#like the way Geralt has been I can see this as the apology ya know

[aro-tarot]

Can’t just have this be in the tags because YES to all of this.

Before all of the RSD parts, there are also little things too. Like, I’ve seen people point out how Jaskier keeps just trying to eat things. Desk of stuff for potions? Well, these are berries. I’ll eat those. Soup? I’m hungry! I’ll eat that. Wait. I don’t like carrots. Spits it out after since I didn’t look at the soup to see if I’d even like it. Then the salt this season… Jaskier’s impulsivity sometimes goes beyond just words. It just reminds me of when I realize that I’m hungry and nothing else matters because that’s now the only thing in my brain. If I wasn’t so indecisive than I’d probably also just grab the first thing in sight in the kitchen to eat. (Though I have, honestly, grabbed a bag of chips and ate the entire bag as a meal since it was the first thing I saw way too many times.)

Jaskier almost running right into a sign this season was also relatable. When you’re busy talking about something, it’s hard to notice what’s going on around you. It’s happened to me plenty of times.

And with wanting Jaskier there since he’d be the one to rely on in an intense situation made me think of how he’s literally turned into the one that grabs the injured out of the situation, and that also just shows his character as well. He might not be able to fight, but he goes right into a protector mode which we saw even in s1 where he was even willing to use his lute as a weapon to protect the lady he had been flirting with.

With RSD and s2, it was also painful for me to watch as well. I’d never had that happen in a show before. I mean, the other show I hyperfixate on is a tragedy. It might have made me cry at times, but that’s the kind of show it is. It’s ends up as a sort of whump fest for the protagonist especially when he loses his friend (which is also easily able to be seen as a queerplatonic partner, which is why I finally checked out the show to begin with.)

But unlike that show even, I’ve never felt so and that kind of uncomfortable watching a show like I did with s2. Like, I have no issue with whump. I actually really like hurt/comfort fics. The torture scene with Jaskier was no problem, and if anything, I really liked it. Yennefer came right in and saved him. It was my cup of tea.

But with how Jaskier was treated by everyone else this season?

That was painful. Even if we had seen even more torture and what Jaskier had been going through, it wouldn’t have been able to compare.

Like:

I didn’t like Jaskier and Geralt’s reunion. Jaskier is clearly upset, and he’s hiding some of that at first with humor since humor is clearly part of how he deals with being hurt, but even when he gets serious and tells Geralt to shut up because he needs to get it out, he needs to finally get how hurt he was even if he’s downplaying it, he can’t because Geralt needs them to go and save Ciri.

It was a no wonder Jaskier, even after having come that close to getting it all out, downplays it during the actual apology. He had to shut up because there are more important things going on, and he’s just Jaskier. When is he ever important? He’s just the bard that follows Geralt around and writes songs about him. (Probably the voice in Jaskier’s head.)

And then even before that, for me, what was even more painful was when Jaskier was calling himself stupid. He failed, and immediately he thinks he’s the biggest idiot. Especially since besides rejection sensitivity, I also have depression and anxiety disorder and a fear of failure, it was like looking at myself in a mirror.

S2, in general, was like looking in a mirror.

It had been easy to headcanon Jaskier as an ADHDer in s1, but s2? It went from a character that I kind of relate to into feeling like I was watching myself on the scene. The way that Geralt had treated him and how others dismissed him was something that I’ve experienced myself. Even pushing my hurt aside as if friends are just like that. As Jaskier was saying to brush it off and kind of bring it up to Geralt to see if they were at least still friends, friends come back. That’s just how it’s supposed to be, right?

And him being ignored was also painful since I’ve also been there. You try to just make a joke to make it not that bad, but it goes deeper anyway. Looking at s2, also had me wondering how much of this Jaskier had even dealt with off camera? Ya know?

That and seeing some of the people I used to follow dismissing Jaskier’s feelings of heartbreak over Geralt as “clearly” having only been because Jaskier is “clearly” in love with him romantically, had me unfollowing people and trying to avoid mention of the scene. It managed to feel invalidating as someone that’s aromantic and also an ADHDer, ya know? Like, apparently I can’t feel that way towards people or strongly towards people. Luckily, my brother also found it very relatable as someone that had experienced something similar as an alloromantic non-ADHDer.

Okay, someone wrote that they thought Jaskier had ADHD in some of my tags, and I've just GOT to address this, because asfjasfljadsflasjd;dlasja;slfjd;as...

@aro-tarot , OMFG YES!!!

As someone with ADHD, I've got such strong ADHD vibes from Jaskier like you wouldn't believe!

(That, plus I tend to headcanon that Jaskier suffers from Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), a condition strongly associated with ADHD, but more on that further down...)

I mean he's usually got no freaking impulse control whatsoever, and no filter on his mouth!

And even when he HAS that filter on, and some vague awareness that opening his mouth further and speaking his mind might get him into yet more trouble…

Well, the frustration he feels in the now is apparently so strong that the possibility of having to pay a price later is but a too distant and abstract concept to be enough to put a stop to that mouth!

I mean, that moment right here?

Someone without ADHD would have stopped themselves at "Am I going to say it?" because of the "Yeah, if I antagonize him, he might decide to keep me away from getting on that boat and I'll jeopardize my safety as well as the safety of the people that are currently counting on me," that should normally logically follow...

Someone with a very strong case of ADHD however... Well, they might just have to say it!

Same thing in Season 1 with the elves. Jaskier's bound and tied ,and he just keeps antagonizing them because he's angry, and the need to express his anger somehow screams louder than the punch or the kick he'll be receiving 2 freaking seconds later if he keeps verbally lashing out at them!

Self-soothing and impulse managing are two skills that Jaskier doesn't quite have a good mastery of.

Like, don't let him get his hands on a djinn while heartbroken, drunk, and deeply wounded (because his best and very possibly queerplatonic friend just insulted his singing, while implying that it was likely why his other friend/lover had just left him, no less)... He might just start wishing Valdo Marx dead!

Generally, I'd strongly advise keeping him away from anything that could potentially become a weapon if he's highly emotional.

That's never a good combination.

Jaskier might do something he'll regret, and realize it was awfully dumb and stupid only once he's deeply in trouble, or has finally calmed down.

ADHD isn't a mood disorder, but it's been described as a "failure to self-regulate moods disorder".

Meaning that people with ADHD feel the same emotions as anyone else most of the time (RSD is a bit of an exception; again, more on that later), but they'll just have a harder time avoiding openly expressing them, and stopping themselves from acting upon them.

They can succeed most of the time (thankfully); and I highly suspect that Jaskier might be at his most focused and emotionally measured around Ciri, because he feels responsible for her.

Adults often have this instinct to sacrifice their own needs and wants to give priority to those of children (including sometimes teenagers, and/or grown children they've adopted as part of their family system and are still mentoring through life).

People with ADHD also tend to have a blast playing aunt/uncle, because we can super easily connect with the sense of wonder, excitement, and defiance of authority of children and younger people - be very impulsive and silly with them and act like children and teens ourselves, at times - while still remaining responsible and protective of them when we need to be.

It's like suddenly flipping our "adult switch" on, because we're aware they need us to be the adult.

But fellow adults don't need us to "adult" for their sake.

They typically have their own shit together way better than we do! So, we're just that almost full time impulsive dumb kid that they need to constantly watch out for while around our adult friends.

UNLESS they make it extremely clear to us that they need our help and/or for us to focus. We can "adult" if the stakes are high, and/or they need our support, too.

But that's not our default mode!

We'd rather be chasing butterflies and playing videogames / writing songs (or meta... Meta's good... My brain loves meta because it's always over-analyzing things!), doing whatever keeps us interested and stimulated in the now, than carefully planning things and being responsible.

And there's also that scene where Jaskier is in the Witcher lab with Yennefer, while Ciri's possessed by Voleth Meir (you know... going around killing people, lives are at stake and all that...).

But, since all of this is happening in another room, Jaskier can't quite emotionally connect with the gravity of the situation, so he's eating whatever he finds his hands on while randomly talking about nipples because Yennefer said "oriole", and his brain thought it sounded like "areola" (yeah, our brains are always making a bunch of connections that aren't relevant to the situation)!

Yet, as soon as Yennefer makes it clear that she needs him to focus, he's 100% in the moment with her, and has flipped that "adult switch" on.

We can go there, but it typically requires a strong enough emotional incentive for us to ground ourselves, and it's a state that gets draining when sustained for a too long period of time.

And given how we're at our best when highly stressed, Jaskier's probably the person you want there with you when things start really going to shit!

He's at his best when he's got no idea what he's going to do, and he has to think fast and improvise to respond to whatever is happening in real time.

Oh, and I'm about 99.9% sure that he suffers from rejection sensitive dysphoria (RSD), too (yeah, we're finally going there).

I discovered what RSD was about 5 years ago, how it tied into my ADHD, and that it had been something that I'd been struggling with (and often doing everything I could to hide) my whole life without really understanding it.

One thing that people with RSD tend to do, sadly, is constantly downplay our own hurt and pretend everything is fine - do our best to keep others constantly entertained and happy with us, even at our own expanse at times - so that they won't perceive us as a burden, and will continue to want to have us around.

Since a part of us is deeply aware that our emotional response to real (and/or even perceived) rejection, and the pain it causes, feels way more intense than it normally should be, we tend to be ashamed of it, and unable to fully discuss those feelings with those we love.

So, even when we do speak up for ourselves, we are afraid that we might be exaggerating, and/or making the issue much bigger than it is.

Thus, we almost regret it right away, and/or feel guilty for it afterwards, and we'll be almost desperate to let our friend "off the hook" as quickly as possible so they'll love us again.

Therefore watching Jaskier's behavior in Season 2, and the way certain characters (except Yennefer, that genuinely surprised me) responded to him, was actually physically painful for me to watch at times.

Some of the most triggering moments for someone with RSD include:

Jaskier brushing off Geralt's sincere apology - attempting to hide the depth of the emotional devastation he'd caused him - to avoid being perceived as being too much trouble and risking abandonment again.

Jaskier humorously pretending that Ciri going past him, as if he didn't exist, didn't hurt, while joking "Like father, like daughter".

Him going "Right, yeah," when Yarpen Zigrin dismisses him - having chosen to turn that constant rejection into some kind of game between them - because it's much easier to be under the illusion that they're just good-naturally teasing each other, than facing the possibly that Yarpen might genuinely consider him an unwanted nuisance he'd gladly do without, and that having excluded him from the word "friend" was 100% done on purpose!

That same little heartbreaking "Right. Yeah" after he tells Lambert "Look at us. Just one big happy family, eh?" and Lambert goes "No." While pushing him out of the way.

Jaskier is a sweet, loving, empathetic, highly sensitive bard that's on the freaking aromantic spectrum!

And aromantics can most definitely love their best friend in the whole wide world with an intensity, a depth, a sincerity, and a level of devotion that can easily match - and perhaps even surpass - any romantic couple.

Heck, I don't consider myself to be quite on the aromantic spectrum (given that I do experience primary romantic attraction towards people), but I also have a tendency to form friendships that are more emotionally (and sometimes physically, and even sexually) intimate than many of the romantic relationships I've had (except, perhaps, my current one, that is definitely on par).

I think the only reason why I've managed to remain with the same romantic partner (that I do consider the romantic love of my life) for 17 years now - and would gladly spend the rest of my life with him - is because of how deeply supportive and respectful he's been of those friendships I have.

I've built my own found family over the years that I wouldn't want to live without. And I've broken up with prior romantic partners that couldn't agree to "share me" with those other people I love (in a non-romantic way, but that doesn't make it any less tangible or real!) without regretting a single thing.

So, I wholeheartedly believe that Jaskier does love Geralt and always has loved him.

And I know that, if I'm right about this, and if Jaskier is indeed prone to RSD, then the level of emotional and physical pain that Geralt's rejection put him through would have been absolutely soul wrenching.

"I've also survived, no thanks to you," sounds just about right.

Jaskier is human, while witches and witchers are frozen in time. He's been loving Geralt and travelling alongside him and singing songs about him for about 20 years.

20 years, in a human life, is a lot of one's life to devote to someone...

Then, the moment that Geralt's romantic love interest (Yennefer) leaves him, he turns on Jaskier and basically tells him that he's brought him nothing but bad luck and misery for two decades, and that what would please him ,above everything else, would be for life to rid him of him!

Why don't you just take a sword and run Jaskier through, Geralt? I think that would have been less painful to watch!

So, I think this is one of the reasons why Season 3 has been so freaking cathartic to watch for me!

I've been literally crying my eyes out each time people made Jaskier feel loved, wanted, said thank you (even Yarpen!!! Freaking Yarpen stopped to thank him, and called him by his preferred name, Jaskier)...

And of course, there's Radovid...

I could go on and on about how good it felt to have a character that finally treats Jaskier with the same care, attention, and empathy that Jaskier offers others...

But, I think one of the things I loved the most, with Radovid, is how Jaskier himself responded to him.

He's not trying to please him, quite the contrary.

When Radovid asks "Have you come to sing us pretty songs?", Jaskier answers "No. I don't do pretty".

And then, when Radovid says that, while he appreciates the information that Jaskier has brought him, all he really wants is a song, Jaskier responds by saying that "he's not really in a singing mood."

Because yes, he's a bard. Yes, he sings about people he's encountered on his travels, and yes, he sings about people he loves...

But he doesn't want to sing "pretty songs" about Witchers, fairytales, heroics and heartbreak for the entertainment of a Prince and his court!

He's not there so that "Prince Radovid" can sing the praises of "Jaskier the Bard" 's triumphant private performance at the palace!

That's not what pleases Jaskier anymore.

I don't think Jaskier feels like he's got anything to prove performance-wise anymore and, sadly, I believe that, instead of giving him a sense of finally being seen and loved - of belonging...

At times, all this singing and performing - often for the benefit of others - has made him feel even more invisible and isolated.

And that's the beauty of him singing "Extraordinary Things", because that song is all about Jaskier.

It's vocally raw, vulnerable, filled with a fragile hope for love and for someone that makes him feel like he is seen for who he is... For someone that can help Jaskier finally believe that who he is is enough.

For someone that makes him feel like he doesn't have to try so hard to pretend to be happy, and fine, and give others what he thinks they want, so that maybe they'll love him (or keep on loving him) back.

Because it's not just Geralt...

Geralt is the one whose rejection hurt Jaskier the most, because he's the one Jaskier has loved and trusted the most...

Geralt is the one that broke something in Jaskier - his ability to feel safe in the belief that his closest friends would never abandon him.

Thanks to Geralt outburst, Jaskier is likely now being cursed with a little voice, in the back of his mind, that will continue to pop up from time to time whenever he feels safe and happy in his relationships, to make him wonder if his friends and family don't secretly wish that they could get rid of him.

Rationally, I'm sure that Jaskier understands that what happened with Geralt was caused by Geralt's own issues, and that his own behavior wasn't the cause of the rejection.

Rationally, I'm sure that he can trust in their relationship, and feel confident in the love they share.

But emotionally? Although trauma can be managed and kept at bay the vast majority of the time, there are always moments where you're bound to be more tired, stressed out, and where you don't always have the energy to push back against all of those nasty voices that wait for you to let your guards down to be heard and make you doubt.

However, besides what specifically happened with Geralt, Jaskier sadly has a very long history of having had to deal with rejections of all kinds, and been made to feel like he was never enough.

Even Valdo's obstinated refusal to learn Jaskier's name is like he's constantly trying to symbolically murder Jaskier by denying him the very right to exist, for fuck's sake!

After watching those scenes, I thought "Yup! It's really no wonder this happened:

So, while having gotten Geralt back - and obviously having built strong emotional ties with Yennefer and Ciri since the end of Season 2 - has likely tremendously helped easing some of the pain rejection has caused Jaskier throughout his life, he still has those moments where it deeply hurts him.

And I think that Geralt knows...

Jaskier might have been trying to hide it - and Geralt might not fully understand why Jaskier was hurt as deeply as he was (I doubt RSD is something that people often talk about in their world) - but he knows that a part of Jaskier still fears being rejected or abandoned again.

He's just being so soft and patient with Jaskier this season; making it immediately clear that he's not angry with Jaskier, and that their relationship is not threatened the moment that he senses his discomfort.

Or, you know, just reassuring him that the separation between them is only temporary, and that he's going to be the first person he comes looking back for as soon as he's done dealing with Rience.

If Jaskier truly is someone that tends to see people as they really are - not as they pretend to be - then it's easy to see why Jaskier did fall in love with Geralt.

That level of perceptiveness is both a gift and a curse for Jaskier, though.

Because when the person you love is set on self-destructing and unable to embrace who they really are, you might find yourself caught in the blast.

Still, when Geralt is allowing himself to be loved, and to openly love people back, he's an absolutely wonderful (platonic, alterous, romantic...) partner to have.

He's shown as someone who is able to not only apologize, but also recognize the impact that his mistakes have had on others, and take full responsibility for them.

Jaskier may have been quick to brush his apology off and pretend that all was good, but Geralt apparently knows better and, more importantly, is showing that the apology was sincere.

He's making efforts to better communicate with Jaskier and he's doing everything he can to not only alleviate some of the pain he's caused him, but to avoid triggering his insecurities.

Sadly, RSD is not something that Geralt alone can fix, especially not when Jaskier has been exposed to a number of different patterns of interpersonal rejections throughout his life.

And, while Jaskier has a tendency to pretend being fine even when he's not, his eyes almost always tell the truth.

Makes you wonder just how emotionally smart and insightful Radovid is...

Because when someone sings to you those lines...

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love Of them I have had enough With you, I have enough With you, I am enough I am, I am enough

Then looks at you with those eyes...

Well, it's rather easy to understand that Jaskier has been made to feel like he wasn't good enough for those he loved, and/or still loves in the past.

And, given the success of "Burn Butcher Burn", I wouldn't put it past Radovid to have guessed that - athough they were back to being close friends - Geralt might have had something to do with the enduring vulnerability and the hurt he saw reflected there...

Thus, leading him to taking an educated guess as to what might have happened, and ask Jaskier "Does the Witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

Somehow, with that simple question, Radovid has achieved two very important things...

He's just told Jaskier that not only does he, indeed, believe him to be enough, but he would consider himself lucky to have him...

He's just told Jaskier that whatever Geralt might have said or done to make him feel unwanted in the past, it had been wrong.

