blue, and handed a bouquet of white roses to the bride. "Oh, Yen, I'm so happy..."

"Triss, darling," sobbed Yennefer all of a sudden, upon which both sorceresses embraced and kissed the air around their ears and diamond earrings.

"Enough of those endearments," ordered Nenneke, smoothing the folds on her snow-white priestess dress. "We're going to the chapel. Iola, Eurneid, hold her dress, or she'll kill herself on the stairs.

Triss and Yennefer’s friendship is so sweet sometimes. Like, they would literally murder each other but they would also murder FOR each other too. 

Yennefer approached Geralt and with a hand in a white lace glove she straightened the collar of his black cloak, embroidered with silver. Geralt offered her an arm.

"Geralt," she whispered into his ear. "I still can't believe it."

"Yen," he answered her in a whisper. "I love you."

"I know."

I don’t know is Asaps is purposefully referencing Star Wars here but either way this had me tearing up. Geralt and Yennefer deserve a happy ending and even if it’s not officially canon the author wrote it so this is canon in my head. 

The wedding was splendid. Ladies and maidens cried collectively. Herwig was the master of ceremony, a former king, but still a king. Vesemir from Kaer Morhen and Nenneke stood in as parents of the betrothed couple, Triss Merigold and Eskel as witnesses. 

Okay but why is Asaps sneaking in the Trisskel? I want more of it and this pairing definitely intrigues me. Also Vesemir and Nenneke as their parents? That’s so damn sweet. I swear to fuck this entire short story is too damn cute and I want more of it. 

I cannot stress how much I love the energy Merle brings to the table. Saying she would straight up fuck a dragon. The power of it all. 

[witcher-and-his-bard]

What’s Mine Is Yours (To Leave or Take)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): a/b/o, intersex omegas, accidental pregnancy, mpreg (see ao3 for full list of tags) Rating: explicit

Chapter: 4

•  prev | next •  WMIY Masterpost

Fic Summary: Geralt has knows since the trials that, unlike other omegas, he will never become pregnant, never raise pups and live a normal life. But after a close call finds him and Jaskier in bed together, he discovers he was wrong about that assumption.

[read it on ao3]

@writinglizards I can’t help with your work issues, but I can offer you a bonus chapter in the hopes that it helps your night get a teeny bit better ❤

Travelling without Jaskier is… weird, to say the least. It's quiet and Geralt's not sure how he got by without Jaskier in the evenings to fill the silence. But he goes on, as usual, heading toward Lyria and the contract. The road is long and it's been years since he's been this far East, so it's unfamiliar to him and takes him longer than he'd like to get anywhere.

The kingdom is beyond the mountains, so Geralt makes his way through the pass, skirting around Vengerberg, and arriving early in the evening. As soon as he introduces himself, Geralt is escorted to the king's receiving room, still dusty from the road, tired and grouchy. The only thing he's grateful for is the way the King's advisor winks at him conspiratorily and assures him she'll find him a room with a bath. If he wasn't so relieved, he might be upset that she's taunting him, but she smiles kindly and her scent doesn't offer anything but sincerity so Geralt trusts her - as well as he trusts any nobles or their guards.

Even when Geralt is brought before the king, he finds his attention wandering. He taps his fingers against his leg impatiently, eyes flicking away to the window. He doesn't feel ill, per se, but he feels off and he'd like to get to this room and rest as soon as possible. But the king awaits him, sitting atop an ornate throne and Geralt resists the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. He doesn't have the time for people who waste money on chairs of gold while their people work themselves to exhaustion in the fields. Still, he bows in greeting and keeps his tone polite.

"Witcher," the king says and Geralt grits his teeth at the name.

"King Casimir. I saw your notice back in Vizima, perhaps I could be of some assistance." Suddenly, Geralt's stomach rolls and he bites it back, just barely refraining from leaning on the nearest table.

"I certainly hope so," the king says gruffly, "whatever this creature is, it's invaded the castle."

"Why don't we sit down and you can tell me more, give me some idea of what I'm up against."

"I haven't hired you yet," the king reminds him as though Geralt isn't very aware that everything he does is at the pleasure of someone else. Right now, he doesn't care, he just wants to get off his feet.

"Of course, your majesty."

Geralt barely even grumbles when he says the words and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the advisor barely concealing a grin. Geralt follows the king to a door at the side of the room, inside of which there is a table with many chairs around it. He waits for the king to sit, then takes his own seat when directed to.

"I suppose we'd best get on with it," the king mutters, "there's something killing my people, Witcher, and I want it dealt with."

"Of course. How many victims have there been so far?"

"Only three, but one was my cook. Everyone has been on edge."

"No doubt. Tell me about the bodies, what did they look like?" The king just stares blankly at him, evidently offended that Geralt thinks he might lower himself to tending to the victims himself. This time Geralt really does roll his eyes. "Then I'll have to speak to whoever found the bodies and whoever tended to them afterward. But first, payment."

"I'll pay you whatever it takes to get this beast out of my home."

"If it's inside the castle, it's probably something that can change shape - vampire, werewolf, maybe a doppler if they were under someone's influence. I won't take less than 300 Gulden for that. More, if it gives me trouble."

"Yes, yes, just deal with it."

Geralt sighs internally but agrees. He's eager to get to it or to get to his room so he can bathe and relax because the not-quite-right feeling is getting stronger. But the king calls in a servant to draft up a contract and Geralt is forced to wait about half an hour before it's finished and he can sign it and leave.

When he's finally allowed to leave, the advisor shows him to his room - a large one, as promised, with a bath in one corner, already filled and streaming. Geralt sighs with relief and the advisor smiles and bids him goodnight. Geralt's shoulders slump as the door shuts behind him. He wishes, not for the first time, that Jaskier was with him. He wants someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of, but more than that he aches for the feeling of Jaskier's fingers in his hair as he soaps it up. Maybe it's just because Geralt isn't feeling like himself and Jaskier is a comfort to him, but he suspects it's more than that.

He strips down quickly and climbs into the tub, sinking up to his chest in warm water and sighing contentedly. For the first time since he parted with Jaskier, Geralt is able to relax, if only for a moment. He considers what the king said to him and makes a mental list of people he has to speak to, but that can wait until the morning. If it's a vamp, it's not going anywhere and he will be able to hear it if it's around tonight - if it's a werewolf, he has two days until the next full moon so he's not in a rush.

Geralt washes his hair and slides his hands down his stomach, rinsing the sweat from his skin. But his gut clenches as he slides lower, a reminder of how long it's been since he's enjoyed anyone's company, how badly he misses it. Maybe if he just… jerks off really quickly. He doesn't have to drag it out, just a quick wank to cut the tension, the irritability that seems to be creeping up on him. But as soon as he touches his cocklet, already firming up under his fingers, he knows it won't just be quick.

Already he's remembering Jaskier's body against him, his hands on him and he wants that feeling again, or wants as close to it as he can get. He's not thinking when he slides down and pushes two fingers into his cunt, when he shifts and spreads his legs to find that particular spot that makes him crazy for it. He's working off memory alone; Jaskier's lips, his hands, his cock. Jaskier buried deep in his cunt, whispering soft praise in his ear as he fucks him. Gods, he wants him.

Geralt shuts his eyes, lips parting instinctively as his own body and its movements fade, replaced by the truly lifelike fantasy.

Fantasy-Jaskier crawls up between his legs, hands on the tub on either side of his shoulders and Geralt shudders at the thought of him. Jaskier dips down, mouthing at the side of his neck and Geralt tips his head to the side as if he was really there, making space for Jaskier to mouth at his throat. His memory is so strong, Geralt can practically smell him, the thick scent of citrus and spice now muted by Jaskier's arousal. It engulfs Geralt, makes him as brainless and wanting as if Jaskier was right there with him.

When his fingers push deeper, he imagines Jaskier's cock sliding into him, wonders vaguely if he could get his whole hand inside him - would it feel like Jaskier's knot? Would it be as good? Fuck, he wants to try.

He's fucking himself in earnest, one hand sliding over his cocklet while the other thrusts into him and there's a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he calls, startlingly breathless already.

"Irena. The advisor," comes the response, "the serving ladies would like to have a word with you."

"About the monster?" Geralt grunts, slowing his motions but not stopping. The Advisor has a lovely voice, he might even be inclined to invite her in, under different circumstances, but when she answers in the affirmative, Geralt just groans to himself, stroking his cocklet a few more times before stopping altogether. He's not sure what's gotten into him, what's making him so damn horny.

"Alright," he relents, frustrated, "just let me get dressed."

The serving girls are surprisingly helpful. They tell of a large looming creature, which doesn't really rule out any of his theories, but they do recall seeing claw marks on the floor in the cook’s room when they went to fetch him the morning he was discovered. Without seeing the marks himself - or the body - Geralt can't make a firm guess, but it does narrow down his possibilities. Claws mean most likely a vampire or werewolf. He's not delighted at the prospect of fighting either, with the way he's feeling, but he'd rather a beast attacking of its own volition than a doppler forced into servitude.

By the time Geralt falls into bed that night, he's exhausted and any thoughts of continuing what he started in the bath are quickly discarded. He's still feeling a little pent up, or maybe it's just the adjustment to not having Jaskier with him at all times. Geralt falls asleep quickly, and wakes early, spending the majority of his morning and afternoon questioning anyone who's been in the castle in the last month.

He's leaning into the werewolf theory, having pieced together that the last attack took place during a full moon (and there hasn't been another since). The younger servants are terrified and don't want anything to do with Geralt or the monster, but many of the older ones are willing to help if it gets rid of the beast. Soon, Geralt finds himself down in the dungeon face to face with the last victim.

His wounds are very clearly from a werewolf, which is both good and bad for Geralt. Good because the full moon is tomorrow but bad because it means he only has the one chance to kill it - or more likely, he only has a day to find out who it is to try and cure them. The king had implied that it had to be someone working in the keep because they had free reign of the castle, so that makes Geralt’s job easier, but that's still a lot of people.

Then, just when Geralt thinks he's finally getting somewhere, his body turns on him.

[threephasebird]

Listen I can’t stop thinking about an AU where the plot of The Witcher plays out as a really long session of Dungeons and Dragons. Yennefer and Geralt (who take their adventures seriously, thank you very much) are really annoyed when Triss announces that she has invited someone to join their group for a test run  because what if he sucks? What if he screws up this whole plot line they’ve been building up to for months? Triss just shrugs because she’s the DM and -- to be completely honest -- feels like their group could do with an addition. It’s just...hard sometimes to actually progress the plot when Geralt always take five hours to loot every room and “secure the perimeter” and Yen always leaves Geralt’s paladin to do the boring monster fighting while her warlock ends up in side quests Triss has to make up on the spot (it’s incredibly charming, but Triss wouldn’t say that out loud). Granted, Ciri’s barbarian brings some badly needed chaos to their adventures from time to time, but Yen and Geralt usually still manage to stay 100% on track and in character. And that guy who asked her if he could join (or, rather, he practically invited himself) -- well, not only does he buy bouqets in Triss’s flower shop twice a week, but he also serenated her once with his guitar when he spotted her on the underground, so he’s bound to be fun in a D&D session.

Cue Jaskier showing up in Triss’s apartment for their next session and Yen and Geralt simultaneously narrow their eyes because of course he not only plays a bard, no, he plays a bard who can play the lute AND the bagpipes and puts way too much emphasis on his intimidation stats. Ciri, in turn, loves it. Yen and Geralt probably end up five rooms behind while Jaskier and Ciri rush ahead with their strategy being something along the lines of Triss: “You open the door to a dark room” -- Ciri: “I go directly into battle rage” -- Jaskier: “I say ‘Anyway, here’s Wonderwall’, shred the chords on my lute and scream at the top of my lungs to intimidate whatever is inside”. And the thing is, Geralt is so fucking charmed by that. So charmed indeed that he doesn’t pick up on Triss telling him several times to, please, just roll for perception, and ends up walking alone right into a nest full of undead, and then, to top it all off, Jaskier saves the campaign by doing some wild bullshit with his lute, charisma, a bluff, and a nerve-wrecking sequence of alternatingly rolling ones and twenties. Yen is begrudgingly impressed but still votes against letting him join permanently on principle. She’s overruled.

So it becomes a permanent thing, and Ciri is so here for that because seriously, her dad and his friends need to have some fun from time to time and to be quite honest, so does she, and Jaskier constantly entangles the group in the most absurd tangent adventures. (Triss: “You enter the dragon’s lair.” Jaskier: “I tear my shirt open and let out a feral scream.” Triss, sipping ice tea with a straw: “Roll for intimidation.”) Yen’s warlock constantly makes snide remarks against Jaskier’s bard (Jaskier: “18.” Triss: “The dragon retreats further into the cave, seemingly scared of your naked torso.” Yen: "Valid of him.”), but then after one session, they end up on Triss’s balcony sharing a bottle of wine and realising they actually get along really well. (Their characters still hate each other because they both thrive on playing out petty insults -- “The crows feet are new”). Meanwhile, Triss is pining even harder for Yen because she’s so quick when it comes to solving her riddles and always has an unconventional suggestion for how they should progress (and once or twice nearly lets the entire party die in order to get to some treasure). And then Triss gives her bunny slippers for her birthday as a joke because she always shows up at her place in a full on goth look and those shoes can’t be comfortable, and Yen ends up wearing them every time, and Triss needs all of her focus to think about the campaign and not about how cute she is. And then Yen and Jaskier are yelling insults at each other again and normally, she would interrupt, but Triss is too absorbed by the flush and genuine joy on Yen’s face and -- yeah, fuck.

And Geralt... well, for starters, he has to admit that the game sometimes moves too fast for him now with Jaskier and Ciri venturing off constantly and Yen’s character becoming increasingly chaotic (and ruthless), but it’s fun, and he could probably follow along better if he wasn’t constantly distracted by how Jaskier beams when he rolls a twenty and laughs when he’s managed to intimidate or charm or convince yet another NPC to follow along with his latest bluff and constantly flirts with the innkeeps and frowns when they walk into an ambush and almost fucking lets his bard die in order to save Geralt. And then, the next time, when Geralt saves him from an attack in turn, he bats his eyes at him and says, “OooOh Geralt, does that mean you like me?”

...Does it? Hm. But then Geralt cracks a dry joke one day when he and Jaskier encounter a Doppler and Jaskier is the first one to laugh, and when Ciri spills the beans to Jaskier about how the paladin’s official last name is du Haute-Bellegarde Jaskier just smiles and winks and slides over his own sheet that reads Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. And he can spend hours with him talking about their characters’ backstory and Jaskier is so creative and, fuck, one day he brings an actual lute when they’re playing and has written a song, in character. And maybe (really, really badly) Geralt wishes that Jaskier’s bard wouldn’t just flirt with Geralt’s paladin but also...maybe...Jaskier with Geralt. 

That’s probably why Geralt can’t help but blush whenever their characters interact, and, goddamnit, probably the entire party has picked up on his crush by now. (Ciri has, definitely. She once took a sneaky photo of Geralt’s lovestruck face when he was watching Jaskier and Geralt had to chase her through their apartment to get her to delete it, which was hard, because she’s picked up doing parkour lately.) In the end, it takes Yen telling Jaskier (over another bottle of wine) that she refuses to play with them again unless Jaskier does something about it because she’ll be damned if she has to watch Geralt pine away silently for another eight hours in a row, thank you very much. She and Triss are watching from the balcony as Geralt, in his yoga pants and flip flops, awkwardly walks Jaskier to his bike down on the street, carrying his guitar case for him. And Jaskier is nervously rubbing his fingers together and scurrying from one foot to the other and finally (finally) says something they can’t hear. (Geralt nods enthusiastically, though.)

“Thank god”, Yen says, leaning over the balcony dramatically in her black dress and shimmery eyeshadow and bunny slippers and her hair is flowing in the wind and, yes, Triss is listening to what she’s saying. “Finally we’ll be free of this excruciating ordeal. I wouldn’t have survived another day have to witness it.” “Yeah?”, says Triss because her mind might be slightly blank. “Yeah”, Yen scoffs. “Dating in your D&D party, what a horrible idea.” Then she turns her head slightly to look at Triss and Triss’s heart skips a beat when she realises she’s grinning at her. “Unless...?”

