#immortal jaskier rights

[thedemonofcat]

“Lambert, have you and Aiden ever fought?”

“Bunch of times. Fought the first time we met. Stabbed each other too,” Lambert smiled, reminiscing. But then he schooled his face. “Why the fuck do you want to know?”

Geralt hesitated, clearly not wanting to explain, but he eventually said, “Jaskier. We fought. Thought maybe you could…”

Geralt trails off, but Lambert could fill in the rest. “You want relationship advice? Really?”

“Forget it.”

“Hey! Sit the fuck back down! Did I say no? Did I? I didn’t, you coward.”

“Not a coward,” Geralt growled. “I’m not gonna stay just to be insulted.”

“Do you want advice or not?” Because Lambert practically breathed insults. He wouldn’t change that just because Pretty Boy was having love problems.

With a snarl, Geralt plopped back down. He folded his arms and gave Lambert a look that said, “Well?”

Damn, Geralt was willingly subjecting himself to more of Lambert’s mocking. That was real love right there. “Okay, so were you the ass or was he?”

“He keeps asking to join hunts,” Geralt finally admitted after a long pause, “and gets pissed when I say no.”

“So, you're the one being an ass this time,” Lambert replied, mimicking the tone of an Oxenfurt scholar.

“He’s human,” Geralt shot back, a familiar dread settling in when he thought about Jaskier's mortality.

“An immortal human,” Lambert countered. “And I’m not even sure he’s fully human.”

“What? No, Jaskier can’t be immortal,” Geralt said, then hesitated. “Can he?”

“Jaskier doesn't age—he's pushing forty and still looks like he’s barely in his twenties,” Lambert pointed out, but Geralt’s expression stayed unconvinced. “I’ve seen him swallow poison without a scratch.”

“Shit,” Geralt muttered, wide-eyed. “My bard might actually be immortal.”

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 137

Jaskier and Geralt are imprisoned by some sort of foes of Geralt, Jaskier isn't sure. He and Geralt have been a bit rocky recently, to say the least. Jaskier is really only half-lucid. He's only just begun to hear and see, again. His head hurts quite a bit, and he's pretty sure his hands are chained, but he can't move his eyes down far enough to check. Geralt is chained like werewolves in storybooks, to the point Jaskier thinks it's a tad overkill. Geralt is sitting there, looking lovely as ever. His hair is falling into his face, poor darling.. Jaskier wishes he could tuck the strands behind Geralt's little pointy ears.. His eyes are extra reflective in their current dank housing. It's a wonder nobody kidnaps you to a lovely seaside manor. Jaskier would be much more interested in talking to someone in someplace nicer, perhaps with hor d'oeuvres and wine, but no. Instead he's slumped against stone, and the only lights are some torches and candles. There's a man in rather dull robes talking to Geralt. He's quite loud, Jaskier thinks, but he can't tell if it's his head or if the man really is of such volume. He can't quite make out the words, but he can tell they're beginning to make Geralt angry. He's doing that little 'I'm pissy' mouth quirk of his. Jaskier busies himself with dissociating, until the man talking to Geralt is suddenly the man yelling to Geralt. Very loud. Ouch. Jaskier tunes back into his surroundings, and funnily enough, he can begin to understand what they say now! Hooray! "If you won't speak when you're threatened, butcher, what if your greatest love was, instead?" Not hooray. The man dumps a bunch of colored glass onto the floor, making a horrible noise, but Jaskier can't even focus on why the man would be doing that, he's too busy thinking about the threat. Clearly Geralt's greatest love is... Regrettably, Yennefer. No matter how much Jaskier loves Geralt, he knows Yennefer is first in Geralt's book. Jaskier's thought long and hard about it before. He supposes it makes sense, they're both immortal, she's gorgeous, she's a woman, she's even snippy like Geralt. Sometimes he wonders if he was born a woman if Geralt would've fallen in love with him. Perhaps not. Perhaps he'd still be seen as his annoying little friend. Maybe if he was a meaner woman? Is the woman part the main issue? If he got bitchier would Geralt love him? Maybe he should try it one day. See if he can make Geralt love him. He'll never beat Yennefer, damned witch got a headstart, but he could at least be loved more, right? "Oh~" The man that speaks to Geralt suddenly coos, looking at the floor. And really, why must the man focus so much on Geralt? Jaskier knows he's the witcher, but he's a world famous bard! Why doesn't the man talk to him? He can't help but be a little jealous. Does the man not know who he is? Jaskier very well can't sing for the man, but he does think of doing so. Even for just a second. "What's this?" The man says with a cruel little chuckle, pointing to the ground, and Jaskier finally moves his head enough to see what they're looking at. The glass he threw earlier has magically rearranged itself to make a little portrait of.... Him. Jaskier. The man holds out some sort of amulet next, and if he wasn't gripping onto it, the amulet would've hit Jaskier in the face. Jaskier doesn't quite understand. These all seem like ways to track down Yennefer. He has an amulet that seeks her out, and the glass will provide him with an image of what she looks like. So why do both point to him? Geralt doesn't love him. Surely not as much as Yennefer. "Don't you dare hurt him." Geralt snarls, the first time he's spoken since Jaskier gained consciousness, he believes. Jaskier finds the protectiveness quite sweet. He'll be sure to thank Geralt for it later. It's nice to know that he's cared for. Apparently even loved! Could he truly be Geralt's one true love? His most beloved? His dearest one? He has so much to ask Geralt when he can make his mouth move!

The man begins stalking towards Jaskier and suddenly Jaskier regrets his earlier jealousy over the man not paying attention to him. The man is quite intimidating, and has a look of pure hate in his eyes.

"Will you speak up for me if I cut up your songbird, I wonder, butcher?"

The man whispers, as he looms over Jaskier. Jaskier tries his best to say 'I'm sure we can figure this out if we put all our heads together, no harming necessary' but all that comes out is a pained little groan. Great. Wonderful. Thanks, mouth. That was exactly what he wanted.

The man suddenly draws a sharp twisted blade, and holds it to Jaskier's neck. Jaskier can't see anything but the man's shoulder, but Jaskier can easily hear Geralt struggling in his restraints, growling. He liked when Geralt growled. It was either very cute or very hot, depending on the situation. Jaskier can't decide which one it is right now, however, as there was a knife to his neck.

The man withdraws the dagger from Jaskier's throat, and instead uses it to slice across his chest. Jaskier cries out in pain, and sounds rather pathetic. He'll be sure to write himself more stoic and… with-it when he writes about this experience later on.

