#more like geralt of idiot

[roughentumble]

geralt who always subbed to people who treated him like shit as a form of self harm who then gets brought out of his shell to dom for jaskier

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 109

Geralt is a witcher. Cats tend to distance themselves from witchers. Sometimes Geralt wonders what cats are like. So one day he asks. "Cats are lovely. Beautiful little sweethearts." The old woman who owns the inn says to him. "Cats are annoying varmints, always yowling in the middle of the night when they're in heat, they SCREAM their little heads off, can't catch a wink of sleep with them around!" A man passing by him in the market complains, with the anger of someone who has clearly thought about this a lot. "My cat isn't the biggest fan of being touched, but she's a good girl. Catches the mice." "They're evil little hellions, nothing compared to dogs. Don't even like their owners." "I'd like 'em a whole lot more if my way of living wasn't being a fisherman. They climb in at night and steal my best catches." "They're adorable!" "My cat is the cuddliest sweetest snuggliest little kitty to ever live, I think. Nobody will ever love me as much as he loves me." "My friend has a kitten! She already knows to chase the feathers we wave in front of her! I hope she still plays when she grows up." Opinions are varied in the town, but the majority seem to love them. He wants to know what they're like, not if they are liked. He sits down with a friendlier townie one afternoon and asks in detail what cats are like. What's great about them, what's bad about them, what do they like, what do they hate, what can they do, what have they done? The more she describes cats, however, the more Geralt can't help but be reminded of Jaskier. "They're playful. They love making noise and chasing things."

"Geralt, please, can't I play my lute? It's been fourteen whole minutes of SILENCE! Let me play a song!" "Why do you stay?" "Maybe I just like following you, Geralt. It's nice only having to pay for half of everything, after all."

"They're moody little things. Cats will want to cuddle you one second, and be left alone the next, and if you can't read their mind, they'll give you an annoyed little pouty face, as if you were meant to know better!"

"Geralt, do you mind if I...?" "If you what?" "Sit here?" "...My lap?" "That is where I'm sitting, yes. May I?" "...Mm." "Great thanks!~" "Geralt, you pissing idiot! I can't believe you! Don't touch me! Don't even look at me! How could you do something so so so SO stupid!?" "This is my job, Jaskier." "And apparently sewing up your arm is mine!" "I can take care of it." "Oh, I'm meant to just trust the man who went off and got mauled by a werewolf, then?"

"They enjoy a good sleep. Cats nap more than my old man, if you can believe it. They love comfort and luxury."

"Geralt, can't we stay at an inn? It's been so long." "Can we rest? Just for a bit? Pleaaaase? I want a nap. Don't I deserve it?" "Geralt, not to be ungrateful, but I think sleeping on the dirt would be better than this inn. Don't tell me you're making us sleep here. There's probably snakes nesting in the pillows."

"But at the same time, they love the grittiest bits of the outdoors. Chasing rabbits through tunnels, climbing trees after a songbird- My childhood cat used to dive in the swamp to catch frogs."

"Geralt, taking a shortcut through the bog is the easiest way to get to the competition in time! Now hurry along! Either I cross the bog alone, or you come with me!" "Geralt, I went looking for potion ingredients while you were skinning the deer!" "Geralt, are you going to cut the damn thing's head off or what? Wait, darling, are you alright? Are you hurt? Let me do it-"

"They sometimes bring you dead critters because they want to feed you. It's oddly very endearing."

"Geralt, I bought you some honey buns!" "I found some lovely cakes, do you want one, Geralt? You haven't eaten at all today." "I- I killed it. It was coming straight for you and I panicked. Am I bleeding? I can't quite tell because of the adrenaline, so am I bleeding or not, Gerelt? Can you tell me? Are YOU bleeding? Did I get it in time?" "I got so many tips last time I played, Geralt, you can get a bigger meal."

"They get themselves into trouble a lot, though. Places they shouldn't be, things they shouldn't touch, things they shouldn't eat."

"Geralt, I didn't mean to cause all of this. I'm sorry." "It's nothing, Jaskier. I'm just glad you're unharmed." "...Um... Geralt? Can you let go of my wrists now?" "Don't. Touch. Anything. The plant's spines are poisonous." "Jaskier, spit it out! SPIT IT OUT! I told you to stop fucking eating things in Yennefer's place" "Then why was it colored like a nice candy?"

"When they're scared or angry, they can make a right mess out of you. Don't let their cuteness fool you, they can do some damage."

"What else was I supposed to do, Geralt?" "Not punch him!" "He said you were a monster!" "I am!" "Do you want me to punch YOU?" "Geralt, I lost my dagger. It was in one of the bandits we chased away." "Geralt, will you teach me how to use a sword? Nothing fancy, just how to kill something."

"But above all, they're loyal, and loving. Ever so lovely. They'd die for you, if you treated them nice enough." "Thank you for telling me. I.. Have to go." Geralt stammers out, racing away to the inn he left Jaskier in. "Oh, hello, Geralt. Did you find a contact?" And Geralt yanks him close, and hugs him. He should try kissing him one of these days. Either way, Geralt won't mourn for the cat he can never have, for he has a Jaskier, and it's close enough.

[steviebbboi]

Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge!

Howdy lads~ exciting news to share:

I just reached a 200 follower count on Tumblr 🎉🎉🎉

I kinda can't believe it? Writing is indeed good for my soul. Interacting with y'all on here has helped me with my mental and emotional wellness due to just finding such great community on here. Thank you for giving me the space to write and for following along/supporting in my writing journey 💖

With that spiel spoken, I wanted to host a writing challenge in celebration of this milestone! *squealing because i'm so excited to host*

Stevie BB 200 Followers Celebration Writing Challenge Masterlist

*you'll find all writing submissions and writing requests (answered) at the link above*

You could participate by sending in either:

✨ writing request via my Asks (💙)

and/or

✨ writing submissions (💥).

General Rules:

the challenge will start October 1st until the end of November (flexible on late entries for submissions only💥; let's say till mid-December or so).

I'll read/write for Chris Evans characters, Henry Cavill Characters, and Charlie Hunnam characters [and Bucky Barnes specifically lol] (these are my preferences but if there are other characters that you'd like to bring in, just ask me)!

for writing requests 💙, i will only be accepting requests (2 max/person; pls do not send more than 2 asks!) until the end of November.

for writing submissions 💥, go wild! submit as many as you like!

you can do both (send in a writing request ���� AND send in a writing submission(s)💥) if you want to; rules still apply for the requests though.

use at least one prompt within your request 💙/submissions💥 from the lists below (but def. go crazy if you wanna use more than one! you don't have to claim any prompts).

works can be inclusive! poc, gender neutral, neurodivergencies, mid size/plus size/curvy readers are encouraged!

No word limits but please use a 'read more' after 200 words

Works can be part of an existing series but must be able to stand on their own

tag me @steviebbboi and use the tags #bbboi200celebration and #steviebbboiwritingchallenge in your entry so i can read/reblog your work! (If I somehow lose sight of your submission, please remind me and I'll take a look at it right away ☺️)

Most important one: Have fun!

How To Play:

✨ You must be 18+ to participate in this challenge!

✨ Choose one (or multiple 😏) BB's:

Chris Evans Characters

Steve Rogers/Captain America

Ransom Drysdale

Ari Levinson

Frank Adler

Curtis Everett

Andy Barber

Hayden/Harvard Hottie

Nick Gant

Jake Jensen

Johnny Storm

Lloyd Hansen

Henry Cavill Characters

Clark Kent

Napoleon Solo

Geralt of Rivia

August Walker

Charlie Hunnam Characters

Jax Teller

Raymond Smith *extra brownie pts if you write about him omg*

King Arthur

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes [he's all by himself im so sorry lmfao 🥹]

✨ Choose one (or more) of the following prompts:

*if you don't want to write smut, you don't have to choose anything from the kinks prompt! feel free to only use the following two prompts :)

soft dom!BB

clothes/naked ratio

size kink

slow and deep 👀

breeding kink (non-pregnancy version)

somnophilia

free use

cockwarming

belly bulge

Squirting

consensual non-con

consensual dub-con

cumeating

creampie

anal/or dp

possessive/or protective manhandling!BB

oral sex

orgasm delay

dumbification

daddy/princess kink

overstimulation

sex pollen

prone bone

cockdrunk

threesome (BB/Reader/BB)

ass/pussy spanking

mild degradation

body worshipping

quickie/don't get caught (public sex, threats of exhibitionism, etc.) 😏

Grouchybb! who is only soft with you

Married and loyal!spouse

A/B/O

lumberjack!bb who is a teddy bear on the inside tho

mob AU

biker AU

soulmate AU

mutual pining/idiots in love

childhood besties to lovers

reformed playboy

professor AU

supernatural/mythical (gods, sirens, werewolves, witches, vampires, ghosts, oh my!)

frenemies to lovers

fwb to lovers

locked in AU/forced proximity

medieval AU

fake dating/relationship

sharing one bed

polar opposites attract

break up and make up

spy AU

meet cute

cowboy AU

gentle recluse!BB

brothers best friend!BB

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Yes, take it, slut"

"It's not that big of a deal."

"God, why do you always do this"

"You're impossible."

"Then I guess we gotta be quiet, huh?"

"We're trapped."

"Shh, you wouldn't want anyone to hear, or do you?"

"You're taking me so well, baby"

"Good girl" *for fem readers; adjust accordingly!*

"Tsk, uh-uh, c'mere, honey"

"You always feel so good around me, baby"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Here, let me help you."

"Yeah, are you a cockhungry slut, now?"

"I hardly think that that's necessary."

"Don't be a brat, baby."

"Aw, does it feel good right there?"

"I'm sorry!"

"What do you want from me?!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"What do you think you're doing here?"