[gayregis]

do you think the netflix series will stick to the books messages of anti war, family and friemdships? i hope not because those messages are what makes me like the books so much, also i hope the netflix fandom don't memefy the stories like they did with renfri, her story is supposed to be tragic and show how revenge corrupts people but the fandom just treats it like "uwu bisexual feral sword woman wants to kill big baddie wizard hehe"

correction: it's supposed to be “i hope so,” not “i hope not,” lol i can't spell

sadly, i don’t think that the netflix adaptation will stick to the themes of the books at all and here’s why.

first reason why: ciri

in the first season, they took out ciri and geralt meeting in brokilon. that is just the most unforgivable action they could have taken. that scene is literally what defines the entire series being about ciri, the child of destiny, geralt’s daughter who is the whole point of everything. they gave her more screentime, but less significance. she also is played by 18 yo freya allen who is acting as a 14 yo ciri, which blurs how she is supposed to symbolize childhood. instead, they went for a spunky sort of young teenage girl, which ciri becomes later (in the care of yennefer and during around the time of thanedd), but it is significant that she was a CHILD when cintra fell to nilfgaard, because it traumatized her for life and is the point of no return for her. because geralt thought that by fathering her, he would introduce her to death, but instead, the opposite occured - by deferring her, she was introduced to death. ciri loses her innocence, she loses the abilty to be a child. now she will continue to fixate on revenge for the entire saga, until she loses everything, absolutely everything. the witcher is a tragic story but it only manages to have this story because it is dominated by this theme of a lost childhood, surrounded by themes of family, vulnerability, revenge, destruction, violence... 

in the netflix series, we receive approximately none of this. ciri’s trauma is more treated as a “wake up call” because she’s such a “privileged princess” who doesn’t know about or care that her beloved grandmamma committed mass genocide (what???). this is treated like something ciri needs to overcome, thus it is actually a good thing that she is seeing people being murdered left and right in the name of imperialist conquest! 

second reason why: geralt

geralt in the books is a kind person. he is a pacifist. his profession is to kill, he ocassionally punches people so hard they die (he did this to save his best friend from being sliced open), and other acts of badassery, but inside, he does not want to kill and is opposed to it. this is the man that refused to slay a giant bug-like monster because he didn’t feel it was necessary (the witcher equivalent of trapping a house spider in a glass and slipping a piece of paper under it, then releasing it outside, instead of squashing it with your sandal). this is the man that felt himself unworthy to be yennefer’s lover, because he was afraid he couldn’t feel love in the same capacity she could. this is the man who pushed his best friend away on a dangerous quest because he was terrified that he’d be harmed and he’d suffer, and it would be his fault. and as mentioned, this is the man that deferred his daughter, his daughter who he genuinely loved and wanted to protect no matter what, his daughter who he legitimately raised a conflict with the queen of brokilon over, because he was terrified that he would bring violence and death into her life. this geralt is an introspective, pragmatic man. he cares deeply about the welfare of others, and the only way he can even do his job is to justify it though morality and codes of conduct which he makes up himself because he is so obsessed with not harming the innocent. he spares and befriends many “monsters” (post-conjunction creatures) and only slays the ones that genuinely pose a threat to the innocent and are usually are not creatures capable of rational thought. in the first book in the voice of reason 5, geralt literally states that he won’t kill innocent creatures.

and he continues this philosophy throughout:

he doesn’t kill dragons:

he advocates for dudu’s innocence:

he only was wary of regis because he was mistaken and thought he was going to harm dandelion in this moment:

in the netflix adaptation of the witcher, what is the first thing that we see him do? kill a monster brutally and without remorse. he doesn’t talk about his motivations behind it or why he felt justified to kill it, or why the monster was a danger in the first place. he just kills it and this violence defines him. later in the show, we see him antagonize and mock torque (when in the books he asked dandelion NOT to do just that) and he also punches dandelion right in the stomach. even when geralt was the most mad at dandelion in the books, he never did physical harm to him. ever.

the netflix show is representating a very different man. some have argued that they will try to develop him later on, but that is too late. geralt in the books was a good person from the very beginning for a reason.

third reason why: cahir.

the anti-war and anti-imperialist themes of the books hinge upon the concept of universal humanity and understanding that violence has its own motivations and reasons. cahir i think is a very good example of how the witcher saga comments on the effects of nationalist sentiment / patriotism. 

cahir in the books is a teenager or very young adult during the massacre of cintra (since he was no older than 25 in baptism of fire). even though he was also young and doing this only because it what was expected of him and he was intending to bring honor to his family, that does not change the effect that he has on ciri as a child. he enters her nightmares as an exaggerated version of what he was, even though he was scared, too. this demonstrates how impressionable youth are misguided into the military and people are made unaware of just how much violence they ensue. 

cahir is built up as this nightmarish figure, this horrifying man that ciri wants revenge upon more than anything else, and THEN he is revealed to also be a terrified youth. underneath the helmet, there was a terrified young man. that is an incredibly powerful image and metaphor.

and what did the witcher netflix do? ... well...

cahir shows his face, he doesn’t have the symbolism of his imposing helmet anymore. he’s much older, eamon farren is 35 years old, 15 older than cahir canonically is, so he’s not someone who has had nationalist ideals imposed upon him unfairly by his parents and society, but rather a full adult who is established and making his own decisions fully in his own control. in the books, he stops pursuing ciri once she escapes, because he has a mental breakdown from the stress of his society and family’s expectations of success, and fear of harsh punishment he will receive. he goes to prison in the imperial capital for a year for failing. in the netflix series, he stops at nothing to get ciri, chasing her down constantly and enlisting the help of sorcerers, a doppler... it’s a whole evil entourage. cahir is not the vulnerable and noble-at-heart young man that he was in the books.

in the end, these are things that are too late to change now. these things can’t be developed upon to “fix” them. ciri cannot suddenly receive her character establishment as a child. geralt cannot suddenly become a caring father who has cared about protecting ciri since day one. cahir cannot suddenly become a young man influenced by his jingoistic society who was only in full plate armor because his parents told him to. these things are so essential to their characters that they are begun to be established immediately.

and yeah everything’s going to get memed on just like they did with renfri. no one discusses the elves’ situation in dol blathanna seriously, they just like laughing at how jaskier called them “pointy.” ciri isn’t discussed at all by the fandom except for being a token baby character. it’s dark times

[geraskierficrecs]

Part One 

Sorry for the long delays, but Tumblr ate the story the first time I posted so I had to rewrite.

Watching Jaskier run from the house with devastation carved into his face hurt worse than any blow he’d been dealt.

Geralt started forward, numb legs sluggish with a grief too terrible to bear, but familiar hands pulled him to a stop.

“Don’t--” Yennefer’s voice was rough with her own demons, but she clung to him with determination in her strange eyes, “--we had to do this.”

“Did you see him?” he snarled, trying to summon anger in an effort to push aside the reality of all he’d just broken.  “He--he’s...”

“It’s the only way to keep him safe.”

“He’ll never forgive me.”

Yennefer opened her mouth, but it was another voice who answered him.

“How could you?” They both turned to see Ciri standing next to the doorway Jaskier had disappeared through with a cold fury in her eyes.  “He trusted you.  He trusted both of you!”

He loved you, she didn’t say.  They already knew.

“Ciri...” Yennefer began, but Ciri shook her head.

“How many times will you break his heart before you’re satisfied?” Ciri hissed and Geralt flinched like she’d struck him.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he could feel his eyes burning at the thought of how easy it had been to destroy everything they had built with Jaskier here.  Geralt tried to remember the way Jaskier had smiled at him--wide and trusting--just that morning when he’d declared that he was heading into town to get some things from the market.  Already the house felt empty, cracks appearing in the walls like without the bard to hold it together the house began to fall apart.

If he closed his eyes he knew he would see the look in Jaskier’s eyes the moment he’d seen Yennefer and Geralt.  It had been so easy for him to believe the worst.

“It’s not what you think,” Yennefer tried again, hands held out to match the pleading in her expression.  “We’re trying to save him.”

Ciri’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits and Geralt wondered if she would attack them for what they’d done.  “What is there left to save?  You’ve taken everything.”

His child surprise didn’t give them a chance to respond.  She just turned on her heel and left the house to chase after Jaskier.  After a beat, Yennefer followed.

Geralt stayed behind, listening to the ghosts of his own happiness die in the silence of the empty house.

_____________________________________________________________________

It started with a whisper.

“They’re coming for you, Witcher.”

Geralt hadn’t taken the dying words of the hag to heart.  It wasn’t the first time one of the creatures he’d hunted promised revenge with their dying breath and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.  His mind had been full of anticipation for returning home to his family.  To Jaskier.

The next mention had been a fluke.

He’d been passing through a town and, through habit, checked the message boards for any odd jobs he could complete for a little extra money on his way to Novigrad for work.  There had been a few of the usual missives from locals searching for missing livestock or begging for someone to assist in work.  He scanned them without interest until his eyes settled on a rough piece of parchment, faded by the weather.

At the center of the page was a roughly drawn medallion that burned with dark flames.  The page made no mention of any work or needs, just the strange symbol and a short message beneath.

Feras morte.

Death to monsters.

Geralt stared at it for another moment before carefully pulling the page free from the message board and tucking it into his pack.  He resolved to find out more while he was Novigrad.

____________________________________________________________________

They called themselves The Order.

They were the kind of fanatical movement that made Geralt want to avoid humanity for good.  Their focus had originally been altruistic--to protect humanity from the beasts and magical nightmares that roamed the land when Witchers didn’t arrive fast enough.  They traveled in groups to areas plagued by barghest and noon wraiths had terrorized villagers.  Through luck and growing skill, they began to make a name for themselves as champions of the people--a more palatable alternative to calling a Witcher for assistance.

With their popularity growing, a more sinister element of their beliefs became more obvious.  Since the first Witcher had stepped foot on the Continent, they’d been targeted almost immediately for their unnatural new biology and abilities.  Geralt had been run out of more than a few cities just because of the odd color of his eyes so the news that a group of human labeled his Witcher brethren in the same categories as the monsters they hunted wasn’t surprising.

Whatever the Order’s altruistic intents originally, they had wandered into darker realms once they gained a following.

Anything that was not fully human was considered a threat.  For the first time in centuries, the Continent was home to witch burnings and mob attacks on children born with strange birthmarks or eerie features.  They followed the path of wars and fed on the bitterness that lingered among the survivors.  The Order gave the people of the Continent a new target for their anger.

Monsters--though the term became more flexible the longer they were around.

His contacts in Novigrad weren’t sure where the group had begun, but it was easy to track where they’d moved from the trail of bodies left in their wake.  Dopplers.  Hags.  Hedgewitches.  All burned to ash on massive pyres left at the edges of each village as a warning to the next--along with anyone foolish enough to try to protect them.

Geralt’s disdain for the blatant abuses of power and widespread violence slowly became tempered by a new fear.  The Order seem able to move as they wanted without any response from local leaders too afraid of risking their wrath.  They seemed an unstoppable force eager to continue their bloody crusade against anyone or anything that did not meet their standards for purity and innocence.

He was in Temeria when he found the dead Witcher.

There was little left of the warrior aside from burnt, tarnished medallion that had once hung proudly from his neck and the steel sword he must have wielded.

Silver for monsters.  Steel for humans.

The blade had been shattered into two pieces that were tossed alongside the burning remains of his bones.  Geralt crouched beside it, hands passing over the scarred metal and meager remains of a life spent fighting for people who’d turned on him just as easily.

“Did you know him?”

Geralt turned at the soft voice, frowning at the woman standing at the edge of the trees.  Her face was marked with age and deep sadness that seemed unending. 

“No,” he said gruffly.

She hummed, looking back at the pyre.  “Perhaps it’s better that way.”

“Why’s that?”

The hand that trembled out was blackened along the fingertips with ash as she pointed toward the smoldering pit.  “Those he loved lay there beside him.”

Geralt froze, something like horror in his expression.  He looked back at the pyre once more, eyes picking out the bits of bones. “What?”

“That’s how the Order got him to surrender,” she said, “They told him they would spare the woman--Anna--and her child that he liked to visit in the village.  He’d saved them from the creature who’d taken the girl’s father, you see, and he liked to check up on them whenever he passed by.  Sirret was a gentle soul despite his calling--he only wanted to make sure they were safe.  So he threw down his sword without a fight when the Order called for it and let them beat him and drag him through the town to the sounds of their mockery.”

“Then they killed him.”  Geralt’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles went white.

The old woman’s eyes were dark with tragedy.  “They killed the girl first, after a time.  Then the mother was put out of her misery when her injuries became too much.  Sirret...the Witcher held on for much longer.”

The broken sword suddenly seemed as morbid as a tomb.

He took a breath full of smoke and death and tried not to think about a bard choking on blood and a foolish wish.  “Where did the Order go?”

____________________________________________________________________

“They’re too close.  We need to do something.”

“What can we do that we haven’t already tried?” Geralt snapped, “I’ve been hunting them for months, but all I’ve managed to do is kill off a few of their soldiers.”

He carefully didn’t think about the promises they’d spat at him as they lay dying.  Promises of pain and suffering beyond what anyone should bear.

Yennefer tossed back the last of the wine in her goblet and scowled down at the mess of messages, maps, and bits of notes sprawled across the table.  They’d met at the tavern in the city closest to their cottage in an effort to keep the information far away from Jaskier and Ciri’s wandering eyes.  So far, it hadn’t seemed to help.

Yenn had been the only one he’d dared to tell about the Order--as though admitting their presence would allow them to creep closer.  Her contacts through Aretuza had made it easier to track where the Order had been most active, but continued to offer no solutions as to how to stop them.  Ciri and Jaskier were far too important to risk as targets in someone’s campaign to destroy everything they considered dangerous.

“Whoever they are, they’re going to come for us soon.  You know this.  They know we’re hunting them--that makes us a threat.”  Yennefer’s voice was firm despite the anxiety he could sense hanging in the air around them.

Geralt didn't respond.  It was the same argument they’d been having for weeks.  How could they protect Jaskier and Ciri from these horrors?

“Ciri will have to stay with us--she’s too valuable to risk letting them get their hands on her.  They’d probably consider her to be a ‘tainted’ bloodline anyway.”

“And Jaskier?” he bit out, “Do you intend to leave him behind while you run off with Ciri?”

Yenn glared at him.  “You know I don’t.”

Whatever their relationship might have been at one time, the mage and the bard were practically inseparable now.

Geralt scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  “We can’t let the Order torture him to try to hurt us.  He has to be safe.”

The burnt Witcher’s medallion in his pack seemed to laugh at him.

“There’s...” Yennefer sounded oddly reticent and he looked over at her curiously, “We could make Jaskier leave us.”

He shook his head.  “He would never do that.  Especially if he knew that we were in danger.”

“So we don’t let him know the Order is after us.”

“And say what? ‘Hey Jask..why don’t you stay at the University for the season?’  He’s not an idiot--he’d want to know why.”

Yennefer ran a finger over a drop of wine left on the table, face downcast.  “What if we made him want to leave?”

________________________________________________________________

Days later, Geralt watched Jaskier run out of the house and pretended it didn’t feel like his world was burning down around him.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Unwanted Company

Part 1 

A/N: Okay so this is my first attempt at a Lambert x reader thing and I’m not sure how I feel about it.... I think I might’ve made Lambert too much of a dick.... Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: none really, just Lambert being Lambert

Summary: This year, Geralt brings a guest to Kaer Morhen. Not all of those who call the keep home are okay with the uninvited guest. 

The first time Lambert lays eyes on you, he and Eskel were at a tavern outside of Ard Carraigh, The two witchers were waiting for the White Wolf to join them before making the rest of the journey to Kaer Morhen.

The medallion on his neck hummed. Lambert looked up, briefly catching Eskel’s gaze. The older witcher felt it too.

“At least we can have some fun waiting for the old bastard to get here.” Lambert spoke under his breath, shifting in his seat. He expected to find a doppler or maybe even a higher vampire mingling with the humans in the tavern.

“Uh, I don’t think so, Lambert.” Eskel nodded in the direction of the door to the tavern. Lambert turned his head to see Geralt of Rivia making his way through the rather busy crowd. Just behind him was a hooded figure. From the stature, Lambert assumed it was a woman, and he was right. The black hood to her cloak was pushed back to reveal waves of Y/H/C hair. She wore many layers and all of them seemed to be dark colors.

“Now, Lambert, there’s no reason to get mad-,”

“No reason?” Lambert repeated, gesturing to Geralt. “This fucker brings someone new every year!”

“Nice to see you too, Lambert.” Geralt joined the two witchers at the table. Lambert shook his head, looking to you as Eskel greeted the White Wolf.

“Glad to see you could make it this year, brother.”

“Yeah, glad you could bring another witch bitch from the Lodge.” Lambert didn’t take his hardened gaze off of you. You were looking around the room like a deer caught in a pack of predators. Lambert could smell your fear.

Your eyes found Geralt. He waved you over.

“Fucking hell, Geralt.” Lambert ran his hand over his face, leaning back in his chair. “Just when I thought maybe you wouldn’t think with your dick-,”

“Fuck off, Lambert.” Geralt snapped. He pulled the chair next to him out for you.

“Thank you.” You spoke quietly, smiling at the White Wolf.

“Don’t you have enough mages already there to pick from? I think you have enough for the whole winter.” Lambert said.

“This is Y/N.” Geralt watched you sit down next to him. He ignored Lambert, knowing it was the best thing to do.

“What? She can’t pull out her own chair?”

“Lambert.” Eskel said his name but it fell on deaf ears.

“So where did dumbass here pick you up at, sweetheart?” Lambert asked. His voice dripped with irritation.

“Um, he…. He, er….” You looked to Geralt.

“She’s on the run from an assassin. Needs somewhere to lay low for the winter.” Geralt explained.

“So your first thought is to take her to Kaer Morhen?”

“It’s the only place she’d be safe.”

Lambert said nothing, rubbing his brow and muttering something under his breath that sounded like curse words.

“Don’t mind Lambert.” Eskel shook his head. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

“Doesn’t like anyone, really.” Geralt added.

“I understand.” You smiled kindly at the witcher that had scars on the left side of his face. “And I greatly appreciate you allowing me to stay for the winter.”

“If it was up to me, you wouldn’t be going to Kaer Morhen.” Lambert pushed himself to his feet. “Neither would dumbass over there.” He gestured to Geralt before leaving the tavern.

You followed him with your eyes, the smiling falling from your lips.

