#not saying Jaskier's human because what fun is that?

[thedemonofcat]

I have a love-hate relationship with fics where Jaskier isn't human.

On the one hand, I think a lot of those fics undermine the true remarkability of Geralt encountering a human who becomes genuinely, unwaveringly devoted to him. It's something Geralt thought impossible. Humans are afraid of him. They hate him. Only people like him (things at least partially inhuman or unwaveringly powerful) are supposed to be able to tolerate him. Even those people tend to be more allies than friends.

And then there is Jaskier. Someone who's not powerful. Someone who is very human. Someone who likes being around Geralt just because he's Geralt.

But on the other hand, I really like the idea of Jaskier living as long (or close to as long) as Geralt. Also, some people do the nonhuman Jaskier thing very well.

Thoughts? Arguments? List of good fics this reminds you of?

I agree that in the context of the story, Jaskier needs to be fully human. However, fics where Jaskier is non-human are always fun to read. One reason I enjoy writing about Jaskier as something other than human is that he doesn't seem to age. This isn't just a show thing; even in the books, Jaskier is described as looking young. There's even a line about him looking like an elf, suggesting there's something more to him.

Here are some good fics I recommend:

- "Hear what I can't say" by Aalvina, acatbyanyothername

- "Ciri doesn't quite understand" by alwerakoo

- "Sunlit Bard" by ValeWright67

- "Burn Butcher Burn!" by Eternal_writes

I have lots more to recommend if you’re ever interested

[thelostgirl21]

I'm late to the party like you wouldn't believe, but I've got to say something, because I'm so upset!

Okay, unpopular opinion, I actually loved Jaskier's Season 3 hair!

Was it always perfectly styled? No. There were a few scenes where I personally thought it could have used a bit more volume, or a bit more volume in some places while a bit less in others; but, most or the time, I was more than fine with it, and thought it suited Jaskier well!

At times, I literally adored it!

Ex:

To me, those are moments where I thought Jaskier looked his best in the series! Loved the hair!

Then again, personally, I tend to prefer Joey's looks with his forehead cleared and his hair longer.

Like, this is I think one of the most gorgeous non-feral hairstyles I've ever seen on him:

(X)

This is an absolutely gorgeous man, and I personally prefer his hair styled like this than short.

(Note: I'm not saying he's not beautiful with short hair, too, simply stating personal preferences. Certain aesthetic choices are based on comfort, too, and he can 100% afford to sacrifice the "long haired look" for something that makes him feel more comfortable. He can rock plenty of different looks!)

Then, of course, there's the feral look that is just in its own category...

So why am I upset?

I've just found out that he didn't wear a wig in Season 3!

That Jaskier's Season 3 hair were simply Joey's own hair that he had decided to grow out.

And look, I'm fine with everyone having preferences!

That's not my issue. Having your own tastes and not being a fan of Joey's Season 3 hairstyle is not the issue at all!

There were posts simply mentioning that they hated that it looked so flat, when we could have been graced with something a bit more like this:

And I do get preferences when it comes to styling.

It's just that I recall how - since people assumed it was "an ugly wig" that had been forced on his head by the wig department, rather than what they considered "a bad hairstyle" - the comments on "Jaskier's hair" were at times downright nasty!

And I just gotta get out of my system that those of you that have been literally making fun of his "sudden 4-inches receeding hairline" (first I'll have you know I find receeding hairline pretty hot!), when it's kinda remained the same for 3 seasons (it's called BANGS people. Joey tends to wear those with his shorter haircuts! Look it up!), for example, really suck!

His hairline has always gone pretty far up on each side, even in some of his earlier work... Ex: Gopher in "Mount Pleasant" (2016):

Like he's got very thick hair that form a "V" shape at the top (my mom had that, but I didn't inherit it... And we've got tons of hair... Like, a lot! * ) and a pretty large forehead.

*

(That's me at 18, and then at 28 - before I brought them back to a lower back length - but my mom is the same in terms of thickness, she just has that V in the front I lack, and it never receeded any further in her life.)

And there would be no shame in having thin hair, or any form of baldness anyway!

So yeah! I remember sort of heavily ignoring all those "ugly wig" comments because I, too, had assumed it was a wig (turns out Joey's hair seem to be a bit like mine, and grow pretty fast), and at some point you choose your battles.

Did I think a bunch of you were immature assholes for needing to hate on that "ugly wig" so much? Yes. But you find those in any fandom!

Personally, I thought "the wig" was awesome!

But now, I kinda regret not having taken the time to be more supportive of Jaskier's Season's 3 hair given I actually like it...

Because that's just a (very sweet) human being's hair, that was styled in a way that a number of people didn't like.

Again, zero problem for those that thought it was badly styled, and that the look didn't suit Jaskier!

Critiquing what you find a "bad hairstyle" is no cause for shame!

But, for those of you that took it to the next level with all those "ugly wig" comments, you fucking suck, I sure hope you've since found out that you'd been openly ridiculing a fellow human being's real hair, that it makes you feel like complete pieces of shit, and that feeling like complete pieces of shit is going to help you learn from your mistakes, before you start attacking other people's personal physical features in the future!

"Well, I didn't know!"

Here's today's lesson:

When you don't know, please kindly shut up and assume the hair you see is the real thing!

Or critique the wig like you would a real hairstyle, asking yourself "Hmm... Is describing someone's real hair the way I do going to make me sound like a bully?"

Like I said, I'm aware I'm pretty late to the party, but the the kid in me that got heavily bullied in school over her own hair really needed to get it out of her system!

[eyesofshinigami]

20 questions for writers

I was tagged by the amazing @just-my-latest-hyperfixation and @devondespresso. Thank you lovelies!!

20 questions for writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

77 fics from various fandoms. I've had AO3 for a hot minute and it's gone on the same fandom journey I've been on, lol.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

596,417 at present.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment, just Steddie. But I suspect that I'll churn out an Arcane fic or two when S2 inevitably drops because I'm a simp for Vi and Caitlin, okay?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

*coughs loudly* Okay, well. They're all old One Direction fics, so I'm going to do the top one from each of my top 5 fandoms:

Right Side of the Wrong Bed (One Direction)

All the Ability to Love I Have (The Witcher)

Don't Be Surprised If I Love You (For All That You Are) (Stranger Things)

Locking Up the Sun (Captain America/Marvel)

Pull Me Out (From Inside) (Arcane)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try really, really hard to, but I typically forget about it until months later and then I go on a comment-reply spree. So, if you send a comment, I read it and treasure it and you'll probably get an answer six months later.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't have any, actually. I'm not really big on writing angst on the whole because I don't feel like I'm really good at it? So I shy away from it. I have a couple of angsty fics I've written, but they always have a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Honestly? All of my fics have happy and hopeful endings! I don't know if I can pick just one that stands out.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? I've had one or two comments where people questioned creative choices I made, but that's about it. I don't think my writing is popular enough to attract people who have Opinions About Everything. I'm sure it'll happen one of these days.

I think the closest are some comments I got on a One Direction daddykink fic I wrote, right when that blew up in the fandom. One person wrote one fic and of course the trope went wild, and as always, people have things they feel like they need to say. I miss the days of "don't like, don't read" of yore, yanno?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Smut is actually the easiest thing for me to write. I write all kinds, but mostly of the gay/lesbian variety, lol. Currently I'm on an A/B/O kick, so there's that.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not typically. I've only written one, where it was Steve and Bucky and it was a Snowpiercer fusion that I wrote for an exchange many a moon ago. It was fun, but I don't have very many fandom interests that overlap well enough.

I also have about 22k written of a Cap!Steve and Winter Solider!Eddie AU that I cooked up, but it's more of a fusion than an outright crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Probably. I've never gone looking, but I know that Wattpad is a lawless land, so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, a couple. I'm really picky/choosy about it though. It's gotta be on AO3 where I can see it linked or I say no, tbh.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! It's not been a recent thing, but I wrote a couple of fics with friends when I was in the One Direction fandom. It's a lot of fun, especially when your writing styles blend together well. I enjoyed it a lot.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

That's really hard to say, actually. I typically go balls-to-the-wall when I get into a fandom, and I'm a die-hard OTPer. I find one and I stick with it. The only exception to that has been the Witcher fandom, because Jaskier and the Wolves were just really fun fandom bicycles to put in many different combinations. I'm only human.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I'd like to think that I will finish all my WIPs but alas. Some are just going to sit and rot in my Googledocs. A Stranger Things one I'd love to finish is the Cap!Steve and Winter Soldier!Eddie one I mentioned earlier.

The one I feel the worst about is the Catskier threequel that I promised ages ago. I open the document and stare longingly into it, but the words just won't work. Maybe one day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I write good smut? And sometimes I'm funny?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have Wordy Bitch Disease like nobody's business. Call me Charles Dickens because sometimes I write fifteen words when it only needed three. Also? I'm awful at writing long fic. I want to be one of those people but I know what I'm about. The most I can manage is about 30-40k and that's that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Probably not, honestly. Or if I did, I would have a good reason and would try to find a native speaker to help me translate it.

I did it once upon a time for a fic where the main character was a priest and the chapter titles were in Latin, but that's the closest I've come.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Published on a site? Saiyuki. Which is still one of my all-time favorite series for forever. It was my first real fandom experience, back in the Ye Olde Days of Livejournal and Fanfic.net.

But written, even if nobody could see? Probably for Gundam Wing or Sailor Moon. I have notebooks where eleven year old me was writing self-insert fanfic because what else are you going to do when you want to be cooler than you are, right?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Probably Right Side of the Wrong Bed, my most popular fic on AO3. Not because it's popular, but because I loved the concept, had so much fun with it, and had so many people tell me how they still go back and read that fic for comfort. It was funny and fun to write and I just had a great time with it. It sticks out for me.