And, judging by Jaskier's answering smile, our beloved bard just got himself a fresh new (and quite princely) voice in his head to help him drown out the sound of all the other voices that are occasionally trying to convince him that he's a barely tolerable burden to those he loves.

Radovid has thrown just enough shade Geralt's way to avoid insulting their relationship; while at the same time sort of giving Jaskier the permission to mentally go "Ha! See?! There are people that want and love me, and would consider themselves lucky to have me in their lives! God, you used to be such an asshole, Geralt!" should he still need to go there to help himself manage his pain.

As a victim of Geralt's harsh and cruel words, Jaskier is entirely entitled to have moments where he needs to be a bit petty about the way Geralt used to treat him, and to call him the "family goat".

It's a very healthy way of coping with the residual hurt and anger because it puts the blame in the right place (Jaskier didn't do anything to deserve the way he was treated by Geralt nor to provoke that rejection) with just enough humor to keep that pain and resentment from growing into something that could actually be damaging to their relationship.

Radovid is an impressively good and attentive listener - at least as far as Jaskier himself is concerned.

And maybe that's one of the (many) reasons why Radovid asking to borrow Jaskier's lute, and singing the song back to him, touched me as much as it did.

It stood in sharp contrast to people singing Jaskier's songs back to him while thinking it makes THEM special for knowing a few lines! That Jaskier should be grateful to THEM for being fans, supporting his art, etc.

The entitled patrons that believe Jaskier's singing should be about what they love to hear without being really interested in what Jaskier wishes to say.

Like that obnoxious guy at the docks who started singing "The Golden One" with Jaskier, basically going "See! I'm a big fan! That totally makes us buddies now! And, as such, here are my artistic input, so that maybe you can do better next time! You know, it's good, but it's not good enough for me. Here's how you can improve!"

Basically sending Jaskier the message: "You, the artist, the message and the feelings you are trying to convey through your art don't matter. You are but invisible. Sure, you have a name, and now I'm excited at the opportunity of making my friends jealous by saying I've met you! But you're just a tool that I can now use to make myself more important and interesting to others! Your job is to stay in the shadow of your songs! Your job is to make me happy, to entertain me, to please me, to sing what I want to hear the way I wish I could hear it and to make your art all about me."

Instead, Radovid simply borrows Jaskier's lute, and humbly starts playing the song with a sense of reverence, gratitude, respect, and desire to offer Jaskier something in return for the gift he's offered him by sharing a part of himself with him through his song.

Radovid said that he had long wanted to meet Jaskier in person and presented himself as someone that is a fan of his songs, but that's because they fascinate him.

He genuinely cares about what Jaskier has to say and communicate to others (and/or about others) through them, not about what he wants to hear.

In a world where Jaskier has had to constantly fight to fit in, where he's often made to feel like he's "barely tolerated" (and it usually takes a long time for people to get to genuinely appreciate him, and openly love him back the way he loves them)...

Radovid is someone that comes along showing him that love is not supposed to be earned.

Love is a gift. You love people for who they are, not for what they can do for you.

And what Radovid heard, through those songs, was something so special, intriguing, and irresistible to him that his own response was a genuine desire to get to know the man behind the art.

He tells Jaskier that the unique way he sees the world, and his need to express it, does not make him hypersensitive or annoying - it makes him special.

I don't think the hurt in Jaskier's eyes will ever 100% go away, and that his RSD can ever be completely resolved, either...

But it doesn't need to, because it can be managed and shouldn't get in the way of one's ability to experience joy and happiness, too.

Pain is a natural and healthy part of one's life, as long as it doesn't stand in the way of everything else - as long as there's balance, and room for healing whenever it comes along.

As as long as Jaskier's found family continues to love and accept him the way he is - to let him know that he's an important part of their lives - I believe Jaskier's going to be fine. REALLY fine...

Even the moments when he's hurting are going to be fine, because that's not all there is, and he's got people loving him and offering comfort.

And maybe I'm too hopeful about this, but I think there's most definitely hope for Radovid and Jaskier to make a relationship work between them, too.

Even if it turns out to be a somewhat unconventional one, and completely different from what people might have in mind when they think of a classic "romantic couple", they can find a way to make it work for them.

My advice to them would be to leave all expectations and social conventions at the door, allow themselves to be creative in "loving outside the box", and to build something together that addresses most of their respective needs, while acknowledging and respecting the other responsibilities and emotional attachments each other have.

Oddly enough, Jaskier is one of the few people that I could imagine clearly understanding that Radovid's existence is a bit of a tragedy where he'll never be free to fully belong to himself.

In the event of his brother's untimely death (for example), should Radovid decide to give up his claim to the throne to live a less complicated life, any Redanian ruler could still try to have him assassinated "just in case" he was to change his mind, and later come challenge them.

The palace is a golden cage, and I think Jaskier would not hold it against Radovid, or grow resentful towards him, that he would only be able to offer Jaskier what he is actually free to give without risking both their lives in the process.

He might grow frustrated with all the circumstances that are creating some significant challenges to their relationship, but I could imagine Jaskier wishing to face those as partners, and avoiding to be angry at Radovid for what he can't magically change.

This is where Jaskier's ADHD brain might become an asset by helping him make unique connections, and find creative solutions to allow Jaskier to - as Batey suggested - still find the light in the darkest of places for them two.

So yeah, I definitely tend to headcanon Jaskier as having ADHD (with some significant amount of RSD), too.

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel [Pt. 7]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Geralt is in a fix when he is forced to choose between honor and love. What would he do?

Warnings: Attempted non con inappropriate behavior? Also, this chapter is mostly going to be Yennefer and Geralt, and less of the reader, my apologies but this was important from a transition point of view. :)

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

The celebration was over, except for a few who were to stay as guests at Yennefer's mansion, had decided to stay and linger in the hall for a bit longer. You were about to retire for the night, as exhaustion was beginning to claw on you; exhaustion from having done practically nothing all night but to find ways you could escape being in that hall, and attract unwanted attention.

However, it turned out that you did still end up attracting someone's attention, even without doing anything. And no, it wasn't the Witcher.

It was almost midnight, and you were about to make your way back to the chambers you were staying in tonight, having decided to carry your fruit plate to the chambers itself so you could enjoy the night to yourself, when Jaskier startled you, appearing out of the blue, and plomping down on an empty bench in front of you.

"Lords, Jaskier. You scared me."

"Did I? I thought it will take a lot more than that to get you to scare," he chuckled, leaning forward so that his elbows now rested against the table.

"I thought you had company. Why would you want to spend time with a lonely woman like me?" You smiled, giving him a raised eyebrow, in a playful way.

"I do, but it turns out, there's someone that would like to get to know you," Jaskier gave you a goofy, wide toothed smile and you frowned in confusion, leaning closer as you raised an eyebrow.

"Well, do you see that woman over there?" You turned your head in the direction that Jaskier was pointing out, only to see a woman dressed in princely red, beautiful golden locks falling down her back, laughing at something Yennefer said. You then turned back to Jaskier, who sat more comfortably, and looked at you, "that's Queen Bagan of Lyria. Yennefer knew her when she wasn't a queen. Back from when she used to work for Queen Kalis—"

"Get to the point, Jas', I'm tired and I would like to retire to the chambers now," you stood up, blocking Jaskier's view of this Queen as you stepped to the side but Jaskier stood up after you, grabbing your wrist to stop you from abandoning him, "Would you hear me out? I really think Geralt's rubbing off on you. You're changing, [Y/N]."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the sudden overly dramatic outburst of your friend, before your eyes softened and you sighed. You supposed you could listen to what he had to say, although you were sure you would most probably regret it later.

"Fine, Jaskier. What is it? Now that you've compared me to that brooding Witcher, I'm forced to listen to you, just to prove it to you that I'm nothing like him." Jaskier couldn't help but chuckle at your words, but it didn't take him long to donn a look of fake seriousness.

"Now that—" you groaned as Jaskier pointed towards someone again, and you were forced to crane your neck subtly so you could follow who Jaskier was talking about. He was pointing at a young man, sitting in a group of men, drinking ale, "that's her bastard son, Henrik."

"What do I do with all that?" You mumbled, your fingers hooking onto a grape as you aimlessly tossed it into your mouth.

"Well, I've been noticing him and I can see that he cannot keep his eyes off you."

You scoffed, more in frustration than in any other emotion, "Well, Jaskier, if you have been noticing him, I think you should keep him, I'm really not in the mood."

"God, woman, would you listen? Typical Geralt."

You rolled your eyes but chose to stay quiet.

"He is rich, and he is interested—"

"I'm an unwed pregnant woman, Jaskier."

"Well, he doesn't seem to mind—"

"Gods, Jaskier. I'm leaving. Good night." You huffed for one final time, this time in warning and turned away, striding away from where Jaskier sighed and shook his head, bringing his pitcher of ale to his lips as you began climbing up the stairs that led to the chambers for the guests.

You sat down, the dress given to you by the sorceress lay discarded on the floor, but you felt relieved to be out of it. Just dressed in your chemise, you pried off the silk covers off the bed, and slid inside, feeling the richness of the fabric over your skin.

You laid down, on your back, your hand resting on your stomach and your other hand under the back of your head as you closed your eyes, exhaustion taking over your body as you felt sleep slowly take over you.

You didn't know how much time had passed, or how long had you slept for, when you woke up at the middle of the night, your sleep having been disturbed by a knock on your door. You frowned, wiping the base of your eyes as you slid out of bed, and slowly crept to the door.

"Who is it?" You whispered, your voice barely leaving your throat.

There was no response, so you thought that whoever it was had probably left. You cursed under your breath, and began turning away from the door when there was the same knock again.

"Jaskier, I swear to the Gods, why won't you let me sleep?" You pulled open the door, snarling at whoever it was on the other side of the door when your eyes widened and colour drained off your face.

"Henrik?"

The blond haired man smiled, the corner of his lips almost reaching his eyelids when he realized you already knew his name.

"Well, commoners mostly call me Prince Henrik, but I think I can make an exception for you."

"I'm sorry, but I think you are in the wrong chambers, Prince Henrik," you began, but he cut you off once more, rather unceremoniously and began speaking again.

"My apologies, I never properly introduced myself at the celebration tonight, I'm Henrik, Prince of Lyria."

Bastard Prince.

"I—" You swallowed the lump forming inside your throat, as a sudden realization hit you. You were dressed rather inappropriately. You immediately turned away, so you were now turned away from him, "Prince, I would request you to leave."

"You what?" His voice grew louder; almost like a bark.

You began closing the wooden door, when his hand latched to it, stopping you from shutting it any further, the suddenness of his actions causing you to flinch and jump backwards. Instead of leaving, he casually stepped inside.

"I came all the way from Lyria to see if the rumours were true." He smirked, in a disgusting way that almost made your insides churn.

"W-What rumours?"

"Well, the Sorceress and that mutant son of a bitch bought themselves a whore, which they refuse to share," he spat, looking at you with sudden hate filled eyes.

You looked from him to the door, but it was hopeless. You took a step away from him, but he closed that one step distance by taking a step in your direction, until you were trapped, the stone wall behind you and the monster of the Prince in front of you. Geralt's words suddenly rang through your mind; Not all monsters are dangerous, some people are too.

"You're used to the roadside filth, aren't ya? Never experienced anything royal before? Now's your chance."

Henrik's ruby studded hands moved to the base of his robe as he slowly began taking it off, and this gave you a quick second to think, and think you did. Suddenly, your feet darted towards the door, your side brushing roughly against Henrik on your way out, the impact of it causing the man to almost topple off, but he was fast too. By the time you reached the door, and began pulling the door open, he grabbed you by your hair, a loud scream escaping your lips as he tugged on your hair and made you drop down to your knees.

"Ungrateful little bitch! Which Prince in his sane mind would even look at you? You are fucking lucky I was interested," He knelt down next to you, his face threateningly close to yours.

Suddenly, the door splintered into two, the splinters of wood flying across the room, the kick so powerful. Bright, menacing eyes regarded you huddled on the ground like that before the hold on your hair relaxed and you could breathe again. Before that, everything had been a blur, but now you could see clearly. Geralt had somehow kicked open the chamber doors, and now he stood, towering over you, holding Henrik by his throat, his fingers coiled around his neck, his eyes almost dark, venomous and his posture tense.

"I think no one has ever said no to you before, Henrik."

"Let go off me, mutant," Henrik began coughing, as he tried to pry off the Witcher's hand, but of course, he failed.

Just then, Yennefer walked into your chambers, her steps still exuding elegance and poise, although she had just been woken up from a deep slumber. Her eyes fell on you, huddled in a corner, your eyes shrunken back in horror, and then she regarded Geralt, walking up to him and fixing her palm on his shoulder.

"Geralt, what exactly are you doing? Let him go."

Geralt's eyes widened, his head turning towards her in a violent motion.

"Let him go? Are you fucking kidding me?"

She smiled, the smile being a fake one as her fingers began stroking his arm, over the fabric of his shirt. She leaned closer to him, and whispered, in a low voice, "Geralt, my love. Can I talk to you for a second?"

His lips pursed together as he struggled to sustain the rage building up inside him, bit by bit. Instead of loosening the grip on the man's throat, he just squeezed his fingers tighter, for two seconds before throwing him off so he landed right outside your room, his back cracking against the stone flooring. The three of you watched, as he stepped up and cursed under his breath, muttering something on the lines of— you messed with the wrong person and you will pay for it — and scampered off.

Geralt shot Yennefer a glare but he didn't stay where Yennefer was. Instead, he walked up to where you were huddled on the floor, and knelt down in front of you.

"Are you alright?" He whispered in a low, husky voice, without a trace of anger or malice in it, just gentleness.

You nodded, and looked away, fresh tears running down your cheeks as Geralt helped you up to your feet, Yennefer's stone cold stare fixed on the two of you.

"I dont— I was asleep and he just came into my chambers, I didnt—" Your lips trembling, you choking out on the words that ran out of your mouth, Geralt sat you by the edge of your bed.

"It isn't your fault. I should have known —"

Yennefer rolled her eyes, but the two of you paid her no heed, as Geralt moved on to tuck you into the covers again, his hand unknowingly brushing against your tiny bump. You felt his breathing hitch, almost the very instant, and he looked down at you, his eyes seeking your permission, and you nodded. Geralt's massive palm came to rest on your belly, almost covering it entirely, as his fingers brushed against the fabric of your chemise his touch gentle and soothing.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you whispered, as you pulled the covers over your body and Geralt pulled his hand away slowly walking up to a fuming Yennefer, and the two of them walked out and the sorceress chanted some spells to create a barrier over your broken door that wouldn't permit anyone to enter your chamber, especially Geralt.

"Geralt didn't mean it, Queen Bagan," Yennefer arched forward, her elbows grazing against the table the next morning, as she found herself sitting with the Queen of Lyria, and the Prince. She looked from Bagan to Henrik, who was obviously hiding his neck from public view, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Yennefer, I didn't come all the way from Lyria, to Redania to have my son be offended by your lover."

Geralt, who had been sitting next to Yennefer, seemingly quiet, let out a low pitched grunt and the bastard Prince lifted his eyes, fixing it on the Witcher and muttered a curse under his breath. Geralt straightened, and almost immediately, the tension was thick on the dinner table once again.

Yennefer's hand latched itself to Geralt's thigh underneath the table as she squeezed it lightly, signalling her lover to let her handle it.

"Queen, Geralt didn't mean to do what he did, the circumstances were not so good when he found your son, in our vessel's bed chambers."

"She is a woman, Yen, not a fucking piece of commodity," Geralt growled.

"She's a whore," Henrik muttered, only to elicit a growl from the Witcher's end once more.

"Well, Yennefer. Lyria has been supportive of you. You are one of the most powerful mages there is, and we have been supportive of you, sheltering you and being allies. Now, you do know what this means. It means that this makes us enemies with Tissaia de Vries, even though we do not like it."

Yennefer sighed, her fingers clasping around the goblet of wine as she pulled it to her lips and took a sip of the sweet liquid, swishing it around inside her mouth before swallowing it. She nodded.

"But now, how do you suppose we continue to support you when my son has been humiliated like this, and for what? A Redanian whore?" The Queen spat, through pursed lips and Geralt's eyes shone, with unrelenting rage.

"Queen, [Y/N] is not just a whore, she is carrying our baby. I am not trying to cover up the actions of my lover—" she turned towards Geralt with a look of disapproval, but before Geralt could retaliate, she had already turned away, "I am just trying to show you that this baby means everything to us."

"I suppose," the Queen nodded feigning a look of understanding as she reached out for her own goblet of wine. She then turned towards Henrik, who leaned closer to his mother as he began whispering something into her ears and she smiled.

"Yennefer. I think we can come up with a truce," Bagan smiled, her glance moving from Yennefer to Geralt, and then back to the sorceress, "Sell her to us. It seems my son has taken a fancy to her. And would like to keep her in his bed." She said, not even trying to mask her shameless forwardness, "Once that mutant child is born, of course. Until then, Henrik would be behaved, I assure you."

Yennefer smiled, the corner of her lips reaching her eyes. She was about to open her mouth, when Geralt intervened, his fist slamming against the table— the impact causing the queen's goblet of wine to spill over.

"She isn't a commodity for sale. And we reject your truce."

"Geralt, we talked about this," Colour drained out of Yennefer's face and she looked from Geralt to the queen, who now sat with her lips pursed together.

"Bagan, I —"

"Yennefer, I've heard enough already."

The Queen stood up, and so did the bastard Prince. She looked down at Yennefer with her malice ridden eyes.

"I would like Tissaia de Vries to align someone to take over your responsibilities in our Kingdom. She could in fact, do it herself."

"Queen—" Yennefer began, but she cut her off again.

"Henrik, get the horses ready. We're leaving. This discussion is over."

Geralt and Yennefer didn't step up as they walked off, sitting together in an uncomfortable silence until the hall was empty. Yennefer then turned towards Geralt, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"Why Geralt? Why would you do this to me?"

Geralt frowned, his perfectly aligned eyebrows creasing together as he let out an annoyed groan and stood up, not bothering to even look at her.

"I wouldn't give up someone's honor, just to please you, Yen."

"What about my fucking honor?" She yelled, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, as her lip trembled.

