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alittlebitmaybe · 4 years ago

Text

tying you to me

For @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: crafting

Pairing: Geraskier, implied Geralt/Yen in one line

Rating: T for language

Warnings: None

Summary:

As they lay in bed, Jaskier snuggled and breathing humid against his chest hair, Geralt remembers the pattern from Novigrad. A sweater with stretchy ribbing around the wrists and bottom hemline, a high collar. Intricate cabling criss-crossing up the front, making the fabric thick and sturdy. The scroll is stuffed into one of his saddlebags where he’d put it after purchase when he’d cursed himself for wasting the coin.

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

Or: Geralt doesn't know about the boyfriend sweater curse.

Read more on AO3 or below the cut!

Geralt learned to knit out of necessity. Winters in Kaedwen, especially up in the mountains, are bitter cold, and require not only animal skins but woolen socks, hats, scarves, blankets. They keep a flock of sheep for the very purpose. And before—when there were others, even occasionally a proper staff—it would be part of the normal workings of the castle to have several sets of hands dedicated to knitting up useful garments to keep them from freezing their balls off when the frost came.

There are fewer hands now, but also fewer balls in danger of freezing. Geralt and Vesemir handle the bulk of it, these days—Eskel with fingers too big and clumsy to be much help, Lambert too fidgety and quick to rip out all his progress into a tangled mess of wool in a fit of frustration. In the evenings they sit by the great hall fire in mostly silence and take turns spinning the roving into yarn, winding skeins, chipping away at the endless miles of plain stocking stitch, and seaming panels together. (Sometimes Geralt will embellish the design with cables, or a moss stitch—unconventional patterns he’s started to see in the larger cities, sold by the fancier merchants. He may have paid a few crowns for the scroll describing the pattern for one particular sweater he saw in a shop in Novigrad. He has not mentioned this to Vesemir.)

It may be necessity, but Geralt would choose it even if it wasn’t. These are the things his hands are good for: wielding a sword; harvesting various glands and organs; curling into fists; crushing windpipes; skinning rabbits. Bandaging Ciri’s scrapes. Bringing Yen’s pleasure. Curling around the back of Jaskier’s neck, drawing their lips together. And, when it’s over, when there’s nothing to kill and no one to care for, he can create. He can put it all to the side and count off to himself, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit-purl, knit, knit, knit, around and around, back and forth, and this thing will grow from the rhythm of his fingers, from the steady loop and pull that he’s done thousands of times, taught by some witcher instructor decades ago whose name he no longer recalls. He had bushy eyebrows that waggled as he worked. That’s all the memory that’s left of him.

Anyway, it’s easy to allow the hours to pass until Vesemir excuses himself to bed and the fire burns down and takes the light with it. One such night, just as Geralt is squinting at his work to finish this one last row, the hall door creaks open.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says sleepily, “are you still in here? ‘S late, love.”

Knit, knit, knit. “Mm,” says Geralt. “I’m here. Just finishing up.”

“I’ll wait for you, then.” Jaskier pads in his sockfeet across the stone to the armchair Geralt occupies. He sits himself on the rug with his back against Geralt’s legs, knees pulled up to his chest. “Brr. ‘S chilly, too.”

Geralt drops the needle in his right hand, maintaining tension on the working yarn with his left. He runs his free hand through Jaskier’s bed-mussed hair, brushes against his cold ear, down to the soft skin behind it. “Not wearing a coat.”

“Well I wasn’t heading outside, seemed like a—” He yawns, jaw cracking. “—a lot of trouble just to come downstairs. But I now see my mistake.”

“Always have to wear a coat at night,” Geralt says. “Or be under blankets. Or both.”

“Or acquire a personal witcher furnace, unless he’s down here ‘til gods know what hour making yet more mittens for the princess.”

Geralt looks down at the large rectangle he’s been working on. “Lap blanket,” he says. For Ciri, when she’s studying in the library. It gets drafty in there even with the fire blazing.

“For the library?” says Jaskier, tipping his head back to see Geralt. “Good thinking. She’ll love it.”

Geralt releases him and goes back to his work, but knits at most ten stitches before Jaskier shivers again, his teeth chattering before he gets himself under control. Setting the blanket aside, middle of the row be damned, he concedes, “Let’s go back to bed.”

“No, you’re—you’re not done with—” Jaskier cannot finish his sentence for the yawn that overtakes him. “M’kay. Let’s go.”

Jaskier snuffles closer, his grip tightening around Geralt’s waist as he soaks the added warmth through his skin, and Geralt has an idea.

The next evening, after dinner has been consumed and cleaned up, Vesemir and Geralt move to the fire as usual. Vesemir is working up a new hat for Lambert, who has the shortest hair among them and has one practically pasted to his head all winter long.

Geralt spares a glance to his blanket-in-progress, and then veers toward the wooden chest that stores their yarn stash. He puts aside plain ball after plain ball, until finally he admits defeat and turns to Vesemir and asks, “Do we have any dye?”

“No,” says Vesemir, not looking up. He knits with the yarn looped around the back of his neck to keep the tension, instead of around his fingers. He says it’s easier on his old joints. Geralt thinks it looks preposterous, but it gets the job done. “Not a drop. And that’s never bothered you before.”

“I’m thinking of making a gift,” says Geralt. “I think they’d prefer it to be dyed.”

“Ah, the bard. Yes. I suppose he would.”

“I want him to actually wear it.”

“Indeed.”

“He says coats are too bulky and ponderous, and they dampen his spirits.”

“Foolish boy. He’ll learn.”

“So we have no dye? Of any color?”

“None,” says Vesemir. “Though it may be that there are some old skeins in the back of the cupboard by the linens. I recall that some of our forebears had rather expensive taste, for witchers. Quite wasteful of them. If you ask me.”

Geralt murmurs his thanks, pulls on a cloak, and makes his way through the frozen corridors to the cabinet in the laundry. Along the way he passes the study, and overhears Eskel dominating Jaskier in another round of Gwent.

“Eskel, you dirty cheating bastard, there is no way you just had that card.”

“Where d’you think I kept it, bard?”

“Up your sleeve, behind your ear, under the table, I dunno—”

“Down your pants,” Lambert chimes in, and Geralt hears Ciri giggle. She’s been spending too much time with the witchers now that Yen has departed for the season. Geralt should probably intervene more often.

“—maybe you magicked me with a sign thingy so I wouldn’t notice, but I’m sure you didn’t have it in hand a turn ago, I’ll swear that on—”

“Yes, Lambert, I’ve got Gwent cards lining my codpiece, naturally, even a few stuffed between my—”

Geralt rounds the corner and their voices fade away.

As Vesemir said, there is a small box pushed all the way to the back of the cupboard in amongst the linens. He opens it without much hope, but is surprised to find it full to the brim with yarn of deep reds and blues, all of some soft texture very unlike the itchy wool they’re accustomed to. Sniffing it, he decides it is from some type of goat. He also decides, based on its lack of musty odor, that it is not nearly old enough to have belonged to one of their forebears.

Well, in exchange for the use of the yarn, he’ll allow Vesemir his secret.

He carries the whole lot back to the great hall.

“You found it,” Vesemir remarks, now nearly done with the hat.

“Right where you said,” says Geralt. “You don’t mind if I use it?”

“As much as you like,” he replies disinterestedly, “if you’ll leave me the fuck alone while you do.”

Fair enough.

Geralt selects the red—a deep burgundy that will pair with the blush on Jaskier’s cheeks after a few glasses of wine. He pulls the scroll from his trouser pocket, and begins casting on as the pattern instructs.

When he hears Jaskier’s tread in the hall, he hastily pulls the half-finished lap blanket over his new project.

“Bedtime, Witcher,” says Jaskier, peering over his shoulder. “Didn’t make much progress on that tonight, did you?”

“It’s a big blanket,” Geralt grunts. “Eskel’s been practicing sleight of hand since we were boys. Don’t play him for money.”

“I bloody knew it,” Jaskier exclaims. He wheels around and stomps back out of the hall, suitably distracted. “Eskel! You’ll never believe what Geralt’s just told me!”

The sweater is slow going, since he does have to put real work into the blanket every once in a while to keep Jaskier’s suspicions to heel.

Over the next few weeks, it becomes near an open secret in the keep what Geralt is up to. Lambert catches him cursing late one evening as he is ripping back several rows to fix a cable he’d mistakenly crossed the wrong way.

“Whazzat,” Lambert says, crunching on a mouthful of tree nuts.

“Fuck off,” Geralt says. He squints and carefully tries to secure a dropped loop back on the needle. If it ladders down, he’s done for—there’ll be no fixing it while maintaining the pattern. He’s not nearly good enough for that.

“Looks like you’re fucking it up,” Lambert chews.

“I am. That’s why I told you to fuck off.”

“Thought that’s just how you decided to greet me now. That’s what Vesemir does.” He shoves another fistful of nuts into his mouth, though Geralt isn’t sure he’s swallowed the first.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

He manages to pick up that last loop before disaster strikes, and moves the stitches around on the needles to make sure they all look right. Then he shoves the left-hand stitches all the way up to the tip so he can continue.

Lambert leans down to examine the fabric, then runs his finger down the pattern with his eyebrow raised. “This is some fancy shit, Geralt, you giant poof.”

“It’s not for me,” he says.

Lambert swallows, belches, and says, “My point exactly. ‘S for Jaskier, innit.”

Geralt doesn’t bother answering as he approaches the cable he’d made a mess of the first time around. Lambert claps him on the shoulder with the hand he’s been using as a nut-to-mouth delivery tool, which leaves salt behind on his tunic.

“That’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thanks,” says Geralt wryly.

“Anyway, I’m outta here. This boring bullshit still gives me hives.”

He exits the hall and the door shuts heavily behind him. Geralt finishes recrossing the cable and, turning to check his pattern, finds it covered in greasy fingerprints.

Eskel, on the other hand, sits himself in Vesemir’s usual seat one night and sets to quietly whittling a whistle. After several hours, Geralt holds up the near completed front panel of his sweater and says, “Do you think Jaskier will like this?”

Eskel doesn’t even look at it. “Geralt, you could spit on a log and hand it to him and Jaskier would love it.” His knife stills. “Maybe don’t do that, though.”

To their credit, none of the other witchers say a word—possibly for lack of caring—and Geralt is able to rely on them to keep Jaskier occupied most nights while he finishes the front and back panels and seams them up.

Before he begins work on the sleeves, the pattern warns, the wearer should try on the body to ensure proper fit.

“Well, shit,” he says aloud. He can’t ask Jaskier to try it on and ruin the surprise. He holds it up against himself, trying to judge if they are similar enough size to judge whether it will fit Jaskier. Geralt, certainly, is wider in the chest and shoulders, but as long as he can get it on without stretching it too much he should be able to check the length. And, if it fits Geralt or is loose, it will certainly be too large on Jaskier.

It will have to do.

The next morning he rises early and takes the sack in which he’s been storing his project to Ciri’s bedroom. He knocks softly.

“Ciri?” he calls, mouth close to the door. “Can I use your mirror for a moment?”

“Mnnngh,” he hears. He takes this as an invitation.

The only visible part of her, when he lets himself in, is a tangle of hair escaping from under the pile of furs on the bed. He sets his sack delicately in front of the only full-length mirror in the keep and says, “Morning, Princess.”

“F’ off,” the fur pile groans. “No it’s not.”

“You really have been spending too much time with Lambert,” Geralt comments mildly as he pulls the unfinished sweater out and checks it for damage in transport, though he knows it was safe in the bag and only traveled up some stairs. “He’s a bad influence.”

“I’ve always been like this when rudely awakened at the crack of dawn,” Ciri says, muffled. “Don’t think any of you are special.”

“You cursed at the royal servants?”

“Quite regularly.”

Geralt shrugs the layers off his top half down to his undershirt while she continues to stretch and grumble wordlessly in the warmth of her bed. He pulls the sweater over his head; the neckline snags on his ears but otherwise he should be okay to try to get his arms in. He squeezes his right arm in and up, aiming for the proper hole—

“Geralt,” Ciri says icily, “what, by the gods, is that?”

He turns around, contorted in the confines of the too-tight sweater. She’s sitting up with her hair a wild tangle and her eyes wide in horror. “What’s what?”

“That garment!”

“It’s…a sweater? I’m making it.”

Geralt thinks he may be missing something very important.

“For yourself?”

“…No, for Jaskier. He needs another—”

“Don’t you care about the curse?”

Geralt finishes fitting himself into the sweater and tugs it down over his stomach while Ciri continues to stare at him in expectant horror. Thus no longer trapped, he decides to engage. “The what?”

Ciri slumps forward, briefly puts her face in her hands. “Good gods, Geralt, you really can’t be helped. But I also cannot allow you to give Jaskier a handmade sweater. Despite your…personal challenges”—at this, Geralt tilts his head and opens his mouth to ask exactly what the hell that means, but she barrels on—“I really have become fond of the two of you, so I cannot let you carry on with this foolish nonsense.”

Her voice goes more posh the longer speaks. Geralt thinks she will make a fine queen someday. “Ciri, I—”

“And really,” she continues, “it’s like you’re trying to sabotage a good thing. He does nothing but care for you, and this is how you repay him? Honestly. Melitele’s tits!”

“Melitele’s—? Where did you learn that one?”

“I’m hardly sheltered. And you’re one to talk, caring about my language when you’re about to lose Jaskier for good!”

“For good? Lose Jask—okay, Ciri.” He sits down at the foot of her bed, probably looking downright silly confined to a sleeveless sweater that is at least one size too small for him. He can feel it constricting the rise and fall of his chest and stretching tight in his armpits. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. What curse?”

The expression she aims at him is sharper than at least four of the blades in the armory. “The sweater curse, Geralt. If one makes a sweater for a person one is interested in romantically, that person leaves within a fortnight. Everyone knows this.”

“Oh, of course. How stupid of me,” Geralt says.

Ciri raises an eyebrow that says Yes, obviously.

“So you’re telling me that if I finish this sweater and give it to Jaskier, he will suddenly no longer be able to stand the sight of me and will stomp off on down the mountain, even with the good foot of snow and ice blocking the path.”

She sniffs. “Indubitably.”

“Hmm,” says Geralt. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He claps his hands on his knees as he stands and moves back to the mirror to inspect the sizing more closely. The armholes are definitely a bit small—he’ll have to let out the seam to increase the circumference—but the rest, if he tries to overlay Jaskier’s body onto his own, seems like it should be about right.

Ciri leaves the bed with a fur wrapped around her as a cape and comes to his side. “You’re impossible,” she declares, though the royal snootiness is diminished somewhat by her morning breath and tangled hair. Then she reaches out and touches the textured pattern between the cable running up the front. “Though, you know, it is quite beautiful, if horribly misguided.”

He grins indulgently at her. “Thank you, Princess.”

“Have you heard of the sweater curse?”

Vesemir snorts. “Poppycock. Who told you about that old superstition?”

