#mer!geralt

[dapandapod]

helloooo I am here for mermay prompts! 👀

how about "lost" for Geraskier (bonus points if Geralt is the mer) 💜💜

ALEX YESSSSS, look, this was finished two days ago, and then it was finished again yesterday, and now again this morning. Did I add 1k to the story just to add a kiss? Maybe. Please enjoy <3 Send me a pairing and a word and I will make you some words? ❤️

On Ao3 here

Bardic inspiration be damned, Jaskier decides, slipping once again on the pebbled ground as he climbs the rocky coast line of Skellige.

He had wanted to see the whales, but did not listen to the advice given by the locals to go to one of the cliffs beyond the village. No, Jaskier really thought it would be better to experience it up close and all that.

He didn’t even see a fucking whale. 

Maybe whale watching is done better from up high, but Jaskier had seen this perfect spot down by the rocks and now he is full of sweaty regrets.

Because he can’t find the path he took to get down here and the high tide is sweeping in, making his path treacherous and slippery. 

Swearing profusely, Jaskier manages to at least get above the waterline. His shoes are wet, as are his breeches to the knee, but at least his leather satchel is fine.

Good thing he didn’t bring the lute.

Jaskier settles down to wait it out. It’s a fine day after all, even if the sun is slowly setting, and the sea is as calm as it can be around here.

Despite being so frustrated with himself, Jaskier finds himself relaxing. The sun shimmers on the surface of the sea, and gulls cry above, accompanied by the lapping of waves.

There are some rock formations further out, some of them almost shaped like giant, crooked pillars.

This view is why he was drawn to Skellige after all, so far away from his homelands. The stone he sits on is hard, yes, but warmed from sitting in the sun all day. 

Out of the corner of his eye, to the left, Jaskier notices movement.

When he turns his head, there is nothing there.

Strange.

He knows Skellige is not the safest of places. The coast is riddled with harpies and sirens, the latter especially dangerous this close to the water.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Then he spots something again, but this time straight ahead. It is directly in the bright reflection, so Jaskier has to squint but isn’t that… it looks like…?

The back of a whale!

Jaskier scrambles up to his feet, trying to shield his eyes to get a better look. Yes, that really is a whale out there! A big one, looks like, and far out!

He can only see the top of it, and the strange huffing sound travels across the surface when it blows water high, high up into the air.

The droplets are glistening like diamonds, like rain on a sunny day, as they fall back down.

The whale stays there for another minute or two, breathing deeply, and then the surface ripples as she dives.

Her tail comes up, rivulets of water falling down her fin, and then gives a giant splash as she pushes herself further down.

Jaskier realizes his mouth is hanging open.

He truly didn’t expect to see one, and not this close to the shore. Alright, it was not that close to the shore, but still visible to the naked eye, and he is thrilled.

He scans the surface once more, hungry for another sighting, but once the water has calmed there is nothing else.

Immediately, Jaskier starts going through his satchel to bring out the precious paper and pencil to write this down. When he finds it, he plops back down on the rock, legs crossed, and everything else forgotten.

The words come easily, filling the page with poetry and observation.

So lost in it, he doesn’t even notice he isn’t alone anymore until there is a soft splash right in front of him.

Jaskier startles, a long black line scratching across the page.

He could swear there is the upper half of a face sticking up out of the water, just a few feet away from him.

Pale skin, yellow eyes, even paler hair slicked back over what seems to be a surprisingly human-shaped head.

Jaskier’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Is this a siren? No, he would be dead by now, wouldn’t he?

Is it a dead person? No, the eyes are watching him very intently, blinking slowly, so it couldn’t be. It could be a drowner, though, but aren't they blue?

When nothing happens, Jaskier forces himself to relax his posture. His entire body is fighting him, that knee-jerk fight or flight response trying to decide which is best to do, but Jaskier decides on neither.

“Hello?” he ventures, and the eyes look back at him. “Who might you be?”

There is no response, which, fair, nose and mouth both seem to be submerged. But the being comes just a little bit closer, and Jaskier fights to keep his breathing even.

Just to be safe, Jaskier puts his papers to the side, pinned in place by the satchel. It wouldn’t do for them to become wet, even if this is where he meets his end. Maybe the skalds can sing about him, were they to find his notes. The bard who got too close, or whatever.

Fear is great inspiration, it would seem.

With a soft sound, the top of a head becomes an entire head, a neck, shoulders, and arms. Pale, glistening, well muscled, and surprisingly human looking, were it not for the gills on his neck, the long fins along the outside of the under arms, and smatterings of scales.

The white hair is longer than he thought, slightly curly now that it is out of the water, and sticking to the sides of the person’s face.

Jaskier blinks hard, taking it all in. 

“Are you a mer?” Jaskier asks breathlessly, as the person pulls themself up on a rock. The lower half of the body is still hidden, but he can see hints of scales on their sides and down over the hips. Pale grey, like pale silver, he thinks.

The person, who looks very much like a man, tilts his head, and seems to scent the air.

“Afraid?” The person asks, his voice raspy and low. Yeah, it absolutely sounds like a he, but Jaskier is not very well versed in Mer anatomy.

“You surprised me,” Jaskier says carefully. “I thought I was alone.”

“You are never alone in the sea,” the mer says between sharp teeth. 

As if that wasn’t a terrifying statement.

But the Mer speaks the language of Skellige, and Jaskier desperately wants to know more.

“Who are you?” Jaskier asks. “Do you live here?”