A closer runner-up is Show Me, Don't Tell Me How it's Going to Be, which was a very vulnerable fic for me to write. It was an A/B/O fic where I projected some of my own sexual dysfunctions onto Jaskier, and the response to it was incredible. Some of the messages I got made me cry, tbh.

Okay, so now that I'm like... fifty million years late walking in with Starbucks, I'll do some no pressure tags: @ataliagold, @pearynice, @ghostinthelibrarywrites, @thefreakandthehair, and anyone else who wants to do it, just tag me so I can read your answers!

[fangirleaconmigo]

Fun little smut prompt: in honor of spooky season coming up, could we get some monster loving? Maybe a Geralt/Jaskier werewolf/tentacle/other monstrous happenings going on? Or just straight up Geralt being a witcher has some interesting smut possibilities. Always down for Geralt being Different(TM) and Jaskier being Horny for It (TM). (Or the other way around. Maybe Jaskier's hiding something and Geralt is really really a-okay with it . . .)

In the witcher books, Dandelion says that Geralt won't kill night spirits because they're "sweet". So for my first monsterfuckery fic EVER, guess what I picked?

--------------------

Sweet.

Geraskier. Explicit. Monsterfuckery, but make it sickeningly sweet.

“I know you said they were sweet. You didn’t say they were that sweet.”

Geralt was hung over. And worse, he had apparently told Jaskier about his arrangement with the night spirits of the Black Forest last night. This morning, he just wanted to forget he ever brought it up. He pictured the fresh bread waiting for him at the little shop around the corner. He walked faster.

“Stop trying to lose me!” Jaskier protested.

Geralt sped up.

“Is it a relationship??" Jaskier panted while he hopped to keep up. "Or is it just fucking?”

Geralt stopped and Jaskier ran into the back of him and bounced off.

Geralt crossed his arms and glared at him. 

“What?” Jaskier flailed. That was what he did when he was frustrated with Geralt. It was kind of cute. “ I just want to know! What’s wrong with asking a question?” He grinned a little too wide.

“This is why I don’t tell humans anything,” Geralt groused. “You lot think it’s a fucking joke.”

“I am not mocking! I am merely asking your relationship status, so I know whether I can invite myself to your next rendezvous, and not get punched.”

Geralt blinked. “Seriously?”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “Seriously! Remember that splinter I got on my ass?”

“How could I forget? The trauma of staring at your ass for an hour haunts me in my dreams.”

Jaskier huffed dismissively. “Oh stop. As though you didn’t draw it out.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “I was trying to tempt a leshen. It was not in the mood. That is how I got that splinter.”

Geralt massaged his temples. “You told me--

“Nevermind what I told you! Now answer me about the night spirit.”

“Godsdamnit. Look. It’s….neither. We’re—-friends.“

“So—-can I come?” Jaskier’s face lit up hopefully.

Geralt opened his mouth. He expected his response to be ‘no’. The last thing he needed was to throw oil on the flames of his idiotic and ill advised crush on the bard. And yet, when he went to form the word, what issued from his mouth sounded a whole lot more like ‘yes’.

Jaskier drew in a breath and bounced happily on his toes.

——-

When night had fallen and the forest sounds grew loud and bold in the cover of night, Geralt and Jaskier stood together in the midst of a clearing in the Black Forest. It was sort of a clearing, but it was small. It was like a nook.

A towering, luminous being hovered above Geralt. It had no face, but it did have a head that was reminiscent of the moon. Tendrils of flowing light flicked around it like whips or tentacles.

The witcher spoke in a language Jaskier did not understand. Then he bowed his head. The night spirit did not reply. It simply disappeared.

“What did she—-he—-they—-say?” Jaskier asked. He had already put on his night clothes for, as he put it, easier access. However, he still had on his favorite coat, that had several bows running down the back. 

Geralt jerked his gaze back to him. “You wouldn’t mind if it...if the spirit were... a him?”

Jaskier laughed. “I’m trying to have sex with a night spirit. I tried to seduce a leshy. Did you think my ability to be attracted to a person was so limited?”

Geralt rubbed the back of his own neck. “I suppose not.”

The night spirit returned with friends. They hovered, like a chorus of apparitions, casting a lovely glow on the witcher and the bard. They made a series of noises. It sounded practically musical. Jaskier tried to commit the tune to memory.

“They said yes,” whispered Geralt.

Jaskier grinned triumphantly and waved expansively as he turned his body in a semi circle to allow his eyes to fall on every single night spirit. “I look forward to sexual congress with you ALL!”

“Fuck.” Geralt muttered. But he was smiling.

——

Geralt stood, facing Jaskier. Only, he wasn’t really looking at him. He was looking at the ground and speaking more quietly than normal. He glowed from the reflection of the light from the night spirits. His white hair made him look like he was wearing a halo.

Jaskier thought he looked quite beautiful like this. He had always been afraid to tell him when he thought he looked beautiful. He assumed he’d kick his ass and leave him.

But now.

Well.

Maybe Geralt was a bit more open minded than he gave him credit for. Also, Geralt had agreed to bring him along. So maybe he wasn’t entirely repulsed by the idea of seeing Jaskier naked either. This was turning out to be a most thrilling night.

“I didn’t catch that Geralt, I’m sorry.”

“I said,” Geralt repeated, with effort, and barely louder. “They think our skin is…pretty. So they like us naked.”

Jaskier already had his coat half off. “Well, who am I to deprive them of all of this!”

He was naked before Geralt could gather his wits.

And ok.

Geralt thought he was spectacular.

“Well, aren’t you going to get naked too?”Jaskier felt like a pervert because he was unable to keep the absolute glee and anticipation out of his voice. To make up for it he offered to look away. “Want me to look away?”

Geralt startled. “No. No of course not.”

The witcher started to take off his shirt, and the night spirits moved towards him as one. A glowing tendril of light touched his cheek.

A lovely expression came over Geralt. He closed his eyes and smiled.

Gods. Thought Jaskier. Fucking hell. He is so beautiful like this.

Jaskier realized he so rarely saw Geralt smile like that. Relaxed. Unguarded. No thought about being judged or found wanting. Every line on his face seemed to fall away. He looked twenty years younger. It made Jaskier’s heart feel like it would burst.

The night spirit was clearly intimate with Geralt, because it helped him disrobe.

Geralt’s cock was already half hard and it was magnificent. 

Jaskier licked his lips. “Alright, now what? What shall I do?” His voice trembled.

Trembled.

Jaskier was far younger than Geralt, but he was willing to bet that he had more sexual experience. He was a renowned lover, goddamnit.

And yet. He felt like a fucking virgin. He got to see Geralt’s cock. It was like the first time he’d seen a breast. He tried not to giggle. Despite his emotions, his body responded lustily to the buffet of witcher before him.

Looking at Geralt had already gotten him insanely erect. He’d been suppressing this attraction for ages, so it was a relief to stop hiding it. And if it offended Geralt, he could just pretend it was the night spirits.

It was entirely believable. They were rather pretty for people with no faces.

But it didn’t seem to offend Geralt. His cheeks were pink and if Jaskier didn’t know him better he would think he were stammering.

“They also like our voices. So. I make noises. Whenever I feel like it.”

“Well!” said Jaskier, clapping “I do that anyway, so this is perfect. Now what do we do. Penetrate? Be penetrated? Just rub around?”

Geralt smothered a smile. “We just. Lie back. They do everything else. They said for you to just watch, so you aren’t frightened when it is your turn.”

-----

Jaskier didn’t believe in the existence of gods, so he had never seriously asked them for anything.

And now he never would. Because really, what more could one want from life?

Nothing more than this, surely.

Geralt of Rivia was spread out in front of him. He was naked and squirming. His thick thighs were trembling.

He really was the most spectacular thing Jaskier had ever seen, stuffed with glowing tentacles, gasping for air, he was transcendent.

Jaskier stepped closer, transfixed, holding out his hand. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do with it. He just knew he had to touch Geralt. He didn’t think Geralt saw him, but then Geralt’s fingers were threaded in his. Then Geralt was pressing his hand to his stomach.

Fuck. Jaskier whispered.

Suddenly the night spirit language sounded a whole lot like common speech. “Kneel, bard.”

So Jaskier knelt. It felt like the only thing to do. Jaskier knelt and took Geralt’s cock in his mouth. He gripped his ass and used it to hold himself steady. He kissed and sucked and licked and forgot what time and space was. All that existed was the hard length of parting his lips. The entire universe was the salty, warm scent and taste of Him. There were no words spoken more important than the sound of his name falling from Geralt’s lips.

As he bobbed his head, he felt something tickle his thigh. It was asking for permission. He moaned. And soon, there were tendrils made of light curling around his body, plunging into him. Geralt’s length fell from his lips as he cried out. 

Soon enough he managed to feel ecstasy and deliver his pleasure to Geralt at the same time.

They crested together, like the swell in a symphony. They spent onto the forest floor, shaking and moaning. Then, Jaskier crawled into his arms and kissed him. It was only then that he realized they were floating, resting on beams of light.

His voice was scratchy and he whispered in Geralts’ ear. “I think I love you.”

The night spirits tittered.

“What did they say?”

Geralt chuckled. He was still sweaty and breathing deep and fast. “They said, ‘it’s about time’.”

"Hey. Geralt did not mention your sarcasm."

And then.

“Wait. They know me?”

The night spirits once again spoke in common. Their voices were as one. “You’re all he ever talks about. We have asked him again and again to invite you, believing it could open communication between you.”

Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes. They were pressed against each other now, enveloped in each other’s arms. “Did they now?”

“They did.”

“He loves you too.”

Jaskier smiled. “Is this true? Are you friends having me on?”

Geralt squeezed him. “It’s true.”