There's a loud sound that hurts Jaskier's head, and suddenly the man with the knife is dead on the floor. Geralt stands above him, panting, covered in the man's blood. Gods, he was magnificent.

"H'llo d'r'ling, 'Love y'."

Jaskier manages to croak out, smiling at Geralt, even as his eyelids start to droop. Geralt stares at him for a moment, and that just makes Jaskier smile bigger. He likes seeing Geralt.

"Jaskier, you need to stay awake. Stay awake for me."

He snarls out, and Jaskier pouts a bit. He thinks not. He thinks it's a lovely time for a nap. Geralt will get them out. He's a hero.

[theweeping-whistlers]

The Daily Fanfic Rec #18

Fandom : The Witcher

Site : Ao3

Title : You've Been Deprived, Haven't You My Dear?

Author : Bedalk05

Summary :

The thing is, Witchers aren’t supposed to be affectionate. Geralt, in his own particular way, undoubtedly is however. Unfortunately, the Witcher is truly inept when it comes to handling affection and processing emotion. All of this is to say that Jaskier could have predicted this. “This” being Geralt standing helplessly as he holds a cat currently purring in his arms.

Geralt deserves to touch something soft

Notes :

Jaskier is so silly, and in this piece of clouds on earth, he will be silly forever. That's right, immortal AU jaskier decided that sad man Geralt needs a hug...and a bath...and - you know what he decides that Geralt needs all the nice soft things that sad little boy Geralt never got. Ig this happens to bleed into the other withers in the process than :-p. Anyway, this fic is softer than a kittens fur and sweeter than the awful yet addictive sugar cookies from Walmart. Do you want to smile and feel nice? Well, then this work is just right for you.

[kuwdora]

Surface Tension Geralt/Yen/Jaskier Explicit ~5500w Orgasm denial, edging, subspace, d/s, praise kink and a host of other sex acts that really are secondary to the emotional porn, softness, and humor. Geralt is Yen and Jaskier's toy for the evening.

Geralt was starting to believe tonight might be the night that he would be fucked to death. Jaskier would immortalize it in an over-the-top ballad and Yen’s elegy would probably be understated, but Geralt wouldn’t care because he’d never felt this agonizingly good for this long; it didn’t even matter if he never came, as long as Yen and Jaskier got what they wanted from him.

Geralt lay flat on his back, his hand cinched on Yen’s hip where she was riding his cock, and he was drowning in the steady burn of pleasure. Jaskier sprawled beside them, languid as a cat, his eyes drifting from Yen to Geralt with an expression that was more thoughtful and assessing rather than aroused, despite the flush in his cheeks.

Geralt hazily suspected Yen must have enchanted the sheets to wick the sweat away, for all the time he’d spent on his back while she and Jaskier took their turns to play with him.

Yen leaned forward and braced a hand on Geralt’s chest, but slipped from the sheen of sweat. She sat back up, her hips moving in an easy rhythm. Geralt followed her right to the edge of orgasm and no further; gone were the evenings where Yen and Jaskier took turns competitively getting him off to see how many times he came in a single night. They’d discovered after a dozen orgasms that Geralt could still get hard but not stay awake. Consciousness, it turned out, was no longer a requirement to orgasm and get hard again—much to Yen and Jaskier’s delight—and Geralt’s tired bemusement.

Their current obsession was seeing how long Geralt could hold on without coming, without losing his erection entirely. Without falling asleep. Without Yen or Jaskier getting bored of a witcher’s stamina.

It had tested Geralt’s own patience and mettle, forcing him to exert more control and mindfulness of his body in service of the game they played. There were variations on the style of gameplay—which were entirely dependent on Yen and Jaskier’s moods—and a rubric that Yen and Jaskier had bickered over when constructing their elaborate point system.

There was one fundamental rule: whoever was touching Geralt and caused him to climax would be the loser. There was an addendum that if Geralt came untouched, the game ended in a stalemate. Jaskier had been loud and insistent on adding that rule to their game when Jaskier had once pulled out of Geralt’s ass to give him a moment to breathe, and crawled into Yen’s lap, kissing her collarbone so sweetly. Geralt had been running so hot for so long and the mere sight of them together made his heart swell and his cock began to empty before he could look away.

Tonight had been a long night already. Jaskier and Yen had already come several times and Geralt floated so close to the edge of his orgasm.

continued on ao3

[colorfulandblack]

In honour of getting though Witcher season 3 I would like to share with you my thought process while watching this show, not that anyone asked. Can you tell Jaskier is my fav?

Season 1

Me, seeing Jaskier for the first time: a baby! Must protect, already fave.

Me throughout the season: How are you still alive? And how are you not aging?

Me still at season one going through social media: oh, so you don't like Jaskier, huh? Square up bitch cos I'm coming for your ass. Also why the hell is he called Dandelion? Jaskier is a buttercup not a dandelion? Dandelion would be so fucking funny though [image of Sid and last dandelion of season vivid in my mind]

Me still on season one: ok I know we NEED to normalise closeness between two male friends but that's definitely gay, right? Like Jaskier just readies such dumbass bisexual energy and he so clearly is in love with Geralt

Me, during the mountain scene: Bitch, bitch, bitch how dare you [actually insert the Jaskier HOW DARE YOU picture] actually stops watching the show for like a week

Season 2

Me, immediately at the beginning: where's Jaskier? Where's my man? My child? Where's that idiot?

Me, after I see Jaskier: what have they DONE to you? But the songs absolutely slaps (talking about the whore song that was so funny)

The apology scene: Nope, nope, sir that's the most half assed apology I've ever seen

Overall season two: yes, yes serious matters and Jaskier is a comic relief but could you just try to give him some more screen time like bitch he's trying his best, he risks his life, he does some good, he loves Ciri and Geralt just fucking appreciate him! I know it ain't about him but for being Geralts friend for so fucking long I think he deserves some appreciation for his accomplishments from others characters, even a little

Season 3

Sees trailer: "Dear friend.." ahaha that's for Jaskier for sure! [Sees a blur of him] oh thank god he's in here!

Me, after seeing Jaskier: oh, god oh no. Why, why, WHY?! WHO they fuck took the game design?! Put it back I say PUT IT BACK!!!

Me seeing Radowid: *squints as he praises Jaskier, clearly flirts with him and actually appreciates him UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE* I want to trust you but that would be a mistake

Me, throughout the season: ah, so you finally admit that Jaskier is in love with Geralt who somewhat patched things up with Yen so you give Jaskier a new love interest, who is a man [icarly interesting image]

(listen I loved them this season but it felt like a weird sudden jump in their relationship and idk, by this season rocked I just wished they included Jaskier more and if canonicaly were not getting Graskier then fucking give him some screen time as a part of a family! He's great with Ciri!)

