#such a pity there was no eskel at all at any point oh well

[widevibratobitch]

just finished the second season. words cannot describe how much i don't care about Ciri.

[jaskiersvalley]

💜✨ This is an Amazing Creator Award! Your creations are incredible, and they light up every dashboard they land on. Pass this on to eight of your favorite creators to show your appreciation and let them know their art is loved! ✨💜

Bready, my wonderful friend. Thank you for this ask, it really made me smile. You're an eternal delight and I want to say thank you for your thoughtfulness and constant kindness. Have some silly Lambskel as a token of my gratitude.

CW: Clowns (which reminds me of this post)

Children grew up at an alarming rate. Eskel could have sworn it was only a few blinks ago that Geralt took guardianship of baby Ciri with Yennefer. Now, she was turning six and Eskel had been roped into chaperoning a birthday party. Again. Though he did have a scrawled invite arrive in the post, painstakingly stickered, glittered and signed by Ciri. It was nice that she wanted him there but Eskel knew that if she hadn't invited him as a guest then Geralt would have been gently bullying him into helping out on the day anyway. Not like Eskel minded, he loved Ciri and would happily do anything for her.

The big day rolled round and Eskel turned up early at Geralt's house. There were already balloons around the door, the house inside was decorated with birthday banners and, in true Ciri fashion, dragons. That year she had very sweetly demanded a clown for her birthday and Eskel was curious to see whether Geralt had given in despite his strong dislike of them. Why someone felt the need to put on so much makeup and parade around in ridiculous clothes was beyond reason. Once, while drunk, Geralt had admitted it made him uneasy to the point of it actually being a fear.

"Ah, you're here," Geralt said as he stepped out of the kitchen and spotted that Eskel had let himself in. "I need to have a word with you."

A strong hand wrapped around Eskel's bicep and tugged him into the kitchen. He went willingly enough, curious as to what secret Geralt was going to let him in on this time. They stood in silence for a moment, Geralt watching him with serious eyes.

"Don't fuck the clown."

Frankly, Eskel was a little offended at the request. "Is this because of the demon stripper Yen hired for your birthday?" The look Geralt gave him was answer enough. "Come on, she was hot, was off the clock by the time I took her home. And she kept her horns on."

The punch to the arm should have been expected and Eskel grumbled as he rubbed the soreness left behind. Before he could complain, movement in the garden caught his attention. There was the clown, hauling a large, colourful bag to the small gazebo that had been set up. Suddenly, Eskel understood Geralt's request and he promptly decided it wasn't something to pay attention.

"Oh."

"No." Geralt said flatly as Eskel took one last look at the clown and turned to go out into the garden. "Eskel, I'm serious. No! Don't fuck the clown!"

"I won't," Eskel called over his shoulder. "I'd let him fuck me."

Unfortunately for Eskel, Yennefer was in the garden and seemingly in on the "don't let Eskel fuck the clown" mission. Which was quite rude on several levels. Firstly, Eskel was offended that the other two thought he would jeopardise Ciri's birthday party for the sake of a fuck. Secondly, he was an adult who did not need to be guarded and protected. If he wanted to stick his dick in someone, nobody but he and the intended person had any right to object.

As it was, he still found out the clown was called Lambert and, if Eskel focused then he could make out the most sinfully plush lips under the layers of makeup. It was on pretty thick but Eskel couldn't feel like he was in a place to judge, he'd never had to dress up as a clown before so that slathering was probably normal. It was difficult to make out the true features of Lambert under all of it but Eskel knew for sure he was handsome.

There was no time to get to know Lambert any better because Ciri and her friends turned up in a wild, screaming mass and it was all hands up deck. Balloon animals were the start of Lambert's entertainment and Eskel had to give it to him, he was good. Especially when he looked at the parents with a half made giraffe that most definitely looked like a cock before becoming something more child friendly. Eskel didn't think he'd snorted that hard in a long while. It actually hurt.

Next came the cake and Lambert took a well earned break. Well, not quite, because he happily made crowns for all the adults, showing them how to untwist them into swords if they wanted a fight later on when the children had gone. And he winked at Eskel when he gave him a crown and a dubious looking sword that was most certainly two twists away from being a cock.

"Just how many balloon cock shapes do you know?" He had blurted out and quietly adored the smug smirk Lambert sported.

"All of them. But I like to model them on real life ones. And I don't have a model at the moment."

Eskel barely held back on a guffaw at such a blatant come on. It was only Geralt's grip on the back of his neck that held him in check, along with the low growl of "you will not fuck the clown."

"Not while he's wearing large circus trousers," Eskel had agreed.

His composure was totally wrecked by Lambert cocking an eyebrow at him. "Want to see what's under the big top?" Because yes, Eskel really did.

After cake and presents Lambert had a set of magic tricks to show. it started off quite well, nothing impressive but the cards were fun to follow and Eskel saw how sleight of hand worked.

"And now," Lambert announced, pulling a top hat from under the table. "I will make a rabbit appear!"

The top hat did indeed look empty and Eskel was curious whether it would be a real rabbit and whether Lambert kept it to a traditional white on. Getting the children to join in with the chanting, Lambert tapped a wand against the hat and reached into it, only to frown. Rummaging in the hat, he cursed much to the children's delight.

"It seems our magic has gone a bit wonky," Lambert said, not hiding his agitation very well. "Rather than manifesting a rabbit in the hat, we have conjured him up somewhere in the garden."

"Maybe he's up your sleeve?" Ciri called. "You should check!"

There was no way the rabbit was up his sleeve but Lambert dutifully reached in. He pulled out a card, a couple of coins, an unending row of silk tissues, another wand that erupted into a bouquet of flowers. All of it was met by loud laughter and cheering from the children who were rolling around laughing the more frantically Lambert pulled things out.

By pure chance, Eskel gazed out over the garden, only to spot a large white rabbit merrily hopping towards the house. Quietly, he went to grab it, cradling the obviously well loved and spoilt creature, petting it out of habit. Watching Lambert grit his way through a few more rather lacklustre and failed magic tricks, Eskel couldn't help but be thoroughly charmed. He almost missed the growling sigh from next to him.

"Fine. Fuck the clown." Geralt looked utterly resigned.

With Lambert looking a little frayed around the edges, Eskel finally took pity on him. Walking up behind the children, he cleared his throat.

"There I was, trying to have a slice of cake when this suddenly appeared on my plate instead. I don't suppose any of you know anything about it?"

The cheer from the kids was deafening but Eskel only had eyes on Lambert and the almost palpable relief rolling off him in waves.

"Maybe if Lambert would care to whisk this rabbit away, it might bring my slice of cake back."

Rabbit carefully handed over with one last scritch between the ears, Eskel stepped back and happily joined in with the chanting to hide the rabbit in the top hat again. Thankfully it was a success and no rabbit was visible when Lambert showed his audience with a flourish.

After that the children were ushered away and Lambert was left in peace to pack away. Well, mostly in peace. Eskel lingered and watched, curious to see Lambert without the clown makeup.

"That was an entertaining set," Eskel commented, sorely tempted to casually lean against the leg of a gazebo. But it would never hold his weight so he refrained.

"Fucking Rabbit," Lambert growled, much more rigid and tight now that he wasn't performing for children. "I'm going to eat him for dinner if he does that again."

"And how often do you threaten him with that?"

After a telling silence, Lambert snorted. "Every other day. He's a bastard."

Valiantly, Eskel held back from commenting how pets usually turned out like owners. But then he'd have to admit to Lil Bleater being an absolute menace and what would that say about him? Instead he straightened up and sauntered closer to Lambert.

"So, the offer of seeing a pitched tent still available?"

He crowded against Lambert who gave him a once over before nodding. It was all the permission Eskel needed before kissing him, heedless of how makeup smeared against his skin. Behind them, the door to the house was slammed shut and Eskel had to pull away with a chuckle.

"I'm under strict instructions not to fuck the clown." His eyes were dark as he took in the smudged and ruined makeup around Lambert's lips. "So, either the clown fucks me, or you can take your makeup off."

There was hesitation in Lambert's expression. He was obviously torn, lower lip caught between his teeth. "I'm not-" he broke off and his shoulders hunched. "I'm not handsome like you under the makeup."

"I think you're plenty handsome enough. Why don't I help you take it off?"

Another pause before Lambert gave a nod. He sat on one of the chairs after handing Eskel the makeup remover and wipes. It was slow progress but the more Eskel saw, the more he liked. One half of Lambert's face was done and he flinched away from Eskel's touch.

"It's not pretty," he warned and Eskel nodded before reaching again. That time Lambert didn't move away but he was tense as a scar was unveiled.

"You worry that it's not pretty," Eskel rumbled, "yet you called me handsome with all my scars. Double standards much?"

There was no reply but Lambert couldn't meet his eyes. Gently, Eskel wiped the last of Lambert's makeup off and sat back with a grin. "Knew it. Utterly, devastatingly handsome. I'm afraid it's terminal."

That drew a laugh from Lambert at least and Eskel leaned in to kiss the giggled from his lips.

"I think Geralt and Yennefer can handle the kids from here on," Eskel purred. "Why don't I take you home?"

As they left, he sent a cheeky wave to Geralt who was watching them from the kitchen window. Eskel couldn't resist sending him a text from the car though.

"Thanks for the fun afternoon. Don't worry, I didn't fuck the clown. We'll play it safe though, he'll keep the shoes on to keep my knees comfortable though."

The reply from Geralt didn't bear repeating but it had Eskel throwing his head back and laughing.

[bi-aragorn]

Smooch The Bard

Birthday fic for @mayastormborn from last month

Fic goes with this lovely art bc @dapandapod and I schemed and then i ran out of time anyway but you get the point

Geraskel floof is also here on Ao3

Rating: Gen

Tags: Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Pillow Fort, No Plot To Be Seen

the absolute softest version of a pillow fort i will ever write hiding below

By the time Jaskier finally finished performing, he was hot, sweaty, and utterly exhausted. It was the fifth night he had played in this particular inn, and there had been another tavern the week before that. At least now they were in Oxenfurt so he could go and collapse into the comfort of his own bed after a nice long bath. Maybe he could even persuade one of his partners to carry him home…

He swooned dramatically as he reached their table. With the back of his hand held against his forehead and the other resting against the table, he let out a pitiful groan.