"That—" Geralt mumbled, loud enough for her to hear it, "isn't honor, my love. That is your hunger for ultimate control. But remember one thing, it will help you, Yen. Power gets into your head and once it does, there is no turning back. It destroys you and those around you. And if that is where you are headed, my love, then you won't find me around to catch you when you fall."

He then walked off, and Yennefer just kept staring at him, her eyes almost turned to stone.

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[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 11)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, (here)

Read it on Ao3 HERE

                                                     🐺 🌼 🐺

Geralt didn’t even make it a day.

He left Oxenfurt behind at dawn, riding Roach, alone, just like he always was. There was water here, a river, and trees. They were willow trees, weeping over the sludgy river, bending to sweep the water and Geralt thought of Jaskier’s mother, of the flash of an opal ring on Jaskier’s hand. The Pontar was wide and slow here, and Geralt thought of a hidden pool, far in a forest, and Jaskier talking about his mother. 

Maybe he wasn’t half dryad, maybe he was. Maybe it wouldn’t mean anything but...but what if his life was longer than a human’s? Geralt didn’t want to have to lose him anytime soon, but what if he wouldn’t have to? 

Geralt realized he’d already lost Jaskier. He’d betrayed his husband’s trust, kissing a witch and leaving him. He was still injured. Melitele’s tits, Geralt was an asshole. He’d hurt Jaskier. On purpose. 

A clean break, what the hell was he thinking? They were married, there was no ‘clean break’. They’d have to see eachother eventually. He’d look into beautiful eyes and they’d be full of hatred. He’d see his husbands solid frame and watch the posture become closed and standoffish. Perhaps Jaskier’s words would even turn cold. Toss A Coin would never be heard in taverns again, instead something else. Witchers Are Selfish Bastards could become the next hit. 

He couldn’t protect Jaskier though. The doublet was just that, a doublet. It was a pretty thing, not armor. Geralt could wrap the entire bard in basilisk leather and he still might never be safe. 

But at least you’d be there to fight for him, whispered a treacherous part of Geralt’s mind. He spurred Roach faster, as if he could outrun the thought.

What if there was a barfight? Sure, Jaskier could take care of himself, but if there were no knives around? No weapons? What if he got jumped in an alleyway, or fell ill and he was too sick to find a healer?

Surely having Geralt there was better than nothing. 

Jaskier might not even want Geralt back, not after he’d run like a coward and a fool. 

Without his permission, Geralt’s hands had turned Roach’s reins back towards Oxenfurt. It was dusk, they’d ridden without stopping for food to escape Geralt’s wretched thoughts, and he felt bad for riding her so hard. 

“Treats for you,” he said. “And the finest stable in Oxenfurt, I swear it. Just get me there.”

Roach didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t even need Geralt to nudge her into a gallop, she turned and ran, bolting across the damp earth like a streak of lighting. Jaskier surely would have called her a heroic steed. Geralt would be sure to tell him, just as soon as he was at Oxenfurt. 

Geralt’s heart felt lighter already. He was racing, the wind in his hair, rippling across his face. He wasn’t leaving Jaskier, he’d never leave him again, not ever. He’d bundle him in all the finest things, armor him with dragon scale if he had to. 

Jaskier would sit by the fire in Kaer Morhen and Vesemir would teach him the old songs. Geralt would hunt for him, buy him baked goods, make him fat and happy and shining through and through with joy. And if he got old Geralt would love him. If Jaskier grew too old to travel, Geralt would stay in Kaer Morhen year-round. He’d carry Jaskier up stairs if he had to. He’d learn to play music if Jaskier ever couldn’t play anymore, he’d tap out rhythms if his husband ever went deaf.

His husband. Geralt loved him. He loved him so much and his eyes were streaming. It was so rare that a witcher could cry but he was. He loved his husband so much that this one day without him had been the worst of his life. He’d thought it had been seeing Jaskier hurt, fearing him dying. That had been awful, but if death took Jaskier from him, Geralt would fight death itself. 

There was a story, he knew, of a bard who took his love back from death, leading her from the underworld. He’d looked back, so the story said, to make sure his love was still with him. Geralt was a witcher, though, he wouldn’t need to look to know Jaskier was there. 

Jaskier being gone from his life was an almost unbearable thought, but Geralt could live with it. If Jaskier died or left of his own accord, Geralt would survive. To push him away, however, to be the reason Jaskier left him, that was unbearable. 

Roach’s legs moved like a landslide under her, hoofbeats so fast they merged into one. Geralt’s slow heart matched pace. He would go, he would lay himself prone on the floor of wherever Jaskier stayed, and he would beg forgiveness.

He would earn his forgiveness. 

And if Jaskier ever forgave him, and if he ever returned Geralt’s feelings, Geralt would kiss him. 

The thought gave him wings. 

He would kiss Jaskier. He’d wind his hand in that thick, dark hair, loop the other arm around his waist, and dip him back, the way fancy gentlemen did. He’d kiss him the way he should have kissed him on their wedding day. He’d kiss Jaskier so that there could be no doubt in his husband’s mind that he was the most important person in Geralt’s life. And then he’d kiss him again, and again, and again. 

Geralt would learn about poetry and art and music so that Jaskier had someone to discuss it with. He’d teach him witcher lore and monster zoology, so that they had the knowledge in common. He’d teach Jaskier to fight, not just bar fighting, he’d be able to defend himself if Geralt ever failed him.

Geralt was never going to fail him again. 

The lights of Oxenfurt were visible. When Geralt had last raced to the city Jaskier had been wounded by bandits. Now, his heart had been wounded by Geralt’s own hand. 

He pulled out his xenovox, pressing it desperately. 

“What?” she snapped. “It’s almost midnight, can’t you go a day without bothering me?”

“Where is he?” Geralt asked. “Where is he staying?”

“You just got rid of him, now you want him back?” 

“Yes, Yennefer it was a mistake, I can’t lose him where is he? Tell me!”

“Essi Daven has a placement at the university, she may have quarters there, ask her.”

Geralt didn’t even thank Yennefer, just stuffed the xenovox in his bag and turned Roach, her ironshod hooves ringing against the cobbles. 

The bulk of the university lay across the city like an old dog lying on a rug. Geralt headed for the living quarters, dodging Roach around drunken students and midnight revellers, sometimes the same people. 

A man was sweeping in a quiet courtyard. 

“You,” Geralt called, almost falling off Roach in his haste. “Essi Daven, where can I find her?” 

The man looked up, eyed Geralt with distaste, and pointed toward a wing of the building. Here, there were doors, facing the coutyard, each door marked with a name. 

Yes, dormitories. 

Geralt ran up the row. They were organized by name, two on each door. He’d started at the wrong end. He passed Willow and Worthington, Umber and Urdock, Smith and Silverly. He sped up. Marx and Mannock, Lee and Lorntin...

He skidded to a stop.

Davidson and Daven. He hammered on the door, shaking it on it’s hinges until it was swung open. 

There was a small woman there, glaring at him behind a mane of golden hair. Only one eye was visible. 

“What do you want?”

“Essi Daven?”

Like a snake, she stepped forward, into Geralt’s space, putting a long knife to his throat. 

“You’re here for Jaskier,” she said. 

“I made a mistake,” Geralt said. “I need to see him.”

“You don’t need to do anything but leave him alone,” she hissed. “I ought to slice you open like a pig.”

“I want to make it up to him,” Geralt begged. “I have to, please, I love him.”

“You abandoned him,” she said like poison. 

“And if I do it again I swear I will deliver myself to your door so you can gut me with your knife but please,” Geralt reached up a hand and lowered her knife, which she allowed him to do without stabbing him. “Please, if I lose him because I was stupid and drove him away, I think I’ll just have to lay down and die.”

“He’s crazy about you,” Essi said, eyes narrowed. 

“I’m crazier for him, I promise,” Geralt said. His heart was soaring. Jaskier was crazy about him.

“He cried his eyes out all day,” Essi said. Geralt’s heart landed with a thud. 

“Let me make it up to him,” Geralt said. “Please.”

“You’re going to need more than a pretty face.”

“I’ll do anything.”

Essi snorted. “He’s not here, he’s at the Fiddler’s Bow inn. If he wants to see you, go ahead, if he doesn’t leave him the fuck alone.”

Geralt nodded solemnly. 

He had to find something that would show Jaskier how he felt. Something perfect. He mounted Roach again and she nickered questioningly. 

“What do you get someone you love?” Geralt asked her quietly. 

She whinnied. “Oats,” she was probably saying. “And a nice stable.”

Geralt rode her down streets, ambling rather than searching for the inn. He’d find it, but he needed the perfect gift first.

He’d know what he needed when he saw it. 

Oxenfurt never slept, but many of the shops had closed for the night. Geralt trotted Roach past them, until he saw one. It had a large, paned glass display window, an expensive luxury. Inside were weapons of all makes and sizes. 

Geralt thought about purchasing a dagger for Jaskier, but daggers weren’t special enough. They were a good gift, not a great one. Geralt dismounted and peered through the glass. A light was on in the back, and he knocked at the door. 

There were shields and axes in the shop, but the lacked the grace that Geralt wanted. There were swords, some covered in jewels, which were certainly beautiful enough, but the decoration would throw off the balance. 

Geralt heard clattering from inside.

A little old man opened up the shop door, peering up at Geralt.

“You’re a mighty big fella,” he said. “Witcher are ya? I’m closed you know.”

“I know, sir,” Geralt said. “I apologize, but it’s a matter of the utmost importance.”

“Ah, broken a sword have you?” Said the old man, sticking his hand out to shake. His grip was like iron, despite his age. He was definitely the swordsmith, then. 

“No sir, I need a gift, true love is on the line,” it was a horribly florid thing to say, but Geralt couldn’t bear to lie to the old man, who reminded him oddly of Vesemir, despite his bent posture and small size.

“Ah, dueling for her honor?” asked the smith, hobbling to one of the display stands.

“No, sir. Begging his forgiveness.”

“Do you deserve to be forgiven?”

“...maybe,” Geralt said, reluctantly. 

“Aha!” Said the shopkeeper. “Slept with someone else have you?”

“No!”

“Lied to him?”

“Not that I can think of.”

The man leaned close, strangely pale eyes searching. “Killed someone he cares for?”

“Never, I...I abandoned him. I left him alone, I shouldn’t have,” Geralt admitted.

The old man tutted. “Not the easiest mistake to remedy, young man.” 

Geralt realized that he and the man were probably fairly close in age. 

“But,” the man said. “Not without hope, I think. And you want to give him a weapon?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, mouth dry. “Something that can keep him safe.”

“In case you can’t?” 

Geralt flinched. “Yes.”

“Is he a warrior like yourself, your young man?”

“A poet and bard, but he can fight as well.”

“Mhhm,” said the old man, running his hands over his stock. “He likes fine things?”

“Yes, but not at the expense of practicality.”

“Indeed,” said the man. “And he is right handed?”

“Left handed,” Geralt said. 

“Aha,” said the man, softly. “I have just the sword.” He lifted a long, thin blade from a rack. 

“It’s an unusual style,” he said, holding it out in both hands. “A rapier, it’s called. They’re thin and light, and this,” he held the sword by it’s handle, a strange, twisting cage of metal protecting his hand. “This crosspiece will keep his poet’s fingers from damage.”

“I’ve never seen it’s like,” Geralt said, carefully taking the proffered sword. “It’s so thin, will it break if he parries?”

“It is unlikely, the blade is damascarine steel, the blow will merely deflect down to the crosspiece.”

Geralt observed the blade, witcher eyes letting inn all the light from the dim shop so he could see the wavy pattern in the thin blade where the steel had been twisted and folded back on itself. 

He turned from the shopkeeper and raised the sword, feeling it’s balance. Much too light for him, but for Jaskier...Geralt turned the sword tip-down and measured the height of the crosspiece. Yes, it would be about at Jaskier’s belly button, the right length. 

“It’s perfect,” Geralt said. The sword looked like a line of moonlight, the handle was elegant with it’s swooping, twisting lines, and it was deadly. It was Jaskier, through and through.

The moonlight coming in through the windows glinted off the sword as the man took it back, gently, sheathing it in a smooth, black leather sheath. 

Geralt paid the asking price without haggle. For the craftsmanship, and opening his shop in the middle of the night, the price was more than fair. He would have gladly paid double, he’d never seen an equal to the sword he carried now.

Geralt didn’t hold it like a sword as he remounted Roach. He held the rapier flat across his knees like an offering to the gods. 

He stayed there a moment, astride his horse, and closed his eyes. He breathed in. He breathed out. He was about to open his eyes but...there, chamomile and sun-dried grass. 

He opened his eyes, afraid the action would dissipate the scent, but it was still there. Jaskier had been nearby. 

He trotted Roach forward, seeing with his nose. He lost the scent by an irreputable ale house that smelled of sick and stale beer, so he turned and looked around. There was another tavern down the street and he rode towards it slowly. Music poured from it, even at this late hour. Jaskier would have come here, instead of the other alehouse. 

Up alongside the tavern he could smell dry grass again, mixed with salt. Jaskier had cried here, but the salt-scent left, trailing down the street. 

Geralt’s heart was heavy as he followed the smell of his husband’s tears. He’d done this, he had to fix it, and he had just the one chance. It couldn’t wait until morning. If the sun dawned and this wasn’t fixed, Geralt just knew he’d have lost his chance, Jaskier would be lost to him forever. 

The tears stopped. 

Geralt loked up. 

The Fiddler’s Bow. He didn’t even speak to the innkeeper as he walked up the stairs and gently knocked on the door. 

He could hear the familiar beat of Jaskier’s heart behind it. His own tried to match time. 

A bedraggled and red eyed Jaskier opened the door. Geralt knelt and took one of Jaskier’s hand’s in both of his. 

For a second that was all there was. 

Then Geralt spoke. 

“I was a fool,” he said. “I saw you, hurt, and I was frightened, because I hadn’t been able to protect you.”

Jaskier tried to pull his hand from Geralt’s grasp, but Geralt didn’t let go. “Please, Jaskier,” he said, gold eyes meeting blue. “Hear me out, and then if you never wish to see me again I swear on the medallion at my throat you will never have to.”

Words weren’t easy for Geralt, but he prayed he’d be granted just a sliver of the power Jaskier had over them. This was more than life or death, this was love or loss, and Geralt couldn’t bear to lose this.

“I am in love with you,” Geralt said, looking Jaskier straight in the eyes. “The thought of losing you scared me so badly that I turned like a coward and ran, but,” Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “The thought of losing you,” a sob, “Because I pushed you away, Jaskier, it’s so much worse.”

He pulled out the sword in it’s scabbard, placing it tip down on the floor and holding it like a cross. “I want to teach you to fight, so that you can’t be taken from me, and I want you to teach me to sing, so that you won’t grow bored of me.”

“Please,” Jaskier,” he said, shoulders trembling. “I swear on my soul, I swear on the soulds of the men who raised me, I will never abandon you again.”

Jaskier was crying, rivers of saltwater, silver in the moonlight, trailing down his cheeks. A drop fell on Geralt’s hand as he proffered the sword. 

“I love you,” Geralt said simply. 

Jaskier stood there and cried, chest wracked with sobs. Then he took the sword in both hands. His fingertips brushed across the back of Geralt’s hand and the witcher shivered. 

“You kissed her.”

“The Law of Surprise,” Geralt said. “I had just pledged my devotion and care to you, it was your great windfall. We thought it meant I love her, but I don’t.” Geralt stood, reaching forward one large and travel-stained hand to brush the tears from Jaskier’s cheeks. 

“The kiss just made me realize how much I never want to kiss anyone but you, ever again.”

Jaskier leaned his cheek into the cradle of Geralt’s hand. “I forgive you,” he said. 

Geralt stepped forward, taking Jaskier’s sword and setting it aside, then he wrapped his arms around Jaskier, admiring how they were of a height. 

Jaskier leaned his forhead against Geralt’s, and the pair just stood, breathing the same air. 

“I love you too.”

It was whispered, but it shook Geralt’s world. 

Jaskier’s arms came up and twined around Geralt’s neck, drawing him even close. 

“Please,” Geralt begged. “May I kiss you?”

He felt Jaskier nod. 

Geralt had imagined a kiss on his desperate return. He’d imagined how Jaskier’s hair would be so soft under his hand, how Jaskier’s arms would feel so warm around him, he’d been right. 

He could never have imagined the wonder of kissing Jaskier, though, not truly. Joy flared in Geralt’s heart like a wildfire, consuming him. The world burned around them and Geralt didn’t care because having Jaskier in his arms, kissing him like this, this was the only thing he could ever want. 

This was everything the kiss on their wedding day wasn’t and should have been. All the sounds of the city rushed in Geralt’s ears and he didn’t hear any of them, because Jaskier’s lips were sweet and warm and slightly chapped, and Jaskier’s hand was digging oddly into his ribs, and it was perfection. 

                                                   🐺 🌼 🐺

Almost done! I think there will maybe be one more chapter to tie up all the loose ends. Although I suspect at some point I’ll be unable to resist writing some husbands-in-Kaer-Morhen fluff. 

Tag List!

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl  @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata  @ailorian @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god  @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie  @werevampiwolf    @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest  @innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan   @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra  @permanently-exhausted-witcher  @aj-itated   @watchthewolvesfall  @00qtea  @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @westmoor  @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437    @onwardsandfourwords  @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @little-piece-of-tamlin @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas   @fontegagrilledcheese @so--many-fandoms @kirk-spock-in-the-impala @oniongrass @flowercrown-bard @maya-the-yellow-bee   @comfyswitcherblanketfort @wellthisstinks  @thenameislion-dandelion  @flowercrown-bard @obsessedchildsworld @debellatis @zotinha456 @tumbleweedtech @goblin-loves-shiny-things @birdsflyhome @holymotherwolf @the-shenny-of-azkaban  @darkangel91939  @enkelikauneus    @saphiramalbec  @silvermirror1997  @just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard   @iamaqt314  @itsthelittlethingsnlife @oneshots-galore @inikokoru @gryffinqueen @anythinggoesfandoms @artemisthehuntress @pomegranatebitch @nuitarius @ub-sessed @tookarma  @spearmint-honk  @nicelytousled @wingirl2015 @live-long-and-trek-on   @kingcitywitch  @flowrhippieprincess @oneshots-galore @laughingatlivedragons @nanamis-trophy-wife   @annafortoday @dapperanachronism  @jaybeefoxy @gods-no-longer-tread-here @flustratedcas @nbspaceboy   @comorbid-corvid  @ellwren @red-wasabi89   @ouradarablelove  @chanonce

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Promise Me | Geralt x Reader

Warnings: Some violent, bloody monster-hunting, but also just a lot of fluffy fluff.