The night spirits spoke again, as one. Jaskier didn't ask that time what they said. It sounded more like a laughter.

The night spirits didn't have a cave or den or any place to host them, so Jaskier walked back to their camp, hand in hand. Only now they shared a bed roll.

Years later, when Geralt and Jaskier were married, and people asked them how they came to be together as a couple, Geralt would always change the topic.

But it was inevitable that Jaskier would clear his throat and hold court. He loved telling that story, even if Geralt turned so many shades of pink that he looked purple.

After all, who else can say that night spirits, and their vibrating tentacles brought you the love of your life?

Just one witcher and one bard, he’d wager.

[glwstic]

Rec List 6: The Witcher

-  Lost in Translation by notebooksandlaptops

“Are you alright?” Jaskier asks. He’s been dragged outside again during the middle of one of his sets. That’s fine. He was almost expecting it. Geralt has become a little bit predictable, and a bad mood usually means he’ll want a quick pick me up at some point.

“I will be in a moment,” Geralt growls, and he pushes Jaskier up against the wall.

And it's fine. Normal. New normal. Jaskier goes and he goes happily and willingly. But there’s something that is tugging on his mind, something that aches.

He doesn’t put his finger on it until afterwards. “You really will have to start being more patient. I do need to make a living – and you dragging me away in the middle of my songs all the time is bad for business.”

Geralt gives a chuckle, “you’re saving money on the whorehouses, are you not?”

And oh.

Geralt is using him for sex.

-///-

Or, Jaskier and Geralt start having regular sex. Jaskier thinks it doesn't mean as much to Geralt as it does to him. He's wrong.

Oneshot, 3,639 words

-  Five people who don't listen to Jaskier (and one person who always does) by notebooksandlaptops

Jaskier was all too aware of the titles he’d accumulated over the years.

Jaskier: Greatest Bard on the continent, friend and companion to the White Wolf, Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, renowned Professor of the grand Oxenfurt Academy, considerate, heartfelt lover and, ultimately, when it came down to it, a right annoying prick.

“Fucking bard,” the innkeeper muttered under his breath, for once far more perturbed by Jaskier’s presence than by the Witcher who stood behind him, “do you ever stop talking?”

-///-

Or, Five people who don't listen to Jaskier (and one person who always does)

Oneshot,  4,126 words

-  Loose Tongues & Blue Dresses by notebooksandlaptops

Let it never be said that Jaskier is useless. Perhaps he can't wield a sword like Geralt, perhaps he can't do magic like Yennefer, but he has his own set of skills that are equally vital when it comes to winning this war.

And Jaskier was rather enjoying this role if he did say so himself. Perhaps it was a little unpleasant to have the Kings filthy hands all over him but the silks and finery, the dresses and the makeup, finally getting to put his long hair to good use, getting to shave off that awful beard he’d been sporting?

Definitely fun.

-///-

Or, the one where Jaskier wears a dress in order to infiltrate a court

Oneshot, 10,231 words

-  No Marks by didoandis

Geralt feels his stomach turn. “Tell me what happened,” he growls. Because something happened in this room. Something bad.

“You don’t know?” the mage says. “I suppose I’m not surprised. He was very keen that you didn’t find out. That was the only thing he insisted on, no marks.”

Geralt glares at him. The mage looks back, unperturbed. “Don’t scowl at me like that, beast. Everything I did was agreed to.”

Jaskier would do anything for Geralt.

Oneshot,  13,703 words

-  Monsters by didoandis

The girl is young, earnest and a little scared. “Do you kill monsters if they’re human?” she asks abruptly.

Geralt nods at her to sit down, looking around him to check if anyone’s listening. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

“There’s a woman,” the girl whispers, leaning forward over the table. “Rich. Powerful. She collects people. And when she takes a fancy to someone, they’re never seen again.”

Jaskier gets taken apart. Geralt works to put him back together.

Oneshot,  16,245 words

-  A Kept Man by didoandis

Jaskier’s eyes are sliding closed. He should leave. He should know, by now, not to outstay his welcome. But Geralt’s hand has come down to rest on his forehead, a thumb stroking into his hair. And just like always, he’s too weak to resist.

Five times Jaskier didn’t have a choice about staying and one time he did.

2/2 Completed,  18,022 words

- Lessons in Losing by didoandis

“We met five years ago or thereabouts,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. “You came up to me in a tavern near Posada, decided I would be good song material, and we’ve travelled together, off and on, ever since.”

“Huh,” Jaskier says.

“You remember?” Geralt tries to keep the note of hope out of his voice, and doubts he’s been successful.

“Not in the slightest,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “But I must admit it sounds like something I’d do.”

When Jaskier forgets their life together, Geralt learns an unexpected lesson.

Oneshot,  11,270 words

-  Chivalry by didoandis

“What was it this time, bard?” Geralt asks.

“Chivalry,” Jaskier tells him, loftily, and then the rope is cut and Jaskier’s feet hit the ground, jarring his body all the way up to his aching shoulders, and he passes out.

Jaskier makes an enemy. Geralt comes to his rescue. Must be a Tuesday.

Oneshot,  1,343 words

-  In the Deep Dark Hills by didoandis

“You’re making a mistake,” Jaskier says. “Trust me – I’ll be watching Geralt rip out your intestines before all this is over. I’ve seen it before. It’s not pretty.” He draws himself up, shows his teeth. If this is going to go badly, he intends to be as difficult as possible about it.

The alderman glares at him. “Enough of this,” he says, commanding; there’s a heavy dull thud at the back of Jaskier’s head, and a brief burst of pain, and then blackness.

When Geralt is late returning from a hunt, Jaskier’s the one who suffers for it. Things get worse before they get better.

Oneshot,  11,656 words

-  Gift by SeelieSkelliger

"So, you must be Geralt’s bard.”

There came a hollow chuckle in response. “Once upon a time, perhaps. Now, I don’t know what I am. Probably at best I’m an annoyance, more likely I’m a burden.” Jaskier was staring at the floor near his feet, so he missed the soft look Vesemir gave him before sitting at the foot of the bed.

“You brought Ciri back here safely. After you started travelling with him, Geralt finally seemed to be alive again when he would come back here for the winter. Your songs have made all our lives better. I would not call you a burden, bard. I would say your presence in our lives has been a gift.”

Written for Witcher Bows & Arrows event 2022 - Day 4 prompt: Gift This story follows on from yesterday's fic, 'Sacrifice', but you can read it as a standalone. Jaskier struggles to work out where he fits in, featuring soft Vesemir and sweet Yen.

Oneshot, 1,388 words

[whatspastisprologue-blr]

At this point, I think that, for the last scene between Jaskier and Henry Cavill as Geralt, they just need to shoot the moon like SPN did where they just went, "Let's just make Destiel canon. What are they gonna do, cancel the show that's already over?"

Like, remember the chaos when that episode aired? Where it felt like surely that scene couldn't be real? Where Destiel trended higher than the 2020 presidential election and there were all those Putin memes? The rogue voice dubber who made the "I love you" line explicitly romantic?

This especially applies if Joey Batey decides to leave, too.

Just, go for it. Like, avoid the weird Bury Your Gays bit where Cas coming out is literally what killed him but then it got weird because they kind of undid it by bringing him back but never showing him again and only mentioning him once. That was terrible writing/editing (so, perfect for Netflix's the Witcher, actually) and reeked of the Powers That Be wanting to minimize the existence of canon Destiel at the last minute.

But otherwise, just go for it. You don't have to recreate the scene. But go big or go home on this. Make it as dramatic and angsty as possible. Make sure the subtext becomes text to the fullest extent that the Powers That Be will possibly let you get away with. Make Tumblr and the internet at large spontaneously combust the way that Castiel's love confession did.

And then go off and live your lives free and clear. Act in stories where the people in charge actually respect you and your character. Play more D&D. Write more songs.

Or start your own production company with your significant other so you can then figure out how to make sure the story ends up in your hands, giving you an opportunity to course-correct with the help of a writer who actually cared about LGBTQ+ representation. See Jensen Ackles for how to do this.

Actually, since Jensen is co-producing The Winchesters while also acting and recording (and I think there's an upcoming tour with Louden Swain?) , it's not like it's an either/or situation. Dude's just living his best life never letting Dean Winchester go (or maybe Dean's not letting him go) while also making more music and having fun in other roles. What I'm saying here is to consult Jensen re: life choices in the creative industry.

(Also, I now kind of want to see Joey as an earlier Cas vessel. Just, imagine Joey "might be a half-feral Fae creature from the dark depths of the forest" Batey playing the rebellious angel with "too much heart" to follow orders as he's literally programmed to do. Especially since this would be before Cas got to know more about humanity, so he'd still be pretty eldritch at this point, a "multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent" temporarily wearing a human body.)

[svartalfhild]

The Witcher: Blood Origin is actually pretty damn good. It's a little rough around the edges in places, but I found the story pretty engaging and the cast of characters is interesting. Defs a great watch if you love elves and bards. It has Jaskier in it, but he's there as part of the framing device. The narrative has a lot of good stuff to say about freedom, imperialism, racism, classism, and most of all the importance of both stories and who tells them. There's lots of cool magic shit, multiple queer characters, and several bits at the end that made me go

Also being someone who knows some Gaelic makes watching Blood Origin kinda funny, because they did stuff like name a shitty island at the edge of the world "Inis Dubh", which just means "dark island".

If you like dwarves, there's a really awesome dwarf character in the main ensemble.

If you like the bard songs from the main Witcher show, there's a few songs in Blood Origin to enjoy.

It's also fun seeing what the Continent looked like before humans and how place names changed and such. In general, there's a lot of fun with lore.

Michelle Yeoh is there, being cool and good at her job.

To my personal taste, I give it a solid 9/10.

