#somft bards

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 139

Geralt has noticed some... Things... About his traveling companion, Jaskier. Troublesome things. Like how he's almost certainly of faeblood. It's just little things he does or says or is that make Geralt's imaginary radar go off. He never uses iron utensils, He is truthful to a fault, He's mischievous and lustful, He never breaks a promise, not in an honorable way, but almost in a way as if fate is forcing his body to complete whatever he promised, no matter what. He's also gorgeous. Even in times when the road should've worn him down. Where there should be dust or grime, Jaskier somehow still shines like a freshly polished jewel. And don't even get Geralt started on the impossibility of Jaskier's freakishly vibrant blue eyes. That is NOT human! There are always wildflowers when Jaskier walks in the woods, even sometimes when they are out of season. Trees seem to bend toward him, always making a cover for the rain to keep him dry. When he went swimming, Geralt swears the water looks cleaner afterward. One time Geralt got tired of human-safe food, and decided to cook their dinner that night differently. He cooked one serving all the way, safe for humans, and one only a little, still nice and raw, unsafe for humans. And yet Geralt came back from feeding Roach to find Jaskier happily chowing down on the raw one. Geralt went to warn him, but stopped. Could Jaskier really not tell the difference? Surely the texture and taste was different... And then Jaskier was done. Geralt waited a few days, just sure Jaskier would fall ill, as humans usually did when eating food Geralt has learned is unsafe for them, but Jaskier didn't fall ill. In fact, he seemed healthier than ever. Which could only mean he isn't human. When Geralt talks to Jaskier and hints about knowing however, Jaskier doesn't seem to realize. Which means he must not even know. Geralt paces around camp. How is he to break the news to Jaskier that Jaskier has fae in his blood? Perhaps his mother cheated, perhaps one of his parents were a changeling, perhaps a grandparent wasn't what they said they were, perhaps he, himself, is a changeling... Jaskier returns from a bathroom break and cocks an eyebrow at his witcher pacing around camp like a restless animal. "Geralt? Darling, what are y-" "Jaskier, you're fae." Geralt blurts. Fuck. That is not how he wanted to break the news to poor Jaskier. Jaskier is standing there, face paling, eyes wide, breath coming in short rasps. It's difficult news to deliver, and Geralt did it insensitively. Jaskier seems to be panicking. Geralt will help him, will comfort him. Fae or not, that's his Jaskier. Jaskier is freaking the FUCK out. Geralt found out he's fae! Fuckfuckfuck! He thought he was so good at hiding it! Sure, there were a few slipups here and there, as there is with any big secret, but he really thought Geralt was none the wiser! He should've known the monsterhunter would recognize a monster when he saw one. Now Jaskier must decide if he'll die by Geralt's hand, or try to outrun the witcher, as surely no man wants to be companions with a member of the trickster faefolk.

[velnica]

Home is Wherever I'm With You 💛💚 (Sanson/Guydelot)

[ Image ID: Sanson and Guydelot lounging in their sofa at home. Guydelot is playing the guitar whilst Sanson is wearing lingerie and reading a book. Sanson's foot is extended to tease Guydelot's crotch. They are looking at each other intensely and intimately. Perhaps they should move somewhere comfier? ]

[lanternlightss]

HELLO fish doodle again :] they is getting hair ruffles

!!!!! HAIR RUFFLESS

did you get a peek into my docs /j NO BUT OH MY GOD !!!!!!!! this is So So incredibly cute i am !!!!! yelling !!!!! love how absolutely content and blissed out venti looks, they are living the dream. right here is the best place, thank you very much, i will Not be moving <3

also love how excited bard looks to be doing this too aAAAAaaaAA oh my goodness. bard voice their hair is somft i must ruffle ,,, my gosh i can’t get over how he just looks happy seeing venti happy !!!! oaghhhh they are the darlings of all timeeee

[dapandapod]

So Jaskilion, thank you for the music, Jaskier wearing a gown, the bards just being somfte 🥺

Bards just being somfte, how about bards being somft HUSBANDS? For my sweet @jaskierswolf, after the wonderful ABBA marathon we had, and thank you @kuripon for doing a beta read in the middle of the night. My middle of the night, to be fair, but still!!

Warnings: mention of past harrassment and Geralt's accordion. That in itself needs a warning I think. Oh and, Dandelion is having a really bad day.

On Ao3 here! <3

Dandelion is so fucking tired. Some days are really just out to get you, and this day in particular seems to want him to have some sort of breakdown.

Anything that could go wrong did go wrong. Murphy’s law and all that. He stepped in a muddy puddle that was deeper than it seemed, he got stuck in the elevator for an hour, the trains were late, his boss were yelling at him (again, Valdo should go sit on something prickly), his computer froze while screen sharing during an important meeting, his food tasted vaguely like fish because the person before him didn’t obey the unspoken golden rule about not reheating fish dinners in their microwave in the office and -

Yes. Long fucking day.

The worst part about it?

He is this close to missing one of the most important nights this year, nay, his life.

Jaskier is singing tonight.

It’s been a while, a very long while in fact, since Jaskier stood on a stage last. When they met, Jaskier used to do musicals, karaoke nights, weddings. His voice is rich, beautiful, a voice that drives off the darkness of the night.

Jaskier sang at their wedding.

But after one particular incident while playing the lead role in a musical, a coworker who had harassed Jaskier to the extent that they had to go to court to keep him safe, Jaskier never stepped up on a stage again.

He tried.

Dandelion watched his hands shake, his face getting paler and sweat dripping down his neck. He heard his voice crack, his breath hitch, and the sobs in the back rooms where he thought no one could hear.

And then he just never performed for others again.

So tonight is very fucking important.

It’s just a small neighbourhood talent show, kitchen chairs collected and pushed together in front of a makeshift theater. Dandelion and Jaskier had helped prepare a few nights before, dining on the kitchen floor in wait for the big day, laughing and teasing each other.

And here Dandelion is, about to fucking miss it.

He looks at his watch one more time. It has already started, but Jaskier is the second to last act tonight, right before the big finale with Tissaia and her little magic helpers.

If he runs, he might make it. Hopefully.

Bursting through the doors, making old Vesemir jump in surprise, Dandelion makes it just in time for little Ciri to get up on stage and do her puppet show.