“This is my territory,” the Mer says, straightening up a little, revealing just a hint of a powerful tail below the surface. “Mine to keep.”

Jaskier smiles at the little display, finding it a little endearing despite the hint of aggression. Like a hissy kitten, trying out its claws.

“Then I am your guest. Forgive me, but I am lost, and I can’t find my way back.”

The mer watches, expression giving nothing away. Then again, expressions just might be different for Mer, Jaskier muses.

“Forgive? Do you need forgiveness for being lost?” 

“Maybe not, but for imposing on your territory. I did not know it was yours. I only wanted to see a whale.”

The mer looks over his shoulder when Jaskier motions with his hand out to the open sea. His profile in the fading light is stunning, and Jaskier feels like he is in some kind of fairy tale.

“And did you see her?” The Mer turns back towards Jaskier.

“I did. She was beautiful.”

The Mer seems satisfied with this answer, and does an odd little hum. It rumbles along his sides, and Jaskier notices another set of thin fins along his ribs. He also notices scars, some new and some old. 

“You may call me Geralt,” The Mer suddenly decides, pulling Jaskier out of a daydream where he considers what else is out there.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. Not what he expected a Mer to be named, but again, who is he to tell? “You may call me Jaskier.” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt says it like he is tasting the name, and with a slight lisp. “Is this land your territory?”

“I am but a guest here as well. I am a wanderer.” Jaskier smiles again, and Geralt’s eyes dip down to it, as if he doesn’t understand.

“So no territory?” Geralt asks, seemingly confused about the prospect.

“None. Well, none but this one.” And Jaskier pats his satchel. “It holds my treasures, and the stories I collect.”

“How does one collect stories?” Geralt asks, sinking into the water again and swimming closer, eyes all the while trained on Jaskier.

He stops when he is about an arm’s length away from the rock where Jaskier is sitting, making Jaskier’s adrenaline run again.

“Afraid?” Geralt asks again with a frown, tilting his head back as if he is smelling the air. Huh.

“A little,” Jaskier admits, seeing no point in lying. “I have never met your kind before, and I don’t know if you would wish to drown me.”

“If I had wanted that, you’d already be dead,” Geralt says with a cold expression, probably meant as a reassurance, but it doesn’t feel like one.

The Mer props himself up on a rock hidden under water and Jaskier now sees the tail, sleek, strong and silver.

“I collect stories by writing them down, and sometimes singing them,” Jaskier explains, deciding he does not want to remain on the subject of drowning while stuck where he is. “Would you like to hear one?”

When Geralt nods his assent, Jaskier thinks about the skellige songs he knows. Most are bawdy tavern songs, to be honest, but he recalls a ballad of the Maid and the Moon.

He sings it with the lapping of the waves and the cry of gulls, slapping his hand to the rock to keep the beat. It sounds better with a drum, but it will do.

Geralt keeps watching him, keeps doing that weird blink of his. Jaskier starts another one, one of war and fire. And then another one about returning home, which aches just a little.

When the songs are done, Geralt doesn’t say anything, just dives beneath the waves.

The sun is getting really low, and Jaskier is a bit worried he will have to stay here all eve. He isn’t wearing much more than his white tunic and a thin pair of trousers, courtesy of the Skelligan summer heat, but the temperature is dropping along with the setting sun.

Geralt returns with less of a splash than Jaskier expects.

His hair sticks to his forehead, and this close Jaskier notices a scar over his left eye. It looks old, and deep, and Jaskier can’t help but wonder if Geralt’s skin would be cool to the touch, if he were to reach out.

With some strain, Geralt reaches up to the rock where Jaskier is sitting, and Jaskier shifts to accept what Geralt is offering. Their fingers touch, and Jaskier learns that no, Geralt is not cold. The ring that he is handed, however, is. 

“Does this one have a story too?” the Mer asks, and Jaskier is immediately flattered for being trusted with Geralt’s treasure.

“I’m sure it does, but it seems it is not mine to tell. Is it yours?”

Jaskier attempts to give the ring back, but Geralt sinks further into the water, shaking his head.

“I do not know it. The ring is yours to keep, Jaskier, as a thanks for sharing your collection of stories with me.”

Jaskier senses this is goodbye, as the Mer swims backwards, back out towards the deep. Despite their short time together, the thought of parting stings. It feels unlikely they will meet again. 

“Come back again, Jaskier the wanderer. It was good to have you as a guest. Your path to land is clear.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise, and then frowns at this statement. When he turns to look towards the rocks around and behind him, he realizes that the tide has pulled back enough for him to climb up towards the safety of land. When Jaskier looks back, Geralt is gone.

The waves lap against the stones as if nothing happened. Before the sun can disappear beyond the horizon, Jaskier gathers his things and carefully makes his way up.

When he’s ascended to safety, he turns once more, looking out over the ocean. The sky is a myriad of colors, birds a dark outline against its splendor, but not a hint of his new friend is to be seen.

-----

The day after brings a storm and Jaskier is unable to go back to the shore for another two days. It’s strange, but Jaskier feels an itch under his skin, he wants to go back, learn more, see Geralt again.

On the third day the sky clears, the clouds finally finishing with their weeping and the wind its howling.

Jaskier is better prepared this time. He sits down on the same rock as before, and he sings while he waits.

Geralt finds him again on that rock, this time swimming close without any hesitation.

“Lost again?” Geralt asks. There is a new set of gashes on his arm, looking like claw marks, too big to be anything Jaskier would ever want to meet. 