"Nope. Again."

"Don't worry, I got you."

"Just stay still, there you go."

"Just one more, I promise."

"C'mon, don't you wanna be good?"

"Stay over there!"

"You better hurry up, baby."

"Thaaaat's it, you're doing so well, honey."

"Uhm, I'm not sure that's going to work."

"Please, I'll beg, please!"

"Be honest."

"Be careful there, darlin'."

"Are you okay?"

"Are you sure you wanna go there?"

Scenarios? Any! Go. Wild.

✨ I love reading/writing angst w/HEA, soft dark (nothing too dark though), fluff and SMUT (as you can see w/the many many kinks).

no incest (stepcest is ok if tasteful lol), no infidelity, no watersports, no murder, no gore. if you're unsure if a trope is appropriate, ask me!

if im ever uncomfy with writing something, i will lyk and we can talk more about it to see if we could work with it!

feel free to ask any questions!

i think i got everything!

Have the best time, laddies~ thanks for celebrating with me!

All are welcome to join in the fun! ❣️

Tagging a few mutuals who may be interested but no pressure bbs:

@bigtreefest @mercurial-chuckles @stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork @buckets-and-trees @hotdamnhunnam @laurfilijames

@autumnrose40 @eloquentlytired @misscherry-26 @stellar-solar-flare

@darsynia @navybrat817

[thedemonofcat]

“What are you putting in your soup?”

“Hemlock.”

“Ha! And they say Witchers don’t have a sense of humor.”

But Geralt isn’t joking. Because Witchers are immune to most human poisons, they tend to use them as spices.

Geralt has always been conscious of the fact that this is a thing that marks him as inhuman. He doesn’t bring out the human-deadly spices in towns.

At first, Geralt didn’t add poison to his food in front of Jaskier. But then, the bard proved himself unphased by black eyes, growls, and all sorts of strangeness. Surely, he wouldn’t think differently of Geralt for eating a bit differently.

Only, Jaskier keeps shrugging the poison off as a joke. And he keeps trying to steal food off Geralt’s plate like an idiot!

(Nevermind the fact that Geralt let him do it before and thus gave Jaskier the impression that the behavior was acceptable)

"Spit it out!" the witchers shouted as Geralt watched Jaskier take a large bite from a Manchineel fruit. In a surge of blind panic, Geralt plunged his hand into Jaskier’s mouth, frantically trying to pull every last piece free.

“Geralt, not that I mind you using my mouth,” Jaskier mumbled around the witcher's fingers, “but there are far more enjoyable ways to go about it.”

“I need to get all the poison out,” Geralt muttered, his focus entirely on making the bard gag and expel the toxic fruit. But instead of gagging, Jaskier tilted his head, as though something had just clicked in his mind.

“These are poisonous... to humans,” Jaskier remarked, his tone more intrigued than afraid.

Geralt froze, his hands stilling as he truly looked at Jaskier for the first time in a way he hadn’t before.

“You’re not human.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A young, horny Lambert sets his sights on an older hunk of Witcher beef. CW: age gap, flirtation.

"I'm going for it."

"Lambert, don't be a fucking idiot. They'll laugh at you."

"They might, but he won't. You miss all the chances you don't take, right?"

"Your funeral."

Lambert licked his lips and smoothed his hair back as he stood. He hadn't torn his eyes away from his mark for a single second since said man had swaggered into the hall a few hours before. This was the winter he'd do it. He was a man himself now, which meant he had every chance of bagging himself the hunk of good-lookin' he'd been coveting from the moment his dick had started getting hard at night and hair had appeared on his jaw.

Eskel.

It wasn't just that Eskel had two decades on Lambert or that he was becoming a seasoned witcher. No other Witcher in the keep compared. Sure, some tried. They might step toe to toe during drills or try to outflame Eskel's igni, but they never could. The only one that outmatched Eskel was his pale shadow, Geralt. They even looked a little similar. But cream puff was a fucking bean pole of a man, and that shitty headband...

N'aw, Lambert wanted big. He wanted heat, and honey eyes, and that thatch of dark hair he'd seen on Eskel's barrelled chest in the baths, and that huge fucking d--

"You lost, Lambert?"

Lambert blinked. Gweld, the ginger prick, was frowning at him, ale tankard halfway up to his mouth. The others had paused their card game; Clovis looked drunk, Geralt was slouched back trying to see Clovis' hand and Eskel was watching Lambert speculatively.

Watching, with those honey-coloured eyes that turned Lambert inside out. The words caught in Lambert's throat; shit, fuck, why was he so fuckin' stupid the moment Eskel looked at him?

He took a breath, conscious of Clovis elbowing Gweld with a chuckle, while Geralt looked over with a smirk.

Lambert found his words. He folded his arms, thrust his chest out, widened his stance and put on his best cocky smirk. "Was just wonderin' whether Eskel wanted some better company. You losers can't handle your beer at the best of times."

They laughed. Gweld elbowed Eskel who cocked a half smile, eyes rolling not at Lambert, but his friends, proving Lambert's point. Obviously.

"Is that right?" Geralt asked, amusement turning his narrow face bright with a toothy grin. Lambert had been told that as witchers matured they honed their sense of smell, could identify a man's emotions from his body language, the flush in his skin. Lambert knew Geralt had him sussed. "And what kinda company are you offering?"

"Geralt..." Eskel growled in warning, and it went straight to Lambert's groin. Fucking hells.

"Whatever he wants. I'm a man of many talents."

More laughter--"little man has game, shit; fuck, I'm chokin, too funny"--but Lambert wasn't put off. Eskel's eyes were on him, warming him like the sun. The lines around those eyes were wrinkled with mirth, and damn if that smile wasn't snatching the breath right out of Lambert's chest.

"Does your master know you're out?" Eskel asked, placing his cards face down. He leaned back in his chair and slung his elbow onto the back of it, knee turned out while a hand tapped at his drink.

Lambert tried to keep his eyes level and resist the urge to... look. Eskel's codpiece put on an absolutely fucking heroic effort, but it could only hide so much and that was when Eskel was soft. "What he don't know can't hurt him. No business of his who else is in my bed as long as I am."

Eskel pressed his lips together to smother his smile while the others guffawed. More was said but Lambert didn't really hear; he was too focused on keeping his heart from beating out his chest and appearing suave.

Eskel hummed. "Aren't you a little young to be lookin' for that kinda fun?"

"Worried you won't be able to keep up, old man?" Lambert felt momentum. He could do snark, he could meet Eskel on this well worn ground, toe to toe, and the way Eskel's head tilted to the side and his eyebrow rose. It wasn't a no, right? He looked interested. Amused, but he didn't dismiss Lambert outright.

Gweld slapped Eskel on the shoulder with a bark. "Eskel here's got stories that'd make your balls shrivel up into yer belly, lad. I don't think he's a good choice for yer first ride, best drop your ambitions."

"Fuck off, Gweld," Eskel said, but there was no heat to his words. Just wry amusement.

Geralt snorted into his drink and Clovis made a vulgar gesture with his hand, but before Lambert could respond a familiar voice barked through the hall and sucked all the building sexual tension into a vacuum. "Lambert, get your arse to bed, you missed roll call!"

Lambert clenched his teeth, shoulders lifting towards his ears. For fuck's sake...

Three of the witchers in front of him groaned in mock empathy. "Oof, tough break, Lambino. Cock blocked by Vesemir," Gweld said, shaking his head while Geralt and Clovis snickered. "Don't worry, we've all been there. Ain't that right, Gerbear?"

Geralt guffawed in protest and smacked Gweld on the shoulder. It quickly devolved into a wrestling match on the floor, one which Gweld was definitely going to lose. Eskel watched them briefly before he looked back at Lambert. "Another time perhaps," he said, toasting Lambert with his ale. "G'wan, before he decides the target dummies are a little light on straw."

Lambert grunted, frustrated, but stalked away. He'd made inroads, and the way Eskel's eyes had shone, and that crooked grin. Eskel hadn't outright rejected him, hells, he'd--well, that smile... Eskel didn't smile at everyone like that.

Lambert laid in bed with that smile behind his eyes and a hand under the sheets, determined that it would be Eskel's instead of his own by winter's end.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Jake Jensen

Summary: Jake knows he's the luckiest man in the world and it's all because of you.

Warnings: None at this time. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

On a lot of levels, Jake knows he looks ridiculous. Part of him will always be that awkward kid who tried to hide his interests and hobbies out of fear of being bullied. Yet here he is, wearing a Tygra costume, complete with face paint, and he couldn't be happier.

He was skeptical when you first came up with the idea. Not that he didn't have faith in your abilities. It was more he wasn't sure in himself. But he wanted to do right by you, make you happy, and show the twins it's ok to be a geek, to love your interests. So he agreed to the costumes.

It also meant a lot to him that his department was willing to to do a mini trick or treat for the twins. They're too young, too little, to really go out for more than an hour or so. Plus it's great socialization for them, and Syverson even used it as an excuse to help his dog, Lily, get some needed experience with being around little ones.

After talking to some of the guys and giving them the candy for the twins, he was surprised to find out how many of them were excited for this as well. It had actually helped encourage some of them to dress up a little this year. Johnny even wore a superhero costume underneath his regular clothes in the hopes the twins would think he's an actual superhero.

The only hiccup was with the Double G's. They objected to giving the kids candy saying it was bad for their teeth and the like. Instead, they asked if they could give them a couple toys.

"Of course," Jake nods. "That's a great alternative! I'll see about running out and getting some real quick."

"No need," Geralt stops him.

"We already got the tykes something in case you agreed," G adds.

"Awww, thank you both so much! Can I see what you got them?"

The G's look at each other briefly before Geralt pulls the pack off his Monster Hunter costume and pulls out a couple of daggers, showing them to Jake.

