#like it would be great if Geralt tried to care even a little about Jaskier

[tpchicken7]

Imagining if the show had more time or inclination to care about it how Jaskier would absolutely defend Yennefer from Geralt's sword and wrath after the reunited in Cintra in 2x07.

I mean picture it: Geralt is PISSED and has his sword to Yennefer's neck and Jaskier sees this. Knowing that Geralt will absolutely regret it later if he hurts Yennefer, and considering she saved him in Oxenfurt, he sees the big, long stick Yenn has dropped and picks it up. Then he uses the stick to push Geralt's sword away, getting in between the two of them.

At this point everyone would be so confused, especially Geralt. Geralt would yell at Jaskier to get out of the way, and Jaskier would tell him to calm down before he makes any new rash decisions. Arguments would get heated until Jaskier screams at him that this is HIS wife and he will defend her since she saved his life.

COMPLETE SILENCE while Geralt tries to process what the frack Jaskier just said.

Yennefer tries to apologize, but Geralt has regained half his brain and orders Jaskier and Yarpen to take Ciri to Kehr Moren, to which Jaskier totally flips out again. "People that show barely any regard for me don't get to order me around!" To which Geralt would be absolutely perplexed about again.

Jaskier only finally agrees to go with Ciri and Yarpen because Yennefer convinces him to. Jaskier makes Geralt promise he won't kill Yennefer or he's not going to leave them alone.

Instead of being standoffish, Ciri would have sooooooo many questions on the journey and Jaskier might even notice when Ciri gets possessed. Which would've been much more helpful when they got to the keep.

Then maybe after all the drama is resolved, Geralt and Jaskier could have a real heart to heart and Geralt could sincerely apologize about the mountain instead a halfhearted sorry from top of a horse.

But maybe after all these years, I'm still just super salty about the show's totally disregard for Jaskier and decisions to make him the butt of all jokes.

[petew21-blog]

The singing Witcher

Geralt laid in his bath after having sex with a local whore. He fought a witch today thanks to Jaskier pissing her off with some comments of his.

A scream through the building:"Geraaaaaaalt!!!"

Geralt:"Fuck..." Jaskier. What now?

Jaskier stormed into the room. Closing the door behind him. "Geralt! Geralt she's back and now she's more pissed than before"

Geralt:"Jaskier what did you do now?"

Jaskier:"I had to celebrate that victory of yours today. So I sang a song about it. It was slightly mocking her"

A bang on the door. Geralt stood up, still wet, naked. And took out his sword.

Jaskier already saw Geralt naked, but even in a moment like this he had to take a look. Geralt now ready for the witch with two swords. He chuckled.

Bang! The door were now wide opened. The witch stormed in ready for Geralt. She binded him with some spell. Geralt was now fighting invisible ropes

"Why are you defending this worthless shit screaming and not able to sing human, Geralt? He makes fun of all of us. Everyone who's not a human like him"

Jaskier:"That's not true, I actually mock only those that Geralt meets on the journey"

Geralt in pain, struggling:"Jaskier. Now is the time to shut your mouth"

The witch:"Yeah, as he said"

She observed the two men. "Oh I have an idea. Haha. This is gonna be good. Well Geralt since you already tried to kill me while defending him, I'll give you a gift. You will be able to have your friend so much close to defend him. And you, you little rat, you will be able to sing about more adventures and see everything Geralt sees so nothing escapes your songs. Maybe singining them now will be more fun"

Their appearances started to change. Geralt noticed Jaskier's hair getting longer and white, while his were receding. Jaskier was getting bigger, while he was shrinking. They were becoming each other.

Geralt:"Stop this"

The witch:"Only you can stop it. The reversal is hidden in love" and then she disappeared in a black fog

Geralt's binds were now set free. He looked down to see Jaskier's now naked body. He looked to the right to see his shocked body with ripped clothes that couldn't withstand the transformation.

Jaskier looked down in shock. Now in his much lower voice:"Geralt? Fuck." his voice surprised him, but also amused him. Hearing Geralt's voice coming out of him gave him an idea:"Toss a coin to your witcher!!!" his low not singing voice echoed the room as Jaskier laughed after trying to sing it

Geralt:"Jaskier stop this now!"

Jaskier:"Oh Geralt this is amazing. We could make so much money with this. The singing Witcher! Can you imagine?"

Geralt:"No and that will not happen. We will swap back"

Jaskier:"Not to disappoint you, Geralt. But you heard her. 'The reversal is hidden in love' and as you are in my poet's body you already know what that means"

Geralt:"No, it must be something else"

Jaskier:"What else? Falling in love with each other. I don't think so. We have to have sex together, Geralt"

Geralt did his grumpy sound, but it sounded as if Jaskier had a sore throat

They laid next to each other for hours. No one wanted to move

Geralt:"Let's just get this over with" he said as he got to his old dick. Now looking way bigger from someone else's perspective. It was hairy with big balls. Not hard, bit Geralt would take care of that. He knew what his dick liked. He started making small circles with his tongue around the head of his dick while jerking it at the same time. He felt the dick hardening in his mouth

Jaskier was enjoying this way too much. He was smiling the whole time, but stopped before Getalt looked at him. He had everything good now. Great body. Great view of Geralt's dick. And his old body sucking on his big cock.

He felt like he needed to be more dominant now. With all the muscles there was no way he would let Geralt dominate him

He pulled his old hair to lift his head

Jaskier:"On your back!"

Geralt noticed the change of expression in his old face from Jaskier's amused look to a much serious one so he obeyed. A wave pf fear and submission swept over his mind

He was now on his back, his old body on top of him, pushing his legs apart. Making his way inside of him.

Geralt could feel the hair pulling in his ass along the sliding shaft inside of him. Jaskier's body must be so much weaker than his. The pain he felt was overwhelming.

Geralt felt pleasure like he never has before. He liked pain and this was painful enough

Jaskier:"I'm so tight"

Geralt:"Would you just shut up and fuck me?"

Jaskier:"Show me how much you love it that you're getting fucked by yourself!"

Geralt:"Jas...."

Jaskier:"Show me" and pushed harder

Geralt:"Ahhhhhhh.... fuck me!!! I need my dick. It feels so good" screamed and didn't even notice how much more talkative he was getting the more the two of them fucked

Jaskier didn't warn him. He just pulled out and between the moans of pleasure shot cum on Jaskiers chest

Jaskier collapsed, sweaty next to Geralt

Jaskier:"Well that happened"

Geralt was quiet after what just happened. He couldn't believe it. But he knew he liked it. Jaskier's body did. He was now becoming more and more like him. Having some of his memories. He knew that if he would start singing now it would sound good and he would probably even enjoy it

Geralt:"You seem different, Jaskier. I feel different. But I thought we would swap"

Jaskier:"Hmmmrrr. Yeah"

Geralt:"You're a bit more like me. You don't talk as much as before. My personality is taking over and so is yours. I feel like I can't stop talking "

Jaskier:"I do"

Geralt:"We have to find the witch"

Jaskier:"No need to rush" he said as he grabbed him from behind and pulled him back to himself

They were in mountains on track to find the witch. They knew they were close. Her hiding place was in front of them. A small fire burning in the distance

Her voice echoed from the rock a over:"Coming for help, my dearest witcher?"

Jaskier's deep voice echoed back at her:"Reverse this!"

Geralt tried to show that he was still the one who was previously leading them in his old body:"Yeah do that. We don't want to stay like this and I don't want to perform another one of his songs. So now do your thing and we'll be on our way"

The witch:"Oh, Geralt. It's so funny to see you being so talkative for a change. And you, singer, finally shut your mouth. I hope it was a great lesson for the two of you. Now....."

Geralt:'Now what."

The witch looked genuinely surprised and laughed hysterically:"Hahaha. You two. You didn't. Hahaha"

Jaskier:"What?"

The witch:"You fools. I told you that love was a way to reverse this. All you had to do was live the life of the other person to understand them better"

Geralt looked at Jaskier. "So it wasn't about making love, but loving the other one as he is?"

The witch:"Yes. How could you think any different. You chose your fate now"

Jaskier:"What do you mean by that?"

The witch. The sex sealed your swap. You are in these bodies forever

They sat on the edge for hours. Observing the view. Contemplating what to do

Jaskier:"We could ask Yennefer"

Geralt:"She won't help. Not now."

Jaskier:"So you just wanna stay like this?"

Geralt:"We can go to the coast. Fish, swim, drink, live."

Jaskier:"You would really abandon your adventures?"

Geralt:"There isn't much I can do now with your body. Neither can you until you learn how to properly fight."

Jaskier:"You're right. Before we learn how to be each other completely, we'll be dangerous to ourselves."

Jaskier stayed silent for a while and then responded. "Fine. Let's have a life together on the beach. But If you will piss me off, I'll start singing and I can guarantee you that my ears hate it"

Geralt smiled and grinned at his old self knowing how much he hated his voice, but was grateful for the friend he found in his life

A story request from inbox

That henry and joey swap story, amazing. What about inside world body swap. Where Jaskier and Geralt swap bodies thanks to some random witch and she tells them the only way to swap back is to fuck each other. But it actually makes the spell permanent. (They got each other memories n skills or smth)

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 20

yennskier modern au

Given that their relationship is wholly casual and they are the people they are, Yennefer has zero basis to be upset over Jaskier's not prioritizing her.

He calls her three hours late on a Saturday night, bubbling over with profuse apologies and offers to make it right, and by then, Yennefer's not even angry, just feels stupid and a little hollow. 

She shouldn't be surprised. This is how he's always been– forever flaky, forgetful, absorbed in his own world, onto the next bright and eye-catching thing once the shine's rubbed off what he already has.

For whatever reason, Yennefer hadn't thought it would happen with her.