Also that Valdo scene was fucking HILARIOUS

Me when, suprise, suprise Radowid did a backflip: I knew it, why am I surprised, I knew it. Jaskier why do you have a TYPE?!

Final thoughts: Jaskier fits perfectly into their witcher family dynamics just give him more screen time! Please! also very curious about Radowid redemption arc although I'm not ready to let go yet, and also may I add the music, fantastic, don't care if it's periodic or not Joey my man you killed it.

It's clear that Jaskier has a type for like unrequited/getting hurt type of love or the writers just love whumping him which like fine but then make it fucking seen like by others? It takes a fucking plot device character in SEASON 3 to see it? like give me some fucking comfort as well you assholes.

Also super weird that they went with the game design and gradually changed it simultaneously ageing Jaskier. I mean why now? He hasn't aged in like a decade and then he suddenly did? Just keep him immortal will you?

Idk it's chaotic lads cos I just finished it and I think I've seen season 1 most times and the rest kinda blurs together so

[leverage-ot3]

11,17,20

Proudest moment?

bro I wrote this but I have no idea honestly

Favorite thing about yourself?

I’m passionate about helping others! And my tattoo plans are to make my body a garden which I love 💖

What are the fanfics you’ve ever read?

okay so this depends on fandom!

the witcher

we are known by the stories we share (geraskier, witcher!jaskier)

Watch Me Burn (geraskefer, yennefer stayed nilfgaard court mage au)

The Likes of You (geraskefer, fake marriage au, jaskier’s family)

Rivers Run Series (geraskier, river god jaskier)

Dead Weight (jaskier x lambert x aiden, banshee jaskier au)

Love’s Worth Running To (jaskier x geralt x eskel, au)

and i plan to be forgotten when i'm gone (yes i'll be leaving in the fall) (geraskier, cursed jaskier au)

Sing for Me, Little Lark (geraskier, bdsm club au)

Kiss a Frog (When He's Your Witcher) (geraskier, spy jaskier au)

The Red Prince (geraskier, fae jaskier au, witcher god jaskier)

the only way to breathe is to scream (geraskier, separate worlds au, famous singer jaskier, jaskier’s family is mafia)

Belong (geraskier, x men world au, teacher jaskier)

for she has done mischief (geraskefer, jaskier fucks a god and gets a baby out of it, jaskier’s family, parent trapping)

Business Partners (geraskefer, ice skating au)

if i'm good will you come back (geraskier, jaskier reincarnates au, heartbreaking and beautiful)

stranger things

How A Resurrection Really Feels (steve harrington x eddie munson)

Paradise By The Dashboard Light (steve harrington x eddie munson)

Good Ol' Fashioned Sexuality Crisis During the Apocalypse (steve harrington x eddie munson)

Touch and Go (steve x billy- lowkey though, I do not like billy and do not ship them but this was done really well; pre-steve x eddie; crossover with black phone)

The Idea of Something Binding Us Together (steve had powers au, steve & eleven are siblings)

The Future Mrs Harrington (steve & robin friendship, fake relationship; time travel au)

Look Right Through Me (steve was taken before will, steve & will friendship, steve & hopper)

Sanctuary (steve x eddie, steve goes missing in 1985 au)

leverage

Hearts Wrapped in Clover (leverage ot3, eliot never joined leverage au)

Ten Prides in Portland (leverage ot3, ten years of pride months in portland, a beautiful fic)

kids (aren't) alright (leverage ot3 teen au)

red notice

I Don't Care About Anyone (nolan x sarah x john)

marvel

In The End, She Appears (darcy x bucky, darcy is a banshee au, unfinished)

Daughter Of Athena Series (darcy x bucky x steve, darcy is a demigod au)

Red Threads of Fate (steve x bucky x fem!harry potter, soulmates; SO GOOD)

In Search of Elysium (darcy x bucky x steve, no avengers au)

The Super Soldier Job (leverage x marvel crossover, leverage team helps bucky after tws, leverage ot3 obviously)

Birds of Desire (darcy x steve x bucky, soulmates)

This Is My Hand (darcy x steve x bucky, soulmates)

Tread Softly, Angels (darcy x steve x bucky, soulmates, one of my first beloved fics)

Irreverence Is My Superpower (darcy x steve x bucky)

Here And Where You Are (darcy x steve x bucky, darcy has powers)

Surrender My Bones (darcy x steve x bucky, apocalypse au, unfinished)

bewitched, bothered, and bewildered (darcy x steve x bucky, darcy is a witch, THIS FIC MY BELOVED, unfinished)

the fortune teller (darcy x steve x bucky, immortal fortune teller darcy)

misc

Of the Northmost Winds and Skies (jack frost x hiccup, don’t judge me I was curious and then it altered my brain chemistry)

[thenightling]

New Witcher Season 3 posters

New The Witcher season 3 posters of Geralt, Jaskier, Yennefer, and Ciri.

Geralt = Witcher (mostly immortal Monster Hunter)

Jaskier = Geralt's bard (musician) companion and civil rights activist.

Yennefer = Mostly immortal Sorceress that Geralt crushes on

Ciri = The orphaned princess being raised by these three vagabond lunatics.

[supermanknows]

I need more Jaskier BAMF fanfiction. Why hasn't anyone made him a higher vampire lately?! Think about it - left to his own devices, he finds a way to be immortal with his own brand of right and wrong...OFMD it is coming soon, and I'll be distracted for a while. But in the meantime... I know what you're going to say; write it yourself. Welp, I would if my brain wasn't riddled with MS plaque. :P

[dapandapod]

Prompt 1 - calloused hands in soft hands

Jaskier teaching Ciri how to care for her hands so she develops callouses but still has smooth hands

Yes, of course my dear!! Please enjoy some somft kaer morhen family time! <3

Warnings: Uh... usage of a swear without understanding it? Some witcher training ouchies? Otherwise it's just background geraskier and lambden, lambert being his usual ass self, and immortal jaskier right. You know, the usual... Enjoy! <3

On Ao3 here Hand holding collection

Winter holds the promise of so many things. Snow covering the mountains, beautiful and treacherous.

Ice freezing the lake beneath the keep, the cold creating icicles of droplets hanging from rooftops and trees.

Ciri can feel her cheeks prickle with it, the sting of the harsh winds catching her hair and her clothes. She grips her wooden practice sword tighter, glaring at the stuffed straw figure in front of her.