Jake's eyes go wide. "Are those...are they smaller versions of Narsil before it was reforged?!"

G turns to Geralt, "I told you he'd recognize them."

Geralt nods at G before turning to Jake. "Obviously they're still small for a full blade so dagger based on Narsil made sense."

"Metaphorically as well since children take the shards of the past and reforge them for the sake of their future," G adds.

"Please tell me they're not actually sharp," Jake frets.

"Of course not!" Geralt snarls.

"What kind of idiots do you think we are?" G growls.

Jake holds up his hands in an attempt to placate, "you're right, you're right. I'm sorry. It's just...daggers, even blunted ones, aren't appropriate for toddlers. Maybe if they were plastic or something not so heavy and clearly well made---"

"Plastic?!" G scoffs.

"I swear I'm not trying to insult you and your exquisite tastes!" Jake interjects before Geralt can add his piece. "This is just a super big thing for a Halloween Treat! When you said 'toy' I thought you meant, like the rubber duck on your desk." The Double G's start giving him their scary look before he adds, "not that you have to give them that one. That's your rubber duckie to do with as you wish. I just meant, something small, something fun like that. The daggers you want to give them would be better as...maybe a birthday or Christmas gift. But not for trick or treating. I'd hate to build up their expectations like that."

"Hmmm." is Geralt's only reply before signalling G to join him in a huddle on the other side of their cubicle. After several minutes of silent communication they return to Jake. "We agree that it would be setting the twins' expectations too high for Halloween. Neither of us celebrates Christmas so we will hold onto the daggers until their next birthday."

"And we will return with some toys you deem 'more appropriate' for their age group," G concedes as he grabs his car keys.

"You...you don't need to do this," Jake reiterates. "I'm more than happy to go get something."

"No," Geralt asserts.

"This is our hunt," G scowls.

Jake backs out of their way but Geralt stops, "when is their birthday?"

"Late April," Jake confesses.

Jake holds you close as you both guide the twins along their journey through the cubicles. True to their word the G's got the twins some adorable squishy toys instead. You hear an odd comment about "building up strength to wield a blade" but figure Geralt is just in character as a monster hunter. Jake had made sure to warn you to not ask if he was dressed as a Skyrim character. The armor was incredibly detailed and well made so you had to ask him about it.

Geralt smiles, a little smugly, "I made it myself."

"It's incredible!" you exclaim. "If I didn't have to worry about the chemicals affecting the twins I'd love to learn how to work with leather."

"Hmm. Let me know if you need some pieces made up. Your own skills are quite admirable."

Heat rushes to your face, "oh, that's so kind of you!"

You'd stick around but Leah's run off to Johnny's cubicle, saying something about, "gotta ask."

You run over to her, trying to apologize to Johnny but he isn't hearing it. He's grinning even more than usual as he play whispers, "you'll keep my secret, right?" Leah nods and giggles in your arms.

Meanwhile, over at Ransom's cubicle, Jake is watching the scene, holding a sleepy Luke, and smiling.

Ransom stands next to him, "you know you look like an idiot, right?" Jake's smile falters a little. "Not that your wife doesn't do great work," he continues. "It's just...why would you dress up like this?"

Jake turns to him, still smiling, "because it's fun. Fun for me, fun for my family. If teenage me could see how loved and accepted my geekiness is, he'd cry with relief." Jake turns back to you and Leah, his smile growing again. "Plus, I'm doing my part to show the ones I love that I will always love them, always encourage their interests, and am fully willing to make an idiot of myself for them."

If Ransom has a reply, Jake doesn't hear it because your and Leah's laughs are all that matter right now.

Part 3

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[podcastenthusiast]

"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Abortion in The Witcher Books

Would anyone like to come along with me on a deep dive regarding abortion in The Witcher books? Not enough people talk about the fact that Geralt of Rivia is explicitly pro-choice and that the sorceresses are seen providing reproductive care, including abortion, on multiple occasions. So, let's do that.

There are a lot of things you can say about The Witcher books, feminism, misogyny, and the male gaze. (I am considering doing my first video on this very topic. It is complicated. This is not a 'the books are perfect' post) But one thing we can never say is that they are wishy washy about bodily autonomy, and more specifically, abortion. (In fact, that is the entire point of Ciri and Geralt's arc, which I will get to at the end of the post)

This topic came up awhile back because a 'witcher school' was closed after the owners were found to have ties to far right organizations, including anti-abortion organizations. So, I did a little thread on twitter about it, wondering how you can call yourself a Witcher fan (to the extent that you license a fan activity business!), and miss the entire fucking point. It was my most popular (and ofc hated by others) tweet ever, which was interesting, but I was mostly surprised that so many people were shocked to learn that Geralt of Rivia is, as a character, canonically, verbally, explicitly pro-abortion rights.

So I’m going to put the info here too in case any of you here find it interesting. Obviously there will be spoilers for the books.

TW: discussion of sexual assault, pregnancy, and basically anything having to do with reproductive health.

Before I start, I want to say that the book refers to abortion in reference to rights for women throughout, so that is the language in this article. I want to be clear that I (as an individual) understand that abortion is relevant to other genders and that I support it for trans men, non binary people, literally anyone. Abortion should be safe and on demand for all. But this is not a post analyzing my views on abortion, but the appearance of abortion in fictional psuedo medieval-esque fantasy world of The Witcher books.

Ok, I’ll start with the fact that sorceresses provide reproductive care in the books, including abortions.

In, The Last Wish (p210) Geralt tries to give Nenneke money to help Yen with fertility treatments. (In the books he does not mock her desire to have a child) He knows Yen wants to be a mother, and he wants to help. Nenneke replies that she does not need his money, and that providing abortions pays a hell of a lot better than witchering.

"You're more of an idiot than I thought." Nenneke picked up the basket from the ground. "A costly treatment? Help? Geralt, these jewels of yours are, to her, knickknacks not worth spitting on. Do you know how much Yennefer can earn for getting rid of an unwanted pregnancy for a great lady?"

Witches as providers of abortion is a very common trope in fantasy fiction for a very good reason. In order to stamp out paganism and polytheism, European colonists vilified the village wise woman as a murderer of children, hence the 'boil them in a pot, stuff them in the oven' stories about witches. Many people interpret this as the vilification of abortion. In the classic 1972 feminist text Witches, Midwives, and Nurses: A History of Women Healers, Ehrenreich and English quote Malleus Maleficarum, the witch hunting manual written by Catholic clergymen in 1487, to show that women providing reproductive healthcare was one of the 'characteristics' of a witch.

The witch that provides reproductive healthcare fits in very well in the witcher world, where Geralt and the witchers are embodiments of the working class who are used as tools and exploited. They are loathed until they are needed. The same is true of abortion providers. They are hated until they are needed, and they are always needed.

It also fits in well with the themes of class. In the Witcher books, it is stated multiple times that it is upper class women who are accessing this care from sorceresses. That is real. It is the truth that outlawing something very very often only means outlawing it for the poor and working class. The wealthy always find a way.

In Season of Storms, the sorceress Coral and her assistant Mozaïk provide reproductive healthcare to "wealthy, upper-class ladies" on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Geralt comes to speak to Coral in chapter sixteen and both of the women are wearing white doctor coats. They have just helped a woman deliver a baby and it is implied that the baby died and they are both upset. They do not want Geralt there, because (it seems to me) they need space to grieve, and they do not expect him to understand. They send send him away, suggesting he go spend time with Dandelion.

She walked over and kissed him on the cheek without a word. Her lips were cold. And she had dark circles under her eyes.

She smelled of medicine. And the fluid she used as disinfectant. It was a nasty, morbid scent. A scent full of fear.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she forestalled him...She looked at him and it was a faraway look, from beyond a chasm of time and events between them. He needed a few seconds to understand how deep that chasm was and how remote were the events separating them.

"Maybe the day after tomorrow would be better. Go to town. Meet that poet, he's been worried about you. But now go, please. I have to see a patient."

After she had gone, he glanced at Mozaïk....

"We had a birth this morning," she said, and her voice was a little different. "A difficult one. She decided to use forceps. And everything that could have gone badly did."

"I understand."

"I doubt it."

"Goodbye Mozaïk."

There are multiple other references to abortion in relation to sorceresses; I won't quote them all. But I'll leave you with one other reference. In Lady of the Lake (pp114), in a very funny moment, Angoulême says she has a 'small problem' and Fringilla replies:

"I understand," nodded the sorceress. "It's nothing dreadful. When was your last period?"

Angoulême is rather put out at the thought of being pregnant.

"What do you mean?" Angoulême leaped to her feet, frightening the chickens. "It's nothing of the sort. It's something completely different!"

So, sorceresses provide abortions and other reproductive care.

But what about the men? What about the heroes?

Well, several of the male protagonists state explicitly in no uncertain terms that abortion is an inalienable, sacred right. That includes Geralt himself.

Here is Geralt taking to Queen Calanthe in Sword of Destiny (p345). She asks him whether he hates his mother. In the course of his answer, Geralt says that abortion is “a choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.”

"A choice. A choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman."

That’s a strong goddamn statement. There’s no doubting his meaning or the strength of his conviction. And it isn’t just Geralt. Dandelion (Jaskier), Cahir (he is traveling with Geralt as part of the hansa in the books, please set aside anything you think you know about him from TWN), and Regis (Geralts dear friend) all explicitly support abortion rights, quite passionately.

In Baptism of Fire (p317), one of Geralt’s dear friends (my favorite, the love of my life, Milva) shares that she is pregnant. They are on a brutal journey through a war zone looking for Ciri. So it’s complicated. Another friend, barber surgeon vampire Regis has prepared an elixir for her to induce an abortion. So, not only do sorceresses provide abortions, but so do vampire barber surgeons, one of the most lovable heroic characters in the books.