“Just came across it.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Vesemir looks at Geralt over his spectacles. “I hope that it’s not bothering you.”

“No,” says Geralt. “Of course not.”

He has fuck-all in his hand of cards, but he stares down at them like they might contain the secrets of the Continent.

“It’s your turn, Geralt,” Eskel says.

“I know,” he replies, absently rearranging the cards.

“So…you gonna play or pass?” Lambert asks. He digs his hand into the bowl of nuts at his elbow.

“Not sure.”

“Is something on your mind?” Eskel, again.

“No. Well…do either of you believe in the sweater curse?”

They both look at him blankly.

“Nuh uh,” says Lambert with his mouth full.

Geralt says, “Pass.”

He speaks clearly into the xenovox. “Yen? Are you there?”

“Geralt?” comes the reply, as if she were beside him in the room. “Is Ciri all right?”

“We’re all fine. It’s good to hear from you, too.”

“If there’s no trouble, then make it quick.”

Now he hesitates, but he chokes the question out anyway. “Do you know about the sweater curse?”

There is silence.

“Yen?”

“For the love of the gods, Geralt, please don’t bother me with frivolous garbage. I’m much too busy. Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” Geralt says, suitably shamed.

The finished, washed, and blocked sweater rests folded at the bottom of his wardrobe for more than a week before he works up the nerve to bring it down to dinner with him in his knitting sack.

Even with the flaws that Geralt, as the creator, inevitably notices—a few loose stitches three quarters down the back panel, the right sleeve is slightly longer than the left—he has to admit that it turned out well. He could fetch a pretty penny for it in a large city. Silky soft, thick, and vivid burgundy, it would be a stand-out piece among any merchant’s wares even without the detailing that stretches collar to hem and even down the outside of the arms.

Knitting it was a nightmare. He will never do anything like it ever again, so Jaskier had better appreciate this one.

Still, every time he resolves to finally gift it, Ciri’s words echo in the back of his mind. You’re about to lose Jaskier for good.

On the ninth day, he shushes that voice, takes the sack, and marches straight into the hall for dinner. After all, if Yen and Vesemir aren’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either.

Everyone but Jaskier is there already. Eskel looks up from pouring ale into each mug and says, “Hullo, Geralt. What do you have there?” and Lambert says, “Ooh, didja finish it?” and Vesemir digs wordlessly into his mutton.

Ciri’s eyes zero in on the sack.

“Hello,” says Geralt. “Is Jaskier still washing up?”

“Yeah,” says Lambert. “He fell in a pile of snow.”

“Lambert pushed him into a pile of snow,” Eskel amends.

Geralt glares at the accused, setting the sack on the bench at his usual spot.

“He asked for it. Bloody said ‘Lambert, throw me into that snow over there!’ didn’t he?”

“Since you were alone with him at the time, I don’t think I can confirm or deny—”

“Geralt,” Ciri interrupts, “tell me you’re not still planning what you said.”

“I am,” he tells her.

“You were standing not ten feet away.”

“My back was turned—”

“You’re a godsdamned witcher! Or have you gone deaf?”

“Even after what I told you! I thought you were going to think about it!” Ciri pushes back from the table. “I forbid you from giving that to him.”

Geralt snorts. “Or what, Princess? Look, I don’t think Jaskier is planning to leave—”

“Of course he’s not planning to, the curse will make him! Why are you tempting destiny this way?”

“I’m just saying, Lambert, that it wouldn’t be out of your character to shove an unsuspecting bard into a snowbank.”

“Oh, and hustling him at Gwent wasn’t out of your character, so maybe you’re actually the one who shoved him. Thought about that one, Eskel?”

Geralt says, “If he tries to leave, I’ll tie him to the bed until the urge passes.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, but then moves past that comment. “At least let me give it to him. I’ll say I brought it from Cintra, or bought it on the way here.”

“And let my hard work go unacknowledged? I don’t think so. And why would you have bought a man’s sweater?”

Among the arguments, no one notices Jaskier enter the hall and come up behind Vesemir, wide eyed. “What did I miss?” he stage whispers.

“Just open your present, bard,” Vesemir mutters, gesturing to the sack at Geralt’s knee.

“Ooh, a present? For little old me?”

He picks up the sack and tests the weight curiously, before opening it and drawing out the most marvelous sweater he has ever seen.

“Jaskier, no!” Ciri cries, and everyone else falls quiet.

“What, why?” he says, looking between Ciri’s stricken face and the furrow between Geralt’s brows. “What is this?”

“It’s for you,” Geralt murmurs. “I made it.”

“You made it?” he repeats dumbly.

“Yes. For you. Because you were…cold.”

“Because I was cold?”

Geralt gently takes it from him and holds it up so he can see the full design. “That night, you came in when I was knitting, and you were cold. I wanted to make you something warm to wear that you would like.”

Jaskier squishes the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you,” says Geralt, “like it?”

“It’s stunning,” Jaskier breathes. Geralt may as well have hit him over the head with a hammer.

“I cannot believe you, Geralt of Rivia,” Ciri cuts in. “You never listen to anyone. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the hall.

Geralt grimaces. “Do you, er, have any particular desire to leave me?”

“Leave you? Why would I—Geralt, is this a breakup gift? Is it pity?” He panics, pushing the sweater back into Geralt’s hands. “I don’t want your gorgeous pity breakup sweater, Geralt. I’ve played that game before.”

Geralt steadies him, as ever. “No, it’s—Ciri thinks there’s a curse, or something. And that if I made you a sweater, you would leave.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier. “Well, I assure you I will not. And in that case I do want the sweater.” He shucks off his coat right there at the table and pulls the sweater on over his tunic. “There!” He spreads his hands wide. “How does it look?”

The smile Geralt gives him is answer enough. “Perfect,” he says. “You look perfect.”

“Not bad, bard,” Eskel says.

Lambert shoots him a thumbs up. Vesemir does not appear to be paying attention.

Jaskier leans in and kisses Geralt on the lips. “Thank you very much,” he whispers. “I adore it and promise to thank you more appropriately later tonight. For now, shall I go after Ciri?”

“That may be best,” Geralt says. “I don’t think she likes me much right now.”

“My pleasure. Say,” he says louder, “while I’m gone, don’t let my food get cold.” He opens the door and barely feels the usual chill of the drafty hallways at all. Over his shoulder, he adds, “You can get Lambert to tell you all how he threw me in a snow pile today! It was great fun!”

“I told you—” he hears, but then the door closes behind him.

#my fic #geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #someone pls teach me to write drabbles i'm dying

168 notes · View notes

abluescarfonwaston · 4 years ago

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“Damnit Lambert!” He coughed violently. Rolling over to curl in on himself. “Why didn’t you warn me you had a bad batch of tawny owl?”

He wrapped the cut on his leg. Scrapping guts off his armor. “What are you on about. It was fine.” He wanted to roll up into a ball too but the cramping was only going to get worse and they still had to get a trophy off the damn thing.

“This,” Aiden groaned pathetically. “Is not fine.

“This is what fucking tawny owl does Aiden!” The pain making him snappish. “It helps and then it wears off and you want to claw out your guts. That’s how it fucking works cause this life is a goddamn nightmare!” He stabbed between the vertebrae hard and severed its head quickly.

“Fuck what?” Aiden rolled over. Sounding extra pathetic about it which just pissed him off more honestly. “Who taught you how to make potions Lambert? Cause I need to stab them.”

He spun on him. Knife to his throat. “Don’t ever fucking threaten them Cat.”

Aiden watched him. His slow heart beating faster than Aiden’s. The stench of the corpse filling their noses. The potion curdling their guts. “Sorry.”

He hated that. How earnestly he apologized. He sat back against a rock. Stared at the things leathery skin. “Vesemir taught us.” Aiden waited. Or maybe he just couldn’t think of a response over the pain. “He was a fencing instructor. He taught us what he remembered but. It’d been a long time since he learned.”

“Lambert?” He groaned. “If this is what all your potions are like then destroying that bag would be an act of love for you and self-defense on my part.”

“They’re not. All this bad.” He defended but honestly some of them were far worse. “Swallow’s decent.”

“Lambert?” He grunted. “You’re a great fighter. But we are never using your potions again.”

He took a sip of the freshly made Petri’s Philter. To test it out. He’d made it like Aiden had shown him but it was the first time he’d done it himself.

“You cheater! Taking a potion before we spar!” Eskel cuffed him.

“I was checking if it came out right.” An idea popped into his head. “You can use one too. Petri’s Philter. See whose works better.”

“Not a fair comparison.” Geralt pointed out. “Eskels better at signs than the rest of us.”

“What are you scared?”

Eskel eyed him unimpressed but went to grab his. Took a swig. “How do we want to do this?”

“Who can toss Geralt the furthest?” He suggested ruefully.

Geralt’s protests when unheard as Eskel launched him into the base of a snowbank with Aard.

He glared at them. Covered in snow.

“Come on Geralt! It doesn’t count if we use a different person the second time.”

“I’m going to throw both you in the river.”

“Just the loser.” Eskel argued.

“Then I don’t get to throw you in.” He grumbled crossing the courtyard to them.

“Nah I’m willing to take that bet.” They both looked at him like he was being daft.

He adjusted his glove. Don’t fail me now Aiden. Launched Geralt into the air.

He landed with an oft and a puff of white snow. Halfway up the snowbank.

He grinned as they sputtered.

“Guess it works.”

“How’d you learn this Lambert?” Vesemir asked as he copied down the last recipe Aiden had had the chance to teach him.

“Found a cache with the information.” The cache was another witcher but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

“Right.” He felt Vesemir watching him. Not believing him.

He dug his heels in. He didn’t owe the old man answers. Didn’t breathe a word as a cold wind whipped through the giant hole in the wall. He wondered if the Cats had caused that one. He didn’t ask but he wondered.

“Aiden what did you use in this necrophage oil?” He sniffed the vial walking over to him.

He perked up from his disappointment over how many less necrophages he’d killed to tell him.

He laughed full bodied and loud. Aiden wasn’t smiling when he finally managed to stop, wiping a tear from his eye.

“I thought you were just shit at fighting but that’s garbage. What’s it supposed to do? Make them itchy? Impotent? Hurt their feelings?”

“Well how do you make them then?”

Next spring he wondered how many Cats were using Vesemir’s recipes.

“Damnit.” He cursed. Shoving the broken arm piece back together. Trying to sow the gash closed.

Aiden watched him from across the fire. Lazily rotating the fish they’d bombed from the water. “You really need to just replace that mutt.”

“Fuck off pussy I don’t have the diagrams on me and were nowhere near anyone who knows how to make it.”

“Well no one’s going to be able to figure out what it was supposed to look like from that.”

He stared at the mangled and ruined armor in his hands. His fingers dug in and the thread he’d used on it snapped. It fell back apart.

He tossed it away with a frustrated scream and ran. Ran until his lungs burned and his feet ached and the exhaustion finally over powered the anger.

Aiden was asleep in his bedroll. His fish still waiting for him- although they had long gone cold. He chewed the small bones not bothering to pick them out.

A small set of papers sat rolled next to it.

He unrolled it.

Kicked Aiden.

“I can’t fucking wear this!” He shoved the diagram back to him.

“It’d be just until you could get new armor. You can’t work in a shirt and pants.”

“Cause Cat armor is a huge step up from that!”

Aiden scowled at him. “Oh cause people thinking for half a second you might be a Cat is worth dying over. Just show off your medallion and bark at them. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“You’re fucking right it is!” He grabbed his medallion and bared his teeth. “I’m not a Cat.”

They had murdered his school. Killed so many. Destroyed the closest thing he had to a home. It was a shitty home and he hated it. Some days he wished they’d finished the job. Some days he was glad he had a home at all.

Aiden face shuttered closed. “Well we can’t all be Wolves Lambert.”

In the morning he was long gone. The diagrams laying in the morning dew.

He picked them up.

However upset they’d be at him for wearing them wouldn’t match how upset they’d be if he didn’t come home. Probably.

He found a leatherworker and had a set made.

“What are you wearing?” Eskel blocked his entry. “I almost shot you Lambert.”

“Glad you didn’t.” He shoved him out of the way. “I’m tired. Piss off.”

He grabbed him. “If Vesemir sees you wearing that-“

“It was this or go without armor so Fuck Off Eskel.”

Eskel studied him. Let go. “Let me warn the others at least. You know that,” He motioned to the armor. “Is going to bring back bad memories.”

“Would you preferred I died out there?”

He raised his hands placating. “Didn’t say that. Happy you’re home.”

“Yeah well that makes one of us.”

No one asked about the armor. They left a set of wolf armor diagrams for him outside his door and he spent the winter in clothing and furs.

No one why he had cat armor. He didn’t offer to explain. He wouldn’t have answered if they did. Would have made it very clear it wasn’t a topic for discussion.

But no one asked.

He sat in his room and stared at it. It looked so similar to Aiden’s. Which of course it did.

We can’t all be wolves Lambert.

No. But why you have to be a cat? Anything else would have been fine.

He gasped short and quick and barely breathing at all. His eyes losing focus. Pinned to the tree by the dead monster’s antlers.

What a shitty way to go.

“Wooh. Glad I came. Thought I smelled wet dog.”

He raised his head. Vision spinning as he did.

A cat. His cat. Aiden.

The world went dark.

“Look who returns!” The fire popped as he opened his eyes. “Holding up alright?”

“Love questions like that.” He whispered as Aiden lifted his head and raised a potion to his lips. “Holding up? Holding up what? My dick?”

“Well you certainly are one so I wouldn’t put it past you.” The vial moved away. His head was lowered onto Aiden’s thigh.

“This is shit and you know it.”

“Yeah. It is.” Aiden craned his neck upward at the stars. “I was really looking forward to yelling at you.”

“Do it you pussy.”

“It’s no fun if your injured bitch.”

“What think I can’t take it?”

“Take what? My dick?” He chewed something loudly. “Come on. Even a lone hunter can use a helping hand some time.”

“Don’t quote Vesemir at me you prick.”

“Oh I’m a prick now? What an upgrade.” A different flask came back and he drank greedily. “And I wasn’t. Guxart said that.”

“Sounds like a dick.”

“No. I like dicks Lambert. He was pussy.”

He chuckled. Which hurt. It pulled at his wounds.

“Did you know it was me?”

“Knew it was a wolf.” He dropped some of the jerky on his chest. He nibbled on it. “Hoped it was you.”

“Would you have helped? If it wasn’t.”

He was quiet while he considered. If he weren’t so tired it would piss him off. “Yeah. I would have.” He believed him. Because it was Aiden. “Glad it was you though.”

“Why?”

“Cause I missed my mangy mutt. Who else is going to teach me how to fish with bombs?”

“I started building a boat. So I could do it on the lake.” He was starting to feel hazy. Aiden’s potions sometimes had painkillers going for them. Which was nice. “At Kaer Morhen.”

“Bet it’s going to leak like a drunkard.”