"Oh, I am so tired!" he sighed, dropping his weight onto the table a little more. "If only I had a big strong witcher to ca- Hey! I wasn't finished!" he squawked, clutching his lute protectively as Geralt scooped him up into his arms, clearly impatient to get out and away from the noise as well. Eskel laughed, and leant over to press a kiss to Geralt's temple, smoothing out the frown. Jaskier smiled as he felt the rumble from deep in Geralt's chest as he purred.

They arrived back at their rooms about five minutes later, not wasting any time dawdling to look at the view, and Jaskier was already struggling to keep his eyes open. He blinked sluggishly, and hid a yawn behind his hand as Eskel fumbled in his pocket for the keys. Geralt was stroking Jaskier's arm, fingers brushing against the bare skin at his wrist ever so softly. Jaskier stared in awe, stunned as he always was by how tender and careful Geralt could be with both him and Eskel. It was all very different from the Geralt who had punched him when they first met. Though, Jaskier supposed, Geralt hadn’t really changed very much- he'd punched that stablehand last week for trying to butter up Roach with sugar lumps- but they understood each other much better now. He hid his face in Geralt's neck, hiding the overwhelmed tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. The door clicked softly shut behind them, and Jaskier felt himself being lowered to the ground. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, looking up to see two bright pairs of yellow eyes staring straight at him. He blinked, lost for words for a moment, and then felt Eskel's warm hand on his lower back. He shivered, and leant further in, sighing happily when Geralt's hand joined it.

"Geralt, why don't you go and fetch the wine?" Eskel said as his hand rubbed circles across Jaskier's back. "I'll fetch the pillows,"

With a quick peck to his cheek, Jaskier found himself being ushered to sit on the rug in the middle of the living space and watched as Geralt rummaged in the cupboard for glasses. Eskel scurried about their rooms gathering all of their pillows and blankets, which he dropped in a pile at Jaskier's feet. He shuffled, feet rucking up the edge of the carpet, and when Jaskier looked up, he could see a faint blush rising in Eskel’s cheeks. Jaskier tilted his head to the side as Eskel cleared his throat, staring at the floor, unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes. What could possibly have made the other man so nervous? He reached a hand out to him, and wrapped it around Eskel’s ankle, petting it softly in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

The fidgeting stopped as Geralt appeared behind him and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“C'mon, Eskel, just ask him,” Geralt murmured, before moving away to set down the wine. Eskel blinked and took a sharp breath before finally meeting Jaskier’s gaze.

“It’s silly but… we thought you might like it,” he paused again, pushing the rug back into place with his foot. “We used to do this thing as kids were we’d make a fort-” he gestured vaguely at the collection of pillows- “and then get snacks and stay up talking and shit. ‘S just nice, you know,” he scratched the side of his face, bashful grimace marring his expression. “Thought we could just enjoy being close to each other, and you could maybe get some sleep after your perform-oof!”

He was cut off by Jaskier slamming his full weight into him with a forceful hug. Jaskier was chattering excitedly, though much of it was lost with how squashed his face was against Eskel’s chest.

“-yes yes yes, let’s do it, Geralt can you get some snacks, too,” Jaskier babbled, and Geralt was up and into the kitchen within seconds. Jaskier slowly eased back and smiled broadly up at Eskel, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re so sweet to me, darling,” he whispered, and bounced away to begin arranging the blankets as he wanted them.

It didn’t take long before the three of them had a very cosy looking fort set up in the corner of their room. Stripped down to their braies so that they wouldn’t overheat, they crawled into the space and settled themselves comfortably. Jaskier had ended up in the middle, surrounded by the two larger men, and he felt very small and very, very safe. He sighed, and wriggled back against the cushions, eyes slipping closed. He could hear rustling coming from his two witchers, and then warm arms were wrapping around him. He slung his own arm around Geralt’s shoulder, and smiled widely as he felt them lean in closer.

“Love you, Jask,” Eskel whispered, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Jaskier’s smile grew bigger as he felt Geralt lean in from the other side, his nose pressing into Jaskier’s face as he gave him a kiss as well. They sat in contented silence for a moment, the two witchers occasionally kissing his face, as he basked in their affections.

“Want some of this wine, Jaskier?” Geralt said after a while, still managing to sound gruff despite the way they were all cuddled up to each other. Jaskier giggled, and leant over to kiss first Eskel and then Geralt.

“You spoil me,” he chuckled again and reached out, waggling his fingers. “Go on then.”

[officerjennie]

23 with all the Witcher characters you'll write

Anon.

-squishes your face-

Anon I love you. I wish you nothing but the absolute best life anyone could ever imagine, because you have given me such a gift.

Characters included here: Jaskier, Aiden, Lambert, Geralt, Eskel, Vesemir (let’s be real, he’s just there for the snacks. Catch him filling his pockets with nuts and pastries to horde in his office). Prompt: orgy

(edit most of the way through writing this: HOW THE FUCK DID I WRITE SOMETHING FOR THE PROMPT ORGY AND INCLUDE NO SEX, I JUST-)

--

Despite popular believe, Jaskier had the best ideas.

The entirety of his previous afternoon had been spent with preparations for the event. It had only taken a little bit of bribing to convince Vesemir that this wasn’t going to end horrifically or with some destruction or another, and really only another bottle of (very expensive) wine as the cherry on top to be given permission to use the mess hall in Kaer Morhen as the location. Though honestly, there wasn’t anywhere else that would have suited the party - so Jaskier was very glad no more bribing was in order there.

If he was honest, convincing everyone to take part in it was the easy part. One really didn’t know the definition of ‘sexually repressed’ until one met a horny witcher who was trying to deny himself the lusts of the skin and Jaskier could count on his first three fingers some witchers that suited that bill to the T.

The fact that he knew exactly five made that rather sad, but he digressed.

With some rather flirtatious invitations, Jaskier had secured participation, but that was only phase one of his plans. After that was making it an actual party, an event, because there was no way in all of the fresh hells that he would let this be even close to mediocre. 

So, the table settings began.

At the end of the evening he found himself spinning in glee, hands clapped in front of his face, fingers touching his lips as he admired his handiwork. All done by himself - the boys could all thank him later for his hard work, since he’d wanted it to all be a surprise for the lot of them, and he had honestly outdone himself.

He hoped no one asked how he got the flowers during this time of year. Some secrets were better left untouched.

It was close to dark, the outside colors bringing in brilliant oranges and purples, when Jaskier set off to round everyone up. Geralt was the first person he found - a given, really. He’d spent enough time traveling around with him that he knew exactly where he’d be, the exact position he’d be in on his bed as he sharpened his sword (because his daggers would have been the first he sharpened, and it was too late in the evening for him to be starting on the task), no doubt trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking forward to anything or affected by the thought of such an event.

His rather tight pants gave him away, though. With a very firm kiss to his delicious lips and a swipe of his eager tongue, Jaskier let Geralt know it was ready. He tugged him up off the bed and patted his arse and sent him on his way, determined to find everyone else before he went down himself and got far too distracted.

The grumbling he heard from his witcher just made him smile more.

It took a little longer to locate Eskel, but Jaskier had figured it easier to find him than the others. Surprisingly he hadn’t been out visiting Lil’ Bleater, the little lady having already been put up snug in her bed, bleating out so cutely when she saw Jaskier that he had to spent a few minutes giving her some love before he went on his way. As he did, he couldn’t help but think about how witchers just...really did love to imprint on animals. Geralt with his precious Roach, Eskel with his classy lady. He wondered what sort of animal Vesemir might relate to, or Lambert?

Wait, no, he didn’t want to know that second one. He blinked in horror and set that thought firmly to a forgotten corner of his mind to grow dust.

Instead of finding Eskel with his adorable little lady, Jaskier ended up running into him in the kitchen. It had been the smell of some wondrous pastries that had clued him in, drawing him in like the hungry sweets demon he was, his fingers already itching to snatch some up and run away with his booty.

Not that he really needed to steal one. It was just more fun that way.

Sure enough, his nose had not lied to him. Eskel was pulling out some of his own handmade and famously delicious apple pastries out of the oven just as Jaskier peeked his head in, and his mouth watered just at the sight. Also, dare he say it, but Eskel was very cute with flour dusted on his spikey, scary shirt.

“Are those for little ol’ me?”

Eskel didn’t startle at his voice but Jaskier didn’t expect him to, used to the terrifyingly good hearing that came with all of the other witcher mutations. “You did say snacks, right? Figured these might do.”

“Oh! Oh, Eskel,” Jaskier felt his eyes tearing up, skipping into the kitchen and just stopping himself from flinging his arms around his now officially second favorite witcher. He skidded to a stop right in front of him, wringing his hands with emotion to keep from burning himself or Eskel (or accidentally impaling himself on said scary spikey shirt). “You really didn’t have to, I had the snacks all set up and planned out, but I’m ever so touched you did! Oh, these will make the perfect addition.”

“They have to cool first, Jask.” Eskel had a very knowing twinkle in his eye as he stepped around the bard, going to place the flat pan on a rack he had set up on the table. “I’ll bring them down when they’re ready, then you can have one.”

Jaskier pouted, eyeing the pastries and wondering if it was worth burning both his fingers and his tongue on them. Which, yes, it was, but he’d rather not disappoint the pastry chef. So he deflated with a deep sigh, content in knowing that he’d get some later - and that Eskel very much did not forget about his plans.

Vesemir was next on his list, and it only took one single stop by his office to remind him. All Jaskier had to do was knock on his door and wait patiently for Vesemir to say he could come in, then he poked his head in to see if he’d be joining them.

“I’ll be there.”

That’s all the answer Jaskier got, and he considered it good enough. With him checked off the list, there was only two left, and they would thankfully be easy to locate this evening. They weren’t usually - well, Lambert by himself was. But any time Aiden was joining them for the winter Lambert was made scarce, always off doing something with his dear friend, and that something was usually mischief.

Aiden was a wonderful and a horrid influence on Lambert, and everyone adored him for it. Most of the time. 

Luckily, Jaskier already knew where they were. He’d heard their training all the way in the keep and made his way to the training grounds, stopping by Geralt’s room to steal one of his coats on his way, not willing to face the cold with his own considering Geralt’s were much warmer (even if much less fashionable - had the man never heard of color?).