But before he administers it, Regis gathers the rest of the company. Regis knows Milva feels like shit at the prospect of burdening them, so he is worried that she is making the decision under duress. They don’t immediately understand why he is bringing the matter to them.

At first they think he is asking for opinions on whether she should get an abortion. They are baffled. Cahir answers first. He says in Nilfgaard it is always a woman’s right to choose.

"In Nilfgaard," Cahir said, blushing and lowering his head, "the woman decides. No one has the right to influence her decision. Regis said that Milva is certain she wants the medicament. Only for that reason, absolutely only for that reason, have I begun-in spite of myself-to think of it as an established fact. And to think about the consequences. But I'm a foreigner, who doesn't know...I ought not to get involved. I apologize."

So, Cahir says that maybe it’s a foreigner thing. Maybe it’s different for them. Dandelion (Jaskier) is offended and outraged by the implication that they believe any differently.

"What for?" the troubadour asked, surprised. "Do you think we're savages, Nilfgaardian? Primitive tribes, obeying some sort of shamanic taboo? It's obvious that only the woman can make a decision like that. It's her inalienable right. If Milva decides to--"

At this point, Geralt cuts Dandelion off. Geralt alone actually understands that there is something else happening here, that they are misunderstanding Regis and further questions are in order. Geralt begs Dandelion to stfu, which the bard misinterprets. He thinks Geralt is disagreeing with him and is considering opposing Milva's right to choose. Dandelion LOSES HIS TEMPER at the thought that Geralt would deny Milva her right.

Geralt becomes even more irritated and angry at the implication that he would do such a thing.

So, not only do we have witches as abortionists in The Witcher books, we have men, the hero (Geralt) his best friend (Dandelion), my beloved Regis, and Cahir say explicitly that abortion is an inalienable right.

And that should be no surprise.

Bodily autonomy and reproductive rights is at the very heart of the story. You do not have The Witcher story without it. It drives the narrative, the conflict, and Geralt and Yen's character arcs.

There is a criticism I see floating around quite a bit, that having Yen's story driven by her desire to be a mom and to physically reproduce is anti-feminist, or at least a tired reductive trope of women being defined by their maternal instincts.

I get that. I get tired of womanhood being defined by reproduction and motherhood as well. Biological essentialism when it comes to gender is exhausting and regressive. However, in this context, it is entirely clear to me that the point is NOT that all women should want to be pregnant. The point is the bodily autonomy, to be pregnant if you want to, and to not be pregnant if you don't want to.

Look at Ciri. She essentially becomes the main character by the end, and the idea of being pregnant repulses her.

So, in Lady of the Lake, Ciri is being held captive by elves, who want to do the same thing to her that everyone else does--breed her. The deal they offer her is, she does not 'have' to have sex with anyone until she is impregnated, but if she doesn't, she can't leave. (So, if she is to access what every human wants--freedom--she has to. This is still rape. It is coerced sex) She is understandably distraught and enraged. The part of that deal she seems most disgusted by, is the idea that she could be pregnant.

"But I don't want to!" yelled Ciri so loudly that the mare skittered beneath her. "I don't want to, understand? I don't want to! The thought of a bloody parasite being implanted in me is sickening. I feel nauseous when I think the parasite will grow inside me, that--"

She broke off, seeing the faces of the elf-women.

So yes, she is distraught that her bodily autonomy is being taken from her yet again. But perhaps the most upsetting part is the idea that she could be pregnant. It physically repulses her.

Now. Let's put this in context.

In this psuedo-medieval-esque setting with royal families, being used as a brood mare is COMMON and ACCEPTED. IN FACT, Calanthe, Ciri's OWN GRANDMOTHER was marrying her off against her will, betrothing her as a child. No one thought this was weird. It's your duty, right? No big deal. Even Geralt, when he first met Ciri, thought it would be a better life for her. Sure, it's against her will. But it's physically safe and luxurious. And he leaves her behind in Brokilon.

But at some point, Geralt puts two and two together. He connects his trauma with hers. He makes a decision that even if almost no one around him in his culture or on the continent, sees the importance of her bodily autonomy or agrees with him, he's protecting her. Not just against death, but against anyone taking her choice from her. When he is having a mental breakdown in Brokilon, worried about her, he tells Dandelion that he is trying to protect her from what happened to him. He doesn't say, she can't die. Or I can't let her be killed. He says she cannot be alone. She cannot go through what I went through. Here, I"ll let him say it: (Time of Contempt, p240)

"Listen to what?" shouted the Witcher, before his voice suddenly faltered. "I can't leave---I can't just leave her to her fate. She's completely alone...She cannot be left alone, Dandelion. You'll never understand that. No one will ever understand that, but I know. If she remains alone, the same thing will happen to her as once happened to me...You'll never understand that..."

"I do understand. Which is why I'm coming with you."

Honestly, I tear up thinking about it.

And Yen, well, she has a similar arc.

Yen has been abused and used as a tool, and along the way she has accepted that this is the way things are. Yen has even done the same to others. But she looked into that little face, those wide green eyes, and at some point she also connected the dots. There's another way of doing things, and maybe it is possible for a little girl to choose for herself. And even if it isn't possible, maybe the important thing is to fight for it. Maybe Yen can give her whole life to let a child just be a child.

Yen goes through torture and imprisonment for Ciri. She shoots lightning at a god, she shouts at a goddess, she drops through a portal into the sea, she gives up every last shred of political power she has spend ninety years accruing, she WILLINGLY tries to give her own life MULTIPLES TIMES, to save Ciri.

And from what? Death? Not always. At the heart of all this sacrifice is that Yen has made a decision that Ciri gets be a human who is given the dignity and respect of deciding what to do with her own body. To be a kid, not a tool. To be a person. To be free.

So Ciri gets to say, actually, for me, the idea of pregnancy is terrifying and repulsive and therefore, I don't want to do it.

In the end, Geralt, a person whose body was tortured and experimented on before he was too young to consent, and Yen, a woman who was abused and used, and BOTH of whom had their reproductive rights taken from them, decide to love Ciri and protect her bodily autonomy at any and all costs.

That is what drives the story. It drives the narrative. It drives both Geralt and Yen's character arcs. It is, in fact, the entire point.

So it should not be a surprise that abortion, and the right to have an abortion if necessary, is an inextricable part of The Witcher world. No, you cannot analyze these books and find 'perfect politics'. They are not politically correct. And there are many parts I can critique. I mean, we can critique anything. (and I do)

But I find it endlessly interesting that people who are conservative or right wing think that this property 'belongs' to them, and they want to push everyone else out, when all they have to do is pay the most minimal amount of attention and have really only two (2) brain cells to rub together, to see that they are indeed, incorrect.

[thefandomlifechoseme]

consider:

professor!Jaskier, who teaches in the winter, and travels with Geralt in the summer.

it's winter, jaskier's got to oxenfurt in good time, his students are polite and attentive, and they've been going missing. not many, and not often, but alice didn't turn up to that guest lecture she'd insisted she'd be going to, peter hasn't turned up in a week, and catherine never came to that meeting the other day.

his colleagues think it's some monster. he has to talk them out of hiring a witcher, citing the fact that they don't know what it is, witchers don't take contracts on people, and, oh yeah, it's winter. the only witchers currently available for hire are the Cats, and it's incredibly unlikely that their caravans will stop by oxenfurt.

now, jaskier's been travelling with his beloved emotionally-constipated witcher for a fair few decades now. it might be a monster, some necrophage, or a werewolf. but it probably isn't. there's a reason witchers don't work in winter, and it's that monsters hibernate. and besides, the dates that the students went missing don't line up with any particular cycle, lunar or otherwise.

they do however, line up with the dates for a fae festival. now, jaskier isn't saying that the fae did this, but the fae did this.

so, he checks the next relevant date, sends a letter to yennefer, triss and one for when geralt hits the path again, as a precaution, because he's not an idiot, no matter how he likes to play the part.

he brings an iron dagger, enough food and water for 2 weeks, his best lute, his composition notebook, his path notebook, and, begrudgingly, some of valdo's less terrible works and a few of essi's latest ballads, because they have different styles of performing, and he waits outside that mushroom circle he found a few years back.

he hopes that they're only after some music to live their festival up.

(they are, thankfully, and, aside from all the word games, mind games, and actual games, it's fairly easy to get their leader to sign a contract with him stating that they will play at this festival and his festival alone, they may, willingly play at other festivals if they choose, that they're all free to leave after the allotted dates for the festival are up, and that this contract will be good for 1,000 years irrespective of any changes in leadership, with him personally, and that any changes to the contract must be verbally, and explicitly signed by all the people involved in the signing of the contract.

it's actually fairly entertaining.)

(yen and triss have a go at him later, of course, and geralt has him go over all the loopholes in his own contracts for their next five years on the path, supposedly to help him get the most money he can, but they both know it's so he doesn't accidentally leave a loophole in any other contracts he might make with the fae. but it's out love and relief, more than anything.)

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Have some Aiden & Kid!Jaskier interaction!!

"It's you!"

Aiden turned his attention towards where Jaskier was sat by the fire alongside the wolves, the bard's face a strange mixture of disbelief and elation, as was his scent. Aiden crinkled his nose slightly as he fought back the urge to sneeze or cough at the unfamiliar combination being directed at him.

"Yeah, it's me. Happy to see you too?" Aiden ventured, despite the fact that it couldn't have been more than an hour since they'd last seen each other. Aiden had gone back out into the courtyard after dinner to run some drills, despite the harsh weather, and get rid of the excess energy he could already feel building up. Vesemir was gracious enough to refer to it as 'extra training' and not act like it was a necessity if they all wanted Aiden to avoid getting so restless he literally started climbing the walls.