Summary: You’ve been traveling with Geralt and some of his companions for a few weeks, picking up some Witcher skills along the way. One moment of overconfidence leaves you seriously injured, and some deeply buried feelings come to the surface. 

Notes: Listen, I am a strong woman who loves other strong women but sometimes ya girl just wants a nice sweet Geralt to the rescue fluffy one-shot, and that is why we are here today. :’)

Sleeping doesn’t come easy on the road, despite the basic elixirs that the Witcher offered you. Valerian root, chamomile tea – nothing quite seemed to work. So, it is no surprise when you wake up with a start in the cold morning light.

Before jumping up and grabbing your sword, you try to remember the advice the Witcher has imparted on you throughout the journey. You take a moment to even your breathing, willing your heart rate to slow down. Of course, you’re no Witcher, so it doesn’t quite work the same, but it does help you gain some clarity.

In this case, you realize that you are, in fact, not imagining the sound of squishy footprints through river mud, nor are you imagining the strange gurgling sounds that immediately call to mind the morbid blue humanoids that seem to plague every body of water on the continent.

Drowners.

Upon listening for a few more moments, you calculate that there must be about three. Three drowners, after some of the monsters you’ve encountered on the road, seem like nothing. You grab you silver sword. Geralt gave it to you several days before. He said it was an old one of his old ones – though you have your suspicions based on its seemingly flawless condition and the fact that a recent contract had landed the White Wolf an overflowing purse of coin. It was also quite suspiciously the perfect size for you. You never pushed for answers, though. Geralt could be a brick wall when he wanted to be – which was most of the time.

You silently pulled on your travel leathers and slipped the scabbard over your back. Dressed like this, you felt much less like a common village wench and much more like a Witcher-Girl. You made absolutely certain that your steps were silent as you pushed open the canvas tent you’d been sleeping in, bracing yourself against the chill of the morning air.

As expected, there was no movement from any of the other tents. You’d save a whole lot of ruckus by taking care of the little hellions now.

You stealthily moved along, using trees and bushes to keep you out of the Drowners’ line of sight as you approached the river, smiling to yourself when you realized that you were indeed correct – there were three of the mutated beasts wandering around towards the shore.

You tried to picture the way Geralt moved – like fighting was some kind of complex dance – as you inched your way toward the riverbed. You were actually quite good at it, having been forced to take dancing lessons as a child back when you lived in the lap of luxury. Now, you just added a sword.

Your first strike was lightning-fast, for an ordinary human, and your pirouette and parry turned counterattack was equally as good (if you did say so yourself). You slashed the second drowner straight across the chest, from shoulder to shoulder. Blood sprays in your direction, and suddenly you feel even more like you really are some sort of Witcher-Girl.

The thing you hadn’t exactly planned for, however, was the third of the drowners. It had been hanging back farther than the rest, and you’d sort of assumed that you would have be able to give a few easy swipes of the gleaming silver and be done with it.

If only drowners weren’t so fast.

It came from nowhere, slashing out its webbed claws. They scrapped across the studded leather tunic you wore. Thankfully, they weren’t sharp enough to cut through, but it was enough to knock you back several feet. An unfortunately placed rock was the last thing you stepped on before falling onto your back, having twisted your ankle.

Fuck. This was not part of the plan.

You try to take Geralt’s advice – it should be instinct that you act on. But then again, he had years and elixirs powerful enough to kill an ordinary human to help him with that. You just had a few weeks of training.

Still, somehow, you manage to force your sword up against the drowner, which is now viciously trying to claw at your throat. You wince, realizing too late that the sword was turned the wrong way, sharp edges out – which was helpful in that the drowner backed up with a screech, blood pouring from a new nick across its shoulders, but also bad for you because the sharp silver managed to dig into your arm as well.

You try not to think about the way your sleeve is quickly dampening and hop up onto your feet, sword held out with your other hand. You parry a few times, letting the creature exhaust itself by throwing itself at you again and again, eventually losing its footing and stumbling back, as you had before.

Seeing your opportunity to attack, you rush forward aggressively, not hesitating a moment before grabbing the pommel of your silver with two hands and thrusting down, straight through the drowner’s heart. You heave a sigh of relief when it twitches only a couple times before falling completely limp, dead.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins had you pretty much blind to the fact that your arm was badly injured, and as it faded, you began to feel woozy at the loss of blood. Still trying to ignore it, you pull your sword out of the drowner corpse and walk over to the stream to rinse the blood from the blade, doing your best to ignore the fact that the water is turning redder and redder with as blood pours from your arm.

These last few weeks with the Witcher have, evidently, made you forget the fact that you are just an ordinary human, and could get hurt like one – even if you were picking up on Witcher fighting techniques at an alarming rate.

Your steps start to falter as you sheath your silver and head back to camp. As you walk, you pull your old steel dagger out of the sheath strapped to your thigh, pulling at your tunic in attempt to cut a strip of fabric to tie around your arm to staunch the bleeding.

Camp is in sight now, but it is becoming blurry as walking becomes even more difficult. The dagger slips from your hand, landing on the grass with a soft thud. You follow soon after, with a much louder thud that you don’t hear. The world is black.

                                      *                     *                     *

You come to your senses after an immeasurable amount of time. You smell the sharp scent of herbs and astringent, and you feel a numbness in your arm, which you vaguely remember should be in pain for some reason. As you open your eyes and see the white canvas of your tent, the memory comes flooding back.

You attempt to lift your head, but you are immediately stopped by a deep, gravelly voice. “Lay still, you lost a lot of blood.”

Fuck. He was probably the one to find you, knowing his Witcher senses. He was probably furious. The camp was supposed to head out today – and here you were, holding it up.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, eyes meeting his, expecting to see them narrowed, expecting his face to be hard as stone, angry.

But it’s not. His expression is… soft. You don’t quite understand it. You’d wandered off from camp, like you weren’t supposed to, and you’d gotten yourself injured. Certainly, nobody else was happy. Geralt, ever in a hurry, should be furious.

“You wander off, kill three drowners by yourself while the rest of us blissfully sleep through it, get injured, and the first thing you do is apologize?” You’re still somewhat delirious between the loss of blood and whatever they must have given you to help with the pain, so you are almost convinced you might be hallucinating this whole thing.

But then you feel his calloused hand on your forehead, which you only then realize is sticky with sweat. He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, looking down at you with gentle eyes. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

You attempt a noncommittal shrug, but your left arm won’t listen, and you wince at the sharp pain. His free hand immediately rests on top of your hand, the pad of his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. “Best if you try not to move much,” he says seriously. “Y/N, you lost a lot of blood.”

“I couldn’t have lost that much!” Your attempt to protest is somewhat shattered by the fact that even speaking feels exhausting – which Geralt reminds you once again is because you lost so much blood.

“Baby, shh.”

His words, coupled with his hands – one stroking the side of your face and one holding your own – seem to surprise both of you equally. There had been several moments the last few weeks where you had suspected that maybe he reciprocated the feelings that you had kept bottled up tight, but you had never asked – there was no appropriate time to ask. But now…

You look up at him through sleepy eyes, willing yourself to speak again. The reality that, clearly, you’d been hurt much worse than you thought was starting to settle in.

The Witcher must have been able to hear your quickening heartbeat, or read the fear in your eyes, because the next thing he does is ease himself down next to you – taking care to lay on the side of your non-injured arm - on the blankets strewn on the floor that acted as a bed.

“You’re going to be ok,” he says softly, once again stroking your hair. You sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

“Geralt,” you speak quietly, nervous about what his response will be. “Stay? Please?”

The Witcher responds by inching closer to you, and you instinctively nuzzle into his chest, relishing in the warmth, the feeling of his body next to yours.

“Well, I’ve been sitting here for half a day, I’m not planning on leaving now.” He says it with a wry smile, but you can see a glimmer in his eyes you hadn’t notice before as you blink up at him. “But you have to promise me you never scare me like that again, Y/N.”

Your eyes flutter closed again as you settle into his warmth, “I promise,” you mutter against his chest.

                                     *                     *                     *

Taglist: @divaroze, @fairytale07, @jesseswartzwelder, @haru-ririchiyo, @unnamedmaincharacter, @lazilyscentedwerewolf, @geeksareunique, @evyiione, @valkyriepuff, @p3nny4urth0ught5​, @moonlightreetops,  @divineslipcast

[wendimydarling]

Heyaaaa! I've been thinking... can we have a headcanon on Henry and his characters would react or do when tickled? It can be by their s.o. or anyone, really. Thank you!!!

YES. YES YES YES. The fact that I get to think about and talk about my tickle kink in regards to these characters makes me SUPER happy. And you’re my favorite. ❤ 

A tiny bit of tickle knowledge: in the community, there are Ticklers (Lers), and Ticklees (Lees), and Switches. Lers generally prefer to do the tickling, while Lees enjoy being tickled, while Switches are some combination of both (I am a Switch, 95% HARDCORE Lee with the occasional Ler mood, in case you were wondering). I will be using these terms in this headcanon. Here we gooooooo!

We’ll start with Henry. That boy is indeed ticklish, and like to think it’s on his ribs. It’s a small gif, but look closely:

Did you see it? There is a very subtle shift AWAY from Jason and a smile when he first grabs Henry before Henry realizes that he just wanted a hug. I’d recognize that shift anywhere, it’s tickle panic. And I want to explore it.

Stephen is ticklish around his neck and his ears. He doesn’t like it, and Cassandra knows this, and has exploited it their entire lives when she wants something or he annoys her.

Mikey is a sub, so I think he’s a Switch like me, mostly Lee. You can tie him and tickle him all over, make it a game; he’ll hate it and love it at once. I think his worst place is his feet, but he’s ticklish everywhere. He also like to tickle as a flirting technique, it’s an easy way to get physically close to someone.

I don’t think Melot is ticklish. I don’t see him that way. I do see him using tickling to flirt, or being into erotic tickles like teasing a girl’s nipples with his tongue, but only if the occasion presents itself.

Those pits.... god, those pits. Let me at ‘em, Evan Marshall, let’s see how long you can keep those arms up. Might just get your sides, too.

Charles Brandon is a Switch, aaaaaaalll about the erotic tickles. He likes to use all sorts of instruments to torture your nipples and pussy, like feathers and paintbrushes. His favorite tool of choice? His tongue. But since he’s a switch, so you better take a feather to his balls on occasion. 

I dunno if Clark is ticklish or not. Those sides look potentially ticklish to me, or perhaps his feet or his knees. He’s definitely playful when he’s with his girl, so he would tickle her for sure. 

Napoleon is a LER. He is ticklish himself, but you’ll never, ever know where, because he will always have you tied up first. The less you can move, the better, and he will take his time and learn every single place on your helpless body that makes you scream the most.

Syverson is absolutely ticklish, but he HATES it. You’ll get one warning: “Best not start somethin’ ya can’t finish, little lady”. If you continue, he will pin you down and wreck you until you apologize for ever poking him in the ribs.

This man gets two gifs, because his face is too beautiful not to show, however you can’t see it when you tickle him. August Walker has a ticklish ass. You will never, ever change my mind. The only person who’s even remotely allowed to tickle it is his lady, and that’s only ever on extremely rare occasions. He, like Syverson, will utterly destroy you if you tickle him without permission.

Walter is ticklish on his hips and his back. He’ll fight you if you’re drilling into his hips, but he actually immensely enjoys light tickles on his back, especially after sex. Run you fingers up and down his spine or trail light kisses over his shoulder blades, making sure your breasts graze his skin. He’ll squirm and smile softly, before falling into a deep and relaxed sleep.

Being a Witcher, Geralt has heightened sensitivity, so naturally he is ticklish. I like to think that at Kaer Morhen during their training, Witchers are taught to resist this weak side effect by having it tickle tortured out of them, so he utterly hates it when Yen does it. He can ignore it from everyone else, but she cheats and uses her magic against him until he’s growling at her to stop.

THANK YOU FOR THIS, LADY.... you literally made my morning!!!

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.6 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you’re doing well :))) I’m starting school again next week so hopefully i’ll be able to keep up with these updates 😬 if not, i’ll let y’all know! Also, sorry this chapter is a bit shorter :/ next one has a bit more juice, if ya catch my drift lmao Anyway, enjoy!

Your kind words and reviews mean a lot to me, so please don’t afraid to leave a message/comment!

Summary: Traveling has never been harder. 

Warnings: language, mentions of death/killing/blood, sassy banter, little angst and comfort, cranky jaskier

Words: 1,203

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Traveling with Jaskier and Geralt was way worse than you remembered.

To be fair, the last time you traveled with them it was a relatively short distance — now, traveling from Novigrad to Velen, you were ready to stab both men in the legs before traveling any further.

Being around the two men wasn’t the problem — it was being around the two men when you only had a few coin left. It was always said that money could make a man go mad, in more ways than one. But this time, you could only blame it on two things: hunger, and lack of sleep.

Your arms were crossed over your chest, face drawn in a scowl as you looked at the man before you. “Jaskier, we need to feed the horses.”

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, his coin pouch clasped in his grip. You were currently blocking him from going to buy food because, with the coin you had left, there wouldn’t be enough for everyone.

Still, Jaskier scoffed. “I’ll have you know, man is very close to horse—“

“Man is closer to a donkey.”

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. “Are you calling me an ass?”

You snorted. “You did that yourself.” The man threw his arms in the air, turning away from you so he could shake his head. You looked around, praying that Geralt would return quickly — you needed someone to back you up, since Jaskier clearly wasn’t seeing reason.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you ate or slept for more than a couple hours. The past few nights, the three of you camped out in the woods, not having enough coin to get your own rooms at any inn. To be blunt…it had taken a toll on all of you.

You softened your voice once Jaskier faced you again. “We just need to make it a little bit further to Velen, and then—“

“Then what? We starve there?”

“We’ll find a place there, maybe catch some jobs for coin. Then we can feed the animals—” You paused, looking to Jaskier with a hint of playfulness in your voice, “and the horses.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped, not nearly as amused as you were, “I am worried about all of our health, love."

“Will both of you shut up.” Geralt appeared, placing a hand on Roach’s side with a huff. You and Jaskier snapped your gaze to him, almost comically so. You rolled your eyes at Geralt’s smirk, but he continued nonetheless. “While you two were arguing, I got us two rooms for the night.”

Your eyebrows shot up, “Two rooms?” You flicked your eyes to Jaskier. “At this rate, I’m sharing a room with the witcher.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at you, “You definitely don’t mean that.” He pointed a finger in Geralt’s direction. “Where, exactly, did you get this coin?”

Geralt only turned away towards Roach, lifting an apple to the horse’s mouth. You and Jaskier watched in a stupor at the apple as it disappeared between Roach’s teeth, both hiding the way your mouths watered at the sight.

Blinking out of your trance, you huffed. “It’s probably best we don’t know.”

Silently, you and Jaskier gathered your bags from Buttercup’s back, following Geralt as he led the two of you through the shabbiest looking inn you had possibly ever seen; right now, it looked better than a luxury. And as soon as you and Jaskier walked into the room, you both made a beeline for the bed, backs hitting the mattress at the same time.

In complete synchronization, you let out a sigh a relief — you hadn’t slept on a mattress in quite some time.

“This is better than food.” Jaskier murmured, his voice raspy as he let his eyes flutter closed.

You rolled your head towards Jaskier, apology etched in your sleepy eyes. “We’ll make sure to get some food soon.”

He smiled, eyes still closed, and placed his hand in yours. “I know.”

—

The next morning was better than the last, but not by much. It turned out that getting a good night’s sleep only made you more tired — and more hungry. But even through the snippy remarks and silent glares, you all knew your words meant practically nothing.

Road trips were recipes for attitude. You had traveled long treks before, but mostly alone. Now that you were with the two men you had come to call friends, it was a different experience entirely. While before you could internally curse out the squirrel that looked at you the wrong way, now, you had two other people to yell at.

And, you assumed, Geralt and Jaskier were used to the random anger that came with being on the road for too long — Geralt definitely more so than Jaskier.

But soon, the three of you found a place to pick up jobs here and there (some more humiliating than others — like finding a farmers’ lost chickens, which was rather funny to watch Geralt do). You had enough coin to eat, find a place to stay the night, and by then, you were only a little under a day’s trip away from Velen.

Even though Arnet told you the village was near the crossroads of Velen, it still left a bit of a search for the three of you. The trip was taking longer than you hoped, though you tried not to hope at all.

Hope only led to disappointment, which you were well aware of. But something about this trip had your typically pessimistic outlook on a low. It was probably because of Jaskier, who was constantly looking on the bright side.

Sometimes, very literally.

“The sun is a beauty, isn’t it? Even as it falls, it transforms the sky.”

“I think you’ve been looking at the sun a bit too long.” You felt Jaskier laugh against your back; his hands settled around your waist as Buttercup lead the way down the road you had been following for quite some time.

Jaskier’s talk about the sun made you look at it as well; it was getting late, as the sun was falling closer and closer to the horizon. You sighed, realizing today was yet another dead end. You just had to keep going, no matter how many times you were let down. You owed your mother that much.

But ahead, you noticed the brown wood of a building — another village.

You flicked Buttercup’s reigns, “Hyah!”

Your heart sped up as you neared the relatively small area. It was a village — was being the key word. The buildings that were still standing were on their last limb; it looked as though the wood had been decaying for quite some time, not nearly strong enough to hold itself up for much longer. This village was completely abandoned. Any signs of life that had been there…they were long gone.

You blinked at the sight in front of you, a mix of emotions filling your entire being.

There’s no way.

Jaskier’s voice took you out of your head. “Why are we stopping?”

You slid off the horse, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. Avoiding his and Geralt’s gaze, you spoke.

“This was my village.”

———————————————————————————————————

:( let me know your thoughts!

[crowleyellestair]

Hello, how are you? Are taking requests? If so, could you please write a Lambert blurb? I read you Eskel one and I love it! Thank yoooou

AN// Thank you! I’m glad you liked my other one <3 I wrote this, then realised you wanted a blurb. This is a little longer, but I will get to writing a shorter thing for ya. Requests are always open!