She has been at it all day, cool sweat clinging to her back as she again launches at the wooden offender. She hits it with a loud thwack and she can feel the impact up through her arm.

"Better," Lambert tells her, as she jumps back and side-steps, ducking an imaginary blow.

However, winter prepared a trap for her, and she slips on a hidden patch of ice. She lands on her elbow and hisses in pain.

"What was that?" Lambert taunts as she hisses in pain.

Her leather arm protection takes most of the impact, but it still hurts.

"Did the dummy kick your feet from under you?"

Ciri glares, and then she makes some quick moves, sweeping her legs in a wide, controlled arc aimed at Lambert's feet.

Revenge.

It doesn't do much more than make him grunt in minor pain but she counts it as a victory.

It would take much more than that to tip his heavy ass over, and she says as much before she scurries away to safety.

Winter brings many things, including a few more creative swears to her repertoire, and she locks the door behind her to keep Lambert from tossing her from the wall into one of the big snow piles below.

Her hands ache when she comes into the warmth of the main hall, her ears and cheeks and chin soon aching as well. She makes a face and stomps her feet to get rid of the snow. They hurt too.

Throwing her soaked gloves to the side and shedding her scarf and cloak, she makes her way over to the fire. Vesemir will tell her off for littering later, but meh. She's cold and she's mad.

It takes her a moment to notice, but Jaskier is sitting off to the side, watching her over the edge of his book with an amused smirk.

"Lambert giving you a hard time?"

"He is the biggest fucking wanker on the entire fucking continent," she says darkly, and Jaskier lifts his eyebrows in delighted surprise.

"Where did you learn a word like that?" he asks, mock outraged.

"I heard Aiden and Eskel in the hot springs. I don't know what it means," she admits, and Jaskier looks like someone gave him the best gift.

"If you want a proper revenge, ask Lambert to explain it. I'm sure he'd be happy to." He smirks, closing the book around his finger as he looks around for a bookmark.

Ciri smiles and looks back at the flames. She opens and closes her fingers, trying to regain some feeling in them.

It stings as they slowly warm up, and she hisses when she notices a small wound on her dry knuckles.

Frowning, she looks down at it, touching the split skin carefully.

"Are you hurt?" Jaskier asks, picking up one of the unused knives on the table and putting it between the pages of his book. It's as good a bookmark as any.

"I'm fine," she mutters, licking her thumb and dabbing at her knuckle. It stings too, but her knuckle looks less dry at least.

"Let me see," he says, reaching for her hand, and she lets him. "Oh my dear girl, this looks painful indeed!" he says as he holds her hand and gently strokes the back. His hands are warm, soft and smooth, and Ciri has no idea how he does it.

"It's fine. I'm fine," she mutters again, because she is. It just stings a little.

"I don't doubt that you are. But at this rate, you are going to have worse hands than Geralt- no, don't give me that look. Really, Ciri, witchers know many things, but you mustn't learn stupidity from them. Come along."

Jaskier stands up and pulls Ciri up with him, still holding her hand. She doesn't fight him, just lets herself be led to his chambers and placed inside the door. The chair is cluttered, she notices, with a stack of clothes, blankets, a notebook, three socks, what seems to be a knitting needle, and a shoe.

Only then does he let go of her to rummage around in the drawers next to the bed.

"No, not that one, absolutely not. Nope. No. AHA! Here we are!" Jaskier says, standing up triumphantly to show off his find.

It is a small jar, filled with some sort of white paste, and he uncorks it as he brings it up to her nose so that she can sniff it.

It has the gentle smell of spring blossoms, reminding her of Jaskier's hands in her hair as he braids it back from her face.

She tilts her head in question and Jaskier gives her an amused smile.

"Ah. Maybe young princesses from warm climates don't have much use for these kinds of things. This, my sweet summer child, is something I have been trying to convince Geralt to try for years. More stubborn than a mule, that one, even when he only stands to gain from it."

"Is this how your hands are so soft?" she asks, and Jaskier possibly melts where he stands. It looks a little funny.

"Yes, sweetling, thank you for noticing. My hands aren't made for this cold, it makes them dry and rough. I don't mind that much, but if they get too dry, the skin can crack, and it hurts something awful," he explains, and she nods her understanding.

"Like mine."

"Yes. Want to try some? It will sting now, but it will feel much better tomorrow, I promise."

Ciri nods, a memory from long, long ago in the back of her mind, unearthing itself from where it has long been buried. Her mother, her hands always soft and gentle, always smelling of roses.

Jaskier gives her a gentle smile, crouching down and placing the little jar on his knee. It looks like it is about to tip over, but he catches it and dips his finger in it.

Then he grabs her right hand and gently massages the ointment into her hand. He was right, it stings when it coats her knuckles, but it is a good sting.

His thumbs make gentle circles, causing warmth to rush through her and soothing her.

Then he turns her hand over, taking another dollop of ointment and rubs it over her slowly forming calluses.

"I know Lambert might say this will weaken the calluses, but you shouldn't listen to him. I have used this for at least thirty years, and my calluses remain perfectly in place."

"Why would a poet need calluses?" Ciri asks when Jaskier grabs her other hand and starts on that one.

"Oh summer child, not all battles are won with steel or silver. Some are better fought with words, music, and long nights on a stage. For those fights, my calluses serve me well," he says gently, opening his hand for her to inspect.

He does indeed have the marks of his battles on his hands. His fingertips are rough, and he has bumps on his fingers that she has only ever seen the court scribe have.

But his skin is soft, smooth, unbroken.

When Jaskier deems her inspection finished, he continues working on her hand. Her left hand is not as bad off, but it stings all the same when the cool ointment is spread over her knuckles.

"There. All done!" Jaskier says cheerfully, rubbing what is left into his own hands. Then he puts on the lid and tucks it into her pocket with a wink.

"This will be our secret weapon against grumpy witchers, eh?" he says, booping her nose, and turns to grab his lutecase by the bed.

"But it's yours," she protests weakly and digs out the little jar.

"Hm? Oh, nonsense. I have more. Geralt is such a softie, did you know? He stocked up on hand ointment last time I mentioned I ran out. Can you keep a secret? I think he likes my hands," Jaskier says with a secret smile, opening the door to let them out again.

Ciri agrees. She has noticed Geralt liking Jaskier's hands too.

"Come on. We need to find Lambert and have him explain some very interesting words to you," Jaskier says gleefully.

So Ciri pockets the little jar again, following Jaskier back down the stairs. As she walks, she rubs her hands together, enjoying how soft and warm they feel now.