"No! I mean...I didn't realise before now until I saw you silhouetted like that with your swords and everything, but it's you!"

Aiden suddenly found himself with a limpet of a bard hanging off him, determined to cling despite the rainwater which now soaked both of them.

"Jaskier, I-"

"Oh right. You probably don't remember, what am I saying, of course you don't - Jaskier you fucking idiot. It's been thirty years, no doubt you've lost count of how many humans you've dealt with in the meantime. But-"

"Jaskier." Lambert huffed out from where he was dozing on the fur which acted as a hearth rug, not even bothering to open his eyes, "Let Aiden go dry off and then maybe some context to go with your twittering, Birdie."

By the time Aiden returned, Jaskier's excitement was enough that even the Wolves were giving him their full attention as he re-entered the main hall. Eskel and Geralt's books lay abandoned on a side table while a now awake Lambert was sat leaning against the wall by the hearth. He pulled Aiden down to sit next to him, the fire hot stone through his thick, wool shirt creating a pleasant warmth against his back.

"Alright then." Jaskier started from where he was sat cross legged in one of the old armchairs, leaning forwards as he once again addressed Aiden directly, "Before I start, do you remember anything about a night in Lettenhove thirty years ago. At the Viscount's estate."

Aiden shook his head, although something about this was starting to niggle the back of his mind.

"Name of Panktratz. Little boy, around six years old?" Jaskier continued, eyes growing sadder as it became clear this memory was potentially very one-sided, "Somehow convinced you to-"

He wasn't sure if it was the name or the wide-eyed look the man was throwing him, but Aiden felt something suddenly tumble into place. "Wait, I do remember that night!"

Aiden fought back a growl as he took in the various toys littering the floor, the miniature four poster bed...whose occupant was an even smaller lump under the covers.

That son of a bitch! That slimy twat had hired him to 'take care' of his nephew so he'd be next in line for the title instead, implying the whole time that his relative wasn't exactly deserving of the title. Aiden had accepted the job - what difference did the inner squabblings of Nobility make to him afterall.

In hindsight he probably should have asked more questions but he didn't have a copper coin to his name and this guy had paid upfront; enough for him to be able to eat regularly and maintain his gear for the foreseeable. He started planning after his employer graciously provided him with a blueprint of the estate and pointed out the targets rooms. He'd failed to mention however, that said target looked to be scarcely old enough to wield that wooden sword properly, nevermind any degree of power.

Fuck it. He should stay as far away from this potential mess as possible. It was bad enough when their employers pointed the finger of blame at them when they assassinated an adult, but a child? That was a complication none of them needed. Mind made up, he turned to climb back out of the window (which had been concerningly easy to coax open from the other side), making sure hood and mask were still firmly in place.

"Hello."

Aiden froze. Speaking of complications....

Rookie mistake! He'd been so caught up in everything else he'd forgotten to keep one ear focused on the other heartbeat in the room. He ran through possible scenarios: he could do what he'd been paid to do, but now the kid was awake there was every chance he'd scream and alert the house before Aiden could even lift a finger. Same potential problem if he tried to leave. He could always cast somne...

"You're a Witcher aren't you? I can see the shape of your swords!" Aiden's nose twitched at the boys scent. Strange. Even through the cloth covering the lower half of his face he could tell the boy didn't smell afraid. He smelled excited, happy even?

"I know all about Witchers. You keep us safe from monsters. Is that why you're here, is there a monster in my room?" The small voice turned slightly fretful as a faint whiff of fear started to sour the air - yet more strangeness in the fact that it was due to imagined monsters rather than him.

Aiden dared to turn and look, something about this child's initial boldness piquing his curiousity (who the hell starts questioning a stranger in their room instead of screaming the place down?). A small boy stared back at him with large eyes as he clutched the soft looking sheets to him like a shield as he curled up in the centre of the bed. "My Uncle Desmond says that monsters like to come out at night and eat little boys. I don't like him. He's mean."

Aiden gave a bittersweet smile at the pout he could see on the little face.

'Oh. You have no idea just how mean, kid.' He thought to himself.

"No, no monsters here. Go back to sleep."

The boys pout turned into a frown, "You didn't even look."

"Because I don't need to."

"Please, Mister Witcher." His bottom lip wobbled in a practiced tremble as his eyes grew even bigger.

Aiden bit back another smile. Kid was good, he'd give him that. Such audacity deserved some sort of reward.

"Alright. One very quick monster check, then you go to sleep. Deal?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "My name's Julian, by the way."

"I don't care."

"...are you going to tell me yours?"

"No."

"Can I see your swords?"

"No."

"How about your-"

"How about no talking until we make absolutely sure there's nothing waiting in your wardrobe?"

Turns out the only monstrous thing in Julian's wardrobe was a few hideous combinations of frills and lace. Behind the curtains yielded nothing, as did underneath the bed.

"Ok. Now you hold up your end of the deal and go to sleep."

Julian scowled at him in response from where he was now stood up on the feather mattress to watch rather than huddled under the sheets, arms crossed expectantly.

"What?"

"You're supposed to say sweet dreams."

Aiden blinked at him before replying "Sweet dreams." Monotonously.

"Tuck me in?"

Aiden cast the sign for somne, Julian's body flopping down before he'd even finished. Cheeky little fuck would've been wanting a lullaby next. Still, it wouldn't do for him to get cold, there was no fireplace in this room after all. He grabbed the quilt from the bottom of the bed, not bothering to straighten it as it fell haphazardly over the small body before doing what he should have done thirty minutes ago and taking his leave back through the window.

"I told my parents about you the next morning. They didn't believe me of course. Said it was probably just a dream and that if there had been a Witcher in my room I'd be dead. Although, I suppose that explains why my Uncle Desmond looked apoplectic when I came down to breakfast. I never knew he'd hired you to, you know." He flicked a hand across his neck in a throat cutting motion. "Why didn't you by the way? Not that I'm saying I wish you had or anything. I was a human child, you could've killed me multiple times as easily as scratching an itch but you didn't. Why?"

Aiden's features settled into a frown, "Oh trust me, if your Uncle had waited ten more years it probably would've been a very different outcome. As it is, once I had all the facts, I just decided against accepting a contract on a kid. The one who offered me the contract however..."

Jaskiers eyebrows shot up as he shuffled further forwards, "Are you saying you offed my uncle? He did just sort of... disappear."

"Not exactly. I merely broke back in and left evidence of what he'd planned somewhere I knew the current Viscount would find it. What he chose to do with that I had no involvement in. If he just so happened to be on the lookout for an assassin and I was coincidentally still in the area, well...no Witcher is ever going to turn down such well paying jobs so close together."

Jaskier laughed, causing the wolves to look at him in shock, "Oh don't look like that. I didn't learn the extent of it until I was older but besides trying to murder me he was an absolute cock. Definitely not somebody you'd want in charge of anything!"

"The ones that desperate for power usually aren't." Eskel mused, Lambert raised his cup in agreement.

"You know, I'm so happy that Geralt ended up being the Witcher I ran into in Posada. But when I started out from Oxenfurt, I was actually looking for you."

Aiden straightened up in slight surprise, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do this." Jaskier got down on the floor and once again wrapped his arms around Aiden, the Witcher returning the hug this time.

"Thanks." Jaskier muttered, "For humouring a scared, probably irritating as hell, little boy."

Aiden tightened his hold slightly, "You're welcome, Julian."

[annmarcus63]

“If life could give me a blessing, it’d be to take you off my hands”

The wind whips around them and Jaskier fears it will be strong enough to carry away the pieces of his broken heart. But instead of succumbing to shock and sadness, fury and indignation helps him to finally confront the witcher. 

"Oh, no, witcher, you're not doing this." the bard stomps all the way down to meet the other's tense back. "What, since you can't keep the witch, now you don't want me either? Well, guess what, witcher, I'm not a dog you can kick whenever you feel like it.” He shouts at him and in the last sentence, with both hands, he pushes Geralt's shoulders, who, of course, does not move an inch.

"Go away, bard." Jaskier is laughing his head off, he thinks he looks crazy, but couldn't care less. 

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, no, not this again. Do you really think you can erase all our history by giving me an impersonal title" What bothers him most is Geralt's passive face, when seconds ago it was full of what Jaskier might call hatred.

"Go away, Jaskier."

"No," he replies, closing the gap between them, another step back and they would both fall over the edge. Finally the mask of calm falls from the witcher's face, Geralt grunts visibly annoyed and walks past Jaskier, up the hill. 

“Why can't you ever do what you are told?!” he says as he turns to look at him. Jaskier stops in his tracks. True, he rarely does what he's told to do knowing that there are always better options. Like when Geralt was trying to chase him away in the early years. Jaskier did the right thing, he decided to stay. 

"I am not a child, Geralt. I know exactly what's good for me, and that's not it.”

"Then you're an idiot. What's in my best interest is to get as far away from you as possible." Jaskier whimpers reluctantly, he might as well have run him through with his sword and thrown his body off the cliff. He can't help but feel like something insignificant, not worth holding on to even in hard times.

Geralt is on his way up again when Jaskier calls out to him. 

“Then, I gather it was in your best interest to let me kiss you, right, Geralt?” It's rare to take the witcher by surprise, much more so when it's Jaskier, but this time Geralt had to pause to take a breath and process the words, just as he would before confronting a monster "All those kisses I gave you at night, or holding hands for even a few minutes, were in your best interest, I suppose.” Jaskier adjusts his hair, not caring that the wind would ruffle it in a matter of seconds. The sun slowly dips below the mountains on the horizon, inking the sky a deep purple color that unfortunately reminds him of the witch who started this. Confident and resolute, he climbs up to face Geralt with the courage of a stupid rabbit in front of a wolf's mouth. "It's funny because I thought, silly old me, that they were about more than convenience, I even thought you enjoyed them." Geralt's lip lifts in an attempted snarl, and the truth was that all of Jaskier's instincts were telling him that he should flee, not because he was afraid of the witcher, but because it is the cunning thing to do.