“I’ll go after him.” Eskel sighed. He left you and Geralt alone at the table.

“I-I really hate to be such a burden, Geralt.”

“You are going to Kaer Morhen with me, Y/N. You aren’t a burden.”

“I don’t want to come between you and them.”

“Lambert’s a prick. He doesn’t like anyone.” Geralt stood up. “Are you okay to begin the trek? Or do you need a moment? Once we start, there’s no safe place to stop until we get there.”

You brushed your hand over your stomach. Your small baby bump was hidden beneath many warm layers of clothes.

“We’re okay to travel.” You smiled at him. “Thank you, Geralt, for everything.”

He nodded once and gestured for you to walk ahead of him.

***

Lambert had taken the lead on his horse, a light brown mare. Right behind him was Eskel. You and Geralt were side by side at the back of the little formation.

Geralt wanted to keep you close should anything happen on the journey up the path to the keep.

It was dark outside, a thick fog rested at the foot of the mountain. As you made the ascension, the fog disappeared.

You’d been traveling for more than twenty-four hours. Your hips ached and your head was pounding. You were exhausted and all you wished to do was get down from the horse and go to sleep.

Once you were inside the first gate to the castle, the three witchers climbed down from their horses. Geralt moved to you to help you down. He made sure you were steady on your feet before he took ahold of the reins to your horse.

“We’re almost there.” He told you. He could see how worn you were and he could only imagine how you must’ve felt. You weren’t used to traveling on horseback for very long.

***

“Vesemir! Tell this dumbfuck that he can’t keep bringing in women claiming they need protection!”

The second the large and heavy doors to the castle opened, Lambert was calling out for a man named Vesemir.

“Lambert.” A man with graying hair looked up from something on a table. “Gotta say, I didn’t miss your big mouth.”

“Haha, very funny. But I’m serious.”

“He’s serious.” Geralt repeated, moving towards Vesemir. The two shook hands.

“Who is your guest?” Vesemir nodded towards you.

“Y/N of Cintra.” You moved to stand next to Geralt, your hands clasped together in front of you. You smiled at Vesemir. “Thank you so much for allowing me to stay here. I am very grateful.”

“Y/N is being hunted by an assassin from Nazair.” Geralt explained. “Lambert, take Y/N up to Yennefer’s room. I need to speak with Vesemir.”

Eskel was busy putting the horses away so that only left Lambert.

“She can find it herself.” Lambert muttered, turning to walk away.

“Lambert.” Vesemir said. The young witcher stopped in his tracks, sighing heavily.

“Come on.” He spoke over his shoulder.

You pulled your fur cloak together and started to follow him.

He led you through a few doorways and then started up a large spiral staircase that followed the wall of a tower.

You paused at the bottom of the staircase, looking up and gripping the railing. You weren’t too sure that you’d make it all the way up the stairs. Your free hand came up to hold your stomach. You just needed to get to the top, then you would be able to rest.

You were almost to the top of the stairs when a sharp pain in your back made you stop. You gasped, knuckles turning white as you held on to the railing even tighter.

Lambert heard the quiet noise and turned around to look down at you.

“What? Never been up so many stairs?”

“I’m okay.” You assured him, a tight smile coming to your lips.

You finished climbing up the stairs.

“Don’t get too comfy here.” Lambert turned and started down the stairs again. “Yen’s supposed to be coming. Then we can have a freaking party.” He muttered.

***

Though you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to lay down and close your eyes. You had taken a couple layers off and now sat on the edge of the bed. You were braiding your hair over your shoulder.

“Swear to the gods. I’ll burn this whole damn place down.” Lambert grunted as he made his way up the stairs. “I’ll burn it down with me inside. Watch me. I don't give a shit.”

You didn’t have enough time to cover your stomach up. The shirt you wore was form fitting and showed off your growing bump.

“Fucking….” Lambert trailed off, nearly dropping the two blankets in his arms.

You picked up one of your cloaks and hastily put it on.

“You- You’re….” He couldn’t seem to get the word out.

“Pregnant.” You nodded gently.

He hesitantly moved to place the blankets on the bed. He crossed his arms and then ran a hand over his face.

“It’s-It’s not Geralt’s. Can’t be.”

“It’s not his. Geralt is simply a good friend.” You explained.

“Right. Right.” Lambert nodded his head. He turned and started back towards the stairs. “Just our fucking luck.”

***

“I mean, what the fucking hell, man!”

The witchers sitting at the table in one of the rooms lifted their heads to look at Lambert.

“Were you going to tell us you brought a pregnant woman here?”

“She doesn’t want many to know, Lambert.” Geralt sighed out.

“Your guest is pregnant?” Vesemir turned his attention to Geralt.

“Her husband was a general for the Cintran army and a good friend. He helped keep Nilfgaard from Ciri. He died a month ago. I promised him that I’d keep Y/N safe.”

***

The next morning, you made your way down the staircase, admiring how the light beamed through windows and gave the tower a warm feeling.

You didn’t remember much of the layout of the castle. You were so exhausted the night before that all you cared about was sleep.

Luckily, you could hear voices as you neared the bottom of the stairs, so you followed them.

“I’m never traveling with her again, Geralt.”

“You’re so dramatic.” A female voice spoke.

You found a group sitting at a table in the corner of a large room. You could recognize each of the witchers and Cirilla, but there was a man and a woman you didn’t know.

The talking fell silent as everyone noticed you.

“Lady Y/N!” Ciri bounded to you, carefully hugging you. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, princess.” You smiled down at her, brushing your hand over her hair.

“Ah! You are the one I’ve heard so much abou!” A man with brunet hair and a rather bright smile approached you, holding his hand out. “Julian Alfred Pankratz. You can call me Jaskier.” He brought your hand up to his lips.

“Everyone calls you Jaskier.” Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Easy there, bard.” Lambert said. “She’s pregnant.”

Your cheeks flushed and you immediately felt self conscious. You couldn't help but feel afraid and scared, but you reminded yourself that Geralt was here. He wouldn't let anything happen to you.

“Well, you look absolutely stunning, darling.”

“Thank you.”

“Y/N, this is Yennefer and Jaskier.” Geralt introduced, gesturing to both as he said their name. “And you met Vesemir last night.”

“Thank you again for letting me stay. All of you.” You looked at the witchers. “I’m so thankful.”

“We didn’t have much of a say.” Lambert spoke under his breath.

Eskel elbowed him in the side.

“Then I’m even more grateful to be here.”

“Don’t mind Lambert. He’s bitter about everything.” Vesemir sighed. “Have a seat. Y/N. You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

“Oh, thank you, Vesemir.” You smiled as you sat down at the table beside Ciri. “But I’m not that pregnant yet.”

“How far along are you?” Ciri asked.

“Twelve weeks.” Yennefer answered for you. You turned your head to look at her. “Approximately.”

You remembered hearing that she was a mage, so you didn’t question her. You smiled softly, your hand rubbing your stomach.

“If I may ask, who is the lucky father?” Jaskier asked you, glancing around at the wolves at the table. In the moment, he completely forgot that witchers couldn’t have children.

“Why are you looking at us, chucklefuck?” Lambert spoke.

“He died not too long ago.” You answered with a forced smile. You didn’t want them to feel sorry for you. You didn’t want pity.

“Oh. I-I’m sorry to hear that.”

“How long is she staying here?”

“As long as she needs, Lambert.”

“Why?” Geralt asked Lambert. “Are you going to kick a pregnant woman out into the wilderness of Kaedwen in the middle of winter?”

“Right now, I wanna kick your ass out, Geralt.”

“Quit being such a dick, Lambert.” The White Wolf sighed out.

Lambert shot to his feet, his fist hitting against the table. You flinched from the sound.

“I’m not allowed to get pissed? Huh, Geralt?” He raised his voice. “You bring every fucking woman you come across here to Kaer Morhen! This isn’t some fucking sanctuary for all the troubled women you find! This is our home!”

With that, he stormed across the room and disappeared through a door.

“Geralt….” You whispered, blinking the tears away. Was the witcher really trying to make you feel unwelcome? Was he wanting to make you feel like the biggest burden ever? “I don’t…. I can’t come between you and your brother.”

“You aren’t, Y/N.”

“But he….” You trailed off, looking in the direction Lambert had gone in.

“Y/N, Lambert’s a complicated guy.” Eskel started. “Every time someone new comes here, he flips out and has his dramatic tantrums. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

You nodded your head, sniffling and taking a deep breath through your lips.

“He seems even more of an asshole than usual.” Yennefer commented.

“He’s just on guard because there’s been word that Kiera may come this winter.” Vesemir explained. “I don’t know much, but when they last saw each other it was messy.”

You stood to your feet and smoothed out your cloak. As you turned to walk away, Geralt spoke.

“Where are you going?”

“Just need some fresh air.” You answered with a tight smile.

Note: I don’t even know who to tag for this.... I’m gonna tag those who requested to be on my everything taglist which include @wayward-dream @jennylovelyheart and @romancebibliophilia and then I’m gonna tag @hina-chans-stuff cause I don’t know???? Maybe you might like it??? but probably not cause its complete shit tbh :)

If you want to be tagged in any future specific works (Geralt fics, Yennefer fics, Steve Rogers fics, Tony Stark fics, etc) just let me know! I can add you to my taglists :)

[gilligangoodfellow]

Bracelet

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo Prompt:Doppler / Lookalike Relationships:  Dudu & Dandelion & Priscilla. (Also non-con Whoreson Junior / Dudu) Rating: E Content Warnings: Rape / Non Con. Dead Dove. Non-Consensual Bondage. Non-Consensual Spanking. Beating. Whoreson Junior. Also Non-sexual Age play Doppler style (I repeat, Non Sexual) and Found Family

Summary: Whoreson Junior uses Dudu to live out his sick fantasies, punishing those who took everything from him. Abusing them over and over while they beg for him to stop, and a bracelet means they can’t escape.

Afterwards, Dudu lives a gentle fantasy of his own. One full of innocence and safety, and a bracelet means his abilities can never be used against him ever again.

Dudu is naked, strapped spread eagle and face down on the bed, if the word ‘bed’ is correct for the threadbare, scratchy ledge he is tied to. 

Whoreson Junior grins, and Dudu tries not to think about what has been happening to his body.

What is going to happen.

“No.” Dudu begs. “Not again, please.”

“Dandelion.” Whoreson Junior spits. “And be quick about it, freak.”

“No.”

A knife is held against Dudu’s eye.

“Dandelion.”

He does not fight. He has to survive.

  “So...um…Dudu.” Dandelion, clearly flustered, puts a hand against the back of his head. “Priscilla and I have something to tell you.” He looks at Priscilla, who smiles back at him, positively glowing as she turns from Dandelion to their friend. 

It doesn’t take long for Dudu to put two and two together, crying out as he launches his halfling form straight into Priscilla’s arms. 

She sits down on the chair behind her, laughing with him.

“Congratulations.” Dudu slides down to the floor. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t even think the gods know that yet, Dudu.” Priscilla says.

The Doppler nods. “What are you hoping for?”

She looks at Dandelion. “A daughter.”

“Someone you can spoil with pretty dresses.” He chuckles, and Priscilla reaches up, holding the bard’s hand.

“But we honestly don’t mind.” Priscilla says, turning back to Dudu.

“We’ve actually known about the baby for a while.” Dandelion says. “But we wanted to wait a few weeks before telling people. Just...just in case...”

“But we saw the healer this morning, and everything is...Dudu?”

The halfling is crying.

“Hey?” Priscilla kneels in front of her friend, holding his shoulders.

“I can hear the heart beating.” He points at his ears, and Priscilla chuckles as she pulls him into another hug, looking up with a smile when Dandelion rests a hand on her shoulder. 

  He does not fight. He has to survive.

Dandelion is naked, strapped spread eagle and face down on the bed, if the word ‘bed’ is correct for the threadbare, scratchy ledge he is tied to. 

His single eye is blinded by tears. He can feel the metal of the handcuffs cutting into his skin. He focuses on it. Focuses on the bruises decorating his wrists and hands, on how his little finger has started to tingle. He focuses on the material of the pillow his face is pressed into, how it smells of sweat and something coppery that he doesn’t want to think about. 

But he does think about it. Maybe it’s blood. Or a potion residue...

Anything to not think about what is happening to his body. Who is inside his body.

He cries out as a sensation strikes him from just below his spine.

“Shut the fuck up.” Whoreson Junior shouts between pants. “Fucking think you’re better than me. Took the Rosemary. That brothel was mine. Fucking MINE. but you tricked father.” He thrusts harshly, and Dandelion moans. “Tricked him into thinking you deserved it. Lied. Admit it. Admit it!”

“I...I...argh...I lied.”

“Louder.”

“I LIED.” Dandelion cries out as fingers dig into his shoulders, scratching up to his wrists. One hand clasping over the beautiful green bracelet decorated with yellow flowers. 

It’s enchanted. He can’t control the change. 

  Dandelion stands with a wine goblet in his hand, two hollow eyes completely focused on the embers of the fireplace.

“Pappa?”

He smiles as he looks down at the tiny girl.

“I drew Mamma.” The child holds up a drawing. A smiling stick figure with yellow lines coming out of her head. 

“That is perfect, Essi.” He takes the drawing. “Your Mamma will love it. Let’s hang it above the fireplace, shall we. Then she’ll see it when she gets back.”

Essi watches the picture being put up with all the excitement and pride of a debuting artist, and Dandelion quickly lifts her into his arms when he is done, so that they can study her masterpiece together. 

“Do you really think Mamma will love it?” She rests her head against his shoulder. 

“More than anything.”

“More than apples?”

“More than apples.”

“More than puppies?”

“More than puppies.”

“More than cakes?”

Dandelion chuckles, and shifts the child so that she is facing him. 

“Why are you crying, Pappa?”

“Am I?” Dandelion wipes at his eyes. “Oh...I was just thinking about an old friend.” 

“Oh.” Essi looks down. “Do you want him to come back?”

“No.” Dandelion whispers. “Not until he feels ready.”

“Knock knock.” Says a bright voice from the entrance to the room. “Apologies, Dandelion. Polly let me in.”

“Elihal.” Dandelion lowers his daughter to the floor and welcomes the tailor with a kiss to his cheek. “What brings you here?”

“A flying visit.” Elihal holds up the package he is holding. “Your wife’s commission.”

“Your dress is really pretty.” Essi says.

“Well then, perhaps you should have a pretty dress of your very own.” Elihal gives the package to Essi, whose single eye widens as she tears straight into the paper, smiling at the beautiful green dress that falls open in front of her. 

“What do you say, Essi?” Dandelion smiles. 

“Thank you, Mr Elihal.”

“My pleasure.” Elihal bows his head. “Green to match your bracelet.” He points at the jewellry.

Essi screams, slamming her hand over the bracelet and dropping the dress to do so.

“Essi, shhh.” Dandelion says, kneeling in front of her. “Shh. No one is going to take it off you. I promise.” 

“Dandelion...I…”

“It’s alright, Elihal.” He smiles, and picks up the dress. “No one is ever going to remove your bracelet. Not unless you ask. I promise.”

Essi sniffs.

“Now, why don’t you try your new dress on? So Mr Elihal can make sure it fits.”

Essi nods. “And then I can wear it to school tomorrow.”

“It’s a party dress, Sweetest.”

“Now now, Julian.” Elihal scolds, lightly. “Marabella’s institution could use a bit of class, don’t you think? And who better than a Pankratz”

Later, Dandelion and Priscilla tuck their daughter into bed. 

The green dress hangs on the door. Ready for school tomorrow. And matching the green bracelet around Essi’s wrist, decorated with yellow flowers

“It’s beautiful.” Priscilla says.

“Yes. Elihal did a…” Dandelion turns, and realises that Priscilla isn’t looking at the dress. 

She is holding a drawing in her trembling hands.

“Dandelion?” She looks at him, and he hugs her tightly as she cries.

  He does not fight. He has to survive.

Dandelion feels Whoreson Junior slide off of his back. He feels the meagre contents of his stomach slide up his throat. He feels Whoreson Junior’s fingers scratch down the back of his legs, and one of the cuffs holding his ankles is removed.

Dandelion can’t help crying out against the strain as his abused body is twisted onto its back, forcing his arms to stretch and cross above his head, metal scratching as the wrists turn in the cuffs. His back arches slightly.

The ankle cuff is replaced and the fingers scratch back up, stopping to stroke Dandelion for a few moments while the bard squirms and begs “Stop. No more.” without any hope of being granted his wish. Then the burning trail moves up his arm to the green bracelet decorated with yellow flowers. 

Whoreson Junior removes it. “Cirilla.”

“No.” Dandelion swallows. “No. Please. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m...”

“I said…” And Whoreson Junior holds the knife to Dandelion’s throat. “Cirilla.”

He does not fight. He has to survive.

Dandelion’s hands become delicate, nails painted a beautiful purple Ciri found that matches her mother’s eyes.

Ciri is naked, strapped face up on the bed, if the word ‘bed’ is correct for the threadbare, scratchy ledge she is tied to. 

“I’m sorry.” She sobs as Whoreson Junior climbs back into the bed, giggling like the insane man he is. “Please.”

“Going to make you scream, you whore.” He puts the bracelet around Ciri’s wrist. A beautiful green bracelet decorated with yellow flowers. 

It’s enchanted. She can’t control the change.

“Took everything from me. You destroyed everything, you little BITCH.”

She does not fight. She has to survive. 