As it happened, they’d just recently stopped their training session - luck considering how long they’d go some evenings. Both of them had abandoned their shirts at some point, maybe even right at the start of their training, though Jaskier wasn’t sure how either of them could stand it when the snow in some places came up to his shins.

Stupid sexy witchers. It was entirely unfair. Both the cold resistant part and the sexy part. 

“Hey, little songbird.” Aiden stretched his arm back and rested it against his shoulder, dangling his sword behind him and watching as Jaskier’s eyes followed the movement. “S’time already?”

With his mouth suddenly quite dry, and what with his feet suddenly not knowing how to walk in snow, Jaskier had to stumble out some sort of an answer. Not that he could really hear it, he was paying too much attention to how Aiden flexed his arm just so - damn stupid sexy witchers.

Lambert laughed at him without a single ounce of pity, and if Jaskier’s brain wasn’t currently melting he would have pointed out that the same damn tricks worked on him if Aiden wanted them to. At least Aiden took some pity on him after that, heading back to the keep and shooting him a wicked grin as he brushed past him. 

Even with all the snow, it was suddenly a bit too warm for the coat he’d nabbed.

But that - that was everyone. Jaskier shook himself, a wide grin blooming on his face, the cold air biting at his cheeks and nose. Everyone was headed to the mess hall, the snack tables and punch were all ready. Eskel had been kind enough to make some of his apple pastries which would be a big hit. And! Jaskier had procured enough lubricant that they wouldn’t all be regretting it come the morning.

He rubbed his hands together as he turned around, hurrying back to get to the mess hall himself. This, without a single doubt, was his best idea yet - and hands down a night that he would always remember. 

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (6/ 11)

word count: 7777

AO3

part 1   / part 2 / part 3  / part 4  / part 5 /  part 7

Tw: assault (mugging) assault (taking away someone’s mobility/orientation aid), injuries

It was strange making it up the mountain to Kaer Morhen. Too long had Geralt not found it in him to go to the only place he had left to call home. Even stranger was taking the track before the first leaves of autumn began to fall. Never before had Geralt been this early and it filled him both with a sense of unease and excitement.

The year on the Path had been rough, harder than usual and he was aching to go back home and see familiar faces. Unlike before, it hadn’t been rough because of how many injuries Geralt got and how often he knocked on death’s door, oh no. This year – for the first time in a long, long time – Geralt needed to make sure he didn’t throw himself into danger as he had done the decades prior. If he did, and if he died because of his recklessness, he would never get to see if he had been right, if through some miracle, there would be another Jaskier out there, waiting for him.

It was a small hope, but it was hope nonetheless and that was more than he had had ever since Jaskier’s death.

Now, that hope was eating at him, gnawing at his heart like a bloodhound gnawed at its prey. He needed to survive if he wanted to see Jaskier again, however slim the chance. But there was a chance, wasn’t there? All those things connecting Yarrow to Jaskier, they couldn’t have been coincidences. There had to be an explanation and Geralt’s foolish, battered heart refused to accept any other explanation than the one he had found while standing over Jaskier’s grave.

But that wasn’t enough. Witchers learned early on not to rely on hope. All the boys hoped they would make it through the trials. Every full-grown witcher hoped he wouldn’t get killed by a monster, human or otherwise. Hope didn’t keep any of them alive.

Geralt needed more, needed to know more. He needed Vesemir’s help, his advice, his untainted view on what was happening. Which was why, when the towering walls of Kaer Morhen came into sight, Geralt’s throat restricted. Behind these walls lay either hope or damnation.

When Vesemir saw him enter the halls, he stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, assessing him and scanning him over for injuries or any other visible reason that could have brought him back home, and so early too. After how seldom he came back anymore, Geralt couldn’t fault him for being reserved. With every year that Geralt had stayed away, the guilt that pressed on his chest became heavier until it had turned into shame.  

The apology at making his family believe that he might have died was already on his tongue, when Vesemir crossed the hall in long strides and crushed Geralt against his chest.

Geralt trembled as he pressed his face into the crock of Vesemir’s neck. His mentor had never been allowed to be the kindest man, but he would do everything in his power to help and comfort his family. And gods, Geralt needed comfort. It had been so long since he had someone just hold him; not promising that nothing bad would happen, but promising that Geralt would get through it and that they would be there for him.

Geralt didn’t cry. Not when Vesemir’s embrace tightened briefly and not when Vesemir pulled back again to look him over for injuries. As far as Geralt knew, he showed no more signs of his distress, but from the way Vesemir’s brows drew together, he could tell that something had happened.

Vesemir made no move to comfort him again, but his expression was focussed and determined when he asked Geralt what he needed.

It didn’t take long for Geralt to spill everything. It should have. Years and years of heartbreak and despair that culminated in that one impossible, crushing hope, Yarrow had given him, shouldn’t be summarised in a handful of sentences. Jaskier would have rolled his eyes and complained about his lack of artistry if he’d been here to hear, but he would have also cupped Geralt’s face lovingly and shown him that he was here for him.

Vesemir did no such thing. Geralt didn’t expect him to. This wasn’t what he had come here for. He had come for advice, for the cutting rationality that he knew Vesemir would bring to this.

When Geralt asked him the impossible, if there was still a chance that Jaskier might be alive in some way, Vesemir became eerily still.

Geralt saw in his eyes what answer he was about to give him, and still his chest crumbled when Vesemir did. No one had ever come back from the dead.

It was a sobering answer. It was one that nearly shattered Geralt.

Vesemir had always been rational and to the point. If he said he knew of no one who had conquered death, then it wasn’t likely that Jaskier had been the first to do so. But Vesemir also loved his family with a fierce dedication. When Geralt clammed up, closed himself off, pulled his walls back up, Vesemir was the one who grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the library. He was the one who made sure that no book on the topic remained unread and that Geralt contacted every sorceress he knew.

Triss looked at him with pity and promised to do her best to help him. Keira said she’d keep her eyes open, but Geralt shouldn’t be surprised if she decided that she had better things to do than chase after Geralt’s daydream. Philippa’s expression turned into one of astonished surprise before she just left – she couldn’t have made it any clearer just how stupid she thought Geralt for clinging to this hope like a toddler to their mother’s skirts.

When he contacted Yennefer, the answer to his question now was no different than it had been when he had gone to her a month after Jaskier’s death: There was no way for a sorceress to bring him back to life.

But Geralt knew better. He had seen magic even more powerful than even Yennefer’s. He had seen what a Djinn could do, what Destiny could do, as much as the nation made him want to grind his teeth.

The library of Kaer Morhen brought no clear answers. Despite hours reading and desperately searching for anything substantial, all they found were theories and speculation.

The idea that Jaskier somehow had been reincarnated could be the hopeful wish of a fool just as well as the truth.

It wasn’t much and it wasn’t what Geralt had hoped for, but this slim chance that he had been right, was like a spark inside Geralt’s chest, growing stronger with each passing day until it turned into a fire.

This year, when Eskel and Lambert finally arrived, Geralt didn’t avoid them like he had before to wallow in his misery, lest enjoying himself would bring back painful memories of the times Jaskier had accompanied him to Kaer Morhen. For the first time in decades, he joined in when they asked him to spend time with them. It was obvious that they noticed the change in him, but even Lambert knew better than to ask what had brought it forth.

When Geralt finally told Eskel one drunken night, that maybe in a few years’ time, Jaskier would join them at the keep again, he ignored the look of pity Eskel gave him. Eskel didn’t know what Geralt knew. And Geralt’s certainty that he would get Jaskier back was unwavering.

--

Once the snow thawed, Geralt went back on the Path, almost brimming with energy. This year, it wouldn’t only be monsters he would track. Jaskier, wherever he was now, must still be a baby, no older than a toddler at the most, but Geralt could waste no time in his search for where he could be.  He couldn’t put his trust and Jaskier’s life in the hands of Destiny to keep him safe or hope chance would bring him to him in time.

When the year turned round again and autumn once more painted the continent red, Geralt told himself that it wasn’t too bad that he had found no trail of Jaskier that first year of his search. He had time. Jaskier could be with a loving family right now, learning how to walk and talk. Geralt had time. He would find him again.

--

A decade of not finding so much as a hint of Jaskier in this world, made his faith waver. It could be coincidence that he hadn’t heard of Jaskier yet. This was just Destiny playing her cruel games. Geralt refused to believe that maybe he had been wrong and Jaskier wouldn’t come back to him.

And yet…

Geralt hated himself for it. Hated himself more, than when he had let that Viscount die or when he hadn’t been fast enough to save that child. He hated himself, because all it took was three more decades to crush his spirits and his hopes. He hated himself, because he gave up, because he had failed Jaskier again by accepting how hopeless this search had been. And he hated himself for having been fool enough to make himself believe that he still could get Jaskier back somehow.

When the air grew crisper and leaves turned brown, Geralt had already decided that he wouldn’t return to Kaer Morhen. Instead he went to Dol Blathanna and mourned Jaskier’s loss for a second time.

--

It was already late autumn, too late to change his mind about going to Kaer Morhen after all, when doubt crept up on Geralt.

The wind was colder this year and if it continued like this, Geralt would be forced to take more dangerous contracts, if he wanted to survive the winter.

Hell, even now he had to flee into a tavern from the cold, despite knowing that he it wouldn’t leave him with enough coin to make it another week without going on a hunt again. He had really wanted to buy a new cloak and gloves, but he supposed that was a luxury, he wouldn’t be able to afford this year. All he could do to keep warm right now, was buy the cheapest ale he could find, hoping that it would be enough to warm him a little from the inside and linger here for as long as he could, before he would inevitably get kicked out again.

It was miserable. It was exactly what he had coming for chasing after dreams. He had always known that dreams were nothing but pretend, hadn’t he? He couldn’t escape facing the nightmare that was reality any longer.

A harsh wind swept into the tavern when the door was thrust open with more force than normally. Instinctively, Geralt tensed and beneath the table, his hand went to the swords leaning against his. It was only the laughter that followed the bitter wind into the tavern, that made Geralt relax again. It wasn’t the cruel laughter of someone looking for trouble but the cheers of a group of friends that wanted nothing but to spend the night drinking.

Geralt settled back into his seat and averted his eyes, fighting down the bitterness that rose up in him. Still, he couldn’t help but see the group of people that came in out of the corner of his eyes. They were too loud, too big a presence to not notice them.