"You thought wrong." 

“Oh? Did I?” The bard mockingly interpellates him. Suddenly Geralt sprints to get away from him, it would be funny except that the bard's blood is boiling with anger and adrenaline, which prompts him to do something idiotic. In a flurry of limbs, Jaskier throws himself at the witcher, wrapping his arms around him to hold him in place, Geralt doesn't fight it because he knows he could hurt him. Jaskier seizes the moment to take his face in his hands and bring him close, their noses meeting with a certain rudeness. "You were mine. For fleeting moments, you were. But I am yours, my dear, don't you see?" Jaskier does what he thinks is necessary, kisses him on the corner of his mouth, but Geralt turns to meet his lips.

Fic here

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 141

Many would assume the flirtatious and caring bard to be the most touchstarved of the duo, but they would be wrong. Very very wrong. It was Geralt that sought out Jaskier's personal space like it was an all-curing ambrosia. Day and night, In town or in the woods, warm weather or the late autumn, Geralt would touch him. Always, always touching him. Don't get him wrong! Jaskier loves being groped all day by his rather attractive witcher friend, but it wasn't always the most convenient trait for his witcher to have.

*Growls* "Geralt, please, it's the waitress! She's taking our order."

Geralt clings to Jaskier's arms, plays with his hair, sniffs at his neck. He guides Jaskier with a hand on the shoulder, or an arm around his waist, or one time, - flustering Jaskier greatly - a hand on his hip. When Geralt is worried for him, he grips his arm, shields him with his body, or roams his hands over Jaskier's body, searching for injuries. Geralt is ever-present in Jaskier's personal space. It's just become a thing with them. Even in times of stress, danger, adrenaline. Geralt is fighting a manticore one day, and Jaskier is - admittedly, quite foolishly - in plain view. It wasn't on purpose! He's not an idiot! STOP JUDGING HIM! The beast goes to charge straight for him, and Geralt grabs his arm and whips him to the side, just in time to save him from the beast who then careens off a cliff. Jaskier pants, and feels the familiar weight of Geralt's hands. Geralt is snarling at him, shouting at him, and Jaskier tries very hard to understand, truly, he does, but it's hard. "Damn it, Jaskier, answer me!" Oh! REALLY should be listening now! "Hm?" "Are you hurt? Are you in pain?" "No, no, you- You saved me." Like always. Jaskier stares at his hero. His witcher. His Geralt. His love. For Jaskier does love Geralt. More than anything. And Jaskier seems to realize this fact more and more every day. With every move Geralt makes, with every word he says, with every little touch and caress. He thinks more on this fact later that night around the campfire. Geralt asks him to pass him a waterskin, but when Jaskier reaches to grab it, he hisses in pain. He rolls up his sleeve and sees a bruise in the shape of Geralt's hand on his arm. Right. From when he was saved. "I'm going to find some dinner." Geralt suddenly announces, standing abruptly and already shuffling away. "Wh- But Geralt, what about the watersk-" "I don't need it." He disappears into the bushes and trees, and Jaskier furrows his brow. He was sure they still had some food in their packs, why was Geralt so insistent on leaving? Curious... Even more curious, is in the following days, Geralt is avoiding him. From an outsiders perspective, nothing would appear wrong. But Geralt hasn't touched him once. No embraces, or odd sudden bouts of smelling Jaskier's hair, or holding his hand... He hasn't even stood closer than a meter to him. Jaskier worries to no end. What must he have done? What's changed? Why won't Geralt touch him? It's not until he's bathing one evening and he glances to the still-healing bruise that it clicks. Geralt feels guilty. The damned bleeding-heart is so convinced he's a monster that even a mark that shows protection shows only it's ugliest form to him. When Jaskier sees the bruise on his arm, he remembers Geralt saving him, he remembers the relief, he remembers feeling alive. Geralt only sees a bruise. Something of hurt. Caused by Geralt. Jaskier is so simultaneously horrified and infuriated that he slams open the door of the joined bathroom and marches into main area of the room they'd rented for the night. Still nude. Still dripping. Geralt, sat on the bed, midway through taking off his boots, was certainly shocked.

[fingons-rad-harp]

death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak (and onions)

[Read on AO3]

It had been three weeks, and the kid still hadn’t stopped following Geralt.

He chattered incessantly, significantly limited the amount of distance Geralt could cover in a day, constantly smelled of lust, and put his possessions in Geralt’s saddlebags without regard to which things belonged to whom.

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t just left the bard behind, but something stopped him every time he nearly rode off alone.

It was exhausting, having to act human all the time. He had to space out his meals, eating smaller portions more frequently instead of devouring an entire deer in one go and then not worrying about food for a few days. He was careful not to show his fangs, careful to make sure his grunts didn’t become growls, careful to always have White Honey on hand so the bard never saw him toxic. He wasn’t always successful in hiding his more animalistic traits, but somehow it hadn’t scared the boy off yet.

And for some fucking reason, Geralt didn’t want to scare him off. Even though he did, because at least then it would be over and done with and Geralt could go back to his solitary life on the Path and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Forget all about the colorful bard with his stupid soft hands and pretty words and utter fearlessness. Clearly, he was too much of an idiot to realize how dangerous Geralt was.

Geralt had tried exactly once to intimidate him. The bard wouldn’t leave the fuck alone and kept insisting on accompanying Geralt on his hunt—forktails, most likely a mated pair, possibly with eggs. Geralt had crowded into his space and glared, the kind of glare that made aldermen piss themselves in fear. The bard’s heart rate had skyrocketed, and for a split second Geralt had thought that was it.

Then, of course, he’d registered the thick smell of lust, the way the bard’s eyelids fluttered and his lips parted in anticipation.

It had been… tempting. Usually, even people that wanted to bed him held some undercurrent of fear. But Geralt would bet his swords that the kid hadn’t yet reached his twentieth year, and he wasn’t that sort of cad.

He sat by the fire now, going through his nightly routine of checking his armor and weapons for damage, cleaning, oiling, and sharpening as needed. Jaskier lay sprawled on his bedroll on the other side of the camp, writing in his notebook and muttering to himself, counting syllables on his fingers and cursing intermittently. 

The noise used to bother him. He wasn’t quite sure when it had turned into just… background noise, the same as trees rustling or birdsong.

Jaskier ambled over to their bags (Geralt’s bags, he couldn’t start thinking of them as theirs, no matter how Jaskier treated it that way) and rummaged through them, humming a wordless tune under his breath.

“Geralt…” the bard began, and he sounded so genuinely baffled that Geralt looked over at him instead of just grunting in acknowledgement. “Why do you have so many onions?”

Geralt shrugged. They’d been part of his payment for a contract a while ago. He’d traded some of them for a coil of rope in the last village they were in.

“Seriously,” Jaskier continued, “there’s like twenty of them.”

“They last a long time before going bad,” Geralt said in explanation. He held out a hand in a silent request for one, biting into it when Jaskier handed it to him.

The bard made a soft noise of horror. “You absolutely disgust me, Witcher.”

Even said in jest, the words made Geralt’s shoulders tense. He forced himself to relax and took another bite of the onion. Jaskier shuddered and pretended to gag.

“Yesterday you saw me eat a rabbit whole—bones, fur, and all,” Geralt pointed out. “This is where you draw the line?”

“It absolutely fucking is,” Jaskier said. “Yesterday you had just come back from a hunt and were hungry, injured, and exhausted. There is absolutely no excuse for, for—for chomping into a raw onion as if it were an apple!”

Geralt gave him a flat look. “You done?”

The expression on his bard’s face was answer enough. “Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Geralt ate two more onions like that as he listened to the outraged ranting, just to wind Jaskier up a bit.

Having a traveling companion wasn’t all bad, he thought. Even if it was deeply, deeply strange.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 26

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 25 🟣 Part 27

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, angst, Mike being an idiot, feral!Walter.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Soooo we're back with another instalment of the vampyboys! We're not hating on jellybeans today, no worries! (Ain't that a relief?) Enjoy!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo

“Hey, Mikey…” Your voice came out hesitant and small. Not for any particular reason, other than an especially useless fear of rejection. “Would you please feed?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” He sounded surprised, especially when you stopped him from going for your neck. “Ohhhhh, like that!” He grinned up at you while simultaneously pulling the hem of your shirt up. You let him take it off, barely noticing when he took off your bra as well.

“There’s one more thing I’d like you to do,” you muttered. You were so certain you wanted this, and so afraid Mike wouldn’t be okay with it…

“Anything, Sweetcheeks,” he said with a big smile while he wriggled his way down until his face was where it needed to be.

“I want you to leave the bite,” you whispered, stroking his cheek.

Mike moved back up, leaning his forehead against yours. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “More than anything. Don’t get me wrong, I want the others like that as well, even if they don’t know it yet—”

“They know,” he interrupted. “We’ve been talking about it, kinda… August complained that he wanted to mark you, and Sherlock countered that he wouldn’t let that happen unless he got a black-on-white promise from you that he’d get his turn, too. He was kind of aggressive about it. I— ehh… I really think we should let them know about this.”

“Wise words,” you mumbled. “I'm impressed.”

“I hope the offer to let me feed my favorite way still stands, though?” he asked, smiling at you like he was looking at his favorite thing in the whole world — which probably wasn't even too far from the truth.

“Why do you like that so much,” you wondered out loud. There had to be more to it than a simple love for boobs, right? You looked down at Mike, who looked up at you, his deep frown telling you he didn't appreciate the disturbance just as he was about to sink his teeth into you.