It does feel better, but a little slippery, so she decides to use it only when she is done for the day.

Winter holds the promise of so many things. New vocabulary, soft hands smelling of spring blossoms, and just how amusing it is to find new words to beg her uncles to explain to her.

Winter is fun indeed.

[darkverrmin]

soft h/c: a magical creature grants Jaskier one wish, and Jaskier decides to ask for Geralt to be happy. The creature fulfills Jaskier’s wish, by making the bard immortal.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Waiting patiently for the second season of The Witcher to drop so all those fabulous Etsy babes will have source material to make me a Jaskier Hat™️ that we only saw two seconds of in the trailer:

[thequeeninyellowlace]

And Yennefer is going to bring with her a very special, rare bit of magic—a spell or potion that will make Jaskier young again, and semi-immortal?! She is, right? Right??!

there is a place where I don’t feel alone

In which Jaskier is Geralt's human-shaped furnace. (General, 4k ☆ also on AO3)

Fire and ice, Jaskier muses. It’s too cliché for his poetry, but there are no better analogies when they press against each other under the covers, a cold witcher warmed by a human bard.

Jaskier is content being Geralt’s human-shaped furnace. He learned a long time ago that witchers’ fast metabolism means they are prone to running cold. He also learned, at the same time, of Geralt’s tendency of ignoring his body’s demands. He’s happy that, after all the years of being together, his witcher is comfortable asking for help, though never with words. It’s in the way Geralt brushes their hands together when his fingers are numb, or subtly reaches out for a cuddle when the night chill settles in.

The potions make it worse. When a hunt ends and the black veins recede from Geralt’s eyes, the adrenaline drop often leaves him shivering. Warmth helps, so Jaskier prepares a bath and hot tea if they are lucky enough to stay at an inn. If all they have is a camp under the sky, he can only hold Geralt close and rub his arms and back, hoping his body provides enough heat for his witcher.

Geralt gets clingy when it happens, though he’d never admit it. Hiding in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, all he can do is cling. The world overwhelms his senses, the coldness harsh on his skin, and he never lets go first.

Jaskier cannot deny him in times like these, doesn’t want to deny him. He takes Geralt in his arms every time, blowing warm air on his cold hands, murmuring soft, reassuring words. He stays as long as needed, and then he stays even longer.

He needs to make the world less harsh for his witcher, even just a little bit.

And Jaskier’s tendency to run hot is neither here nor there. It’s only a slight inconvenience, one that can be overcome easily. He doesn’t mind waking up at night from being too warm, only to find Geralt has added a blanket to their bed. It only requires some adjusting, keeping the extra blanket on Geralt’s side.

He also doesn’t mind Geralt’s cuddling habits. During the mild seasons, he will even tell Geralt to sleep on the other side of the bed, but the distance between them always closes a few hours later. Jaskier is more endeared than bothered, really, and he can simply extract himself and fall back asleep soon after.

It’s an easy enough system. They are different people, polar opposites, as many might say. It takes a lot of practice to fit their lives together, but a few decades are more than enough time.

It’s easy, to be together, to let fire and ice coexist.

It gets less easy as time catches up to Jaskier.

His hair goes grey, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepen. His body starts fighting him from within. It begins with the rushes of hotness at night. He would wake up at night from nothing, with a dry throat and sweat soaked through his back. The healer says it’s common for his age, and the hot flashes will only get worse before it gets better. It becomes increasingly difficult to sleep in the same bed as another person, especially when that person is prone to sprawling on top of him like an oversized cuddle bear.

Insomnia follows naturally, with his sleep disrupted often. The worry makes it worse. Jaskier thought he was used to sending Geralt away on hunts for days and nights on end, but it’s harder to keep check of the anxiety when his mind is tired and irritated. He’d lie awake on their bed and imagine all the ways a simple hunt could go wrong. Even when he manages to sleep, it’s restless and full of nightmares of blood and vacant golden eyes.

His body is getting old, and with it, his heart.

Still, Geralt comes back to him. He always does. The first light of dawn brings his witcher back with morning dew glistening in silver hair, his hands reaching out for touch. Jaskier ignores the hot lava-like state of his upper body as Geralt rests gently on his chest, grounded by the feeling of skin against skin, by the rhythm of his breathing.

Jaskier’s heart feels too tender in his chest, too weathered for a human bard who’s spent most of his life on the road. He wonders how long he can keep doing this.

But then, a shiver runs down Geralt’s body, and Jaskier forgets all about his self-pity.

The path leads them to a mountain, of all places.

The air feels thinner, adding to the heaviness on Jaskier’s breastbone. They find an inn, where word of a mysterious beast up in the mountain finds Geralt while he drinks. The creature sounds more mythical than real. Geralt hesitates to take the contract at first, but is unable to say no in the end. He’s never been able to, anyway.

Jaskier’s stomach churns with the sense of déjà vu. He throws himself into the performance as Geralt prepares for the hunt. The audience is captivated soon, and before he knows it, he has been encouraged by the crowd into a rendition of Her Sweet Kiss. He’s nearly staggering as the song fades, breath shuddering with worry and past heartache.

Geralt is all packed up and waiting by the door when Jaskier finishes his set. He follows his witcher to the street, and is surprised by the tight hug that envelopes him. Jaskier is flushed hot from performing, his cheeks red and heart racing, but Geralt’s armors are cold in the mountain wind. He returns the hug, lingering longer than usual.

Geralt sees through him, worry mirrored in those golden eyes. Jaskier has felt like an open book around him for years, every shift in his mood caught carefully, but his witcher stays patient. He simply kisses Jaskier on the cheek, looking like he wants to say something. Nothing comes out in the end, and Geralt wordlessly turns away.

And Jaskier waits.

It’s just an ordinary contract, he tells himself, but somewhere in the back of his mind, panic surges out of control. It’s the memory of the last time they were in a place like this, with the wind in his hair and bitterness on his tongue. The fire burns bright in the room, but his heart is away on that mountain with his love.

Geralt returns when the moon is high, eyes still black from the potions and face deathly pale. A deep gash runs down his shoulder, bleeding sluggishly.

“Basilisks,” he murmurs, “two of them. Caught me off guard.”

With that, Geralt’s knees buckle and he collapses right into Jaskier’s arms.

The blood stains both of their clothes with crimson red. Jaskier holds up most of Geralt’s weight and helps him sit down. The process of cleaning, bathing, and bandaging his witcher is a familiar one, his muscle memory working on its own, but Jaskier finds a tremor in his hands. He tries and fails to hold himself steady, and swallows the lump of fear in his throat.