“Yeah. Bet it will.” He thought of the lake and keep. “I hate that place.”

“Can’t say I understand why you go back.”

“Why do you go back?”

“Go back where? At best the cats have a traveling caravan of misery these days. I don’t visit.”

“What? But winter sucks.”

“Not going to argue with that.”

He had a brilliant idea. “Come home with me. We can sink my boat together.”

Aiden looked down at him. So sadly. He reached up for him in confusion.

“They’re assholes but the keeps pretty big so we can just avoid them. We can sleep in my room. I’ve got a lot of nice furs. It’s pretty. Please?”

“Sure Lambert. Sure.” He cupped the hand that had found his cheek. Kissed it. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold that against you in the morning.”

“If you were there maybe I could breathe. Cause.” It was really hard to keep his eyes open. His hand was heavy in Aiden’s. “The one good thing this life gave me. Was there.”

“Love you Lambert. Love you too.”

“I asked you to come with me.” He said weeks later.

“I surprised you remember. You were pretty loopy at that point. Do you remember explaining why pigeons were the best bird too? Cause that was pretty funny.”

“You’re lying.”

“You wish I was.”

He scowled at him. “I don’t remember your answer.”

“I said I wouldn’t hold you to it in the morning obviously. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh.” The horses crunched gravel as they continued on. “I did mean it. I want you to come.”

Aiden kept his eyes ahead. “We both know that doesn’t matter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His horse picked up speed at his unintentional request. He tugged him in front of Aiden’s, halting him. “What I want doesn’t matter?”

“When has what we wanted ever mattered Lambert?” He flinched. Eyes stuck on Aiden’s reins. “It was very sweet of you. But the other wolves would kill me for being in twenty miles of Kaer Morhen and we both know it.”

He couldn’t look away from his dark scarred hands. “Why’d you have to be a cat?”

“Why’d you have to be a wolf?” He moved his horse so they were side by side. Took his hand. “We get three out of four seasons together. That’s pretty damn good.”

“I want more. I want more than this life.”

“Hey. Maybe if you build good enough boats we can.” His hand squeezed. “We could be the first. Retire on some big lake and fish with bombs.”

“With a little house infested with mice because we can’t convince any cats to come within ten feet of us?” He into his golden eyes and for the first time could understand why people called them beautiful.

“With a tiny little house with a leaking roof that you always curse at.”

“We’re never going to get that are we?” He didn’t comment on the tears in Aidens eyes or the blur in his own.

“No.” Aiden squeezed his hand. “But it’s a nice dream isn’t it?”

“It’s awful. Why did you make the roof leak?”

“Why did you fill it with mice?”

“Cause I want it to be real.”

“So do I.”

They clicked their horses forward. Not letting go.

“So this house. Smells like rat shit huh?”

“Yeah. And our clothing gets all mildewy cause we just throw it in the lake to wash it and forget to hang it up.”

“Ugh. I hate that.”

“Yeah it’s awful.”

“But it’s ours?”

“It’s ours.”

“I had a friend. Aiden was his name.”

“Gonna retire to your vineyard wolf?”

“I might.”

“Good for you. Make sure Dandelion writes a song about your beer gut.”

“Lambert-“

“Pardon my interruption gentlemen.” Majordomo stepped into the room. “A gentleman just arrived looking for Master Lambert. It seems urgent.”

“Lambert?” Geralt shot him a confused look.

“Hey don’t look at me! I don’t know!”

“Let’s go met your guest.”

They pushed the door open and he looked to the left. Geralt to the right.

“Who are you?” Geralt asked. He turned to the newcomer.

He exhaled. “Aiden.” When he inhaled it was like coming up for air for the first time in months.

Scarred. Hair long. Covering one eye.

Alive.

“Hey Lambert. Been a while.”

“You fucking heartless asshole!” He yelled as he lifted him off the ground in a crushing embrace. “How fucking dare you.”

“Missed you too bitch.” As he attempted to break his ribs with the force of his hug. “Nice place you got here.”

“It’s Geralt’s and it sucks.”

“Yeah.” He mumbled into his ear. Not letting go. “Our place is gonna be way nicer.”

“With rat shit and everything.”

“Yeah.”

#lambert x aiden #lambert #aiden #aiden x lambert #laiden #this entire fic is thanks to the line in the first witcher game #that was like 'vesemir taught us how to make potions but he's a fencing instructor so...'#Cross school education!!!!!#I very much want aiden to come to kaer morhen but man i can't see the wolves taking that well #so instead they get a shack on a lake and fish with bombs #cause i love canon and cant let go #what do you mean? Aiden obviously survived #he's FINE #writing #also Guxret or whatever is the cats fencing instructor who was friends with Vesemir #or so says the wiki

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havenoffandoms · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Be There - Whumptober Prompt 4

Prompt: Running out of Time (caged/buried alive/caved building)

Pairing: Eskel x Geralt

Summary: Geralt knew something was wrong when Eskel did not show up in Ard Carraigh. Eskel was never late. On the rare occasions that Eskel was held up somewhere, he would send a note to let Geralt know he would be late. After spending all morning asking around in various inns and smaller taverns, nobody had seen another witcher or received a note addressed to Geralt. Eskel was not here, and he had not given any indication of his whereabouts, so Geralt had every right to be worried.

Right?

Warnings: experimental drugs, psychotropic drugs, feral Eskel, hurt/comfort, angst

Geralt knew something was wrong when Eskel did not show up in Ard Carraigh. Eskel was never late. Since he was a young boy training to become a witcher, the thought of arriving late to training or to any other class made Eskel fret. Every winter, he was the first to arrive at the keep, the last one to leave. On the rare occasions that Eskel was held up somewhere, he would send a note to let Geralt know he would be late. After spending all morning asking around in various inns and smaller taverns, nobody had seen another witcher or received a note addressed to Geralt. Eskel was not here, and he had not given any indication of his whereabouts, so Geralt had every right to be worried.

Right?

There had to be a reasonable explanation, Geralt tried to reason with himself. After all, there was a war going on. Some letters might be intercepted and read, which would only convince Eskel not to write to Geralt. Eskel was nothing if overbearingly careful, overthinking and questioning every decision three times over before settling on a course of action. He had not always been like that, Geralt remembered. Some of their best pranks as young boys had been the result of decisions that had not been taught through properly. Eskel never used to worry about the consequences of his actions until Deirdre. Since Deirdre, many things had changed. Geralt willed those thoughts away, instead focusing on steadying his racing heart by slipping into a meditative state. Eskel would know where to find him. It would not be much longer before the witcher showed up and pulled Geralt into a firm embrace holding the promise of more once the two were somewhere more private. Geralt could not wait to feel Eskel’s strong, steadying arms around him.

Three days passed, and still no sign of Eskel. Geralt was beginning to worry. Well, worry even more. He desperately wanted to track Eskel down, but where to start? Last he had heard from him was months back when Geralt himself had been visiting Dandelion in Oxenfurt for a couple of days to recover from a wound. A letter from Eskel had been waiting for him there, because Dandelion was always a safe bet, and at that point Eskel had somehow managed to end up in Toussaint of all places. He could be anywhere. Geralt had no idea which direction Eskel may have taken after that. It was anyone’s guess. It was on the fourth day that Geralt decided that he could not fight his anxiety any longer. He was beginning to worry that Eskel got hurt on the way, or worse… no, Geralt refused to think of that possibility. It was early in the morning that Geralt went to check on Roach in the stables, gently coaxing her away from the comfortable bed of hay and the tasty oats despite her many complaints.

“I’m sorry, Roach, but we need to find Eskel. Something’s wrong, I can feel it. I promise if you do this for me I’ll feed you sugar cubes every day for the entire winter.”

Roach’s ears perked at the mention of sugar, which had Geralt chuckling softly. The mare mouthed at his pockets, clearly expecting advanced payment for her trouble, but all Geralt could offer her was an apple that had seen better days. Roach accepted the offer reluctantly, but otherwise let Geralt lead her out of the stables to be tacked up. Ard Carraigh was still fast asleep when Geralt made his way out of the city, but he had barely travelled several leagues into the nearby forest that a loud thundering noise echoed in the forest around him, spooking Roach in the process who reared and let out a string of terrified whinnies. Geralt used Axii to calm her down when he noticed the portal before his eyes. To his surprise, it was Yennefer who stepped out of it.

“Geralt, there you are!”

“Yen?” Geralt frowned when he noticed the concerned frown on the sorceress’ face. His heart dropped as a thought formed in his mind. Could this have something to do with Eskel? Surely Yen would not concern herself with another witcher’s whereabouts unless he was important to her in some way. Eskel and Yen… were not exactly enemies, but they were not best friends either. In fact, Yen once admitted to Geralt that she liked Eskel and appreciated his company. Eskel, on the other hand, kept Yennefer at a distance despite his polite tone and generally diplomatic handling of the sorceress.

Geralt swallowed thickly. He was probably reading too much into this.

“I thought I might find you in Ard Carraigh, but when I arrived the innkeeper told me he saw you leave early this morning. I have important news. It’s about Eskel.”

Fuck. Geralt felt himself blanch at Yen’s words, fighting hard against the panic threatening to consume him. He should not have left it so long. He should have gone after Eskel the minute Geralt realised his lover was not in Ard Carraigh like planned. Yen could tell that Geralt was spiralling and in a rare affectionate gesture, she closed the distance between them and squeezed Geralt’s hand in hers.

“Geralt, breathe. I know where he is! We need to be quick, though.”

“He’s alive?” Geralt asked weakly, and the only thing that stopped his hands from shaking was Yen’s hold on them. The witcher focused on the feel of her velvet gloves against his skin, the soft texture a nice distraction from the spiralling thoughts in his head. Yen nodded, squeezing tighter when Geralt tried to move away from her.

“Geralt, listen! He’s alive, but he’s… trapped. Remember Istredd? He was to Ban Ard a week ago by one of his old instructors. He was to help the mages with an experiment. When Istredd arrived, he noticed a witcher in dimeritium shackles tied to a table. He recognised the wolf medallion and instantly came to see me. From his description it sounds like the mages caught Eskel.”

Geralt tried to wrap his head around Yen’s story, his frown deepening as she explained the situation to him. What would the mages of Ban Ard want with Eskel? Geralt’s brain kept going back to the words ‘experiment’ and ‘shackles’, his stomach twisting involuntarily at the thought of Eskel tied up, defenceless, vulnerable against those assholes keeping him prisoner.

“It’s no secret that Eskel’s magical aura is strong. You know that his magic is probably the most powerful among witchers.”

“That doesn’t give them the right to experiment on him,” Geralt gritted through clenched teeth, his panic quickly making way for anger. No, rage. Blind rage. Yen levelled him with a look, that look that said think with your head, Geralt, now is not the time. Geralt tried, and failed, to keep his composure. “Take me to Ban Ard.”

“We can’t just go charging in there, the mages guard the academy well. There are magical barriers, guards, trained mages ready to kill intruders. Geralt, you have no chance of surviving this on your own, much less without a plan. Let me take you to Istredd!”

“Then what?” Geralt snapped, his patience thinning. Eskel was running out of time. The gods only knew what those mages were doing to him while Geralt wasted time hatching plans with Yen.

“Istredd is your only way in. He wants to help, Geralt. We don’t have much time, and much less options, so are you in or out?”

Geralt ran a hand across his face and sighed heavily, his heart thumping so hard in his chest he worried it might actually burst out of his body. His head was spinning, his hands shaking. Yen was right, his mind convinced him, this was the only way to get to Eskel quickly. Geralt could always improvise once he was inside the mage’s keep but before he could do that, he needed a guide. Istredd.

“Fine. Take me to him.”

_____

“Your friend, Eskel, the mages are keeping him in a cell in the dungeons at the minute,” Istredd explained patiently, not fazed by Geralt’s murderous glare on him, “they made him wear dimeritium shackles, so he can’t use his magic. From what I’ve seen, they’ve tranquilized him with some potion, I could not tell you which one. All I know is that they gave your friend a dose strong enough to put a griffin to sleep.”

“How do we get in?” Geralt snarled, “get to the point, Istredd. Time is of the essence.”

“I understand. What you need to realise, witcher, is that this will take some planning. Spare me the temper tantrum and help me hatch a plan. The quicker, the better for your friend. Also,” Istredd raised a calming hand when Geralt went to interrupt him again, “they won’t kill your friend. They need him alive for what they plan to do with him. It’s not a race against time, we need to think this through.”

“Not a race against time, you say?” Geralt’s tone was dangerously calm and composed, so much so that Yen stepped between him and Istredd when the witcher took several steps toward the mage, “so just because they don’t intend to kill him I should just take my sweet time? Tell me, Istredd, it very much sounds like those mages’ experiment will involve something painful. Something painful enough to hurt a witcher. Something that would upset a witcher enough that those mages have to tied him to a table and use dimeritium shackles on him. If these experiments, as you call them, were harmless, they would not have had to use a tranquilizer. But please, do correct me if I’m wrong.”

Istredd swallowed thickly while Yen raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Geralt. The witcher ignored her, eyes still set on Istredd shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Geralt, I won’t lie to you. What they want to do will be painful for Eskel, but-“

“But at least, they won’t kill him? Is that what you were going to say? I don’t mean to burst your bubble, mage, but there are things worse than death.”

“Geralt, please.” Yen placed two hands on Geralt’s chest, and the witcher let her push him away from Istredd. Geralt met Yen’s violet eyes, finding comfort in his friend’s gaze and in the sweet smell of her perfume. Lilac and gooseberries. A stark contrast to Eskel’s muskier aroma – leather, sweat and smoke. “This little stand-off is not helping anyone, much less Eskel. We all know that we need to act as quickly as possible, but you need to trust us on this. If not Istredd, then me. Please, Geralt. I want to get Eskel out of there, too.”

Geralt pinched his eyes shut, allowing his mind to drift to simpler times when it was just him and Eskel against the world. One specific memory of the day their friendship had changed into something more stood out in Geralt’s mind, like it so often did when he was in emotional turmoil and needed something to remind him what he was fighting for. What he was fighting towards. No matter what they do to you I’ll be there when you come outta there, Geralt. I promise. The night before Geralt’s additional trials, he and Eskel had shared their first kiss. Two young touch-starved witchers taking comfort in each other’s arms. Promise me you won’t die, Geralt. Please. I can’t do this shit without you, got it? Geralt promised to come back to Eskel, and that thought had been the only thing keeping him going during the additional trials he endured.

I promise, Esk. I’ll always come back for you.

“Fine. What’s the plan?” Geralt finally relented, ignoring the soft look in Yen’s eyes. Gods, he hated when she read his mind.

_________

Eskel woke up with the worst headache of his life. Scratch that. The worst headache of his life so far. He tried to remember if he had been drinking the night before – Lambert liked to remind him that Eskel was a lightweight, which was probably true, but he did not have to give his younger brother the satisfaction. Eskel went to rub his forehead soothingly but found he was unable to move. He tried again, harder this time, the action followed by a metallic clang. Strange. Eskel blinked his eyes open, quickly adjusting to the dim light of the room and he instantly frowned when he noticed the restraints around his wrists and ankles. Shit.