“No. Looking for a friend.” Jaskier smiles. “If you will have me as a guest once more.”

Geralt smiles back at him then, stiff though it may be, but Jaskier sees it as the gift it is anyway.

“It would be my honor.”

------

Since Jaskier came to Skellige, he has seen at least three whales, climbed a number of beautiful and treacherous mountain passes, and tasted alcohol strong enough to give women chest hair. He has made friends with skalds and fishermen and errand boys and lords, and his time is coming to a close.

He will miss it. Them. This sharp country and its inhabitants, the living myths found hidden everywhere.

There is one he will miss a lot, Jaskier thinks, as he makes the now familiar climb down the rocky shore.

Saying goodbye is a part of being a wanderer, but it doesn’t make it any easier. His mother always liked to remind him, a goodbye is not a farewell, but still, Jaskier doesn’t have much hope for that.

Geralt is already there waiting for him, and Jaskier plops down on a rock further down so he can dip his feet into the water.

The Mer had expressed great interest in the concept of shoes, struggling with understanding their  function. That first time Jaskier had joined him for a swim, Geralt had made one of his unreadable faces when Jaskier took off everything but his underclothes before getting in.

Technically the cove not a safe place to swim as the currents are strong and had threatened to pull Jaskier under more than once, but Geralt was always there to catch him.

Now, Geralt is sunbathing, propped up in a way to let his bare chest soak up as much sunlight as possible, his tail lazily moving side to side in the shallow water.

He is achingly beautiful, and Jaskier is suddenly struck by melancholy.

Jaskier doesn’t say anything when he sits, only removes his shoes and socks to dip his toes in water that doesn’t get warm, even in summer. 

The Mer opens his eyes, gazing directly at him, eyes as bright as rays of sunlight.

“Sad?” Geralt asks in that direct way of his. 

“Yes,” Jaskier admits, splashing his feet and scaring off the shrimp that were brave enough to approach him.

Geralt sits up enough to lean back on his elbow and watches Jaskier intently.

“Why?” 

“I am leaving soon, my friend. A ship arrives within the week to take me home. To my territory.”

Geralt opens and closes his mouth, then looks out over the sea.

“Hm,” he says, confirming that he understood but doesn’t know how to reply.

Were Geralt a human, Jaskier would have asked him to come with, but he is not. Geralt’s territory is here, his life is here, and even with a boat, the travel across the seas is dangerous.

He will not ask it.

They sit in silence for a long while, Jaskier humming under his breath when a story, this story, starts to take form. 

When it is time to leave, Geralt swims close, gently taking hold around Jaskier’s calves to stay afloat.

“You have been a good friend,” Geralt says, deep in thought.

“As have you,” Jaskier says, aching with the sadness of parting, of leaving Geralt behind.

To soothe himself, he reaches out a hand and cups Geralt’s cheek. Something he has not done before, something he did not think welcome, but Geralt leans into it. 

“I will miss you,” Jaskier says quietly, and the Mer looks up at him through thick lashes.

Then he pushes himself out of the water, heaving himself up on the rock and leaning over Jaskier, into his personal space.

There is water everywhere, soaking Jaskier’s breeches and shirt, but Geralt has leaned forward, and Jaskier meets him halfway.

The kiss tastes like salt and sunlight. Geralt is careful not to hurt him, his teeth hidden behind gentle lips.

“I will miss you, too,” Geralt murmurs against his lips, and then he sinks back down into the water and is gone.

----

Lettenhove in spring is beautiful. The trees are full of buds ready to bloom any day now, bumblebees waking up and doing their confused dance around the flowers in the courtyard.

It is now late enough in the year that summer threatens to overtake the land, waking a wanderer from his slumber.

Jaskier makes his way down past the docks, to the rocky parts where the river meets the ocean.

It’s a habit he can’t shake, and he dips his feet in the cold water, just like he did last summer. He sits there for a good long while, thinking of a kiss and a ring.

There is a ripple in the water to his left, and for a moment, Jaskier thinks he only imagines the familiar face peeking up just over the surface.

But their eyes lock, and half a face becomes a full head and shoulders, as Geralt swims closer.

It is impossible, or, well, improbable. Jaskier feels a giant smile form on his lips and something heavy that’s been on his heart finally lifts.

“Are you lost, wanderer?” he asks, when Geralt swims ever closer, reaching for Jaskier’s calf to hold himself steady.

“No, I'm here to see a friend.” Geralt returns the smile tentatively. “I crossed the sea to find you.”

“Then you are welcome as my guest, friend,” Jaskier says warmly, reaching down to touch Geralt’s cheek, just like the last time they saw each other.

And just like last time, when Jaskier leans forward and down to meet him, their kiss tastes like salt and sunlight.