Gods, just in time.

Vesemir glares at him, but Dandelion just pats his shoulder as he passes, squeezing himself deeper into the room, closer to the stage. He has a stitch in his side from running, and this shirt will need a good washing tonight, but that is a small sacrifice.

Sitting down next to Ciri’s mother in the second row, he finally catches his breath. He is here. He made it.

Now he only hopes Jaskier makes it on the stage.

They talked about that too. There is no shame in backing out, none at all. Jaskier’s well being is more important than anything else. Dandelion will support Jaskier in anything he chose to pursue.

He just hopes the small spark Jaskier has been nursing these last few days will stay.

They all applaud politely when Ciri steps off the stage, Pavetta finally letting her phone fall into her lap, pausing what is sure to be the biggest spam on social media (this week) about her daughter’s many talents.

Ciri is an incredible girl; whenever they had the honor of babysitting her, she and Dandelion would spend hours by the piano. Or the guitar. Or the ukulele. Or the lute. Or the violin….

Triss walks up on the stage, thanking Ciri through a small and rather crackly microphone. Next up is Jaskier.

Dandelion's heart is in his throat. Jaskier didn’t want to tell him what song he chose, only that it would be something very special.

When his husband comes out on stage, Dandelion feels like he wants to fall to one knee all over again, butterflies dancing and swirling in his stomach.

The gown he wears is a deep blue, sparkling in the small spotlight, making him the focus of everyone's attention. Dandelion recognizes it immediately from Halloween a few years back, when there was a Eurovision theme.

Jaskier’s eyes roam the small audience desperately, and when his eyes fall on Dandelion, the tightness in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

He is still a little pale, and Dandelion can make out the small tremble in his hands when he reaches for the microphone in Triss’ hand, but oh, how very proud Dandelion is of him.

Jaskier’s eyes never let go of him, and when he walks the two small steps to the middle of the stage, Dandelion feels each foot fall through his own body.

“Thank you all for being here tonight.” Jaskier begins. “I would like to dedicate this song to the love of my life, and no, I’m not talking about this dress.”

Jaskier’s smile is blinding, and Dandelion hears the crowd chuckle.

“Dandelion, my beloved husband, thank you for always being there for me, thank you for drinking my terrible coffee, thank you for always, always believing in me. For always keeping the music alive within me, with or without words.”

Jaskier points to Triss on the edge of the stage, and she starts what is unmistakably ABBA.

“Thank you for the music, my love.”

The performance is a bit shaky. It is bound to be, Jaskier is fighting for every breath, every note, but it is every bit as beautiful and rich and clear as it ever was. As it has been in the shower, in the kitchen, in Dandelion's arms as they slow-dance around their living room at one in the morning.

The dress sparkles as Jaskier takes a few tentative steps, eyes again roaming the crowd, only to return to Dandelion to anchor him once more.

Dandelion could cry.

He registers Pavetta holding her phone up again. He will have to ask for the pictures (hopefully it's video) after. Right now, Dandelion's hand is pressed over his mouth, trying his utmost to hold back.

“I've been so lucky, I have a love with golden hair I wanna sing it out to everybody What a joy, what a life, what a chance.”

Jaskier sings, winking at Dandelion. Jaskier always loved Dandelion's blonde hair, playing with his curls, dragging his fingers through the silky strands.

The last notes ring out, and the audience clap politely again.

They don’t know how big this is.

Now Dandelion has to stay in his chair until Tissaia has finished her magic tricks, until the last little girls have scampered off stage, and Triss declaring Geralt and his accordion the winner for tonight.

Vesemir hoots loudly in the back, stomping his feet, and then Dandelion is out of his chair. The entire day has been shit, but to hold Jaskier in his arms, high on nervous energy and victorious joy, everything is forgotten.

The dress is a little scratchy under his hands, as is Jaskier's stubble against his cheek, but he holds him tight, as close to his heart he can muster.

“I am so proud of you,” he whispers, and he can hear Jaskier let out a happy little sniffle. “Let’s get home and get drunk off our asses.”

“We just need to find our chairs again, I’m not sitting on the floor in this dress,” Jaskier replies.

“How about no dress, the couch, and that strange cherry vodka you brought home the other day,” Dandelion bargains, kissing Jaskier's temple and grabbing his hand to walk back towards their house.

Jaskier thinks it over for a moment.

“Done. But only if we can blast ABBA so loud, the neighbours at the end of the street will hum Waterloo in their sleep!”

If Dandelion hadn’t already married this man, by gods, he would again.

[toboldlynerd]

💛✨💛✨💛

💛✨💛✨💛

✨🧡💛

[jaskierswolf]

Hi wolfie!! This be a greedy panda, asking you for something somft. Because 31. swaying side to side whilst hugging, Im. Somft. Gib.

Gib please. Love you ~

I did this with Geraskier! Taglist undercut!

CW: canon typical injury, injury recovery and Jaskier being a bit out of it on potions

_

Pain.

That’s all Jaskier had known; blinding pain. His side burned from the oozing wound, infected and really fucking sore… or at least it had been. Geralt had dragged his broken and half unconscious arse to a nearby healer, and now Jaskier felt like he was flying.

The pain was swiftly becoming a distance memory as he drifted happily in the tiny little healers hut. In fact, he wasn’t even sure why he had to lie down anymore. He wasn’t hurt! He felt fucking fantastic, nothing in the world could bring him down. With that in mind he decided he was done being a lazy shit, and ready to go out into the world again. People to see, music to write, ooh maybe he could even visit Cidaris and give Marx a piece of his mind. It had been far too long since they’d verbally sparred, and he found he rather missed it.

“Time to go!” he declared as he tried to sit up, but there were hands pushing him down onto the table. “Oi! Geralt!”

“Stay still,” the witcher grumbled.

“I’m fine, darling. Now. Let. Me. Up!”

“No.”

“Geralt,” he whined, pouting up at his friend.

His very pretty friend. Really Geralt was unfairly attractive; tall, strong, big man with the pretty eyes and hair to die for. Jaskier wanted to smooch him. He should be allowed to smooch him.

“Maybe later,” Geralt hummed, and Jaskier realised with a start that he’d said all of that out loud. “Yeah.”