Ciri turns her head to the side, single eye closed, and grasps at faded memories of happier times. Tries not to think about what is happening to her body. About the fingers scratching down and down towards...

“Gonna make you scream!”

  “One world had huge, tall buildings filled with magic lights.” Ciri smiles as she sits on the bed, holding Essi’s hand. “And they were every colour you can think of, and powered by lightning. Like from the sky.”

Essi smiles as Ciri pulls the blanket up over her, tucking her in. 

“And there were carts that could move on their own, without horses. And some could fly like birds.”

“Did you ride one?”

“I did, and I got to control one as well. And there were boxes that made music. I’ll bring you one back, next time I visit.”

“Can I go with you?”

“When you’re...older.” A war of emotion crosses Ciri’s face, and she swallows before masking everything with a smile. “When you are all grown up, I will take you to all of the worlds.”

“I hope I grow up quickly.”

“Well, do you know what helps little girls grow up faster? Getting lots of sleep.” Ciri strokes her hair. “Goodnight.”

“Aunt Ciri...will you stay?”

“Of course.”

“Will you kill the monster, if it finds me?”

Ciri nods. 

The green dress hangs on the door. Ready for school tomorrow. 

  Geralt is naked, strapped face up on the bed, if the word ‘bed’ is correct for the threadbare, scratchy ledge he is tied to. 

He wears a beautiful green bracelet decorated with yellow flowers. Enchanted. To stop him from controlling the change. 

Knuckles strike his chin, and Geralt grits his teeth so fast that he pulls at his throat. 

The same knuckles punch into his stomach, winding him. 

“Wasting my time, Junior.” Whoreson Junior says in a mocking voice. Another punch. “I need details.” Another punch. “I’ll give you fucking details, you flunky.”

Another punch to his head. Another to his stomach. His shins.

“I’m sorry. Please.” Geralt’s head hurts. His lungs burn. His single eye is fogged. 

If Geralt was human, he would be dead by now.

He does not fight. He has to survive. 

Another punch to the stomach, and then Whoreson Junior is on top of him.

  The strange box is powered by odd orange gems that Ciri tells Essi not to touch. When they press a button, the devices inside move, and music comes out. 

Essi has to keep the box a secret, because Aunt Ciri told her to. But Aunt Ciri said that she’s allowed to show it to her parents. And she is allowed to show Uncle Geralt. 

“This is music from something called a guitar.” Essi says. “Aunt Ciri said it's like a ‘rocker’ lute.”

“It sounds...interesting.” Geralt nods.

“Certainly one word for it.” Priscilla chuckles as she takes the box from Essi. “You can listen to more tomorrow. Sleep now.”

“Will you stay, Uncle Geralt? In case the monster comes.”

Priscilla has her back to them now, lowering the box on the table as she looks straight ahead, focused on a spot on the wall. 

“The monster is dead, Essi.” Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. “It attacked and...hurt...someone who is a very good friend to me and your parents. And it was hurting lots of other people as well. So I killed it.”

Essi sits up. “How?”

Geralt shakes his head. “I…”

“Don’t spare a detail.” Priscilla turns back round, face hard, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Tell her exactly what you did to that beast.”

Geralt looks back at Essi. “I ran it through with my silver sword.”

“Because silver is for monsters.” Priscilla spits. 

“And then I used my fire magic until nothing was left but ash.” Geralt leans forward. “So that it will never hurt anyone ever again.”

“And the world is better for it.” Priscilla mutters. 

Essi hugs a pillow to her chest. “And you saved your friend.”

Priscilla sniffs, rubbing at her eyes. 

“Yes.” Geralt shakes his head. “But the monster had hurt him badly. So he had to go away for a while.”

“Can I have a cuddle?”

Priscilla holds a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs, watching as Geralt leans forward to wrap his arms around the little girl, while she hugs him back. 

Later, Geralt tucks the sleeping Essi back into bed, and a green dress hangs on the door. Ready for school tomorrow. 

  “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh. It wasn’t your fault.”

Whoreson Junior is naked, strapped spread eagle and face down on the bed, if the word ‘bed’ is correct for the threadbare, scratchy ledge he is tied to. 

A Whoreson Junior with two eyes gently washes the exhausted and abused body of his lookalike. 

“It wasn’t your fault. They did this to you. Took everything. Left you with nothing. Nothing. Bastards and bitches. Fucking cunts, the lot of them.

“They took everything.” Whoreson Junior throws the cloth to one side. “And you let them.” The belt strikes down on the broken flesh of his lookalike’s buttock, again and again. “Weak. Stupid.”

He does not fight. He doesn’t have the strength.

The green bracelet is decorated with yellow flowers. It stops him from controlling the change. 

“Fucking useless.” Strike. “Bastard. Whoreson.” Strike. “Piece of shit.”

“I’m sorry. I’m…”

He does not fight. Even though he does not want to survive.

“Shut the FUCK up!” The belt crashes down, splitting the skin. 

Doppler’s heal fast. The wounds will be gone tomorrow. But tomorrow is very far away. And tomorrow will make new wounds to replace them. Like yesterday. And the day before...

  “Dandelion.”

 “Cirilla.”

 “Stop. Please.”

 “Geralt.”

 “No more.”

 “Dandelion.”

 “Cirilla.”

 “Stop.”

 “Stop.”

 “I’m sorry.”

  Dudu is naked, strapped face down on the bed, if the word ‘bed’ is correct for the threadbare, scratchy ledge he is tied to. 

Dudu wants to die.

Dudu wants to hide. 

Dudu is sorry.

The ashes of Whoreson Junior spread across the floor. Dandelion removes the restraints. 

“No.” Dudu stares at the wall. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Dudu?” Dandelion takes his hand. A blanket covers his broken body.

“No more. Please.”

  Dudu wants to hide. To become lost in a world that is safe. Where he can forget everything. Be innocent. Carefree. A child who is too young to yet know how dark the Continent can be. 

One last change. 

And then use the bracelet to stay there forever. So his abilities can never be used against him ever again.

“Dudu, will that help you to feel safe.” Priscilla holds the blanket wrapped halfling in her lap. Dandelion’s hand rests on the halfling’s cheek.

And Dudu nods, looking down as he sobs. 

Dandelion pats his cheek. “Priscilla?”

She nods, before pressing her face against the weeping halfling’s crown.

“Dudu, if that’s what you need to do, then do it.” Dandelion takes hold of his hand. “And you will want for nothing, I promise. We will look after you.”

“Take care of you.” Priscilla sobs. “Love you.”

Dudu looks at her. “The bracelet…”

“Will go back on. As soon as you’ve changed.” Priscilla nods.

“And no one will take it off except you.” Dandelion says. “You’re in control of this. Of everything.”

“And this lasts as long as you need it to.” Priscilla says. “We will give the child a good life, I promise. Be it days. Months. Years.”

“The child, Dudu?” Dandelion asks. “Do you want to use your name, or a different one?”

“I don’t want to be me anymore.” Dudu sobs. “I don’t want to be me anymore.”

“Okay. Okay. Shh. Be someone else.” Priscilla hugs him closer. “Be someone else. We’ll look after them.”

Dudu closes his eye.

 “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t even think the gods know that yet, Dudu.” Priscilla says.

The Doppler nods. “What are you hoping for?”

She looks at Dandelion. “A daughter.”

 The eye opens again.

“A little girl.” Priscilla smiles. “Essi?”

“Essi.” Dandelion nods.

Priscilla runs a gentle hand through her daughter’s long blond hair. “Hello, Essi.”

“You’re safe now, Sweetest.” Dandelion puts the bracelet around his daughter’s wrist. Green. Decorated with yellow flowers. 

“Your Momma and Pappa have you.” Priscilla says.

  It is a warm day, and the family is sitting on a blanket in one of the fields outside Novigrad. Everything is ready for harvest, and the smell of fresh crop and autumn surrounds them as they enjoy a lunch of dumplings from Hattori and fish from the market. 

Elihal made a beautiful outfit for Essi, perfect for running in fields. 

Now covered in mud and leaves, Essi sits in her mother’s lap and shows off her reading.

“Miss Marabella says I’m top of the class.”

“Well done.” Priscilla kisses her temple. “My clever little girl. You get that from your father.”

“With a healthy dose of your mother’s intelligence to match it.” Dandelion says.

“Can I teach the baby to read when they are born?”

“Of course.” Dandelion smiles. “Although they will be too little at first, Essi. You’ll need to read to them to begin with.”

“I can do that.” Essi curls up against her mother, her ear over her stomach. “I’m going to be the best big sister. Uncle Lambert said so.”

“Well, if Uncle Lambert said so, it must be true.” Priscilla chuckles.

“I can hear the heart beating.” She sits up. “What’s its name, Momma?”

“Thomas if it is a boy, after my father.” Priscilla smiles. “And if it is a girl…Anarietta. After a friend of Pappa’s from Toussaint.”

Dandelion’s eyes widen over the top of his wine goblet.

He coughs. “You want to name our daughter after my former…”

“Of course.” Priscilla grins. “The strategy should keep us in names for a while.”

“How many children are we having?”

Priscilla winks, and then smiles at Essi, now yawning as she curls up against her mother.

Priscilla and Dandelion rest their foreheads together, embracing around their daughter and unborn child.

  Dandelion and Priscilla stir as the sound of the baby’s cries reach them. 

“Dandelion, Anarietta is awake.” Priscilla is still half asleep. 

“And it’s my turn.” Dandelion says around a yawn.

“There’s milk in her night stand.” Priscilla turns onto her side, eyes still closed. “If she won’t take it, bring her back here.”

“I’m sure we’ll be…”

And the crying suddenly stops. 

“Julian?” Priscilla, now wide awake, sits up and out of the bed. Her husband reaches for the poker that they use in the fireplace before opening the door. 

“Stay behind me.” Dandelion’s heart thunders in his chest, but he slowly crosses the hallway to Anarietta’s room, noticing as they pass that Essi’s door is open, and the bed empty. 

“Essi?” Priscilla picks up the empty child’s nightgown from the floor. 

And they can hear singing, from Anarietta’s room. 

The halfling is dressed in a simple, but well padded outfit, the perfect cushion for the tiny baby in his curled arm. He sings to her as he holds the bottle. No lyrics, just gentle vocal sounds. 

“Dudu?” Priscilla is as good as whispering the name.

Dudu looks up quickly, mouth a thin line. 

“I...I...I didn’t want to be you and confuse her. And Essi is too young to hold her alone and...”

“It’s alright, Dudu.” Dandelion smiles as he crouches down in front of the halfling. “Look. She likes you.”

Anarietta suckles at the bottle, cornflower blue eyes focused on the halfling holding her and clearly as content as any being can be.

The bottle empties, and Dandelion gently encourages the baby to rest against Dudu’s shoulder, directing the halfling to rub her back with firm strokes. 

Anarietta burps, and Priscilla giggles.

“Oh, very ladylike.” She says to the baby.

Dudu carefully hands Anarietta to her mother, and the baby is laid back in her cot, already asleep.

“She should be Essi. That was supposed to be her name, wasn’t it?”

“Nonsense.” Dandelion says, taking Dudu’s hand. “She has the name her parents gave her. And so does Essi.”

Dudu’s fingers tighten around Dandelion’s, the grip desperate. Like a falling man grabbing at a rope.

“I’m sorry.”

“Dudu, you have nothing to apologise for.” Priscilla crouches beside him, her hand on his knee. “We agreed, remember. We want to do this with you.”

“To be here for you.” Dandelion rests a hand on Dudu’s cheek. “To help you feel safe. Is it helping?”

Dudu’s single eye widens, and he nods. 

“Then it causes no harm.” Priscilla takes his other hand. “We love looking after Essi. And if it helps, think of it like this. In a way, Dudu, you’re helping us too. Helping us practice how to be good parents for Anarietta.” 

“I...I am?” Dudu looks at the floor, single eye filled with enough sorrow for two. 

“I look at Anarietta.” Dandelion indicates the sleeping baby with a nod. “And I know, without a doubt, that I would die for my little girls.” Dandelion says. “That nothing is more important to me now, than my family?”

Priscilla nods. 

“And that includes you, our dear friend.”

Dudu collapses into his arms, sobs shaking his body as he empties his sorrows against the bard’s shoulders, Priscilla quietly rubbing his back. 

“Our dear, dear friend.” Dandelion repeats.

“I know he’s dead but...I still...it’s like he’ll find me. Any second. It’s like he’s in my head...”

“I know.” Priscilla knows. Knows the nights of every sound being an attacker. Of every street corner being a dark hiding place for an attacker. Of every laugh and jeer being an attacker. “But you have your family with you.”

Dudu nods, and Dandelion rocks him slightly, whispering gentle words into the halfling’s ear.

“Do you want to talk? About what happened?”

Dudu shakes his head.

“That’s okay.” Dandelion kisses the side of his head.

“Please…” Dudu pushes back. “I’m not ready to stop yet. Pl...”

“You don’t have to.” Priscilla says. “It’s okay. We will be here. All of us.”

“And we’ll be here when you are ready.”

Dudu looks down at his wrist, and slowly removes the bracelet.

Dandelion and Priscilla work together to dress their daughter in a fresh nightgown. Then Priscilla combs and plats Essi’s long, blond hair before tucking her into her bed.

  A beautiful green dress hangs on the door, ready for school tomorrow. And next to it is another. Cornflower blue to match a little girl’s single eye.

Essi is careful when she wears them. She wants them to stay beautiful, so that Momma can give them to Anarietta one day. 

She runs up to Momma, and hands her a drawing of their family.

“Oh it’s beautiful.” Priscilla says. “Thank you. Essi...”

The child looks up.

“You’re not wearing your bracelet today...”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

What’s Mine Is Yours (To Leave or Take)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): a/b/o, intersex omegas, accidental pregnancy, mpreg (see ao3 for full list of tags) Rating: explicit

Chapter: 4

•  prev | next •  WMIY Masterpost

Fic Summary: Geralt has knows since the trials that, unlike other omegas, he will never become pregnant, never raise pups and live a normal life. But after a close call finds him and Jaskier in bed together, he discovers he was wrong about that assumption.

[read it on ao3]

@writinglizards I can’t help with your work issues, but I can offer you a bonus chapter in the hopes that it helps your night get a teeny bit better ❤ 

Travelling without Jaskier is… weird, to say the least. It's quiet and Geralt's not sure how he got by without Jaskier in the evenings to fill the silence. But he goes on, as usual, heading toward Lyria and the contract. The road is long and it's been years since he's been this far East, so it's unfamiliar to him and takes him longer than he'd like to get anywhere.

The kingdom is beyond the mountains, so Geralt makes his way through the pass, skirting around Vengerberg, and arriving early in the evening. As soon as he introduces himself, Geralt is escorted to the king's receiving room, still dusty from the road, tired and grouchy. The only thing he's grateful for is the way the King's advisor winks at him conspiratorily and assures him she'll find him a room with a bath. If he wasn't so relieved, he might be upset that she's taunting him, but she smiles kindly and her scent doesn't offer anything but sincerity so Geralt trusts her - as well as he trusts any nobles or their guards.

Even when Geralt is brought before the king, he finds his attention wandering. He taps his fingers against his leg impatiently, eyes flicking away to the window. He doesn't feel ill, per se, but he feels off and he'd like to get to this room and rest as soon as possible. But the king awaits him, sitting atop an ornate throne and Geralt resists the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. He doesn't have the time for people who waste money on chairs of gold while their people work themselves to exhaustion in the fields. Still, he bows in greeting and keeps his tone polite.

"Witcher," the king says and Geralt grits his teeth at the name.

"King Casimir. I saw your notice back in Vizima, perhaps I could be of some assistance." Suddenly, Geralt's stomach rolls and he bites it back, just barely refraining from leaning on the nearest table.

"I certainly hope so," the king says gruffly, "whatever this creature is, it's invaded the castle."

"Why don't we sit down and you can tell me more, give me some idea of what I'm up against."

"I haven't hired you yet," the king reminds him as though Geralt isn't very aware that everything he does is at the pleasure of someone else. Right now, he doesn't care, he just wants to get off his feet.

"Of course, your majesty."

Geralt barely even grumbles when he says the words and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the advisor barely concealing a grin. Geralt follows the king to a door at the side of the room, inside of which there is a table with many chairs around it. He waits for the king to sit, then takes his own seat when directed to.

"I suppose we'd best get on with it," the king mutters, "there's something killing my people, Witcher, and I want it dealt with."

"Of course. How many victims have there been so far?"

"Only three, but one was my cook. Everyone has been on edge."

"No doubt. Tell me about the bodies, what did they look like?" The king just stares blankly at him, evidently offended that Geralt thinks he might lower himself to tending to the victims himself. This time Geralt really does roll his eyes. "Then I'll have to speak to whoever found the bodies and whoever tended to them afterward. But first, payment."

"I'll pay you whatever it takes to get this beast out of my home."

"If it's inside the castle, it's probably something that can change shape - vampire, werewolf, maybe a doppler if they were under someone's influence. I won't take less than 300 Gulden for that. More, if it gives me trouble."

"Yes, yes, just deal with it."

Geralt sighs internally but agrees. He's eager to get to it or to get to his room so he can bathe and relax because the not-quite-right feeling is getting stronger. But the king calls in a servant to draft up a contract and Geralt is forced to wait about half an hour before it's finished and he can sign it and leave.