  Kaer Morhen was a wrecked fortress, with rubble rolling over every lick of the mountain it was built into. Only ghosts and the remaining witchers tread through the demolished halls, unless bringing on a willed companion. Geralt was the only wone who ever brought people with, though they were growing less welcome by the person. Yennefer, Triss Ciri and Dandelion had taken the trail and had spent winters within the walls. Though, after Triss, the White Wolf was warned by the youngest witcher that compliancy with new people was quickly dwindling.

It had made sense. Yennefer was known to have her talons embedded in the wolf’s fur, which never really gave anyone hope for any other sorceress from the Lodge. The Merigold had come along, chestnut hair bouncing in the wind, her nose held high. Lambert hadn’t taken too kindly to what she preached, as she hadn’t spent every winter in the keep- everything she saw and spoke down upon were things the men were well aware of. He swore, that if the woman ever spoke poorly of his manners again, he’d show her just how ‘savage’ he could really be.

Luckily, this winter was looking up. The men usually informed the others of any companions they were bringing, but there was no word from Geralt. Yennefer had made a large fuss after Triss had apparently tattled, so the young Lion Cub would be spending winter with her and the Lodge. While Lambert would begrudgingly admit he’d miss the little spitfire, being alone also sounded like a nice difference. It been a rough year for him and the public, and despite hating being alone with his own ghosts, he wasn’t sure he could handle more people.

When his medallion started to vibrate against his chest, every hair on his body stood on end. He clutched the powdered dimeritium closer to his chest, ready to start a war. He had warned Geralt, and he wasn’t one to joke when it came to disrespect and people associated with it. Geralt strolled through the front door, and a younger female gasp was heard behind him. Eskel was quick to evaluate Lambert’s reaction, but decided to greet the two.

“Brother, glad you made it.” The two wolves’ arms fell around each other in a familiar yet rare embrace. The brunette pulled away to ask his friend, “And who is this?” The subject of the question turned from the pile of supplies she was looking over to show a bright smile. Her hand jabbed towards him through the air, excitement seeming to be her driving force.

“Hello! Y/n, mage consultant of Dorian. Thank you for being kind enough to allow me to stay here, it’s an honor.” The hand not meeting her shake went up to brush over his scar, and landing behind his neck. He gave a small, dubious smile, trying to cover up Lambert’s loud scoff with a response. Despite being across the large hall, it was clear as day what type of anger and disgust that dripped from the young witcher.

“Eskel. I don’t know about honor coming with it, but you are welcome. We aren’t entirely sure the reasoning behind your stay, but you’re here now.” Y/n’s smile faltered when their hands dropped.

“Oh, my apologies. I helped Yennefer and Ciri out of a large scuffle, but some people are after me now.” Lambert had left his spot on the table to come to the group. Shoulder’s squared, he threw on a sarcastic smirk.

“What type of people does a sorceress need to worry about?” Sorceress was spoken with a fake worshiping tone, with hand gestures in the air to allude to him seeing them as overpowered deities. The woman’s smile fell completely at the new character’s entrance. Both Eskel and Geralt watched as her chest popped out as well, and her eyes followed Lamberts purposely. Though, it was clear it wasn’t a struggle for dominance, but for respect.

“I’m actually a simple mage. Human. Aging and all. That’s why Geralt offered to help,” her tone became stronger through her finishing statement. “And why it was so surprising I was any help in the first place.” Eskel’s eyes widened, looking to his younger brother. No one had approached his berating with that tactic. How can one bully someone who already bullies themselves- and with such confidence and bravado? Eskel stepped in, his shoulder barley overlapping Lambert’s, giving a small buffer between the two.

“This is Lambert. He’s always this way, but he is kind.” The man in question rolled his eyes before folding his arms over his chest. His glare flickered to Geralt, and snarled out,

“I told you after Merigold that I’m not dealing with this horse shit.” Every consonant was hit with a certain venom that reminded the other two of the Viper school. Grealt had huffed, folding his arms as well while it was the mage’s turn to scoff.

“Triss? I wouldn’t say I’m in league with her.” Wide eyes flew to her, but she gave a nonchalant shrug. Her eyes wandered over everything but them, her attention easily being taken by the new location. “I might have a great knowledge of alchemy and chemistry, but she was never fond of how I conducted my experiments. You need to take risks for breakthroughs, even if it’s yourself that’s at risk.” Her eyes finally met everyone else’s. “I know she didn’t want me to hurt myself, but discovery is harnessing the unknown. I know the risks. She certainly could have laid it on nicer though.”

Vesemir’s entrance back into the great hall had taken a weight off of the White Wolf’s shoulders. He had mentioned the tension she might face, but he hadn’t been too worried. Though her introduction was kind, he wasn’t confident that it would deter the young man. He wasn’t one to let go of grudges, especially since they are his main bedfellows.

A week had gone by, and the men hadn’t really seen the mage outside of mealtimes. While it was understandable as they were really only focused on three other things: Training lounging, and rebuilding the ruin. As far as Lambert was concerned, that’s how it should be. This was his time, and she was Geralt’s guest. If she stayed away and was only summoned for meals, so be it. Though, this fake paradise was short lived once Vesemir asked him to escort her through the mountain to the old watchtower.

He didn’t bother knocking on the library door when he pushed it open as it was his home. There was a certain strut he had to him, but his grand, sassy entrance was wasted as the mage was leaned over the large table that had been pushed to the side years ago. Lambert stopped just next to her, leaning over her shoulder to find multiple books spread over a large map. Penciled in circles scattered over its surface, and she had a finger running over a book’s text before adding another circle.

There was no attention afforded to the man yet, and he was able to finally get a clear look at her. Her frame was covered in thicker layers that still had lighter colors despite the norm having otherwise. Light blues painted the clothes with white furs lining it. He was glad to see she wore trousers, dreading to have to carry a woman through the mountain if she strips over the skirt of a dress. Her skin looked soft- too soft to be found in the fort. Even Triss and Yen, with their perfect skin, had a specific hardness to them. Weathered skin, while it can look flawless, has a texture. There were burns and cuts that littered Y/n’s hands and wrists, likely from the experiments she had mentioned when she first arrived. Despite those blemishes, Lambert was sure that he would only feel a silk or velvet like thing- he wasn’t familiar with either textures, so the fluffy words were things he must have picked up in passing with Dandelion. If he were to reach out, he was sure she would fit snuggly in his arms.

The young witcher was lost in his observations, so when she abruptly stood straight, he had to work double to make sure she didn’t touch him. She turned; a bright smile that had the sun reflected in her eyes beamed at him. The map was being rolled in her hands and was shoved into a satchel that was hastily thrown over her shoulder.

“Thanks for doing this, Lambert. I think I’ll find the herb at the watchtower, but if not, there are three other places it might be. Of course, if you don’t want to, we could go out a different day if the tower is a bust.” His arms crossed over his chest, trying to shield himself from the onslaught of positivity.

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. ‘We’ could easily turn into a ‘you and someone else’. I was volunteered, and I doubt I’ll be as willing to waste my precious minutes next time.” He gave a smile that was tainted with sarcasm. Despite this, her hand had somehow made its way to his upper arm, and gave a light squeeze. Her smile faltered, telling him something hit home, but she put up a strong front.

“I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that this herb will help in covering my magic footprint. Therefore, we find this now, you won’t have to see me later. Volunteered or not, I’m sure you’ll find some joy from today’s journey somehow.” The feigned joy that radiated from her statement threw the man through the wringer again. The deflection by self-destruction in their first meeting had obliterated the jesting wall around his heart. It had defenses- it had to. One of the main defenses it had was what some would call bullying, but he usually never meant any jest he tossed. But it was like he threw a bomb at her, and by her using aard against herself, it blew the bomb back at his wall by getting caught in the gust. And again, he was taken back. He was familiar with the tactic, but only because it was something he used to do before the trials. If you bully yourself, no one else can find joy in doing it. He saw himself in that moment, and it made him wonder, what happened to her?

Lambert nodded, moving to give a grandiose wave of the arm.

“Lead the way.” With that, the two headed towards the tower. Luckily, there were trails leading to it, but unluckily for them, they met trouble. The mountains were crawling with bears, and while both Lambert and Y/n were fine with it, it seemed the bears weren’t fond of them. A smaller, yet fair size bear walked in the way of the path, though it looked to be alone.

Lambert was quick to pull his steel, but he stiffened when he felt the mage’s hand clamp around his that gripped the sword. His eyes glared towards her for a moment, but her eyes were still on the bear. She was completely still, which made Lambert roll his eyes. Then, her voice came out stiff, lips unmoving.

“Stay very still.” His eyes rolled, but decided not to move. He couldn’t smell any fear, but anxiety still came off in soft waves.

“That doesn’t really work. If someone from the School of the Bear heard that, they’d laugh at you.” He watched as her body shifted slowly, and only when she couldn’t see the bear’s eyes. After a minute of the standoff, she was behind him completely. The young bear looked baffled when she was gone, and started to move quickly towards them. Lambert brought his sword in front of him, but he heard a small, ‘get ready’ in his ear. His form broke when Y/n jumped onto his back. His hands automatically fell under her legs, and shifted her up. Despite catching her, he remained confused until he heard her make something between a roar and a scream. It was loud and full, but to him it sounded as if a kitten were impersonating a lion. The bear, who looked as though he was going to stand on his hind legs and strike, quickly fled. Lambert let her fall from his arms before picking up his discarded sword.

“That shouldn’t have worked.” He looked to her, who was smiling and looking quite pleased. She turned to face him, throwing her hands over her head, while curling her fingers to make fake claws.

“Well, we make quite the feral beast.” Lambert’s head was thrown back at the loud and powerful laugh that raked through him. He felt his shoulders quake, and his eyes close, but the other half of their ‘feral beast’ stood there blushing. Her hands fell back down by her sides, and she simply stood. When his laughing died down, and she still simply stood, he sensed her. He noticed the elevated heartrate and turned, hand on hilt, making sure another bear didn’t appear. When there was nothing, he turned back.

“What?” Her blush grew, and she bent to fix her boots and fiddle with her satchel. When everything seemed in order, she turned to start walking toward the tower again. The witcher followed, and after a moment, she looked to him.

“You have a beautiful laugh, is all.” Lambert immediately stiffened, but when he listened to her heart, he found she was telling the truth. It was still elevated, but the flush that was still spread overhear cheeks and neck was the reasoning for it. His brows still furrowed as they continued to the destroyed building.

It didn’t make sense. People don’t like Lambert. He was brash and blunt, neither attribute highly sought after. Brutal honesty is what he gave because the other option was lying. Lying by sprinkling in a kindness that he knew didn’t exist in the world. There was little positivity that he gave because there was never any shown back to him. He knew that it wasn’t too fair, as he gave up looking for it. There were always moments when he would be shown that sun, but every other day was grey. And being a witcher at the core was the nail in the coffin. People didn’t want to interact with a mutated monstrosity, let alone like them. Or find their laugh beautiful.

The young witcher agreed with himself in putting up extra defenses. This random mage who was on the run wouldn’t get any closer to that fortress he called his heart. He tried to forget the multiple smiles she has thrown his way over the past week. The multiple times she received the bread bowl, and asked if he wanted any before taking some. The short, passing statements that showed a valley of pain behind the mountains of kindness. Forget those bright eyes that show no judgement for anything but herself.

Disappointment was obvious when they made it to the tower, and she couldn’t find it. Lambert stood by the entrance, watching with crossed arms and a dismissive look as her shoulders fell. His golden eyes fluttered over their surroundings for a moment, looking for wraiths or bears. He looked back to where Y/n had just been, but ran in when she was gone. He found her halfway up a tattered latter, a look of determination obvious.

“What are you doing? If Vesemir- hell, if Geralt sees me carrying you back to the fort with broken bones, it’ll be my ass on the chopping block. Get down.” While he was telling the truth, and his tone was harsh, he did feel worried. He is her escort, and he can’t have her getting hurt on his watch. If a strong witcher can’t protect her on a simple scavenger hunt, what would she think of him once she was better? Would she still smile at him? He doubted it, and the way he covered up his real reasonings didn’t matter. She didn’t know he needed her safe to see her smile at him willingly. Y/n turned, pointing up somewhere towards the remaining top of the turret. He could see her red, cold fingertips due to the fingerless gloves she decided to wear. While it was just frost and light snow that covered everything, the chances of her fall was too high.

“There’s a platform up there, and I’m gonna check.”

“No.”

“What?” He shook his head, putting his hands on her hips. He lifts her easily and places her softly back on the ground.

“I’ll go. What does it look like?” Again, Y/n simply stood there. She shook her head, while quickly going for her satchel.

“Uh, yeah, yeah. The herb. Give me a moment.” Lambert dropped his hands from her hips when she had to maneuver her bag over his arm. The mage pulled the book from her back, opening to the page with a small purple bud. “They’re hard to spot. If it’s open, don’t touch it. If it’s closed, give it a pinch. It should be hard to the touch despite its gentle looking exterior.” He nodded, and turned to the latter. It didn’t take too long to scale the rubble, finding the small buds. He did as she asked, and gathered a handful before jumping and flipping back down. When he landed, and presented the buds, her eyes sparkled much like they did when she first arrived.

“Are you going to take them, or did I do all of that for nothing?” Again, she shook herself back to reality, tearing her eyes from his face. He didn’t feel it happen, but a small smile crept onto his face. He wasn’t even trying to impress, much like he would in the courtyard. Her fingertips brushed the heel of his hand as she gathered the buds, and he felt a yearning he hadn’t felt before. He was right; her skin was soft. Cold, but soft. He wanted those fingertips to brush over him again. One of the tips felt rough, likely from the same place those burns came from. But it was a pleasant difference, and something he’d love to explore.

“Perfect, Lambert.” Her voice was soft, and she hadn’t said anything after that. She smiled and turned, jerking her head to beckon him to follow. He did like a lost dog. They made their way back to the keep, Y/n rambling about the importance of the plant. There was an interlude in her speech when she asked, “How do wolves climb? Is that like a special power you have? How high can you climb? Can you do anything else as cool?” A smirk found its way to his face as they entered past the bridge.

“I frequent with people from the School of the Cat. I don’t think the others can do quite what I can. They don’t like when I hang with them, but I think it’s just jealousy. And yeah, I have a whole arsenal of tricks.” He smiled to her during his last statement that earned what he would classify as a giggle.

“Well, it was quite spectacular.” Lambert found his smirk falling, trying to figure out why that statement would be made. They made their way back to the main hall, where his eyes danced over the rest of the men at the table. “I’m going back to the library. Thank you again for the help.” Her hand flew back to his arm, giving another light squeeze. “If you want to show any other cool things from that school, I’d happily watch.” Lambert watched as the blushing mage flew to the stairs. Once they all heard her footsteps disappear, the men at the table start to chuckle. Lambert throws his swords onto the tabletop, falling in place next to Eskel. Before the brunette takes a drink, he jokes,

“No more Merigolds, Geralt. Our guest has to go.” More chuckles stirred around him, but he didn’t react from his hunched position, looking at the table.

That woman should be running from witchers. If she didn’t run from face value, she’d definitely run with a man riddled with rage and a torn past. Even if he wanted to pursue Y/n, there are multiple points in their courting where he knew she would run. He didn’t want to be fixed if she didn’t, and he knew those types. They think they can strut in and try to glue pieces back together. But it’s never right, and he is forced to break down the new image they tried to build. But there’s something more to her that makes him hesitate to brush her off completely. And the warmth he tried to deflect had gotten past those walls that kept his heart.

[lets-play-gwent]

Some Canary

Well, here it is! Thanks so much @chaotic-bard for the lovely prompt. I changed it just a smidge, but I think you’ll enjoy the final product. I plan on continuing this fic for at least a couple more chapters, that is, if people are interested :)  Complete story under the cut, soon to be on ao3. If you enjoyed it, please reblog! 

Chicago, 1932-- High profile mob families run almost every joint in the city, speakeasies launder money and sell bathtub gin through prohibition. Geralt Rivi is a lowly footsoldier for one of the most powerful bosses around: Tommy Morano himself. What is Geralt to do when he swoons for the son of rival gang leader Frank Pankratz?

The routine was so remarkably monotonous that the two men could almost rely on muscle memory alone. Approach the target, sit leaning slightly forward with hands clasped on top of the table. Do not remove hats or coats—this isn’t a permanent conversation. Keep eye contact with the target. Allow them to break the silence, subtly reminding them who has the power. The less chinning, the better. Let the reputation, and fists if necessary, do the talking. Once the target gets the picture, settle up or square up—no negotiating under any circumstances. Leave that to the big guys up top.

It was simple. A well-trained hound could do it. Why should tonight be any different? Geralt, none the wiser, was about to find out just how much his world could change in a night. His only warning? A few words from the night’s host and bandmaster.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and friends, now comes the time in the evening you’ve been waiting for. Without further ado, put your hands together for the lovely, the gorgeous, the sensational, Buttercup!”

It’s raining too hard for a cigarette, Geralt thinks to himself, reaching for the plain case in his pocket and carefully rolling a strip of tobacco and paper into a slender white cylinder. The paper dampened and drooped. Dammit. Turning up his collar against the wind, he walked towards the nearest dry patch of pavement he could find, a drugstore two blocks down. Ducking under the overhang, he lit his cigarette and took several long drags.

“Hey! Bum! Get outta ‘ere!” A short and rather lanky man was leaning out of the doorframe of the drugstore, shaking a broom and shouting. “We don’t want any trouble with the likes of yous!”

Geralt straightened his shoulders and grimaced hard at him. Despite the darkness of an autumn Chicago night, he could see the blood rush out of the man’s face, who quickly stammered an apology and slammed the door shut.

A rickety Ford pulled up to the curb. Geralt threw a quick glance up and down the street, stamped his cigarette butt into the gutter and climbed in.

“Where to tonight, boss?” His voice was gruff, hardened by years of smoking and a churly demeanor.

“The Passiflora. There’s a little fuckin prick there trying to weasel out of another payment. Collect 160 or take him out back and break his thumbs. Got it?”