He whined, covering his face with his hands, but that was even worse because then he could see Geralt. He wanted to see the pretty man with sunshine eyes, most beloved witcher, gorgeous, lovely, Geralt.

“Jaskier, shut up.”

“Don’t mean to,” he mumbled and tried to sit up again.

“Stay still, Julek.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped open and he stared up at his friend with wide eyes. He was sure Geralt had never called him that before… no one had. No one had ever cared about him enough to even think about it. He whined again, reaching for Geralt’s hand on his shoulder. “Geralt,” he whispered… or at least he thought he’d whispered it. Clearly he had no idea what nonsense was spewing from his mouth right now, but he didn’t really care.

Julek.

“Hnnnng,” he choked out, struggling to stop himself from throwing himself into Geralt’s arms.

“Stitches aren’t done, then I’ll hug you, but carefully, Jaskier.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, still pouting up at his friend.

He felt restless, even with Geralt’s hand in his and the touch on his shoulder. It was hard not to try and fly away. He wanted to fly, to sing, to scream out to the sky, but Geralt’s touch kept him grounded until finally:

“All done.”

“Well, thank fuck for that!” He laughed and tried again to stand up, but despite the lack of pain, his legs gave way underneath him. “Oh shit!”

Luckily Geralt caught him or he would be a mess of bard on the floor.

“Still a mess of bard,” Geralt chuckled as he held Jaskier steady.

Oh… they were hugging! That was nice. Jaskier giggled and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck. “Say it again?”

“You’re a mess?”

“Oi! No! Not that!”

“My Julek,” Geralt murmured, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s temple.

Ooh didn’t that just give him weird fluttery feelings in his chest. This was flying, he decided. It must be. He felt like he had wings! He could soar above the world and never have to look down, and Geralt would soar with him… because- because…

Oh.

Because Jaskier loved him.

“I-”

“I love you too,” Geralt replied before Jaskier could say the words, unless he’d already said them. Who could be sure?

He decided not to think too hard about it and just swayed into the hug, too tired to dance but still unable to hold still. Geralt’s hand pressed into the small of his back and they stayed like that for… well Jaskier wasn’t sure how long. It could have been forever or just the span of his heart beat. He sighed happily, swaying gently in his witcher’s embrace, the man he loved and who loved him in return.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki (Lmk if you want to be added)

[wren-of-the-woods]

1, 7, 49 💜

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

My instinct is I'll Stand Here With You, because it was the first fic of mine that got a lot of response and still has the most kudos out of anything I've written! It's also soft and feelsy which is still a pretty good indicator of what I like to write. I wrote that over a year ago, though... If I had to pick something more recent, I might say We'll Build a Den Out of Pillows (And Get Drunk Again) for the somfts and the inspiration from TAD or Home for the feels!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

I answered this here, but forgot to mention that I also have worldbuilding for fics that are as-of-yet unpublished! About a year ago I did a lot of worldbuilding for a mer!Jaskier fic which was never finished but which I'm still fond of, and I have a few other ideas floating around (soulmate AUs, a winged!Jaskier AU, etc) that would be very fun to worldbuild. So I suppose the answer is "as of now, only sort of, but hopefully more will come soon!"

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I have a few things in the works that I hope to finish in time for some of next week's What About The Bard prompts!

Here's one from a 5+1:

Yennefer looked around. The small tent was very, very cramped. There was no way they were all going to be able to lay out their bedrolls. 

Jaskier frowned, seeming to have come to the same conclusion. “Hold on. Where do we sleep?”

There was silence for a few long moments as everyone looked around them with expressions ranging from annoyance (Yennefer) to constipation (Geralt) to thoughtfulness (Jaskier). Ciri was the first one to speak.

“I guess we’ll just have to cuddle,” she said. 

~

And here's a bit from a shorter one:

“Geralt,” Jaskier begins haltingly, “What—”

He is cut off by a gasp when Geralt leans down and slowly, gently brushes his lips against the back of Jaskier’s fingers in the faintest of kisses. 

“What are you doing?” whispers Jaskier. 

“Kissing them better,” says Geralt, as though it’s obvious. 

Jaskier gapes at him, speechless for what may be the first time in years. 

“It was Ciri’s idea,” says Geralt. “I thought I might try it. Unless you mind?”

“It’s fine,” squeaked Jaskier.

From this ask game!

[bi-aragorn]

Hello darling spagoose, I come sneaking into your inbox, begging for some geraskier, because a panda somft. How about some kissing for cover, pretty please? <3<3<3

Hello sneak sneak! Here you go angel, a few smooches, just about fits the prompt?

No warnings on this either I don't think

Edit 16/01: Here on Ao3

They'd been running for five minutes when Jaskier decided he could run no more. Panting, hands braced on his thighs, he gaped up at Geralt.

"Jaskier-" Geralt growled out, ready to drag the bard with him.

"In there," Jaskier panted, waving at an alleyway to the side of the road. Hastily stripping his jacket, he shoved Geralt into the alley, bracketing him in to the space.

Between desperate gasps for air, Jaskier managed to wheeze out- "Trust me,"

Geralt stared at him, eyebrows raising in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, and that was when Jaskier took the chance.

He grabbed onto Geralt by the shoulders, tugging him down the inch or so to his height, and pulling him into a soft kiss. His heart was pounding in his ears, his knuckles white with his tight grip on Geralt's armour as he heard the thundering of the guards charging past them. Inwardly, he heaved a sigh of relief. Outwardly, he relished the feeling of Geralt's chapped lips crushed against his, the fluttering of those long lashes against his cheek, the warmth at his hip where Geralt had wrapped a hand around him. Jaskier let his eyes fall closed, moving one hand to twine into Geralt's hair. He was certain he wasn't imagining the soft sigh Geralt let out at that, and he definitely wasn't imagining the way the witcher leant into the kiss, lips parting to deepen it. 

[ohnomybreadsticks]

#8 from the TAD prompt list? ;_; So somfte. I want something soft with Jaskel... or Geskel... or Geraskier. *gasp* or THE THREE OF THEM. Is that okay?