“I think by now we've established that I have severe abandonment issues,” Mike said. It sounded like he was joking, but you knew he wasn't. It was a silly coping mechanism, and you weren't going to accept that this time.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said softly, running a hand through his unruly curls. “But we can't always accommodate those, Mikey. That wouldn't be healthy, either.”

“Are you suggesting I go to therapy?” Mike said, faking shock and indignation. Then, he smiled. “Great idea, Sweetcheeks. Which is why I scheduled an appointment immediately after I came back from… being gone, I guess? But the waitlist is kinda long, so… It'll be a while.”

“I'm proud of you,” you hummed as Mike finally got to start his dinner — well, snack. You immediately sensed his desire for closeness, intimacy and, just like last time, you — ‘boobs' and ‘blood' were actually very low on the list. You locked your fingers in his hair and sighed, almost with relief. There was no need to pull him closer: he took care of that for you just fine, wrapping his arms and legs around you in the most adorable, comfort-seeking way.

Suddenly, you were overwhelmed with Mike's need to be taken care of, stronger than anything he'd desired up until this point, and when you unclenched your fist to move your hand…

“No! Don’t let go of me.”

“I'm not letting go, silly,” you whispered, stroking his hair and the back of his head. You were about halfway on your way to realizing what had happened when you felt Mike's teeth retreat and he looked up at you with big eyes full of shock.

“I didn't say that out loud,” he stammered. “I know I didn't say that out loud, because I very specifically remember thinking I didn't want to say that out loud.”

“That's…” But you were out of bed before you could speak, with Mike at your side who was furiously knocking on a door at the end of… some hallway — you weren't even sure it was the same hallway your room was on. Mike had managed to put a shirt on you, but it was both inside out and backwards.

“Sher-lock, open this door! Now!” What was this door made of? Reinforced concrete? Mike was definitely slamming it hard enough to…

“What the devil is going on, Mike?” A disgruntled Charles appeared behind you. “Unless you somehow managed to accidentally almost kill her, I hardly think this can't wait until morning.”

Marshall appeared next to Charles, with an equally unhappily surprised look on his face. “What did you do now?” His eyes dropped to your chest, where they rested for much longer than what you considered appropriate. He kept his gaze locked on you for so long, that you looked down yourself. Mike, in his infinite wisdom, had put you in a white shirt, that now showed two very obvious red dots at boob-height, and you watched Marshall as he clearly summoned every shred of restraint in his broad, imposing body to keep himself from dragging you back to his room — or maybe even just taking you right here, you weren't quite sure.

“I'm considering ‘right here’,” he growled at you.

“Am I stating the obvious when I say it would not be appreciated?” Sherlock said from the doorway as he dodged Mike's fist, which he’d still been slamming into the wooden door with nearly unperceivable speed and strength. “Might I inquire as to Mike, what the fuck?” For God knows what reason, hearing Sherlock swear was hot.

“She heard my thoughts,” Mike said breathlessly.

“Were you feeding?” Charles said, taking Mike's quick nod for an answer. “Well, there's your—”

“Mike doesn't hear thoughts, Charles,” Marshall reminded him quietly. “I do.”

“And you're sure it was a thought?” Sherlock asked carefully.

Mike nodded furiously. “Hell yeah. And not something I was even planning on saying out loud. So. That's Marshall's gift, right? She heard my thoughts using his gift while I was feeding. That's weird, right?”

“Uncommon? Yes,” Sherlock said with amusement to his voice. “Weird? Not particularly. Apparently, she has an aptitude for the gift.” He turned to you. “We might see if we could train it, if you're interested. Tomorrow. Now, please leave. I’d like to get back to bed.”

“I thought you didn't need to sleep,” you said with a smile.

“Oh, I don't think we interrupted his sleep, Sweetcheeks,” Mike said while his normal smile widened into a cheeky grin. Was he implying… The mental image of Sherlock, ehm… taking care of himself was almost too much.

“Mike…” you started, intending to tell him to stop joking, but as you watched Sherlock’s cheeks, which were suddenly flushed… Mike was right. That was… unexpected.

“Darling, I—” He stammered the words so softly you barely heard him.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” you said with a smile. He wouldn't be apologizing for another damn thing. Not something as mundane as this. Not on your watch.

Sherlock was gone before you blinked, and Charles was nowhere in sight anymore, either. That left just you and Mike, and a once more very intense-looking Marshall in the otherwise empty hallway.

A heavy hand closed around your throat — not squeezing, just… holding you. The other, you saw from the corner of your eye — held Mike pinned to the wall.

“I don't care,” he said, his voice a deep, threatening growl, “that he gets laid three times for every single chance I get. I really don't.” Sure didn't sound like he didn't care… “But this is the second time he's paraded you around like this — bleeding and wet… Is that for him, love? Because he likes to spend his time sucking on your tits?” His hand moved from your throat to your chest, where he brutally squeezed the boob Mike had used as a juice box. You winced when he put his fingers directly over the bite. “Is it sore? I bet he didn't take care of that bite the way he knows he should before he rushed you out of his room, now did he?”

He pulled your shirt up with one hand, still pinning Mike to the wall with the other, and sealed his mouth over your nipple, covering the wounds Mike's teeth had left, and he ran his tongue over both marks with great care. Mike squirmed against the wall while he watched, powerless in Marshall's tight grasp. For the first time since the ambush, you took the time to take a good look at the way Marshall was holding him, and you noticed his feet didn't touch the floor.

“Mike,” he growled when he took his mouth off your breast again. “If you do this to me one more fucking time, I'm going to ask August for the keys to the" — he side-eyed you for a split second — “basement, where I'll chain you to the goddamn wall, and then I'll fuck her right in front of your eyes, understood?” Ehh, did you have a say in this? Not that what you'd be saying wouldn't be ‘yes, please', but still. It was nice to be consulted every now and again.

When Mike's feet hit the floor again, he grinned at Marshall. Bold choice, if you were perfectly honest. You probably would have gone with ‘cowering in fear of what he'd do to you', but alright. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he said casually before walking off, leaving you standing there with Marshall.

“Punk,” Marshall muttered under his breath before smiling at you and turning around.

“What's in the basement, Marshall?” you said as he started to walk away. “Marshall! What's. in. the. basement?”

He was already gone, of course — as was Mike — and you were standing in the unfamiliar-looking hallway all by yourself, telling yourself that it was physically impossible for the hallway to become longer the longer you looked at it. Mike hadn't picked one of the doors you saw, so you had to be in a different part of the house. A different floor, maybe.

“I'll take you back to Mike,” Sherlock's voice sounded softly behind you. “It's a bit of a maze, especially in the beginning.” He silently asked for permission to carry you, which you granted him, and within seconds you were at the right door.

Sherlock knocked before you could. “Girlfriend delivery,” he said, waiting for Mike to reply before he opened the door — probably a wise decision. You could never be certain what you'd find where Mike was concerned.

“Mike,” you said as you crawled into bed with him again and Sherlock left the room. “What's in the basement?”

“A wine cellar,” Mike said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Some storage…”

“Mike!” you hissed.

“Now, if someone told you August had the keys to a special room in the basement of this house — as Marshall did — what would your very first guess be?” he teased.

“Sex dungeon,” you blurted out without thinking about it for so much as a second. On top of that being so completely on brand for August, it was also the only thing that would remotely make sense considering the conversation that had just taken place.

Mike grinned from ear to ear. “Duh. It's not technically his, by the way,” Mike told you. “And, before you ask, yes there are restraints that we — or… Me, specifically, apparently,” — he glared at you — “can't break. Why you wanna tie me up, babe?”

“Because I think it would be so fun to watch you squirm, especially since you’ll know exactly what I’ll so desperately want to do to you,” you said with an evil smile. Mike groaned — it was the sweetest sound on the planet, as far as you were concerned.

“You’re mean,” he muttered as he snuggled into your side, pulling the covers tight around him. “And Marshall is mean, too.”

“Why is he mean?” Your mouth morphed into a sweet smile involuntarily. “Because of the threats he made back there?”

“No, that sounded like a perfectly exciting night, actually.” Mike grinned up at you. “His stupid gift ruined my snack.”

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

If you still want prompts, how about someone saying 8 to Jaskier? <3

Here's some Geraskier! Can be read as gen or pre-slash.

8. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

Geralt grits his teeth as he hauls Jaskier back to their camp, the bard a limp weight in his arms. Jaskier appears to be awake, but in shock; his wide eyes stare blindly upwards. His doublet has a tear in it, the gash left by the grave hag’s tongue traveling from the center of his breastbone to his left shoulder. It will probably scar, which is the least the idiot deserves after strolling up to a grave hag to “get a closer look.”

“Geralt, I can’t see,” Jaskier says again, his unseeing eyes darting about frantically. “I can’t see.”

“I know.” Geralt is more gentle than he would like to be as he deposits the bard on his bedroll. “That’s because you didn’t fucking stay back when I told you to.”

“I thought it was dead! It was on the ground!”

“It was injured, not dead. That made it even more fucking dangerous.”

“Is it permanent? Oh gods, Geralt, I can’t lose my sight! That hag’s hideous maw can’t be the last thing I ever see! Why couldn’t it have been a comelier monster, like a succubus or a—”

Of course that’s the first thing he thinks about. “It’s the venom from the grave hag’s tongue. It almost always wears off in an hour or two.”

“Almost always?” If possible, Jaskier’s voice gets even pitchier.

Geralt thinks about lying, but the bard needs to realize how easily carelessness could get him hurt or killed. He thought Jaskier learned that after nearly getting his throat cut by elves a month ago and then nearly getting carried off by a wyvern a week after that. Not to mention all the times Geralt's had to haul him away from an angry father or husband. “Occasionally, the blindness is permanent. It’s rare, but it happens. Mostly to the sick and the elderly.”