“Hey,” he coaxes Geralt to sit on their bed. “Here, just sit. It’s alright. I’m almost done.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt looks faint, head dropping to Jaskier’s shoulder even before the last bit of the bandage is tied up. A pained groan rumbles out of his chest. “Cold…”

“Shh, don’t worry. Let’s warm you up. I’m here, dearest. I’m right here.”

Jaskier tucks in the bandage neatly before reaching for the blankets on the bed. He lowers Geralt onto the pillow before checking on the fireplace, and adds a few pieces of wood, keeping it burning brighter than is needed for the current weather. With a tired sigh, he finally slips between the sheets, and tucks the blankets around Geralt.

Eyes closed, Geralt’s brow knits together painfully, his muscles trembling. He’s barely awake when Jaskier settles around him, placing Geralt’s hands on the small of his back, where the cold fingers can regain some blood flow. It’s not a comfortable position. With Geralt’s injured shoulder, Jaskier has to lie on his back and support most of the witcher’s weight. He’s trapped like this, the heat gathering under the blanket.

He’s burning, almost, with a whole person sprawled on top of him. Sweat gathers on his skin, clammy and uncomfortable against the shirt.

Geralt drifts off quickly enough, catching some much-needed rest. His breaths come out in gentle puffs against Jaskier’s neck, gradually evening out.

“Stay asleep, love, please,” Jaskier mutters with relief, all the while making the slightest attempt at extracting himself, but immediately, the barest movement makes Geralt jerk in sleep. A whimper escapes his throat, too small and sad for Jaskier’s heart to handle. The arms around his waist tighten almost childishly. Jaskier huffs at the ridiculous sight of the two of them, tangled together like one. “Alright. Hush. I won’t leave, then.”

It must be the bad dreams, caused by the pain and the oversensitivity. Geralt is at his most vulnerable when his mind is muddled, and Jaskier cannot bring himself to deny any comfort he can provide.

“There.” He kisses Geralt’s forehead, accepting his fate. Being wrapped up in a cocoon of heat is a small thing to endure when his witcher is hurt.

He threads his fingers through long silver hair, and counts the moments in the quietness of the night.

Jaskier doesn’t notice falling asleep, but the familiar press of Geralt’s weight lulls him into a fitful rest nonetheless.

Blood stains his dreams, as does the overpowering sense of helplessness. It’s like a roaring flame, threatening to consume, or a ring of fire closing in, squeezing the air out of his lungs. A hot flash comes out of nowhere, radiating from the center of his back, burning every nerve from within.

Distantly, he can hear sounds of distress from his own throat. Sweat soaks through his back, his hair, but there is nowhere to run.

Suddenly, the heat disappears, all restraints gone. Jaskier drifts in and out of sleep, breathing out deeply. He shuffles, pushing away the covers on his upper body, and feels cool air hit his skin. With that, another dream pulls him under easily.

When Jaskier blinks awake after what feels like hours, his head is slow and groggy. His arms are empty and the blankets are nowhere near him. A cool breeze washes over his body like a gentle caress.

He gasps at the absence of Geralt. All sleep is chased out by a surge of panic. Jaskier reaches out for his witcher, ready to call for his name.

“Easy.” A hoarse voice rumbles above him. “I’m right here.”

Jaskier looks up to find Geralt sitting against the headboard, the pillow cushioned behind his back.

“Oh.” Jaskier heaves out a sigh, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s thigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

Another gust of wind washes over his back, loosening his muscles, and Jaskier realizes the source of it. The window next to their bed is wide open, letting in breaths of fresh air. The moon is hanging low. Soon the morning light will shimmer by the horizon. The fireplace is burning to an ember, damped by a mound of ash.

Geralt combs through the hair at Jaskier’s nape, so gently it makes Jaskier’s bones hum. His hand is still colder than Jaskier would like, so he takes it, pressing a small kiss in his palm.

“Are you alright? How do you feel now?” Jaskier blinks, observing his witcher in the low light of the bedside candle. “Feeling cold? Your hands are cold. Why did you open the window? And the fire, do you want me to light it again?”

Geralt is still too pale, the effect of the blood loss, but his spirit seems high. A half-smile warms his golden eyes when he meets Jaskier’s gaze.

“Leave the fire, Jask. That’s silly. You were overheating. Did you not notice?” he says. “You shouldn’t have kept the room so warm.”

Jaskier sits up on the bed so they are shoulder to shoulder. It is nice now, the temperature. He unties his shirt a little bit more to cool off.

“I didn’t want you to be cold.”

“I can cope.”

Jaskier pouts. “I don’t want you to cope.”

“And I don’t want you to have a heatstroke.” A frown knits between Geralt’s eyes. “You were sweating all over. Was it another hot flash?”

Jaskier looks down, absently tugging at the blanket so it covers more of Geralt’s torso.

“I’m fine,” he insists stubbornly. “It’s only one of those nights. It happens, these days. I should be used to it.”

“Hmm.”

The cicadas hum outside the window, signaling the upcoming hot days. Geralt’s eyes place a gentle weight, patient and not demanding.

“It’s just…” Jaskier cuts himself off before starting again, trying to push down the fear in his stomach. “You were in a bad way when you came back. It caught me off guard, is all, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Geralt sags a little, catching Jaskier’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I really scared you this time, didn’t I?”

Jaskier doesn’t think he needs to answer. Nothing can be hidden from his face, not from Geralt, who knows every secret in his soul.

“Hey, come here.” Geralt’s voice softens to a whisper with understanding. He squeezes Jaskier’s hand, tugging him close so his head rests on the witcher’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“It was only a hunt. I’ve had much worse.”

Something within Jaskier shudders. “Yes, I’m well aware of the occupational hazard for witchers. That’s the problem. I don’t know how I dealt with it all this time. The terror of it all…” He huffs, self-deprecatingly. “It must be the age. I’m getting old. Too old for the foolish bravado of youth. I feel like my heart is getting weaker these days. Like it could break more easily, somehow.”

A kiss lands on top of Jaskier’s head.

“You are still brave. Foolishly so,” Geralt says, reverently, proudly.

“Never wanted to be brave. Just useful, so I can take care of you.”

Jaskier turns around, so blue meets gold. Despite the lines at his temple, despite the grey hair, he knows his eyes are still the same. He still looks at Geralt the same way as all those years ago, when he was young and stupidly idealistic. They are full of love for the man in front of him. Always full of love for Geralt.