Hi Kuri!! Thanks so much for sending in a prompt, you are my first and only for this list ❤️❤️ And that pairing is very much okay! I have never written these three together, but you're the second person in one day to suggest it to me for different things! So here is my first attempt, I hope I do them justice C:

Cause, darling, I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading - Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel

(Rated G, canonverse, established relationship, snuggling, tooth-rotting fluff, references to canon-typical Witcher attitudes)

---

The sound of rain falling outside in the courtyard is a steady hiss as it hits the ancient old stonework of Kaer Morhen. When Jaskier opens his eyes, he sees that the room is a dim grey still, the passing of the hours since they crawled into bed for a rest barely visible. The room is full of comfortable silence, so different from the silence of possible threats that surrounds them on the road. It's just him, the rain, and the soft breathing of his two sleeping Witchers.

Jaskier looks down at the tousle of Eskel's brown hair, his head nestled against the bard's chest. His big beautiful Witcher, so eager for cuddles despite his imposing size. Jaskier had seen through the facade immediately, of course, but it had taken him a while to get the message through to Eskel that he was more than eager to provide all the gentle attention the Witcher had never had. Now, Jaskier runs a gentle hand down Eskel's side, taking in the texture of newly formed scars and the shape of his winter lover, filled out and thick with the weight of safety and warm meals provided every day.

Behind Jaskier, Geralt snuffles and nuzzles in closer, breath warm against his skin. His arms are wrapped firmly around his bard, possessive in all the best ways. Jaskier loves being held by his Witcher, knowing Geralt finally feels comfortable showing his desires in this way. They're working on words, but Jaskier's heart is already full of love whenever he's wrapped up in this warm, strong embrace. He knows he's smiling now, even though neither of his lovers can see him, but he can't help it. It's hard not to smile, when he has everything he's ever wanted in this quiet, grey evening.

Geralt had told him once, that Witchers were made for war, for killing, for bloodshed. That they were bred for the sole purpose of committing violence. Jaskier would have to firmly disagree. How could Witchers have been made for anything but love, when they fit so perfectly into the warm and soft space of their shared bed?

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

This is a somft thing I wrote because my platonic scoundrel @roseforthethorns was feeling sad. Ily bby

(3k+ words, Family Gossip, Geralt being good with kids, something akin to a binding..... just fluffypuffy stuff)

~

“You are an absolute darling, Geralt!”

“Hmph,” he grunted, and tucked the honeysuckles into the circlet before placing it carefully on Jaskier’s head. “You need to be pretty for the party,” the Witcher said firmly.

Jaskier beamed at him, eyes shining with affection. “That I do, my dear,” he said, adjusting the flower circlet to be at a jauntier angle. “Oh, do you like the ring, by the way?”

Geralt nodded, raising his hand. It was a lovely ring, but rather cheap. Bronze band, yellow agate cabochon, and tiny pearls. It was well-used, though. Jaskier grabbed his hand, squeezed gently, then skipped to the door. “Come on, then!”

~

Geralt was expecting the stares. He was not expecting so many nobles to glide up to him, give a nervous greeting, and then inquire about his relationship with Count Julian. Geralt was too baffled to answer with anything other than, “He’s my bard.”

One sharp-eyed old lady with an ivory cane showed up at Geralt’s elbow, and poked his middle with her cane. “Hmm. Too skinny,” she declared, while Geralt fought the urge to splutter. “How do you expect to take care of little Julie when you can’t keep yourself fed?”

“We’ve been getting along just fine for fifteen years,” Geralt retorted.

The old lady sniffed in disapproval. “Of course you would say that, you’re a man. Both of you need plumping up.” She smacked his middle with her cane and added, “Be careful with that ring, boy. It’s precious.”

Geralt grunted, hands automatically coming together so he could touch the ring again. The old lady nodded and walked away.

Jaskier had said this would just be a short jaunt to say hello to his cousin and leave--but said cousin was a queen, and asked him to stay for the whole evening. Of course, Jaskier agreed. And now Geralt was leaning on a wall sipping honey wine and feeling superfluous. There was nothing to do here. He should be hunting, gathering coin for their journey, not letting nobles stare at him.

A man in a military uniform approached him, and Geralt tensed, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t think he was going to be taken away; the soldier was alone, and Geralt came with Jaskier.

The soldier stopped, bowed, and said, “Greetings, Witcher. I’m Captain Yetzii, of the Palace Guard.”

“Geralt,” Geralt said.

The captain nodded, his heavy mustache and eyebrows hiding most of his expression, but the wariness and aggression in his scent and posture waning. “I suspected as much,” he said. “Not many people hover in corners watching Count de Lettenhove with such a worried expression.” The captain’s mustache twitched and the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Geralt was hit by the realization that, though this man was human and had red-brown hair and was as lean as a youth, he bore a striking resemblance to Vesemir. Even his scent had a familiar tang.

Geralt frowned and answered the captain, “He gets into trouble more frequently than we Witchers. If I don’t watch him he’ll do something stupid and end up wearing a casket of wine as trousers.”

“He’s already done that,” the captain said. “On his twentieth birthday, he and some of the troops got so drunk that they started a contest of what they could wear that was within uniform regulations. I don’t know how, but they all ended up agreeing that a wine casket and some sheafs of straw was within the rules.”

Something stirred in Geralt’s memory, and then jumped to the forefront: a few years ago, when he and Jaskier met again in spring, and got so drunk that--Geralt’s mouth twitched, but his voice was dry as he told the captain, “I know exactly how. I once witnessed him convince a king that he had created a dashing outfit out of moonlight and fresh air, then encouraged the king to wear it while giving a speech to the commoners. The fool actually believed him and stepped onto the platform before the crowd naked.”

The captain snorted, his posture relaxing further. “We heard of that, but no one knew it was M’lord Julian. Have you ever caught him dueling? He’s never been good at it, but by the gods, he tries. Especially when he was younger; whenever he visited, the Guard had to follow him when he went on a quest to seduce every barmaid in the city, because it was inevitable that he would end up trying to duel some poor citizen.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched again, visibly this time. “I can believe it.”

Somehow, swapping stories about Jaskier’s ineptitude with fighting rolled right into passive fighter roles; Geralt admitted that he’d rather be bitten by a manticore than pose as a bodyguard, and Captain Yetzii commiserated, saying that he had much preferred being in his village’s guard and patrolling the county to being a stationary captain. This led into how to prepare for long journeys far from humanity, and then a mild argument about horses. Geralt was offended by Yetzii’s insistence that horses should be bred for their lines, instead of for their traits; Yetzii was skeptical of the fact that the size of a horse’s heart was the defining factor of its speed, arguing that lungs and bone-structure were more important.