[kenobihater]

Horrible Aiden Fancast: anyone from The Witcher Netflix. ESPECIALLY Joey Batey, who I think is the most realistic 'canon cast' I guess considering how badly everyone was cast in the series. I have literally nothing against Batey (love his music) and found Jaskier to be the most fun part of the series, mostly just because I could remove him from Dandelion and see him as an independent character in his own right (a replacement basically, while everyone else feels like the most lukewarm, fuzzy wet sock version of themselves), but I do think that a major issue with the Netflix series is that everyone (and I do mean literally everyone) feels curated, sanitized, bland-bread, spiceless, and soggy because of how... Hollywood standard they all are. I find the games the most appealing when it comes to the chosen character designs. The main cast (well, the male main cast...) feels very unique, the Witchers especially having some of the most "this is just some guy" (affectionate) designs -- which is achieved through Flavour that irl some see as 'flaws' or 'imperfections' but are really just... Human Things. Bigass scars, receding hairlines, aquiline noses, skin texture, (genuinely) messy hair, five o'clock shadows, patchy beards, dullish hair, etc (god I love these so much). and those Human Things are selected against in the series, and I feel like Batey would simply lack the uniqueness that is ESSENTIAL to The Witcher designs (at least to me...) Honestly, ANY big-name celebrity, any A-list or B-list actor, would simply Not be Right For The Job, I think. At least if theyre based in the US or the British Isles, as those actors tend to be most popular and recognizable. Some bigger (I think) names that could do a good job, at least visually, I think would be Louis Garrel, Qi Junkai, Liam Samuels, Marcus Sivyer, and Jordun Love. And ALL of them are either actors or models. They're very much NOT "just some guy" (affectionate), but they feel unique and full of character in ways that the Netflix cast just fucking doesn't.

(Please pardon my rant ToT)

I love your rant, no need to apologize! I 100% agree that TWN's cast is very polished and attractive and very hollywood, which is the opposite of what I'm looking for when I'm looking for The Witcher. I totally get what you're saying abt the games allowing at least the male characters to have visual flaws (Wrinkles! Disfiguring facial scars!), something the show is truly lacking imho. And I love all of your choices for Aiden! They all feel human and unique and I could totally see them playing him!!

[haldenlith]

Nivh

My head is in a bad headspace, so I'm going to ramble about Nivh (Witcher AU Tannivh) and Astarion to distract myself. I'm sure someone out there might find the ramblings interesting.

I got to thinking and realized that in porting over Astarion and Tannivh into the Witcher universe, their roles somewhat reverse. Tannivh the free-spirited nature boy becomes Nivh the emotionally damaged/stunted Witcher. Nivh's background becomes one of entrapment (as he wasn't exactly willingly made a Witcher, like most kids), particularly cruel at that, given that Cat School's background isn't exactly pretty, given the experiments.

Meanwhile, Astarion, though still a servant to a more powerful vampire, comes out a bit better. He can eat, drink, and walk in sunlight without needing a brain-munching parasite. Water no longer poses a threat to him in this universe. He can turn invisible, has super strength, and can turn into fog. And gets claws. The Witcher universe serves him well. The major downside is that in attempting to murder his higher-level vampire master, he's earned himself the ire of other vampires (since I recall it's a Big No-No for vampires to kill each other in the Witcher-verse). So, what better travelling meat-shield to have than a Witcher?

Granted, it's only Cazador's goons he has to worry about. Other vampires are likely to leave him be as long as he doesn't stir up trouble. But when has Astarion ever not caused trouble?

How they relate to each other is otherwise similar. Astarion starts out with the express intent of using Nivh and ends up finding some degree of kinship, to varying degrees.

That "kinship" actually ends up pretty comical in a lot of cases, given that Nivh is fairly cut-and-dry, no-nonsense, doesn't particularly like people, and Astarion is... well... Astarion, exactly one hedonist idiot with questionable morals. Astarion may be the one that negotiates Nivh's contracts a lot of the time (given that he's far better at talking than Nivh is), but he's usually the one that causes trouble via seeking "fun" and ends with Nivh reminding him that eating people usually leads to hunters, torches, and pitchforks. And more Witchers.

I had someone compare them from a fic I wrote to Geralt/Jaskier, and honestly, yes, they are similar, though Geralt is considerably chattier than Nivh, and nicer. Which is saying a lot because Geralt isn't very talkative or nice, in my opinion. Also, Jaskier seems to have a conscience while Astarion, well... that's debatable.

Anyway, I've had Nivh brainworms and thought also about how he has sort of a "forced" isolation angle versus his DnD/BG3 self's chosen isolation. He's an elf, and in the Witcher universe, boy is there a lot of racism against elves, and just generally A Shitty Time to be had if you're not human. So interacting with humans already isn't fun for him. Then add on being a Witcher, which as we see they also get treated poorly, but also with a lot of suspicion. It gets worse in the cases of people recognizing him being a Cat School Witcher, given they have a (rightfully) shitty reputation of being unhinged assassins. So Nivh has a hard time really being around people, and other Witchers, in general. He also doesn't particularly like his fellow Cats, so he never goes back or links up with the caravan. He also doesn't relate to other elves, given that he spent most of his formative years being trained to be a Witcher. Mostly everything Aen Seidhe he knows through stories and what he's learned from tagging along with Scoia'tael. So his Path is a lonely, unending one.

It's honestly partially why he keeps Astarion around. Sure, he's a troublesome vampire that's often a pain to deal with, but he's someone to talk to. There's some form of companionship there, even if it is a little wonky.

[katwriteswitcherthings]

for the fic writer questions... 4, 5, 27... and 10 !!

=^.^= <3 I'm just gonna pic a few of my fics at random!

4. What detail in grasp the nettle are you really proud of?

How Keldar is able to knock out a mage with a sign in one hit. This is part of a bigger story where it would get elaborated on more, but Griffins are known as the more magical of the Witcher schools, right?

So, they're probably all really strong at signs. Especially an elder Griffin.

I head-cannon that when mages go wrong (whether that be genuine or politically motivated), they contract Griffins as bounty hunters to track down and bring them in for sentencing/ jail. Keldar has had centuries of experience tracking and capturing mages.

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about nothing more to say? Answer it now!

Why/how were they looping?

A long time ago, I read a fic called Turtle Loops that was pure crack in the best ways. Apparently there is a whole universe of fics built on this premise? IDK but I thought it would be neat if there was something like this but for Witcher. I chose my favorite version of each character (Book!Geralt, Netflix!Jaskier, and Game!Yennefer) and ran with it.

I originally wanted this to run a little longer and actually have all three jumping into Book!Geralt's timeline at the proper time, but I ran out of time. Flash fic can be very unforgiving like that! :D I might come back to it someday if the bunny bites again.

27. How long did it take to write Vi Moxt Miirik? Describe the process.

I got the idea for this story sometime late October/Early November of last year. I started the document on Nov. 9th, 2021. I was searching through the Witcher wiki for some other story and fell down a rabbit hole, leading to some interesting articles on other wikis about the origins of specific monsters on the Continent.

I love non-human!Jaskier so much and thought, wow, Jaskier would make an excellent [redacted]. I also had just finished both The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, and really wanted to incorporate a few of the other short stories into the Netflix!Canon.

I started the story, but I kept skipping around terribly. I wrote a lot for it, though, and I even had a general outline of when I wanted the stories to take place; but the connective tissue just never felt right to me. So I tossed it to the back burner for a while, adding a little bit here and there, but mostly left it alone. It's sitting at 28,224 words right now, and still nowhere near done.

Then, I see this year's What About The Bard?'s prompt list and... it clicked. It was originally in Geralt POV, so I switched it to Jaskier's and the ideas just worked so much better like that. Fun fact, the italic parts of the story are bits and pieces from the original Geralt POV version cut down or finished up. Most of the dialogue is the same across the different fics.

Who knows? I might get the inspiration to finally finish up the original version one day and post it up along side the WATB Jaskier version.

10. How do you decide what to write?

I get ideas from the most random of places. Flash fic has been great for letting loose random plots; the time limit means you have no time to dawdle. You just write and hope it makes sense when you're done.

I have a couple of documents I keep running lists on of ideas / pairings / concepts that I want to write. I have a fic in the works that's Young Vesemir/Guxart/Keldar OT3 set in the same universe as grasp the nettle.

Discord shenanigans are also very inspiring. I wrote a Sentinel/Guide AU because someone in a server was talking about how much they loved them and how much of a staple trope it was 'back in the day'. I have several rare-pairs that I want to write for, just so a friend isn't the only one making content for it.

[morganaofcamelot]

Watching Beowulf: Return to the Shieldlands, so you don't have to.

DISCLAIMER: I'm just poking fun. I'm not really familiar with the saga.

BEST CHARACTER:

Beowulf:RTTS aired on 2016, five good years after the first episode of Game of Thrones, amidst what I would call "fantasy renaissance". The ending result is less than satisfactory on all accounts. The show only aired for one season, and it lost it's relevancy (if it ever had one) quite fast.

Let's hop into episode one (all episodes are available on YouTube)

In the opening scene, Beowulf and his father are galloping away from the Mudborn, until the inevitable moment the horse falls down. The father stands to fight and instructs baby Beowulf to run - the father takes down one of the two Mudborn, but he is knocked out by the other one.

The Mudborn seeks baby Beowulf, who by that time has acquired a Skyforge Steel Axe, and in true Dragonborn fashion jumps off a cliff and plants the axe between the Mudborn's eyes.

Thane Hrothgar of Herot shows up with a bunch of his men and takes young Beowulf with him.

NOTE: THE EPISODE HAS A LOT OF FLASHBACKS. LIKE A LOT. One particular scene is cut in 7 (not accurate, didn't actually counted them) different smaller flashbacks.