She shimmies out of her black dress and sheds her tights like a snake skin and is sprawled on the couch in her sweats when Jaskier crashes into her apartment with two pints of ice cream and a cheesy smile. He's wearing a silk shirt, the sort that clings to the sweat he worked up climbing the stairs to the top floor. Maybe he ran all the way here.

“Horrible abomination for you and a normal person flavor for me,” he says and offers out her ice cream with a wrinkle of his nose. It's mint chocolate chip. Yennefer’s ordinarily pleased that he doesn’t have to ask, but what if she’d wanted something different this time. 

Jaskier flounces away to rummage for spoons in her sterile, rarely-used kitchen, and the stark light haloes his hair, messy and a little greasy like he's been running his hands through it. Or like someone else has been running their hands through it.

“I really am sorry, Yen,” he says. “Lost track of time at the gym, you know. New workout routine– whew! Really sucks you right in.”

Yennefer wonders who he was with, if he even got their number or their name, if he was at the gym at all. She'd bought the tickets for the event they missed a month in advance, spent an hour this evening diffusing her hair, debated dress choices like she cared about the opinions of the vapid crowds around her. The first few missed calls and unanswered texts had sent a burning fury through her, and she'd paced and raged and hurled insults at nothing. 

How dare he. How dare he.

But it's not as if it's anything new with him. It's not as if they've made any lasting promises to one another. After Geralt’s ceaseless complications and their inevitable crash and burn, the ease of falling into some nameless thing with Jaskier has been ideal. This isn't some great romance. She and Jaskier have a relationship built on commiserating and binging unhealthy food on the couch and having a lot of adventurous, eclectic, and exhilarating sex. 

And yes, he knows her favorite flavor of ice cream and wears a key to her apartment on a chain around his neck and pretends she's his wife sometimes at restaurants or red carpet events and looks at her often like he’s looking now as he settles down on the couch beside her, all crushingly devoted and fond.

“Your hair looks nice,” he says. She digs her spoon deep into her ice cream and unpauses the show she'd been watching.

“I know,” says Yennefer. “My dress looked even better.”

“Wear it when I take you out tomorrow night,” he says, forgetting that he has that dinner with some network exec that he's been talking about for weeks. She doesn't bother reminding him, lets him tuck an arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple.

Years ago, she may have raged and fumed, stiffened stubbornly with the most frigid of lasting cold shoulders, but she doesn't have the energy. Instead, she lets him slip between her spread legs as he kneels on the carpet and his mouth is a revelation as always and she tries to think about anything else but being left behind.

Their ice cream melts on the end table, and she takes him to bed, riding him rough and demanding as he grips the sheets and prays aloud. 

It's as fiercely good as ever. This is what they're good at, this casual sort of taking from one another, shifting the pace without words, kissing until they lose their breath. 

She's not the sort of woman who pines and wallows and lets her feelings get hurt. She's cold and unfeeling and the best he's ever had, and he better accept that and shape up or risk never sleeping in her bed again. 

Yennefer knows that that wouldn’t last long. She would miss him too badly.

Afterward, she curls against his back and touches her mouth between the sweat of his shoulderblades. He pulls her arm around his waist, tangles their fingers against his chest.

“Yen,” he whispers, “you're still angry with me, aren't you?”

“No,” she says. She’s not angry. She doesn’t know what she feels. “You're as much of an imbecile as you've always been. Doesn't surprise me even a little.”

He sighs and wiggles absurdly back against her and she knows he's likely to talk and talk himself to sleep the way he likes to, a ramble of meaningless drivel.

“Don't stop liking me, Yen,” he says, voice small. “I mean, I know I make it all far too difficult. I'm an utterly unreliable forgetful fool and I can't keep a thing straight and I let too much slip through my fingers but I… That is to say, I…”

“Oh hush,” says Yennefer. She can’t bear the thought of him telling her something he doesn't fully mean.

“Don't leave me,” he says on the edge of sleep, and she hates this infuriating, idiotic problem of a man. She hates that she loves him just enough to forgive him almost anything.

[saturnshrew]

Modern world, Geralt x Jaskier, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Open ending, Presumed character death

Authors Note: Hi! This is a snippet of a fic I’m working on. I’m recently getting back into writing so I’m a bit rusty but I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The truck barreled down the empty stretch of road, headlights cutting through the darkness in long, thin beams. A faint glare from the dashboard radio illuminated Geralt’s tense jaw and Jaskier’s livid eyes. The air is thick with tension and unsaid words.

The speedometer ticks higher as they sit in silence. Naturally, Jaskier, ever attuned to his own anxieties in vehicles, notices but remains silent. His fingers clench tighter with his hold on the truck’s door handle as he fights to bite back the words he’s so desperate to let out, knowing it would just make things worse. Geralt’s grip on the steering wheel is ironclad, his knuckles paling as he stares ahead with his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

The only sounds are the low hum of the truck’s engine, the tires on smooth pavement, and their breathing. Neon lights flash over their faces in bursts of red and green as they pass the nearby gas station. Jaskier shifts in his seat, finally letting out a sharp exhale as he stares out the window.

“You’re not making this any better by ignoring me.”

The words cut through the truck as if someone struck a match.

Geralt scoffed, “I tried to talk earlier, and you were being a bitch, so—”

“Excuse me?” He whipped around to look at Geralt. “I tried to be civil, and you’re the one who lashed out!”

“Uh, no,” he gave a disbelieving laugh, “you started hounding on me, right in front of my friends, mind you—”

Jaskier laughed right back, “Right, ‘cause they’re such wonderful company!”

Geralt gripped the wheel even tighter. “Stop interrupting me. This is exactly why we couldn’t have a,” he pitched his voice higher in a mockery of Jaskier’s, “civil conversation filled with love and understanding, earlier!” he finished, back to his own voice.

“I’m trying my best here!” Jaskier gestured to himself, “But you,” he jabbed a finger at Geralt, “make it impossible! You can’t stand one singular conversation about how you feel—“

“You’re not my damn therapist; I don’t have to talk about my ‘precious feelings’ with you!” he mocked, “You’re constantly pushing and pushing, and I can’t stand it!”

Jaskier started tearing up, “Oh, I’m so sorry I care about my boyfriend, who I thought cared for me too, but apparently—”

Geralt let out an exaggerated groan, “Oh my god, can you just not? I can’t deal with your crap right now; of course I fucking care!” He exploded, hitting the dashboard with his fist.

Jaskier just crossed his arms tightly. “Well, I’d like to believe that, but when you’re being such an ass, it’s difficult to tell!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry that you need constant,” he pressed harder on the gas pedal, “attention and assurance, but sometimes I need a fucking break!”

“That’s not what this is about! You—you just—” his voice broke, “You always do this! You never talk to me,” he sniffled, “and you always run when things get even a little serious!”

“Oh great, and now you’re gonna start crying as if I’m the problem!” He huffed, “When really, Jask, you’re the problem!”

“Hey—”

“You can never just let things be; you always have to rub your nose in my business, and it’s so annoying!” He ignored Jaskier’s hitched breath, “You’re like a bedbug! You’ve dug in, and you won’t fucking let go, won’t give me a single second of peace. You’re so clingy, and I can’t stand it sometimes!” Geralt was panting by the end of his words.

Jaskier’s breath came in short little gasps as he tried and failed to stop the tears, the sobs that wanted to rip out of his chest. Jaskier was crying hard now, wiping furiously at his eyes as if he could stop it. Geralt regretted the words as soon as they came out, but he felt like he couldn’t say anything else now. He sighed and tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the words.

Jaskier let out a small sob, “I’m sorry I’m such a—a problem in your life, but,” he sucked in a breath, “you’re not exactly easy to be with either, Geralt!”

That hurt, but Geralt knew it was nothing compared to how cruel his own words were. He tried to reach for a single word to say, but he just sat as Jaskier kept trying to get his own words out.

He didn’t notice when he ran the red light. Nor did he see the car coming towards them at full speed.

Jaskier didn’t either.

…

Geralt came to with a groan. All he could hear was the obnoxious ringing in his ears that emphasized the pounding in his head. His arm felt like it was on fire, spreading through his entire upper body when he tried to move it. He gasped at the pain, deciding it wasn’t worth it to move. Why did it hurt so bad? Heaving in a breath he realized his chest hurt too.

His mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t really hear his thoughts. Everything was just jumbled together, a mix of words Geralt couldn’t decipher right now. What happened? He remembered someone yelling, feeling angry, then…

Jaskier?

He jerked suddenly, whipping his head around. There was Jaskier, slumped over in his seat.

“Jask.. baby?” he tried to call out, his voice hoarse.

[labyrinth-runner]

The Tavern Maid

I'm tempted to turn this into a (short) series if people are interested?

This is based off a cliched prompt from this list:

Help me I'm being hit on a bar, please pretend to be my fake boyfriend for a second.

Summary: Jaskier comes to your aid when some elves in your brother's tavern get a little too handsy for your liking.

Word Count: 1300~

Warnings: I mean, the elf is handsy and tries to proposition reader.

It was a usual shift at the tavern. Which, for you, meant that some patrons were getting a bit too handsy for your liking. You would never understand why people assumed that because you worked there that you'd like their advances. Quite frankly, you didn't give a fuck about tips, and you were only working here to help out your brother because his usual server (his wife) had just had a baby and he was short staffed. Still, this crowd was raucous. There was a group of dwarves in the corner, louder than most, but the real problem were the elves, with their wandering hands, blaming it on the fact that they were so much quicker than you and therefore unused to having to dance around a slow human.

You could feel the vein in your forehead throbbing as you scrubbed the sticky remnants of mead from the bar. You couldn't wait to go back to your house, take a scalding hot bath to burn off the unwanted ick that their gazes left on your skin.