A noble boy, perhaps sixteen, drifted over and began asking questions that seemed to boil down to, “My tutor said that’s wrong.” Both Geralt and Yetzii immediately dropped the argument to speak to the boy seriously about how to choose, care for, and ride a good horse. A young lady of about thirteen took up a position close to the three of them, straining her ears to hear them while pretending not to.

It wasn’t long before Geralt and Yetzii had accumulated most of the attendants below the age of twenty, and were answering their questions about fighting, hunting, and survival. Yetzii was polite and deferential; Geralt spoke bluntly. So many curious faces, so many wide eyes--it felt like he was talking to his Witcher brothers.

Somehow, that didn’t hurt.

“I wish I could hunt trolls,” sighed a boy with lanky limbs.

Geralt frowned and said, “You’ve got the bones for it. Heavy laundry every other day, laps, and wrestling will get you started.”

The group went silent, gaping at him. Geralt stared back, then looked up to find Jaskier. He really had forgotten these children were nobles. He needed to get out of there.

“Do you think I could hunt trolls?” a young woman asked, her eyes bright with hope.

“You’re tall enough for it,” Geralt replied cautiously. “You’re almost done growing, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

The young woman beamed at him, and Geralt felt very uncomfortable.

“Mr. Pankratz, sir,” piped up a pudgy child with a cloud of golden curls for hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever be tall. Could I still fight monsters?”

Geralt nodded. “Yes. Other warriors in training may tell you not to, but they don’t know your limits,” he said. It was so peculiar. He felt like… like he was saying Vesemir’s words in his own voice. He looked at all of the children, and added, “Any of you can be warriors. And warriors don’t always hunt monsters in dark places.” Something Vesemir had told him when he was small popped into his head, and he said it aloud, not quite seeing the children: “Sometimes Witchers kill. Sometimes Witchers talk. It doesn’t matter if you do one or the other more: you’re still a Witcher.”

“What does that mean?” asked the lanky boy.

“It means…” Geralt frowned, trying to put his words into order. “It means, no matter what your fighting looks like--whether you kill monsters or negotiate with kings--you’re still a warrior. We fight with what we have. A sword, a pen, medicine, knowledge; none of these are more important than the others. It’s what you use them for that matters.”

There was a moment of silence in the little group. All eyes were fixed on him, including Yetzii. He tried to think of how to escape, but before he could, Jaskier appeared, beaming and bubbling. Geralt had never felt such relief as he turned to Jaskier, who told those assembled, “Hello, everyone! Very sorry to interrupt, but the queen wishes to meet Geralt. We’ll be staying a few days, you’ll have plenty of time to talk to him.” Jaskier winked at Geralt with an evil smile; Geralt rolled his eyes, but followed his bard willingly.

“Their parents are annoyed,” Jaskier murmured teasingly as they approached the royal dais. “You’re far too interesting for them.”

Geralt snorted. “If they actually taught their little ones useful skills instead of drilling them on how to blow their noses, they wouldn’t be interested,” he muttered, and smiled just a little when Jaskier laughed. He liked Jaskier’s laugh. When did it go from painful to pleasant?

The queen, Jaskier’s cousin, was just as beautiful as him, but not nearly as theatrical. Her eyes were blue, but more washed-out. One of her ladies-in-waiting had lined her eyes with coal, but it was not nearly as neat and delicate as Jaskier’s. Her hair was a sandy blond, well-maintained and shining like gold, but Jaskier’s hair was shinier.

He bowed without giving anything away on his face.

“Queen Chrysanthemum, may I introduce Witcher Geralt,” Jaskier intoned gravely. Geralt shot him an annoyed look. Jaskier never made it easy to greet royalty. “He’s my friend.”

Geralt bowed again and muttered, “An honor to meet you, your Majesty.”

Queen Chrysanthemum smiled prettily. “The honor is mine, Witcher Geralt,” she replied. Then her eyes twinkled and her smile turned crafty. “We were all wondering what kind of man Julian would settle on,” she teased.

Geralt tensed, but it was embarrassment, not anger. He was used to this.

Apparently, Jaskier was not.

He turned red as a tomato, and spluttered a bit before objecting weakly, “I haven’t settled on anyone! When I do, you’ll know, because she will be the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen!” He avoided Geralt’s eyes firmly, even though all the Witcher did was raise an eyebrow and repress a teasing insult. How odd.

The queen snickered. “Yes, yes, I understand, Julian.” She turned to the matronly noblewoman sitting beside her and flicked her fingers subtly; the woman rose, curtseyed, and walked away, joining a circle of other noblewomen. Geralt’s stomach dropped as Queen Chrysanthemum smiled at him again and said, “Sit with me a moment, Witcher.”

Geralt did so, stiffly. For some reason, Jaskier seemed reluctant to leave, but also reluctant to sit. He shifted his weight, fiddled with his cuffs, bit his lip, and then nodded sharply, before turning and marching to one of the refreshment tables. Geralt shook his head. Jaskier was always very odd around his family.

“You don’t seem surprised by him,” the queen remarked, beckoning with her fan for a servant to bring them drinks.

“I’ve known him nearly fifteen years,” Geralt replied. “If he wanted to surprise me, he’d stop singing.”

That startled a laugh out of her, as she accepted a glass of wine from the servant. Geralt followed suit, but did not drink from it. He’d already had too much ale; his tongue was loose and his mind was too relaxed.

“Tell me, how did you meet?” she inquired. “I know Julian, his penchant for dramatics is devastating. Did you really defeat Filivandrel?”

“With words, yes,” Geralt answered, feeling that pinch of irritation again. That fucking song. He hated it. “There was no dramatic battle. Still, humans have no need to fear him anymore.”

Queen Chrysanthemum nodded sagely. “I thought as much. Julian has never once had the courage to face a fight willingly.” She must have seen Geralt’s confusion, because she smiled and explained, “He hated hunting rabbits, for the gods’ sakes. Anything scarier than a bee, he ran away from. We used to laugh about it.”