Fast forward to adult Beowulf and his new friend Brecca who I will sometimes refer to as Not-Jaskier, because he has the vibes of Jaskier, despite not being a bard. Beowulf is back in Herot, because he has heard Hrothgar is dying. I would describe Herot as the perfect Skyrim setting; a "city" with no walls, not enough houses (and residents subsequently) and barely anything of note other than the Thane's Palace(?)/Longhouse(?)/Hall(?). In other words, it's Riverwood but worse.

Everyone is side eyeing Beowulf. Before they enter Herot, Beowulf says something about having parted badly with Hrothgar, so I understand the looks. Upon arriving at the HALL'S gates he is stopped by the guard and says that he can't enter.

Beowulf replies that this guard was slow 20 years ago, he would be even slower now.

And this is the first wtf moment, barely 10 minutes in the episode. Kieran Bew (adult Beowulf actor) looks about in his mid 30s, early 40s, but considering that everyone has recognized him so far, it means Beowulf left Herot while a fully formed adult. But later in the episode, we learn through the flashbacks that Beowulf was still Baby Beowulf when he was exiled.

Which means, that they exiled a 15 year old and could still recognize him 20 years later. Not to mention that the flashbacks give you the impression that Beowulf was exiled pretty soon after he was brought to Herot. I mean, HOW DO THEY EVEN KNOW/REMEMBER WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE?

Anyway, that's as fucked up as Bran entering Hodor's past self to make him Hodor kind of mumbo jumbo.

I like Elvina, and her relationship with Slean to an extent - they have this star-crossed lovers love story, where Reeta, Slean's mother would never allow him to be with a commoner.

Also Abrecan (Not-Ulfric) is a cool character.

Not-Jaskier is the "I fucked your mom" type and I'm living for it, he's one of the more charismatic dudes in the show.

I have a soft spot for Slean, because Ed Speleers (I'm one of the 10 people to have watched Eragon and enjoyed it, kill me)

I CAN'T, THE FORTIFICATION OF HEROT ENDS BY THE GATES, WAS IT BUILD BY TODD HOWARD?

Elvina being chased by the Mudborn, who is chased by Beowulf, who is chased by Slean, lets us in the know about the twist that's coming later.

BEOWULF AND SLEAN DICK MEASURING CONTEST, I LOVE TO HATE IT.

"I heard giants ate human babies" 😶

Elvina's rescue is the most satisfying scene, because Beowulf gets a little bit tossed around.

[thefamouswhitewolf]

It was a long winter and Geralt didn’t come down from Kaer Morhen until mid April, meaning the ground was still swampy and covered in muck, and the ponds and streams still had ice collecting at the edges. It meant cold baths in said bodies of water, and the wish for a warm bed by the time Geralt reached ground that wasn’t uneven and hard to sleep upon.

The fruit trees had begun to bloom and the smallest of the bothersome insects had woken from their winter slumber, forcing Roach to swat her tail endlessly and toss her head to avoid the mayflies that went for her eyes. Geralt swatted at them with his hand when they went for his face and growling, the Witcher made camp away from the water the insects enjoyed, meaning he was well hidden from the road, but had to walk a good distance to get fresh water.

One trip was to fill a pot with water for boiling some eggs; Geralt had met a trader along the road that didn’t show as much fear of a Witcher as usual. Pleased with a sale so early in his travels, the man sold Geralt a dozen duck eggs, two loaves of bread, a block of very hard, fragrant cheese, and a sack of potatoes. It was a good haul that Geralt wasn’t charged extravagantly for. The man thanked Geralt for lightening his load early on, and he left with a wave and bit of advice for the Witcher; there was a wandering spirit in the woods beyond the next town that didn’t hurt anyone, but haunted the woodsmen at night.

“Cryptid?” Geralt asked, sure that the man knew he meant monster. 

“Nah. Word is it looks human. Sings a song that entrances, but then sucks the life outta them while they sleep. Don’t kill ‘em, just tires ‘em out. Be mindful, Witcher. I doubt it’s picky on what kinda man it catches.”

“Thanks.”

Geralt wasn’t exactly frightened of whatever was lying in wait for himself or another weary traveler; he could handle the worst of the monsters birthed from the bowels of the Continent. It was the trader’s mention that the creature didn’t kill its victims that had Geralt’s attention. 

It could be something as simple as a succubus or incubus, but Geralt thought it may be a Manchachicoj; a very seductive yet deformed creature that wandered the world having relations with many people, in an attempt to seek out an impossible love with a kind, understanding human.

The Manchachicoj was an elusive creature Geralt had only read of in Vesemir’s bestiary, but he didn’t for a second think that they were extinct. He’d been surprised by the discovery of any number of beasts once thought obliterated from the Continent, and no amount of trader gossip and sworn statements from local villagers would make Geralt believe anything until he’d seen--or not seen-- things with his own eyes.

The woods the trader spoke of sat less than a half day’s ride from the base of the mountain and Geralt, still stocked up on supplies from Kaer Morhen and the trader, settled down for the afternoon in a small clearing away from the nearest stream, for the same reason as before: bugs. They weren’t nearly as bad where he was making his fire, and even Roach wandered away a little to munch the fresh spring grasses popping up at the base of nearly every tree in the forest.

Seeds and squirrel stores, no doubt, growing thick where the sun lit the ground and where the trees dripped water during the heavy spring rains.

Fire roaring and swords at his side against the log he’d rolled over for a bench, Geralt again boiled water from the stream and this time added all of his ingredients to it, making himself a thick stew. He wouldn’t hunt that night since he wanted to keep his presence low, but he had everything, including dried venison from the keep’s larder, to make a stew even Vesemir would eat, the picky bastard.

Only evening birdsong and the haunting chirps of the treefrogs came, as the sun began to set. Geralt had heard travelers on the road hours earlier and they didn’t so much as mention his camp. Most people were grateful for warmer weather and were eager to get on with their springtime business; a random fire in the woods with a saddled horse meant another traveler, no more. None suspected it was a Witcher in their midst.

There wasn’t even anything for Geralt to work on as he waited. His armour had been mended and his swords were sharpened long before he even left Kaer Morhen, so he closed his eyes and had a bit of a meditation break, listening to the crackling of the fire, the birds, the frogs. 

He could pinpoint Roach’s snorts as she stalked through the longer grasses nearer the camp, and the sound of a lute coming from far off to his left. 

A lute?

His eyebrows drew together as he rumbled a suspicious growl, opening his eyes and gathering his swords together, one in hand and the other over his back. It could be a man, some minstrel wandering from town to town now that the snows had ended and the road was again passable, or it could be some creature Geralt hadn’t seen before.

There weren’t any footfalls advancing on his camp site, but Geralt ducked back further into the woods anyway, keeping one eye on the fire so he didn’t lose his bearings. The scent of the burning wood was a good compass to a Witcher, but Geralt was trying to use his sense of smell to determine what was instead around him. Trees, rotting leaves, mud. Empty badger den, deer shit, rabbit shit, nightcrawlers. 

He focused until the weaker scents became noticeable; pine tar, mushroom dust, the faintest hint of apple and cherry blossoms from the barely-open fruiting trees in the orchard on the outskirts of the town he’d already passed. Lavender.

That was different. Lavender was a plant grown only in the south of the Continent, and it wasn’t in bloom for nearly two more months, sometimes three, during a bad spring season. A liniment perhaps, or a balm? It certainly didn’t smell like anything other than a light scent on human skin. 

Human skin. It wasn’t a creature sneaking up on his camp. It was a human.

Geralt slipped out from behind the knotty pine he’d used as a temporary shield and held his sword out only until the stranger came into view, then he lowered it so the threat was at least lessened.

The human was dressed in the bluest clothes, and the flamboyancy of them definitely suggested a performer of some kind. The lute strapped over the man’s back confirmed what Geralt had immediately suspected: a bard.

But a bard wandering through dense woods at night? Alone? A shapeshifter, perhaps? No human was stupid enough to do such a thing, unless they had a death wish.

Or a purpose.

Geralt’s medallion wasn’t reacting to magic or monster, so he listened without interruption. Though it didn’t mean the person before him wasn’t some kind of non-malevolent spirit. Trickster beings, woodland child spirits, fae folk; all were playful but harmless so the medallion often stayed silent in their presence.

“So,” the bard began, his voice light and his face pleasantly youthful. “The rumours in town were true. There is a Witcher in the woods. I suppose it’s better than a witch in the woods. Far more dangerous, those.”

Geralt snorted but didn’t immediately put his sword away. Wordplay was the trick of a great many forest spirits, and he wasn’t about to get himself killed simply because this was a very pretty looking being before him.

“Depends on the Witcher. I could kill you before you have the chance to make another sound.”

The bard smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners; aged slightly, Geralt thought, but still couldn’t be more than thirty or thirty-five in human years. “But you didn’t. Do Witchers kill humans? I thought you had some kind of honour code or something. No meddling in the affairs of men.”

“That only means I won’t kill a man at the request of another. If you’re a threat, I’ll easily dispatch you and be on my way.”

“But I’m not that; a threat, I mean. Just a bard, wandering the world on his way south now that the snows have ceased. Bloody winter was so long, wasn’t it? Anyway, care for some company? The townsfolk thought me mad to come in search of you but I’ve a taste for adventure and you, Sir Witcher, look very tasty.”

[horsedadgeralt]

a hunt gone wrong.

Heavy boots stomp up the stairs and Jaskier’s heart flutters as he waits for the Witcher to come through the door.

He has a smile on his face and is about to tell Geralt how much he’s missed him in the few hours that he’s been gone, but Jaskier stops dead in his tracks when he sees him.