[justhereforeskel]

Gift exchange piece for the lovely Lia! Eskel deserves nice things, like getting gently.... snuggled ... by Mer!Geralt and Mer!Letho Full piece is on Pillowfort - Link in pinned post

[xejune]

hooked and caught 🎣

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 42

Call Jaskier a fool, but he's fallen in love with a witcher. As a merman. But despite what all his peers tell him, he wholeheartedly believes the witcher would never hurt a merman, let alone one as harmless as Jaskier! They'll make great friends! And even better lovers! Hopefully! So when Jaskier learns the witcher is camping not far from a river, Jaskier literally jumps at the chance to get close to finally meet the man he's admired from afar for so long. Only problem is that the river is muddy in some parts, and in other parts thinner and more shallow than he thought, and though he loathes to admit it, he does get stuck. He's beached. He hasn't even met his witcher and he's BEACHED! BEACHED! AND HE'S NOT EVEN ON A BEACH! He's tied between being horrified he's dying alone, and being thankful nobody is seeing the embarrassing way he's leaving this world. He's not getting nearly enough water into his gills, and the sun is merciless. It's been nearly two days since he first got stuck. His eyesight is blurring and all he can hear is his own breathing. But then he's suddenly hefted up into arms and being carried away, and he can't even worry about who has found him, because he's finally drifted off into a (sadly very dry) slumber. He wakes up to find himself in a small pond, just barely big enough for him to swim a lap, and that was pretty much it. Clearly for healing and not long-term stay. But it was big enough to live. The gills on his sides near his ribs are fully submerged in the water, and he belatedly notices that water is being repeatedly poured on the gills on his neck. He turns to look at what is dripping on him, and finds it to be a waterskin. His witcher found him! His witcher found him, and is filling up his waterskin with the pond's water and pouring it on Jaskier's fills repeatedly. He's caring for him! Oh, how Jaskier's heart is singing! Jaskier tries to talk to him only to cough and let out a weak chirp noise. The witcher shushes him and warns Jaskier that he was in a very bad way and that it'd be best for him to rest for now. Jaskier decides not to take his advice, and instead stays up to stare at his witcher and chirp at him. One time when Geralt pours the water over the mer's gills, he reaches his head up to bump at Geralt's hand until Geralt allows the Mer to limply nuzzle his wrist. It's a tad annoying that this mer Geralt saved is so relentlessly determined to shower him with affection, but after a few days of the attention, Geralt submits to the routine. It only gets more intimate when the Mer regains speech and now keep asking Geralt things about himself and showering him with compliments. Geralt learns about the merman, and grows attached, he admits, but he can't keep care of a mer. He has to continue on The Path and the Mer cannot follow. So one day, he picks up Jaskier, brings him back to the ocean, and sets him free. Four times. It takes four times before Jaskier stops trying to beach himself to follow. Geralt is miserable without his little merman companion, but he knows it's for the best. That is, until a few months lather, when he hears word of a merman being captured nearby and he knows deep down it's his merman. I don't know if Jaskier is captured by poachers intent on killing or harming him or if he's been captured by some sort of circus/freakshow but I DO know that Jaskier got captured because he started recklessly talking to any and all humans asking for anyone who knows how to turn him human (so he can be with his witcher)

[mangaka-devotee]

Mer-may: Rainbow

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup: 7th April - 14th April

So, this week has been a rough one, so im just addig my word count and othing else, will add my fics and recs at a alter day, but its 2:30 am in Monday (def not Sunday which I thought was Saturday ...) So I wrote 17,709 words with 4 fics uploaded. Okey Dokey, time t fix the weekly round up, recs first as always, but if I wait any longer, it will be Suday again lol. far across the distance - LinguisticJubilee - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, this one is lovely imo) Summary: Balin blinks, shifting backwards. “Laddie, it’s—it’s been a year. Bilbo has returned home, to the Shire.” He looks at Thorin, then says more gently, “I did not realize you counted the hobbit among your treasures.” Where I go, will you still follow? - ghostinthelibrary - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, the plottwist is delicious angst) Summary: When Jaskier is revealed to be spying on Kaer Morhen for Redania—a treachery that nearly gets Eskel killed—he’s banished from the keep. But when it becomes clear that there was more to his lover’s betrayal than meets the eye, Geralt will have to race to find him before it’s too late. Fae!Jaskier and Geralt - TheBretonBookDragon - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, I adore Fae Jaskier, and I legir re read the entire series today too) Summary:

The Mountain hangs over their heads, but Geralt is sure that if he just keeps trying that Jaskier will know how much he loves him. Jaskier has been quieter than usual, but that just means Geralt needs to try even harder. Too bad Geralt is just a smidge oblivious and emotionally constipated. Guardian of Kings - SunnyRose - The Hobbit by @sunnyrosewritesstuff (Bilbo/Thorin, one of my favs from Sunny, its clever and the world building, its just delicious) Summary: The Company has been having a good laugh as the story of their quest spreads through the mountain and more and more retellings makes Thorin out to be Bilbo’s damsel in distress. It stops becoming funny when Thorin’s honor is challenged, and it’s up to Bilbo to defend it. Thorin may be ready to smuggle his hobbit out of the mountain, but Bilbo will do it. For Thorin, he would do anything. Prize Enough for Me - StrivingArtist - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, BAMF Bilbo for the win, need I say more?) Summary: After falling in love months earlier with the Dwarven King, when Bilbo sees Thorin stabbed on Raven Hill, he decides to find vengeance. mercy and death on swift arrows fly - authoressjean - The Hobbit (Gen, hinted eventual Bagginshield, another BAMF Bilbo, but also, hes just lovely no matter what) Summary: Hunger Games AU with slow burn Bagginshield.