Geralt remembered the times when Jaskier had thrown himself into a fight to help him, had acted as bait or a distraction even in near-certain death situations, had stared down a griffin and run it through with Geralt’s own sword. Jaskier had never run away. Jaskier wasn’t courageous, but he was braver than any other human--if foolishness counted as bravery. Geralt ran his thumb over the hem of his “fashionable” surcoat; the money used to purchase the fabric, tailoring, and embroidery had come from Jaskier talking down an enraged nagani, negotiating with good will and good humour until she laughed and agreed to his terms. 

Why would anyone think Jaskier had no courage?

“He’s changed,” Geralt murmured, instead of snapping at her for being so condescending.

“Pankratzes never change,” Chrysanthemum replied dismissively. “I’m a Pankratz too, and I haven’t changed one bit since I married. His parents and siblings conform to tradition so easily you’d think they were actors. You can ask a Pankratz any question and know exactly what he’ll answer with.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

“At least he gave you the ring,” Chrysanthemum said, nodding at Geralt’s hand. “So many women he could have married, even at his age, but never one could wear that.”

Geralt frowned again. ‘His age’? Jaskier was barely thirty-six. That wasn’t an old age. “It’s a nice ring,” he allowed, because he could not imagine arguing that Jaskier was available for marriage.

Chrysanthemum smirked and answered, “Yes, it is. It’s been in the family since the Conjunction.”

Geralt almost told her that was impossible, a ring that old would be completely destroyed, surely. He looked at it, perfectly fitted to his sausage-sized fingers, and wondered why Jaskier would give him a family ring. “Hmm,” he said again, making a mental note to ask Jaskier about it. Then he decided to change the subject. “Which side of the family are you related to Jaskier on?”

A sly smile preceded her answer. “His mother was my first cousin,” she explained. “She was amazingly beautiful, and men from every social class asked her to marry them. She chose our third cousin twice removed, instead. Probably because she’s always loved the sea more than people.”

Geralt hummed encouragingly. The queen took the hint, and continued. “She was an odd one before she had Julian. Always singing at feasts and dancing at fetes. When I was small, I thought she was the most magical person in the world. Her mere presence could make one smile. Mother told me it was strange--that her own father was one of the Seelie court.”

“Should you be saying this in public?” Geralt cut in, glancing around sharply. There were five people close enough that he knew they could hear the queen, and eight more who probably could if they tried. Jaskier was near the back of the hall, laughing with some servants.

Chrysanthemum scoffed. “Everyone knows the stories. That’s probably why he’s so strange, too. Do you know, he refuses to claim the title of Count unless he’s visiting me?”

“Can’t imagine why,” Geralt muttered, and drank his wine.

Soon, the king announced that his dear wife was tired, and they should all go to their beds. Geralt stood, bowed to the royal couple, and made his way to Jaskier.

“You spoke to her for a while,” Jaskier said as soon as they were in earshot of each other. “What were you talking about?”

Geralt shrugged. “Gossip,” he grunted. When he heard Jaskier’s heart speed up, Geralt shook his head. “I didn’t find it important.”

Jaskier beamed at him. “Oh, well, if that’s the case,” he said, and changed the subject. “Chryssie told me that we can have the Celadon Suite. You’ll love it, Geralt, there is not a single corner that isn’t brightly lit and everything is so soft--”

Geralt listened to Jaskier’s chatter, focused more on his voice than his words, as they walked surely down a hall to the guest suites. A Seelie grandfather… no, not for Jaskier. The Seelie court were kind, mischievous, and tended to stay in Skellige. The ones he’d met had all said they preferred their own monsters over the main Continent’s, thank you very much.

The Celadon Suite was, frankly, much too green for Geralt’s taste; but it looked well against Jaskier’s teal-trimmed dusky blue outfit. There was a small receiving room with a dining table and two seating areas; the bedrooms, large and lush and leaden with silence; one bathing room tiled with white marble, the bathtub large enough for Geralt and his brothers to lounge in; and a small balcony off of the bigger bedroom. Geralt chose the smaller one immediately.

“Oh! Oh, Geralt!”

The Witcher turned, and Jaskier grabbed his arm. He’d taken off the circlet, and unbuttoned his doublet, but Geralt’s nostrils flared as he caught a scent that was not as carefree as Jaskier’s appearance.

“We should eat and drink water before sleeping,” Jaskier said, faking a smile. “Don’t want to throw up at breakfast!”

Geralt nodded, reluctantly, and followed Jaskier to the dining table.

They were both silent for a moment, looking at each other. Geralt relaxed slightly, taking in Jaskier’s familiar face, his reassuringly broad shoulders, the little curls of hair over his ears and his collarbone. This was Jaskier. His bard. His traveling companion. There was no need to be on high alert with him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “What did she tell you?”

Geralt tapped his finger on the table for a moment, sorting his words. “She told me the ring you gave me is very old, and has always been in your family. She told me you were a coward when you were young. She said Pankratzes never change. And she implied that your grandfather on your mother’s side was of the Seelie Court. I don’t believe those last three for a moment. But I would like to know more about this ring.” Geralt set his hand on the table, palm down, and they both looked at the ring.

It was so small. A simple bronze band, a piece of agate, and six little pearls. Not that interesting. But it felt like... like being brought into Jaskier’s family, if only for a day or so. Having something so steeped in history pressed against his skin at all times felt like he was being asked to join that history.

But he was a Witcher, and human families were not for him.

Jaskier shrugged. “Mother said it would fit the hand of the person it was meant to,” he said, softly. “I don’t really remember the rest of her explanation. I was… lonely. So I decided it must mean that it would fit my very best friend.” He lifted his gaze to Geralt’s, and smiled. A real smile, one full of affection and happiness, so warm and enveloping that Geralt felt uncomfortable. “And it does! So you can’t say you aren’t my friend, because obviously you are!”

Geralt opened his mouth to deny it, then huffed in frustration and shook his head. Jaskier reached out and tucked his fingers between Geralt’s, interlocking their hands like cogs in a machine. The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched. It always amused him that their hands were the same lengths, but Geralt’s was blockier, meant for work, and Jaskier’s hand was perfectly shaped to play any instrument. It was also interesting how Geralt’s wax-pale skin contrasted with Jaskier’s peachy hue, tanned ever so slightly.