They walked through the tavern as if it belonged to them, as if they belonged here, but not in the arrogant way Geralt had seen soldiers or powerful criminals behave.

Geralt scowled and took a swig of his ale, more to block his view on the group than out of the need to drink. It was too close. Too much like how Jaskier had acted when he waltzed into a tavern, sure in the knowledge that he would get everyone in it to admire him.

He should stop thinking about Jaskier. That was the entire reason why he was here and not on his way to Kaer Morhen; so that he would be distracted and wouldn’t have to face the halls of his home that was now so empty and cold without Jaskier’s laugh filling them.

The very same laugh that now rang through the tavern, louder than any other, more joyful than befitted this moment.

Geralt flinched, spilling some of his ale over himself. His eyes raced through the room, wide and wild, while his heart refused to slow down. His whole body was tense as a bow string and he gripped the tankard tightly enough to turn his knuckles white.

He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t. Geralt had searched for years, decades, without so much as a rumour of anyone fitting Jaskier’s description. He wasn’t here, he wasn’t alive.

But there was no mistaking his laugh. Geralt would be able to recognise it in a crowd of hundreds. And this, this bright, boisterous laugh that came from the group of newcomers, was exactly like that laugh that Geralt had accepted he would never hear again.

Geralt’s eyes were trained on the group like a hawk fixating its prey. There were too many people. He couldn’t find Jaskier, he couldn’t –

One slightly older woman with red locks leaned forward, unblocking his view and Geralt’s heart jumped to his throat. There he was. Jaskier.

He looked older than Yarrow had been, but still far from wearing the wrinkles that had painted Jaskier’s skin for the last decades of his life. He must be in his forties, but it was hard to tell, with the ridiculous feathered hat that obscured part of his face and the beard that dusted his chin.

Geralt’s lips twitched and his heart fluttered in his chest. It looked almost like the one time Jaskier had lost a bet and let Geralt shave his beard in ridiculous ways. He had pretended to sulk after that, but the whole time there had been mirth twinkling in his eyes, especially when he had taken his revenge by shaving Geralt’s hair. The both of them had looked terrible after that, and Geralt wouldn’t have had it any other way. The chuckle that had bubbled up in Jaskier every time he had laid eyes on Geralt then, had been the most beautiful sound Geralt could imagine.

And now that laugh was back, fading with time, but not dying down fully.

The woman with the red hair flashed him a mock-glare that Jaskier didn’t seem to notice or was used to enough not to be intimidated, judging from his lack of reaction.

“You wouldn’t dare do that during an actual performance.”

“Is that a challenge?” Jaskier’s smile turned into a grin. “Because if it is, my dear Nadine, you know I will take it.”

“Sure, if you want to get shoved off the stage.” The red-head snorted. “I’m being serious. You know that I love you, but don’t make me break character again or I will take my revenge on you, Dandy.”

Dandy. It was a strange name, but Geralt couldn’t help but smile at it. As ridiculous as it was, there was no denying it fit. Jaskier – Dandy – was twirling a cane at his side that was weirdly long but decorated with bright colours and a ball that almost looked like a gem at the end. It looked utterly impractical, but since when had Jaskier ever cared about practicality when it came to his accessoires.  Geralt’s eyes drifted back up to the long hair was curled in a way that made it very clear that Dandy put a lot of effort into his appearance.

Geralt was so distracted by the sight of him, that it took a moment for the girl’s other words to catch up to Geralt. Performance.

So this Dandy was a musician again. Something warmed in Geralt’s chest and his fingers twitched against his tankard. He would get to hear Jaskier sing again, would see him stand on a stage and bask in applause again!

The need to see him like that overflowed and made it impossible to think. The reality of all this hit him with unhindered force. For all of Geralt’s hope, of all the time he had spent convincing himself that he would find Jaskier again, he hadn’t once thought about what he would actually do once he found him. Now, that he was so close, sitting so damn near that all Geralt had to do was walk over there to touch him, he didn’t know what to do but helplessly watch Dandy joke with his friends. Geralt wanted to be one of them. He needed to feel Jaskier’s eyes on him, his hands, anything he was willing to give.

But this wasn’t Jaskier. It was Dandy. And Dandy didn’t know Geralt, has never met him before. If Geralt just came up to his table and told him – told him what exactly? That they had been lovers before? That Dandy had lived different lives and that he had died because Geralt had failed him?

There was nothing Geralt could say or do that wouldn’t make Dandy draw back, thinking him a disoriented drunk at best and a dangerous threat at worst. Now that Geralt was finally so close to the dream that had consumed every waking moment of his life, he didn’t know what to do to not ruin it.

Every fibre of his being screamed at Geralt to just do something, no matter the consequences. But Geralt had spent lifetimes without Jaskier and he would be damned if he did anything that would push Dandy away and leave him a lonely mess once more. As much as it hurt him to sit by idly, Geralt gathered all his strength to not go to Dandy right then and there and pull him close, burry his face into his neck and never let him go again.

He forced himself to sit back and just watch him, got drunk on the sight of him. Geralt’s chest tightened as if an iron fist was clenching around it, when one of Dandy’s friends began to sing and the rest joined in. For years, Geralt had fallen asleep with the memory of Jaskier’s voice in his ear, but hearing Dandy sing now, clear and full of unbridled happiness was something entirely different. His voice soared up and fell to an almost-whisper. Geralt’s eyes stung and he had to fight against blinking the burning away, unwilling to close his eyes for even a second and lose sight of Dandy. And oh, he was beautiful like this, swaying with the rhythm and smiling around the melody as if this was what he’d been born for.

When the song roared higher and higher, Dandy threw his head back and Geralt’s watched with bated breath as the hat fell to the ground, revealing the rest of Dandy’s face that had been hidden before.

He was beautiful. He was so painfully beautiful and he was alive and he was right there!

In that moment, Geralt wanted nothing more than to see his eyes. So often had Jaskier looked at him softly while he sang, a storm of emotion dancing in his eyes that was only meant for Geralt to see. He needed to see those eyes again, even if they wouldn’t hold any of those feelings for Geralt now.

Yet, the blue he hadn’t seen in so long remained hidden from him even now. Dandy’s eyes were closed, as he sang with passion, the same way Jaskier had sometimes closed his eyes, so he would feel nothing but the moment and the song.

Geralt’s chest threatened to burst at the sudden realisation that hadn’t reached him until now: Dandy was happy. Really, truly happy. He was surrounded by friends, he had money enough to drink carelessly, he had the confidence to sing in a room filled with strangers, even if he wasn’t singing for them. Dandy had everything Yarrow had lacked. He had everything Geralt could ever want for him.

Maybe…no. Geralt forced himself to look away, no matter how much everything in him yelled at him for doing so. His hand trembled, as he lifted the tankard to his lips once more.

Dandy was happy. He had everything he could need. Who was Geralt to think he had any right to insert himself into that life Dandy had built for himself?

Because there were only two ways this could go, if Geralt approached him. Either Dandy wouldn’t be interested in having Geralt in his life and Geralt would be forced to life with the rejection of the man whom he used to mean everything to. Or Dandy would be the same as Jaskier and Yarrow had been. He would give up this life, throw it away for a chance to be with Geralt. Try as he might to do right by him, Geralt wouldn’t be able to replace what Dandy already had.

It was selfish and cruel to even think about taking him away from this life he evidently loved.

Geralt should leave. He now knew for sure that Dandy was alive, that he was happy. That should be enough to satisfy him. There was no need to stay and risk tearing down Dandy’s life.

There was no doubt, that leaving would be the right thing to do, and yet Geralt’s body didn’t obey him. The urge to stay, if only just a little while longer and bask in Dandy’s presence, was bigger than any rational thought telling him it was madness.

He stayed and watched as Dandy blindly reached down and searched for his hat, before putting it on again and obscuring Geralt’s sight once more without having granted him as much as a glance at his eyes.

Geralt stayed even as his own ale was long gone and the barkeep kept shooting him dirty looks for taking up space without at least nursing another ale. Geralt couldn’t afford another drink, not if he wanted to sleep in an actual bed, sheltered from the cold winds, this night, but the dread of freezing in the night was nothing against the fear of losing Dandy so quickly again.

So he bought another ale and watched as Dandy’s friends started playing a card game that Dandy didn’t join in. Which didn’t stop him from giving the players tips seemingly at random and utterly unhelpful ones, judging by the player’s eyerolls and Dandy’s gleeful cackling.

All too soon, Dandy’s little game of distracting his friends got interrupted, when another man approached him from behind, tapping him on the shoulder. Geralt’s brows drew into a frown when Dandy flinched at the touch and before he knew it, Geralt’s hand had closed around the handle of his sword, ready to put himself between Dandy and that other man should the need arise.

But then the man whispered something in Dandy’s ear. The sudden shout of outrage and cheer coming from Dandy’s friends as they finished their game, was loud enough that Geralt couldn’t hear Dandy’s reply, but seconds later, the man, who had approached him, sat down next to Dandy, far too close for Geralt’s liking, but Dandy leaned into his touch, running his own hands up and down the man’s arms.

The sight sent a sharp pang of jealousy through Geralt’s chest. His jaw worked, but he couldn’t get himself to look away. Of course Dandy would flirt with other people. He had every right to have his fun and Geralt was a stranger to him. It was none of his business whom Dandy cosied up with.

It was just…he had spent so long being the only one Jaskier had turned his attentions to, with the bard reassuring him time and time again that he didn’t want anyone else, even when Geralt told him that he would understand if Jaskier chose to take other people to his bed. He had almost forgotten what it was like watching Jaskier touch strangers with obvious intent and lean into them to whisper sweet nothings into their ears. It was no easier watching Dandy do the same now.

Geralt might not be able to understand his whispers, but he had spent enough time with Jaskier to recognise the way Dandy’s posture changed, how he tipped his head to the side to reveal his neck to the other man, inviting him to press a kiss against the tender flesh.

An invitation that the stranger accepted with pleasure.

Geralt’s hands clenched and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from doing something rash. He had no right to interfere. Not when Dandy was so clearly enjoying himself. Not when Geralt was nothing to him.

Still, his insides twisted painfully with something ugly and cruel, while every fibre of his being wished that he could be in that stranger’s stead; that he would get to feel what Dandy’s fingers felt like dancing across his skin, and learn how he tasted beneath his lips.