Geralt gave a grunt and a curt nod in affirmation. He focused his gaze on the raindrops pattering against the window, toning out the superficial chatter of the three other men in the car. He hated the way they preened and boasted relentlessly at each other, always about some new broad or bar fight, sometimes both. He couldn’t stand the men he usually took shifts with, could barely keep their names straight, except for Lambert. Currently he was engrossed in recounting his latest run-in with cops—complete with obscene gestures and impressions—but when separated from the rest, Geralt found him tolerable, even funny at times. Yet, no matter how irritated he was, or how clever his jokes could be, Geralt knew never to rag on one of the Captains. Bottom-of-the-rung soldiers like him only needed to make that mistake once, and he had the scar on his jaw to prove it.

The brakes screeched in protest as the car slowed to a halt in front of an imposing brick warehouse. Lambert and Geralt climbed out, easily slipping into the ‘intimidating’ demeanor they carried for jobs like this. Lambert rapped on the door and waited. A small panel at eye level opened with a sharp crack, and a surly woman with a cigar and frizzy hair glared at the two men from behind the door.

“Who sent ya?” she said, puffing rank smoke directly into Geralt’s face. He cringed and turned away.

“Fat Sammy Morano and his cat,” Lambert replied, equally surly. The panel slammed shut, and almost simultaneously the door to their left creaked open a few inches.

Inside, Geralt’s eyes watered as his senses were assaulted with the bitter stench of bathtub gin. “I hate these fuckin places,” He rolled another cigarette. “Whose our guy?”

“The chrome dome with the green vest up by the stage. Let’s just get this over with and then we’ll get some grub, yeah?”

“Hmm,”

They wove through the tables together, trench coats occasionally brushing against a patron or chair. An irascible-looking waiter stopped them with a snide remark about wearing hats inside, and tried to seat them, but apparently one look from Lambert was enough to convey ‘don’t fuck with us’ because he quickly turned on his heel and attended to a nearby booth.

The routine was so remarkably monotonous that the two men could almost rely on muscle memory alone. Approach the target, sit leaning slightly forward with hands clasped on top of the table. Do not remove hats or coats—this isn’t a permanent conversation. Keep eye contact with the target. Allow them to break the silence, subtly reminding them who has the power. The less chinning, the better. Let the reputation, and fists if necessary, do the talking. Once the target gets the picture, settle up or square up—no negotiating under any circumstances. Leave that to the big guys up top.

It was simple. A well-trained hound could do it. Why should tonight be any different? Geralt, none the wiser, was about to find out just how much his world could change in a night. His only warning? A few words from the night’s host and bandmaster.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and friends, now comes the time in the evening you’ve been waiting for. Without further ado, put your hands together for the lovely, the gorgeous, the sensational, Buttercup!”

The curtain rose to reveal a lean man in a dazzling pigeon gray pinstripe suit. Humbly waving down the audience’s raucous applause, Buttercup began to pluck at the delicate strings of his guitar. His voice—silvery and saccharine, yet somehow still mellow—rang clearly through the now silent room.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

Geralt was suddenly thankful for the chair next to him and quickly sat, trying to catch his breath. Years later, every time he told this story, he insisted that his Buttercup stole the air right out of his chest.

Say ‘nighty-night’ and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me

While I’m alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

Gone was his sour expression, gone was the rank smell of moonshine. The scratched wooden floor and sticky tables of the speakeasy seemed to fall away, leaving only two men, one guitar, one spotlight, and a long-forgotten smoldering cigarette.

Stars fading, but I linger on dear

Was it Geralt’s imagination, or was the singer… looking at him…?

Still craving your kiss

His hair, slicked back and shining underneath the stage lights, reminded Geralt of a Clark Gable movie poster he once saw. Had he ever noticed someone’s hair before?

I’m longing to linger ‘till dawn dear

His eyes, his face, his hands, were the most beautiful Geralt had seen in his life. Those lips, soft and pink, shaped so delicately around the words of the song, he found himself staring at them, wondering how they’d feel…

Just saying thi-is…

A sharp smack upside the back of his head brought him sailing down from the stars back to the speakeasy. Back to the job, where Lambert and the target were staring at him, the former’s face covered in bewildered rage, the latter’s face still shaken, albeit slightly confused.

“As we were saying—” Lambert emphasized the last two syllable’s in Geralt’s face, who cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders once more.

“You can se—ttle up now, or we’ll take it out back,” All three men at the table tried desperately to ignore the voice crack that took every drop of intimidation out of his words.

Nevertheless, the target fell into the familiar routine, terrified of Lambert if nothing else. “Aw jeez come on boys, you know I always come through, I just need a little more time is all, just until next week I pro—” he was suddenly on top of the table, Lambert’s fist pulling his shirt collar far too forward for comfort.

“Out back it is,”

The two men stood and strode quickly towards the side door, the target scrambling to keep up with the fist still clutching his shirt. Geralt took one last glance back at Buttercup, who to his utter surprise, was glaring at the group as they left the hall.

…

A dull crack echoed down the alley as Lambert’s fist left the target’s face. He groaned and stumbled to the side, bracing himself against damp bricks. “Pl—please, my wife—”

“I don’t want to hear it. 160 today, or we come back and fuck you up for real,” He dealt another blow, this time aiming for the target’s stomach. Two more hits and he was coughing and sputtering.

Geralt stood to the side, keeping watch on the street for any unlucky passersby. Keep your cool, focus on the job, he thought to himself, rolling another cigarette, thankful that the rain finally let up. The rattle of a doorknob and sudden burst of light, however, startled the paper and tobacco right out of his hands.

“Why good evening fells, waiting at the stage door for me? My my, a bit forward isn’t it?” Buttercup draped himself carefully against the doorframe, but his smirk faltered as he took in the blood dripping down the bald man’s face and the imposing nature of the trench coat cornering him against the wall. “Is there some sort of problem here?”

“Scram, kid, this doesn’t concern you,”

“Why, sir, don’t be so shy! I’m sure we can come to an… understanding…” he winked at the two bewildered racketeers and sauntered gracefully down the stairs. “I’m Julian. Aren’t you two a coupla tall glasses of trouble? Might have my hands full tonight,” Geralt carefully controlled his expression, trying to ignore Julian’s intoxicating smile and the fluttering in his chest. “What’s your name, hon?” He was addressing the target now.

“Eu—Eugene” A quite preoccupied Eugene held his bleeding nose in one hand and wrapped an arm around his midsection. “P-please—mister, I don’t-t have it all now, j-just just give me until next week, hey? N-n-next week, I promise, sound reasonable fellas?”

“Shut up!” Lambert barked.

“Now now! That’s no way to treat a faithful patron of the Passiflora, now is it? Eugene here is a friend of mine—” Julian strode over to the wall where Lambert was towering over the target and nudged his way between the two men. “Tips well and brings friends in whenever he can. Lord knows I owe him some money, why don’t I settle up?”

Lambert’s face darkened. Straightening his shoulders and looking down, he towered over the performer. “Don’t make me say it again, kid. This doesn’t concern you. Go back to your dressing room.”

Julian only laughed, seemingly impervious to the serious threat levied against him. The sound—so musical, even gentle—made Geralt’s breath catch in his chest.

Shock, confusion, and then comprehension quickly flashed across Lamberts face as he found himself with a fistful of cash. Counting it quickly, he grabbed Geralt’s arm and pulled him towards the street. “Let’s get out of here, before I do something stupid,”

“Toodeloo, sweethearts!” Julian called after them, helping Eugene stagger back into the building.

…

The car was quiet except for the rumble of the engine.

“Some canary, huh?”

“SOME CANARY? SOME?? CANARY??” Lambert’s voice was shrill with fury. “YOU FALL HEAD OVER GODDAMN HEELS FOR THE SON OF MORANO’S WORST FUCKING ENEMY, AND ALL YOU CAN SAY IS SOME? FUCKING? CANARY? JESUS CHRIST GERALT WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR HEAD?”

“You mean that’s—”

“You guessed, it bub. That’s Julian Pankratz, of the Pankratz crime family. You know, those German pricks who’ve been trying to take down Morano for the past FIFTEEN YEARS??”

Geralt coughed out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, some canary…”

************

I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Here’s a link to the song jaskier sings :)) 

[gayregis]

Hi good morning can we talk about twn ciri for a sec? There is something about the way she’s portrayed by the actress that just drives me CRAZY and I don’t know quite how to put my finger on it. I think she’s just so reserved and serious and haughty, whereas in the books she’s really playful and lively and exaggerated and just?? Has emotions?? And also I was spoiled by Peter Kenny’s fantastic accent for ciri and can’t think of her any other way. ANYWAY WHAT R UR THOUGHTS CUZ IM SURE THEY’RE GOOD

ohohoh yes. just as a prefacee and for context, freya allan (ciri’s actress) is 18 years old, and i am 19 years old, so to say i didn’t like her acting in twn isn’t me bullying or being harsh on a minor. in addition, i also don’t think her acting was bad. i think her acting was great, but it was just out of character for ciri, at least the ciri we know from the books... i do not think the directors treated ciri with enough weight as she needed to have in the narrative. like with yennefer, they gave her way more screen time and much less significance in the overall story, because the moments that they gave them to be on screen were just pure filler with no effect on the character development, relationship development, setting, themes... the audience never learned anything useful when they were on screen, besides lore about aretuza and cintra that would immediately escape their minds after the episode was done.

i know for a fact that this “out of character” acting for ciri (her being “so reserved and serious and haughty”) was a result of the directors and people running the show, and NOT freya herself as an actress. like with joey batey and anya chalotra i think, they got the short stick in this deal. they’re actors, so their profession is to act, but they don’t always get to decide HOW they’re supposed to act and portray these beloved characters. that’s what the director is for, right? to direct how scenes play out, to make sure the characters are in-character. and the writers are the ones that write the actors’ lines and the scenes they exist in, so “then it’s just like any other place,” or “who’s yennefer,” and other ridiculous garbage throwaway lines were the writers’ fault and not the actors. i just think it’s important to establish that even though yes, freya is an older teenager/young adult, she’s not responsible for a lot of decisions involving ciri and the character. plus since she is 18 and just got done being 17, i feel like this is the first time she’s actually been able to legally make her own decisions. 

plus in this topic, because i’ve never mentioned it anywhere before, i’d like to bring light to how it’s super shady of netflix to decide to hire an actress for ciri who is BARELY an adult actor, because child actors (as opposed to adult ones) are restricted by many different laws concerning how many hours they can work, etc. the fact that freya is 18 means that they can give her more work and disregard any regulations that may have applied to a child actor, and i think i literally read this from lauren hissrich in an interview, that “older actors are easier to work with than child actors” or something like this, that it’s difficult to shoot with child actors due to the immense restrictions. so although they phrased the casting choice for freya allan more in the sense of “well, we were GOING to cast someone younger, but freya was just so fantastic in auditions that we NEEDED her in this production” is suspicious to me, i think they did it so they wouldn’t have to deal with the headache of laws surrounding child actors (note that i do NOT doubt that freya is a great actress, i liked her acting, i mean look at the scenes she is in! she is actually acting, unlike henry cavill).

speaking of henry cavill, anyone want to mention his 19 year old girlfriend or his “opinions” on the #MeToo movement? no? my more conspiratorial theory is that they might have just wanted to get a barely legal actress for ciri because if cavill were to “do anything”... ahem... it would be less complicated for all of the legality than if he “did anything” to a child. i’m not calling cavill a r*pist but he has made his views on women explicitly clear, and a LOT falls under the umbrella of sexual assault and harassment. innappropriate comments, etc... i don’t trust him to respect women just as much as i don’t trust him to act.

that was a big preface that pretty much went nowhere, apologies... but i think it’s significant to look at the context around the actor or actress when they’re likely being a tad exploited on set. but yes, ciri does come off as super out of character to me in the majority of scenes she is in. it’s because her character was set up to be a white feminist fantasy of being declared innocent from the sins of her family because she feels bad about it, with her “being so privileged and then she finds out her grandmamma committed mass genocide and she has to realize that her royal ways!” instead of anything related to what we see in the books, of a vulnerable child losing that childhood and trying to cling to some sense of normalcy and family. they set her up as “a princess” and not “a child.” 

in the books, she’s just a child, and then geralt learns she’s a princess and teases her that she doesn’t look much like one, being lost in a forest with a snotty nose... she’s not introduced in a royal court surrounded by noble guests. i doubt that books ciri spent all of her time in court, either... according to the lore, she wouldn’t even be able to sit down and she would have to stand in calanthe’s presence (season of storms, the princes must stand in the royal court alongside their father while coral gets to sit because she is a sorceress... of course, this is cidaris and not cintra, but it still stands). she is a princess, but she has difficulty acting like one... it’s something i’d rather erase from my mind because it’s one of those “problematic points of canon that only exist because they live in a medieval society,” but it’s made clear that calanthe gave ciri the belt for misbehaving, multiple times. ciri is obviously interested in more childlike pursuits and acts outside of her station a lot. after all, she is the reason that their entourage got pulled into brokilon in the sword of destiny, because ciri fucking ran away since she didn’t want to be brought to and married off to prince kirsten of verden.

again on ciri’s age, she was 8 or 9 when we first meet her in the books, and 14 when we meet her in the netflix series. that’s a vast amount of difference in age, not only by years, but by development and experience. an 8 year old is a 3rd grader, a 14 year old is a high school freshman. i think that makes a lot of difference in not only how much agency a character is treated with, but how an audience views them. i mean, 14 is a good age for a YA novel protagonist - think harry potter or percy jackson. ciri in the netflix adaptation was set up more as someone relatable (to those younger watching) as she’s like the hero of her own story! she escapes from her evil evil evil pursuers and has this great power she doesn’t yet understand! whereas books ciri is meant more for an audience to feel like geralt toward - protective, parental, you find a child in the middle of the woods, and you’re thinking, “what’s with this... sassy lost child?”

sapkowski is also the master of a good character reveal. i think ciri, cahir, regis, even characters like vilgefortz, have these GREAT reveals as to who they were all along! surprise, surprise, there is no black knight of cintra, it’s just a young man paralyzed with fear and pain! surprise, surprise, the guy that knew a lot about vampires and lived near a cemetery and dresses in all black is a vampire (ok, this reveal is weaker... but you’ve got to admit, the actual reveal scene... alright). 

ciri had a GREAT character reveal in the books. since we see everything from geralt’s perspective, she’s just some child, she’s just some brat geralt finds in the wilderness, he doesn’t have ANY reason to feel any sort of way to her, and he practically adopts her and she feels safe with him. he recognizes her vulnerability as a child and does anything to protect her and guide her. this is what is meant by “something more,” their relationship from the beginning was something more than strictly destiny. destiny may have led them together, but it did not make them become family, they did that themselves. and later when geralt learns that ciri is the princess of cintra, the child surprise promised to him, does he even consider destiny as part of the equation. and this is actually what drives them apart, because geralt believes that he will and refuses to ruin her life by introducing her to the blade, and thus, death. because it’s not incredibly special that ciri is a child surprise, i wouldn’t say it’s horribly common, but it’s not like she’s the only one. and she’s definitely not the only child to be taken/taken in and raised by witchers. and geralt knows what being raised as a witcher is like, and he refuses to do that to her, because he actually loves this child as his daughter. and this is where the conflict stems from, because geralt spit in destiny’s face and said, fuck you, i’m not going to hurt this child. and destiny said, i’m going to hurt her anyways.

in the netflix series? the first time we see ciri... is in cintra! the surprise is RUINED!! child surprise, more like child already-revealed. the audience has no reason to watch anymore, because we already know who she is and what happens to her. they literally kill calanthe and eist off in the first episode, and then expect the audience to CARE about them during episode 4 when they adapted a question of price. in the books, dandelion telling geralt the accounts of the massacre of cintra was a heavy scene, it was a tragic scene, and you knew somehow that it was geralt’s fault because of how he had refuted destiny, you had the lore on your side if you had been reading the stories beforehand, you understood why this was happening and what has happened to ciri.

also side note, i sincerely think the massacre of cintra is better coming from geralt’s best friend, someone he’s known for years and trusts immensely, also a poet so his account is horrifyingly immaculate and it really hits that mark of chilling, rather than geralt just... idk being there? i didn’t watch this far but he showed up to cintra and calanthe threw him in jail? this makes no sense, why would she... anyways. but yes, dandelion is a character that serves to be there for geralt, so it makes sense for him to tell geralt about cintra because then geralt can respond and thus demonstrate to the readers/audience all of the emotions about it that he is feeling.

but yeah so to summarize, my thoughts are that ciri really comes off as a weaker character in the netflix series than in the books because:

they treated her as older and introduced her as the lion cub of cintra and not as just some child found in the woods, taking BOTH the “child” and “surprise” out of “child surprise”

they removed geralt’s paternal relationship to her and why exactly he is significant in her story, and hyped up the “destiny” thing instead, which came off as completely meaningless, not to mention annoying to hear repeated when there has been no significance developed behind the word. i mean, they cut out both brokilon and something more (i will NOT accept that scene as the ending scene of something more. that wasn’t a hug fit to pick your kid up from afterschool, much less a hug that you run towards your kid with when you thought they perished and you were responsible for it, when you risked your life just to maybe be able to see them again. there was also no dialogue, no “geralt, you’ve found me! after all this time! i knew it! i’m your destiny! say it, i’m your destiny? am i your destiny?” “you’re much more than that, ciri. much more.” so that sucked).

they chose an older actress for ciri, likely to evade having to respect their actors by working within the confines of child labor laws, but not only this, they treated her older in the narrative and made the viewer empathize with her instead of with geralt, the parent... ciri only is supposed to become a “relatable” character when she reaches 13 or 14, in blood of elves and in time of contempt.

they reduced the significance of how deep her trauma was from the massacre of cintra (she makes one offhand comment about how cahir had a bird on his head... that’s not gonna cut it for me. she’s so far experienced a total of zero nightmares about the black knight of cintra).

they gave her a bunch of filler scenes that had absolutely no impact on the broad story or her character development or relationships with other characters (doppler plot). they also made her arc surround unlearning being a princess and finding what epic powers she might have, and nothing comes from both of these points. she doesn’t develop any character because of these points, they’re just there for more filler.

a tad unrelated but: they made yennefer’s wanting a child more of an obsession than a goal the character just happens to have, and have sexualized her character immensely, moreso than in the books... plus the fact that they made her super appealing to the audience and to every other character including geralt from the start (she’s not someone who is icy at first, then warms up), makes me feel like we are never going to get ciri and yennefer at ellander. ever. i just can’t imagine it with this ciri and this yennefer from the netflix series.