“How sick? Because I was feeling a bit sniffly this morning.” Jaskier’s heart rate is getting faster, his breathing growing quick and raspy. “And how elderly?”

“Jaskier, you’re eighteen.”

“Almost nineteen!” His voice rises to practically a wail. “And I like to think I have an old soul.”

“You have an almost-nineteen-year-old soul,” Geralt says with his last scrap of patience. “I told you, you’ll be fine in an hour or two.”

“I’ll most likely be fine in an hour or two! What happens if I’m not? You won’t leave me here, will you? Geralt, you probably haven’t noticed, but I have no fucking idea how to survive on my own.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to hear him. “I can’t light a fire! The last time I tried to set a snare for a rabbit, I got caught in it. I get sick at the sight of blood, so I can’t hunt! Please don’t leave me here on my own.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” Geralt has tried to lose Jaskier a couple of times, but quickly realized that abandoning the bard in the wilderness was practically a death sentence for the lad. He’s been tempted to reconsider a couple of times, but he doesn’t actually want Jaskier dead in a ditch.

“Gods, I’ll have to return to Lettenhove, won’t I?” Jaskier’s blank gaze is fixed somewhere over Geralt’s shoulder. “Cordelia is never going to let me live this down. She told me I wouldn’t last a year on the road and I didn’t even last a season.”

Geralt goes to his saddlebag to get supplies to clean and stitch the wound. When he comes back, Jaskier is enumerating all the things that he’ll never lay eyes on again. It’s hard to tell what he’ll miss more: sunsets or tits. As Geralt dabs the dried blood and venom from the wound, Jaskier seems to settle on tits.

“And yes, I know I’ll still be able to feel them, Geralt, but it’s really an altogether different—”

Geralt can hear the hitch in the bard’s breathing that tells him that Jaskier is perilously close to hyperventilating. Fuck. He puts aside the supplies—the wound has stopped bleeding, stitches aren’t a necessity—and pulls Jaskier into his arms. Jaskier makes a startled noise, but comes willingly.

“Put your head on my shoulder,” he says.

“What?” Jaskier squeaks.

“Just do it.” When the bard complies, settling his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder almost tentatively, like he thinks it’s some kind of trick, Geralt adds, “Listen to my breathing. Match it with yours.”

Jaskier’s quick, panting breaths slow down, bringing his hammering heart rate down a notch.

“Just concentrate on breathing.” Geralt keeps his voice low and soothing, like he would if it were Roach startled by an unexpected noise or a rabbit in her path. “You’re going to be fine.”

“What if it is permanent?” Jaskier whispers.

“It won’t be.” With the arm that isn’t holding Jaskier against him, Geralt cups the back of the bard’s head, stroking slowly with his thumb. “But if it is, we’ll figure something out. You’ll still be able to play the lute and sing. Still be able to talk.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky laugh. “You say that like you think it’s a good thing.”

“Hm.” Since the bard can’t see him, Geralt lets himself smile. “Better than listening to you shriek about tits.”

“I don’t shriek.”

“You sound like a grave hag in heat when you get worked up.”

“Thank you for that horrifying mental image. Really, today hadn’t been trying enough.”

“Your own fault.”

“And here I thought you were being nice to me for once.”

“Saved you from the grave hag, didn’t I?”

“Not in time to save my eyes.”

“Your eyes will be fine, Jaskier.”

“So you say.” But the anxiety is slowly seeping out of Jaskier’s scent as he curls closer to Geralt. Geralt will probably regret letting him get this touchy feely, but that’s a problem for later, once the bard can see again and his heartbeat is back to normal.

“You’ll be able to see again by sunset,” Geralt tells him. “But I don’t think you have any chance of seeing tits tonight, not with the shit job you did flirting with the alderman’s niece.”

“Shit job? Geralt, she was charmed!”

“Have you ever met a woman before, Jaskier? One that you’re not paying to put up with you?”

Jaskier is so indignant that he spends a good part of the next hour telling Geralt about the people of various genders who have been won over by his charm and good looks. He doesn’t even seem to notice when his sight comes back.

(And Geralt doesn’t notice that he’s still holding Jaskier until the bard pulls away.)

***

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.27

Stephanie blinked at him for a moment after he said it.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked a bit dimly.

“He’s a serial killer, doll.” Sy repeated, “Six women they know about, about a dozen more with similar MO but no DNA at the scene.”

“Eighteen women.” August said, “That we know about.”

“Woulda been nineteen, but one survived.” Sy said.

“Who wants to bet she was a wolf?” Stephanie said.

“Not takin’ that bet, darlin’.” The fur at her back retreated and Geralt wrapped his arms around her waist as he sat up, pulling her against his chest.

“I haven’t heard of a serial killer Feral.” Geralt said.

“Doesn’t shock me,” Stephanie said, “If he hasn’t stayed in one place. They wouldn’t know where to send you.”

“Fuck.” Sy said, “I just had a scary thought. What makes us wolf doesn’t change our DNA, just adds somethin’ to it. Comes up as a viral infection. The matches were for cases from a while back. I wonder—”

“How many there were after the DNA started coming back wolf flavored.” Stephanie finished and he nodded. “The FBI would have notified the Council if wolf DNA was found at a crime scene, that’s the agreement they have, right?” He nodded again, “Guys, has the Council been keeping the existence of a serial killer Feral wolf secret from those that could have stopped him?”

“I sure fucking hope not.” August said, his jaw tightening.

“I have a scarier thought.” Walter said.

“Please don't.” Stephanie said.

“He probably targeted Steph as his next victim.” Walter said.

“Well, I’m not sleeping ever again.” She said. Geralt’s arms tightened around her waist and she laid her hands on them.

“But he feels what we all do, the “shadow” of her wolf, and thinks she’s his Mate.” Walter said.

“Would make sense seein’ as he’s not cuttin’ his losses and movin’ on.” Sy said, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

“Bonnie and Clyde.” Stephanie said.

“What?” Sy asked.

“He used to say we were like Bonnie and Clyde.” She said, “I hated it because they were romanticized and sensationalized by the press at the time, and even today, but they were just a couple of idiots who had a run of really good luck. I’d rather not be likened to a violent alcoholic hybristophiliac, thank you.”

“You were dating him.” August pointed out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know he was a fucking serial killer when I was.” She shot back, “Had I known, I would have called the fucking cops and turned his ass in.”

“Yeah,” Sy said, “Ya fuckin’ donkey.”

Nightmarish revelations aside, life had to continue. Her finances got easier seeing as Sy managed the buildings along with the pack, and as his Mate and the Mate of his Proxy, Stephanie no longer had to pay rent. Council may own the buildings on paper, but they still needed someone to manage the day to day. They ended up putting her old apartment as available, seeing as when Sy spent part time there, he just spent the days in the flat with her and Walter, the guys having no issues sharing a bed. Although with it being a Queen mattress, it was a bit cramped with three of them and more often than not, she ended up nearly smothered as she slept in the middle, or nearly cooked to death as they put out a lot of body heat. Might need to upgrade to a King.

Dirty clothes was starting to pile up so she collected it, Walter helping her carry the bags down to the basement laundry room.

"You hear Sy got stabbed?" She heard as they approached it and stopped Walter with a hand to his chest.

"No way!"

"Yeah, Marianne told us in the group chat. Apparently they got attacked by a Feral. Augusts' face got cut and Sy was stabbed, their "Mate" didn't get off easy either."

“Why’d you say it like that?”

“Do you honestly think she’s their actual Mate? She’s not even a wolf. Besides, have you seen her? Oof. She must let them do some freaky shit to her if they’re sticking around. They’re all gorgeous, and she’s...well...”

“Oof.”

“Yeah.” Their laughter was catty and it made her flinch, Walter grabbing her hand in his and squeezing it. He pushed into the laundry room with her following and the laughter cut off abruptly.

“Hi, Walter.”

“If I get word of anyone speaking like that of Stephanie again,” He said, “You’ll have to find yourselves a new pack.”

“That’s not up to you.”

“Do you honestly believe Sy would disagree with me?” He asked, leveling a look at her, “He loves her, same as I do, same as August, and Geralt, and Mike. She’s our Mate, it doesn’t matter that she’s not a wolf. Our wolves know her and they love her as much, if not more, than we do.”

“I love you too.” Stephanie said, her voice small and he pulled her against his chest, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

“You should consider yourselves fortunate that I overheard you talking about her that way, and not August or Geralt. They would have less...temperate in their responses.” Walter said, “Now leave.” They gathered their laundry and fled quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She asked.

“That you heard that.”

“Nothing I haven’t told myself.” She said and he pressed his lips to her forehead. “They’re right, though. Look at you all, then look at me. Makes me wonder if you would have even noticed me if your wolves’ attention hadn’t been grabbed.”

“Stephanie, you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. You’re strong, and capable. Fiercely independent, and incredibly caring and protective of those around you. You were always going to be my Mate. Always. You may not be a wolf, but you are an Alpha. You’re my Alpha, and I love you more than I can ever express with words.” Tears stung her eyes and she sniffled slightly against his chest. “Laundry can wait.”

“You’re out of clean skivvies.” She pointed out.

“I can do them later.” He said, “We’re going back up to the flat. Come on.”

“I’m sorry.” She said as he hefted the bag back onto his shoulder with minimal effort.

“For what, love?”

“Being so pathetic.”

“You’re not in the slightest.” He said and while she nodded, he got the feeling she didn’t completely believe him. August and Geralt were a little more vocal with their intentions when it came to Lewis, but Walter also wanted him dead for the pain he caused her, was still causing her with his words that had wormed into her mind and taken hold.