A bard was strumming a tune in the corner, pulling most of the patrons into his performance. It was a nice, jaunty tune. Something about tossing a coin to a witcher. Now, there was a right beast, that. Witchers with their golden eyes and wild temperaments. You'd only ever met one, with his snow white hair. He'd been tracking some manner of a beast straight through your father's farm, and he actually seemed to care about the damage the beast had done to your father's crops. Some Geralt of Rivia or something like that. Hadn't seen him in years, but the bard's tune brought him right back to you as if he were standing in front of you.

You wished he were. Maybe he'd do something to deter the elves. One of them, the one with the sneer and tight braid was elbowing the man next to him, gesturing with his head towards you. Great. You were about to be propositioned. He smirked at his friend, nodding vigorously before downing the rest of his ale and making his way towards the bar. You clocked it, and were hoping to avoid it, already rounding the bar to see to another patron.

Like the elves said, you were so much slower than them. His hand was on your hip, turning you into his chest. "Now, lass, where are you going?"

Clearing your throat, you attempted to push away, "I have a job to do."

He grinned down at you, drinking in your discomfort as his hand trailed lower, dangerously close to your ass. "I'm sure they can wait a bit."

"I suppose they can, but I'm sure my husband wouldn't approve of whatever you have in mind."

He laughed. "What husband?"

Damn that elf, seeing through your bluff. You spotted the bard taking a seat at the bar and nodded towards him. "That husband. Right, dear?" you asked, directing the question to the bard to get his attention. You'd said it rather loudly. You mouthed 'help' to him as the elf turned to address the bard.

"Is this one yours?" the elf asked, pulling you against his chest, his hand high up on your waist and his thumb dangerously close to the underside of your breast. You grimaced.

"Yes, that lady happens to be my wife, and I would appreciate if you'd take your grubby hands off her," he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand towards you.

You gripped his hand, your palms sweaty and allowed him to pull you into him. "Thank you," you murmured. He smelled of smoke and sage.

His hand cupped your cheek. "Are you alright, dear heart?"

He was good. Then again, as a performer, you weren't that surprised.

"I do apologize," the elf said, backing away. "I didn't realize she was spoken for."

The bard wrapped a protective arm around you. "Even if she wasn't, Sir, no means no. She shouldn't have to say it in elvish for you to understand." His tone was ice and he stared the elf down until he slunk back to his table, tail between his legs. He passed his mug to you. "Here, take a sip."

You raised a brow, but accepted it. It wasn't what you were expecting, the first sip coating your tongue with a warm mix of cinnamon and clove.

"It's a tea I got from a druid. It's supposed to help your voice and calm nerves," he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You can stop acting," you told him, handing him back his mug. You dug around in your pocket for a coin, trying to discreetly hand it to him for his trouble. "For your witcher," you teased.

He folded your hand back around the coin. "You don't have to pay me for doing the right thing," he said with a soft smile. "Somehow, I feel like I'd do so much more than merely this for you if you'd asked, dear heart."

His hand stroked the back of yours and you took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He was handsome, with short chestnut brown hair that swept across his forehead. But, it was his eyes that had you trapped in your place. They were the most beautiful blue you'd ever seen. You'd never been to the ocean, but you were sure in your soul that it would pale in comparison to the color of his eyes. You rested a tentative hand on his puffy shirt shoulder, feeling the way it deflated under the weight of your hand. He wasn't built with bulky strength like the witcher. He was lean, but you could still feel the taut strength of muscle under the fabric.

"My name is Jaskier," he told you.

You told him your name and he frowned slightly. "What's the matter?" you asked.

"'Dear Heart' suits you so much more," he said, the corner of his lips pulling up ever so slightly.

"No one else has ever called me that," you said, feeling your cheeks burn.

"Good," he grinned. "I want to be the only one."

"And will you write songs about me?" you teased.

"No," he admitted. Your smile started to slide from your face, so he quickly added, nodding back towards the elf. "I don't want to share you."

You swallowed, realizing that you'd been neglecting your patrons for a while. You started to pull away from him. "I should get back to work."

He grabbed your hand, holding it to his chest. "When are you done?"

"In about an hour," you replied.

"Would you mind if I walk you home?" he asked, stroking your hand.

"Why would a wife mind her husband walking her home?" you said with a smirk. "And, I suppose..." you said, tapping your chin in thought. You couldn't help yourself, he was so handsome and you were hoping he was feeling whatever was sparking between the two of you here and wanted to explore it, too. "There are some other things that husbands and wives do once they're home that I wouldn't mind, either."

His eyebrows raised into his hairline at that.

"U-unless that was too forward," you stammered.

He kissed the palm of your hand. "No, Dear Heart, you're right. We must do our duties." He winked. He held your hand until you pulled out far from his reach, and then he watched you the rest of the night, stepping in to give you a hand with carrying things if a customer started to get to handsy, reminding them that you were 'married' and therefore off limits.

At the end of the night you waited for him to pack up his things and fetch his lute from the table he'd turned into his makeshift stage. He came over, lute slung across his back, and dramatically offered you his arm. "Milady."

"M'lord," you said with a laugh, sliding your arm though his. You pulled him through town towards your house, marveling at how normal it felt to be like this with Jaskier.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Mistakes

(More Feral!Jaskier)

Jaskier usually spent his winters in Kaer Morhen. He liked the illusion of solitude, where he could drift around the endless corridors, letting his mind wander and invent scenarios that he could use to inspire ballads and poems.

He could stay up into the wee hours every night, scribbling away in his notebook as the muses whispered to him in the quiet of his small room.

He could sleep late into the morning after the muses finally allowed him to sleep, and then drag himself down to the Great Hall for some strong tea and whatever was left over from breakfast.

He could spend a few hours with his Witcher friends, laughing, telling stories, and helping with chores. Witnessing the brotherhood humans didn't think them capable of.

He could stare out the window, singing softly to himself, working out a tune or the lyrics to a song.

He could scribble down random thoughts inspired by watching the sun move over the landscape, or from the feeling of the snow falling on him, or the sounds and sights he experienced while riding with Geralt in the woods around the Keep.

The way the snow clumped on a branch, the sound of Pegasus's hooves in the snow, the crisp chill of the air on his cheeks, the silence of the woods as the snow fell around him, all of it was fodder for his creativity.

He could live in a room that was a mess of scattered piles of parchment organized in a way that only he understood.

He could forget to eat, and comb his hair, and shave, and change his clothes for days at a time. There was no one there who would care if he let his personal standards of grooming slip.

He could live his lonely, tortured artist aesthetic to his heart's content.

But then, one winter, his pleasant routine was interrupted. There had been a few times when the subject of Jaskier being able to defend himself had come up. He had always bushed the conversation off.

Bards were an important part of society! They were the Keepers of History! News Bringers! Stewards of The Arts! King-Makers! They were practically a protected species! Besides, who would dare harm a bard who is friends with a whole pack of Witchers?

Inspite of his protests, Jaskier still found himself being pushed out to the training grounds at the ungodly hour of almost noon. Coen was determined to teach him at least some basic sword skills.

Jaskier had stood there shivering, and holding the wooden training sword out at arm's lenght as if it were a snake that might curl up and bite him. He'd whined and complained while Coen showed him how to hold the sword, and adjusted his stance. Jaskier continued to natter on as the Witcher took him through a few basic moves.

Coen had tried giving Jaskier different weapons. The bow had been a bad idea. Jaskier's aim was so bad it was almost comical. Coen hadn't even dared to think about handing him an axe, or a spear.

Coen found himself growing incresingly frustrated with the bard as the weeks went by. Jaskier showed very little improvement. He spent the majority of the training time whining about training, making jokes, and putting in lackluster effort.

Jaskier had shown only mild interest in each of the weapons. It was the novelty and an interest in the physics and mechanics of the weapon that grabbed his attention. When it came to seriously training with one, the fun went away, along with Jaskier's interest.

The other Witchers would sometimes come along to watch and offer unhelpful advice, make jokes, and try to encourage Jaskier.

Lambert could always be found watching the awkward training sessions. It was good entertainment. And then things got really interesting.

Coen was chasing Jaskier around the courtyard, trying to get him to use some of the moves he'd been showing him. He was usually a patient teacher, but Jaskier had a knack for being incredibly irritating.

Maybe it was the way he acted so fussy and prissy, as if his hands were too delicate to hold a training sword. Or the way he babbled ceaselessly, making jokes or complaints. Or perhaps it was how he seemed so flippant about being able to defend himself, as if he refused to acknowledge the imprortance of it.

Coen finally lost his patience. He started getting into Jaskier's space, pressuring him. The bard had squeaked and backed up, swinging his wooden training sword wildly. He'd yelped as Coen smacked him with his sword, giving him a surprised look. He'd backpedaled, holding his arm, and Coen had hit him on the thigh, then sent him sprawling to the ground.

Lambert had stood up, uneasy as Coen swung down at Jaskier's head, growling at him to get up as the bard scrambled frantically to get out of the way.

"Get up you lazy s*d! Do you think this is a game? Do you think I'm doing this for fun?" Jaskier had swallowed, twisting up to his feet and yelping again as Coen hit him across one shoulder. He was covered in bruises, some old, some very new, and they ached in the cold. He barely got his sword up in time to haphazardly block Coen's next swing. The Witcher contined to go after him, "Stop running away and start fighting back!"

"Coen, stop! I don't want to-!"

"Geralt and Yennefer aren't always going to be there to do the fighting for you!"

"Coen," Lambert said, an odd note of warning in his voice. "He's a bard, not a Witcher. He hasn't been in anything more dangerous than a drunken bar fight."

"And that's why he needs to learn how to actually fight! He might be able to handle a drunk, but a sober enemy is another matter! He can't spend every fight he gets in flapping around uselessly like a terrified chicken while Geralt or Yennefer do the fighting!"

Coen went after the bard, driving him around the courtyard, not letting up. Jaskier frantically stumbled back, parrying and trying keep his feet. His mind was a storm of panic. He needed to get away from Coen fast, or things weren't going to end well. He desperately looked for an escape route, tried cricling to the doors to the Great Hall, but Coen was always there, blocking his way.