And now for mine. We have 4 fics I finished last week, and a revealed bonus one. Ive found Frodo ....and he found you? - Lucigoo89 - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, Animal Au. Badger Thorin/Skunk Bilbo written for my friend @shantismurf's bday <3) Summary: Canine distemper has stolen all of the Bagginses away apart from Bilbo and little Frodo. No he has to find his kit, who has wandered off, again, and keep them safe from "The Sick". If only he wasn't alone doing it. You're Floo Was My Emergency Contact (Sirius Black, Gen, written based off this wonderful video Satellitedide: Sirius after he's arrested... Summary: Sirius is in Moody and Kingsley's custody after Halloween 1981. Dumbeldore is his emergency contct but he isn't answering his floo.... I'm bitter: You were mine first (Jegulus, unhappy ending, mind the tags) Summary: James catches Regulus in an alley after a Death Eater attack. One thing leads to another and Regulus revels in the fact James isnt as good as he pretends to be, he never has been You were to late - Lucigoo89 - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, Canon comliant ish, mind the tags. Based int he @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #248 - watching Birds) Summary: Bilbo is watching the eagles fly overhead in victory. With Thorin's cooling hand in his, Bilbo isnt sure what their is to feel victorious over. And final one. My first Mer au, for the @remuslupinfest High Tide Came and Brought You to Me (Mer Remus/Siren Sirius) Summary: Remus was cursed as a child and became a wermerman. 20 years later and he still hates himself and what he becomes once a month. Maybe some new additions to his cove will help him feel a bit more at peace with himself? Once again, I hope theres at least one thing for you to enjoy. Have a good rest of the week <3

[thebestworstidea]

[magdaclaire]

geralt of rivia deserves a weighted blanket

[dapandapod]

Concept:

Geralt works in an aquarium, near the biggest fish tank.

Jaskier is a newly hired mermaid performer

Geralt was not told about this

In my dreams, it's still Mermay 2023. Husshhh time is fake. ANYWAY here it is! Thank you @magdelanesingerin helping me beta read <3 and thank you Ella-la for the prompt! It was a lot of fun! Please enjoy <3 On Ao3 here

Technically, Geralt does not work with humans. As in, he’s not there to provide care to humans.

Most of his coworkers are human, yes, but that is not the point. He did not start working here to serve people stale sandwiches and sparkling water.

Geralt knows every inch of the aquarium, knows every work position available.

He knows how to do everything, despite actually being there for the more excotic species of aquatic animals, usually with many teeth. Pros and Cons of working with the family, he supposes.

The years he has spent out in the field and all the late nights he worked with his doctor's thesis, all the scars from times he spent crawling through knee deep water that stank of sulfur and decay, only to find his arm swallowed to the elbow by something very small with big hubris-- all of that is put to perfect use as he wraps yet another dry, overpriced sandwich, or scoops yet another ice cream.

The reason he actually stays, despite the screaming children and the sweating parents and the bored teenagers and the entitled grandparents and the weird work tasks he gets assigned, is the way a young girl's face lights up when Geralt holds up a frog, big enough for him to have to use both hands.

Or the way the sullen teen beams when one of their rare giant butterflies lands on their hands. Or when he can hold an audience captive while showing them something new and exciting and incredibly nerdy about his sharks.

Geralt loves his sharks.

Due to every summer reason ever, Geralt has sadly been called away from his animal related daytime tasks to cover shifts where their usual summer employees are out sick. Which seems to be most of this month.

Where he stands right now, in the very small and very understaffed little kiosk, he has an excellent view of the shark tank, at least. As the aquarium has grown in popularity, so has their shark tank, his pride and joy.

Coën had explained to him excitedly that their new tank would have a much bigger viewing area, and seating area, almost like a little theater. To allow for future opportunities, he had said, and Geralt thought of the way he would be allowed to show off his beauties through the window and almost got excited himself.

It is unusually crowded today, and a lot of people are gathering around the viewing area and are chattering.

It's so loud, their voices bouncing around the room and amplifying, and it's hard to hear the woman in front of him inexplicably order their largest latte and a lactose free cheese sandwich.

Luckily, Milva is coming in soon to cover the rest of the shift, so Geralt can finally get back behind the tanks, out of sight of all the people.

But before he can, the clock strikes one, music blares through the speakers the speakers, and one of the employees he knows from birthday parties steps out with a microphone. It makes Geralt frown, because this is new.

Usually, the show around the big tank would involve a kid friendly lesson about the fish and aquatic animals in their tank, sometimes accompanied by a sweaty Lambert in a mascot suit.

This time, however, there is dreamy music, the lights are lowered even more, and the employee is talking about the magical beings living in the deep, out of sight of human eyes.

See, Geralt is a man of science.

He knows there are mythical and magical things in the depths, having been up close and personal with a few. But this sounds like they are setting up for some kind of misinformed children’s movie.

Which is why Geralt's jaw is somewhere around floor level, when an actual mermaid- wait no, merman, swims up to the glass, waving at the children.

Milva has to elbow him out of the way so she can serve the next customer, while Geralt stares at the Merman flitting around in his beloved shark tank.

The sharks stay clear, because even if the merman's tail is beautiful, it is still striped much like a dragon fish, warning all of them not only with his size, but also with his pattern and coloring, that he is dangerous.

Yet his smile is wide, his claws retracted to tap a smooth fingertip at the glass and wave at the crowd with a webbed hand.

His hair is chestnut brown, matching the pattern riding up along his back, with specks of gold dancing on his skin and in his blue, very blue eyes.

Geralt somehow finds himself by the rail to the seating area, and the merman's eyes lock with his.

As they do, they widen a fraction, and the smile turns into a smirk. The merman winks, and turns, swimming in a pirouetting circle as the employee narrates his movements.

As he swims, the light dances over muscle and bone and scale, the crowd around him making ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ noises. He is beautiful.