He just liked looking at their hands.

Jaskier hummed a bar from a new song he was writing, and carefully wiggled his hand so that he could slide it under Geralt’s fingers, joining their hands. The Witcher didn’t mind. It felt nice, oddly.

“I… might have drunk too much,” he muttered, but he couldn’t look away from the tiny valley formed by their fingers. 

“Mm, me, too,” Jaskier murmured.

They sat in silence for even longer, watching the light from the lamps cast warm flickers on their clasped hands. It was so calm.

Idly, Geralt picked up Jaskier’s wilting flower circlet and draped it over their hands. Jaskier smiled.

“I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine,” the bard whispered.

“Hmm. Friends and comrades,” the Witcher murmured back. “Joined in battle.”

“Bound by time.”

“Forever yours--”

“--Forever mine.”

Geralt’s medallion might have stirred, but probably not.

Jaskier pushed their hands upwards, so that their palms touched. “This isn’t for anyone else to know,” he whispered.

Geralt squeezed his hand back. “No,” he breathed. “This is ours.”

[dapandapod]

Falling

On Ao3

Geralt has known a long time that he has fallen for the bard. He is not an idiot (yes he is) and when Jaskier left for Oxenfurt that winter, Geralt followed. He had to.

Knocked on the townhouse that Jaskier somehow is renting, basking in the surprised intake of air when Jaskier opened the door, afraid he wouldn’t be welcome for one entire second until Jaskier pulled him inside.

It took him a few weeks to work up the nerve to tell him why he was actually there, and if he was allowed to stay. It took lingering touches and held breaths and tentative glances.

But he finally did it.

He told Jaskier that he doesn’t want to be without him, that he is lonely, that he… that part was very hard and Geralt is not sure he got it across. But Jaskier is now looking at him with something akin to hope and open longing, and they both skirt around that edge, reaching for each other’s hand, not really daring to take the leap. Not yet.

Which is why this moment on the couch in front of the fire is so precious. They are leaning against each other, half an embrace, half… something. Jaskier’s legs are resting over Geralt’s thighs, his head on Geralt’s shoulder. His eyes are closed and his lips are smiling, and Geralt can’t help but to reach out.

Gently, he touches Jaskier’s hair. It is shorter again, he must look proper when he teaches, and it is silky soft under Geralt’s fingers.

Then he traces the shell of Jaskier’s ear. Follows the line of his jaw with a fingertip. Jaskier hums and tilts his face up, giving Geralt permission to explore. They are so close, it would be easier to lean in than maintain the distance between them. Not yet.

Geralt lets his thumb stroke over Jaskier’s chin, up to his cheek. Light stubble scratches against him, little imperfections and almost invisible freckles. With his index finger he traces the cheek bone, the thin skin just under his eyes. His eyelids flutter as Geralt touches it, and then up to his well shaped brow.

The line of his nose is a marvel. Geralt has no idea how he can be this amazed by a nose, but he is. He follows it, all the way down to the tip, and his finger finds Jaskier’s Cupid bow.

It is a pretty name for that part of the face he thinks, as he traces it, traces the outer lines of Jaskier’s lips.

Hot breath puffs against his fingers and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier already watching him through thick lashes.

For a moment, they just look at each other, but Geralt can’t resist. He looks down again, the dip in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth something he needs to feel again. That lower lip is just as soft as it looks, if a little dry, and Geralt permits himself to trace it, back and forth.

“Tickles.” Jaskier mumbles, lips moving against Geralt’s hand, and he finds himself enraptured.

“Good tickle?” He mumbles back, giving up the feel of Jaskier’s breath to watch his mouth move instead. He traces his knuckles against Jaskier’s cheek, back up to his ear.

“Yes.” Jaskier opens his eyes and then “Will you kiss me?”

The air catches in Geralt’s lungs and they once again look at each other. Just looks.

They are standing by that line, just waiting to cross it, to make the leap together.

How can he not?

He flattens his hand, his palm just under Jaskier’s ear, that soft silky hair tickling his fingers.

Leaning in is the easiest thing in the world.

Kissing him is the single most scary thing he has ever done.

But they fit together like pieces in a puzzle, like balm against a hurt, like the sun after too long in the dark. It’s not electric, it’s not that deep, desperation he has felt before this. It is just lips against his own, their limbs tangled together, a warm fire and the softest of sighs.

Jaskier smiles into the kiss, breaks it to shift a little closer, and then Jaskier is kissing him. A hand finds his neck, tangles gently in his hair, the smallest of licks against his bottom lips has him gasping.

They trade kisses back and forth, nuzzling their noses together, and fingers tracing the soft skin of their faces.

It just is. Falling together has never felt so safe. They sit together until their backs get stiff and the fire dies down. Then they sit there a little longer.

But Geralt can’t smother a yawn and Jaskier laughs and leads him upstairs.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms and Geralt wakes up with a foot on his back when Jaskier grumbles about him stealing the covers.

Geralt has known for a long time that he has fallen for his bard.

But he never expected landing to be this good.

[toboldlynerd]

You're just a lil bard in a big world

You think handmade gifts mean more

You love writing letters

You have thought about which Witcher school you'd be in for way too long

This is so true anon, im giggling irl

I am. Yes. (My heart is somft I give good kith)

Yeah, mostly on the gifting front. I try my hardest to gift everybody something self-made as much as possible.I suspect it's part of my love language lmao

H e c k y e a h

👁️👄👁️ true story (im still unsure if im a bear but I have just decided to keep to it for now)

[jaskierswolf]

A Moment of Peace

Between here and discord... y'all voted for somfte geraskier.

So... @dapandapod. Here you go my love!

_

The birds were singing from their perches up in the canopy of the clearing, calling to one another in perfect harmony. Through the trees, Geralt could see the light from the sun shining, catching between the leaves, and dancing off tiny specks of pollen. Every so often, there was a rustling in the undergrowth and a mouse or a squirrel would scurry out, grab an acorn or some unseen morsel in the grass, and then run back to their hiding spot in the thicket. Brightly coloured flowers littered the floor, reds and yellows and blues, and there was a soft sweet scent that seemed to surround them like a blanket. It was a little strong for Geralt's sense but he knew it was exactly the type of scent that Jaskier would adore. For one glorious moment, it felt as if the world was at peace.