When he's finally allowed to leave, the advisor shows him to his room - a large one, as promised, with a bath in one corner, already filled and streaming. Geralt sighs with relief and the advisor smiles and bids him goodnight. Geralt's shoulders slump as the door shuts behind him. He wishes, not for the first time, that Jaskier was with him. He wants someone to talk to, to bounce ideas off of, but more than that he aches for the feeling of Jaskier's fingers in his hair as he soaps it up. Maybe it's just because Geralt isn't feeling like himself and Jaskier is a comfort to him, but he suspects it's more than that.

He strips down quickly and climbs into the tub, sinking up to his chest in warm water and sighing contentedly. For the first time since he parted with Jaskier, Geralt is able to relax, if only for a moment. He considers what the king said to him and makes a mental list of people he has to speak to, but that can wait until the morning. If it's a vamp, it's not going anywhere and he will be able to hear it if it's around tonight - if it's a werewolf, he has two days until the next full moon so he's not in a rush.

Geralt washes his hair and slides his hands down his stomach, rinsing the sweat from his skin. But his gut clenches as he slides lower, a reminder of how long it's been since he's enjoyed anyone's company, how badly he misses it. Maybe if he just… jerks off really quickly. He doesn't have to drag it out, just a quick wank to cut the tension, the irritability that seems to be creeping up on him. But as soon as he touches his cocklet, already firming up under his fingers, he knows it won't just be quick.

Already he's remembering Jaskier's body against him, his hands on him and he wants that feeling again, or wants as close to it as he can get. He's not thinking when he slides down and pushes two fingers into his cunt, when he shifts and spreads his legs to find that particular spot that makes him crazy for it. He's working off memory alone; Jaskier's lips, his hands, his cock. Jaskier buried deep in his cunt, whispering soft praise in his ear as he fucks him. Gods, he wants him.

Geralt shuts his eyes, lips parting instinctively as his own body and its movements fade, replaced by the truly lifelike fantasy.

Fantasy-Jaskier crawls up between his legs, hands on the tub on either side of his shoulders and Geralt shudders at the thought of him. Jaskier dips down, mouthing at the side of his neck and Geralt tips his head to the side as if he was really there, making space for Jaskier to mouth at his throat. His memory is so strong, Geralt can practically smell him, the thick scent of citrus and spice now muted by Jaskier's arousal. It engulfs Geralt, makes him as brainless and wanting as if Jaskier was right there with him.

When his fingers push deeper, he imagines Jaskier's cock sliding into him, wonders vaguely if he could get his whole hand inside him - would it feel like Jaskier's knot? Would it be as good? Fuck, he wants to try.

He's fucking himself in earnest, one hand sliding over his cocklet while the other thrusts into him and there's a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he calls, startlingly breathless already.

"Irena. The advisor," comes the response, "the serving ladies would like to have a word with you."

"About the monster?" Geralt grunts, slowing his motions but not stopping. The Advisor has a lovely voice, he might even be inclined to invite her in, under different circumstances, but when she answers in the affirmative, Geralt just groans to himself, stroking his cocklet a few more times before stopping altogether. He's not sure what's gotten into him, what's making him so damn horny.

"Alright," he relents, frustrated, "just let me get dressed."

The serving girls are surprisingly helpful. They tell of a large looming creature, which doesn't really rule out any of his theories, but they do recall seeing claw marks on the floor in the cook’s room when they went to fetch him the morning he was discovered. Without seeing the marks himself - or the body - Geralt can't make a firm guess, but it does narrow down his possibilities. Claws mean most likely a vampire or werewolf. He's not delighted at the prospect of fighting either, with the way he's feeling, but he'd rather a beast attacking of its own volition than a doppler forced into servitude.

By the time Geralt falls into bed that night, he's exhausted and any thoughts of continuing what he started in the bath are quickly discarded. He's still feeling a little pent up, or maybe it's just the adjustment to not having Jaskier with him at all times. Geralt falls asleep quickly, and wakes early, spending the majority of his morning and afternoon questioning anyone who's been in the castle in the last month.

He's leaning into the werewolf theory, having pieced together that the last attack took place during a full moon (and there hasn't been another since). The younger servants are terrified and don't want anything to do with Geralt or the monster, but many of the older ones are willing to help if it gets rid of the beast. Soon, Geralt finds himself down in the dungeon face to face with the last victim.

His wounds are very clearly from a werewolf, which is both good and bad for Geralt. Good because the full moon is tomorrow but bad because it means he only has the one chance to kill it - or more likely, he only has a day to find out who it is to try and cure them. The king had implied that it had to be someone working in the keep because they had free reign of the castle, so that makes Geralt’s job easier, but that's still a lot of people.

Then, just when Geralt thinks he's finally getting somewhere, his body turns on him.

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Geralt's Sick and Jaskier Does What He Knows Best

Geralt leaned over the bucket Jaskier gave him, holding his hair back as he violently vomited. It was the third time in the past hour that his stomach emptied it's contents. His vision was clouded in a feverish haze. Between the gagging and his stuffed nose it almost felt like he was choking. Geralt had almost died, multiple times. But those times were much more comfortable than this.

"Gods Geralt, are you okay?" Geralt looked up from his bucket momentarily. Giving the bard a sharp look. "Right, stupid question. You're obviously not alright."

"No....shit..." Geralt murmured as he dry heaved yet again. He was tired. His stomach refused to let him sleep or even meditate. They were a five minute walk away from the nearest village now but any walking at all would be too much for the witcher. He fell back on the bed roll he'd laid out. Trying to adjust in a way that didn't slowly kill him. He was failing miserably.

"It's been two days Geralt, we can't keep ignoring this." The witcher made an incomprehensible grunt. "I'm going to town and getting you some medicine."

"No money."

"I'll get us money." Jaskier gestured to his lute. Geralt's eyes narrowed for a moment before falling back.

"Mmmpfff...abandoning me in my time of need to get laid."

"I am not-well maybe, but you'll be fine you drama queen." Jaskier made his way to the nearby path turning to horse that seemed to stand guard over Geralt. "Take care of him Roach." The horse didn't acknowledge the bard, instead taking a seat next to her witcher. "Good girl." Jaskier began to walk when he called over his shoulder. "I'll be back before the day's end!"

"Hmmmm."

~~

"And watch thy neighbor for the harlots, heretics, magicians and the wretched dopplers." The crowd milled about the town center, ignoring the member of the eternal flame's preaching at large. But Johan kept his head down regardless. Dopplers had a hard time already. With a church like they eternal flame about, it was best not to stand out.

The doppler quickly stopped when someone bumped into him.

"Sorry," the man muttered as he walked away. Johan stared before he instantly realized something. His coin purse.

"Hey!" The doppler called after the thief. But he couldn't catch up and the man had already disappeared. Damn those were his last coins-he couldn't even afford a bench to sleep on now. "Fucker!" The doppler spat but it did little in the way of help. Johan was used to being spat on by the universe but today Melitele herself must be having a good laugh. The man's feet dragged as shuffled back towards the inn. Maybe he could make some money playing Gwent. He wasn't an expert but-

"-For 'tis naught, but bad luck to fuck with a puck, lest your grandkid be born a hairy young faun." Entering the doppler was instantly struck by the voice. There in front of the innkeep was a bard. A man as beautiful as the voice singing. His cornflower blues were alight as he sung the jaunty tune.

All eyes were on him. Men and women showing something of an interest to the young bard. Johan feeling a spike of jealousy in his chest. It must be nice to have it so easy. He probably slept with every woman who threw themselves at him and got by just in the money thrown his way.

Johan glanced at some of the women taking about him.

"-the bard Jaskier! In our town."

"I love his ballads. Especially the one about the witcher."

Jaskier? He liked that name. Johan grinned as he ducked out of the inn. Shifting his form away from prying eyes. Maybe "Jaskier" would have better luck in the next town over.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Okay Actually not done yet. "You cause him Nothing but trouble" Yennefer says to Jaskier in episode 5. And they hint then that that is Accurate. That Jaskier encourages Geralt away from following the Code (an actual thing in this verse) to doing things that are Right. (Geralt Please. Advise us. Tell me, tell Them how to stop this pogrom. How to stop these people from suffering)

And then we go to Novigrad. And it is Hard to watch. Because we see Exactly how right Yennefer is. This Jaskier? The writers didn't shy away from his less appealing aspects. Don't get me wrong- Super grateful they didn't show Netflix Jaskier being a creep but.

We see this Jaskier. He's a cheater. He doesn't pay his tab and he's a moch that never has any money it seems. He warns Geralt about the church that controls the city and burns people at the stake for hersey and we find out later that Ops Sorry. I Fucking knew but I did it anyway. (Which to be fair is maybe not a Bad thing but proves the point about him causing trouble.)

And then there's Dudu. What do you even DO with Dudu. I mean. Jaskier gets all like. Hey Geralt help me scare this halfling 'friend' into giving us some of his dinner Oh Wait he's a Doppler FUCK.

And Dudu admits (proudly boasts?) He's slept with Jaskiers girlfriend as Jaskier (who just threw Jaskier out for cheating) AND ALSO SLEPT WITH JASKIER AS HER. And the church is going to burn Dudu at the stake (also Jaskier) so Geralts like. We should go.

And then Jaskier Carries Dudu out of the city. In his arms. Despite what he's learned. Despite the fact he was FUMING mad earlier. And Geralt is very valiant and they manage to get out unharmed.

And then they're camping and, sure, Jaskier makes a thoughtless comment on wishing he could be whoever he wanted to be but then he pulls Dudu into his arms. 'Hey. Let me keep you warm.'

And I don't know! It adds so much to me that they can manage to make Jaskier this like. Not great person and still you come out the other end going 'No I understand why Geralt loves him anyway.'

Like in the books Nenneke sets up how terrible he is and how she hates him and how she doesn't understand how someone as good as Geralt could be friends with him. And then at the end when they're leaving she says 'i hate you.' 'no you don't.' 'no. Damnit I don't.' Because under all the Terrible horrible Flaws that should Disqualify him from any place in there hearts is someone so Fundamentally good that you can't help but love him anyway.

Because when the elves are suffering in the hexer he's the one who stands up and says 'This is not okay. You cannot be okay with this.' and he's the one who carries a man who has Hurt him from the city that would be his death in his arms and he's the only one who cried out of a rope when Yennefer and Geralt fell of the mountain while Everyone else stood by and said Let them fall.

Because he's the one in the series, he's the one in this Miserable fucking world who says No. This is not Okay. You cannot be okay with this. Do not be okay with this. DO SOMETHING.

He is so much trouble. He's a cheater, a cynic and a whoremonger. And you love him anyway. Because his character says we are flawed. Humanity is Flawed. But that doesn't mean there isn't good in us. Do not be okay with this. Do something.

And he does. He does do something. In a series that is Dark and gruesome and Miserable. He does something. As Dudu calls him. He is the little spark. The little spark of hope. If only he could catch tinder. Then maybe. Maybe. Something could change.

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Day 3: Cursed

Title: Cursed

Ship: Geralt x Dandelion

Prompt Day: 3

Medium: Books / Netflix Mashup

Warnings: Self-hatred, references to past abuse Geralt has canonically suffered. Non-graphic sex.

Summary: “You think you’re different. You flaunt your otherness, what you consider abnormal. You aggressively impose that abnormality on others, not understanding that for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everyone was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells?” -Andrzej Sapkowski, Sword of Destiny

Dandelion is cursed to read minds and finds out just how wrong his past words have been.

Read me on Ao3 instead

Word Count: 8651

Author’s Note: This exchange always bothered me in the books. Dandelion dismissing the obvious pain and humiliation and suffering Geralt endures because he’s a witcher. Arguably in some ways he probably thinks he’s helping but it doesn’t make things any better for Geralt in general. I wanted a less verbose Geralt to give a reason for the curse, So I’m tossing in some Netflix canon.

Dandelion had always wondered what Geralt was thinking. His companion was usually taciturn, and at turns rude. He spoke at length on monsters, and not much else. Not to mention some of Geralt’s other bedpartners hadn’t seemed to be… on the up and up. Coral had left Dandelion with so many questions, and Geralt hadn’t seemed to know why he was bedding the witch either. At least with Yennefer he knew. Even if he was an idiot about it.

Triss hadn’t seemed right, either, he had never known Geralt to have any interest in her, and then he’d found himself in her bed. Needless to say, the bard was occasionally left wondering if Geralt truly wanted to be in his bed, or was just grateful for any company at all. He believed himself too other to find an easily willing bedpartner, and frequently fucked women who saw him as a curiosity to satisfy rather than a man. Or at least he had. Now, he was rubbing himself against the bard several times a week. While Geralt had given no indication he wanted to stray, or wasn’t enjoying himself, Dandelion still wondered. He had never known Geralt to bed a man before, but he supposed the witcher’s keep only housed men, and perhaps that’s how he’d started his ‘career’ as it were. The poet had never been brave enough to ask.

So when he found himself in town waiting for Geralt to come back from a contract, he went browsing local shops and markets to kill time. He hadn’t intended to go into a magic shop, it wasn’t as if he needed philters or potions to enhance their lovemaking. Nor much of anything else that he would find there. Geralt was free of disease, as was he, so he didn’t need cures.

Dandelion did, however, debate on some healing salves and bruise balms for his companion. Geralt wouldn’t outwardly appreciate it but would allow the poet to apply them to his hurts. A book caught his eye as he browsed, the shopkeeper busy with another set of patrons off in the corner of the shop. Having spent enough time around witchers and sorcerers, Dandelion knew this shop was the real deal. The book was likely to be a real spell book of sorts. To amuse himself, he began to flip through it.

There was a ‘curse’ of some kind, to be able to read a person’s mind. The parts he skimmed were the opening parts about prying, lesson learned, curse, deepest secrets, and so forth. What he committed to memory were the ingredients and other steps. Some herbs he already had, something of Geralt’s, or something that held his essence…well he shed that white hair all over and Dandelion was sure he’d find some on their pillow or in their bags somewhere. If not, there would be something else of his that should do. Then he had to speak some words in Elder and that should be enough. Dandelion could not tap into the Source, but the spell didn’t seem to require it if the person you were ‘cursing’ to have their thoughts read could. Or perhaps the curse was the person who would then be able to read minds? The spell would end when it ended, he didn’t bother to read anything about that, either.

A harmless little gimmick. It probably wouldn’t work, and if it did, he would get his question answered and the spell would fade away.

He purchased some extra bandaging, a little more healing salve, and then went back to the attic they were staying in. The only entrance was external, so he wouldn’t have to pass through the house. A sort of friend of Geralt’s had been happy to give them a place to stay. There was a small table and chair, both rickety, and a paillasse to sleep on with a few candles here and there in small dishes around the room. Dandelion set up the healing supplies on the table, in case they were needed. Geralt didn’t always get hurt, or sometimes the most he got was a bruise or two. And other times… other times he came back a mess.

Bored after a while, he had explored the town quite thoroughly and had found nothing all that interesting to do. Ordinarily he might have gone to a brothel, but he was quite content with Geralt who did not especially enjoy when his partners left his bed. Throughout the years he and Yennefer had worked out an arrangement where they only slept with others when they weren’t together. Dandelion privately wondered if Yennefer maintained this promise, but Geralt had enhanced senses and should know. Or at least guess. And if he didn’t want to, that was his choice.

If nothing else, Dandelion had stayed faithful, and would continue to do so. Fingers drumming against his leg as he paced about, he recalled the ‘curse’. Deciding since he had no magical talent and Geralt had very little, perhaps he could try it, he set about gathering up the ingredients. Since it wasn’t going to work, there was no harm in playing pretend was there? Even if part of him hoped it would. The insight would be invaluable. Especially since Geralt was so awful at giving him details for the ballads.

Bored after, he fell asleep waiting for Geralt.

Hooves clattering and steps on the stairs leading up to the attic woke him and he was surprised to find Geralt stripped of his armor and clean already. Geralt must have gone and turned over proof of his kill and gotten paid, then gone to bathe. He always hid his money away and never shared where he put it and Dandelion didn’t much care. Better he didn’t know in case someone tried to get it.

“You’re back!” Dandelion smiled, then started oddly and frowned. Of course I’m back. He hadn’t seen Geralt’s mouth move and honestly he hadn’t expected the spell to work. Why would you think I wasn’t coming back? It was just a measly little dracolizard. “I’m just happy to see you, and clean before I get to you, to boot.”

“Hmm.” I can wash myself. I don’t always need you to do it. Even if it sometimes feels nice. I was washing myself my whole life until you showed up and kept taking over. Without asking.

“I suppose that’s that, here, let me look you over, alright? Did you get hurt?”

“No,” Geralt answers the second question but then begins tugging his shirt off to prove to the bard he isn’t lying. Not going to believe me anyway. Never take me at my word when it comes to injuries. Smelled the bruise balm from outside it’s so strong. Don’t fuss over me, just kiss me.

Able to see the hunger in Geralt’s face even under the annoyance of his thoughts, Dandelion quickly packed away the medical supplies in a bag and hoped that would lessen the smell of the salve. Then turned to Geralt who was stripping out of his pants, ostensibly to prove he was uninjured. But with the ability to read minds the poet knew Geralt wanted a lot more than a few kisses. And even without the ability, his half hard cock hanging between his legs was another good indicator of his hopes.

Don’t talk at me, just love me. Or tell me you aren’t going to and I’ll get dressed again.