[dandelion-vines]

Anon asked for sex slave jask used in public? Don’t remember much else but hope ya like it!

Warnings: dubcon, breathplay, implied noncon, stockholm syndrome, painful sex, cock&ball slapping

——

Jaskier kneels by Geralt, much too close to Master, but it's loud and scary, and he just wants to go back to the inn and sleep. His listens, comforted by Master's voice above him, talking to the townsfolk about some monster or another, an anchor in the bustle of the tavern.

He wonders why he'd hated this so much, when Geralt had first held him down post-hunt and fucked him senseless, wonders why he's resisted calling him Master and resented him for being forbidden to play his music, do much else but be a good whore for Geralt.

Geralt is fair, takes care of him, keeps him fed and safe, and if being cared for means letting the witcher own his mind and body? Well, it's a small price to pay.

He hears Master growl, already tired with a day of being cheated out of pay for too-many monsters, when a barmaid sloshes some beer, spilling it over Jaskier.

Fantastic, he thinks as she mutters apologies, eyes wide with fear, he's drenched, and Master is angry. He wants to slap her, make her see just how disrespectful she's been to his Master, but it's not his place. Jaskier is Geralt's slave, not his wife.

Geralt waves her off, and Jaskier snuggles into Master's leg, beer soaking into his shirt, making him shiver. 

"Strip, Jaskier." He turns his attention back to his conversation. Jaskier's already overwhelmed, the sounds and scents of the tavern make him dizzy, and he only presses closer, a soft whine escaping his lips.

He doesn't hear the warning in Geralt's voice when he says his name again, doesn't realize he's even spoken to till fingers drive into his jaw, forcing his mouth open as Master brings him to stand.

"I told you to strip, Slut.” They've never done this, not in front of people, and Jaskier is scared, exposed as his master's voice booms through the dingy tavern. 

Before Jaskier can do much else, he's being shoved onto the table and gods, how has this gone so wrong— Geralt rips his clothes off ("Have to do everything myself, don't I, whore? Fucking useless.), the only sound in the shocked silence of the room, eyes trained on him, filled with pity.

"Master, ple—" His head snaps to the side with a slap, his face stinging and likely red. "Ge—" 

 Another slap, only it's to his cock, balls drawing up in pain as a low whine escapes him.

"You're here for me; you listen to fucking me when I say—" Jaskier yelps, thrashing as Geralt punctuates each of his words with a slap to his balls, "Take. your. clothes. off." 

Shame makes Jaskier's face red, tears welling in his eyes as Geralt spreads his cheeks, gaping from when he'd been fucked amongst kikimore guts only hours ago. He feels so exposed, barmaids and drunkards looking on in either pity or lust as Geralt spits onto his hole, biting his lip as he feels it slide into him. 

Jaskier's eyes widen as he feels the tip of master's cock rub against him, "Geralt, please you'll—" He screams, loud and pained as Geralt shoves his cock inside him, feels his body fucking part for the his dick, his hole too loose to even grip an average man's cock but a witcher's dick feels like it's tearing him in two. 

It's rough and fast and Jaskier sobs, unabashed as Geralt fucks into him, the frustrations and furies of the day taken out on him in front of strangers. He feels Geralt's fingers in his hair, twisting into it and turning his face to the side, ass up as his face presses into the table

"Didn't want you getting sick, little lark," Geralt snarls, his chest pressed against Jaskier's back. "Wanted to be good to you— and look, I have to punish you know, in front of all these people, stupid little thing," Jask flinches as the witcher slaps at his face again, wet sobs escaping his throat.

It's not even the people watching him, feeling so exposed that's the worst part. Geralt sounds so disappointed in him and he wants to fucking snivel, beg for another chance to prove himself a worthy whore. Geralt straightens, fucking into him as be brings down a smattering of spanks, and Jaskier tries to hold still like a good bitch, tense as he clenches round Master.

His head spins as Geralt pulls out— he's pumped full of cum, enough for it to lazily run down his thigh. What a sight he must make, skin red, hole gaping to the roomful of people who stare at him, the aftermath of a spectacle.

Geralt helps him off the table, brushes of the grime from the table, fingers running over Jaskier's cheek to ease the creases of wood before throwing him over his shoulder. Jaskier's half awake, feeling wrought out as Geralt grips his asscheek, putting his twitching hole's desperate attempt at closing again on display as he walks through the room, people parting to make way as Geralt lays him on the stage, sitting down at the table closest to it.

Jaskier's limp, naked against the wood, head spinning. He thinks he hears Master say something, but he doesn't quite hear it, only feels the vibration of footsteps and what feels like a million hands against his skin. His eyes glaze over as someone prods at his hole—

Mhh, go ahead. Slut needs to be taught that he has to obey.

Jaskier feels a cock push into him, another joining alongside it as someone squats over his face, cunt against his lips.

Come morning, he's covered with slick and cum, limp and pliant as Geralt watches on in contentment.

[diamondcamefromhell]

Timeless love

Jaskier x female!reader part 4

[PART 1]  [PART 2]   [PART 3]

Summary: This is an AU, where Y/N is a young woman, trying to make ends meet with her freelancing writing job. She lives in her small Nottingham studio apartment along with her cat Apollo. Things change when one evening as she is waiting for her taxi, she meets what she thinks is Joey Batey, but the man in front of her is convinced he’s Jaskier, a character from her current favorite show. Y/N now has to figure out what to do.

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,124

A/N: first of all, thank u for positive reviews and kind comments on this story so far, again, it is kind of a slow burner, everything is moving slowly but this is what the story really is, as its taking place in our world, where no dragons or strigas exist and the biggest monsters are, well.. humans? ya kno

but anyways, any and all feedback is appreciated <3

I have to cut our loses. We spend a good hour outside, wondering around my apartment building. But we find nothing, not even a smallest hint of what happened to make Jaskier end up here. The bard stays quiet for most of the search, as I can tell he is still very much worried about me.

He only speaks when he sees a car pass by, as it startles him so much he immediately jumps behind me. I explain to him what it is, or try to, and he relaxes a little. Still flinching whenever a car goes by, though.

We rush inside, before Dave decides to visit again, as I lock the door. Apollo comes to greet us, meowing, but I ignore my friend, as anxiety washes over me and I can barely contain it. I know my companion feels it, as he glues himself to me, following my every step as I rush to the kitchen.

I see Jaskier sit at the couch again, not saying anything. I want to break the silence, but know my voice would shake, and I didn’t want to worry him even more. I throw some toast in the toaster, I will offer him a meal as an apology. I put butter and cinnamon on toast, bringing it to him. I set the plate on the coffee table, sitting down.

“I’m sorry.” I apologize, as the man looks at me. I can’t put my finger on it, but his expression makes me feel weird.

“Don’t be, I over-stepped.” I shake my head, pressing my lips together. I am willing to swallow a bit of my pride for this man.

“No Jaskier. I just… I made a promise. To the stars.” I close my eyes, scared of him judging me. This way, at least I don’t have to see it. “That I would make it on my own. Whatever that it may be. I don’t like it when people help me or try to be nice to me. Makes me feel… weak.”

“But everyone needs help from time to time.” There is no judgement in his voice, so I open my eyes. He gives me a kind smile, as Apollo jumps in my lap, purring. “You are helping me, does it mean I am weak?”

“No.” I say, biting the inside of my mouth, trying to stop the water works from leaking.

“Then why are you weak, if I help you a little?” I can’t answer that, so I just look down, at my cat, who is now napping, soundly. He has a point. “You’re being unfair on yourself. Allow me to say this, Y/N, even my great friend Geralt needs help sometimes. And he’s the bloody Witcher. It does not make him any weaker, if anything, it shows strength.”

“I know.” My voice shakes a little, as I wipe my nose. My eyes may be dry, but nose was runny. “It’s just, I prefer to be alone.”

“I used to say that.” His mind drifts far away. I cant help but admire how beautiful he manages to look. “But I hated nothing more than being alone.”

“I have Apollo.” I argue. He sighs, looking at me.

“Y/N.” He speaks to me like I am a child. We lock eyes, and I see so much care in his gaze, I want to run away. But I stay. “You need people.”

“Either way.” I say, ignoring him. I am barely holding back the tears. “Eat your meal. I have something to show you.”

I spring to my feet. Showing him moving pictures may be a good enough distraction for now. Introducing him to some of the great Internet, so we can avoid the sensitive topics. I look down to see my hands still shaking, so I rush to the bathroom.

There I see Jaskier clothes in a pile on the floor. I sigh, folding them, as tears escape my eyes. I turn on the faucet, making sure the bard can’t hear my heavy breaths and sniffling. It takes me a couple of minutes of crying to clam down. I wash my face, avoiding looking in the mirror. I stop the faucet and flush the toilet, purely because I am scared to go out just yet.

When I do, however, he doesn’t look at me, and I feel relieved. I rush to the bed, grabbing my laptop, soon landing next to him. Our legs touch and I feel the build up static shock me, so I jump back. He giggles, but I ignore that, opening up the computer, entering my password in a quick move.

One glance at him, and I see how mesmerized he is, my heart feels like it will burst. I take a couple deep breaths, wondering what I could show him.

YouTube and Netflix both were dangerous, as they could have his show on the main page, I still bite the bullet, turning the screen from his eyes, going to youtube. As expected, my feed is filled with recommended videos from Joey Batey. I stare at Jaskier for a moment, wondering if somehow he could be Joey, just very confused and lost one. But then I remember the Instagram story, and know I’m grasping at straws.

I search for cat videos, not sure what else to show him. What would interest a man who thinks he is from a fantasy world?

“Look.” I say, pressing play. It seems like his eyes are about to fall out as he stares at the screen, I giggle landing my hand on his. “Relax.”

“What is this magic?” I pause the video, pulling my hand away. Our eyes meet.

“This, Jask, is video. Moving pictures, if you will.” He still seems confused. “We have these things called cameras, that can take not-moving images of a moment, so you can cherish it, or can take moving things, like this cat video. There is even more, people create characters and stories and film them.”

“Do you have a camera?” I nod, putting laptop on the table, as I rush to get my Canon. I come back, turning it on. I decide to use the view finder. I sit next to him. “Here.”

“How do I use it?” He asks, twisting it around, before he begins staring at the screen.

I explain. Then he takes some pictures, of my room, me, my laptop and Apollo. I take some of him, and we even try to take some together, as we both laugh, trying to fit in that small space.

Then I show him some films. I start with my personal favourite and a classic – Titanic. Stopping whenever he get’s to confused, explaining things. We move to more and more films, only taking a break when we both get hungry.

I take the chance and sacrifice my wallet and order us some pizza, which he seems to like. He tries his first fizzy drink, Sprite, and at first he hates it, but I see him sip it more and more as the day progresses.

It keeps up for a couple of weeks. We spend days watching movies as he slowly learns more about the way my world works. We spend some of my savings as I order different take out, but eventually he helps me cook some dinner for us. He slowly, but surely adapts.

Until it all crashes down.

I go to use the bathroom, leaving Jaskier at the laptop. When I come out, however, he is on his feet, anxiously walking around. I stop, my heart dropping to my feet. I see Joey’s face on the screen. No, not his.

I see Jaskier. A video of him, in the tavern, signing.  

He probably went to YouTube And found a video of himself. And a whole lot of questions.

My gaze goes from the screen, to the man, who has stopped pacing, and now is staring at me. His eyes burn, as I see betrayal written all over it. I don’t know what he even thinks is going on and I don’t know how I can explain it to him.

“Jaskier, please.” I point to the couch, but he just shakes his head. I put my hands behind my back, so he wouldn’t see them shake.

“What does that mean?” He asks, as his voice breaks. I feel my heart shatter.

“Please, sit down.” I try to plea, my voice slightly shaky.

“Just tell me what it means!” I flinch at his yell, fighting back the tears. No matter how much it hurts me, I know that he was hurting so much more.

“I don’t know.” I say, and that is the honest truth. His shoulders hang low. “Jaskier, I don’t know.”

“I’m a character.” His voice fills with disgust, as a sudden rush of bravery washes over me. I step to him, grabbing his shoulders.

“You’re so much more than that. You’re here.” I plead again, forcing him to look at me. “You’re you.”

“I’m not even real.” He hisses, escaping my grip. I wrap my hands around myself, as I continue staring at him, as he walks around. Looking for something, anything probably. Wanting things to make sense.

“Then am I crazy and just imagining you? Dave saw you too, Jaskier.” I raise my voice, which makes him stop pacing. Our eyes meet. “You are as real as me. This world just isn’t yours. How that happened, I don’t know, and we will get you home.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There is so much hurt in his voice that I want to hide under my bed. Run away. Escape. But I choose to stay, for him.

“There is no easy way to say something like this. I don’t even know what this is!” My voice cracks, and that makes Jaskier’s expression soften a little. The storm is passing. “Yes, I recognized you as Joey because he plays you. But you are more than Jaskier we can see on tv. You’re more.”

“Y/N.” Tears escape and that completely washes any and all anger the bard might have had. He comes to me, pulling me towards himself, until we are in an embrace.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” I sheepishly say, as he rubs my back. “Hiding it wasn’t right. But explaining this… it’s just unexplainable.”

“I can’t expect you to have all the answers.” I shake my head, as he hugs me tighter. I hear him sigh. “I’m sorry. I scared you. You were trying to protect me.”

“You had a right to be mad.” I say, as tears finally seem to stop. I wipe my eyes and nose to my sleeve, but Jaskier doesn’t let me go just yet.

“You’ve been nothing, but kind to me. You gave me a home.” He lands a kiss on my forehead, as my heart melts. “I should be thanking you.”

He now lets me go. I wrap my hands around me, as I watch him go to the laptop, give it one final look, as he closes it. My heart breaks and I know he probably will look at it more. When I leave him alone, or at night. He will hurt himself more but he will never show me.

Because he knows it would hurt me too.

“When you said who you were, Jask, I didn’t believe it. I’ve seen the show. That’s how I knew about Geralt and Yen.” I confess, as he looks at me. His face expressionless. “That’s also why it was so easy to take you home. It felt like I knew you. Because if you were who you said you are… I’ve seen you. You were already part of my world.”

“You liked me?” He asks, crossing his arms. I can’t help but smile.

“I did. You were truly my favourite.” That makes him smirk, but his eyes remain sad. “Getting to know you, only furthers that.”

“I want to watch the show.” He says, and I knew he would. I bite inside of my mouth, as I think about it.

“I can’t stop you from watching your own story, Jask.” I say, hugging myself tighter. “I cant try and protect you anymore.”

“Watch it with me.” Our eyes lock as my heart skips a beat. He seems so sad and scared.

“Of course.” I say, swallowing back more tears.

So we watch it. We watch his story unfold. I avoid looking at him during these eight hours, scared of what he may look like. After the finale, I pause the show before another one starts. There is silence between us as I finally look at him.

He has tears in his eyes, and for a second time today, I feel my heart shatter.