The bald Witcher pushed him towards a corner. Jaskier yapped as Coen hit him hard on the side then shoved him into the wall.

"Coen, back off! He's-!," Lambert warned, having seen a familiar look in Jaskier's eyes.

"F**k off, Lambert!"

"No, you ar*ehole, listen-!"

"I said to f**k off!"

"Fine. It's your funeral," Lambert muttered, crossing his arms and leaning against a training dummy.

"Coen, stop!" Jaskier pleaded, a weird edge to his voice.

"Or what? What are you going to do? Go crying to Geralt or Yennefer? You think an enemy is going to politely wait until they get there?" Coen growled, shoving him roughly.

"Please...just stop..." Jaskier had said quietly. Tears started welling up in his eyes.

"Don't start that crying sh*t! You aren't getting out of this!"

Coen shoved Jaskier into the wall again and cuffed him hard on the ear. Jaskier let out a surprised sob, trying to curl in on himself, one hand going up to hold his ringing ear.

"Yennefer is going to-!" Jaskier began.

Coen slapped his hand down and grabbed his jaw, pinning his head to the wall. "Going to what? Be mad? Go ahead and cry for her, I'll kick her a*se around the yard too!"

And that was when Jaskier snapped.

He twisted and bit The forearm Coen was holding him with, the shoved the Witcher away.

Coen saw the flash of the push knife barely in time to avoid being gutted. He staggered back, bleeding but with his guts still on the inside.

Jaskier switched the push knife to his off-hand, scooped up his dropped training sword, and slammed the pommel hard into the crest of Coen's hip bone. Coen cursed and went down as pain exploded in his hip.

Lambert ran to help, yelling for Jaskier to stop, and had to twist abrutly to the side to avoid the thin throwing knife that whistled past him. The little sh*t had throwing knives too?! F**k!

Coen kicked Jaskier away from him, groaning as the pain in his left hip flared sharply. Jaskier rolled in the snow, gained his feet, and jumped on Coen.

He was going for another push knife when Coen smacked him hard on the side of the head with the flat of his sword.

Jaskier reeled, disoriented, and dropped his knife. Lambert kicked it away, and helped Coen pin Jaskier face down on the ground.

The bard was still trying to fight them, even though his head was swimming from the blow.

"What the f**k?" Coen panted, checking his bleeding stomach, leaning heavily on the struggling bard. The wound wasn't too deep, but it would need stitching. His hip, on the other hand was killing him. "What the absolute f**k?"

"I told you to leave him alone!" Lambert panted back. "Did you think I was joking? You alright?"

"Yeah, just a cut and I think I have a hip pointer. Mother of-! Yeah, " Coen said, lightly touching the large hematoma on his hip, "It's definitely a hip pointer. F**K it hurts like a b*tch!" Coen paused as something Lambert said caught his attention. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you, you ar*ehole!"

Lambert shrugged. "I tried to warn you, but you know, sometimes you just have to learn from your own mistakes."

"You're such a jacka**!"

"Calm the h*ll down, you daft b**tard! " Lambert snapped at Jaskier, who continued to desperately struggle and snarl. "We aren't trying to hurt you!"

"Aww, f**k, he's bleeding!" Coen said, spotting the bloody bruise on the side of Jaskier's head. He scooped up a handful of snow and gently pressed it to the lump. Jaskier flinched, then got quiet, distracted by the coldness of the snow. He lay still, letting the cold soothe the intense ache in his head. His head was swimming, and he felt nauseated. Familiar voices were talking to him. His bruised brain recognized the faces leaning over him. Friends! They looked worried...oh d*mn, something was wrong with him!

Lambert and Coen cautiously rolled him onto his back. Jaskier blinked and squinted, then reached for his head with a pained moan. "Shhhh, here, Songbird," Lambert said, holding a fresh handful of snow to his head wound.

Jaskier flinched and clutched at Lambert's sleeve, fear and confusion swirling in his dazed, unfocused eyes. "Easy, easy! It's alright!"

"We should probably get Geralt."

"He's going to be p*ssed!"

"You want to get Yennefer instead?"

"F**k no!"

"Eskel?"

"He went out hunting,"

"D**n it!"

Jaskier, throughly concussed, disoriented, scared, and in pain, called for the only person his foggy brain could remember at the moment. Unfortunately, his bruised brain was having trouble matching a name with Vesemir's face. What was it again? Oh, Yeah!

Jaskier's mouth worked for a second, and then he whimpered, "pA!!!"

Lambert and Coen felt the panic only older siblings feel when they 'accidentally' cause their younger sibling to start crying. Lambert slapped a hand over Jaskier's mouth and hissed "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh! You're okay! Shhhhhhhhhh! " He and Coen sat absolutely still. Listening.

"It wasn't very loud...maybe he didn't hear...."

Vesemir: *busy roasting some venison*

Vesemir: *hears The Voice Crack*

Vesemir's brain: *Mental image of baby!jaskier*

Papa Vesemir: I must go! My adopted grandpup needs me! *yeets his hand embroidered "I'll Feed All You F**ks' apron and flies to the courtyard*

Coen and Lambert were just about to relax when Vesemir was suddenly there, looming over them. And if that wasn't bad enough, Geralt appeared barely a second later with an unhappy growl.

Lambert looked at Coen and knew he was thinking the exact same thing: Oh, we're f***ed!

Coen was lectured by Vesemir as his injuries were treated, while Lambert escaped the dressing down because he was considered an innocent bystander who'd tried to help. He spent his time helping Geralt clean up Jaskier's head wound and get him to drink a watered down healing potion to take care of his concussion.

Coen had limped in later, to see how he was doing, and found out that Geralt, Aiden, and Lambert all knew about Jaskier's feral side. They showed him their scars from their encounters, except for Lambert ( because his weren't in a place that he could exactly proudly display), and Aiden, who didn't have any scars because he had been present when Geralt had gotten his.

They then swore him to secrecy, as was the tradition now. Eskel would have to find out on his own not to f**k with the bard.

[adozentothedawn]

So I have not yet picked up The Witcher season 3, but I'm sure I will eventually. I do however feel the need to whinge a bit about season 2.

So I will be the first to admit that I am a little Jaskier gremlin. Frankly he is the main reason I am watching this show. I also recognize that he is not the main main character and that there will be episodes not about him, and that's fine. That is not my problem. What my problem is, is that he got completely shafted by season 2 even when he was here, and honestly I don't know why he was after his little trip with Yennefer (the best part of that season in my opinion btw). After that point, he has no narrative or character reason to be here, because Geralt does not give a shit about him it seems. His last episode in season 1 was great drama, Geralt was a complete asshole to him and Jaskier was understandably hurt by that. And yet don't actually bother picking that up at all in season 2. It starts off great with the Butcher song, but it's never resolved in a satisfying way. Geralt has no moment to actually acknowledge that Jaskier didn't deserve that treatment on the mountain, he just mutters a clearly half hearted apology and Jaskier just takes it. And that's it. That's the entire emotional resolution. The first thing Geralt says to him is "I need your help" nah man, that's not fucking good enough. Guess Jaskier's not a hot woman so we can't have Gerlat too involved in his emotional relationship with him. And don't get me wrong, this is not a shot against Yennefer, Yennefer is great. She does in fact have proper chemistry with Jaskier! She is probably my second favourite character! What I do see as a problem is that clearly someone among the writers, whoever it was, decided that that platonic relationships between adults are just irrelevent. Can't have that, no one cares, let's focus more on the sexual brooding. Even Yennefer and Jaskier's relationship, which is really good btw I love that episode, gets pushed away as soon as soon as Geralt is in the picture again. It feels like the only reason Jaskier is at Kaer Morhen is cause... you know. He's Jaskier. You can't just write him out entirely. But at no point does it feel like anyone really wants him there, which would also be fine if that was a plotpoint, but it's not. He's just kinda there. Until he isn't for a season cliffhanger. He's just hanging around, pretending that Geralt actually had a reason to take him along, be that emotional or practical, neither of which I can discern. Let's be honest, Jaskier did not make Ciri safer in accompanying her there. The fact that he got tortured never comes up, despite Yennefer having seen it. No one ever tries to engage with him there. It's honestly painful to watch how he's basically just a prop at this point.

And you know, maybe season 3 will pick it up! Maybe he finally gets to be somewhat vindicated in his feelings! Maybe someone actually apologizes to him for once! But frankly it doesn't feel like that was a deliberate characterization in season 2 that will be played on in the next one, so I'm just putting it off longer and longer because while I am interested and I'm sure there are good parts (season 2 had great parts honestly before that turn), I also don't want to watch my favourite character be treated like a joke again in a way that hits too close to home for me personally.

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

Part of the family

Well, this is a subject I'll always come back to, it seems. But when I am in a dark mood, I just need my blorbo to be loved and having all the cuddles, but he is not, so I am 😫.

I wish a lot of things for S3, but I am not waiting for them. Things will grandly depend on the thematics chosen for the main arcs. But there is one little thing I need, it's Jaskier's kind of belonging with Geralt and his "family". It's time for him to be accepted. I don't want it to happen in the hansa only.

Don't get me wrong, I love the hansa ! But I will find it heartbreaking that the only way Jaskier can be part of any group with Geralt is when everyone in it is the strangest person you would choose to be part of it.

Even if he is too "noisy" sometimes, in the books, Jaskier has no problem to fit in groups with Geralt.

That family rejection is something that irritated me a lot on the show. Because we saw a more open Geralt, calling people friends, smiling at them, caring and sharing. That was lovely. But then when Jaskier is back in his life (because Geralt chose to, may I add), nothing applies anymore for him. Sure there is the hug and the little smile. We understand that he trusts the bard. We have lovely glimpses like in S1, but where is the new Geralt with him. He is just as closed as before in front him. Like, he knows how to navigate his shenanigans to get what he needs but that's all the way he would go to connect with him.