“Don’t you look a sight?” The bard smiled, and felt his smile falter a little.

“Hmm.” I know I’m hideous. I’ve seen myself in the doppler. I don’t own a mirror for that reason. I don’t see why you insist on reminding me.

“Oh love,” Dandelion breathed out miserably. “Come to me, help me out of these clothes, they’re far fussier than yours.”

“Hurry up, then,” Geralt stepped in to assist him. If you drag this out the elixirs will stop any of it from happening. And after the day I’ve had, I need something good. I need to feel good. You’ve told me that matters to you, prove it. Prove it before the elixirs wear out entirely. Yennefer isn’t here with her little spell.

“I’m hurrying,” Dandelion agreed, soon naked and willing. “I love you so much,” he carefully began stroking Geralt, pushing him back towards the bed. He had seen what the witcher wanted, and he was determined to give it to him. It was a lovely image, and incredibly appealing. Soon, he was unable to speak, kissing Geralt as he pushed him down into the bed. Things rather devolved from there.

Easy, easy, my skin is more sensitive than yours. Quiet, quiet, not too loud, oh, oh yes more of that, please don’t stop, oh, oh. Push against me, I want all of you, be closer. Like that, just like that, Gentle, gentle, please, yes, treat me like that.

I can bear it, I can bear the pain if you want to be rough. Whatever it takes.

The poet had gone from stroking him off to bringing their bodies in close to rub himself against Geralt, and the thoughts running through the witcher’s head caught him off guard. He hadn’t thought once he had ever hurt his partner in bed, never known how sensitive he was to the touch especially while aroused. Perhaps the elixirs were the cause this time, he wasn’t sure, he always made sure Geralt came, and surely he wouldn’t if he wasn’t pleased? He always came back seeking more… had Dandelion been doing him some kind of disservice this whole time?

He slipped down Geralt’s body, as good as moving together had felt, he wanted to do something special. Something they didn’t indulge in often. As he brought his mouth to Geralt’s cock, he half wondered if the spell wore off because Geralt stopped thinking entirely for a few minutes.

Then, his thoughts resumed.

Geralt groaned softly, back arching and body trembling. So good at that, yes, like that. Oh, you’ve never been that gentle before, it’s good. So good. Always do it like this. Fuck. Fuck. I’m going to come early. Being wound up tight as a spring, I can feel it. Oh. Oh, please do this again. Do that. Do that… yes… I don’t want it to be over so soon.

Dandelion smiled when Geralt cried out quietly, muffling his voice with a hand over his mouth. The witcher reached out for him, determined to bring him to his own climax, to let him share in how good he felt, only to find the bard already satisfied. “Pleasing you pleases me,” Dandelion told him shortly, kissing him softly. He was now realizing that while sometimes Geralt’s hands were frantic, gripping and seeking, it was fear that drove him to reach like that. To try and cover what he could before he thought he would lose it. But his kisses, the witcher always kissed like he was kissing someone precious and fragile. Now Dandelion understood it. He gently kissed Geralt’s palms and the tips of his calloused fingers, holding one against his cheek.

“Need to sleep some,” Geralt informed him. Damned elixirs. I’d rather just go another round. Wanted more of you. Want all of you. Stay with me. I hate sleeping alone.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of a nap myself.” Dandelion surprised them both by wrapping himself around Geralt for a change. He buried his face in the nape of the witcher’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. Soap had given way to sweat and sex, and the bard found he didn’t care. He kissed the back of Geralt’s neck gently and held him closer.

Eskel used to do this. It brought him comfort to hold me. As much as it did me. No one’s held me like this since I was a snot-nosed brat back at the keep. Feels nice. I’m so tired. So tired of hunting down these monsters that by all rights didn’t do much wrong. No more so than a human. And then getting treated like shit on a boot for it. Fucking bastards tried to underpay me , again. If a local barrister hadn’t overheard us shouting about the contract I might not have got paid at all.

Sometimes I half hope the monsters will kill me, but then I come back and you’re here, and it’s less bad. You aren’t afraid to touch me, to hold me, and I feel a little less alone. Of course if you knew you’d lord it over me, my weakness. I can see the little caper you’d cut, mocking me for hiding my feelings. I wish I could tell you. I’m just so sick and tired of being hurt.

Dandelion found himself stroking Geralt’s hair until the witcher fell asleep, utterly exhausted. The poet now felt he understood why the spell was listed as a curse. He had thought perhaps it wasn’t so bad, learning more about Geralt’s preferences in their bed. Even if it cut him to the bone to know the witcher wouldn’t speak up. Of course, sharing his thoughts also made Dandelion aware of just how strong Geralt’s enhanced senses were and how much he filtered out. The bard had no such training and had found every noise and smell Geralt was aware of rather distracting. It had pleased him, however, to know the witcher liked the smell of him.

Dandelion fell asleep again, one arm wrapped snugly around Geralt’s middle.

Please, I don’t want to. It hurt. I don’t understand. No, no, no stop. Don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt them. Do what you want to me. Cut me open, take out my eyes, castrate me, all the things you’ve threatened, just don’t hurt them. I’ll beg. I’ll beg for you to hurt me if that will stop you. Please no, leave him alone, don’t make me watch. No, not her, how can I choose? Take me. Hurt me. Cut me into pieces but don’t ask me to choose.

Dandelion woke up in the room, darkness preventing him from seeing much of anything. Geralt was still asleep in his arms and it took him several minutes to realize that one, the pain was fake, and two Geralt was still dreaming. The witcher wasn’t doing anything to indicate his distress, and the bard smoothed a hand over him in an attempt to calm him. The muscles under his palm were rigid, and nothing he did helped. Geralt was well and truly trapped in the nightmare. No wonder he didn’t like sleeping alone. Dandelion pulled himself out of the bed and found some matches to light some of the candles around the room. Then he tugged on his smallclothes and a pair of pants before attempting to wake Geralt again.

Shaking his shoulder and springing away to avoid a blow worked. “Geralt, Geralt wake up, I’m here.”

Blind, blind and going to die, oh, there’s fire. I hate being burned. “Dandelion?” his voice was thick with sleep, throat tight from refusing to scream.

“Here, drink some water,” the bard passed over a cup. The water wasn’t much cooler than the room, but it was something and Geralt slaked his thirst with little ceremony. “Are you alright?”

“Of course. Why did you wake me?” Thank the gods you did. How did you know? Did I cry out? I had thought they beat that out of me long ago. I thought I had learned to be quiet. Am I slipping?

“You just felt tense, that’s all. I woke up and made to gather you back up into my arms and you were stiff as a rock,” Dandelion felt his heart squeeze. Oh, this was awful. Knowing all of this was awful. He could see the scene in his mind’s eye, as Geralt remembered it. The nightmares, an older man with lambent eyes dragging him from his bed to belt him for disturbing the night. Eyes stinging, Dandelion held Geralt as close as the witcher allowed.

“Are you alright?”

“A bad dream of my own,” he lied, heart pounding against his ribs. Who would hit a child for having a nightmare? No one with a heart, at the very least. “You know I love you?”

“Yes, Dandelion, so you’ve said.” To thousands of women and men I’m sure. And I’m sure you always think you mean it. Well, I know you don’t. I know you didn’t care much about Veverka or Akeretta. Or a great deal of the others you just wanted to dip your cock in someone else. If it isn’t wet you seem to think it’ll dry up and die like a plant in the desert. I don’t want to be one of your Veverkas. I don’t think I can much decide if what I feel for you is the same as what you feel for me until I know what you mean when you say ‘I love you’. You’ve said it to so many and for so little reason who can blame me for thinking it insincere? Much like “my little dog doesn’t bite” is always insincere. “My son is a good boy; it was that hussy that made him do it.” I wish I believed you. I want to. But it will hurt less when you turn to your next conquest if I don’t let myself believe you now.

“I mean it, Geralt. I mean it,” Dandelion told him raggedly, pained at what he heard in his lover’s mind. “Yours is the last bed I mean to share.”

“So you’ve said.” He probably believes it too, poor bastard. He might even feel guilty when it turns out not to be true. I won’t blame him. It won’t be his fault. It’s his very nature. Part of being part of his guild, even. I knew this before I got involved with him in this way. I wish he meant it. I wish he meant it like I would mean it if I could bear to say it.

Dandelion resolved then and there to go back to the shop once it was open and reread how exactly to end the spell. This is wrong. He’ll tell Geralt, he should probably tell him now, but he doesn’t mean to keep it up. He’s done them both a disservice. And in some ways, done them both a service, but this is enough. He can’t sleep and spends the rest of the night holding Geralt and stroking his hair. The witcher doesn’t dream again until near daybreak. A faceless woman with hair that shifted between red and chestnut straddled him, and he felt helpless.

Dandelion shook him awake gently, he knew what that dream meant, even if Geralt didn’t. The witcher woke hopelessly confused about his own distress. But the poet understood the confusion was deliberate. In his dream he could taste the cold tang of magic and knew exactly what was happening. It didn’t benefit him to admit any of that to himself, however, and so he didn’t. Dandelion would not be the one to make him, not when Geralt had so many other pressing horrors to face. It would be wrong to add more. At least he knew that much.

“Let’s go get us some food,” the bard suggested. “The bakeries have already got stalls in the market for people setting up. My treat, I sang in a few taverns the past two days while you were off hunting. My purse is full.” And no one had cheated him anything. Not to mention his food and drink had been paid. “And no, Geralt, I didn’t fuck anyone while you were gone. I waited for you. As I have for the past few years now.”

He isn’t lying. His heart didn’t so much as stutter. Although perhaps it was in the phrasing. Make love. Maybe he made love to someone and he’s just fucking me. Either way it won’t do to dwell on it.

“I did not have sex of any kind with anyone. I was celibate in your absence. I missed you desperately.”

He believes that, too. Perhaps he was faithful. Perhaps he has been as he says. I wonder for how long? I don’t want to go out to the market. I don’t want to see people notice what I am. They won’t feed me anyway. Dandelion won’t listen. What did he tell me all those years ago? There was nothing special about me? I was one of the most ordinary men other than my eyes and senses? I can’t remember his exact turn of phrase. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be hated everywhere he goes. No point in arguing. I don’t want to stay here alone. I’ll just hang back, let him do the haggling. Even if it means I’ll have to watch him flirt with every stall owner in town as we go.

They left the room after dressing and cleaning up, Dandelion insisting on gently wiping Geralt down first. He knew the witcher enjoyed it and found the gentle intimacy just as pleasurable as the sex they’d had earlier. So few people were willing to touch him with genuine kindness that it always pleased him. It hurt a little, to Dandelion, that Geralt felt more loved in those little moments then he did at almost any other time. But now he knew. Now he would go out of his way to have more small moments like this between them.

The agony of what he’d done cut him to the bone, knowing he had betrayed Geralt’s trust. He had become another person who would take advantage and hurt him. He would use this experience, this mistake, to change how he treated the witcher. He would treat him more like a lover. When Geralt would allow it, at least.

He slipped his arm through Geralt’s, smiling as he spoke to him at length about the gossip of the town, determined to pretend all was well. Geralt’s internal commentary about the vagaries of man and their general idiocy almost made him laugh and he realized Geralt enjoyed these talks as much as he did. He just felt like his opinion or comments would be unwelcome or extraneous. Dandelion wasn’t sure how to draw them out of him, but it was good to know they were there. In spite of his feigned irritation.

“Here, this stall has a kind of pastry you like,” Dandelion smiled, squeezing Geralt’s arm gently. “The one next to it has juice, I’ll get us some. It seems a touch nicer than water. Or watery ale so early. The sun’s hardly up. Would you like to look for a place we could rest and eat?” There, that should allow Geralt to stay hidden.

He could hear Geralt’s vague but constant internal fear people would notice him and what they would do when they did. Not everyone got ugly, but so many did. The barrage of memories of being stoned, struck, whipped, slapped, beaten, and forced out threatened to choke the poet, and he took a deep breath. It got easier when Geralt was a little further away.

Stooped on purpose, to act more like his hair was from age than a ‘harmless’ side effect of the experiments, he wanted to draw up the hood of his cloak, but no one else had and so he would still stand out like a sore thumb. His headband was in his pocket, where it couldn’t stop his hair from hiding his face. He knew in the sunlight his pupils were as slits, preventing him from being blinded by the sun. He kept his eyes cast downwards, less chance of anyone seeing him.

Don’t look at me. I’m not here. I am simply part of the scenery. I won’t hurt you. I was so stupid to think that Vesemir was wrong. I was so stupid to think that I would be seen as anything other than what I am: a monster and a mutant. What else do I do but what monsters do? Kill, fuck, eat, sleep…

Cats know us for what we are, that’s why they hiss and run. Just once, though, I might like to touch one. I’ve heard them purr from a distance, but I can’t imagine what it feels like to touch one while it’s purring. Not that I like them, but I can’t hate them, either. They perform a task. They kill vermin. Perhaps that’s another reason they hate us. How many of them died to allow their genes to be mutated to ours? Hundreds? Thousands? I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want eyes like a cat. I didn’t even want to be a witcher, I don’t think. I can’t recall anymore. Now, all I want is to be left in peace. A kind touch, food in my belly, and a contract to make sure none of that changes.

“Here, love, did you find us a place?”

“It’s a short walk.”

“That’s fine by me, I think I remembered all your favorites.”

It was then that Geralt noticed the basket the bard is carrying. There were a few small skins of juice, and several cloth wrapped items. He sniffs appreciatively, nostrils flaring when he caught the scents of cinnamon, rhubarb, and apple. There was more, like strawberry, and something he didn’t recognize that smelled sweet. His mouth watered and Dandelion kissed his cheek.

“No one had anything with meat, and I didn’t want to get any pierogis to put in and have the onion taint the sweets. We can go back later if you’re still hungry. I know how you like pierogis,” Dandelion smiled.

Geralt smiled fondly back, oddly relaxed. His body language eased, and he forgot  to hunch in on himself for a while. His sharp hearing picked up the unkind words about his appearance some people shared behind his back, guessing him to be a witcher. He hunched back down, trying to hide behind Dandelion’s peacocked clothing. Sometimes it worked. He’d left his swords in Roach’s care, knowing she would stomp anyone half to death for trying to take them. He had a dagger in his belt, and a few other knives. He wasn’t defenseless. Not that he needed a weapon to protect himself.

Dandelion felt himself wilt. Nothing he did was good enough to stop the world from hurting his lover. How did Geralt bear it? he wondered, heartsick. No wonder he and Yennefer couldn’t last if she could read his mind like that at all times. The misery would be enough to make anyone despair. And it was nothing Geralt did, it was everything around him. The minute he let himself forget someone did or said something. He had to constantly be aware of himself. He gently rubbed a hand up and down Geralt’s back while they waited for a cart to pass.

Feels nice. It’s almost like he knew I needed it. It was good to walk arm and arm, before. As friends. I know he sticks up for me, I know he cares about me. It’s good to be reminded of it in the simple things, too.

Geralt lead them to a soft patch of grass under a tree he’d noticed on their way into town. It was far enough away from the main path to avoid notice, without being inconveniently far from the town. He had anticipated needing a place to be that would shelter him from the people and had scoped out several likely spots that would allow him to resupply without putting him in danger. Dandelion felt another piece of his heart break off and shatter.

They would eat, he would go back to town with Geralt, and take him to the shop. He would admit what he did and read the spell again and find out how to end it, and he would grovel. He would apologize, he would do whatever it took to fix things between them and let Geralt know he hadn’t truly even thought it would work. He had been bored, and foolish, and selfish. Geralt often forgave him, even when he shouldn’t. He would even offer to let Geralt spell him, instead. Let him see how remorseful he was, how much he realized what he had done was horrible and wrong. Then from there, Geralt could decide to forgive him or not. If nothing else, hopefully Geralt would see that he meant it when he confessed his love. Every time. And even if the witcher chose to leave, at least he could know that much.

They ate breakfast together, Geralt humming in pleasure to see cinnamon and sugar dusted sweet rolls. These had small streaks of cinnamon and sugar also baked into the dough and he ate them carefully, doing his best not to lose a single grain of sugar to the grass beneath them.

“I should have gotten more of those. I’ll go back first thing tomorrow. Get you an even half dozen or more if they have it,” Dandelion promised. He had gotten enough for both of them to share but hadn’t said anything about it. He realized now Geralt often went hungry or didn’t eat enough in general, trying to make sure Dandelion had enough. His own appetite diminished, he slowly ate one of the apricot tarts he’d gotten, knowing Geralt wasn’t overly fond of them. When the witcher offered him one of the sweet rolls he shook his head, pained to know the offer was genuine. Geralt wanted to share with him. “Oh, please, love, eat them all. I know how much you love them. We can get more.”

Geralt then picked out some of the rhubarb tarts, surprised that Dandelion was willing to indulge him on these. It was Yennefer who had introduced him to rhubarb in general, initially in the form of various jams. Some of which had been thrown rather than served with food. Some were mixed with other fruits, and each time he offered to share he was gently denied and so he ate them. They wouldn’t keep without getting horribly soggy. The flaky pastry with the warm fruit was a comfort. It had been ages since they’d eaten like this. When the bard wasn’t the one doing the purchasing half the time they gave Geralt the worst food.