[PART FIVE]

~~~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST [if you want to be added or removed from this list, let me know <3]

@ultracolorfulnerdcollection ; @viyamystic ; @sleepyblossom ; @killjoy-acid-crash ; @halszka-potter <33

[azure-story-corner]

Let Me Be Gay For the Bard | Chapter 4

Chapter 4

(Y/N) had fallen asleep sometime near dawn. He leaned against a tree, his arms across his chest. Jaskier found it odd that he woke early in the morning finding the adventurer sleeping. The bard looked at him and smiled slightly, he ended up making breakfast for the two of them. (Y/N) woke to the smell of cooking meat. He groaned stretching, his back ached from leaning against the tree. “Mornin’,” he muttered a tired yawn slipping past his lips. “You sleep well Jaskier?” he asked, getting up and joining him by the fire. 

“I slept alright, it has been a while since I found myself waking this early,” He said with a laugh. “Sorry for not waking you, I must have fell asleep before dawn,” (Y/N) said. “It's fine I much rather you get some sleep than stay up and be a tired ass,” he said, “Gods know Geralt was one while we travelled.” (Y/N) shook his head with a slight laugh. “Thanks, I will try to remember to not be an ass when half dead,” he said sitting beside the bard. The two spent much of the morning chatting as they began to pack for the day's journey. 

It's been three weeks since (Y/N) picked up Jaskier as a companion, the two men got along perfectly. (Y/N) found himself relaxing a bit and making jokes with the bard. He often would find himself laughing and occasionally teasing Jaskier when he would whine about the mud or occasional blood getting on his clothes. Jaskier would make lewd jokes or just try and make the other laugh as they walked along the trails to the next town. 

“(Y/N) I don’t know what you thought it would be funny to shove me into that puddle,” Jaskier grumbled as they walked in a town. “Jas, in my defense I didn’t think you would trip and fall face first,” (Y/N) said amused. Jaskier glared at the other male, soaked and covered slightly in mud. “How am I supposed to perform looking like this,” he whined, gesturing to his current attire. “I can get you a nice warm bath and buy you some new clothes,” (Y/N) said, “If that means you will forgive me.” “And some ale and I will forgive you,” Jaskier stated. “Alright deal,” (Y/N) said, opening the door to the inn. They just arrived in a decent size town after 3 days on the road. It was currently midday which gave (Y/N) enough time to go out and buy his friend some new clothes while he cleaned up. The two walked up to the counter, the innkeeper looking them up and down. “Could we get a room, a warm bath and directions to the nearest clothes shop,” (Y/N) asked the woman behind the counter. “Looks like you two got stuck in a mudslide,” the woman said with a slight laugh. “I assume you want the bath right away?” she asked handing them a room key as (Y/N) handed her the coin. “Yes please. And by chance could I perform for your lovely guests tonight?” Jaskier asked with a smile showing his still clean lute. “Not looking like that,” the woman stated. Jaskier frowned going to say something before being cut off by the woman. “Get cleaned up and then come talk to me. We have been in need of entertainment for a while bard.” Jaskier smiled once again. “Alright!” 

With that Jaskier pulled (Y/N) up to their room so he could get settled in and cleaned. 

Jaskier was the first into the warm water, a sigh leaving his mouth as he slipped in. (Y/N) walked into the room and looked at the other. “I sent your clothes off to be cleaned and got you a new outfit. Lucky that had something that fit your extravagant tastes dear bard,” (Y/N) said, leaning against the counter. 

“Awe, thank you (Y/N). You know I was joking when I said you had to buy me a new outfit,” Jaskier said from the tub with a laugh. “Well I felt bad,” the other muttered crossing his arms. “Well thank you again for being nice,” Jaskier said with a kind smile. “But you are still buying me my first drink tonight.” “Yes, I know Jas,” (Y/N) said, with a shake of his head. “Need some help or you good?” He asked. “I wouldn’t mind some help. I do enjoy being pampered at times,” Jaskier laughed. (Y/N) walked over to him and helped him clean his back. 

After Jaskier’s performance for the night (Y/N) kept his word and bought the bard his first drink for the night. (Y/N) watched as his friend got drunk and went off to see if he could get a lady for the night. (Y/N) took his eyes off the bard for nearly a minute to finish up a sketch in his journal when a yell caused him to look up. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WOMAN BARD!” a man’s voice boomed through the inn. 

“I wasn’t touching her, sir, merely talking there is a difference,” Jaskier said putting his hands up in defence. (Y/N) looked up to see Jaskier slowly putting his hands up a smirk on his face as he apologized to the large man.  “WHY YOU SMART LITTLE…” The man started angrily. Jaskier laughed, “No need to get so upset,” he said, cutting the other off. “You are so insecure about your prick that if your lovely lady dares to speak to another man you get upset. That sir is pretty upsetting,” Jaskier slurred with a laugh. “I bet you couldn’t even satisfy her which is why she was talking to me. Or maybe because I am at least 100 times better looking than you.” 

Jaskier countined muttering stupid insults to the man to the point that the larger man grabbed a hold of the bard’s tunic. This caused (Y/N) to get up and intervene. He grabbed the man’s arm and looked him in the eye. “Let go of my friend here. I apologize for what he said, he has had one too many drinks tonight,” (Y/N) said kindly. The man just glared at (Y/N), “Why should I?” “Well one, you punch a defenseless drunk bard, you will only be proving what he said true. You don’t need the whole town knowing that you beat the shit out of a man who was saying you had a tiny dick,” he said with a slight smirk. “Wouldn’t help ya with business now would it?” 

The man just huffed glaring at the two as he shoved Jaskier away. “Watch your self bard if I see ya talking to my lady again I will beat ya good,” he growled turning around and leaving the inn. (Y/N) sighed and grabbed Jaskier by the arm and dragged him back to their spot. “You didn’t need to save me, I had it under control,” Jaskier slurred following after (Y/N). “Sure you did, you looked as if you were about to get the beating of your life,” (Y/N) said with a sigh. “I don’t feel like getting kicked out cause you decided to try and fuck a married lady.” Jaskier looked at the other and narrowed his eyes. “No, I could have handled it. I think you are just jealous,” Jaskier teased. “J-Jealous?!” (Y/N) responded with his eyes wide, “Now why would I be jealous?”   

“Because I am able to get women and you can’t,” he stated with a smirk. “Gods you are drunk,” (Y/N) muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First off I probably could get more women than you, if I was even interested in women. Second I wouldn’t be trying to go off and fuck married women.” 

Jaskier looked at him confused at first then his eyes got wide. “Wait, you like men?” he asked surprised. “I do too, men are quiet nice at times.” (Y/N) shook his head. “Gods Jas I already told you… wait since when did you like men?” (Y/N) asked, raising an eyebrow in question. “Since forever, I just get weird looks if I flirt with guys,” He said with a shrug. (Y/N) just sighed, “Well this is going to be an interesting talk when you are sober. “

He looked at Jaskier before getting up. “I am heading to bed, just try and not get you ass kicked,” he said as he made his way to the stairs. 

“Wait, let me join you,” Jaskier said, getting up and following the other to their room.  (Y/N) sighed waiting at the top of the stairs for the other. Once Jaskier was up there (Y/N) ushered him into their room before closing the door. Jaskier ended up flopping onto the bed taking up a good amount of it as (Y/N) took off his boots and tunic before getting in. “Jas you need to move over,” he said pushing on the bard. Jaskier didn’t move. “Jas, I am serious you are taking up over half the bed,” he said with a groan. Another push, still no response. “I swear if you fell asleep already,” he muttered. Turned out the bard was asleep, a sigh left the other as he got up and moved the other taking off his boots before getting back into bed. “Asshole,” he muttered before falling asleep.  

Chapter 1

Next Chapter

[ladylilibet]

Tainted Love|Chapter 1.

I/II/III/IV/V

Tainted Love -- How can you tell a lady no? The White Wolf claimed he needed no one, but his collection of misfits started with Lady Helena of Oxenfurt... and ended with her, too. 

                           Chapter One: 𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖂𝖍𝖔 𝕮𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕯𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗

Helena pricked her finger on her embroidery needle yet again. With a curse, she threw her hoop down in frustration. Her governess shot her a glare but said nothing as she worked on her own stitching. The girl mouthed an apology and picked up her book.

Being the daughter and the only heir of a duke had its perks. Besides having the best education on the continent her fingertips, she had the wealth and splendor to go with it. And yet here she sat, still feeling empty. She wanted to live like the characters in her books. To fight with a sword, sleep under the stars, travel. She felt trapped.

'I bet that the heroes in these narratives didn't have to wear a corset that was too tight.' She thought as she fidgeted in her chair. Now she would be allowed to walk along the main road in town and do her daily window shopping. But her mother recently set a curfew, forbidding her to even leave the villa at sundown.

Lately, those who partake in too much drink and wander the streets during the night have been found dead and drained of their blood. Witnesses can only recall large shadows moving at quick speeds. The beast, with its penchant for only partaking in drunkard's blood, has been aptly named The Oxenfurt Drunk.

She only ever seen monsters in her books -- just mere illustrations lazily drawn. Curiosity ached in her bones, but she knew she couldn't dare sneak out to get a glimpse at the bloodsucker. The Drunk defied the knowledge of the local academy's scholars as well as the swords of my father's commanders. Because of this, King Radovid V ordered her father to post a contract for an experienced monster hunter to slay the beast. The reward: 200 crowns and dinner at the Duke and Duchess of Oxenfurt's villa.

"Helena!" The Duchess called for her down the corridor. She knew it was best to not shout back, so she tucked a ribbon in her book, marking her place. As she stood, he smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and gave a quick goodbye to the older woman before leaving the study.

As she walked down the hall, she was greeted by my parents and a stranger. In addition to standing a head taller than my father, he had long white hair and bright golden eyes. He was beautiful in a way she'd never describe most of the men around here. He looked like a knight straight out of her books and she was aware of how plain others looked in contrast to him.

"Aah, there she is! Geralt of Rivia, meet my little daughter, Lady Helena." Her father gleamed as he gave Geralt a hearty smack on the back, "The White Wolf has slain the Oxenfurt Drunk! Can ya believe it? A Witcher in my home!"

A Witcher? That explains his looks. He's a mutant. And yet... She would never want to use that word to describe him.

She curtsied after my father introduced her and held out a hand for him to kiss. But rather than bring her hand to his lips, he gave the girl a firm handshake. She furrowed her brow at this response but ignored it. She heard that Witchers cannot feel nor understand human emotion and assumed this applied to manners as well .

"Thank you, kind sir, for slaying the beast. I am very fortunate to be able to walk the streets once more and do so safely ." Helena repeated the words she could see her mother mouthing. She clapped happily once she finished.

"I didn't do it for you. I did it for coin."

She huffed but her father interrupted her before she could say anything smart to the man.

"And for a hot meal," He told him as he gestured for them to follow him to the dining room. "I hope you like suckling pig, Witcher. Little Lena over here saved the piglet when it wouldn't latch on to its mam's tit. Spoonfed it and all, thinkin' she would be savin' it from death. Turns out she was savin' it for our dinner." Her father's boisterous laugh made her stomach turn.

Dinner went about as well as expected. Her mother and father tried to masque their bragging as hospitality. But Helena could see through their guise.

'Look, Witcher! Look what we have that you don't. Take a look at your dirty reflection on our shiny, silver spoons.' I could imagine them saying.

Geralt was hard to read but he at least had a realness about him. With him, a grunt meant 'yes,' and a 'hmm' meant 'no.'

"Witcher, can I call ya Witcher?"

A grunt.

"Ya got a little lady back home?"

A 'hmm.'

"Would you like to stay in our guest chambers?"

Another 'hmm.'

"Would you like a hot bath before you take your leave?"

A pause, a ponder, then a grunt.

A servant escorted him to the bathroom, leaving them to sit in silence.

Helena waited for Geralt to be out of earshot before breaking the silence and mimicking him with a grunt.

She received a glare from my father and her mother stood and leaned across the table. With no hesitation, she delivered a smack onto the girl's cheek.

"Don't continue to embarrass us, girl."

"Once he's finished, go get washed up." Her mother commanded, "You're to have Poppy escort you to Samson's mother and father's home. We're to celebrate both the killing of the beast and your engagement, so be prompt."

She waited to hear my parents' carriage pull away before standing and stomping up to the second story. She waited in front of the bathroom's door before taking a deep breath, covering her eyes, and barging in. Water splashed as Geralt was surprised by the sudden intrusion but she kept her hand placed over her eyes .

"Oh nooo. I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were in here!"

"So you enter all empty rooms with eyes covered?" She peaked out behind my hands to see his amused smirk, "Or did Little Lena wish to join my bath?"

She turned beet red and threw her hands to her side in protest with a scoff. Despite the temptation to look down, she locked eyes with him.

"I need you to help me escape." His smirk faded and he now donned a glare.

She waited for him to give her a response, but when none came, she proceeded with her monologue, "I hate it here. Oxenfurt may seem progressive, but I'm not granted the same liberties... My elder sister, she got pregnant out of wedlock. Died during childbirth along with her baby. They say it's a curse, punishment, I say it's just bad luck. But that didn't stop them from tightening the reins."

"And you think you're the first girl to beckon me that I rescue you?" He asks as he lounges back, "You're well-fed, well-dressed, and live in a great city. Why leave?"

"I'm not happy. I want to live a life worth living. Not to be some man's wife, seen merely as a womb."

Geralt slowly stood and she clasped a hand over my eyes once more, eliciting a chuckle from him as he grabbed his towel . Once she knew he was covered , I looked to him once more.

"They'll say I kidnapped you."

"They already say you're a monster. What's wrong with conforming to their narrative?"

"I don't need some girl to slow me down, to get in the way."

"I can learn to fight. I've studied some nursing and can take care of you... Plus, the two hundred crowns you received from my father, well... I have broaches you can pawn off that's worth double.

Geralt stared hard at her, seeming to challenge her, but she didn't back down. After silence, he huffed, "Go. Pack a bag and meet me at the stables. I leave in twenty, with or without you."

She turned on my heel with bouncing excitement as I rushed to the door. As Helena left, she heard Geralt grunt and utter one phrase:

"Fuck."

[riviae]

Regis and/or Dettlaff for the character headcanon meme (ya know, if a hundred others haven't already asked lol)

character meme (accepting!): under a read more due to length 

Regis: 

favorite thing about them:

besides his obvious kind heart & unflinching loyalty, i love how passionate he is about things!! dude’s been alive for 400+ yrs & he still wants to travel, to make friends, to learn, to teach, to heal, to share his interests & knowledge. he loves life–loves humanity (cdpr can miss me w/ his referencing humans as mosquitoes metaphor nonsense)–& is my favorite example of a good redemption story/character. 

least favorite thing about them: 

he can be… rather pretentious at times. but to his credit, he never really belittles or alienates anyone in the hansa–it’s more like he has a lot of ‘high-brow’ interests for the time/setting (not counting distilling, of course) & in sharing/explaining them, he goes a bit over the top. i don’t think it’s on purpose, but case in point… not everything has to be a lecture, ya know? 

favorite line: 

kinda cheating on this, but my favorite scene of anything ever is this one from lady of the lake: 

“Well,” sighed Regis. “Have it your way. I’ll have to avoid mirrors and dogs, and will have to beware of sorcerers and telepaths… And if I’m still exposed, I’m counting on you.”“You can count on me,” Geralt said seriously. “I’m not in the habit of leaving a friend in need.”The vampire smiled and because they were alone, he did not hide his fangs. “Friend?”

now specifically from b&w, i like this line from Regis’ journal: People justify bad deeds by good intentions. I’m not sure if there is greater idiocy

brOTP: 

geralt/regis (which you’ll also see in the otp section), regis/yen (goth-nerd solidarity & also they both love geralt so jot that down), & regis/angouleme (he’s a wonderful uncle figure to angouleme)

also if regis ever got to meet vesemir i’m 100% sure they’d have gotten along swimminglg

OTP: 

geralt/regis–it’s my lifeblood babey

nOTP: 

romance-wise, any regis/hansa member that isn’t geralt is just not my cup of tea as well as regis/dett****

random headcanon

after his second regeneration, he became wearier around unknown sorcerers/sorceresses/magic users (w/ the exception of yen). at one point, geralt had decided to light a candle near regis using igni w/o really thinking abt it & noticed that regis had visibly flinched. geralt apologized immediately & now lets regis know when he’s abt to light something using magic (’normal’ fires, those not started by magic, don’t bother him. so it’s less of an aversion to fire & more of an aversion to fire made thru magic).

unpopular opinion: 

i don’t really like his sideburns or hairline–not bc i think the design is bad per se (i think it solidified his intro in b&w as a more scholarly character), but bc i think it ages him much more than necessary. when the other 2 higher vampires (dettlaff, orianna, hell–even the unseen elder), look much younger, then it just seems unusual imo. a middle-aged tax collector w/ a crooked nose is how sapkowski describes him & idk, i think cdpr just wanted to give regis a more stereotypical scholarly look instead of using descriptions from the books. 

song i associate with them:

when i’m in an angst™ mood, this song is what makes me think of regis (& higher vampires in the witcher series in general). it’s called far from home (the raven) by sam tinnesz 

favorite picture of them (i’m too lazy to do this but assume every picture of regis is my fave)

Dettlaff: 

favorite thing about them

his hobbies! woodworking & building toys for kids is nice™; cdpr should’ve at least given us a tiny scene of him tinkering on stuff. presumably he has a caring nature given that he nursed regis back to health but once again, cdpr couldn’t be bothered to flesh out the interesting aspects of his character & instead gave us an albeit cool but ultimately unnecessary boss battle :/ 

least favorite thing about them

oof, his lack of patience & propensity towards violence. well, perhaps propensity is the wrong word; i mean that in a character who is powerful/deadly (in which even a brief lapse in judgement could mean death for another), a hair trigger temper is... not going to endear me to them. for instance, i don’t think that dettlaff went to tesham mutna with the intent of killing syanna--i don’t think he knew himself what he would do upon seeing her. BUT, he still did it--& i’m sorry but killing an unarmed/defenseless (presumably unarmed, but even if she were armed it wouldn’t change the fact that she was defenseless against him & dettlaff knew that) woman in a fit of rage (who yes, wronged dettlaff greatly) speaks of a deeper problem relating to his inability to process his emotions. 

i originally thought that cdpr was going to do some cool parallels between dettlaff and geralt bc both have issues w/ emotion but in different ways (i.e., dettlaff has difficulty controlling his while geralt has trouble expressing them), but they shared maybe a handful of sentences w/ each other before the conclusion of the dlc so yeah D: 

favorite line: 

“If you acknowledge any gods... start praying, now.” 

brOTP: 

regis/dettlaff is pretty much it/the only relationship i find interesting in b&w for dett anyway 

OTP: 

dettlaff/character development 

nOTP: 

mentioned in regis’ list above, but i also am not a fan of geralt/dett

random headcanon: 

his “pack” up until syanna consisted almost entirely of orphaned lower vampires. whether due to their family dying or abandoning them, dett’s reserved & calming demeanor makes it easier for LVs to trust him. he’s nursed plenty of injured LVs back to health & when he passed thru the remnants of stygga castle, he did so bc he originally thought that he was following the trail of an injured LV (having caught regis’ scent). it was only when he got closer that he recognized the ‘shapeless smear’ was regis--someone he hadn’t seen in centuries--& chose to help him heal despite how taxing it would be. 

unpopular opinion

i don’t understand his popularity as a character or how his actions can be defended. his character design is great (i still wanna to buy his moth brooch tbh), he was voice acted very well, & there are hints of an interesting backstory esp in relation to why he chose to help regis regenerate, but that’s not the focus of the dlc. 

if i have to rely on regis to explain why dettlaff is a good person/deserves redemption/etc., then that’s lazy writing. i love regis to death, but he, like anna henrietta, was blind to/didn’t want to see his loved one’s faults/misdeeds. u can’t make an unbiased character judgement on someone you’re close to and indebted to imo. 

granted, regis himself is an example of dett’s charity since he is alive & well (& also is stressed af bc of dettlaff), but does one good deed wash away all the death he later commits in the attack on beauclair? motivation or not, murder is murder, plain & simple. i can forgive but not condone regis’ actions in his youth bc, arguably, regis was already punished severely for it & chose to change/become a better person. cdpr didn’t give us an option to allow dett to be punished for his crimes (in something other than death--which i don’t think he nor syanna deserve) or let us know if he eventually grows to be a better person w/ the help of regis & so i can only care for him in the respect that i mourn the character he (& syanna) could’ve been. 

in summary: everything i dislike abt dettlaff is entirely due to a lack of care when it came to fleshing out his character. we only see him committing acts of violence/murder, never healing or helping. we see the fallout of his anger, see that he feels grief & even remorse (like in de la croix’s death), but it doesn’t excuse the act itself. ppl are more than welcome to like or love morally dark/dubious characters, but i have an issue when a morally dubious character is painted as good or good but misunderstood. 

song i associate with them

the song inferno by sir sly gives me real dettlaff vibes: I think you clipped my wings to save me from the sunForgot my hands and knees, I had to learn a lessonOh fearless teacher how'd I ever lose my sightWhy'd I ever try to fight against your path?Somewhere at half my life, I wandered in the woodsCan't find a single right, I swear nothing is goodI'm blinded now and darkness shrouds my every sightWhy'd I ever try to fight for my own path?

favorite picture of them: 

once again, too lazy to find one, but his final form in the boss battle was cool even if it kinda went against sapkowski’s lore.