“Ah, you’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice belonging to a tall, skinny man dressed in a robe tinted a royal blue with silver details embroidered along the hem greeted him. The man looked perhaps fifty, but it was hard to tell in the relatively dark room. Eskel flexed his arms and tugged at the restraints with all his might, but they would not budge. “Ah, don’t bother doing that. You’ll only hurt yourself. My name is Imlarith. I am a mage and instructor at Ban Ard.”

Eskel stilled at the name, his frown only deepening.

“Ban Ard? The mage’s keep?”

“Very good,” Imlarith praised condescendingly, an indulgent smile gracing his lips, “I see you’re not as boorish and uneducated as some of your kind, witcher.”

“What do you want from me?” Eskel asked, more to distract the mage so he could cast a sign to free himself from his restraints. The familiar rush of adrenaline that came with using magic was strangely absent. Eskel’s face fell. “Dimeritium. Very good,” he drawled in the same patronising tone, pulling an amused chuckle from Imlarith.

“A feisty one. I like that. Don’t you worry, my boy. We won’t kill you. We just want to chat.”

“Interesting chat when I’m tied up and defenceless,” Eskel remarked, “this looks more like an interrogation.”

Imlarith made a vague gesture with his hand.

“Call it what you like. I just wish to talk to you for now, and depending on how well you cooperate, I will consider unbinding you. Right now, you’re still a flight risk. Not to mention your powerful magical aura… tell me Eskel, do you truly not remember me?”

Eskel groaned in frustration, tugging at the shackles again as hard as he could while the mage stood and watched with a patient smile, like a father waiting for his son to end his temper tantrum. Eskel tried to focus, to reach deep within himself to find his magic, but the dimeritium prevented him from even doing that. He felt more vulnerable than he had in years.

“Are you quite done now? Ready to listen, my boy?” Eskel merely glared, but Imlarith seemed to interpret his silence as agreement. “Very well then. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were only a young boy when I came to find you at Kaer Morhen, and it’s common knowledge that those mutagens mess with your memory. A damn shame those witchers got to you before the Brotherhood did, my boy. So much potential wasted on petty signs.”

“If they’re so petty, why strip me of my magic?” Eskel challenged, only earning himself a patronising tap on the head.

“Eskel, Eskel… though your signs are only a fraction of what we mages are capable of, your magic is strong and you could use your witcher signs to catch me off guard and make a run for it. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Bony fingers carded through Eskel’s hair affectionately but the witcher jerked away from the gesture, baring his teeth as he did so.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Very well. I won’t. Where was I? Oh yes. When you were a young boy, myself and other members of the Brotherhood came to Kaer Morhen to trade with the witchers. One of our recruits was hopeless, but evidently there was potential in him somewhere which we knew the witchers would know to exploit. That boy would’ve made a miserable sorcerer, but a very skilled witcher at the very least. In exchange, we wanted to get you. Your magical aura was developed even back then, Eskel, even before the mutations. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“Is that what you do? Exchange young boys like cattle for slaughter?”

“We usually do, only this one witcher – Vesemir, I believe – simply would not part with you. He gave us a miserable excuse, I might add, about you being his child surprise and you two having a bond. In any case, he refused our offer. We tried to convince you personally, but you simply wouldn’t leave. Do you remember why?”

Eskel did not respond. He vaguely remembered a day when Vesemir, accompanied by two strange men, had told him about a mage academy and told Eskel all about the various duties of sorcerers across the Continent. Eskel also remembered taking one look at Geralt, his only true friend, and deciding that if he was to leave then Geralt would have to come with him. Neither boys left Kaer Morhen that day and the strange men left empty-handed.

“Hmm, yes that boy. Geralt, wasn’t it? Grew up to become Geralt of Rivia, the famed White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken…”

“Not much of a conversation if all you do is read my mind,” Eskel spat disdainfully, “if it’s all the same to you I’ll save my breath and let you find the answers to your questions yourself.”

“Oh Eskel, don’t be like that my boy.”

“I’m not your boy!”

“As I was saying,” Imlarith resumed, ignoring his prisoner’s outburst, “or rather as I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted, we don’t want you dead. Far from it. We want you to work with us. For us. We could teach you a thing or two, explore the unknown areas of your chaos, teach you how to control it. You could be a very powerful sorcerer, indeed. Who knows, we could even try to reverse the mutations. And fix that face…”

“Piss off,” Eskel cursed, a twisted smile tugging at his scarred cheek, “you and I both know the mutations are irreversible. And I’m not interested in your reconstructive surgery, thank you. I’ll keep the scars and my dignity.”

“You have no idea what the mages here are capable of, Eskel. Witchers are a relic of the past. Sorcerers, on the other hand…,” Imlarith carded his fingers through Eskel’s hair again and allowed them to glide along the red ridges marring Eskel’s face. The witcher flinched, still insecure whenever someone paid too close attention to his scars. Someone other than Geralt, that was.

“Like I said. Piss. Off.”

“Very well, have it your way boy. Since you won’t cooperate, we shall convince you some other way. In a more forceful fashion.”

Eskel’s eyes anxiously followed Imlarith as the mage moved away from the table, his brain racing to find a way out of this mess. His thoughts instantly went to Geralt and how worried he must be. Please Geralt, for once in your life, stay out of this. The last thing Eskel needed was for his lover to be trapped in this hellhole and experimented on as well. Imlarith returned to the table several minutes later holding up a syringe menacingly. Eskel eyed it suspiciously.

“This, my boy, is something the mages of Ban Ard have been working on for a while. It’s a potion that has the same effect as your Axii. Only… this potion can also affect witchers. Highly volatile.”

“Sick fuckers,” Eskel fought against his restraints, in vain, “do you know how dangerous this is?”

“Very much so, yes. That is the whole point of it.” Imlarith’s grin sent an ominous shiver coursing through Eskel’s body. “And I also know how dangerous it would be to inject this in your veins right now. But… that’s why you’re here, after all. Your reaction to the potion will help us devise a better formula, a more reliable one which will give us control over whoever has it running through their veins. A revolutionary weapon which people will pay handsomely for. Now stay still, here’s a good pup.”

Eskel roared, redoubling in efforts to pry himself free, trying to move away from the syringe pointed at his neck. If Imlarith managed to inject this in his system there was no telling how much destruction Eskel would cause. Eskel shouted, begged for Imlarith to see reason, but nothing seemed to faze the determined mage until-

“Master Imlarith!”

-someone burst through the doors, panting heavily as they bent over to catch their breaths. The syringe stilled mere inches away from Eskel’s neck as Imlarith paused in his movements to look at their intruder.

“What is it, Darryl?”

“The keep’s defences were breached. One of our own, it had to be. There’s a witcher heading for this cell as we’re speaking. An inside job.”

Imlarith’s smirk only grew and it made something twist in Eskel’s stomach. Geralt, you stupid fuck. The mage laughed humourlessly, almost fanatically, as an idea crossed his mind.

“Wonderful. Let’s see how effective this potion is. You’ll feel a sharp scratch, but it’ll be over soon.”

The syringe pricked his throat as a cold liquid was injected in his aorta and coursed through his entire being with every heartbeat. Then, everything went black.

____

Istredd agreed to teleport him as close to Eskel’s cell as possible, but Geralt would be on his own after that. Breaching the defences of Ban Ard would get the mage into enough trouble already, Geralt was aware of that, and as soon as Eskel was safe the witcher would think of a way to repay the mage for his help. Yen refused to stay behind and had insisted on following Geralt and helping him break Eskel out of Ban Ard. You’ll need someone to get you out of the keep when you find Eskel. I’ll teleport you to Kaer Morhen when he’s safe. Geralt knew how stubborn Yen could be and he did not want to waste his energy on arguing with her.

Geralt slashed his way through the anyone who dared come between him and Eskel. He did not stop to take a better look at the faces of those mages he was running his sword through, nor did it matter in that moment. All Geralt could think about was how some asshole was likely torturing his lover in a cell at the end of the long corridor, and that thought was enough to keep Geralt going. Yen knocked some mages out with energy orbs, but Geralt was not worried for her safety. She knew how to defend herself without his help, like she had reminded him many times before over the years. Geralt and Yen reached their destination quickly, leaving behind a trail of unconscious and dead bodies alike. Geralt used Aard to blast the door off its hinges before stepping inside. Inside the room was a tall man vested in blue robes and in the centre of the room-

Eskel.

“Ah, the White Wolf. Came here to fetch your friend?” the mage asked far too calmly considering he was being threatened by an angry witcher who had just made it past a dozen other mages within minutes. “And Yennefer of Vengerberg, how interesting. How is the Lodge treating you, Mistress Yennefer?”

“Save the pleasantries for your diplomatic visits, Imlarith. Let the witcher go and we’ll spare your life.”

“Speak for yourself,” Geralt rumbled low in his chest. He snarled viciously at the smirking mage, his medallion vibrating under his leather armour. “I wouldn’t mind the head of this son of a bitch as a trophy.”

“Geralt!”

“No, no Yennefer, I shall unbind the witcher as you requested,” Imlarith declared, taking both Geralt and Yennefer by surprise. The pair shared a look between themselves, uncertain what to think. Geralt could sense there was a trap there somewhere and Yennefer echoed his sentiment telepathically to him. Geralt’s eyes returned to Imlarith, who was busy taking off the dimeritium shackles restraining Eskel at the ankles and wrists, a secretive smirk plastered on his lips.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I injected an experimental potion in your precious witcher just before you two so rudely burst through that door. Unfortunately, I don’t know the side effects of it yet. Let’s just say that it will render our dear Eskel here unpredictable for a yet undetermined time frame. I’m sure you can handle yourselves, though. After all, you did just slash your way through here.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. He could feel the vibrations of his medallion intensifying when the mage Imlarith disappeared through a portal which he conjured with a clicking of his fingers. Neither Geralt nor Yennefer dared to move, not even when Eskel stirred gently on the table. It was the soft moan tumbling past Eskel’s lips that snapped Geralt out of his trance. In an instant, he was next to Eskel and running his fingers through the damp hair reassuringly, like he used to do when they were young scared boys seeking comfort in each other’s bunks.

“Esk? It’s me, Geralt. Thank the gods you’re safe. You have no idea how-“

Suddenly, Geralt felt something hit him in the stomach and send him crashing into the opposite wall. The first thing Geralt felt was a jarring pain in his stomach, then light-headedness as his skull and spine made impact with the solid brick wall he had been propelled into. The next thing the witcher noticed when he opened his eyes was Eskel glaring at him and holding up a hand aimed at Geralt. Eskel’s ring finger and pinkie were bent so that they touched his palm.

Aard, Geralt’s mind supplied unhelpfully.

“Eskel, what-“

Yennefer was quicker to recover and sent a magical orb hurtling towards Eskel. Geralt scrambled to his feet, but he instantly hissed when he put weight on his left ankle and felt a sharp pain travel all the way up his thigh. Not broken, but definitely twisted badly enough to cause discomfort. Geralt cursed. Meanwhile, Eskel had used Quen to cast a protective shield around himself just in time for Yennefer’s orb to come crashing into it. Geralt noticed with horror that Eskel’s shield barely took any damage from it. Yen’s jaw tightened in determination as she brought both her hands together and created a bigger, probably stronger orb which she released in Eskel’s direction. The witcher remained motionless, letting the second attack hit his shield without so much as flinching. This time, Eskel did not allow Yennefer anytime to recover and aimed a burst of Igni at the sorceress, which she only barely managed to block.

“Yen, get out of here!” Geralt yelled at her, catching Eskel’s attention in the process. Bloodshot eyes stared at him coldly. Eskel’s eyes, usually so warm and bright, were now devoid of any emotion. Geralt did not recognise the feral witcher squaring up to him. This was not Eskel. Geralt shivered at the thought. “Eskel, listen to me! It’s me, Geralt. You know me, we-“

Geralt managed to put up his own shield in extremis before Eskel’s Igni hit him with a force that very nearly sent him hurtling through the wall that time. Geralt managed to keep his shield up for the most part, but deep cracks were already forming. The shield would not resist a second attack of that magnitude. Something twisted in Geralt warned him that Eskel was still holding back, that this was only a warning.

“Eskel, please, snap out of this. This isn’t you!”

More fire. This time, rather than a single burst of flames, it was like a wall of fire was closing in on Geralt. Eskel’s forte were signs, had always been since the start of his training, whereas Geralt was physically faster and stronger. Not by much, though, and his magical abilities were at best subpar compared to Eskel’s. As Geralt stood there desperately trying to keep up his shield while Eskel all but breathed fire in his direction, the White Wolf became painfully aware of his own weaknesses. The dragon of Kaer Morhen the instructors used to fondly refer to Eskel. Geralt now understood why.

“Geralt! Geralt!”

He could barely hear Yennefer cry out for him, but her reaction seemed to distract Eskel long enough for the sorceress to turn the tables and send Eskel flying to the other end of the cell, knocking over furniture and alchemy utensils in his wake. Geralt did not waste time and hobbled to his lover’s side as fast as his twisted ankle and broken ribs allowed, only to trap Eskel there with Yrden. Geralt then fell too his knees and went to straddle Eskel, using his weight to keep him down and his hands to pin Eskel’s wrists over his head.

“Eskel, it’s me, Geralt. Remember me? We trained together at Kaer Morhen when we were boys. When I got there, I was crying and scared because my mother had just abandoned me at Vesemir’s doorstep. He sent me up to one of the rooms and told me I’d be sharing a bunk with you. Remember what you told me that night when I couldn’t sleep for crying? ‘You can sleep in my bed if you want. I won’t tell.’ Remember that?”

Eskel had stopped thrashing quite so violently, but he still snapped at Geralt and groaned in frustration when he found himself restrained for the second time that day. Geralt strengthened his Yrden, but never let go of Eskel’s wrists.

“When we were thirteen you escaped to the tower after a boy called you a son of a whore. I found you in the tower, and I was the only one you would let close. Vesemir left us to it and I hugged you close. You told me that your mum was the sweetest person you had ever met and that it wasn’t her fault your dad raped her and then left her to deal with the consequences. We spent most of the evening in that tower. I felt so much closer to you after that night. I’ll cherish that memory forever.”

Eskel relaxed, but Geralt was still on edge. He wondered if it was a trap to get Geralt to lower his guard so Eskel could pounce on him. Although Geralt took comfort in the fact that the other witcher had stopped snapping at him.

“You nearly died during the trials. Vesemir called for me and I didn’t leave your side until it was over. You held my hand so tightly. I stood by you when you screamed, when you threw up, when you howled in pain. You didn’t let go once, not even when I slept. You whispered my name over and over. C’mon Esk, you can’t have forgotten that.”