And the bad part is that Jaskier had learnt his lesson from the mountain. He knows when to step back, when to really shut up, while he is around him. He was WAY more intrusive in S1.

In S2, he is waiting more of a clear signal that he can actually interact with him and don't overstep the threshold as much as he used to. So why he isn't rewarded for his efforts. It's like telling him he is still too big and annoying or strange.

Harder, the only moments he tries to push a little bit to connect with people navigating around Geralt, he is pushed out. The dwarves (I wish we could have a Yarpen Zigrin more like in the books btw), Ciri and the witchers.

It's pretty clear to me, from S1, that Jaskier wants to be part of Geralt's world. So, even if it's a broken family, we see Jaskier trying but he's received nothing but clear rejection.

That infamous no will always hurt me.

"Family" is one of the biggest theme of S2. I mean we see everyone struggling to find where they belong, how they find purpose in this world, etc. And this is great. I liked that overall. But why always is Jaskier the one who fails ?

It makes me wonder. Was Geralt more open to the others because they are more like him ? Does it make Jaskier the only weirdo within his world ?

Weird uncle Jaskier

I began to write this post after clipping Joey saying that he is the "drunken uncle Jaskier" in Lucca Comics and Games interview. And I remembered he said something similar in others occasions.

Source [x] and [x]

This is something Joey said about the dynamic within Geralt found family in S2 and with Ciri. I have the feeling that this is what we will get in the end. I mean if being the "weird one" can give him a place then it's already something BUT if there is no disdain or mockery, which I doubt.

Of course, Jaskier is always a bit off. He is not like any of them. But for me the weirdness is in the combination, not on Jaskier's side only. I feel like they found some balance with Yennefer and him, so why not with the others. One can only hope.

In the books, he is simply alcoholic because well.. he is. In the series, it goes more into his emotional state, especially brokenhearted. So... Something about the acknowledgement that Jaskier is the "drunk uncle" makes this more bittersweet to me. (Sorry for the extra potato gif - source [x])

[arcaneviolence]

getting my friend who has never seen the witcher to rate various ships based on vibes alone

F- friend M - me

Up first - Geralt and Jaskier

F- its giving sun and moon- like big sunshine boy here (points at Jaskier) and big grumpy moon stinky man here (points at Geralt)

M - you think hes stinky??

F - yes.

M - why???

F - I sniffed him he is stinky

M- (laughing)

F - he needs a bath smelly boy

M - sunshine boy does bathe him 

F - thats why they are married sunshine boy keeps smelly man clean 

M - sick

F - I bet they’ve explored eachothers bodies

M- skudgsurlghsugkeu

F - I know a little bit based on your posts and I think they are really good friends for a long time so they probably boned at least a few times before romanticaly boning

M - romantic bonning is great but you ever have a pie (quoting a markiplier makes video)

F - (laughing)

Geralt and Yennefer

F - Why are her eyes purple?

M - she part elf

F - why would that make her eyes purple?

M - because genetics 

F - Its cool she seems fruity

M - mmm understandable

F - its serving stars (points to Geralt) and night sky (points to Yen)

M - WAIT SHUT THE FUCK UP THATS SO CUTE

F - and like the sun is a star and his eyes are yellow and the silver hair is silvery stars, and then her hair is black like the nightitme and purple eyes could be like a pretty galaxy

M - YOU SHUT UP NOW THIS IS JUICY

F - he could also be the moon aswell as the stars. She is the night sky that craddles him, the stars and moon, and makes him feel safe. She also provides a good backdrop for him to be seen and heard and admired like he should be.

M - I’m going to shit myself. 

F - I’m a fan of them

F - Bi wife energy

Yennefer and Jaskier

F - SUNSHINE BOY IS BACK AND HES BROUGHT HIS WIFEY

M - do you like sunshine boy?

F - love sunshine boy

M - understandable

F - its like emo gf himbo bf

M - hes actually very smart, he studied poetry and- (F cuts me off)

F - dont care himbo

M - okay

F - he wears hawaiian shirts and always has ice cream and she binge eats chocolate and wear like black silk slip dresses around the house all the time like a sexy rich woman

M - yeah I can see tha- (F cuts me off again)

F - they are like Gonzo and camilla

M - THE MUPPET AND THE CHICKEN??

Yennefer and Triss

F - what is it with this show and sun and moon gay people

M - I think sun and moon ships tend to jsut be inherently gay even if they arnt

F - true

(long puase)

F - they are like buttercups and the wither rose

M - FROM MINECRAFT??

F - yeah

M - how??

F - yellow and black

M - fair enough

Triss and Geralt

F - This feels wrong

M - why?

F - dont like

M - dont like what?

F - I feel like its very unrequited, or its like a ‘parents thought they were cute as kids cause they were friends of the opposite gender and tried to push it, and maybe it worked at one point but it got really uncomfortable’ kinda thing.

M - thats very specific

F - I feel very specific about them.

Eskel and Geralt

F -I like this guy (points to Eskel)

M - yeah?

F - mm hmm. Hes someones scrimblo for shizzle. 

M - fow shizzle. 

F - I feel like they were rivals at one point.

M - really?

F - mmm... actually no they were like reallly close when they were young but drifted apart and now after meeting again old sparks and sparkling again

M - ooooh that sounds like a fanfic waiting to happen

F - i wanna read it gimmi

Lambert and Coen

F - I wanna slap it

M - slap what?

F - (points to coens head)

M - you wanna slap his bald head?

F - I bet the ginger guy spit shines that shit every morning

M - (laughing) 

F - gotta make sure the birds have something to gaze longingly at themselves in

M - (more lauging )

F - The ginger one reminds me of animal

M - what animal?

F - no like the muppet

M - why are you on a muppet spree today

F - love those guys

M - what muppet is the bald one like?

F - jack black

M - HES NOT A MUPPET??

F - BUT HE WAS IN A MUPPET MOVIE!!

M- SO??

if you think I should force them to review more things do tell

[wren-of-the-woods]

Jaskier is singing in a tavern, and Geralt is not there.

It isn’t the first time he’s done so, nor will it be the last. Even before the utter and unmitigated disaster that was the dragon hunt, Geralt would often make himself scarce while Jaskier performed. Now, though, there’s a finality in the emptiness of the corners and Jaskier’s solitary mug of ale that was never there before — or, if it was, Jaskier was too thick and naive to see it.

“Toss a coin!” someone shouts, the demand in their voice muffled by drink, and Jaskier complies with a laugh that he knows no one here can see through. His fingers pluck the familiar opening notes without thought, the song as well-known to him as Geralt’s dictionary of monosyllables. 

Jaskier wonders, now how many of those definitions were correct. He thought he knew Geralt: thought he knew his softness, his hidden humor, the meaning beneath his stony expressions and halting words. He thought he knew that nothing was meant by his various insults and jabs and complaints, because Geralt spoke far better through actions than he ever did with words. His actions, Jaskier thought, had spoken of fondness. Of care.

Damn it, Jaskier.

It seems he had been wrong.

He can’t help but think of Geralt’s fillingless pie comment from all those years ago as he sings. While he was offended at the time, he quickly wrote it off as the result of Geralt’s exhaustion making him even grumpier than usual. He hadn’t looked any deeper into it, had simply avoided thinking about it until the sting faded into amused irritation.

Perhaps that was not the right decision.

“So cried the witcher / He can’t be bleat,” he sings. The words mean nothing. It’s a catchy little turn of phrase that he invented solely to get a laugh out of the audience. 

Geralt’s complaints, evidently, contained far more depth than Jaskier gave them credit for. Perhaps if he’d listened, if he’d realized how much of Geralt’s irritation was genuine and tried to do something about it, Geralt wouldn’t have snapped. Perhaps he would still be here, and—

No. There was no use thinking about that. What’s done is done, and there is nothing Jaskier or anyone else can do about it. Geralt is gone. He wants nothing to do with Jaskier. Jaskier needs to accept that.

That’s my epic tale / The champion prevailed / Defeated the villain / Now pour him some ale. The words taste a little too much like ash in Jaskier’s mouth. There is nothing there. The song was created to serve a purpose and it did so. There is nothing else. Nothing is hidden beneath the surface. Geralt was right — the pie is empty. Empty, flavorless, and unwanted. 

He finishes the song after what feels too short to be an eternity but too long to be anything else. It is the last of his set, he decides. He knows no one can see anyone amiss — he is, first and foremost, a performer — but inside, he is trembling. He doesn’t think he can stomach another song. 

He makes his farewells to the happy crowd and goes to sit by the bar. He’s already had too much to drink, he knows, and it’s probably the source of this uncharacteristic melancholy. He is usually much better at avoiding creeping thoughts of sadness and regret. If he were a wise man, he would stop now and go upstairs to sleep it off.

He is not a wise man. He orders another ale. 

-

Later, his steps are wobbly and uneven as he makes his way to his rented room. He is still thinking about Geralt, to his great chagrin. He spent far too much coin trying to drown the memories of the witcher for them to linger so persistently in his mind. 

He fumbles with the key for an embarrassingly long time before the door to his room swings open. He’s sorely tempted to just flop onto the bed and bury his swimming head in the pillows, but the night is cold and he doubts he’ll be able to fall asleep if he can’t warm the room up a little. Fortunately, this is one of the few inn rooms with a small fireplace — he paid extra for it, foreseeing this issue — and he’s spent long enough on the road to know how to light a fire even while drunk. He manages to get a small blaze going before he flops back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.

He knows he’s being dramatic. He can hear the phantom voice of a certain witcher teasing him for it. He doesn’t care. Geralt’s opinions don’t — shouldn’t — matter to him now. It shouldn’t be important anymore.