Of course, I can eat it, what does it matter if it’s burned? Or perhaps a bit turned? It won’t make me sick. I can survive just about anything, including a little mold. Can’t count how many times I’ve been given awful supplies. Didn’t have any choice but to eat them. What was I going to do, go hungry? Some places don’t have enough hunting I could turn down moldy bread and cheese. This is so much better. Warm and fresh, the berries mixed in still sweet and tart… I don’t see why he follows me about when he could eat like this always. He’s a fucking viscount. And what have I got to offer him? Jerked meat or rabbit stew if that. I can’t feed him rotten supplies. Just like the tavern last week gave me the leavings from the stew, hardly any meat. Mostly just lumps of fat and gristle, but I was hungry. They didn’t even want to give me that much. I’m just glad their bad will stops with me, and doesn’t extend to him, he doesn’t deserve it. I’m not human, I can digest almost anything, poison or food.

His thoughts were interrupted by a new kind of fruit tart he hadn’t had before, and he didn’t think of anything else while he ate it, enjoying the tangy sweet flavor of the yellow fruit cut into rings and set on top of a lightly flavored jam. At his insistence, Dandelion took a bite and promised to procure more before they left. He was aware of Dandelion’s general reek of misery, but he wasn’t sure what was causing it. It left him at times, and then came back at others and Geralt just felt lost. He didn’t think he was the cause of it, or at least he hoped not.

“You’ve got some preserve on your cheek,” Dandelion smiled, gently wiping it away and licking it off his finger. He leaned over to kiss the spot, lightly licking Geralt’s skin to clear away the stickiness. The witcher squirmed slightly at the attention, both pleased and embarrassed. The bard grinned widely, “Not as sweet as you, of course, but not bad.” He hated how Geralt dismissed the compliment out of hand before briefly wondering if his seed was sweet and he’d never noticed. The bard almost choked on his own spit at that last part. “Oh love, you’re so much more than you can ever believe yourself to be,” he said sadly.

Geralt looked at him sharply, slowing down on his decimation of their breakfast supplies for a moment before shrugging it off. It didn’t matter. Kind words hide bastard truths. He was much worse than he thought, usually, and if he let himself forget even for a moment people reminded him in spades.

Content to finish up the last of the apple tarts, he had noticed Dandelion not eating much, but several prompts to eat as much as he wanted were met with no resistance. He was starving after the contract. The meal he’d managed to get before returning to Dandelion had been mediocre at best. Thankfully not half rotten, but nothing filling. Some watery soup and stringy meat with almost no vegetables had done nothing but take the worst of the edge off his hunger. Mostly full, he picks idly at the last roll in the basket, enjoying the peace and quiet.

“Would you like me to get more?”

“No,” Geralt told him quietly. He cracked open one of the skins and sipped slowly, pleased to taste a mix of fruits in the juice. He passed the skin to the bard who drank deeply before passing it back.

They did this with the others before Dandelion took a few deep breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“You are always so much more perceptive than I give you credit for. I did something foolish, but it won’t… I suppose it only affects us, and even then, not as much as it could. Not as negatively as it could. Or perhaps badly. Geralt I don’t know how to… can we just sit a few moments and enjoy the peace before I ruin it?”

“Us?”

“Not physically. You won’t be harmed, I won’t be harmed. All…I know what you’re thinking.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“No, Geralt, I can literally read… you’re upset I’ve hidden something from you. Perhaps lied. You’re wondering if the food was a bribe. It wasn’t. I genuinely wanted to please you. You’re as welcome to be as angry as you’d like for as long as you’d like, but I didn’t make this mistake with the intention to hurt you. I wanted… I wanted to please you. And yes, I did remember the foods you liked, I didn’t need to see into your mind to do that. You weren’t even thinking of them when I bought breakfast, you were worried about how if you’d gone to get it you’d get bread full of weevils and rot and wouldn’t know how to hide it from me and still find me food to eat.”

Geralt’s eyes widened in alarm. “How?”

“I did it, I cocked it up, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t even done to me. I was at the healer’s shop looking for things in case you were injured. I saw a spell to allow one to read another person’s mind… and I tried it. I never thought it would work. I hope you know that. I know how you have trouble believing me when I’m sincere. I can’t blame you. I simply… I simply wanted to be… the truth of it, since you can’t hide anything from me and none of this is right, the truth is I was worried you had fallen into my bed not by choice. And I wanted the truth of it. And I truly, truly did not for even a moment think the spell would work. Not a moment. I thought it would fail and I would laugh at myself and move on. But you came back and I could hear you.” He fidgeted with his hands miserably, knowing what he did was despicable. Geralt’s thoughts were mostly confused, not angry. That was worse, somehow.

“I should have asked you, I know. But I did. And I got an answer but I couldn’t quite believe it. After all, you remember Triss rather fondly when you shouldn’t. Coral, too. I didn’t want us to be like that. I wanted to make sure you were as willing as you said. But I didn’t… I didn’t think it would work. And then I found out I hadn’t been pleasing you in bed as well as I thought -don’t protest, it’s true. I didn’t realize half the time I was hurting you a little. I had no idea how sensitive… how enhanced your sense of touch was. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I truly didn’t. That’s another thing I should have asked, but I didn’t… I knew about your hearing and sight, and sense of smell, but I had no idea it had changed even how you felt. No wonder you hate certain shirts of mine or won’t change what you wear. Oh, Geralt. I’m so sorry. I was planning on going straight to the shop with you right after to see how to end it. I should never have done this. I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t even go looking for it.”

Geralt’s thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He had no idea what he’d exposed of himself that he hadn’t meant to, and he felt small and hurt. The anger Dandelion was waiting for never came. Even if it should have.

“I don’t need you to forgive me, or at least. I don’t deserve it, so I’m not asking, but let’s… let’s go to the shop, please. Let me undo this. Or you can cast it on me, if you’d rather. But, Geralt, it hasn’t… none of this has changed how I feel about you. I see I have made so many errors and misjudged you in other ways, but I don’t… I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it and I can see how ashamed you are. I’m the one who did the wrong thing, Geralt, not you. Please… please don’t use this as another reason to hate yourself. Hate me, if you must hate anyone. I did this without telling you, without thinking for a moment of the consequences. I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t… I didn’t think at all. That was wrong of me. I was wrong. Not you. Oh, love, I am so sorry. What I did was so unbearably wrong.”

Geralt flinched away from his touch, hunching down miserably in the grass. “Do you need me to go to the shop and see the book? Am I necessary for you to cast anything or uncast it?”

“Please…. I don’t know. I don’t know how well distance will even work. You’re right to be leery of me. Oh, Geralt, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just… who you are.” He truly believed that. Nosy, insatiable for gossip and rumors and things to make songs of. He should have known something like this might eventually happen. He was too broken and not trustworthy enough to be just asked outright. He would have answered. Maybe not every time, or not in excruciating detail. But he would have answered. Maybe not years ago, but now? Since they had first bedded each other? He would have. It was only fair. “I suppose some good might come of it,” he tried to smile. Instead he felt sick to death inside and couldn’t understand why.

“Oh, Geralt. I… what I did, I know you don’t… I can’t not see it, so let’s use that good you spoke of. You feel betrayed. What I did was a betrayal. Rather than tell you the minute I knew the spell had worked I let it go. Knowing how to please you better in bed seemed wonderful. Sharing your nightmares and being able to wake you and comfort you was one of the best and worst nights of my life. I hate you went through any of that.” He swallowed hard, knowing the icy feeling in the pit of his belly was Geralt’s, not his own. “I’ve seen the scars all over your body Geralt, I knew some of them came from human hands. Especially the ones that looked like a belt or switch. Your backside and well over half your back are covered in them. That was never hidden from me. Not even under all the other scars from monsters. It was good that you let me be there for you. But you didn’t know…

“Geralt, if you don’t choose to walk away, which I would understand, I want you to promise me you’ll wake me, next time. Don’t let yourself suffer alone needlessly. Provided you ever want to share my bed again.”

Geralt’s chest ached, he didn’t want to lose any of what they’d had. It was too soon. He wasn’t ready. His own hurt hardly mattered, he had upset his friend. He was upsetting his friend. His mouth was dry and he had no words, perhaps it wasn’t so awful Dandelion could see his thoughts to know he didn’t want to push the bard away. Not because of this. He had so few friends, how could he afford to lose another? Especially over something that was so trivial. Any sorcerer could just look into his mind, rip apart his thoughts without a moment’s notice or care. At least Dandelion hadn’t entirely meant to do it. It hadn’t been meant to hurt him either.

It still made his insides twist and ache, and he didn’t know what to think about it. Just that didn’t want to lose the bard.  This felt different from their other disagreements and it terrified him. “Don’t leave me,” he said in a small voice before he could stop himself. He would do whatever it took to make Dandelion feel like things were alright between them even if they weren’t.

“Oh, Geralt, I won’t, but it isn’t… oh this is terrible. I never realized. I never realized how you saw yourself. Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry. No, I won’t go. You can be as angry as you want for as long as you want, as hurt and confused, please don’t pretend it’s alright. I know once I break this I won’t be able to tell anymore, but please. Please let yourself feel. I don’t need you to mollycoddle me, I’m the one who did something wrong Geralt. Me, I am the one in the wrong, as I’ve said. I don’t know why you can’t believe that. You’ve been mad at me before. And you were right to be. Why can’t you see this the same way? I don’t understand. I’m so sorry,” tears filled his eyes. “I’ve never felt this bad in my entire life. I’m sorry. But this isn’t about me. I need you… I don’t need you to do anything, I suppose.” He hadn’t realized how much of Geralt’s world revolved around suppressing himself.

“You said you did it to help.”

“No, I did it because I’m an asshole and a blockhead. I did it because I didn’t take you at your word. And I also didn’t think anything would happen or I don’t think I would have done it. Or at least I hope I wouldn’t have done it. Please come with me so we can fix this. It’s not your job to do it, but please, so I can make it stop sooner rather than later. I have no right to this much of you. I’m sorry. I can’t stop saying it, Geralt, so if that’s what’s going to make you angry then have at it. Yell at me. Explode. Scream. Whatever you need to do.”

The witcher twisted in on himself further. Did Dandelion truly expect Geralt to do any of those things? He never had, not really. Sometimes he shouted a bit, but he had never lashed out like that, not the way he felt the bard was expecting. A monster. Nothing he did changed the fact he was a monster and would always be seen that way.

“You are not a monster!” Dandelion shrieked, his voice shrill and strained. “You are not!” He wrapped his arms around Geralt tightly, squeezing the other man against him. “I don’t know how to stop putting my foot wrong. I had no idea I did it so often. Let’s start with the basics, and don’t you dare twist them. One, I love you. I love you deeply. Two, you are not a monster. You’re a man who is more, but that doesn’t make you bad. Three, even if you were a monster, I would still love you. Four, I never expected you to hurt me. I just felt that you might react somehow to what I did because it was awful. Five, I am sorry. I am sorry that you hurt like this all the time and I have brushed it off in the past because I don’t see you that way. I forget that the world is often cruel in ways I can’t anticipate.

“Please let me help. Please, please, don’t let this end here, if you choose to stay with me. Don’t let me not help you when I can. You shouldn’t be eating moldy food and lumps of gristle. Not if I can just get it for you and it will be fine. I won’t try and tell you it’s not as bad as you think, not ever again. And that man in your dreams who beat you? Keep me away from him if he’s still alive because I will give him a piece of my mind. The next time you have a nightmare, wake me, promise me you’ll wake me, let me comfort you. That’s what lovers do. Lovers, Geralt, as in ‘love.’ Not friends. Not whores, lovers. Let me love you. And the next time I do something awful that hurts you, be angry. Feel it. Don’t be afraid of me hating you for hurting. I don’t care who Vesemir is!” his voice soared in pitch again and Geralt winced. “I am me, and I think everything he’s said that I can pick out of your head is wrong and stupid and evil. You do deserve comfort when you hurt. Yes! Even if it’s emotional not physical!”

None of this made any sense and Geralt felt lost and like nothing he was doing was right. All the same he curled into Dandelion’s chest willingly, grateful to be comforted. Everything he did just upset the bard worse and made him feel worse in turn. He couldn’t help his thoughts. It wasn’t as if he was trying to upset his lover. Lover. Yes, that’s what they were. What Geralt wanted them to remain, in spite of all of this. Dandelion was far more upset than he was, he thought. It felt wrong, knowing he had no secrets and no privacy and couldn’t even work out what to feel without Dandelion there, knowing it all. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

Angry, finally, he was surprised the poet didn’t say a word, just held him. It was what he wanted, if he was being honest with himself, in spite of the anger. In spite of the hurt, no one else was there who could hold him. And it was so very rare anyone wanted to. The idea someone could know he was angry and still dare touch him, still want to touch him is a soothing balm over his heart. Hurt, he was hurt. He felt betrayed. Yes. He felt those things. He felt like it would be harder to trust Dandelion. Another person who had pushed into him in ways he hadn’t wanted or asked for. Someone he had hoped never would do something like that. But no, he didn’t want to lose Dandelion, either. He had been alone too long, and too many people feared him.

He let the anger course over and through him, burning itself out like a brush fire, hot and short. It left Geralt feeling empty and alone. Next the sadness pushed its way in. That was easier to ignore. He was used to feeling hurt by people. He ignored Dandelion crying into his hair. It sparked a bit of rage all over again, but beyond that he felt like he could ignore it. This wasn’t his fault, he should be the one upset, not Dandelion.

Geralt lost all track of time, sitting there under the tree, sitting against Dandelion’s chest.

At some point, to his horror, tears welled up in his eyes and he thinks he cried. Nothing like what Dandelion had done, no great gulps of air coupled with heaving sobs, but he knows the tears ran over his cheeks. Dandelion had stayed quiet the entire time, allowing him to grieve and process in his own way.  

When Geralt finally pulled away, Dandelion wordlessly wiped tears off his cheeks and kissed his forehead. “I forgive you,” Geralt informed him slowly. “You do stupid impulsive things, but you’re only human. And a poet and a bard at that. The worst kind of human,” he did his best to force a smile. “Let’s go to this shop of yours and break the spell. I don’t like the idea of it going on any longer than it has to.”

“It’s stopped.” Dandelion looked as shocked as Geralt felt. “It’s done. I suppose the time just ran out on it.” He kissed Geralt’s cheek. “Promise you’ll wake me. I can’t read your thoughts, so you can lie again, but…. I learned you rarely do. Promise me and I’ll believe you. I��ll take you at your word. I’m so sorry I hurt you so badly.”

“I promise,” Geralt said hoarsely. “It truly stopped?”

“Truly. Truly, we can go to the shop still and check. If that makes you more comfortable. Or you can cast it yourself, or we can find someone to perform a truth spell.”

“No, I believe you,” Geralt said slowly, with a pointed look.

Dandelion hung his head in response. He deserved that.

Geralt looked up at the sky and was shocked to see the sun had moved across the sky and was past high noon. How long had they sat there after eating? The sun had barely risen properly when things had started. He still felt oddly bereft, knowing Dandelion had done that to him and waited so long to say anything. He supposed the bard could have lied about how it happened or hidden it longer without ever saying a word. It would hurt for ages, he knew. He wished it wouldn’t. Logically, no harm had been done, but he felt like he’d been covered in filth that he couldn’t scrub off.

“I will make this up to you, somehow. I don’t know how, I don’t know if I can, but I won’t ever stop trying. Tell me what you need, when you know. Whenever you know, whenever it changes. I will do my best to listen and do whatever it is you ask of me.”

“Then stop bringing it up.” So what if he felt violated? Dwelling on it wouldn’t change that. He would move past it, like he always did.

At least this time the person who hurt him was sorry.

That had be to be good enough.

@geraltwhumpweek

[remijaecrowley]

The Voice of Serenedipity -- Chapter 5

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 -- Final

....The last thing The Witcher expected was to have a lute suddenly and unceremoniously flung at his head following a most comical yet ear shattering squeak from a certain Bard. Well, maybe it should have been the first thing he expected, now that he had a chance to think about it. The lute's round body was what connected with his face with a solid thud with a few musical notes vibrated from the strings at the impact. He caught the lute though before it hit the floor, despite being caught by surprise at the sudden violence from his normally more flight than fight bard. The Witcher just sat on the edge of the bed, blinking confusedly at the bard, who at the moment was standing, ragged breathing and thundering pulse being the only sounds for a few moments. The Bard also seemed shocked at his actions as well, but he was quicker to recover as he yelled, voice raised an octave as panic clawed at his throat,"No...nonono....nonononono, you can NOT be here. This is just a figment of my....my imagination....." The bard ranted, pacing in the small, cramped area near the door, keeping the way to escape in easy reach, Geralt noticed.

"A Doppler! Yes, a Doppler....because....because there is NO WAY....No way on this Goddess green earth...."the Bard's voice becoming more and more frantic as he spoke, "That GERALT....Geralt of Rivia....would be sitting calmly on the edge of my bed....ho-holding my lute....." The Bard stopped pacing and stared at the Witcher, eyes glassy and huge, pupils dilated to the point the black nearly swallowed all the sky blue. In a small voice, the bard squeaks,"May I have my lute back, please?"

Geralt slowly extended the hand holding the lute, only to ask, his voice low, trying to speak calmly to the shaken bard as he would if Roach was spooked, "Are you going to throw it at my head again, Little Lark?"

Jaskier, despite the suddenly sharp stab of pain that flared in his chest at hearing Geralt use that nickname, he grabbed his lute and hugged it to himself as if it were a stuffed toy. "I....I don't know yet."