He isn’t injured, at least not that he can tell — there’s no visible wound anywhere and Geralt isn’t particularly dirty either. And yet he looks as though someone has beaten him to a pulp, head hung low and shoulders slumped forward.

“What happened?” Jaskier breathes out as he rushes to his side— scared to touch the other man, but even more scared that Geralt will fall apart if he doesn’t. And so he takes the Witcher’s hand and leads him to their bed, patiently waiting until they’re both sat down.

Geralt is trembling and his fingers are cold, and so Jaskier wraps his free arm around him and pulls him close. Geralt doesn’t fight it, doesn’t push back. Even though the Witcher is taller than him, in this moment Jaskier feels as though he could carry him in the palm of his hand, as though a gust of wind is enough to blow him away.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he finally says, and Jaskier can hear the tears in his voice. He only holds him tighter, clasping their fingers and rubbing his thumb over the back of Geralt’s hand in a weak attempt to reassure him.

“It wasn’t— It wasn’t something that took those children.”

And suddenly Jaskier understands. Understands that yes, Geralt’s body came out unscathed this time. But the shaking mess of a man in his arms had to fight the worst monster the Continent has to offer: the human kind.

He doesn’t know what Geralt is thinking, if he’s reminded of Blaviken once more, of all the lives he had to take. They weren’t innocent. This one wasn’t innocent, either. But a life is a life, and yet again Geralt couldn’t back out, couldn’t choose not to draw his sword.

Whatever he found in those woods must have been harrowing, because never before has Jaskier seen him like this.

“He did it for fun,” Geralt presses out through clenched teeth, and he squeezes their hands so tightly it is almost painful.

“You did what you had to do,” Jaskier murmurs as he presses soft kisses down the side of Geralt’s face all the way to his hear, careful not to miss a spot.

“I always do. I never want to.”

He sounds so broken, so defeated as he says it that it takes all of Jaskier’s willpower not to burst into tears for his Witcher. He can’t — right now it is Geralt’s turn to fall apart, to be vulnerable.

How Jaskier wishes he could ease his pain, lessen the burden. He knows that even if there was a way to carry it all by himself, Geralt would never let him.

I was trained to handle this, he would say.

Yes, and it was the first of many choices you weren’t allowed to make, Jaskier would answer.

He can’t take away the pain, but he can hold him. He can provide comfort and catch Geralt as he falls apart, and afterwards, he can put him back together again.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to.”

“I chose this life.” Another sob, another kiss.

No, you didn’t.

Jaskier doesn’t know how much time passes until Geralt is no longer shaking in his arms, but eventually, he pulls back and looks at him.

His eyes are red and he takes in a shaky breath as he lets Jaskier wipe away the last few tears on his cheeks. The bard’s hand lingers, and Geralt leans into the touch.

“Sorry that you had to see this,” he says, and Jaskier’s heart breaks once more, breaks for a young Geralt who was made to believe that emotions are a weakness, are to be ashamed of and hidden.

He leans forward until their foreheads are touching.

“Do not apologize for feeling things, Geralt,” he says and puts his hand on the Witcher’s chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady, a familiar rhythm underneath his fingertips. “It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong, it gives you something to fight for. It makes you human.”

Jaskier notices how Geralt flinches when he says that, and that is reason enough to repeat it once more.

“You are human, Geralt, no matter what someone else might make you want to believe. Yellow eyes and white hair don’t take away from that. You are allowed to feel, you are allowed to show that you feel. You are allowed to be human.”

There is no answer, but Jaskier can feel how much faster Geralt’s heart is beating. It is proof enough that he is right, and Geralt doesn’t have to speak for Jaskier to understand him.

He knows that Geralt doesn’t believe him, that years of indoctrination and abuse have taken their toll. But as he lets their lips collide in a desperate attempt to be closer, Jaskier makes a silent promise to himself that he will keep reminding him until he does.

[stolensilmarils]

so maybe it happens like this.

maybe there are fae living in the Upside-Down and Other Side of Things and Places in their sunlit halls and starlit gardens unbothered by and uninterested in the plagues beyond the borders of their dwellings. but the humans who now so selfishly shape earth and claim everything they touch as their own are so delightfully fun to play with and torment and maim

so maybe it’s just a common sense to keep a sprinkle of salt or an iron nail in your pocket when you go about your work in the fields or walk through meadows. steps careful, eyes sharp

except maybe there’s an unattended toddler stumbling through rings of mushrooms and chasing bees, giggles and clumsy jumps over rain puddles, whom no one cared to warn

(and human children are such marvelous little creatures - you can’t really blame the fae when this one is practically banging on their front doors)

maybe they don’t even bother to place a Changeling in julian’s place as the wind and tree roots lead him from his bed and through the window, bare feet ankle-deep in mud

maybe there is a Fae King to whom all the twisted creatures bow, who’s in a sour mood that night. maybe they seek entertainment (or maybe they just plan to tear the child’s head off)

but maybe the crown they wear is studded with buttercups and even if the child has only now learned to walk and talk, he knew singing even before he took his first breath and the poison yellow flowers do so inspire a song and oh.

maybe instead of unwilling blood taken there is a gift freely given. maybe there is the gift accepted and maybe there is a Boon bestowed

(and what boon is more gracious than the taste of grin sharp, black lips, teeth too many?)

and so maybe the child is returned home that night with dreams filled with pollen and starlight and bitter taste of summerwine. and where julian went to sleep jaskier wakes up none the wiser

his oh so dear parents have never cared, his oh so tired governess - circles of black under empty eyes, fingers like a bow, wrapped around a bottle neck. and the boy is a child whose memories still haven’t learned to cling, so maybe the days and weeks turn to months and years and life goes on

and it may not even be his singing or musical talents, that all can be him still. but maybe there are the little things that no one cares to notice or consider. because after all, who really knows how well exactly does a human eye see in the dark. who really pays attention to how fast small wounds heal

and is it not obvious? maybe the poison accidentally drunk was just a dose not lethal

ordinary people often have unordinary talents so is it really worth a notice if someone learns just slightly too fast, if under someone’s hands flowers grow just a little more lush and if at someone the wild dogs don’t dare to bark?

and if his fingers tingle while holding iron, well. he’s a poet not a smith. and if he tastes blood and ash in the back of his tongue when he’s about to tell a lie, well.  growing up, every village woman, grandmother and hag made sure to remind him that lying is bad and well. the taste of it is bad, they must have meant. it seems unnecessary anyway.

after all... the meanings of truth and honesty are not even closely related

(songs don’t count, of course. when lyrics rhyme and fit the note then they ring true, that’s a fact any poet knows)

and maybe he likes to know the names of people he meets, maybe the sound of them said out loud sparkles, taste of ripe peaches on his tongue but what of it. names have power. that’s a known fact, for names or enchantments, it must surely be the same for all

and maybe under the glow of pale stars, in the flare or fire spark or between the green spots that cloud one’s sight on a day too bright the shining eyes and teeth too sharp appear just s flash. A dream. A trick of light. (if a glamour has never been acknowledged or asked to be lifted, how could one then say it even exists?)

maybe people notice somehow. children tug on his sleeves, eyes wide, fingers reaching for his lute demanding a song. adults bite lips and flutter lashes, his music welcome in their ears, his breath welcome on their skin. but there’s something, something shifting beneath on the Upside-Down and Other Side, and it’s what soon after makes their steps away a little faster. he’s sweet, the bard, but talks too much. he’s sweet, the bard, but like his music he’s just a fleeting thing, an enjoyment for a night. he’s sweet, the bard, and he is as human as they come.

geralt, of course, doesn’t realise. amber eyes watchful and bright don’t even see dragon scales underneath the wrinkles of the old man with whom they dine. but after all, the medallion is quiet when there is no magic casted. no spells, no curses, no monsters. (a boon. a gift. a blessing, nothing more.) jaskier is as human as they come.

yennefer frowns when reaching into his thoughts, the walls of his mind sticky like honey, sweet like tree sap. (but maybe the bard just found a new way to annoy the pure hell out of her, why wouldn’t he?) she pays attention but all he does is trip over his words and feet, please. he’s as human as they come.

maybe, in the end, it happens as it often does, with the last man standing.

maybe it’s creatures, maybe it’s soldiers, doesn’t really matter what form the monsters take. but geralt is down and bleeding, yennefer is helpless and screaming and ciri, oh gods, ciri -

and jaskier’s hands are empty and trembling and he’s

useless, useless, useless bard. human as they come.

and maybe that’s when there’s the ever softest sound of hope lost, tears spilled like dew

and maybe that’s when there are insects buzzing, tree roots cracking, air filled with the scent of rain on fresh leaves, the skin-crawling hum of Other

and maybe that’s when there are the too bright eyes and the too sharp teeth and fingers all claws and after?

after.

after, when the ground is sated with fresh blood spilled, when wounds are treated and healed, then maybe all there is left is a lot of confused shouting

(‘how did you not know?!’ and ‘how did you not know?!’ and ‘of Course only you could get yourself snatched by fae!’ and ‘how dare you! i don’t even know what that means!’ and ‘precisely, you moron!’)

and after, maybe the world stays richer for one trickster, one immortal, one bard

(to his own delight)

(to many others’ misery)

and maybe. just maybe.

maybe there is a laughter in the air like clinking of wind chimes, like flutter of wings, like creaking of rotten wood, like the last sigh of a man dying. the Fae King cackles, the buttercups on their crown gleaming.

‘Now the real fun begins’

[thearvariblues]

The Mysterious Case of Jaskier's Immortality

Word count: 3601

*

“So nice to see you again, Yennefer,” Jaskier says, putting on one of his many fake smiles.

“Jaskier,” she replies with a smile that almost looks genuine but Jaskier is pretty sure that it’s not. Which she confirms a few seconds later by saying: “Shouldn’t you be dead already?”