He groans miserably. He just wants him gone. Is that so hard to ask? Jaskier removed himself from Geralt’s life as requested. Why can’t the witcher return the favor and get out of his damn head? He can’t move on with his life if he’s constantly walking through a maze of memories. 

He rolls over onto one side, frustration making him unable to sit still. Fillingless pie, indeed. He has plenty of depth, thank you very much! He could easily write something with depth if he wanted to, and if Geralt would just give him details for once in his irritatingly monosyllabic life. 

Jaskier frowns, staring into the fire. He can’t write songs about Geralt anymore. He won’t have any new material, and he likely wouldn’t be able to stomach the heartbreak anyway. Geralt’s habits no longer have any bearing on his songwriting. He has no other companion, no one else to write about. He’ll either have to dredge something up out of his own mind or stop writing entirely.

He usually writes about recent events, whatever’s currently interesting. Now, though, all that’s on his mind is anger and regret about Geralt. Pointless, worthless memories.

He blinks, then suddenly sits up, his eyes still on the fire. He has no one else to write about, nobody to praise. Why not write about this? His career is changing anyway — why not use this opportunity to experiment? He can sing something with depth. 

The memories of Geralt refuse to drown. Perhaps fire would be a more effective remedy.

-

Five days later, in a different town, he debuts his newest masterpiece. It is an incredible success. By the time he’s reached the peak of the chorus, everyone is engaged in a way few songs other than Toss a Coin can manage.

“Burn, Butcher, burn,” he shouts, and it is as though he makes it happen just by singing the words. Memories of Geralt cannot touch him here, where he stands in righteous anger and turns the worst things Geralt ever said to his advantage. 

“Burn,” he sings, and the crowd sings with him. They don’t know who he’s singing about. Jaskier has ensured that the Butcher nickname is no longer connected to Geralt, and knows that only one person will understand what the name means. They don’t know who he sings about, but they know one thing. This person deserves to burn. 

Here’s your filling, Geralt, Jaskier thinks in triumphant, vicious glee. Go ahead and choke on it.

[witchersgoldenbard]

My sweet darling @mayastormborn asked for some nonverbal Geralt:

Some non-verbal Geralt during winter, and they all allow him to just *be*? No one asks him anything, they just bring him some of his safe-foods and a drink and top it up through the day. Any conversation is through gestures though as little as possible

Well, sweetness, I hope this little thing brings you some comfort and is somewhere near what you had in mind 💕👉👈 (tho it’s not and I will try again)

1.8k words, no warnings except the obvious

No Words Required

When Geralt wakes up with the first light, the weak rays of the winter sun slowly but stubbornly bringing a new day to Kaer Morhen, he knows it is one of those days that will have to remain silent on his part. Usually, he would turn to Jaskier beside him and press a kiss to his brow to wish him a good morning, but the very thought of talking is almost enough to quicken his heartbeat and make his hands shake. No talking, then.

He closes his eyes again and tries to fall back to sleep, maybe he just needs to start this day over. He doesn’t dare to hope, but it might be worth a try.

Despite giving it another chance, his tongue still feels too heavy in his mouth when he opens his eyes again, the world around him still blurry and sharp-edged at the same time. So Geralt has no option but to accept his fate. At least for today. Only for today, he hopes.

“Good morning, my love,” comes Jaskier’s tired voice from beside him, and Geralt thanks the Gods he doesn’t believe in that he can still find happiness in this familiar tone. Grateful that not all his senses are set to overwhelm him today.

He turns to smile at Jaskier, who waits a moment, gives him a chance to say the words he doesn’t have the strength to utter today. Wants to force himself to say, but his heart, his hands, his head, they all deny him. Warn him.

And Jaskier only softens his smile and asks, as quietly as he can, “Silence day?”

Bless him. Bless this man, this wonderful man, for understanding. For knowing him well enough, for seeing, for asking.

Geralt nods, but reaches out to hold Jaskier’s hand with only a slight tremble in his fingers, afraid to find that touch will be denied, too. But the warmth of Jaskier’s skin feels good, the softness under his fingers bringing its usual comfort, and Geralt smiles at the bard’s hands.

“Touch and noise still fine, darling?” Jaskier asks anyway, despite seeing the smile he is wearing. Always asking, always reassuring. Always loving and caring. Always there.

Geralt nods and taps Jaskier’s hand twice, too.

“Would you like me to tell the others?”

Geralt hesitates, quickly calculating if he has enough strength to grunt and hum his way through the day, make enough noise for them to let it pass. But it feels wrong, and he knows they don’t judge. They all have these days, even Jaskier, and it’s always better if everyone knows.

So he nods and is rewarded with a gentle smile.

“Wonderful. And this is going to be the last complex question of the day, I know they’re hard, but technically it’s still yes-or-no? Really, it will depend on your response, uhm—“

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand and regards him with an amused smile. He loves this man so much, how could he not smile even when the world is heavy around him?

“Right, sorry,” Jaskier mumbles and sits up, scratching the back of his head and looking at Geralt. “Is there anything you need? Except to not talk, and possibly the usual, you know. Anything you need, right now?”

The hand still wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist gives Geralt perfect leverage to just pull and have Jaskier land on top of him with an undignified squawk. The bard chuckles as he lies on top of Geralt, their warm chests pressed together like they were made for just this.

Jaskier hums the moment Geralt’s arms wrap around his middle, keeping the warm and comforting weight on top of him. Let the world be heavy, he thinks. I am safe right here.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier promises. “And you’ve got this.”

***

The first time Geralt goes nonverbal around him, it’s a few weeks after Posada. They are returning from a contract, off to find the alderman to receive their well-deserved coin. Jaskier is prattling on about heroics and monsters and witchers, only interrupting his enthusiastic monologues to hum a tune, trying for a melody and always discarding it immediately.

He has grown used to silence beside him, looming and annoyed and stoic. Hums, at most, though they are always more like grunts, noncommittal and monotonous.

But then, suddenly, the hums stop and the Witcher’s ever-focused eyes have lost some of their shine. Jaskier notices these things — of course he does, he’s an artist after all! And Geralt has pretty eyes. But that’s beside the point.

“Geralt?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and watching the Witcher beside him. The same Witcher who doesn’t even notice that he stopped walking, eyes on the road before him, seemingly lost in thought.

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls again. Still no reply, but the Witcher finally stops. Stands. Looks at him over his shoulder. His eyes still not entirely right, and Jaskier doubts it comes from the various potions he has had last night.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and Geralt glances around after a second, hand moving to his sword. Good, Jaskier thinks, he’s not completely out of it. “No,” he says and takes a step forward, noticing the sudden tension between Geralt’s shoulders. He stops. “No, I mean… With you. Are you alright?”

Geralt frowns. Well, at least there’s a constant for you.

“Are you okay, Geralt?” he asks again, gentler but really starting to worry.

Another frown, but this time followed by a nod. Which is not very reassuring. Jaskier might not know him well, but he knows right then that he’s lying. He lets it go, though, and they make their way to the town, easily finding the alderman.

A wretched man who only wants to give them half their payment, but Geralt doesn’t seem inclined to argue. Jaskier frowns and gives the alderman a piece of his mind, making a whole scene for everyone around to hear. “And if the Witchers on the whole Continent might hear from the White Wolf’s bard that you betray them, that your hand doesn’t fulfill what your tongue promises, maybe you shall surrender to the monsters then. Leshen and whatever so pleases shall feast on you, maybe that will be the day you wish you had paid the White Wolf what he was promised and more!”

Needless to say, they leave with more coin than expected, and Jaskier can’t wipe the smug grin off his face.

Geralt smiles at him for the first time, then, over their small campfire, and Jaskier smiles back.

“Is speaking hard for you today?” he finally dares to ask.

Geralt stares at him. Nods.

Jaskier nods back. Grins.

“Well, good thing you have me then, isn’t it? A bard to yell at stupid people for you. We’ll make a great team, you’ll see.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything to that, obviously. But even the next day, when the first thing he does is insult Jaskier’s fashion sense, he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t deny it. And Jaskier is sure he didn’t imagine that small smile that could have meant Maybe you are right.

Either way, he was.

***

Jaskier leaves the bed before Geralt, promising to bring him breakfast.

“You still have three other meals you can try to leave bed for, let’s have breakfast here,” Jaskier argues with a grin and a fine that brooks no room for discussion even if Geralt were up for it.

And so, they have breakfast in bed. It’s warm and comfortable and Jaskier chatters away, not expecting a response in any way. Perfect background noise, taking away the sharp edges of his surroundings, making everything a little less overwhelming and oppressive. Jaskier knows his place in the network of Geralt’s nonverbal days as he talks, keeping his voice down and calm and so, so warm. Familiar.

It almost makes him feel normal. It definitely makes him feel safe.

When he finally has enough strength to leave bed, they make their ways downstairs to sit by the hearth. Geralt has found that the warmth helps, brings him physical comfort when there is nothing else to ground him.

“Good to see you, pup,” Vesemir says and claps a broad hand on Geralt’s shoulder after looking at Jaskier for a second. Geralt smiles.

Pup. Vesemir only calls them that on the heavy days, and it’s a constant that always helps them through the worst of it.

Life still happens around him, everyone has their own tasks, and where he’s sitting in the middle of it all, he feels like he still gets to be a part of it.

There are warm foods throughout the day and a jug of something hot and spiced always appears by his side. Geralt is not completely sure how the time passes, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Lambert is sat beside him, silent, offering his company. If Geralt leans into him and Lambert leans back, well, then that’s between them.

What matters is Eskel who lies down on the fur beside the hearth and gently pulls Geralt to lie on top of him, head on his broad chest, careful hand running through his silver hair. He talks, though all Geralt feels is the rumbling of his chest.

It’s all that matters.

***

The first time it happens around Eskel, they’re both still pups. Barely grown into Witchers yet.