As a witcher, Geralt had never been taught to appreciate the beauty in the world, but he saw it now. Not in the flowers, or the birds or the sunlight trees, but in the bard that was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the clearing.

Jaskier was singing softly, his voice blending with the birdsong above as he plucked out a tune on his lute, long fingers dancing across the strings effortlessly. The sun kissed his cheeks, highlighting the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. Chestnut brown hair fell into his eyes, catching in his eyelashes and hiding the bright cornflower blue eyes that Geralt knew were in the shadows. For all his noise that the bard made, fluttering around the world in a storm of colour and music, there in the clearing... it was as if he was where he belonged.

In the coming weeks they would be stuck on the path again, caught in the rain, at the mercy of bandits and monsters, and perhaps, there would never be a moment quite like that one. Geralt's life was ugly, but with Jaskier in it he'd found joy, beauty, laughter. It wasn't just contract after contract, lonely nights and brothels. Somewhere along the line, Jaskier had wormed his way into Geralt's heart without Geralt even realising.

Geralt had fallen in love before he'd even noticed the precipice. Or perhaps it wasn't really falling.

It was slower than that, less world shattering. Jaskier had taken him by the hand and by the heart, pulling him into a dance that only they knew the moves to. Every step brought them closer to love, every beat of the song was a shared beat of their hearts, their souls entangling until Geralt wasn't sure who he was without Jaskier by his side. All he knew is that he never wanted to let go.

And yet, he'd never said the words.

Jaskier had, almost daily. It wasn't entirely clear whether he even realised he was saying it at times. He would declare that he loved Geralt over the simplest things, when they reunited in spring, when they parted in winter, when Geralt bought him a goblet of wine, even just in his sleep. Those were the moments that caught Geralt most off guard, when Jaskier would roll over in the middle of the night with a sigh on his lips, and a whispered "I love you, Geralt."

But in that clearing, with the forest buzzing with life all around them, Geralt finally found the courage, or perhaps he had simply found the right moment. Silently, he moved to sit beside Jaskier. He wanted to take the bard's hand, but the song wasn't over and Geralt wasn't willing to interrupt, no matter what he might have said about Jaskier's singing in the past. Instead, he linked his own fingers together in his lap, and gazed at Jaskier with what was certainly a lovesick expression, one that Yennefer would no doubt tease him about if she saw.

As the last notes of the song rang out, Jaskier's fingers still hovering about the strings on his lute, eyes closed and mouth parted slightly in a warm smile, Geralt cleared his throat. "I love you, Julek," he murmured, cursing himself for the lack of poetry in his words, always so blunt and so simple, not at all like his bard.

Jaskier's eyes flashed opened and his smile brightened, outshining the sun. "Oh, dear heart, my darling, I love you too."

There was no magic, no earthquake, no soul shattering explosion with the words. Quite the opposite. Geralt hummed and nodded as Jaskier finally took his hand. The lute was set aside, and Jaskier leaned against him with a content sigh, his eyes fluttering shut once more. Tentatively, Geralt kissed the top of Jaskier's head. There would be plenty of opportunities to kiss Jaskier properly later, but for now he was just happy to sit together in their little bubble, enjoying the feel of Jaskier's fingers in his, and the freedom of loving someone so completely.

He was home.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @hot-multifandom-mess

[toss-a-coin-to-your-bard]

me after reading your tags in my fic (i might be crying with love a little bit) 💜💜💜

Me remembering geralt being so utterly in love he can't help himself but look at Jaskier adoringly and just PineTM while listening to his bard ramble

Me remembering Jaskier just airing his thoughts as they come to him without any trace of shame or fear and the lovely-ness of that trust alone being a confession of his feelings

Just...im somft tonight and the words hit me right in the heart again (the standing in front of the fire to warm yourself metaphor?? Hello?! Are you targeting me specifically!!?)

Basically im the opposite of this meme atm

Talking about this post btw

[dredshirtroberts]

Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Male Character(s), Original Male Character & Original Male Character, Triss & Original Male Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion & Triss Merigold, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Past Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion's Father, Jaskier | Dandelion's Mother, Jaskier | Dandelion's Brother, Original Male Character(s), Triss Merigold, Eskel (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vesemir (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Ashwood of Daevon (OC), Mieczyk (OC), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Additional Tags: Angst, Whump, political machinations, attempted accuracy in fantasy medieval politics, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, descriptions of injuries, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, gets dark but then gets better, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, alternate Universe - Soulmarks, Alternate Universe, horse gets injured, she's fine but she does get injured, Disabled Character, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Series: Part 1 of Spearwort, Iris, and Ash Summary:

Julian Alfred Pankratz, youngest son of the Viscount de Lettenhove, has it good. He travels the world as a bard, comes home to his loving and supportive family, adores his best friend since childhood, and couldn’t ask for more. When Redania trades him to The Great Wolf of Kaedwen in exchange for peace as a punishment to his father, he’s understandably upset. After a failed escape attempt, he is dragged to the Blue Mountains and the Great Wolf’s keep, Kaer Morhen to accept his fate alongside his childhood friend. But things aren’t all they’ve been made out to be and perhaps this won’t be the worst thing after all.

---

Chapter 11 of Spearwort Yellow is up now! Enjoy some somfte. 

[bubblelliot]

I was bored and decided to poorly summarize all my tabletop games characters so far:

Rhodrag: Lesbian troll mom in love with a bird person

Særos: Smoll elf/tiefling in love with deadly aasimar girl

Zayola: Aro/ace tiefling girl

Devotion (Iashoon): Unlovable piece of shit tiefling (why won't they let anyone love them???)

SiaLea: Somft bird girl in love with a dragon boi

Lily: aro/ace plant person

Eternity: ✨Spicy✨ tiefling bard looking for the love of their life who happens to be a earthy boi litteraly named Clay

Glynnric: too somft big boi that must be protected

Astey: ✨spicy✨ changeling who (WOOT WOOT) has a date for the first time and panics

Dhamas: closeted trans fish person who tries way too hard

Mysterious character who I have not written about yet: Real unlovable piece of shit