“I see you’re as kind as always, my dear. But don’t you worry, Geralt is doing a very good job when it comes to protecting me.”

“Hm,” Geralt sighs resignedly, clearly regretting his decision to spend the night in an inn instead of the middle of a forest.

To be fair, it was Jaskier who suggested it, claiming that he refused to be eaten by angry drowners, no matter how many times Geralt tried to explain to him that the probability of finding a drowner in the middle of a very dry forest is extremely low.

If Jaskier knew they were going to run into Yennefer in the inn, he would have risked the drowners.

“I don’t doubt that,” Yennefer smirks. “But seriously, how old are you, bard?”

“No idea. I stopped counting after fifty, I think.”

“You know, you don’t look fifty,” she says.

“Oh, well, my mother had an elf lover before I was born, so there’s a fifty-fifty chance that I’m not gonna age anytime soon. Sorry,” Jaskier smiles again, sweetly – and this time, it’s genuine.

“As if,” Geralt grunts.

“I’m sorry, dear?” Jaskier blinks.

“Come on, Jaskier, it doesn’t work like that. You’re a viscount, that means your father must have been a viscount, too.”

“You don’t know much about nobility, do you, Geralt?” Yennefer snorts.

“Hm,” Geralt grunts. “Still, he’s not a half-elf.”

“Let me guess, you’re a Witcher, therefore you could smell it if I was? I hate to break it to you, dear heart, but you’re going to have your nose checked.”

“You’re not a half-elf, Jaskier,” Geralt repeats. “You’re not immortal, you just… look young.”

“Yeah, right, you got me,” Jaskier shrugs. “I just look good because I moisturize. Happier now?”

“Much,” Geralt nods. “See? You can be honest if you want.”

“Yup,” Jaskier nods. “Honesty personified. Now please excuse me, I need to go and moisturize some more. Internally. With ale.”

*

“I’m actually a mermaid, you know?” Jaskier grins the next time he’s asked, this time by a very confused and very old Valdo Marx.

“A siren, Jaskier. Not a mermaid,” Geralt sighs, praying to Melitele to give him strength. “And you’d know that, of course, if you actually were a siren.”

“Just so you know, the term siren is actually quite offensive to my people.”

“You mean idiots?” Geralt chuckles. “You’re not a siren, Jask.”

“Can you prove that I’m not?”

“Well, last week you tripped and fell into this creek that was like… knee-deep, and you nearly drowned.”

“I was in shock!” Jaskier proclaims dramatically. “But I have a proof that I am, or at least could be a siren.”

“What proof?”

“Well, my lovely voice, of course!”

“Not as lovely as you think it is,” Valdo Marx snorts.

“Come on, Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, ignoring the old troubadour. “You have much better voice that any siren I’ve ever heard.”

“Geralt of Rivia!” Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “Was that a compliment?!”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. “I didn’t mean…”

“Really though, Jaskier,” Valdo says. “How?”

“That’s a secret I’ll take to the grave, I’m afraid,” Jaskier grins. “Once I manage to reach it.”

“Keep on with the bullshit, Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “and you can reach it tonight.”

“Fifty years traveling with him, and he still thinks he can scare me. Cute, isn’t he?” Jaskier laughs. “Oh, Geralt you could never.”

“Try me.”

*

“All right, I’ll tell you my secret,” Jaskier winks at Ciri, who lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve got this neat… magic ring.”

“Hmmm,” Ciri observes. “Looks like a normal signet ring to me.”

“Well… Yeah, well, it looks like it, all right, but actually–”

“Jaskier, I was born a princess. This is clearly a Pankratz family signet ring.”

“Damn,” Jaskier groans. “Like father like daughter, eh?”

“Sorry,” Ciri shrugs.

*

“I got myself cursed.”

Triss Merigold lifts an eyebrow.

“Somebody cursed you to live forever, is that so?” she asks and her voice is almost dripping with disbelief.

“More like cursed me,” Geralt murmurs.

“Oh, shut up, Witcher, you know you couldn’t live without me,” Jaskier smiles brightly, and Geralt has to bite his cheek to stop himself from smiling back.

“Hm,” he says instead.

“Eloquent as ever,” Jaskier nods.

“Would you like me to...” Triss clears her throat. “You know, try to lift the curse?”

“No!” Geralt yells before he can stop himself.

“See?” Jaskier beams. “You could never live without me!”

*

“A bruxa,” Jaskier repeats to a young man who claims to be his son, but looks older than his supposed father.

“You’re not a bruxa, Jaskier!” Geralt whines.

“Excuse me, and how would you know?”

“Because I’m a fucking Witcher?!”

“Well, you’re clearly a fucking horrible Witcher if you haven’t noticed until now!”

“I think I’d notice if you tried to sneak out of the camp at nights to feed,” Geralt comments, crossing his hands. “You can’t even sneak out to take a piss, Jask.”

“Maybe I do that on purpose!”

“Besides, bruxae are mostly women.”

“Mostly being the important word here.”

“Fuck’s sake, Jaskier. You won’t even eat a piece of meat if it’s not so well-done that it’s almost cremated.”

“Do you know how disgusting the blood is, Geralt?!” Jaskier groans, and then immediately blinks when he realizes what he just said. “I meant…”

“Case closed,” Geralt nods, satisfied.

“Oh, dear,” Jaskier mutters. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

“Uhm, my lords, if I may,” the young man says.

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but if you’re aging like a normal human, you’re probably not my son,” Jaskier shrugs. “Sorry. I get it why your mum might be confused, though. It was quite a night, with at least four–”

“And that’s enough,” Geralt says, grabbing Jaskier by the collar and pulling him away from the man. “You know, lifting the curse seems like a good idea now.”

“There isn’t really a curse, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs.

Geralt sighs, his lips curling into a tiny smile that Jaskier cannot see.

“Thank fuck.”

*

“You see, we were in a crazy mage’s tower and I saw this bottle and I thought it was slivovitz, so I drank it, but it seems that it actually was some sort of an immortality potion,” Jaskier explains to a lady at the ball, whose grandmother he’d apparently fucked once, when said grandmother was still a young, unmarried woman.

Geralt only blinks, because it’s the first truly plausible explanation for Jaskier’s mysterious immortality.

“Oh, that must be so horrible to watch everyone you love die!” the woman nods enthusiastically. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it in private?”

“Of course, my dear…” Jaskier smiles. “Just… wait a second. How old is your mother?”

“Forty-seven, why?”

Jaskier’s lips are moving silently for a few seconds while he counts, and then thy turn into a wide grin.

“No reason, dear,” he says, offering her his arms. “Shall we?”

When Jaskier and the lady flee the ball, Geralt pulls out his flask of White Gull and pours its contents into his empty tankard.

So, a potion…

*

“There is no such thing as an immortality potion, Geralt,” Yennefer shakes her head.

“How can you be so sure?” Geralt asks. “Maybe this mage really did find a way to at least make the human life longer!”

“And why would he do that?” Yennefer scoffs. She has been doing that a lot since she finally ended their relationship for good about twenty years ago. (He later found out that she had left him for none other than Triss Merigold, but Yennefer still doesn’t know that he knows, and he’s having way too much fun with it to break the fact to her. So right now, he is pretending he doesn’t notice that Triss is eavesdropping on their conversation behind the door leading to Yennefer’s bedroom, and that he absolutely believed Yen when she claimed that the loud thud a few minutes ago was caused by a cat.) “We are immortal, Geralt, unless killed. There is no reason for any of us to make a potion that would make a human live forever.”

“Well, perhaps this mage fell in love with a human and wanted them to stay with him!”

Yennefer pauses, inspecting Geralt from head to toe and back again, and then she sighs.

“Oh, Geralt. Really?”

“Really what?” Geralt blinks, genuinely confused.

“Oh,” Yennefer murmurs. “Oh, no. Really?”

“Really what, Yen?”

“You mean you don’t… Oh, dear gods. Really?”

“Yen, I swear that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Geralt grunts, frowning.

Yennefer rolls her eyes and tries counting to ten to calm herself down. She doesn’t even get to three before Geralt’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed, Geralt,” she nods solemnly. “Fuck, indeed.”

*

“I found a djinn, he granted me a wish,” Jaskier says when Geralt asks him, about five minutes after his meeting with Yennefer. (He agreed to use a portal to get to the bard as soon as possible. A fucking portal!) The bard is sitting in a tavern and eating his dinner, utterly undisturbed by the sudden appearance of an angrier-than-usual Witcher.

“You never mentioned a djinn,” Geralt growls. “And after your last encounter with one, I sincerely doubt you’d engage with another.”

“You clearly don’t know me at all–”

“Besides, Valdo Marx, as far as I know, had an apoplexy while fucking a young student on his desk, and I don’t think you’d ever let him die like that if you had a choice.”

“You see, that was kind of a my mistake, since I didn’t specify the time and the circumstances of his apoplexy in my wish, so…”

“What was your third wish?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your immortality, Valdo Marx dropping dead, that’s two. What was the third one? And don’t even try to mention the Countess de Stael, since you’d have to dig her up first.”

“That was disgusting, even for you, you know that, Geralt?”

“How are you immortal, Jaskier?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Jaskier puts a piece of bread in his mouth and grins.

“Maybe some other time, Witcher.”

*

“I am a fae,” Jaskier replies a day later.

“You’re not a fucking fae, bard.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you fucking lie, Jaskier. All the time.”

“Fuck. Didn’t think of that.”

*

“You see, there was this artifact–”

Geralt closes his eyes, turning Roach around.

“Let’s consult Yennefer about this.”

“Oh, mother of…” Jaskier whines. “All right, no artifact, there was no artifact! Geralt, I’m telling you, there was no…”

*

“You’re not a succubus.”

“But it would be a perfect explanation, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re not succubus, because if you were, you’d know that a male one is called an incubus.”