“There are worse things than not talking, Geralt,” Eskel tells him, Geralt’s head resting on his shoulders. “I know it’s scary. It feels like there’s nothing worse. But it doesn’t make you any less of a Witcher. Or any less Geralt. You’re still the White Wolf, even if you can’t howl. I’ll howl for you, Wolf,” he promises with a kiss to his cheek. “And when the day comes, you’ll do the same for me. Because it happens. And it fucking sucks, but you’ve got this, okay? And I’ve got you.”

Geralt nods into Eskel’s shoulder and tries not to feel pathetic that the only sounds the world gets to hear from him that day are his sobs.

***

But Eskel was right then and is still right now. They’ve got each other and they take care of each other. Howl and fight and protect each other.

They do the same for Lambert on his heavy days.

And for Jaskier, years and years and years later.

For Ciri and Yennefer and everyone who needs it.

That’s what family does. Nothing has to change on the days you can’t talk, on the days that words fail you. There are always people to yell at the world for you, to wrap you in a hug and tell you everything you need to hear. Even Witchers can have that.

And Geralt has a whole family now to tell him: “You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.”

It’s really all that matters.

[jaskiersvalley]

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

[contemplativepancakes]

Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

-

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

-

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

-

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

-

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

-

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

-

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

-

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

-

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

-

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

-

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

-

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”

[asweetprologue]

Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again. 

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con 

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings. 

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD 

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily. 

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449 

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates. 

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

~

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

🥺 babe 🥺 bAbE

What if Jask gets sick at Kaer Morhen but tries to hide it from Geralt bc he doesn't want him to think he's gross/weak/etc? And Geralt has the Feelings Braincell for once?

oh babe... thank you

tw: sickness, falling unconscious, fever, whump/angst with a happy ending

---

Jaskier knew he had a fever the moment he woke up. He could feel it burning beneath this skin like a forge, flushing his face a more vibrant shade of pink than usual. He glared at his reflection in the small, round mirror above his dressing table and willed himself to feel better. It was his first winter at Kaer Morhen, and he didn’t want Geralt to think he’d made a mistake by inviting Jaskier along to stay. The bard knew that his stoic, self-loathing Witcher would blame himself immediately for any misfortune or illness that befell Jaskier. Geralt might even reconsider inviting him back again someday. So he had to keep his little bug a secret until he was well. Surely it was nothing major. Surely it would pass after a few days, unnoticed and unremarkable.

He should have known better.

Jaskier dabbed a bit more perfume than usual (which was generally none at all) beneath his ears and along his wrists. He hoped the peony-lavender mixture would mask whatever kind of scent his illness might carry and slowly, carefully made his way down the long stone staircase that led from the guest bedroom to the enormous kitchen. His limbs felt achy and tired, even though he’d slept heavily the night previous. His head sat heavy and unbalanced atop his shoulders; the world wavered and spun around him as he desperately tried to keep from pitching sideways into the wall. 

“You alright there, boy?” Vesemir asked, catching his eye from the bottom of the stairs. “You seem a bit… nervous.”

Maybe his anxiety was doing a better job of hiding his secret than the perfume. 

“Just a little wool between my ears this morning,” the bard laughed brightly, ignoring the searing pain that throbbed through his chest with the movement, “I think I might go chop some wood and see if the brisk mountain air helps clear it out faster.”

“Hmm,” the eldest Wolf nodded sagely. There was no doubt which teacher Geralt had admired most as a pup. “Alright. Be safe, take care. I’ll send someone to fetch you when breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you, Vesemir,” Jaskier bowed shallowly and headed for the kitchen’s back door. He took the axe into his hands and tried not to sway on his feet from the added weight. The bard covered his tracks by throwing a smile back over his shoulder and pushing the door open. “See you for breakfast!”

He stepped out of the keep and let the heavy slab of wood slam shut behind him. The early morning sky above Kaer Morhen was cloudless and the sun was bright, blinding him entirely. His situation only worsened when the sudden change in temperature, from the warm kitchen to the freezing mountainside, punched the air from his lungs in one thick cloud. He struggled to regain it as he wove his way through the snow drifts to the woodpile. Slowly, and with great effort, Jaskier lined up a thick log to be split.

The world felt watery and far away. His hand, which he knew to be attached to the end of his arm by some miracle, would not obey his command to pick up the axe again. His lungs felt heavy in his chest cavity and his legs suddenly ached with a fierce intensity. 

With a quiet cry of protest against his own body failing him, Jaskier collapsed into the snow.

---

Jaskier’s heartbeat was so slow and quiet, his limbs unmoving and his lips nearly blue from the cold; Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever been so scared before in his life. He turned to Vesemir and asked, barely keeping the frantic terror from clawing its way out of his throat: “How long was he out there?” 

“Half an hour at most,” the grey Wolf shrugged. “I don’t really remember, Geralt. I was busy taking care of the breakfast arrangements.”

“Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Eskel ordered. He frowned at Geralt from his place at Jaskier’s opposite side. He’d helped carry the bard from the courtyard to Geralt’s room and was just as worried about the human’s wellbeing. “Panicking won’t help him. Now, what’s the problem?”

“It’s hard to tell over all that stupid perfume,” Lambert snarled. “Stupid fucking bard fucking knew we would be able to smell it on him. He covered his gods-damned tracks.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, having grown suddenly calm. He let the back of his knuckles drag softly across the bard’s too-hot cheek until he could stick a stray lock of sweaty brown hair back behind his ear. “You idiot.”

The bard shifted against the blanket they’d laid him on, his brow wrinkling. His arms twitched slightly, as if he was trying to move them, and he whined plaintively: “G’ralt.”

“I’m here, Jask,” the Witcher replied quickly, forgetting they weren’t alone in the room. He took one of the bard’s freezing hands into his own and began rubbing the warmth back into his fingers. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you better. You’ll be alright.”

“Who are you trying to reassure?” Lambert huffed a short laugh. “You or the bard?”

“Leave off,” Eskel shot his younger brother a glare. The redhead rolled his eyes and moved to lean against the wall near the door. Eskel continued speaking to Lambert, but his eyes were back on Jaskier, who kept trying to get closer to Geralt even in his sleep. “Why don’t you go grab some clean clothes from his room while we get him warmed up and conscious again.”

“Fine,” Lambert spat. But he took off at a quick trot, regardless.

“Geralt, get his wet clothes off and get him wrapped up. Eskel, you come with me to the kitchen. I’ll need help carrying things and I’m sure the bard would prefer some privacy in this particular matter.”

Eskel nodded his agreement and followed Vesemir from the room, leaving Geralt alone with Jaskier. The White Wolf hurried to undress and swaddle the bard with a warm, heavy wool blanket and several furs, talking all the while in a low, worried voice. “Fuck, Jaskier. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened and that you- Why did you hide it? Why wouldn’t you- Are you afraid of me? Is that why you didn’t come to me for help?”

Jaskier’s lids fluttered open and Geralt watched with nervous anticipation as two of the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, blue as cornflowers and brighter than the spring sky, tried their best to focus on his face. “Geralt?”

“I’m here, Jaskier. What’s ailing you? Please, tell me how I can help you.”

“Hurts,” the bard managed to groan. “To breathe.”

“Fuck,” Geralt growled. “We need to get you warm. Lambert should be back with your clothes by now.”

Jaskier’s head lolled back against the pillow and he struggled to reach for his Witcher, “Hold me.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll warm up-” he gasped between words, as if every syllable pained him to expel “-faster if… you hold me.”

“Hmm,” Geralt’s brows furrowed in frustration. He knew Jaskier was right, that he’d feel better faster with skin-on-skin contact, but he also wanted to hold Jaskier for other, less emergency-based reasons. That was unacceptable. Losing Jaskier to death or sickness or other human reasons was intolerable but losing him, in all senses of the word, because of Geralt’s impossible feelings? That would be truly horrendous.

The warring factions of his heart were still clamoring over a decision when Eskel and Vesemir re-entered carrying two large trays. One was covered with foodstuffs and the other held an enormous clay teapot and mugs. A small pot of honey, gathered from Vesemir’s very own beehives, was the most obvious sign of affection Geralt had ever seen the older man display for a near-stranger. 

“I’m gonna… get… spoiled,” Jaskier gasped. The eldest Wolf shot Geralt a glare. 

“Why aren’t you in there with him? You know the best way to warm up a hypothermic person is skin contact, Geralt! I certainly taught you better than this.”

“I didn’t-” he stuttered. “I wasn’t-”

“He’s afraid,” Jaskier smiled sadly, cuddling himself deeper into the furs as he turned his gaze towards the fire. All three of the Witchers could smell his sadness, even more potent than the illness ravaging his delicate human body. Geralt winced when his brother and father glared at him in tandem, expressions nearly matching in fury. The bard was still looking away, watching the flames send dancing patterns of light against the stone walls. “Don’t worry… won’t ask… for any more.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “May I hold you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Vesemir smiled beneath his mustache. Jaskier was too tired to blush, and opted to bury his head in Geralt’s shoulder instead. “Come along, Eskel. Let’s see what Lambert has gotten up to.”

“What about Jaskier’s clothes?”

“He can borrow Geralt’s for now. I’m sure our White Wolf won’t mind sharing; he’s the possessive type, after all.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and grumbled out of habit more than disagreement. 

When Vesemir and Eskel had gone for good and the door was closed, Geralt pulled Jaskier out of the furs and removed his own shirt. He settled the bard against his chest and buried his nose in Jaskier’s dark hair, breathing in the scents of sweat and sickness and now, thank the gods, tangy-bright happiness. “Gods, Jaskier. Don’t scare me like that ever again. I can’t lose you.”

“I didn’t… want… to disappoint.”