And Geralt is looking at him the same way.

“You don’t have to be useful. Not if it means you need to push yourself too hard.” A hint of guilt tugs at his lips. “I don’t want to break your heart. Never did.”

“Well, that’s the occupational hazard of a poet,” Jaskier teases, wanting to erase the guilt. It has no place between them. “I don’t blame your trade, love. It is who you are. The path, the monsters, the way you scare the hell out of me every other day. I’ve accepted it. Old age be damned. I promised to follow you until the end of my days, and I tend to keep my promises.”

“Jask, I…”

Geralt closes his mouth, and they fall into silence, though it’s a poignant one.

“It’s alright.” Jaskier wants to steer them away from the heaviness of it all. “You should try to rest more. Meditate, perhaps. That wound is not going to heal fast if you don’t—”

“Fuck it, I need to tell you,” Geralt blurs out. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but now… Jaskier, you deserve to know.”

The interruption makes Jaskier blink. Confused, he sits up straighter. “What is it?”

Geralt’s entire posture changes, and suddenly he looks a lot more serious, which is all the more puzzling. He brings Jaskier’s hand to his chest, pulling him closer. All the tiredness from the hunt is gone, replaced by a nameless excitement.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Don’t worry. It’s good news. At least, it’s good in my head. I think you’ll like it.” When Geralt smiles, a quiet joy lights up his face. It’s Jaskier’s favorite smile of his. It means Geralt is deeply, unreservedly happy, the kind that makes him frightened, even. Like someone could break in and take this happiness from him any moment, so he tries to not show it. “Do you remember that cottage we passed by last summer? The one we saw on the coast in Cidaris?”

The mention of the coastal trip brings back fond memories, making Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Of course. The one on the cliff, with the pretty windows. The old couple lived there for decades,” he says, still not sure where this is going. “What about it?”

Despite the paleness and the dark circles under his eyes, Geralt’s cheek grow pink with a blush.

“Well,” he simply says, “I Bought it.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Technically, Yen bought it for us.” Geralt tilts his head cheekily. “The couple told me they were selling right before we left, so I wrote to Yen. She went to Cidaris and did it, just like that. It’s ours. It’s going to be our house. We can spend as much time there as we want. Every year, every season, if we wish to. If we get restless, the world is still out there, but we’ll have a home to return to. A place to settle down.”

The sound of the world fades away for a moment, replaced by blood rushing into Jaskier’s ears. He notices his mouth is now hanging open, but nothing is coming out. His heart grows like it's too big for his chest.

A house.

Their house. Their home.

“I—”

Jaskier, to his horror, realizes he has been rendered speechless, all the words of a bard stolen by a witcher. He stares at his witcher, his lovely, perfect, thoughtful witcher, who insists on giving him heart palpitation one after another.

“Jaskier?” Geralt softens, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice. “What do you think? Say something. Please.”

Tears blur his vision, and Jaskier chokes out a sob.

“I—”

His voice shudders with emotions, but the sight of Geralt being so unsure of himself is so unacceptable that Jaskier finds the strength to overcome himself. The sob turns into a wet chuckle.

“It’s good, Geralt. It’s the best news I’ve ever heard. You… you bought that cottage for us?” Jaskier lets the tears fall freely. Happiness tastes like salt on his tongue. “I never thought you’d ever want to stay in one place. I mean, you always said—”

“That witchers don’t retire?” Geralt catches the tears with a thumb, wiping away the streaks on Jaskier’s cheeks gently. “What else did I say?”

“That you don’t need anyone.”

“Hmm. Another lie. What else?”

Jaskier sniffles, hiding his wet cheek in Geralt’s palm. “That you don’t want me.”

Another string of tears streams down Jaskier’s face, and Geralt catches each and every one of them. He dabs them away with the edge of his sleeve, so carefully as if Jaskier could break with the barest touch.

Geralt presses a kiss at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. It’s only a chaste thing to soothe him, but Jaskier kisses back fervently, desperately. The space between them seems too big. With an arm wrapped around Geralt’s back, still careful to avoid the bandage, he pulls them together. Salt melts between their lips.

They break apart, panting in tandem.

“You are all I ever want,” Geralt whispers, a promise carved upon Jaskier’s heart. “Just you, Jaskier. Forget the lies. I want you. I want… this, for us.”

It takes a while for the storm of emotions to calm down. Jaskier rests his forehead against Geralt’s temple, their bodies rocking together like waves lapping against the shore.

A small cottage by the coast, where the seabirds sing in the sky and the sand is cool between his toes. A place for Geralt to rest, for Jaskier to create, and for both of them to simply be.

The future of their life feels like an old, faded memory. They were always going to end up there from the very beginning. The moment they locked eyes in that small tavern in Posada, they were going to end up there.

Jaskier wipes away the last of the tears, spirit lightened.

“Wait.” He pulls away to look at Geralt, eyes still puffy. “Did you say you asked Yennefer to buy a house for you?”

Geralt winces visibly. “I may owe her a few favors again, but I’m sure she’ll be reasonable.”

“Yennefer.” Jaskier gives a look. “Reasonable?”

“Do you still doubt she has a soft spot for you, especially now that you’ve become less durable? The letters were nice enough. She even offered instructions,” Geralt says. “Told me to bring you back to the coast, make a grand gesture of sort. A nice picnic, she said, before breaking the big surprise.”

“See? Even Yen has more regard for my tender heart. Unlike a certain someone, who will put me through one hell of an emotional turmoil in one night.” Jaskier holds his chest dramatically. “It’s not good for an old man’s health!”

The laugh that Geralt lets out is better than any music Jaskier could ever write. It’s the reason for all those songs in the first place.

“I guess we are heading to the coast next.”

“Are we?”

Jaskier can’t help the grin on his face.

“Mm-hmm. For your health, old man,” Geralt teases. “I hear Cidaris is never too warm in the summer. The ocean carries over cold streams, all the way from the north. The wind is always cool. Sleep will come more easily for you.”

“But how will you cope? Won’t it be cold for you?”

Geralt hums, eyes crinkling. “I have you. I’m sure you’ll fuss enough.”

“You are damn right I will!” Jaskier begins his musing. “I’m going to make our home so cozy! Do you remember those rugs we saw at the winter market last year, the ones you said were too impractical for the road? Finally, I can get those, now that we have somewhere permanent to return to. And we shall build a garden for your herbs, and then a library for me. Plants and arts, let’s not forget! Oh, and those velvet robes you like!”

“I never said I liked them.”