“Oh, you and your stupid Witcher terms again.”

“You’re not an incubus, Jaskier, because if you were, I could never let you near Eskel.”

“All right… Explain, please?”

Geralt grunts.

“I’d really rather not.”

*

“A dragon,” Jaskier grins victoriously.

“No,” Geralt says, shaking his head.

“No,” Jaskier agrees with a sigh.

“You know you could just tell me the truth and be done with it, right?”

“Hm… No.”

*

“All right, enough is enough,” Jaskier growls that night in their rented room, tossing his doublet aside. “You’ve asked me three times today, Geralt. Why the sudden interest in my immortality?”

“As you said, enough is enough. You’ve been traveling with me for what, a hundred years?”

“A hundred and four.”

“Yes, and you still look the same as the day I met you in Posada!” Geralt growls. “And it drives me mad!”

“It wasn’t driving you insane for at least fifty years, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“Fuck off, bard. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”

“But you do, Geralt,” Jaskier says, taking a step towards the Witcher. “Why?”

He’s standing in Geralt’s personal space, his chemise half undone, and he’s watching Geralt with those sincere blue eyes, and Geralt can’t fucking think…

“Because I love you, you idiot!” he snaps. “Because I fucking love you and I need to know if I can love you, or you’re gonna just drop dead one day without a warning!”

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, his lips forming into a huge, happy smile. “Oh, fucking finally.”

“Fucking… what?” Geralt blinks, his arms suddenly full of an enthusiastic bard.

“I love you too, you silly Witcher,” Jaskier laughs. “I’ve loved you for a hundred years! Well, a hundred and four, but who’s counting?”

“You…” Geralt mutters.

“Silly, silly Witcher,” Jaskier repeats, pressing his lips against Geralt’s in a kiss that could be described as chaste, or at least the chastest Jaskier has ever been capable of. “We’re going to Lettenhove in the morning.”

“We are?”

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier whispers. “See, I’ve told you the truth about the source of my immortality once. But I think you need to see it to believe me.”

“Wait, you have? When?” Geralt asks. “Was it the artifact? Just tell me, I promise I won’t make you consult it with–”

“Shut up now,” Jaskier says, kissing Geralt again with way less chastity than before. “And in the meantime, believe me this – you can keep loving me, and I’m not planning on dropping dead anytime soon. Also, I’ve spent the last hundred years imagining fucking you senseless, so if you’re not opposed to the idea, perhaps we could, well…”

The kiss that this idea gets him is as far from chaste as one could possibly get.

And Jaskier definitely isn’t about to complain.

*

“You sure this is a good idea?” Geralt asks as they march towards the Lettenhove castle’s gates. He tugs at his doublet’s collar, way too tight for his liking. He’d much rather walk in there wearing his usual attire, but Jaskier insisted that Geralt must look presentable if he wants to meet his family.

It turns out that it only takes a single I love you to turn the bard into a manipulative bastard. Who would have guessed?

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jaskier replies, grinning cheerfully. “And stop frowning, you’re gonna scare the servants, love.”

“How long it’s been since your last visit here, Jaskier?” Geralt says, his frown deepening. “Who rules Lettenhove now, hm? Aren’t you only going to be a distant relative, a great-great-uncle risen from the grave?”

“I sure hope not,” Jaskier chuckles, stopping in front of the guards by the gate. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Viscount Julian, here to see the Viscountess Madeleine.”

“How can you still be a viscount?” Geralt blinks when one of the guards promptly disappears inside.

“We kind of decided to, you know, share the title,” Jaskier shrugs. “Seemed fair. Besides, father, well, the former viscount, insisted that I inherit the title, but he never mentioned anything about Mads not inheriting it, so…”

“How could your father have known who the viscount is going to be in almost a hundred years?”

“He really didn’t,” Jaskier chuckles. “See, it will all start to make sense once you meet her.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

*

The guard returns a few minutes later, telling them that the Viscountess will meet them in the garden.

Geralt, knowing a thing or two about nobility, think it’s a little weird, but isn’t about to protest. He only thinks he could have left the fancy clothes at the tavern.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Jaskier chuckles when Geralt voices this thought. “You look gorgeous.”

“I know. You’ve mentioned it a few times. But I didn’t have to look like that, because we’re going to meet the ruler of this land in a fucking garden, and–”

“Julian!”

A woman in a long white dress throws herself at Jaskier, who happily catches her. Geralt’s first instinct is to reach for his sword, only to realize that he (luckily) left it in the tavern – because Jaskier insisted, of course.

“Madeleine,” Jaskier chuckles. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Oh, yes. Shocking, isn’t it?” she laughs, pulling away from him, and for the first time, Geralt truly looks at her.

The woman is shorter than Jaskier, slim, and her dress is much, much simpler than Geralt would have expected considering the fact that is supposed to be a viscountess. She has dark, long hair and her face is so beautiful that it almost – but only almost – takes the focus off her pointed ears.

“Lady Madeleine,” Jaskier grins, “may I introduce Geralt of Rivia, my Witcher. Geralt, this is Lady Madeleine, the current ruler of Lettenhove and my younger sister.”

“You’re…” Geralt blinks.

“A half-elf, yes,” she nods. “Julian! You haven’t told him?”

“Hardly my fault. I really tried,” Jaskier shrugs. “But he just wouldn’t believe me.”

“So you brought him here to prove it to him, rather than to visit your beloved sister? You are a horrible, horrible sibling, Julian!”

“Your… sister,” Geralt mutters, all his thoughts speeding through his head, colliding and falling down, one over another.

“Yes, we definitely share a mother,” Jaskier confirms. “Most likely a father, too, and trust me, it wasn’t the old viscount. Madeleine got the elvish looks, I only got the non-aging bit. Well, apparently.”

“But…” Geralt blinks. “Your father. The title.”

“Yen was right, dear heart, you really don’t know shit about nobility,” Jaskier snorts. “But I admit that even though our dear departed noble father knew that Mads wasn’t his daughter, obviously, it never occurred to him that I might not be his true son.”

“But you don’t age!”

“In his defense, that only became clear after his unfortunate passing.”

“And you aren’t going to start to age anytime soon,” Geralt mutters. “You really aren’t.”

“Told you so, didn’t I?” Jaskier winks, letting go of his sister and wrapping his arms around his lover instead.

“I… I…” Geralt stammers. “Fuck.”

“Maybe later, love,” Jaskier smiles. “Madeleine, my dear, wouldn’t you say that my return calls for a feast?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I have started the preparations the second my spies informed me that you have crossed the border.”

“Oh, so we have spies now?”

“It’s really only a net of nosy old ladies, but it works wonders,” Madeleine laughs. “I must admit, though, that I was only planning a feast to celebrate you coming home, but now I see we have a much better reason to party. Tell me, brother, did you finally get your stupid Witcher?”

Jaskier smiles brightly, turning his head to Geralt.

“Yes. I finally got my stupid Witcher.”

“Party,” the Witcher in question growls. “Is that why you made me dress like a pompous prick?”

“No, that was because while I find your usual self extremely attractive, you still look much better when your hair is properly combed and you’re not covered in monster blood.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums, but wraps his arm around the bard to hold him close.

“Oh, yes, about monsters,” Madeleine says with the most innocent expression Geralt has seen since Ciri broke Vesemir’s favorite vase at Kaer Morhen. “You see, we have a tiny problem with a cockatrice…”

“Right,” Geralt nods. “I’ll go grab my armor from the tavern.”

“That won’t be necessary. I have already arranged for your things to be brought to the castle. And your horse,” she adds before Geralt can even open his mouth. “You can leave for your quest as soon as the servants get here.”

“So much for you not being covered in monster blood,” Jaskier sighs.

“Hm,” Geralt grins. “Lady Madeleine, I suppose you happen to have a bathtub somewhere in the castle?”

“Of course. In fact, there is a private bathroom right next to Julian’s bedroom.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier purrs. “You know me so well.”

“Yes, and I expect to get to know you even better. In another hundred years or so.”

Jaskier laughs, pulls Geralt closer to him and kisses him.

“Another thousand years, I’d say.”

*

“What… the… fuck?!” Geralt croaks, staring at the smouldering remains of the cockatrice that would have surely killed him if Jaskier… If Jaskier…

The bard looks at his hands, then at the cockatrice, and then back at his hands again.

“Geralt? I have a feeling that I’m not really… A half-elf.”

“No shit.”

“I think I might be… Uhm…”

“Oh, shit,” Geralt whispers.

“I suppose, uhm, you know…” Jaskier stammers, wiping his palms on his trousers like he could wipe away the feeling of literal flames shooting out of them mere moments ago.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to consult this with Yen.”

“Splendid,” Jaskier sighs. “Can it at least wait after the feast?”

“After more than a hundred years of you not even knowing, I think one feast will be fine.”

“Thank the gods. Madeleine would kill me if I tried to leave now,” Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s go, then. We need to get the fried monster remains out of your hair.”

“You’re… I was fucking right! You’re not a half-elf!”

“Yeah, you’re a great Witcher,” Jaskier nods, grabbing Geralt’s arm and dragging him away from the monster. “Didn’t notice I was secretly a fucking mage, but otherwise a great Witcher.”

“Explains a lot, though.”

“Does it now?”

“Yeah. I always had a thing for mages, you know.”

“Oh, Geralt. You’re such a fucking idiot,” Jaskier chuckles.

“Made you laugh,” Geralt shrugs, smiling.

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m so, so gonna drown you in that bathtub.”

“My love,” Geralt grins, “you’re more than welcome to try.”

***

Tagging @lottelorelei - I’m sorry I always forget to reply to your lovely comments, but believe me, they always put a big smile on my face! :)

[havenoffandoms]

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

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