Bloodshot amber eyes were set on Geralt, but thankfully Eskel began to relax under him and the snarl that had twisted his lips mere seconds ago completely disappeared. Geralt hoped these were all signs that Eskel was slowly but surely coming back to him. He cupped his feral lover’s face with one hand while still pinning Eskel’s wrists securely with the other. One could never be too careful.

“The night before my second trials, you were so scared Esk. So was I, but I knew you needed me to be strong for once. You were always the strong one, but this one time you broke. I promised you I would always come back for you. I’m here now. Don’t you dare die on me. Come back to me, wiseass. Please, Eskel.”

Eskel’s eyes slowly reverted back to their familiar colour as Geralt spoke. It took another couple of minutes for Eskel to come back to his senses fully and when he did, a shaky breath pushed past his lips almost as if the weight of the destruction he had caused instantly came crashing onto Eskel’s shoulders. Geralt knew his lover would hate himself for months, if not years for what had happened here, no matter how often Geralt reminded him that none of it had been his fault. They would cross that bridge when they got to it. Eskel needed him now, first and foremost.

“G’ralt?”

“It’s me. I’m here, you’re safe. I came for you, just like I promised I always would.” Geralt’s thumb brushed over Eskel’s scarred cheek lovingly in a silent reassurance that he was there and that he was not going anywhere. Eskel briefly looked past Geralt’s shoulder to where Yennefer was standing quietly, his brows creasing with concern.

“Yen’s fine,” Geralt reassured Eskel softly, “not a scratch. Even a frenzied witcher is no match for her.”

“Only because you distracted me,” Eskel lamented, and Geralt mentally kicked himself for his words. Gods, he was so bad at words.

“You snapped out of it. That mage was playing with fire by injecting that potion in you.”

“Where-“

“Disappeared right after I got here,” Geralt supplied quickly, not wanting Eskel to exhaust himself by talking too much, “we’ll deal with him later. First, we need to get you home. To Kaer Morhen. Vesemir will be fretting like a mother hen if we don’t get there soon.”

“I can help with that,” Yen reminded them gently, “I’ll create a portal for you, but you need to leave now. We won’t be alone for much longer and I can sense the mages rebuilding the magical walls again.”

Geralt pursed his lips but one encouraging nod from Eskel was all he needed to get a move on. It was on those rare occasions that Geralt blessed his mutations for allowing his body to heal faster. He would have been useless carrying Eskel on a twisted ankle, but the shooting pain from before was beginning to fade into a numbing throb. Geralt could deal with that, at least for a little while. The witcher met Yen’s violet gaze, a silent signal for her to go ahead. The sorceress acknowledged him with a small nod of the head and soon, a portal to Kaer Morhen manifested before their eyes.

“Thanks, Yen. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. I know where to find you when it comes to repaying your debt.”

Geralt and Yen shared one last parting look, the witcher even managing a grateful smile, before he stepped into the portal, not once letting go of Eskel. A nauseating second later, Geralt’s knees buckled and sent him tumbling to the ground, the harsh stone ripping his breeches and digging into the soft skin of his knees. Kaer Morhen. The main hall, Geralt realised with relief. The pain in his ankle and ribs flared up when Eskel all but collapsed on top of him, sending Geralt toppling onto his injured side.

“Eskel! Geralt!”

Vesemir. Geralt groaned as he tried to push Eskel off him, but soon two additional pairs of hands were helping him get the exhausted witcher off him. Geralt nearly snarled at Vesemir when the older witcher tried to pull Eskel too far away for Geralt’s comfort, but the reaction died in his throat as the older witcher levelled him with an unimpressed glare.

“Easy, boy! You know I won’t hurt him. Lambert, help Geralt to his feet and carry him upstairs. I’ll take care of Eskel.”

Geralt was too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to resist or challenge Vesemir’s words.

____

Eskel slept for two days straight before he finally began to stir. Geralt, who was curled up against him, instantly jolted at the movement. His eyes blinked away the last remnants of sleep before settling on his lover. When Eskel finally opened his eyes, Geralt let out the breath he had been holding for the past two days. His fingers carded through Eskel’s hair and gently brushed through any tangles Geralt happened upon. Eskel let out a pleased rumble at the tender ministrations, his arms snaking around Geralt’s waist and pressing him closer to the firm body. Eskel’s warm and safe embrace rightened the world on its axis, and for a brief moment, both basked in each other’s presence while pretending that the past two days had been nothing but a very vivid nightmare. Eskel’s nose nuzzled at Geralt’s neck, soft lips pressing kisses to the sensitive area and sending pleasant shivers running down Geralt’s back.

The moment ended too soon when Eskel heaved a trembling sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Eskel’s fingers traced Geralt’s ribs, feeling, looking for injuries Eskel knew he had inflicted. Geralt hated seeing his lover spiral into a vicious circle of guilt and self-hatred.

“I hurt you.”

“You weren’t yourself, Esk.” Geralt readjusted their position so he could kiss Eskel’s lips. It was a chaste kiss, no heat to it, but that was exactly what Eskel needed right now. Tenderness, a gentle touch, reassurance. The other witcher melted into the kiss briefly and whined when Geralt pulled away. “Eskel, listen to me. I don’t want you to think any of this was your fault.”

“But-“

“Shut up!” Geralt snapped, although there was no venom in his tone, “just let me finish. Imlarith used your strength against you, that doesn’t make you a bad person. He knew just how powerful you are, but he also knew that you were holding back a lot of the time. Don’t argue, we both know you do.”

Eskel’s mouth closed with a click as he once again resigned himself to simply listen to Geralt’s lecture without interruption. His efforts were rewarded with another lingering kiss.

“You hold back because the last thing you want to do is hurt people. That’s not a weakness, that’s a strength. A strength that was exploited by a mage with evil and megalomaniac intentions. It wasn’t you. You came back to me, you fought whatever it was he injected in your system. I can’t imagine how much strength that must have taken.”

Eskel gently brushed his nose against Geralt’s his eyes fluttering shut as a tired sigh pushed past his lips.

“It was hard. You wanna know what brought me back?”

“Having a drop-dead handsome witcher straddle you like a racehorse?” Geralt joked, his words earning him an undignified snort from his lover.

“You wish, dumbass. No, it wasn’t that. I know you were talking to me, but I couldn’t make sense of your words. I was still conscious, still there, but it felt like I had taken the backseat in my own mind. I was not fully in control, but I was aware of exactly what I was doing and what was happening. It’s difficult to explain. I knew I had to snap out of it, but I didn’t know how. I was… well, scared shitless. Scared of hurting you. Of killing you…”

Eskel paused long enough to compose himself, taking strength in Geralt’s presence.

“So, I went to my happy place. The first time I returned to Kaer Morhen after my first year solo on the Path. I remembered getting there, worn, tired, hungry and miserable. All I wanted was drown my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle of Mahakam spirit and sleep all winter, tell the world to fuck off. And then I saw you, training the new recruits in the courtyard. I remember the way you looked at me, the smile on your face, and later, the sex.”

It was Geralt’s turn to snort at his lover’s words.

“Romantic, as always.”

“Shut up, wolf. You know I’m the romantic one out of the both of us!” Eskel argued, his lips seeking Geralt’s for another kiss which was promptly granted. “Before it gets to your head, it wasn’t the thought of your dick that brought me back. It was the feeling of coming back to you that gave me the strength to fight it. The feeling of coming home.”

Home. Geralt smiled at the term. Once again, Eskel had put in simple terms what Geralt had been struggling to express for years. They were each other’s homes, no matter where they were on the Continent, no matter if they slept in a castle or in marshy swamps. Geralt tightened his hold on Eskel, worried his lover might disappear again.

“Sleep, Esk. You need to recover.” Eskel was already snoring by the time Geralt ended his sentence, looking peaceful in the safety of his lover’s arms. Geralt placed a soft kiss into Eskel’s hair. “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

END.

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #caged #the witcher #fic #feral Eskel #experimental drugs #hurt comfort #angst #fluff #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #eskel #eskel the witcher #the witcher eskel #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt x eskel #eskel x geralt

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musinglymuse · 4 years ago

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When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song, friendship fraught with numerous opportunities for shenanigans. After all, it’s somewhat Jaskier’s fault that Geralt’s life became far more exciting than it really needed to be...

I’ve compiled some of what I consider excellent fanfics that feature this pairing although it does not contain all of my recommendations. They are listed in no particular order. For more, please check my blog for my other recommendation lists for this pairing and other fandoms.

As a reminder, please make sure to check the tags and any warnings before reading. Take care of yourself!

there goes my heart beating (cause you are the reason) by Resacon1990 Canon Divergence // ~13k // PG-13

“Sometimes,” Geralt says quietly, “I forget that you care.”

Jaskier looks up surprised and sees that Geralt is looking down at him with a small frown on his face. “Geralt,” Jaskier sighs, shaking his head fondly, “you foolish beef-brain. Of course I care.”

Weak, My Love, and I Am Wanting by TabbyCat33098 Canon Divergence // ~2k // PG-13

Jaskier has written a lot of ballads about some woman who has stolen his heart. The thing is, he's been on the road with Geralt for the past month. He hasn't had any time to court a woman, much less have his heart broken by her. So who is this woman? The answer may shock you.

Chopsticks by thisgirlsays22 Music Instructor AU // ~12k // NC-17

“Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

The smile swiftly disappeared.

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.

Keeping Crows by Castillon02 Canon Divergence // ~10k // PG-13

If it was some kind of weird religious thing, it was for a god Geralt had never heard of. Probably it was just a weird Jaskier thing. Crows, of all creatures! Corpse eaters. Grain stealers. No one liked crows. But Jaskier was voluntarily traveling with a Witcher; maybe he just had poor taste.

you're only brave in the moonlight (stay til sunrise) by SummerFrost for dis4daria College Roommates AU // ~29k // NC-17

Falling in love with his roommate is, objectively, a bad idea—but most of the major decisions of Jaskier's life have been bad ideas, and they've gotten him this far.

This Life That We've Created by whisperedstory Canon Divergence // Series // ~34k // NC-17

In the aftermath of what is probably the worst night of Jaskier's life, things start to change between him and Geralt and grow into something much deeper. There's nothing that could make Jaskier want to leave Geralt's side—and Geralt finally seems to be ready to accept that.

Idiots by fabrega Canon Divergence // Series // ~5k // PG-13

"You're an idiot," Geralt says affectionately.

A Slowly Blooming Dream by Mahto Magical Jaskier AU // ~12k // NC-17

Jaskier sees the world as it could be: full of beauty. He’s bright in the face of despair, and he spins tales of virtues long lost in the shadow of men’s hearts.

The world plays favourites.

Your Hand, Fixed In Mine by Sevent Canon Divergence // ~4k // PG-13

Geralt ticks off a witch and gets cursed with holding Jaskier's hand until the end of time. Or at least until he realizes how to lift the curse.

b-sides and rarities by fathomfive Canon Divergence // ~6k // PG-13

Some songs, Jaskier sings for Geralt only. Too bad it takes Geralt so long to notice.

Unintended Consequences by manic_intent Post Canon // ~5k // NC-17

“You’ve got to wonder about the mentality of a group of people who’d come together, build a trading post on the Pontar within a forest full of monsters, pirates, and murderous elves, then triumphantly name the place ‘Flotsam’ with no sense of irony whatsoever,” Jaskier said.

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fic rec #geraskier fic rec #jaskier #geralt of rivia

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Mkay but Gym AU?

Jaskier is the spin/pilates/maybe even zumba instructor

Geralt does personal training and lifting classes as well as kids fitness (bc how fucking cute!!!!!)

The first day Geralt shows up everyone in Jask's class is SHOOK then even MORE SHOOK when they see how flustered Jask gets around him (bc let's be real the reason anyone takes this god forsaken torturously painful spin class is bc Jask is cute and flirty as fuck)

Geralt not talking much at all until the kids class then he's just a big soft goofball and it MELTS Jask. (And me?)

Idk guys, I just love this idea???

#geraskier #gym au #the witcher #the witcher gym au #the witcher modern au #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz

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igni-ard-bladeandbard · 5 years ago

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{I LIED I DIDNT GO TO BED I FINISHED THIS INSTEAD. }

A moment where they come a little too close to the truth...

Jaskier thinks he’s going to teach Geralt to dance.

Because he doesn’t imagine that someone, a hardened warrior like Geralt of Rivia, has ever learned the more genteel arts of courtly mannerisms.

Geralt, bemused, smirking at Jaskier as he prances about in his silk hosiery and gilded doublet saying “You need elegance Geralt! You have to have..” he slides across the large room’s marble floor towards the witcher “grace.”

He stops in front of Geralt who has been standing still, watching Jaskier flap around with more energy than any one mortal should rightly have.

“Is that what you call this?” Geralt teases. He’s in a particularly affable mood today. They’ve had a fairly easy go of it for once, not having to worry overmuch about anything accept the gala which they are suppose to attend tomorrow evening under many false pretenses.

Jaskier puts a hand to his breast in mock offence. “Absolutely! See this is exactly what I mean, Geralt. You wouldn’t know taste if it bit your bottom.”

“Oh it has,” Geralt mutters under his breath thinking of the many lords and well-to-do patrons he has had the displeasure of dealing with in the past. Nothing could be quite as uncivil as a civilized man. Before Jaskier can add anything he says more smoothly and more audibly-

“What makes you believe I can’t dance?”

He knows Jaskier has been, in good humor, attempting to provoke him all night with remarks about his rugged man of the wilderness attitude and how he’s unfit for comely society.

“Just a hunch,” Jaskier says and his eyelashes flutter once as he blinks and looks upwards at the ornate ceiling, his lips do a little quip like he’s holding in a smile. He turns his back to Geralt and strolls back out to the center of the castle hall. “Or at least, I’m not convinced you can dance with something other than a sword....”

Geralt eyes the bard’s backside as he moves. He’s seldom cared much for what the people around him were wearing but there is something about the way Jaskier adorns himself, like dressing a god damn cake... He would be perfectly good looking without all the embellishment, the jewelry and fine fabrics, but it really does...something...that added decoration. It isn’t that it makes him more beautiful it just makes it harder to ignore how beautiful the bastard is. Geralt has found a few men attractive in the past, enticing, and sensual even, but Jaskier has something that even the most desirable women he’s known would envy. He’s not sure what it is exactly but perhaps it has to do with the slender line of his legs in his powder blue breaches, or the way he shifts his weight to one hip- his soft almost feminine hips...or the way his soft rose bud mouth makes that small quirk when he looks sideways at Geralt. Or maybe it was the swoop of his ha-

“Come come, Geralt. We must get this down by dusk!”

And Geralt is next to him sooner than the bard is prepared for. He’s there in front of him when he turns around, more readily than Jaskier had expected. And the bard is actually stumbling over his first words as Geralt stands less than a foot away from him in just his dark tunic and his black breaches with his silver hair hanging around his shoulders. “W-well then. Let’s begin with something standard. I don’t imagine you will have to take more than one dance with someone before you can excuse yourself to get quietly inebriated in the stables with Roach like last tim-”

“Shut up.” Geralt grips him firmly around the waist. And Jaskier finds his hand in Geralt’s hand somehow before he can take it.