The merman keeps showing off, his many long fins twirling around him like ribbons in the calm water. It is mesmerizing, and as the show is coming to a close, Geralt hurries to the back area and towards the tank.

He gets intercepted by Lambert, of course, who steps in front of him with a shit eating grin spread wide across his smug face.

"Like the new show, did you, pretty boy?" Lambert says, sly eyes watching him.

"I didn't realize we had a new show." Geralt grumbles. "I need to-"

"-Go and ask our new pretty fish boy intrusive questions, yes I know. Just remember he is not a science project."

With a pat on Geralt's shoulder, Lambert walks past him and intothe guest area.

"Oh, and ask him for his number. Literally everybody in the room saw that wink," he throws over his shoulder as he goes.

Geralt feels his ears burn as he moves forward again, because yeah, that wink felt very... yeah. Words fail him, which is a bit unfortunate, seeing as he is just arriving at the stairs to the tank.

Climbing them, he tries to remember what he planned to do in the first place, other than, as Lambert called it, 'ask intrusive questions'.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, the merman is just climbing out of the tank, assisted by Eskel. Once again, Geralt feels his jaw drop, noticing that his tail is now legs.

Long legs. Bare legs, that goes up, up, and lucky for all of them, the rest of the view is quickly hidden by a towel wrapped around a slim waist.

"Figures," he hears Eskel snort, "Jaskier, this is Geralt, our aquatic expert."

They are on separate ends of the room, the tank between them, but the world narrows down to just the two of them.

There is, and always has been, a specific mood to the rooms that houses the the big tanks.

The way the water reflects light, sending it dancing on the walls and ceiling, how it softens shadows, how it can be dark but bright at the same time; Geralt has always did found it a little romantic.

Which isn't something he would ever confess to unless he was swimming in alcohol, or so sleep deprived he didn’tt even know his own name, but it is there, simmering in the back of his mind.

Especially now as he is standing there in the soft, romantic light with a man, who was just a merman, looking back at him as if he has discovered the world anew. He can even pretend that the humming of pumps and gurgling of water filters and dripping of pipes are an orchestra, a symphony to accompany a first meeting.

Alright, that is overdoing it, but still.

Behind Jaskier, Eskel is rolling his eyes so hard his body moves with it.

"Every. Frickin. Time. Jaskier, good job, don't forget to wash off before you get dressed. Let's talk after... after. Later. I do not want to be here right now."

Eskel leaves, patting Jaskier's shoulder, who only nods and waves absently, eyes still fixed at Geralt.

When Eskel is gone, disappearing through another door leading to more, smaller tanks and the food prep area, Geralt finally finds he can move.

It is oddly silent, except for the metallic sound of his shoes hitting the maze of walkways hanging above the tank. He stops, even before he has turned the corner to the final stretch.

"Hi," he manages after a few seconds too long.

The corner of Jaskier's mouth tugs up into a smile, and he reaches for another towel hanging on a hook on the wall.

"Hi," he echoes, his voice just a little raspy. Jaskier wraps the towel around his shoulders, using a corner to dry his hair. "So, you are the Geralt that I have heard so much about."

Geralt blinks. He did not expect people to have mentioned him, but then again, they might actually have warned Jaskier of him.

"Ah. Sorry. I can be uh... less than tactful when something grabs my interest."

Jaskier tilts his head even more and takes a step closer to him.

"So did I? Grab your interest, I mean."

Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck shit.

"I have never met a merman before." Geralt says stiffly, ears burning something fierce, and Jaskier looks amused.

Jaskier steps closer; his feet probably hurt from walking barefoot on the metal grating of the walkway but he doesn't stop until he is close enough to Geralt to stretch out his hand.

"Well then. My name is Jaskier, as you might have gathered. Nice to meet you! Though, I am not full mer, actually."

Interesting.

Geralt shakes his hand, noticing the tips of Jaskier’s fingers are a little rough against the back of his hand.

"Is that why you have... uh..."

"Legs?" Jaskier supplies helpfully. Geralt is still shaking his hand. "In part, yes. Some Mer have a splash of elven blood, granting them the ability to choose."

Geralt should stop shaking his hand. He really should. Their eyes are still locked, and Jaskier is still giving him that amused smile.

"You can stop shaking my hand now," he reminds Geralt, but doesn’t pull his hand back.

"Right. Yes. Right. Sorry." Geralt manages to let go, and is infinitely happy Eskel has left the room, though no doubt Lambert will look at the security footage for later. Shit.

As soon as Geralt manages to break the stare into the man’s eyes, he notices the next problem. Jaskier is pretty much naked, barely covered by the towels, revealing skin, chest hair, and the hint of a tattoo along his ribs and on one thigh.

He wants to ask about that, if it transfers to his fins or not. But as he stares, he also realizes Jaskier is shivering slightly. He's an idiot.

"I uh. Should leave you to get dressed. There is a shower in the changing rooms. Uhm. Can I get you a coffee or something? Later?"

Jaskier smiles that amused smile of his while Geralt is kicking himself internally. Words never were his thing, no, but this is ridiculous.

"As in bring me a coffee, or drink a coffee together with me?"

"Whichever you are comfortable with. Sorry, I am not making a good impression here."

"You are very cute, if that helps." Jaskier says, and Geralt blinks, stunned.

When he fails to reply, Jaskier pulls his towel tighter around himself, and nods.

"Right. So, I'll go shower, and we’ll pretend I never said that. And I'll see you later. For coffee."

Jaskier’s ears are slightly red, and Geralt wants to pretend it’s from their conversation, not from being cold.