He knew it was unfair to Dandy. Geralt didn’t even know the man. All he knew was that he looked and moved and laughed like Jaskier had and that in some way he was Jaskier. But he must also be someone else. Yarrow had been his own person. That viscount that Geralt suspected had been Jaskier before him, had certainly been his own person, going his entire life without ever knowing Geralt.

He had no way of knowing who Dandy really was, no right to want of him what he had had with Jaskier.

Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to watch the stranger kiss his way up Dandy’s neck, brushing his hair to the side and whispering something into his ear that Dandy responded to with a shuddering intake of breath and an enthusiastic nod.

He quickly told his friends where he was going with his new and oh so charming acquaintance Fillip and that one of them should come get him in the morning. Geralt winced when Dandy’s friends hollered as Dandy grabbed his cane and stood up. The Fillip gently took Dandy’s free arm, which earned him a radiant smile from Dandy. A bitter taste filled Geralt’s mouth, as he watched them go. Jaskier had always been touchy and he had loved leaning onto Geralt as they had walked side by side.

Seeing Dandy lean onto someone else – a blonde stranger with a dazzling smile and who was so much more handsome than Geralt could ever be – made Geralt’s arms feel empty and cold.

Without Dandy, the tavern felt too small, too lifeless, too lonely. Geralt downed the rest of his drink to get rid of the bitter taste Dandy’s departure had left him with. It didn’t work. Not even Lambert’s moonshine would have been able to get the images of Dandy leaning into that other man out of Geralt’s head.

Geralt glowered at the empty tankard, as if it was to blame for Geralt’s cowardice and inner turmoil. Abruptly, he stood up. With Dandy gone, there was no reason for him to stay here any longer. He shouldn’t have stayed here that long anyway. It would have been for the best if he had just left once he knew that Dandy was safe.

Once outside of the tavern, he hesitated. The strange tug in his chest that had lead him to Yarrow’s grave all those years ago, told him to follow Dandy. But what good would that do? Everything about the idea of following him and the man he had chosen to spend his night with was wrong.

No, Geralt should just go and find a place where he’d be able to sleep, now that he had spent too much coin to be able to afford an inn anymore.

So he ignored the tug in his chest and the way all of his muscles tensed at the thought of not going after Dandy, and turned into a different street, one that would lead him out of the city to where he had left Roach.

Regret and that piercing longing for an embrace he wouldn’t get, were his only company as he walked through the city. After a while, he left the streets that were illuminated by lanterns and found himself in darker alleyways. No thug of petty thief would be able to get the jump on a witcher, but still, Geralt strained his ears and tensed his muscles as he passed through this part of the city. If not for his sake, then he at least wanted to make sure no muggers would be walking the streets this night and stumble across Dandy.

Sure enough, voices reached Geralt, distant at first, but then getting louder.

“Really, I could have sworn that we were supposed to take that turn to the right.” Laughter that couldn’t quite hide how strained it was. “I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.”

Geralt froze. It was Dandy’s voice. What was he doing here? Geralt had made sure he wouldn’t cross paths with him. To get here, Dandy and his companion must have taken a truly inconvenient and winding route.

“No, trust me,” another voice – Fillip’s? – replied. “I know where we’re going. You don’t need to worry.”

Geralt’s hackles rose. Part of him told him that he was overreacting, but another, stronger part felt that same dread creep up on him that he had always felt when he had realised that Jaskier hadn’t heeded his warnings and come along to see a monster for himself.

“Oh. Alright then. Of course I trust you.”

He shouldn’t. Dandy really, truly shouldn’t trust this man. But if he was still the same in a way as the bard who had approached a witcher without fear and had followed him into any danger, then there was little chance that Dandy didn’t mean those words.

As silent as a shadow, Geralt followed the sound of their voices, until he could see them at the far end of the seemingly endlessly long alley, Dandy still leaning against the blonde and holding his cane out in front of him as he walked.

But it wasn’t Dandy that Geralt’s narrowed eyes were fixated on. It was the other man, whose smile was no longer charming and warm. It was cold like a snake’s.

Was Dandy really that smitten that he didn’t see the way that expression screamed danger? He must be, for he didn’t show a single sign of wanting to pull away. Gullible, naïve, trusting Jaskier! Of all the traits that must carry over into another life, it had to be the one that would inevitably put him in danger.

Suddenly, Fillip stopped. Geralt couldn’t see Dandy’s expression beneath the shadow his hat threw onto his face, but his shoulders tensed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, a hint of that trust still persistent in his tone, but now it was laden with unease. “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

“No. I’m exactly where I wanted to go.”

The discomfort in Dandy’s posture became even more apparent. “I think we should maybe go back. If you would be so kind as to show me the way back to my friends – “

“I don’t think so.”

Geralt quickened his silent steps, almost breaking into a run. Panic raced through his blood. He was still too far away to help, should the man decide to attack Dandy. Yet, he was close enough to be able to see how now Dandy, too, caught on to just how bad this situation was.

Dandy stiffened, when Fillip tightened his hold on his arm, before Dandy could even attempt to pull away.

Anger flared up in Geralt, that turned into ice-cold fear, when two more figured appeared from the shadows, the moonlight reflecting on the blade of a knife in one of the man’s hands.

“Easy there,” the armed newcomer sneered and let out a dirty laugh when Dandy flinched. “This doesn’t need to get ugly. Just give us your coin and we’ll be on our way.”

The men weren’t too big. The only reason they probably felt secure enough to attack Dandy was because they outnumbered him. Still, Dandy had his cane. He could at least try to fend them off and keep them at a distance, if only to buy himself enough time to run away. But Geralt’s silent pleas for Dandy to defend himself changed nothing. Dandy stood still and helpless as the men drew nearer.

“You really think I have coin with me?”

Geralt let out a silent curse when Dandy was stupid enough to laugh. The sound ended in a shocked gasp, when the man holding him yanked him around without warning. Dandy’s head flew to the side when the back of Fillip’s hand hit his face.

His hat fell off, landing in front of the feet of the bald man who hadn’t spoken until now. He deliberately stepped onto the hat, grinding his heel into it.

“You’re really telling us that someone with such fancy clothes doesn’t have coin?”

Silently, Geralt begged Dandy to not say anything that would get him into any more trouble. At least until Geralt got close enough to actually defend him.

If he provoked the men enough to use their knives – Geralt’s stomach churned at the thought. He couldn’t watch him die again. He couldn’t!

He was so close! Just a little more time and he’d be able to save him!

Dandy snorted, his shoulders already drawn up in a useless attempt to protect his head. “Those clothes are a costume. I am an actor. All the coin I had, I spent on my drink.” He flashed a grin, that looked a little off, not really directing it at either of the men. “But if you want to try your luck mugging me again, I advise you to do it after our premiere tomorr-“

A punch in the gut made Dandy cry out, the sound piercing Geralt’s ears. He doubled over.

The bald man who had punched him, grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back up, spitting in his face.

“I’d ask you if you think we look stupid, but you wouldn’t know, would you?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I am sure you look stupi- hey, what are you doing?”

The sound of Dandy’s pain was nothing compared to the cry that tore out of his throat now, when the bald thug grabbed his cane and ripped it away from him.

“Give that back!” Dandy thrashed in his assailant’s grip. “You can’t take that from me! I need it!” He staggered when Fillip let go of him without warning and pushed him to the side. “Give it back, please!”

Dandy’s pleas cut into Geralt like a knife. He was close. He was so close, just a few more steps and he would be with him –

The cane came crashing down on Dandy’s back. With a pained cry that tore Geralt’s chest open, Dandy went to his knees. The laughter of the men burned like acid in Geralt’s ears.

The man lunged out to take another swing with the cane. He never got the chance.

With a jump, Geralt threw himself between Dandy and the attacker. The cane hit him across the chest at the same time that his sword plunged into the attacker’s shoulder.

Geralt couldn’t hear his cry of pain, the sound of his blade tearing through his flesh or the noise the cane made when it fell to the ground, over the sound of Dandy’s whimpers. It enflamed something raging hot in his chest.

Geralt whirled around with a snarl that would send hardened soldiers running.

The man that had lured Dandy here blanched and reeled back, but not fast enough to escape Geralt’s sword. It painted a thin red stripe across his face.

The third attacker was the only one stupid enough to try and attack Geralt, slashing at him with his knife. One swing of Geralt’s sword and the smaller weapon clattered to the ground, the sound accompanied by an agonised scream when Geralt’s sword cut through the hand that had just held the weapon.

A growl rose in Geralt’s chest, animalistic and promising death to anyone who dared to lay another hand on Dandy.

The attackers tensed up, holding their bleeding wounds and staring at Geralt with wide, terrified eyes.

“Stay away from us, monster!” What should have been a shout came out as a terrified whisper. “Stay away or –“ Fillip’s eyes darted behind Geralt, where Dandy must still lie.

Geralt lifted his sword higher and took another menacing step towards the attackers. The simple gesture was threat enough. If any of them dared touch Dandy, he would cut them down.

He didn’t need to use his words to get that message across. For a tense second, the three men stood frozen in place, then they staggered back, running as fast as they could away from Geralt and the man he would protect with his life.

Geralt followed the men with his eyes until he was sure they wouldn’t come back, then slowly, he sheathed his sword and turned around with his hands held in front of him, praying it was enough to show Dandy that he didn’t mean him any harm.

But Dandy didn’t even look up at him. He still cowered on the ground, making himself as small as possible and shielding his head with his arms, as if he expected another attack.

Seeing him like this, so small, so afraid split Geralt’s heart in two. Never, in any lifetime that Geralt knew of, had Jaskier been afraid of him. And now here Dandy was, curling in on himself, his broken breathing mixing in with sobs.

Geralt swallowed thickly and crouched down as slowly as he could. Still, there was no reaction. His blood ran cold. Had he been too late? Maybe one of the attackers had landed a hit on Dandy’s head that Geralt hadn’t noticed.

His heart sank like a stone. No. No! He couldn’t have been too late. Not again, not when he had just found him again!

With a trembling hand, Geralt reached out and gently touched Dandy’s shoulder to turn him and see if there were any injuries Geralt could help with.