And then they are moving.

Slowly at first.

It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to realize he’s not the one leading and that he is ,in fact, not doing much at all- accept trying not to think about the pressure of Geralt’s steely arm at his side. He can feel the muscle in Geralt’s forearm against his lower back and the heat...and he can feel the brush of Geralt’s thigh and hip against him but there’s just enough space between them that it’s practically decent,

maddeningly decent

because it’s the worst tease. And Jaskier did this to himself. He should have known. Geralt is older. He has run the circuit before. He probably has all sorts of skills Jaskier could only imagine.

Geralt isn’t looking at him. His gaze is lowered, eyelids soft, centered somewhere around Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier wonders self consciously if the man can see down his shirt. Wonders if he shouldn’t have left it undone so far...wonders if Geralt is actually looking at him or if he’s somewhere farther away...

“Geralt,” his voice comes out too delicate. There is no music.

“Hm..” the sound is deep in the witcher’s chest.

Jaskier swallows thickly. “Either I must be a really great teacher, or you’re a natural at this.” He forces a chuckle. His attempt at humor sounds weak even to him.

Geralt smiles but still doesn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes. “You clearly have a calling. You should give up that terrible ruckus and become a dance instructor.”

“Ha...” Jaskier tries to think of a riposte, tries to be offended at the jab to his music once more, but he can’t because Geralt’s calloused warm palm is against his. His heart is beating faster, and what if Geralt can feel his hand starting to get clammy with nerves? Good lord, what if he can hear his heart beat racing with his wolfish senses!?

Almost dizzy he jests “At least I know now you wont embarrass me in public.” And he’s going to stop dancing. He’s going to push Geralt away because this is too dangerous - but then Geralt looks up into his eyes- and the intensity of that golden stare near paralyzes him on the spot. He can feel the barrier he worked so hard to build between him and his unrequited desire crumble horribly at their feet. A wave of longing washes over him so violently he thinks Geralt has to see it in his eyes but he can’t look away.

Geralt’s face betrays nothing. “Don’t be too sure.” Geralt can think of plenty of embarrassing things that have nothing to do with dancing. Like falling madly and irrationally in love with an obnoxious bard at the most inconvenient moment, when you’re suppose to just be friends...

The bard’s cornflower blue eyes are shining in the low evening light, transfixed on Geralt’s. The emotion in them is so palpable Geralt has to use all his strength not to pull Jaskier against him- protect him from what? he doesn’t know , but he needs to. They are barely moving now but Jaskier looks flushed. The color in his face flatters his complexion somehow making him look even more vulnerable. Geralt decides to stay like this. It feels right. There’s no reason they should stop. His body, his everything, is thrumming with some feeling like a current of warm electricity and he thinks that if maybe they just stay like this for awhile Jaskier will relax and it will all just seem so normal and-

With extreme will power Jaskier finally steps back and turns away. He can’t take it anymore. He can’t-

Geralt’s hand is around his wrist, catching him firmly, impossible to escape, and he whirls Jaskier back to him, spinning him in as if it had all been intentional in the dance and when he reels him out again- the bastard- he bows low over Jaskier’s unsteady hand and kisses it very softly, so soft it could be mere mockery but he can’t breathe.

And instead of saying something witty or joking Geralt has the gall to say nothing. He gives Jaskier a look that could mean he’s teasing him but it could also mean that he’s ...not teasing him...

And he leaves.

He turns and walks away as if he has somewhere to be. And Jaskier dies a little inside, perhaps even a lot, as he watches the witcher walk away determinedly. His hair falling over his broad shoulders, bright white against his dark shirt. He watches him exit the hall leaving them both nervous and raw at the edges and wanting so badly he could cry, and he doesn’t know that it isn’t simply him alone left with these feelings he can’t use.

#jaskier #geraskier #gerskier #geralt x dandelion #ANGST #writing #drabblet #my own

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toosicktoocare · 5 years ago

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Kind of a combo prompt: Jaskier starts to learn about medical stuff while traveling with Geralt, and Geralt starts to teach Jaskier how to fight. It’s a good thing Jaskier knows how to swing a sword and set bones

In hindsight, Jaskier’s not entirely sure how he’s been able to even grasp the basics of swordsmanship since Geralt’s method of teaching is rather... close. Jaskier’s initial thought had been learning through combat, the clashing of swords, one-on-one duels, but Geralt’s method is surprisingly singular, pushing Jaskier to focus more on his balance, his core, and his inner being.

“You’re still tense,” Geralt growls into his ears, and Jaskier bites back a shudder at the hot breath that brushes against his ear. Geralt’s behind him, curved around his back, mirroring his movements as a sturdy guide. His large hand cups Jaskier’s right hand, and Jaskier grits his teeth, willing the sword to not shake in his hand.

“Isn’t that the point?” he tries, wincing slightly at the soft burn coating his muscles from holding such a weighted sword upright for an extended time. “If I’m relaxed, I may not have the quick response if battle arises.”

Geralt sighs behind him, warm breath coating the back of his neck.

“It’s all about control.” Geralt drops his head to Jaskier’s shoulder with a low grunt. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know,” Jaskier starts, a slight whine to his voice, “but--”

A twig snaps behind them, and though Geralt doesn’t immediately lift his head, his hand slowly smooths around Jaskier’s until his fingers brush against the slightly warmed hilt of his sword. If Jaskier weren’t suddenly incredibly afraid of what’s behind him, he would take a moment to appreciate the controlled tension Geralt’s exhibiting.

“Well, isn’t this cute.”

A woman’s voice, Jaskier thinks, a woman’s voice that’s icy and dangerous, and finally, Geralt wraps large fingers fully around the hilt of the sword, lifts his head, and slowly spins around, swinging the sword with careful ease until it’s pointed at the woman. Jaskier follows his movements, looking over Geralt’s shoulder to see an older woman with a crooked smile.

Her face is half-cloaked by a large, black hood, but her eyes, though shadowed, appear an almost glowing red that Jaskier cannot pull his gaze from.

“Well, now, is that anyway to treat a guest?”

“An uninvited one,” Geralt grunts out, and Jaskier shifts his gaze away from the woman to see Geralt’s eyes narrowed, his large hand gripping the hilt of the sword tightly, and a nervous pit pulls into a ball in Jaskier’s stomach.

The situation is unsettling, and he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong with this woman. A mage? He chases the idea for a moment, but it doesn’t click in his head. Not a mage, he decides, but who? Or, rather, what?

The woman tsks and begins walking to the left, Geralt follows her movements with the tip of his sword, keeping himself planted in front of Jaskier.

“Well, will you invite me into your little camp?”

“No,” Jaskier spits out, voice slightly higher than Geralt’s low growl of a “no.”

“Such a shame,” the woman starts, shifting her gaze past the sword to Jaskier. “You’re the lovely bard I’ve been following.” Her voice starts to shift, taking a deeper tone, and Jaskier’s breath gets caught in his throat.

In front of him, the woman’s bones are cracking, shifting, her face is pulling forward, thickening. She’s growing in height, and she grunts through clenched teeth as her form morphs into an incredibly large man staring down at them with a wicked smile.

Sweat beads at Jaskier’s temple. His body has gone completely still. “Geralt,” he whispers, voice shaking. “What in the--”

“-fuck,” Geralt growls.

Everything suddenly moves too fast for Jaskier to fully comprehend. Geralt shoves him back as the man leaps toward them. He hits the ground with a grunt just as Geralt swings the sword. Jaskier tries to follow their movements, but everything is too fast, the two dancing rapidly around each other, but then he hears a piercing cracking sound, and the sword slips from Geralt’s grip as his arm goes limp at his side.

The man forces Geralt to the ground, and Jaskier watches as the man pins Geralt’s arms over his head. He can see Geralt favoring his left side, trying to use pure strength alone to free himself, but the man’s got the upper hand.

Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes for a breath of a moment, and he can hear Geralt’s voice in his head. Assess, he hears, and he does. The sword is too close to the man to grab, but a quick, closer inspection of the man’s bare back shows little to no wounds despite the amount of hits Geralt got in before...

His eyes flick over to Roach and the silver sword close to her. He can’t remember exactly, but he thinks he needs the silver since the iron doesn’t appear to be doing much. He’s quick and quiet on his feet, surprising even himself, and carefully, he tip-toes over to the silver sword. He goes unnoticed, another surprise considering his heart feels it’s about to burst past his ribs and right out of his chest, and snags the sword. It’s weight distribution feels different compared to the iron sword he’s grown accustomed to working with, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It actually feels... perfect, he thinks.

Geralt’s low growl of a curse pulls Jaskier back into reality. He blinks a few times, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, and turns toward the borderline one-sided battle behind him. Geralt doesn’t look panicked, but there’s pain pulling at his face, and it’s enough to have Jaskier walking back toward the mess of a fight. He stops right behind the man and clears his throat to get the man’s attention, an uncharacteristically strong wave of confidence washing over him.

For a moment, he’s not raising a silver sword over his head with practiced grace. For just a breath of a moment, he’s back at a tavern, strumming away at his lute, riling up a crowd of drunks as he sings songs of adventures. But then he swings the sword down, bringing himself back to the woods. He doesn’t aim like Geralt does, but the sword still finds its way to the man’s neck, slicing clean through it until the man’s head is rolling to the ground with a low thump.

He wasn’t aware that he screamed with the swing of the sword until his faint echo is the only sound to follow the lifeless head hitting the ground. He’s panting, his stomach is in knots, and he can feel Geralt’s eyes burning a hole in him.

He feels suddenly far too hot, and his stomach lurches. He lets the sword slip from his shaking grip and clamps a hand over his mouth, whipping around and making it close to a bush before dropping to his hand and knees and gagging.

He can’t shake the frighteningly clear image of the sword piercing clean through the man’s neck from his mind, or the wide-eyed look of pure terror. He heaves, throwing up the small breakfast he and Geralt split before training. He’s barely keeping himself up on shaking arms, and he wants to give into the ill-stricken fear clinging to his bones, but his mind, moving as fast as his heart, catches back up to the situation as a whole, and quickly, he scrambles to his feet, swaying slightly.

Geralt’s managed to sit up, but he’s gripping at his shoulder with a deep frown, and it doesn’t take a doctor or mage to see it’s dislocated. There’s bright red, angry swelling poking out through the tear in Geralt’s shirt, and Jaskier stumbles to him, dropping to his knees beside the Witcher.

“Are you alright?”

“That’s dislocated,” Jaskier mutters under his breath, not hearing Geralt’s question over the roar in his ears. He’s studied this, has been studying this and similar injuries for a few weeks now. He’s not much of a fighter, but he wants to help Geralt, to prove he’s a worthy companion, so he’s taken to books, learning about medicinal remedies, stitching, and dislocated bones.

“I can set it--”

“--Are you alright?” Geralt repeats, voice taking a low demand, but Jaskier’s already working through what he remembers from his reading.

His hands are shaking, but the discomfort pulling at Geralt’s face keeps him moving. “This is going to hurt--”

“--Jaskier--”

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s injured arm and tugs it forward, wincing at the soft pop.

“Fuck!” Geralt’s face is twisted into a sharp grimace, and he’s panting, chest heaving in quick, long waves that’s got Jaskier frowning deeply.

“Sorry--”

“--are you alright?”

Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath, taken back by the severity of Geralt’s tone, and he moves to nod, a habit, but he pauses, considering a previous argument.

“-- you lack the mere capability to assess your physical health...”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “No,” he admits. He feels weak, a result of fleeting adrenaline, and without meaning to, he drops his head against Geralt’s good shoulder with a deep sigh. “But I will be. You?”

“My shoulder tingles a little,” Geralt grunts out, good hand finding Jaskier’s waist. “But, it feels much better.”

Jaskier moves one hand to cup Geralt’s, and he chases the swelling wave of relief washing over him. “I’ll need to make a sling for your arm until it’s fully healed.” Yet, he makes no notion of moving, not when Geralt’s hand is a warm, steady weight at his waist.

“The first kill isn’t easy,” Geralt whispers. “But you did well. You knew that only silver can kill a doppler.”

Kill. Jaskier shudders at the word, and his hand tightens around Geralt’s. “Not exactly what I had in mind for this Tuesday, but,” he lifts his head to meet Geralt’s studying gaze, “I have a good instructor.” He smiles weakly, still slightly shaken at the core, but Geralt smiles back at him, a warm, encouraging smile, and just for a moment, Jaskier knows that they are okay.

#the witcher #netflix the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #whumpfic #my writing #my witcher writing #whump #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #so a) i'm not a doctor by any means and relied solely on google to tell me about shoulder discloations #and b) when tf am i'm gonna make them kiss???#i thought it was going to be this chapter #but the time still didnt feel right

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ao3feed-geralt-jaskier · 5 years ago

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by JessJesstheBest

Geralt grunted again, showing his teeth in a way that was more sneer than smile. “I just came to finish one class.” he growled. The guy’s eyebrows hitched up and he actually let out a surprised little scoff. “Oh, you think you’re going to finish class today?” Geralt grunted in a way that couldn’t have more clearly conveyed ‘Obviously’ if he’d said the word aloud. Mr. Twink Spin Instructor clicked his tongue sceptically, again looking Geralt over, his eyes lingering on his shoulders and neck. “We’ll see about that.”

Or Jaskier is a ruthless spin instructor and Geralt is just a himbo trying his best.

Words: 3262, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Gym AU, I've never written in this fandom before and these tags confused the crap out of me, why are they so long?!??!, anyway, weightlifter Geralt, Spin instructor Jaskier, Fandom Trumps Hate, OH yeah and everyone is wearing a crop top, Finger guns

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #netflix the witcher #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier

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saywhatjessie · 5 years ago

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Toss a Coin to Your Spin Class

I did a Fandom Trumps Hate and had a great time. Witcher gym au, fuck it. 3.3k [Ao3]

Yennefer collapsed in the wrong direction on the weights bench next to him and Geralt didn’t even turn his head.

She let loose a huge dramatic groan of agony, her usual lead-in to gym-time conversation. Geralt grunted in response. His usual response to everything.

“I despise the double standard of conventional beauty requirements more than I could possibly say,” she started. “For you it’s completely fine to bulk up like some barely sentient mountain but for me I must add cardio and endurance training to my weightlifting regimen if I’m to maintain any kind of toned physique as is required of me by our terrible misogynistic society.”

Geralt grunted in response.

Yennefer sighed and flipped over, back to the weightlifting bench so she could at least look as if she would be using the equipment properly. “I took that spinning class they keep advertising on the front bulletin board. It kicked my arse.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow but paid her no attention beyond that, continuing with his reps.

Yennefer generously waited for him to place his bar back on the rack, letting him take his time to respond to that clearly outrageous statement.