Geralt nods, and flees before he can put his foot in his mouth any further, and only after he is half way down the stairs does he realize that he forgot to ask if Eskel showed Jaskier where the changing rooms are.

Too late now, he absolutely won’t go back and risk walking in on a very naked Jaskier. Nope.

When Geralt steps into the public area again, the crowds are slowly thinning out, now that the show is over.

Parents are herding kids towards bathrooms and other viewing areas, and Geralt decides that he needs to find something just a little better than the staff room coffee machine.

It feels a little cheap to go with the aquarium café, and he realizes he doesn't even know how Jaskier likes his coffee. Geralt himself has a sweet tooth, and very few ever believe that at first sight.

He decides to stand and awkwardly waits until Jaskier comes back out.

He manages to work himself up as he waits, overthinking until he’s standing there frowning and glaring at the wall when Jaskier emerges at last.

Quirking an eyebrow, Jaskier hoists his dufflebag a bit higher on his shoulder.

"You good?"

"Hmm. What kind of coffee do you like?" Geralt asks, before he can say something dumb.

"Black as tar, so anything is good." Jaskier smiles. See? You never know what to expect, even with sunshine incarnated.

Geralt nods, and leads the way to the little kiosk where he was working just a few, life-changing minutes before. .

Milva smiles gleefully at Geralt when it's their turn, and hands them a coffee black as tar, and for Geralt, coffee with milk and three sugar cubes.

Instead of sitting down, they put away Jaskier's bag and wander around the aquarium. It turns out he never had the chance to look around before diving in for his first show.

Geralt tries to not ask all the intrusive questions bubbling up in his head, his scientific curiosity temporarily pushed down by the way Jaskier coos at tiny crabs and little fishes in weird shapes and colors.

At last, Jaskier informs him that he can't stay any longer, that he has band practice after his show, and should have gone already.

"But I'll see you again, Geralt," Jaskier promises with a smile. "Next week. Unless you want to grab a bite sometime?"

Jaskier's ears are red again, and Geralt can feel his own face getting warm.

"I'd like that," he mumble, and Jaskier beams. They exchange numbers, just in case Geralt had anything else to ask.

Not one minute after Jaskier leaves, waving over his shoulder, Lambert is on him.

"Getting some tail, are you, pretty boy?" Lambert grins, and Geralt elbows him away.

"If you say anything ever again, I'll show Aiden all your drunk texts," he threatens, which he knows will only work for a few days.

Geralt risks sending a text that same night, and Jaskier replies only a few minutes after.

They have a lunch scheduled in a few days, and Geralt doesn't dare call it a date, not yet, no matter what Eskel says.

When Geralt goes to sleep later that night, he dreams of blue eyes, of chestnut brown and gold specks glimmering in the underwater light.

[justhereforeskel]

Repostober - Day 4 💜

Mer!Prince Geralt and Bodyguard Eskel anyone? 💜

That warm up from the other day got very out of hand (*^▽^*)

[xejune]

posting this as a rebloggable WIP for now because it's going to be a while before i finish this one :')

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 33

Geralt is a siren who lives with his pod in the deepest trenches of the ocean. Geralt and his pod frequently team up together to take down large seabeasts, protecting their oceans, other seafolk, and even the landfolk from certain monstrosities. Jaskier is a merman who lounges luxuriously in coral reefs and plays pretty relaxing music there all day every day. Both are crushed with a crippling loneliness.

Geralt's hunts that bring him closer to the surface of the water, (and by closer, I still mean deep as hell, he's just no longer surrounded by healthy non-blobby blobfish and photophores everywhere) He tends to hear the humming and chittering of a mer. The sound relaxes him so much, he begins swimming out of the deepest depths after certain battles to find the soothing noise. You can use just this if you prefer shorter prompts, OR, if you'll indulge my gay fantasies- One day, he swims over toward the reef only to hear panicked screeching, and scent blood in the water. He nYOOoms over and finds a mer being attacked by a monster. Geralt fights it off, either with swords or maybe perhaps just his claws and teeth if we're feeling ~✨feral✨~ Either way, he defeats the beast, and turns to the mer, only for the mer to pass out right then and there. Damn him. Geralt takes him to a nice cove nearby and begins patching him up. When the mer wakes up, he's all hissy and scared, but Geralt calms him quickly by humming one of his melodies. And apparently doing this flips a fuckin switch, because the Mer suddenly goes from being scared shitless of Geralt, to being scared shitless when not touching Geralt every second of every minute of every hour of every godsdamn day. It's already been a few days, he has to tell his pod why he's gone missing, but every time he goes to leave, the mer hisses at him. Eventually, Geralt grows tired of the worry he must be giving his family, and swims out of the cave, even as the Mer screeches at him. He informs his pod he's alive and well and just... b u s y... with.... t hi n g s... before he swims back to the cove only to find his mer BAWLING. The mer is ecstatic that he's returned and seems to forgive Geralt after a day of snuggling. Okay, new problem: The merman isn't healed enough to go back into the open ocean and yet keeps slipping out when Geralt is asleep only to return with shells, sea glass, moss, sometimes even anemones that are deemed prettier than others. It takes Geralt longer than he'd like to admit to figure out the merman is trying to court him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: another week ahead.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls. 

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful. 

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.” 

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree. 

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.” 

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest. 

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you. 

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.” 

You frown and look over at Merinda. 

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.” 

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze. 

“Just me, sir?” you ask. 