As soon as his hand touched him, Dandy shrank even further into himself and he let out a whimper. His whole body shook from his broken sobs.

“Please,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes close and burying his head even more in his arms, “Please don’t. Don’t hurt me, please!”

Geralt snatched his hand back as if burned. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one is. Those men are gone.”

Dandy’s trembling didn’t stop, but there was a miniscule shift in his body.

“Those men?” he asked tentatively, “You’re not one of them?”

Geralt’s brows drew together, before he schooled his face into a neutral expression. He couldn’t risk Dandy choosing this moment when Geralt scowled down at him, to open his eyes and see him for the first time, becoming even more terrified.

But Dandy kept his eyes firmly closed.

“No,” Geralt said as softly as he could. “I’m not. I made sure they won’t bother you again.”

For an endless-seeming moment, Dandy didn’t move, but he turned his head as if trying to hear if anyone else was around. Ever so slowly, Dandy relaxed, but not enough to let his guard down fully. Geralt couldn’t blame him. No one in their right mind would watch a witcher fight and not be terrified to be alone with him afterwards. If Geralt had ever thought differently, the first monster he had killed had taught him otherwise.

“Sorry.” Dandy rubbed a hand down his face, turning his face to the ground so that Geralt couldn’t see the tears, that he knew were there. The salt-scent was so strong that he could almost taste it. “I didn’t hear you coming. You were just suddenly there and then there were those sounds of a fight and I… I didn’t know what was going on.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt said, though the lie couldn’t have been more obvious. Nothing was alright. Geralt had terrified Dandy enough that he now wouldn’t even look at him, that he would rather cower at his feet than even raise his eyes to meet his. “I…” he swallowed, forcing the bitter words that tore his throat apart like swallowing glass, “I can leave if you want me to.”

Dandy remained quiet, the only indication that Geralt’s words had reached him was the hitch in his breath and the way he clenched his hands into fists.

Geralt wished he could help. He wished he hadn’t been such a damn coward and just approached Dandy in that tavern. If he had, none of this would have happened. Dandy would still be laughing instead of being blinded by tears. He would be sitting with his friends instead of lying broken in some alley. He might even have trusted Geralt enough to let him help. But as it was, Geralt had made sure that Dandy didn’t even dare accept his help for fear of what he might do to him.

With a sigh, Geralt stood up and took a couple of steps back. He couldn’t leave Dandy to fend for himself, but if he didn’t want Geralt anywhere near him, he would go away far enough that Dandy wouldn’t have to be afraid of Geralt attacking him. He could watch over him from the shadows.

Geralt had barely made it out of reach from Dandy, when Dandy moved, lifting his head and looking around, though not in the direction Geralt had gone.

“Are you still there?” The question came quietly, hesitantly. “Please stay.”

Geralt froze mid-movement. “I’m here.”

Dandy winced, but the movement was accompanied by a sigh. If Geralt hadn’t known any better, he would have said it sounded relieved.

Painfully slowly, Dandy pushed himself up onto all fours, then stopped. Geralt frowned.

“Are you hurt? Do you need help standing?”

“Ah, no. I…” Dandy reached out with his hand, letting it wander over the ground. “I just…I really need my cane back.”

Geralt blinked, taken aback. He must not have noticed it before, but apparently the cane wasn’t just an accessory but a walking aid. That must be why Dandy didn’t reach it, though all he had to do was stretch a little to get to it. He must have an old injury that would hurt from such a movement.

“Wait,” Geralt said, coming closer again. “I can get it for you, it’s just over –“

“No!” The tone of the shout was so final that Geralt stopped right where he was. “Don’t touch it. I got it.”

Geralt watched in confusion as Dandy groped more frantically for the cane, until his fingers finally closed around it. Geralt could practically see the tension fall off of him as he held the cane close like it was the most precious thing to him.

After a moment, Dandy took a deep breath and made to stand up. His face contorted into a grimace and he winced at the movement.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked without second thought. He grimaced at how stupid the question was.

Dandy hissed out a sharp breath through his teeth. “My back hurts. Really bad. Damn, that guy didn’t need to hit me that hard.”

He moved again, gasping in pain once more.

“Let me help.” Geralt was at his side in a flash, holding out his hand for Dandy to take. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to stand on your own.”

Dandy hesitated for a second, then he nodded. Still, he made no move to take Geralt’s hand. Unsure what to do, Geralt reached for Dandy’s arm.

“May I?” He asked in as soothing a voice as he could, his hand hovering right above Dandy.

“Yes.”

Carefully, Geralt closed his hand around Dandy’s elbow. His heart stuttered in his chest, his mind overtaken by the thought that they were touching. Jaskier was alive and Geralt could actually touch him! He didn’t disappear, he was really there!

Geralt clenched his jaw and beat back those thoughts. There would be time for that later. Right now, the only important thing was that Dandy would be alright.

With the same gentleness with which Geralt had helped up Jaskier when he had gotten too old to stand on his own, he guided Dandy until he stood, while Dandy kept his head low and his cane clutched to his chest tightly.

Geralt’s hands lingered on Dandy’s arm, while his eyes darted over his body, making sure he wasn’t hurt. Apart from a couple of scratches and his back pain, he seemed to be fine.

Although it took inhuman strength to break the contact between them, Geralt let go of Dandy again.

Dandy let out a shuddering breath when Geralt drew back and ever so slowly, he lifted his head.

Geralt’s heart was pounding painfully against his ribs. Without meaning to, he leaned closer, urged on by a sudden desperation to see Dandy’s– Jaskier’s! – eyes again.

He couldn’t think straight. His thoughts were a swirling storm, all centred around that endless blue. Why was Dandy moving with such agonizing slowness? Why –

Their eyes met.

Geralt let out an involuntary gasp that could have been a sob or a whispered name. Dandy’s eyes were beautiful. Deep and blue and… and wrong.

Geralt’s heart dropped. Something was off about his eyes. They were the same blue he remembered, but the way Dandy was looking at Geralt…it felt as if Dandy was looking right through him. The moment they held each other’s gazes was no longer than a heartbeat, then Dandy’s eyes wandered higher, facing somewhere slightly to Geralt’s left.

“Thank you,” Dandy said quietly and gave him a hint of a smile. If felt wrong too. Beautiful, because it was Dandy smiling, but slightly off, as if he only knew how an expression of gratefulness should look from a description in a book.

Geralt couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

The rounded end of the cane hit the ground with a soft thunk that rang in Geralt’s ears like thunder.

All this time. All these years Geralt had spent searching the continent for Jaskier, burning with the need to see him again, not once had he thought about the possibility that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see him when the time came. But there was no mistaking it.

Dandy was blind.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Nanny

Commission for the ever-wonderful @depressedstressedlemonzest ! I hope you enjoy this, my love! Even though it got away from me a bit, eh heh heh. *sweats* Commission info is in my about page!

CW: ableism

~

Geralt did not know what to expect regarding the nanny he had contacted. He had been open to it being anyone, as long as they weren’t a creep.

He would never in a million years have expected his one-night-stand for two days ago to end up on his doorstep.

Geralt and Jaskier stared at each other, equally stunned. Finally, Jaskier cleared his throat and said lamely, “So you’re the Mr. Rivia who emailed me?”

“Yes,” Geralt got out stiffly.

“Daa-ddyyyy!” Ciri wailed from the living room. “Hungry!”

Geralt grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “Please come in,” he said with no enthusiasm. “I have to get Ciri her lunch.”

Jaskier nodded and followed him inside the small townhouse.

Ciri was stomping inside her pen, making frustrated noises. As soon as Geralt lifted her out, she beamed and threw her arms around his neck. “Hungry!” she yelled again, right in his ear.

“Of course, love,” Geralt agreed, rubbing her back soothingly as he took her to the kitchen. “What would you like for lunch today?”

“Ramen!” Ciri squealed, bouncing in his arms and tugging his hair. Geralt didn’t even flinch. He was used to it by now.

So he put Ciri in the high chair, started the ramen, and only remembered Jaskier when Ciri asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Julian,” Jaskier replied. “And you are?”

“Ciri. That’s my daddy!”

“I noticed!”

Geralt’s mouth tightened as Jaskier and Ciri chatted. They were already on their way to being friends. Not good. If he decided not to hire Jaskier, Ciri would be upset and cry. But it would be better to not hire him. Right?

It had been a very good night when he shared Jaskier’s bed. He’d especially liked how Jaskier had--

Geralt swallowed hard and poured in the ramen noodles. They had both decided to end it there. It was a bad idea to let Jaskier stick around. He was too… bright, and loud, and frankly annoying. It didn’t matter that his terrible flirting was entertaining, or that he was a great singer, or that he obviously knew how to befriend children. Geralt would probably get pissed enough to throw him out in a week.

Ciri crowed with laughter and Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. She hadn’t laughed like that for anyone other than Geralt since Yennefer left.

With his heart sufficiently aching from Ciri’s excitement, Geralt turned away from the stove and walked to the table. Jaskier was already teaching her that stupid song about the spider and the water spout, and how to move her hands to the words. They were both grinning, as Ciri tried to sing along. Geralt wanted to say something, but she was happy, so he got a juicebox from the fridge and set it in reach for her, then retreated to the counter to watch them.

“Do you like ramen?” Ciri asked Jaskier, her green eyes wide with fascination.

“I do,” Jaskier replied, still smiling. “It’s one of my favorite foods.”

“It’s mine too!” Ciri said gleefully, waving her arms and knocking over the juicebox. Geralt lunged and caught it, and set it on the tray of the highchair again. “I like chicken ramen best! Daddy makes the best chicken ramen!”

Jaskier glanced over to Geralt, looking thoroughly amused. Geralt reddened in embarrassment. “That’s wonderful, wee,” Jaskier told Ciri. “Do you eat it often?”

“Every day!” Ciri crowed proudly.

Jaskier’s smile faded a little, but then he brightened it again. “Wow, it must be really good.”

“It is!”

Geralt looked down at the floor to hide his shamed expression. It was a good thing Ciri liked ramen, cold cereal, and canned soup; Geralt hadn’t had the money to buy fresh food since the lawyers stripped Geralt of his income from Vesemir’s estate. Unemployment payments were barely enough to pay the mortgage, the utilities, and Ciri’s diapers. Anything extra came from odd jobs around the city.