“I have seen your arse, Yen.” Geralt responded, finally. “I have to imagine you’re exaggerating.”

Yennefer preened a bit at the compliment but let loose another sigh. “I’m not. The relentless twink who teaches is a vicious tyrant. He picked on me immediately.”

Geralt’s attention had already been caught by Yennefer’s specific mention of a twink but the last bit about being picked on compelled him to respond with words. “Picked on you? How?”

Yennefer groaned again, theatrically flipping her hair over her shoulder in a respectable display of defeat. “He called me out as a weightlifter straight away and wouldn’t leave me alone all class, telling me that I wouldn’t last a day in his world and yelling at me to keep up. He was more than lovely by the end when I had actually managed to hold on for the whole class but I was so exhausted I couldn’t move. He laughed at me even as he helped me out of his room.”

There was far too much in that to unpack, Geralt just latched on to the first part. “He thinks weightlifters are weak?”

Yennefer shrugged. “It’s not like he’s wrong. Look at me.”

“Yes, but you’re…” Geralt trailed off, Yennefer’s expression working like a spell to dry his words right up.

“Yes?” She prompted, poisonously.

Geralt grunted in a way that would have sounded like someone clearing their throat in embarrassment if Geralt ever did anything as pedestrian as that.

“I’m not weak,” he answered, simply.

Yennefer hummed. A dangerous sound. The rattle of a snake before it lunges.

“Well,” she said, flipping her hair the other way, to punctuate her ‘well’. “Care to place a bet on that?”

Geralt found himself scanning his gym pass that next Wednesday at 6 o'clock in the morning.

This wasn’t unprecedented: Geralt worked from home, so most of his self-appointed socialization came from visiting the gym. And he often went early in the morning because, even if the gym was mostly empty, it still counted as socialization to be in a place other people were.

The difference was, instead of heading straight to the rowing machine to warm up or the weightlifting benches for his daily reps, he waited, glumly, outside the dark, glass-encased studio where the spin class was supposed to take place.

He took Yennefer up on her bet. He hadn’t wanted money: he was mostly doing this for pride (and bragging rights), but if Yen won, she got to pick Geralt’s outfits for the week.

Geralt’s outfits usually defaulted to the gym clothes he worked out in, seeing as that was his only reason to get dressed, and that consisted mostly of black cutoff sweats and a black muscle tank. Which is what he wore now.

The assembled crowd seemed to be mostly chattering moms, here for an early morning workout before they had to get their kids to school. Or there were some professional looking women, getting their class in before a day at the office. Mostly women.

There were at least two other men, speaking to each other, but from what Geralt could guess, they were likely here to ogle the twink spin instructor Yennefer had mentioned rather than any desire to ride a stationary bike to music for an hour.

All of them gave him a wide berth.

The doors opened at exactly 6:15, a mousy looking brunette guy peeking his head out with a grin. “Okay, true believers, who’s ready to sweat?”

Some of the moms sent up a practiced sounding “Whoo!” but the professional looking women just offered the guy a smile and made their way past him through the door, beelining toward the bikes in the middle.

Geralt hung toward the back, letting everyone head in before him, sure there would be a bike in the back corner he could claim when he got in there.

The mousy guy stopped him at the door with a hand on his chest.

“You’re new,” the guy said, looking up at Geralt with a teasing curiosity.

Geralt didn’t bother to reply. What he’d said hadn’t been a question.

The guy grinned, taking a step back and crossing his arms, blocking Geralt’s entrance to the studio. His frame was slight but muscled, his outfit a neon-hooded but sleeveless crop-top and a pair of running shorts like something out of postcard from South Beach from the 90’s. This was definitely the twink Yennefer had mentioned.

“And not very friendly,” the guy observed, looking Geralt up and down. “What, were you planning on sitting in the back of the room to brood?”

Geralt grunted. It was close enough to what he’d come to do.

The guy grinned wider. “I’m afraid that won’t do. You see we like to welcome every new student to my class of spin with a featured front row seat. That way I can best review your performance and decide what best to focus on in upcoming classes.”

Geralt grunted again, showing his teeth in a way that was more sneer than smile. “I just came to finish one class.” he growled.

The guy’s eyebrows hitched up and he actually let out a surprised little scoff. “Oh, you think you’re going to finish class today?”

Geralt grunted in a way that couldn’t have more clearly conveyed ‘Obviously’ if he’d said the word aloud.

Mr. Twink Spin Instructor clicked his tongue sceptically, again looking Geralt over, his eyes lingering on his shoulders and neck. “We’ll see about that.”

Geralt felt like he was going to die.

“That’s right everyone! We’re feeling it, we’re loving it, and now get ready to kick it up! Here we go! Everyone off your seat!”

Geralt attempted to stand in his stirrups but his legs gave out immediately. His tailbone connected painfully with the seat of the stationary bike.

The instructor had been perfectly accommodating at the start, leading Geralt to a bike at the front and helping him adjust his settings. He showed Geralt how to adjust the bike’s resistance and helped strap his feet into the stirrups that were in place of pedals. For safety.

Or just to keep him as a prisoner as he struggled and was verbally abused for it.

“Everyone is doing so wonderfully except our lovely blond mountain up front. Come on Mr. Grumpy, where’s your spirit?”

Geralt didn’t even have enough breath to grunt. He had no idea how this man could talk so much.

“Couple more pushes and then we have our decline. Then we’re onto sprints!”

Geralt huffed in a way that only vaguely resembled the word ‘fuck’.

He finished the pushes but couldn’t physically sit up in his seat for the decline. He was collapsed on the handlebars and couldn’t move.

He’s not sure when his legs stopped, only that the instructor was very loudly making fun of him.

“And it looks like our big strong muscle man is down for the count. Now, friends, let’s not mock him. It’s unkind to lambaste someone’s weaknesses.”

Geralt couldn’t pick up his head, but he curled four of his fingers down in a very weak approximation of the bird. The instructor laughed, jovially.

Geralt’s breath evened out in time, but his limbs would not cooperate with him as he tried to pick up with the workout. He managed to undo his feet from the stirrups, his arse slipping off the seat, slick from his sweat. He got his feet on the ground and stumbled out from the dark and loud room to spare himself the second half of the class. And his torment.

The instructor did take a parting shot as he left: “Excellent work finishing class, Mr. Muscles! Please do come back soon.”

Yennefer was extremely smug.

Geralt was nothing if not a man of his word so he arrived at the gym the next day and took her proffered garments without comment, ducking into the locker room to change.

It was the loudest leopard print jumpsuit he had ever seen. Geralt was disgruntled and impressed: where had she even found something like this in his size?

He did his workout as normal. He noted the extra stares he got from surrounding lifters but they said nothing so neither did he.

Yennefer talked a mile a minute, her breath not even stuttering with her reps, and all Geralt could think about was that damn twink who’d made fun of him. How had he instructed that whole class and still had the energy and breath to talk and cheer everyone on the entire time? He’d never even paused in his litany: constant encouragements and critiques and instructions and, in Geralt’s case, cheerful insults. It would have been admirable if it hadn’t been so annoying.

Perhaps there was value in such high intensity cardio.

Geralt scanned his gym card at the same time the next week, back for the spin class.

This time he had brought a 32 oz water bottle, a sweat towel so he wouldn't slip off the seat (again) and even more resolve.

He was also wearing an obscenely tight and tiny crop top and booty shorts with “Are u Nasty?” printed across the arse. This was the last day of Yennefer’s punishment and of course she’d saved the most ludicrous outfit for last.

The outfit did make him more interesting to the assembled crowd, it seemed, but all it took was a sneer from Geralt and they were minding their own business again. Or they weren’t outwardly gawping, at least, which was something.

When the instructor peeked his head out to welcome them to class that week his eyes instantly caught on Geralt and he positively lit up.

“You’re back!” he said, not even bothering to greet the other students. “I did not think you would be! Much less dressed like this.”

“Lost a bet,” Geralt volunteered for no reason he could discern. He didn’t need to explain himself to this guy. Nor justify what he was wearing. What business was Geralt of his?

“I’ll have to thank the bet commissioner should I ever meet them.” the guy mumbled, his eyes lingering on Geralt's exposed sternum. It really was an extremely short crop top.

Geralt just grunted, watching the instructor watch him.

“I didn’t properly introduce myself last time,” the instructor said, dragging his eyes up from Geralt’s navel to his face. “I’m Jaskier.”

Geralt grunted again but, after a moment of consideration, answered “Geralt.”

Jaskier grinned. “Glad to be acquainted,” he said. “Shall we begin class?”

Geralt was able to grab a bike in the back this time for which he could only be grateful: he knew his arse was falling out of these shorts and he was reluctant to subject the others to it.

He did better in this class. He drank water when they had a moment, though the guzzling of it did serve to make him feel ill. He wiped his sweat at intervals but dropped his towel halfway through and had to do without it for the rest of class. He couldn’t bend far enough to the floor to pick it up.

Even if Geralt was doing better, Jaskier still picked on him, even in the back of the class. Jaskier seemed to have decided he liked him. He told Geralt to lift his knees higher or try to hold his core and not bounce as much or “Do this bit without holding the handle bars”.Geralt followed his instructions, because he wasn’t a quitter, but he was sure each time he tried he embarrassed himself more.

He made it longer this time but still found himself collapsed over the handlebars before the end of class, unable to move. He didn’t bother dismounting his bike and making his way out this time, knowing he’d have to walk all the way through the other bikes to get there: the door was at the front of the room. And Geralt was happier to wait out the class than suffer that humiliation again.

So Jaskier teased him for his useless vanity muscles again (and, seriously, why were all of the insults about his muscles?) but by the time Geralt was officially spent, Jaskier didn’t linger on his presence for long.

By the time class was over, Geralt was feeling relatively back to normal if not completely sore all over. He undid his stirrups and bent to retrieve his towel, coming face to face with Jaskier when he stood back up.

He was grinning, of course. “You did better today.”

Geralt grunted, ignoring the dirt and grime from the towel’s time on the floor and using it to wipe his neck. “I always aim to improve.”

Jaskier smiled wider. “An admirable quality in a man.” he winked.

Geralt grunted again, turning his attention to his water bottle, unscrewing and re-screwing the top. “Any tips?”

Jaskier hummed, leaning against the front of Geralt’s bike. He was dressed similarly to last week, but this time with a blue-purple color palette, more berry look than the lemon-lime of last week.

“Try doing cardio between classes, too,” he answered, his eyebrows arched in a superior looking way. “Build up your endurance.”

Geralt grunted in a way that could have been construed as a ‘thanks’ before pushing off the bike and making his way out.

He heard Jaskier call out behind him: “See you back next week!”

Jaskier did see him back next week. And the next week, and the week after that.

After those first two classes, Jaskier got extremely, weirdly supportive. Every minute longer Geralt made it in class from the week before, Jaskier would praise him and give him compliments. Geralt was equally put off and flattered by it. Once, Jaskier said "Look at this white-haired Hercules, moving his muscle around. He's struggling but he's getting there!” when he’d had them do a lot of increased resistance sprints. And another time, during a speed run, he’d said “How do you move your huge body so fast? You're doing amazing!" Which was at once patronizing and nice to hear. He did not need to be babied, to be treated like a toddler just learning to ride a bike. But the way the spin instructor smiled at him did make him feel as if he’d achieved something.

Whether that something was an achievement with spin classes or something else was hard to say and no one’s business.

Yennefer had not been keeping up with Geralt’s continued attendance of the spin class. She was not usually at the gym that early and didn't catch Geralt until he was well into his workout, so she didn’t even know he’d been practicing cardio. She herself had been weighing the merits of taking up lap swimming which, while with the unfortunate side effect of making her feel like she’s drowning, also meant she could show off her fabulous physique and look sexy coming out of a pool, which were both extremely important to her.

Geralt, as someone who was fond of watching Yennefer get out of a pool, supported this. He also supported this as a way to steer her away from the spin classes, but one ulterior motive was enough. Yen wouldn’t go looking for another.

It wasn’t until the fourth class – a full month of failure and doing cardio as a warm-up before he lifted in the days between classes – that he could make it through a full class, not only having completed the exercise, but not feeling as if he wanted to die.

Jaskier made the whole class clap for him. Geralt gave them an awkward wave in acknowledgement.

His goal was to make it through an entire class. And now he had. He could give up the secrecy: there was no reason to come back.

Except Jaskier was skipping over to him after the class, smile wide in congratulations.

“Well done Mr. Muscle Man!” Jaskier said, clapping Geralt on each shoulder, shaking him a bit with his enthusiasm. “Oh what a journey it’s been! And now here you are!”

“Here I am,” Geralt growled, but in a fonder way than he’d thought himself capable of.

This instructor was extremely annoying. But somewhere along the way Geralt had become incredibly endeared to him.

“You really have done great,” Jaskier told him, his face less bright and more soft. He stood with his hands on his hips, swaying a bit as if the loud music from the class were still affecting him. His outfit was softer today as well: a forest green rather than neon monstrosity. It matched closer to Geralt’s usual black. “I do hope you come back.”

Geralt grunted. He didn’t have any reason to come back. He’d proven he could make it a whole class. He’d done what he’d gone there to do.

But–

“It’s not like I have anything else going on at this time,” he admitted, voice low.

Jaskier’s answering grin was loud.

“Excellent! Now I don’t have to do something stupid like ask you on a date just to see you again.”

Geralt blinked, fumbling his water bottle, the lid of which he’d been carefully unscrewing and rescrewing.

“Why would you do something like that?”

“Haven’t I just said?” Jaskier answered, his eyes glittering with the same mischief Geralt had seen when they’d first met. “To see you again.”

Geralt grunted, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “But now I’ve said I’ll come back to class you’re not interested in a date?”

Jaskier cocked his head, his sweaty hair falling past his eyes. “Are you asking?”

Geralt blinked again, biting his lip. He felt like he had been tricked, but he wasn’t completely angry about that.

“If I did,” he started, his already deep voice going deeper as he took half a step closer. “What would be your answer?”

Jaskier looked up at him, his neck stretching back the further he had to look up. “Why don’t you ask and find out.”

Geralt growled and Jaskier just continued to grin at him. The spark in his eye had become a smoldering fire and Geralt was becoming more and more interested in being consumed.

“Let’s go for a drink.” He said, his voice getting even lower, stepping even closer.

It wasn’t a question but Jaskier grinned and answered anyway.

“Yeah, okay.”

Jaskier didn’t take a single step back. He didn’t lean away. He stiffened his chin and met Geralt’s eye.

Yennefer was going to be so smug.

#The Witcher #oops I wrote a thing #Fandom Trumps Hate #Geralt #Jaskier

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thomasroach · 6 years ago

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Monster Hunter World: All Guild Card Titles

The post Monster Hunter World: All Guild Card Titles appeared first on Fextralife.

Ever wondered how many titles are available in Monster Hunter World? Wonder no longer as this guide will list and detail how to obtain all the titles for your guild card.