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.” 

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position. 

“Mer,” you croak. 

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits. 

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle. 

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--” 

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.” 

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.  

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort. 

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind. 

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it. 

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews. 

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.” 

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.” 

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.  

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see. 

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields. 

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much. 

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers. 

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him. 

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.” 

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart. 

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience. 

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet. 

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.” 

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens. 

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?” 

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite. 

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...” 

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful. 

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises. 

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.” 

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.” 

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.” 

“You understand me,” he states, not asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?” 

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters. 

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.” 

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns. 

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him. 

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding. 

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.” 

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.” 

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.” 

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier. 

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within. 

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter. 

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!” 

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again. 

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!” 

“Get inside,” a soldier growls. 

“You do not command me! I am the queen--” 

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion. 

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!” 

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade. 

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.” 

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents. 

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure. 

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.” 

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold. 

“She is hungry. Is there food?” 

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows. 

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty. 

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red. 

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal. 

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come. 

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes. 

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--” 

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest. 

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts. 

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls. 

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.” 

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?” 

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping. 

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--” 

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.” 

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.” 

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...” 

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step. 

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap. 

[scales-n-art]

March Rewards for my Patreon are up! Featuring Naiad! Jaskier & Geralt SFW, and Shark!Eren x Mer!Levi NSFW ❤️

Join us on Patreon to see the full pieces!

[bluedillylee]

Fanart for Seashells and Seaweed 

"I um-" Geralt starts, "Eskel is uh- he thinks you might be interested in, well- um. I know you haven't liked any of the previous mates we brought you but I thought maybe- Eskel thought- would you be-" he huffs in frustration and looks at the sand between them. "Would you want… me?"

[ID for full NSFW image: Mer Jaskier fucks Geralt while they are in the water with their heads above the ocean. Geralt’s belly is bulging with eggs and he ejaculates into the water. end ID]

Ao3 NSFW

Twitter NSFW

[hanzajesthanza]

the multilinguality of a lot of the witcher characters is something i love and also probably a feature resulting from sapkowski being a polyglot himself as well as creating a fantasy world that mimics the real one.

it’s a more obvious and crucial element in the hussite trilogy, but i think that it’s also significant in the witcher, too.

languages are not as simple as belonging to one people group. for instance, one can know one dialect of elder speech and be fluent in it, but struggle to communicate in another dialect.

there’s various dialects of elder speech, the first being the classical, the one spoken by elves. another one is nilfgaardian. another one is skellige jargon. another one is brokilonian… and there is an entire variant of elder speech used by mer-people and sea creatures, but it is sung, with one’s musicality, melody, and intonation affecting their accent.

and elder speech is needed for specific activities. if you cast spells? if you’re a human, you need to know classical elder speech, because the human way of casting spells requires incantations and hand gestures.

if that wasn’t enough, the concept of languages dying out and intermingling and evolving is also touched on.

for instance, the dwarvish language exists, but is quickly being forgotten as assimilation into human settlements becomes more and more common, and youngsters are reluctant to speak their own language

another example of time and the mixing of groups affecting the evolution of language is in the north case, a mountainous region in which nilfgaardian and northern tongues have been mixing for the past couple of decades due to imperialism and nilfgaardian expansion northward. and owing to this is an eruption of new slang using words from nilfgaardian has entered the local tongue.

(this part is just a headcanon:) there’s probably a lot of local languages and dialects, from regions the nilfgaardian empire consumed, that are various stages of dying because some places were conquered hundreds of years ago and some were conquered only a few decades ago

there’s even more obscure languages like the vampire language which is only known to us in a nauseatingly menacing, terror-inducing song and… an untranslatable pun.

what’s more is the curious use of latin words and phrases used as one mught use them today; for which, of course, the out-of-universe explanation is that sapkowski is addicted to using latin, but, in-universe is an ancient language with a similar role latin has in modern society being “translated” to our latin, just like the common tongue is being “translated” to polish.

and what i love the most about this is that this isn’t knowledge that lives in the background, not touching the lives of our characters. the characters’ abilities (or inabilities) to speak languages affects them in many ways throughout the story.

geralt speaks elder, but his brokilonian dialect is poor (at least during sword of destiny, in time of contempt he seems to have improved somewhat during his month-long stay)… and dandelion had to learn elder speech for his expedition to brokilon, to sing elaine ettariel and speak with the dryads, and you can see that he’s a beginner in the language.

milva gains multiple nicknames in elder from the elves owing to her service to them, not solely out of respect, but because her given name is hard to pronounce for them. and her present nickname, the one she should be proud of, is not of any of her attributes, but a familial title—sor’ca, sister.

another thing about milva is that she is illiterate, but at the same time, bilingual. one does not preclude the other!

cahir’s mother language is nilfgaardian, but speaks the northern common language because of his northern ancestry on his mother’s side. and in times of stress, his mind blanked on northern, as well as when he swore in nilfgaardian.

cahir can understand angoulême’s north case slang, as well as “translate” for the rest of the company, but they have probably run into confusion or frustration—“how did you get that from that?!”

and regis’ language is so obscure, he makes a joke in it to himself and no one else understands, but he still is clearly amused by it. and vampires seemingly also do not speak with their mouths, only using telepathy, so the acquisition of human language must have been a challenge for him. and i wonder how many human languages he’s learned only to later face their extinction. perhaps when he came back from the grave, the human language he had learned was now defunct, or rarely used?