Geralt nodded, doing everything he could think of to not startle the bard further. He didn't want Jaskier t run, not that he would blame the man if he turned and ran out the door right now. He folded his hands in his lap as he gazed up at the Bard. It had only been a week, yet the bard looked worn thin. Had he done that to the Bard by being so cruel or had the Bard looked like that before and Geralt just never noticed? Geralt frowned at this, realizing he had been a horrible friend if he hadn't noticed that Jaskier was....

So pissed....as the Witcher looked up, a frown still on his face, only to meet a very stormy look on the bard's visage. Oh yes, there was a storm brewing now in those darkened sky eyes. When the Bard spoke, for once, it was in a lower tone, causing the Witcher to stare at him and listen.

"What the fuck are you DOING here, Geralt? Here to twist the dagger so more? See if you can make me bleed some more? See if you can make me cry for you some more? I never knew you to be a sadist, Witcher. I guess I was wrong to think I saw emotions from you....You don't have emotions. You are like a fucking Doppler. You copy, but you have no real idea the truth behind them..." The Bard hissed out between gritted teeth, trying hard to hide the fact that yes, he was bleeding again from seeing those golden eyes staring at him, seeing that hulking man sitting there and act like he actually gave a damn.

It was nearly more than the Bard could bare, but he would be DAMNED if he let the Witcher know exactly how much he wanted to die at this moment....because dying meant not feeling the agony rip at his chest like so many claws. Dying meant not living day to day, hour to hour, wondering if the Witcher was ok or if he had finally tangled with a monster that was too big, too fast, too strong for the Witcher and his potions to defeat. Dying meant no longer facing the idea of moving on without Geralt by his side.

Geralt stared at Jaskier as the Bard snarled at him, the rage in the bard's voice barely contained, but the Witcher was observant in ways that still annoyed Jaskier. He saw how the Bard held himself; the faint, nearly unnoticeable shudder the Bard tried to hide, the eyes just this side of too glassy, the near death grip the bard had on the lute. There was anger there, most definitely, but the Witcher could also see the bard was in pain. Emotional pain this side of physical....and Geralt swallowed hard as he came to terms with the fact he was the one who made the Bard feel this way.

"....Jaskier...."Geralt started, slowly standing up as he said the bard's name. Because he wasn't expecting it, the right hook to his jaw surprised the Witcher as much as the lute to the face earlier did, though a bit more so since he wasn't exactly stable on his feet at that moment in time. The Witcher actually fell back, missing the edge of the mattress and scraped his back against the bedframe as his fell on his ass on the floor instead.

The room was silent for nearly a minute, the Witcher sitting in surprise on the floor and the Bard staring dumbfounded at his fist, eyes moving back and forth between the Witcher on the floor and his fist. Geralt looked up at Jaskier, the look on his face was one of surprise, confusion, and just a hint of humor at the whole damn thing. "Jaskier? Is your fist ok?"

"FUCKING OW!!" the Bard yelled, the spell cast by him socking Geralt in the jaw broke when the Witcher spoke, making the Bard realize his fist REALLY FUCKING HURT. He set the lute down and cradled his fist, only to glare at the Witcher, who still sat on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet. Eyes locked on each other, the Bard tried hard to stay angry, but failed as he saw the humor shining in the Geralt's golden eyes. A quiet chuckle escaped the bard, almost a hiccup of laughter, only to be joined by the Witcher, who's deep rumbling laugh made the Bard smile slightly.

"I'm.....I'm sorry, Jaskier. I.....I had no right....to blame you for my own stupidity..." the Witcher started to speak quietly, his voice a low rumble of thunder on the horizon.

The Bard missed the sound so much and it had only been a month by this point. Goddess help him, but he was smitten with this idiot and he knew, deep down in the fibers of his very soul, he would Never not be able to forgive Geralt. The Bard offered a hand to the Witcher to help him get off the floor where he STILL sat. "Easier to apologize to someone you hurt dearly when you are looking them in the eye, I do believe, Witcher..." The Bard grumbled, not wanting to forgive him JUST yet.

********************************************************

TAGLIST!

@alihosty @thatbitchywitcher @passionfangjrl @mabhsavage  @turtlefordestiel @kawaiiloverofanimu @spacemeh @mellsmichael @thatsnotpatrick @not0a0mundane @ annahenderswagg  @master-of-apostrophes @queenmissfit @ sayuri-chen @ optimistic-turpitude @the-winter-witcher @ talklesssmilemoreyoumoron @ iceoblivious @ eve-rain @ lets-undesirably-me @ mystic-majestic @ aj090901

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Witcher Wolf: In Plain Sight

Two years have passed since Geralt was cursed with the ability to turn into a wolf whenever his medallion is removed, a curse that's turned into a blessing now that he and Jaskier are partners in everything they do.

It's no exception when they discover a Nilfgaardian army bearing down on Cintra, headed straight toward a certain child surprise. With Jaskier's help and Geralt's enchanted medallion they must find a way to get into the palace, make sure Princess Cirilla is safe, and get out with her in tow if needed, regardless of Queen Calanthe's orders.

[Chapter 1: Into the Fire]

Chapter 2: Old Friend

“-and after the leigeman ceremony we’re having this awful banquet.” Ciri said. She winced a bit as the maid brushing out her hair caught on a snag. “I hate banquets, I’ll have to sit there looking pretty and useless and then Grandmother will probably force me to dance with someone. I always tell her I’d rather stay out of it, but I can only sneak away to play in the square so often.” 

Geralt listened attentively, his muzzle on Ciri’s knee as she sat getting fussed over by two different ladies in waiting who seemed determined to get an entire set of pins into the girl’s hair. He could plainly see the women’s annoyance at having to step over and around a massive wolf whenever they moved, but when one of them had suggested he be given over to the royal kennels to look after Ciri had given her a look that Geralt remembered all too well from her grandmother’s face over a decade ago.

And the girl really was clearly her grandmother’s granddaughter, not to mention her mother’s daughter. She had Pavetta’s ashen blonde hair and earnestness, as well as Calenthe’s wit and strength. All wrapped up into a little girl who could be feisty in a game of knucklebones on the street in trousers, and then an hour later sit as still and regal as Geralt imagined a twelve year old in an expensive velvet gown could possibly be as she was readied for a court appearance.

It had only been a year ago that Jaskier had revealed to him that he’d been visiting the Cintrian court over the last decade, keeping an eye on the child when Geralt had so dramatically refused to for so long. Geralt had felt...ashamed? embarrassed? to realize Jaskier knew more about his own child surprise than he even did, but Jaskier had patiently encouraged him to ask as many questions about her as he wanted when he’d finally gotten over himself.

A year of stories about Ciri had privately convinced Geralt that he likely had the greatest child surprise ever born. Meeting her had only confirmed it. And who cared if he was perhaps biased? From what he’d seen of human families every father had the right to think so about their daughter.    

“You know I still don’t know what to call you.” Ciri said, picking up one of the gold plated hairbrushes from the vanity table and starting to brush Geralt’s fur. One of the maids grumbled at the princess’ use of a royal brush on a dog, but Ciri ignored her. “I suppose I could just call you Wolf for now. I know it’s not very original, but it’ll give me time to think of something better. You’ll have to stay here for the leigeman ceremony, but if you behave yourself I bet I can convince Grandfather to let me bring you to the banquet tonight.” Ciri smiled. “It would give me some interesting company for once.”

Geralt gave a soft bark of approval, leaning into the brushing. He hated the idea of being alone in the castle away from Ciri, but he was well versed in the art---and intelligence--of acting the well-behaved pet. He so dearly wished Jaskier was around though with the medallion though, as good as this was he hated that Ciri didn’t know who he really was.

After all, she clearly liked him well enough now, but what would she think of him when he was a witcher?

He knew all too well the change in attitude that came with his change in form, had gotten used to people treating him entirely differently depending on his appearance. But with Ciri it was different, because he actually found himself caring very much what she might think of him when she found out the truth.

He swallowed, shaking himself a little. He couldn’t allow himself to worry about later when he had plenty to worry about now. Jaskier would be at the banquet, meaning that Geralt had to be at that banquet, meaning he had to be on his absolute best doggish behavior for the princess.

“Princess, it’s time for you to...”

The voice in the doorway trailed off and Geralt turned to see a bearded man staring back at him. Geralt got to his feet, tail wagging as he recognized Mousesack the druid, an old friend of his and possibly the only person in the city he and Jaskier could trust. Geralt’s original plan had been to contact the druid in secret, before Jaskier had ruthlessly shot it down as an excellent way to alert royal spies to his presence.

“...time for you to...what is that?” Mousesack asked delicately, not taking his eyes off Geralt for a moment.

“This is Wolf!” Ciri said with a smile, continuing to brush Geralt’s fur. “I found him in the square today, I’m keeping him until his owner comes for him. And if they don’t then I’m just keeping him. He’s very tame and lovely, you can pet him if you like.”

Geralt could smell tense unease coming off of the druid. Not exactly fear, but something close to it. As if the man were expected to be attacked.

Geralt pressed up against Ciri’s chair a bit, tail no longer wagging as he realized why.

Over the past two years he and Jaskier had always been careful to keep Triss or Yennefer from ever meeting his wolf form, knowing that they’d likely be able to sense something was off immediately. Magic was magic and the medallion’s curse was a particularly strong one. So of course Mousesack was on edge after walking into the princess’ room to see her with a clearly enchanted feeling animal at her side with no other context.

And a magic wielder who was on edge was a very dangerous thing indeed. Something Geralt hadn’t taken into account when he’d entered the castle in a form that could only defend themself with fangs.

“He does seem very...special indeed.” Mousesack said, pulling on a strained smile. “You’ve been summoned to the great hall your highness, how about your ladies in waiting escort you there and I’ll stay behind to look after Wolf while you’re at the ceremony?”

The druid’s tone of voice was a bit over-cheerful, the exact tone a panicked adult might use to coax an oblivious child away from a nearby poisonous snake they hadn’t seen yet.

“Alright,” Ciri sighed, setting down the brush and rubbing her cheek against the top of Geralt’s head before she stood. “Do not take him to the kennels, he’s mine and I’m bringing him to the banquet tonight to keep me company.”

“Of course princess.” Mousesack said, stepping inside the room and sending the ladies-in-waiting a look that had them hurrying to finish, pinning the last of Ciri’s hair and helping her to stand.

Geralt nearly whined as Ciri’s hand left his head, instead pushing his nose against her palm as she stood.

“Wolf, stay.” Ciri said with a smile. “I’ll be back before you know it, Mousesack will look after you.”

Geralt wagged his tail as she turned and was swept out of the room by her attendants. Taking all the warmth out of the room with her.

Because the moment she was gone Mousesack shut the door firmly behind her, all semblance of a smile dropping from his face as he locked it, eyes never straying from Geralt.

The druid flexed his hands and hissed an incantation, sending a gust of magic through the room that whipped up loose papers and hair ribbons from the vanity. Geralt crouched low to the floor as the air crackled with energy, a charmed barrier trapping him in the center of the room. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to cross it, but judging by the druid’s expression it would be a consequence not easily recovered from. If at all.  

“What are you and why are you near the princess?” Mousesack demanded coldly, magical energy sparking at his fingertips.

Geralt swallowed back a growl of fear, thinking fast. Without his medallion he had no way of defending himself, but most importantly no way of speaking. He would have to try communicating to Mousesack in some other way.

The man clearly expected Geralt to start spitting fire or lunge for his jugular or something equally terrible, so Geralt did the first completely opposite thing that came to mind.

He rolled over onto his back, exposing his belly with a whine, watching Mousesack with what he hoped was his least threatening expression. I’m no threat, I promise. I surrender, I don’t want to fight.

Mousesack squinted at him suspiciously for a long minute, keeping up his trap of magic as a long moment of silence stretched between them.

“Resume your normal form.” The druid demanded.

Geralt whined, staying submissively on his back. Believe me, I wish I could.

“Can you communicate at all with words?” Mousesack asked, his aggressive tone slowly fading to confused sternness at Geralt’s distinctly non-threatening behavior.

Another long whine.

Mousesack chewed his lip for a moment, then shifted his spell casting to one hand in order to reach into a pocket and pull out a silver coin. He flipped the coin over to Geralt, missing him narrowly as the coin rolled to a stop beside him.

Silver, the druid was testing to see if Geralt was a monster or a doppler, to see if he would flinch away from the coin. Geralt rolled back onto his stomach as slowly as he could, making no sudden movements as he moved to nose at the coin, standing and tapping at it with one paw repeatedly as he looked at Mousesack, showing him he understood what he was trying to do and that he was cooperating.

“So. Not a monster then.” Mousesack said slowly. His eyes narrowed as Geralt slowly edged over to the chair Ciri had been sitting on, pawing at one of its thin metal legs and looking back at him. The druid’s eyebrows raised. “Iron. Not fae either. Are you cursed then?”

Geralt panted in a canine smile, barking once.

Mousesack hesitated, then sighed a bit, the last of his aggressiveness slipping away. “I’m going to let go of my trap, but be warned that I can still easily kill you if you try anything.”

Geralt wagged his tail in acknowledgement, politely sitting to wait.

The druid’s hand fell and the room settled again. Geralt didn’t move, instead waiting as non-threateningly as he could as the druid approached him, dropping into a crouch to be eye level with him.

“So. A cursed wolf who’s attached themself to the princess.” Mousesack said. “Or someone cursed to be a wolf?”

Geralt barked again, lowering his head and then raising it in as close to a nod as he was able in wolf form.

“The second? You’ve been cursed into a wolf?” Mousesack asked.

Another nod.

“Are you here looking for help to break your curse?” he asked. “Cirilla is a princess, but you’re not going to get any kind of true love’s kiss here my friend. Real curses don’t work like they do in the fairy tales I’m afraid.”

Geralt turned his head from side to side, shaking his head as best he could.

“Hmmm.” the druid said, looking him over, finally starting to no longer look less tense and guarded. “This would be far easier if I could range beyond yes or no questions... So you’re not here to get help for yourself...but it is something to do with the princess?”

A nod. Come on old friend, ask better questions. You’re supposed to be wise, aren’t you?

“You’re certainly connected to her in some way.” Mousesack said soberly. “I thought I was seeing things when I walked into the room, both your auras were more strongly connected than anything I’ve ever seen, short of-”

His eyes widened in stunned surprise, looking as if several puzzle pieces were clicking into place at once. Geralt pricked his ears forward.

“Short of her parents.” Mousesack said, voice a little faint. “They were connected by destiny through the law of surprise. The only person who would have that connection with Cirilla is, is Geralt of Rivia, but-”

Geralt jumped to his feet with excited whining and barking, wagging his tail hard, startling the druid into falling back onto the floor.

“Geralt?” Mousesack demanded, his shock quickly giving way to incredulous amusement. “What on earth? That’s really you?” His amusement dropped away to concern. “By the gods Geralt, I know your new moniker has become quite popular in tavern songs, but becoming a literal white wolf is taking it a bit too far. You’re sure you aren’t trying to break this curse?”

Geralt huffed, shaking his head with a sneeze.

“You’ve...come for your child surprise, haven’t you?” Mousesack asked, his face becoming grim.

Geralt looked silently back at him, tail slowly wagging in affirmation.

“It’s because of Nilfgaard isn’t?” the druid said, voice heavy. “Trust you to show up uninvited after a century of nothing. Calenthe will never agree to it old friend, she’s convinced the army is headed for Sodden, not us. Besides, she’d have your head if she knew you were here. I don’t suppose that’s what this shapeshifting nonsense is for, is it? To hide?”

A nod.

The druid reached out to take Geralt’s muzzle in one hand, the other going to an ear. Geralt allowed the man to gently tip his head back and forth as the druid inspected him, opening his mouth to see his teeth and rubbing a tuft of fur between his fingertips.

Mousesack let go of his with a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into I’d love to meet whoever did it. The craftsmanship on this enchantment is flawless, no loose ends anywhere, not a bit of it derived from lycanthropy either as far as I can sense. I’m almost afraid to ask what it was you had to pay to get it.”

Geralt blinked up at him, of course unable to add anything to the druid’s musings.

“And all to get to Cirilla.” Mousesack sighed, rubbing his face roughly before looking at him again for a long minute. “You’ve always had a knack for being unpredictably dramatic Geralt, but you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I’m at a complete loss trying to think of how a spell this powerful and specialized could possibly be part of a logical or even realistic plan for the princess’ benefit, but knowing you it surely must be?”

Geralt wagged his tail. Well it had started out that way at least.

Mousesack grunted, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off with a longsuffering look at Geralt. “Well if you promise not to do anything rash around the princess I’ll try to help you as best I can. She won’t be back for a couple hours before the banquet, come with me to my study, I can keep you away from prying eyes and anyone else who might sense you like I did.”

Geralt willingly followed him to the door, grateful he wasn’t completely alone in the castle after all.

“Perhaps I can draw up an alphabet on parchment for you,” Mousesack said, rubbing his chin as they started down the marble hallway. “It’ll be slow going to have you pick out letters, but we have a bit of time and I absolutely must learn at least a few details about this utter nonsense of a situation.”

Geralt wagged his tail in agreement.

Hopefully wherever Jaskier was he was having his own stroke of luck too.

[Read chapter 3: Bad Luck]

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Spoiler: He is not.