Jaskier pokes Geralt on the cheek, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You don’t need to. Your face betrays everything. You have this look when you see something you desire but don’t think you deserve—it’s how you used to look at me. I should have known you’d be the first one to suggest settling down. You always were the domestic one. The world just didn’t let you think it could be an option.” he pauses, softening. “Something must have changed your mind.”

The fondness in Geralt’s eyes melts into a golden pool of warmth. “It was someone, actually.”

He leans forward, tucking a strand of hair away from Jaskier’s face, fingers tracing the hair at his temple. A warm blush spreads across Jaskier’s face when he’s observed like this, with his crow’s feet and grey hair on display.

“That someone must be amazing,” Jaskier says, proud of his crow’s feet and grey hair when they are loved like this.

“Hmm. I don’t know. He’s very smug.” Geralt squints. “Less so with age. It wised him up, against all odds.”

They smile into another kiss as the morning sun rises, spilling silvery light into their room.

There are many things to plan in the process of building a new home. They will need to travel to the coast, for one, and then pick out all the furniture. Jaskier will insist on filling their life with soft, warm things for Geralt. Blankets, pillows, teas, and then, freshly collected flowers from their garden. Ciri will need a guest bedroom, for the girl to rest her weary feet when the path gets too much for a witcher-princess. And only the gods know when Yennefer will drop by, with her secret soft spot for domesticity.

There are many things to plan for the future.

But for now, they already have a home right here.

[bellamyblakru]

IS JASKIER NOT GETTING DESTINED TO SOMETHING?

[birdhousewrites]

Bardlings (p1)

The trip down from the mountain was rough. It wasn’t just the mountain, though. It was the next few choices and thoughts that made it so difficult. Jaskier had to think hard on what to do next. He doesn’t have his Witcher to fall back on anymore. He could always go back to Oxenfurt. Annoy the old man for a bit.

No acknowledgment towards the quiet thoughts of crying it out while hugging his adoptive father is needed, not while Jaskier is alone.

So that’s what he does. Jaskier stops at the nearest inn and does a bit of singing so he hopefully has a bit of money for his trip, that goes well enough. He at least doesn’t get food thrown at him to make his bad day worse.

The night is a bit of a sad blur. He drinks alone then goes to the room he paid for. What did he do? Geralt was finally coming around. It was so nice! He surely couldn’t have caused so many problems.

Jaskier doesn’t remember the tears he shed by the next morning. He doesn’t hardly remember getting out of bed with his pounding headache. He doesn’t think about the previous days, nor the days to come.

Jaskier only starts to think about what happened, sober this time, when he’s on the road and far from the town he spent the night in. He can hear wolves howling in the distance. The bard fights off tears as he keeps walking. Oxenfurt is still a long ways away and he can’t be slowed down by some silly tears.

The next few weeks are a total blur, not the drunken kind though. Jaskier has managed to safely make it to Oxenfurt, except a few minor scratches from some easily handled bandits. Something in Jaskier says, “I’m not useless, this proves it!” But he already knew what he could do. He already knew he isn’t always the one shoveling the shit.

He gets to Oxenfurt and he’s okay physically but his mental health isn’t the greatest. No artist is ever completely mentally sound but it’s always worse after a breakup. So what does Jaskier do? He cries. He cries the second he hugs his father.

They sit there for a few hours, it takes the first hour for Jaskier to stop sobbing, and they talk. Jaskier sobbing, lots of tears and snot dripping from his face.

“H-he to-told me t-to le-leave,” comes muffled and stuttered from Jaskier as he talks into his father’s shoulder.

Alfred rubs his son’s back, not trusting himself to not spit venom about the wolf that broke his poor son’s heart. A heart that loves so easily.

“-an-and tha-that I’m th-the one al-alwa-ways sho-shovelling the-the shit in his iss-issues,” Jaskier continues.

“Oh Jas,” says Alfred, trying his best to soothe the sobbing man, but he was never very good at that.

The rest of the evening continues in a similar manor.

It’s night now. Alfred left his living area with a damp shoulder and went to yell his frustrations into the woods, not expecting or ever wanting a reply. He hasn’t done this in years, he hasn’t had a reason.

Alfred Pankratz, a seemingly crazy adoptive father and professor, actually did quite well at raising Jaskier. If his success in barding is anything to go by then he’s actually done a quite sensational job (especially since he found Jas in the woods). Despite his parenting success, there’s nothing in the world harder than not trying to hurt the man that hurt your son, and that’s precisely why Alfred Pankratz is screaming in the woods.

Jaskier is sitting at a writing desk writing letters. Why? Because he doesn’t blame Geralt entirely. And he doesn’t blame the rest of his wolves at all. They still need love, even if Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier around.

What Jaskier is writing is mostly a couple of letters to some old teacher’s of his. He has a few things to get in line, after all.

See, there are very few things Jaskier likes more than bardic tales and adventures. One of these very few things happens to be his Witchers, and if Geralt’s terribly rude actions on that mountain are anything to go by they’re all in dire need of some company. As Jaskier went down this line of thought he came to a natural conclusion: Teach a few classes of bards that will want to befriend Witchers.

Witchers aren’t so bad, anyways. Sure, they’re a bit gruff and a bit prickly, but that’s just how they are! No need for them to be lonely! Especially not since Geralt’s anger seemed to be out of a moment of pure frustration.

So Jaskier finishes writing the letters and sends them off. Come fall, he should have a class of young and hopeful bards, and as a bard Jaskier knows how hard it can be to keep their attentions (although, that may just be his little feral fae side coming out). He’s got lesson plans to write, activities to plan, and now definitely needs to figure out how to make sure the wolves won’t worry about him this winter.

Although, the last one may have gone a little forgotten as Alfred Pankratz returned to his living quarters to see a no longer sad Jaskier writing down a lesson plan. A lesson plan Alfred will gladly help with.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Yormp here, once again! Happy Sunday, lovelies! Anyways, this is chapter one. There isn’t much dialog but it’s going to happy very soon. I’m writing this because of this amazing post and all of the reblogs that came off of it! So sorry if I missed tagging anyone who wanted to be!

Love you all so much! You’re the reason I started writing and actually posting what I’ve written! Mostly because I found it funny... but

Chapter one takes a bit more of a serious take on it but it will get a bit more light hearted around the end of chapter(part???) two!

[roughentumble]

*head in hands* havin thoughts abt the minor god!au again lads

[greylunar]

Sorry there have not been many asks answered from me/I haven’t been that active on here lately, I thought about Jaskier from the Witcher so hard that my brain powered off for two weeks 😔