But he simply could not afford to leave Ciri alone, not when he needed to find a full-time job, and none of the daycare centers would accept a child of a Witcher. So--a nanny.

Ciri and Jaskier kept talking, and Geralt kept feeling more and more horrible, as Ciri told Jaskier all about her and Geralt’s playing every day except the days after he drank too much, and visiting Lambert and Eskel for dinner (they had insisted on at least feeding them, though Geralt refused their financial help), and her mommy sending her presents in the mail. At least, Daddy said they were from her mommy.

Geralt turned away at that point. The presents were not from Yennefer. They were what he could buy with scraped-up savings. He didn’t want Ciri to think Yenn had abandoned her, and to never remember her fondly.

The ramen was done. He drained it, put half a packet of seasoning in, and brought it to Ciri, along with her favorite spork. She squealed in delight and immediately began eating. Geralt’s stomach ached. Fuck, had she been hungry all morning? Was that day’s breakfast not enough? They didn’t have much cereal left, and he wasn’t sure he could afford more when the next check came in, oh fuck, he was going to have another panic attack--

“Please slow down, love,” Geralt managed to say, stroking Ciri’s hair gently. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Ciri grumbled, but slowed. Geralt sat at the table across from Jaskier, and waited for the reprimands. Everyone reprimanded him when they got to know how he was raising Ciri. It was why he never told anyone about her unless pressed.

He was shaking. His chest hurt, especially his lungs. Why did he feel so light-headed?

“So,” Jaskier said, breaking through Geralt’s fearful thoughts. “I’m assuming the interview can happen now?”

No, absolutely not. Jaskier should leave, and swear not to report Geralt for neglect. Instead of saying that, Geralt nodded mutely.

“Innervu?” Ciri asked with her mouth full.

“An interview is where a person asks another questions, usually about their work,” Jaskier told her.

“But Daddy doesn’t work,” Ciri replied, confused.

Jaskier’s face flickered sadness before he shut that emotion away. “No, he’s going to ask me questions.”

“Ohhh.” Ciri nodded wisely and continued eating.

Geralt swallowed hard. Questions. He’d had a list of questions, hadn’t he? On his phone? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and navigated through his various note and writing apps until he found the one where he kept questions for professionals like doctors and lawyers. There, the list for the nanny. He opened it and slid it across the table to Jaskier.

Jaskier picked it up and read the first question out loud. “Do you have education related to caring for children? Actually, yes, my major in college was childcare. I’ve kept up to date on research and techniques, especially for younger children. How long have you been a nanny? About eight years, now; the first child was about ten and was sent to boarding school a year later, and the second child was a pair of twins. They were delightful, but I have very little training for special needs children, so I pointed their parents towards one of my colleagues who is trained. Do you know sign language? A little. I can converse in it, but I’m not an expert.”

Geralt listened hard as Jaskier worked down the list of questions, and grudgingly decided that Jaskier was a good enough fit. There were probably better nannies, but Geralt would never be able to afford them. So, when Jaskier handed the phone back, Geralt nodded and forced himself to say, “Good.”

“Daddy,” Ciri said suddenly, putting her spork down and reaching for him. “Breathe-hugs.”

Geralt obediently stood and picked her up, and hugged her tightly, facing away from Jaskier a little. Breathe-hugs. He kept forgetting his breathing exercises, but hugging Ciri helped him remember to calm down. This was only the fourth time that she had offered breathe-hugs before he thought of them. It made him feel terrible, that he leaned on her so much. But she was also the only thing still holding him to this shitty world.

He shouldn’t use his daughter as an anchor. He really shouldn’t.

After several deep breaths, he was calm enough to put her down again, and sit. He swallowed hard and said, “Thank you for answering my questions.”

Jaskier was frowning slightly. “You’re very welcome,” he replied. “Are you alright?”

Geralt nodded. “Do you have questions?” he asked, hands tightening on his elbows.

“Ah, yes, a few. Do you have any kind of steady income?”

“Yes,” Geralt said. “I get my unemployment check every month.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and frowned more. Then he asked cautiously, “How much will you be out of the house?”

“I… don’t know,” Geralt confessed. “I’m starting an internship on Monday, but I’m still not sure if I have a schedule yet.” That pained him worse than knowing the position was given to him out of pity.

“Paid internship?”

“...No.”

“Oh.” Jaskier tapped his finger on the table and bit his lip, then nodded firmly. “Well! I think we’ll suit well enough. What do you think, sir?”

Geralt blinked, then blurted, “I do too.”

“Excellent.” Jaskier beamed at him. “I’ll be by tomorrow morning to start.”

~

It was three weeks later and Geralt was a wreck.

Jaskier had started right out with telling Geralt that penning Ciri for most of the day was a terrible idea, and then showed him how to childproof the house.

“Pens are fine if you’re trying to train a puppy,” Jaskier explained, “But children aren’t puppies. She needs room. She needs to explore the house.”

“My father put me in a pen,” Geralt said hesitantly. “I turned out fine.”

Jaskier gave him an unimpressed look. “Nevertheless, Ciri isn’t you. Give her space to play.”

Ciri hadn’t known what to do without her pen, until Jaskier convinced her to play hide-and-seek. Then they had both run all over the house, hiding and laughing and exploring. Geralt’s heart was in his mouth the whole time, as he tried to make sure Ciri was safe and unhurt. The pen had been as much to keep her safe as it was meant to keep her where Geralt could find her.

After that, Jaskier went through the kitchen and declared that he was going to buy some frozen food and fresh veggies.

“Those are expensive,” Geralt blurted, alarmed.

Jaskier shook his head. “Not all of them. Bring Ciri, and I’ll show you the good deals.”

Geralt did not have a car safe enough to drive Ciri in. The one he used to drive was on its last legs, and so he usually either begged a ride from Eskel or took the bus with her. Jaskier frowned a little, and asked, “How long have you had that car?”

Geralt shrugged. “About twenty years,” he said.

So they took the bus, and Jaskier let Ciri sit in his lap and play with his necklace, which held a silver pendant shaped like a lute, with gold designs inlaid on it. They talked about animals, and Geralt kept his head down. The shame from being stared at like he was some sort of creep for having a daughter still roiled in his gut and made him nauseous.

Grocery shopping was strange, because Jaskier kept pointing out things that were cheap and Geralt had to tell him, over and over, in front of other people, “I only have fifty crowns, I can’t afford to spend it on only one week of food.”

Jaskier somehow negotiated him into buying some potatoes, and wretchedness settled on Geralt when he realized he wouldn’t have enough money to buy Ciri a present for two or three months. She had plenty of toys, though, surely she wouldn’t mind?

“Daddy, why are you sad?”

Geralt hugged Ciri closer and kissed her forehead. “I’m not sad, love.”

The internship was more draining than any other job he’d ever had. Everything was too loud, too fast, too hot, too much--but he had to do this. He had to be hired. Because he needed money for Ciri.

Jaskier kept Ciri company, and taught her songs, and bought her workbooks with her favorite cartoon characters. Most evenings, Geralt showered, changed clothes, and then slumped wherever they were and watched. It hurt, honestly, that she was so much happier with Jaskier. But, well, Jaskier was a better person in general.

And then on the third week of everything, Geralt completely broke down.

It was while he was making dinner. His nerveless fingers dropped the butter and the spoon, his knees buckled, and when he was crouched on the floor, rocking on his toes, he let himself whimper a little. He could not cry; he would not cry in front of Ciri. She didn’t deserve to see him be weak like this. But gods, he wanted to sleep, sleep forever, vanish from this planet and become nothing, so he would never feel or hurt or cry or disappoint or scare again.

A large, warm hand settled gently on his back. “You can go lay down,” Jaskier said gently beside him. “I can finish dinner. Go lay down, Geralt. It’s okay.”

So Geralt went to his room, and shut the door and laid down and let himself sob. Worthless, useless, couldn’t even keep a fucking internship long enough to be hired--

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes it was late at night. He sniffed, wiped his scratchy eyes, and got out of bed. Maybe there were some leftovers in the fridge. Probably not. Ciri had been eating so much lately, and her energy had gone through the roof. Geralt had to keep cutting down on his own portion so she would have enough. Was that why he was so exhausted and achey lately?

When he reached the kitchen, he blinked.

Jaskier was at the table with a laptop, looking grim. He had papers all over the table, and a thick notepad that he wrote in every few seconds. He looked up at Geralt in the doorway, and managed a tired smile. “Hey,” he whispered. “There’s food in the fridge. Ciri wanted to leave everything, but I convinced her to eat some.”

Geralt nodded and got the leftover soup and fried potatoes out of the fridge, not even bothering to heat them up before spooning some into a bowl and sitting down at the other side of the table to eat. He hurt. But because he wanted noise, any noise, to keep his thoughts away from the evil place in his head, he looked up at Jaskier and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Researching unemployment laws,” Jaskier answered, tapping a few keys and then scribbling on his notepad. “It’s illegal to pay you so little when you have a child. Did you know you’re supposed to get two thousand crowns a month?”

Geralt gaped at him. “Whuh… the lawyers told me I could only have eight hundred,” he replied, feeling another surge of confusion and self-hate boil up in his chest. “Because my brothers have jobs.”

Jaskier looked up sharply, and he looked livid. “They were basing their calculations on your brothers’ incomes?” he demanded.

Geralt flinched, and nodded. “They--they have custody of me,” he explained. “Because a judge ordered when I was nineteen that I have to have a guardian.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to gape. Then he asked, much more gently, “If they are your guardians, why don’t you live with them?”

“Because…” Geralt frowned, trying to remember. “Because the homeowner’s association forbade my brothers from taking me in. So they gave me money to buy this house, and moved to a new apartment. But when I bought the house, some attorneys came by and claimed I was violating court orders, so they took my inheritance.”

“That’s illegal!” Jaskier burst out, aghast. “Why would they do that?”

Geralt’s head was pounding and his breath was getting shorter. He didn’t like thinking about that year. He didn’t like it all. It was a clusterfuck of despair and confusion and terror and he didn’t want to think of it. “I don’t know,” he said, and his voice shook. “I don’t know.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to say something else, then thought better of it, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Geralt,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pried. But now we have some idea of what to do.”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re being discriminated against, mistreated, and refused the help you need. So.” Jaskier steepled his fingers and grinned, eyes glinting fiercely. “We’re going to tear these fuckers apart.”