“You never do and never will,” Geralt intoned. He pulled the furs over them both and splayed his large hands across Jaskier’s back. The bard’s skin was overly hot in some places and freezing in others; Geralt buried his panic in order to care for... for the man he loved. He took a deep breath and rubbed slow circles between the bard’s shoulder blades. “I… I love you, Jaskier.”

“Hmm,” the bard hummed tunelessly. “Love you… too.”

Geralt helped him sit up and drink a mug of tea. He listened, slowly allowing himself to relax, as Jaskier’s breathing eased and his heartbeat balanced. When the tea was gone and the fire was re-built to Geralt’s satisfaction, the Witcher tucked Jaskier’s head beneath his chin and wrapped his arms around the bard’s shoulders. “Oh, my little lark. I’ve been so foolish for too long.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier grinned into the Witcher’s warm pectoral. “Me... too.”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of time when you feel better,” Geralt murmured, lips pressing over and over to the top of the bard’s head. Jaskier couldn’t keep himself from smiling, even as he drifted back to sleep. The Witcher felt something settle in his chest when he whispered: “Rest up, dear heart. There are many more adventures to be had.”

[annmarcus63]

GIVE US TO HIM

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Warning: this might hurt a little

on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/34157128

Grandma said once that to give away your raw score is forbidden.

"Your heart in it's full rawness, chaos, is a precious and dangerous thing. Never you should do something as giving it to someone else."

"But our ancestors used to do it. Look ma ¡look!" said Jaskier holding his story book on the air for grandma's tired eyes to see. A handsome knight was lying on the dry grass, dying from a wound on his stomach. He started calling for his love, an ancient fae with blond hair and fair skin. She fell upon the prairie from the charged clouds, with something shiny between her hands. The fae feed the wound with her raw core, her heart. The knight lived along side her, flying amongst the starry night, happily ever after. "This are just stories, Julian" said Grandma with contened anger in her dry voice. She took the book and close it on her thighs "Things were rarely like that. Knights and kings are more inclined to use our cores against us and other people. We can't recover from that loss" Julian look at the drawing on the coverbook, the fae was kneeled by a pond and the knight stood glorious in practically all the cover, leaving a very small space for the real hero, the one who save the life of the protagonist.

"Never give your raw core away. Stop reading these, THEY wrote this, Julian, you must be clever than her" said Grandma pointing at the beautiful fae. Julian nod, undesrtanding much more that he wanted to, and so little, so so little. Maybe that was the reason his family were hiding, they never express it in a literal way, that was the point really, but Julian notice anyway. The way, for example, of how they said their names and the rust taste that was left on the air after. It was common to hide their real names for fae, but you'd give that name knowing it's false, on the opposite when you say the false name thinking is the real one then another fae would know. Losing the self was something of a disease between the fae. Jaskier later knew that his parents have not choice but to lose themselves to save the lineage. Most fae really. Humans did that. Like they did to the elfes. Julian promise to never forget about the fae from his last storybook. He'll never forget about her sacrifice and the sacrifice of his people. But come on, after some years it was just naturally that, despite the wound on the history, a selfish creature he was and he forgot. He was raised as human, and he wanted to be a bard oh how he want it. And he did accomplish that, and a bloody good one that's for sure. Fae were extinct for all the world and that wasn't a cover, they're doomed to extinction sooner or later. It has been years since the last time Jaskier felt another fae being born. He is Jaskier troubadour, master of the seven liberal arts a mastermind amongst the crowds, a legend…an idiot most of the time basically.

What grandma failed to mention is that for a fae to be able to give their core away the recipient must be worthy at the eyes of the fae. Once this worthiness makes evident, that person would plant roots in the core itself, whether the fae want it or not. It's inevitable. Grandma should have said "be aware of where you place your heart. Hold it until you're fully sure of them" But well, it wouldn't have matter in the end. Jaskier have never being someone who follows advice, much less from his dead relative. It happened naturally, like breathing, eating and shitting. One moment he was standing next to Geralt under a pouring rain, the witcher kept looking for a missing girl on the edges of the woods, her parents place a bounty on the towns board, they couldn't offer payment in form of crowns but they're willing to let them sleep on the girl’s room. Jaskier became indignant, how a witcher is supposed to take a payless bounty? No, that is unacceptable. But despite the protesting bard and zero reward whatsoever Geralt went anyway, he look for a girl who surelly was already dead.

"I found her body near the cave by the pond. You can go for her by morning when it's safe. I'm sorry" after a minute of silence the parents with equal expression of cold sorrow release a heavy sigh charged with so much grief.

"What did it?" asked the father

"Nekkers. I got rid of the pack living there"

"Thank you, witcher. You and your bard can come in, i'm sure you're exhausted” Said the mother with great effort, like someone who can't breathe quite well.

Geralt rapidly added "No, I'm sure you and your husband need time to resign and mourn alone. My bard and i already had another place to stay" Eh, no they didn't.

"But...we don't have any crowns"

"I didn't do this for payment" And while the parents thanked infinitely to Geralt, Jaskier felt something wild and untamed surging from his chest. Reaching unabashed for the witcher with a big golden heart standing next to him, explaining to a mourning parents that he went to search for their lost daughter because he wanted to help. This new awareness of chaos, he knew what it was.

Chaos, core, raw.

And it had marked Geralt as his. We want him.

Give us to him. He's worthy.

He was doomed, so doomed from the very beginning since they encounter each other on Posada. Grandma tried to warn him of this. Oh grandma, you and i both know that I was never obedient or wise. So Jaskier let it happen, four years after knowing the witcher and his raw core already belong to him. But he didn't do it. He hold back despite the urgency on his chest because he wasn't sure it'll be welcome. Geralt was still trying to get rid of him in every town, sometimes Jaskier felt like a pet you don't want but you can't abandon it either. Surely there'd be a time in the future. And Jaskier wait and fell in love deeply with each passing year. And Geralt...well he was the same and also different in his own way, more at ease around him, softer maybe. Jaskier didn't need to be call a friend to felt like one to Geralt. They're friends, even if one part has being in denial for the past decade.

And then the djinn happened follow by the complicated affair with one Yennefer of Vandenberg. The curse caused the core to retreat afraid and wounded. He hurt us, he wished to hurt us. Jaskier argued with the voice that it wasn't his intention, he didn't even know he was the one with the wishes. In truth his heart shattered not for the wish but for the easiness in which the sorceress become someone important to Geralt, something to hold on to even if drowning. One decade and still Jaskier thinks he haven't reached that relationship level with his friend.

He doesn't want us

No.

"Uhmm?"

"What?"

"You said no"

"Oh, it's nothing" Geralt didn't ask again

But weak and in love he was, the raw core and him reached out again, with fully open arms for Geralt to pull. Jaskier long to belong to him, oh how he did.

Yennefer and her shining imbecile knight join the hunt and he was jealous because as soon as she appear the witcher was drooling as if she was all he needed to shut down the darkness inside.

Don't you know? inside me there's a full light waiting for you to hold

At the softness of the afternoon Jaskier found Geralt sitting on a rock lost, as usual, in though. But this time were different, he had failed three people, Borch's dead has left a wound that surely would scar badly. And the bard felt a deep sadness for his golden heart witcher. He's definitely blaming himself for the fall, for that narrow and insecure path alongside the mountain as if he was the one to build it.

Jaskier asked him to come with him to his home, to the coast, he yearn to be there with him and feel the sea wind on their faces while walking by a cliff near a quiet village that Geralt wouldn't mind to visit.

We want to be his.

Give us to him.

We can love him better.

But Geralt didn't want him, he wanted Yennefer.

He give himself to him anyway.

"Here" said Jaskier putting a hand on Geralt's thigh, surprise, instead of flinching away Geralt held Jaskier's hand and with most carefulness took what was inside the palm. A small glass vial, similar to the ones where he pours his potions. He held it on his gloved open hand. There was something inside, warm and inviting. White, almost yellow that make Geralt felt calm and safe.

"What's this?"

"A gift. It'd take care of you" Geralt frown at him, confused and uncertain of what it meant, but he took it with a barely there smile only for Jaskier to see.

He's a coward, he couldn't confessed him the reality of what it meant because he was terrified of being rejected, grandma said that a rejection is so devastating that it might kill him. And even at this point in their friendship Jaskier couldn't know for sure.

It's me. Take me, i'll protect and save you if needed to. Have me, please have me.

Geralt went that night at Yennefer's tent and Jaskier felt glad for not having told him the truth

"If life could give me a blessing it would be to take you off my hands"

No, no, not now.

They're doing fine.

And then very fast very suddenly Geralt reached for his breast pocket to held the vial of raw core on his fist and toss it unceremoniously to the hard soild.

The noise of shattered glass invaded Jaskier's ears before the heavy blankness surged from his chest to every corner of him.

“No, no, no” said he, giving a fumbling step towards the vial but deciding to turn around instead.

Away away away away.

He can't see me like this.

Something was tearing in fine lines caused by the trembling, an earthquake from his very bones that were fighting on maintaining their solid formation. Something inside was bawling with such and intensity that make his ears bleed.

Was this dying? let it be death for he can no longer take it. Does breathing always hurt this much? like if his lungs were filled with wool and the air only add heaviness on them. What was this? a beating heart, so afraid so betrayed, like a laugh from his ancestors. He wanted to throw up his intestines, they're on fire, but when he tried only saliva flood. He was not himself anymore, and to become whole was an impossibility that the pain was making sure off. Dirt get inside his mouth, his cheek on the ground was getting cut by rocks. A voice calling for him to react, to say something. But he no longer have a voice, he was death itself preparing for a long dream.

I’m sorry grandma.

I'm sorry, said to himself

and he remembered the blond fae on the cover book between grandma's hands, of how she give her life to save her love one, but who'd give their life for her?

who'd give their life for him?

He needed to sleep, right here on the mountain ground, to become whole again or at least half whole.

He begged for death instead.