Monster Hunter World: All Guild Card Titles

Players of Monster Hunter World can enjoy some extra fun by customizing their Guild Card with countless titles. Guild Cards can be customized by editing their titles, backgrounds, greeting, sticker, equipment, and poses. They play a small role in the realm of Monster Hunter World allowing hunters to give them out to players they have met.

First & Third Slot titles

Available from the beginning:

(None)

Newbie

First Year

Beginner

Fledgling

Rookie

Hunter

Fisher

Fighter

Sniper

Sword

Rapier

Blade

Great Sword

Lance

Spear

Hammer

Mallet

Dual Blades

Twin Swords

Light Bowgun

Crossbow

Heavy Bowgun

Ballista

Katana

Long Sword

Arrow

Bow

Gunlance

Blast Pike

Horn

Flute

Hatchet

Switch Axe

Glaive

Staff

Halberd

Charge Blade

Squad

Now Recruiting

Newcomer

Helper

Courageous

Meowster

Ms.

Knightly Order

Hunting Crew

Man

Girl

Lone Wolf

Love

Stranger

Thrilling

Exciting

Solo

Duo

Trio

Party

Potion

Honey

Red

Blue

Green

Promising

Klutzy

Third-rate

Offense

Defense

On Sale Now!

First Fleet

Second Fleet

Third Fleet

Fourth Fleet

Fifth Fleet

New World

Commission

Good

Bad

Expedition

A-Lister

Scoutfly

Reach hunter rank 6

Romance

Lemon

Head

Mask

Body

Mail

Vambraces

Guard

Waist

Coat

Leggings

Boots

Armor

Assassin

Grand

Buster

Strider

Saber

Slayer

Brave

First-Class

24/7

Self

Anima

Pure

(Self-)Trained

Instructor

Exaordinaire

Trooper

Adventurer

Frontier

Miss

Cheery

Oasis

Protector

Arcadia

Buddy

White

Black

Shadow

Gloom

Dark

Jade

Pink

Crimson

Vermillion

Yellow

Rainbow

Shiny

Ravine

Reach hunter rank 11

Raw

Rough

Family

Stubborn

Amphibious

Fang

Youngster

Shot

Debonair

Proven

Fresh

Ultraviolet

Unforgiven

Capable

Phoenix

Prodigy

Genius

Dashing

Vanguard

Amnesiac

Mushroom

Nectar

Vale Tudo

Diversion Team

Pied Piper

Gunslinger

Angler

Berserker

Mercenary

Assault

Bride

Rambling

Eagle Eye

Soldier

Entomologist

Bomber

War

Killer Bee

Bearer

Tragedy

Sweet

Tomorrow

Papa

Battalion

Peach

Diet

Army

Foreman

Original

Amateur

Reach hunter rank 16

Leader

Ace

Limitless

Veteran

Raid

Cleave

Melody

Cannon

Mutant

Spinning

Dancing

Stalwart

Romantic

Shooting Star

Quickdraw

Beautiful

Nostalgic

Powerful

Unrivaled

Kid

Dude

Best

Lucky

Challenge

Fleet

Lady

Mr.

New Land

Relaxing

Monthly

Artisan

First

Armed

Cunning

Punk

Technician

If Only

Painful

Slowpoke

Advanced

Pro

Beloved

Devoured

Hard-Boiled

Masterful

Giga

Strawberry

Cute

Nearly

Pretty

Reach hunter rank 30

Lord

Shinobi Freedom

Dream

Altair

Kunoichi

Vega

Vagrant

Iron

Breaker

Samurai

Model

Traveler

Slash

Wing

Break

All

Weapon

Anonymous

Fan

Crisis

Heroine

Finest

Natural

Heartthrob

Boy

So-called

Tiny

Former

Casual

Madam

Professor

Winner

Loser

Fever

Coward

Skilled

Singed

Beast

Free

Chicken

Bug

Silent

Kinda

Treasure

Full-Auto

Compound

First-Time

Soft

Fate

Reach hunter rank 50

Tail

Shaker

Sheathed

Headshot

Coordinated

Hardcore

Exacting

Divine

Very Stubborn

Salvo

Surefire

Strategist

Eco

Ebon

Unlucky

Slim

Unbelievable

Story

Cataclysm

Ore

Messy

Value

Derring-do

Country

Petit

End of an Era

Sealed

Graduate

Specialty

Apprentice

Neo

Sister

Acrobatic

Maiden Name

Myself

Walker

Alchemist

Thief

Captive

Mining Master

Transporter

Guardian

Grizzled

Safari

Trolley

Minion

Experienced

Mecha

Brand-new

Researcher

Reach hunter rank 100

Complete

Sage

Perfect

Ruler

Big Bang

Blademaster

Beastmaster

All-or-nothing

Indiscriminating

Machine Crew

One-shot

Gamble

Prism

Faint

Cocky

Exclusive

Team

Mostly

Reborn

Wonderful

Viva

Pseudo

Disciple

Not for Sale

Radiant

Beauty

(Temporary)

Ripe

Favorite

Squishy

Darling

Charmer

Big

Intermittent

Max

Fishmaster

Rodeo

Excellent

Regular

Stroll

Love-struck

At First Sight

Luv

Roving

Rare

Second-rate

Mascot

Partner

Popular

Reach hunter rank 250

As Always!

Sufferer

Agent

Riled-up

Shuddering

Terra

Archdemon

Requiem

Ballad

Marvelous

Dauntless

Bushido

Avenger

Double

Hilarious

Role Model

Class Leader

President

Exhausted

Indestructible

Royal

Blushing

Chaos

Retired Number

Of All Time

Sexy

Awesome

Flex

Unbeaten

All-out

Joy

Group

No. 1

Mrs.

Born

Nameless

Giant

Sorta

Mini

Lad

Syndrome

Anti

Crew

Captain

Passion

Special

Half

Respect

Bargain

Mega

Reach hunter rank 500

Legend

Champion

Hero

Clear

Reincarnated

Strongest

Top-class

Unparalleled

Jet-black

Emperor

Robot

Baby

Gorgeous

Short

Foremost

Anger

Life

Witch

Person

Forbidden

Snowflake

Famed

Long

Audacious

Extreme

Constant

Gourmet

Maid

Magistrate

Weakling

Unthinkable

Huh

Macho

Research Team

Campaigner

Scholar

Bounty

Illusion

Intelligent

Sapphire Star

Blinding

Ultra

Disappointing

Human

Smart

Hunt

Flower

Right-hand

Men

Women

Super

Complimentary

Alias

Hope

Pioneer

Freed

Knight

General

Imperial

Supreme

Crack

Opportunistic

God

Terror

Squire

Mettle

Karma

Star

Dragon

Czar

Fearless

Brand

Drink

Egg

Dumpling

Friendly

Hunt-crazy

Monster Hunter

Nailed it

Tempered

Trailblazer

Challenger

BFF

Vibe

Tracker

Titan

Observer

Mission

Handler

Quirk

Fly

Miracle

Fantasy

Chockablock

Big Sis

Specimen

Smitten

Aerial Battle

Charming

Reach hunter rank 999

Monster

World

Top

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Rathian

Rathian Hunted

Land Hunted

Duchess Hunted

Wyvern Princess Hunted

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Pink Rathian

Cherry Blossom

Valkyrie

Queen

Graceful

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Rathalos

Rathalos

Skies

Prince

King

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Azure Rathalos

Azure

Sapphire

Soul

Regent

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Diablos

Diablos

Berserk

Desert

Horned

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Black Diablos

Violent

Piercing

Devil

Demon

Slay 10, 15, 20, and 30 Kirin

Kirin

Stormy

Thunder

Flash

Slay 10, 15, 20, and 30 Kushala Daora

Kushala

Gale

Cyclone

Soaring

Slay 10, 15, 20, and 30 Teostra

Teo

Shimmering

Kaiser

Flame Emperor

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Lavasioth

Lavasioth

Amber

Magma

Red-hot

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Barroth

Barroth

Charge

Tyrant

Strong

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Uragaan

Uragaan

Destruction

Rolling

Sledgehammer

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Anjanath

Anjanath

Bully Hunted

Wild Hunted

Brute Wyvern

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Great Jagras

Great Jagras

Gluttonous

Gobbling

Shaggy

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Pukei-Pukei

Pukei-Pukei

Venomous

Pop

Teacher

Slay 10, 15, 20, and 30 Nergigante

Nergigante

Power

Rebirth

Consume

Slay 10, 15, 20, and 30 Xeno’jiiva

Xeno’jiiva

Winged

Energy

Honcho

Guide Zorah Magdaros

Zorah

Volcano

Advance

Colossal

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Kulu-Ya-Ku

Kulu-Ya-Ku

Burglar

Dexterous

Raptor

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Jyuratodus

Jyuratodus

Mud

Water

Owner

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Tobi-Kadachi

Tobi-Kadachi

Fulgur

Flying Squirrel

Agile

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Paolumu

Paolumu

Balloon

Floaty

Pearly

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Legiana

Legiana

Elegant

Speedster

Twister

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Great Girros

Great Girros

Ravenous

Fear Hunted

Paralyzing

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Odogaron

Odogaron

Watchdog

Predator

Fierce

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Radobaan

Radobaan

Bone

Spiral

Thorns

Slay 10, 15, 20, and 30 Vaal Hazak

Vaal Hazak

Zombie

Corpse

Destination

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Dodogama

Dodogama

Drill

Dignity

Bold

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Bazelgeuse

Bazelgeuse

Trickster

Trouble

Raider

Hunt 20, 30, 40, and 50 Tzitzi-Ya-Ku

Tzitzi-Ya-Ku

Flashy

Spotlight

Mirror

Hunt 50 Tempered Monsters

Adept

Commander

Charisma

Slay 50 Elder Dragons

Valiant

Mythic

Legendary

Already

Feral

Comet

Hunt 100 Large Monsters

Maniac

Tough

Enraged

Hunt 500 Large Monsters

Master

Fairy-tale

Unprecedented

Complete a quest in the Ancient Forest

Ancient Tree

Forest

Complete a quest in the Wildspire Waste

Wildspire

Wastes

Complete a quest in the Coral Highlands

Coral

Highlands

Complete a quest in the Rotten Vale

Rotten

Vale

Complete a quest in the Elder’s Recess

Elder

Recess

Complete 50 optional quests

Liberty

Guide

Guidance

Complete 50 Investigations

Seeker

Knowledgeable

Fair Wind

Complete 10, 30, and 50 Arena Quests

Black Belt

Arena

Chosen

Expert

Hardened

Decidedly

Gladiator

Glory

Admired

Respond to 10 SOS and complete the quest

Backup

Great

Interceptor

Complete 100 Multiplayer Quests

Comrade

Friend

Lonely

Collect 50 Guild Cards

Bond

Spread

Link

Recruit a Tailraider

Tailraider

Stray

Meow

Grimalkyne

Gajalaka

Obtain 100,000 research points

Insect

Plant

PhD

Earn 1 million zenny

Tycoon

Celebrity

Resort

Acquire 5 pieces of Rarity 8 gear

Gear

Obsession

Quintessential

Arm

Collector

Lofty

Join a Squad

Sensei

Prime

Business

Active-duty

Sweetheart

Real

Troupe

Princess

Trendy

Heir

Famous

Killer

Telepathic

Unmovable

Eternal

Service

History

Final

Homemade

Warrior

Archer

Bug-catcher

Farmer

Book

Dapper

Curmudgeon

Maiden

Moxie

Grillmaster

Fisherman

Tracks

Item

Prize

Specialist

Skill

Using

Wobbly

Rider

Schemer

Hide-and-Seek

Well-done

White Wind

Participate in the Kulve Taroth Siege

Kulve Taroth

Hoard

Exhilarating

Highly Prized

Obtain from Deviljho Update

Deviljho

Demonic

Destroy

Invader

Obtain from Lunastra Update

Lunastra

Flame

Regal

Incandescent

Obtain from Horizon Zero Dawn PS4 Collaboration

Zero Dawn

Override

Machine

Nora Tribe

Outcast

Obtain from USJ Collaboration

Universal

Studios

Wonder

World’s

Cool Japan

Obtain from Street Fighter V Collaboration

Rival

Destined

Living Legend

Bandana

K.O.

Obtain from Devil May Cry Collaboration

Stylish

Must Die

Ebony

Ivory

Force Edge

Obtain from Mega Man Collaboration

Dr.

E-Tank

Classic

Rush

Rock n’ Roll

Complete “A Visitor from Eorzea (Extreme)”

Warrior of Light Completed

Slay Behemoth to complete the Final Fantasy XIV Collaboration

Fantasy

Crystal

Dragoon

Behemoth

XIV

Obtain Bayek Layered armor or Assassin’s Hood from the Assassin Creed Collaboration

Origins

Assassins

Bayek

Scarab

Pharaoh

Stealth

Slay a Leshen from The Witcher 3 Collaboration

Witcher

Geralt

Ciri

Leshen

White Wolf

Igni

Solved all of the mysteries in Contract: Trouble in the Ancient Forest

Wild Hunt

Partake in the Spring Blossom Fest

Spring

Bloom

March

April

May

Partake in the Summer Twilight Fest

Summer

Ocean

June

July

August

Partake in the Autumn Harvest Fest

Autumn

Pumpkin

September

October

November

Partake in the Winter Star Fest

Winter

Snow

December

January

February

Partake in the Appreciation Fest

Anniversary

One Year

Congrats

Celebrate

Birthday

Second Slot titles

(None)

For

And

Plus

With

From

Per

Who

What

When

Are

Why

His

Her

Upon

Our

Your

Until

But

Colored

Lacking

Shrouded

Called

Dancer

Swift

Town

City

Using

Looking

Gang

Devotee

Type

Ally

Boss

Assistant

Teacher

Limited

Occasional

Vs.

Worker

Fusion

Minus

Circle

Less

The

Around

Across

Division

–

€

★

Except

Meaning

Pre

Post

Only

During

Again

Also

Since

Use

Very

Wait

Try

☆

Just

Hate

Else

Besides

If you enjoyed this guide be sure to check out next Monster Hunter World: All Guild Card Backgrounds to see the array of Guild Cards Backgrounds you can attain.

Don’t miss out on the upcoming Monster Hunter World: Spring Blossom Festival 2019 Contents.

For all your Monster Hunter needs stop by our Monster Hunter World Wiki. You can also check out the most recent guides in Monster Hunter World: Arch Tempered Nergigante and Monster Hunter World: Patch 6.00 Notes & Witcher Collaboration Event.

If you are looking for more Monster Hunter World info, you can go in-depth with our featured guides: All Armor Limits, Everything about Kulve Taroth, Long Sword Elemental Limits, Dual Blades’ Max Element & Status Limits, Attack Values & You, Crown Sizes & You, Monster Hunter World: The Canteen Explained With Ingredient Guide or Monster Hunter World: End Game Guide.

The post Monster Hunter World: All Guild Card Titles appeared first on Fextralife.

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