~

A year later, Geralt hated the memories of the confusion and rage of dealing with laws and lawyers and people casually threatening to take Ciri away from him if he didn’t shut up and go away. He hated them with the fury of the planet’s molten core.

But outcomes had been good.

His payments were raised to the legal amount. He was allowed to go to therapy and job training without being threatened. Ciri had new clothes and a new bed and new favorite foods. And Jaskier was not annoying anymore. On the contrary, he had become something much, much better.

Jaskier was still only the nanny. But Geralt had a plan, and it involved the engagement ring he bought on the one-year anniversary of hiring Jaskier.

[jaskierswolf]

The Howling of Wolves pt.2/3

TW for the whole story: Angst with happy ending, kidnapping, mentioned previous child abuse, mentioned torture (but off page), Major character injury and recovery, canon typical violence

Previous

Jaskier gasped awake as a bucket of ice cold water was dumped over his head. “Oh bloody hell, fuck that’s cold.” He spluttered through mouthfuls of water.

His hands were bound in cuffs that were chained to the wall. The metal almost burnt his skin meaning they were laced with dimeritium. He was all too familiar with dimeritium handcuffs, they had been a staple of his childhood during the experiments of his youth. Just to be sure he tried to let out his magic and shift. It would be idiotic not to try, but sure enough he barely felt a ghost of his magic over his skin.

At least who ever had taken him had allowed him to keep his clothes.

There was an unsettling itch just below his skin which he hadn’t felt in months which was bothering him.

How long had it been since he shifted? Not since before Geralt had gone off on his werewolf hunt, perhaps even a few days before that. Not long enough for him to be feeling like this though. It was normally at least a couple of weeks before he started to feel cramped in his own skin.

Fuck. How long had he been unconscious…

Unless whatever was in that dart had messed with his magic more than he thought.

“Geralt?” It was a long shot but he had to ask, at the very least he could work out whether his boyfriend was in danger.

“Your witcher isn’t here, petal.”

Jaskier’s heart sank and he felt a dizzy panic hit him like a giant.

“No.” He whispered.

He couldn’t be here. Not now, not again.

“Now, is that anyway to greet your mother, Julian?” His mother stepped out of shadows, and people wondered where he got his flare for the dramatics.

“Well, I would say it’s lovely to see you, mother, but I am currently chained to the wall.” He held up his bound hands as if to prove his point. “So really I’d rather be on my way and out of your hair, if you don’t mind.”

She laughed. “Oh dear boy, the cuffs are for your own good.”

He snorted. “Oh yeah, heard that one before.” He muttered.

“If we can just work out how to cure you then everything will be ok. You don’t need to be a monster.” She cooed, the same shit that she’d been spewing for years before his escape.

“I am not a monster!” He snapped. “Geralt knows that.”

“That witcher is no better than the beasts he slays!” His mother shrieked. “I only ever loved you, darling. Why must you fight me?”

“Loved me?” Jaskier scoffed. “You hate my very existence, or do you just hate the reminder that you cheated on your husband, that you’re stuck in a loveless marriage?”

“Gag him!” His mother ordered and Jaskier’s chains were yanked hard. He fell back against the floor.

“Hmmph!” He protested as one of the servants tied something around his head.

“Now, shall we begin?” His mother knelt down and cupped his cheeks. He saw his own eyes reflected back at him. There had never been any doubt of who his mother had been. His eyes were the spitting image of hers.

It had taken him a long time to learn to love his eyes.

“Hmmph.” He grumbled and rolled his eyes at her, shaking the cuffs on his hands. He’d never been very good at keeping his hands still.

She stroked a finger along his cheek and he tried to turn away.

How had he ended back in this hell?

He just hoped Geralt would find him soon.

___________________________________

The witchers of Kaer Morhen had gathered in a dingy looking cave. Geralt was pacing irritably across the entrance of the cave. It had been weeks since Jaskier’s disappearance. He’d tried to track his partner on his own but whoever had taken him had been too good so he’d sent messages to his pack and waited, impatiently for them to arrive at a fairly central location.

Lambert had been the last to arrive. He’d turned up with another witcher in tow, a blond blue-eyed witcher from the School of Cat. On any other day Geralt would have teased his redheaded brother about finally finding a friend who could tolerate him… but today his focus was on Jaskier.

“Wolf, you are making us all seasick with all that pacing.” Vesemir said in a calm voice.

Geralt snarled at the oldest witcher. How could he be so calm when Jaskier was missing?

“Jaskier is missing, possibly dead, and you are worried about getting seasick!” Geralt snapped.

“Hey.” Eskel punched his arm. “You’re not finding anyone like this. Getting pissed at Vesemir won’t help Jaskier, Geralt.”

Geralt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need to find him.”

Eskel pulled him into a hug and he buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll find him. They’ll regret taking one of our pack. I promise you.”

“I’m gonna fucking murder them all.” Lambert agreed.

Geralt looked at Lambert over Eskel’s shoulder and scowled. “No. Whoever did this, they are mine.”

Lambert laughed darkly and nodded. “Alright, White Wolf. You have a deal.”

“No.” Vesemir said firmly. “We do not take revenge. We get the pup and we get out.”

“But Vesemir!” Lambert whined.

“We kill to defend ourselves, nothing more.” Vesemir’s voice left no room for arguments.

Geralt scowled and picked up his swords. “Let’s get moving.”

“Do we actually know where we’re going?” The blond witcher drawled as he pushed himself off of the wall. “Because it seems like not one of you actually has a plan?”

Geralt glared at the newcomer and his fingers itched to reach for his sword. He wouldn’t hurt Lambert’s friend but normally they would greet new witchers by sparring or wrestling, especially if they were being welcomed into the pack of wolf school witchers. Jaskier had gotten a pass, partly because he wasn’t a witcher and partly because he could turn into a fucking dragon. It also helped that Geralt had vouched for him.

Lambert had vouched for Aiden but Lambert didn’t have a good history of choosing friends, and Geralt didn’t trust Aiden yet.

“Don’t even think about it, you bastard.” Lambert snarled.

“You gave Jaskier concussion.” Geralt pointed out.

Lambert had the audacity to laugh. “Fair point, sorry Aiden, he gets a free hit when all this is over.”

“Idiots.” The cat witcher muttered. “All of you. Remind me again why we’re friends?”

“Because I’m pretty?” Lambert suggest.

Eskel snorted.

“Oi!” Lambert growled.

“Can we please focus!” Geralt snapped. “Jaskier is missing! I don’t care if Lambert’s pretty or not.”

“Yeah but…” Lambert protested.

“You’re gorgeous, darling, but the White Wolf has a point.” Aiden winked at Lambert who spluttered and went bright red.

“Right. Yup. Ok.” He muttered and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What did you say that man called him?” Aiden asked, peering at Geralt with cool blue eyes.

Geralt frowned. “Julian.”

Aiden nodded. “Then I think I can help you, if you’re willing to trust me, dog?”

Geralt glanced at Lambert. His cheeks still matched the colour of his hair and he was scowling angrily at the world, but he nodded. The nod was barely perceptible even to Geralt but it was enough. Lambert trusted this new witcher and he was Geralt’s only hope right now to finding Jaskier.

He reached out his hand and Aiden grasped it tightly as they shook on it. “Help me.” Geralt all but pleaded.

“Alright, listen up dogs.” Aiden grinned, his fangs shining in the firelight.

____________________

Jaskier groaned as he was pulled to his feet. How long had he been here now, stuck in his old bedroom as if he’d been sucked into one of his nightmares?

His skin itched, his bones ached and he felt like he was on fire. The metal cuffs cut into his skin and his once cream shirt was now yellow and covered in splatters of blood.

The last time he’d been here, his family’s attempts at ‘curing’ him had been based on working out the limits of his abilities and where they had come from. This time his mother, without the help of mages, had decided to starve his magic instead. He  woke up shivering each morning and it was instinctive to him to try and shift but every morning he let out a pitiful cry and fell to the ground sobbing.

He was stuck.

He couldn’t breathe.

He had begged his mother to take off the cuffs, to allow him to shift. He’d promised he wouldn’t shift into anything dangerous or try to escape but he needed.

Gods he needed.

He ached.

But his mother just pulled him to her chest and stroked his hair, whispering that it would pass and that he was just experiencing withdrawal following his time with the witchers.

The witchers.

Geralt.

Where was Geralt?

Why hadn’t he come?

He’d been sure that Geralt would find him.

And it all hurt so damned much.

“F-fuck!” He stammered and curled up into a ball on the floor.

At least before his room had at least tried to resemble a bedroom. Now it was just a stone cold prison.

He felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could survive. He needed to shift. They knew that. They knew they were killing him in this crazy plan to cure him.

But he needed to survive.

He had to.

For Geralt.

For his pack. His family. His heart.

He had to survive.

____

Next

[funkylittlebard]

Happy belated birthday Maya!

Hey! @mayastormborn! I am sorry this took so long but hopefully you like it!!

Fic goes with this lovely art bc @dapandapod and I schemed and then i ran out of time anyway but you get the point

Hope you enjoyyyy, Geraskel floof is also here on Ao3

Rating: Gen

Tags: Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Pillow Fort, No Plot To Be Seen

the absolute softest version of a pillow fort i will ever write hiding below

By the time Jaskier finally finished performing, he was hot, sweaty, and utterly exhausted. It was the fifth night he had played in this particular inn, and there had been another tavern the week before that. At least now they were in Oxenfurt so he could go and collapse into the comfort of his own bed after a nice long bath. Maybe he could even persuade one of his partners to carry him home…

He swooned dramatically as he reached their table. With the back of his hand held against his forehead and the other resting against the table, he let out a pitiful groan.

"Oh, I am so tired!" he sighed, dropping his weight onto the table a little more. "If only I had a big strong witcher to ca- Hey! I wasn't finished!" he squawked, clutching his lute protectively as Geralt scooped him up into his arms, clearly impatient to get out and away from the noise as well. Eskel laughed, and leant over to press a kiss to Geralt's temple, smoothing out the frown. Jaskier smiled as he felt the rumble from deep in Geralt's chest as he purred.

They arrived back at their rooms about five minutes later, not wasting any time dawdling to look at the view, and Jaskier was already struggling to keep his eyes open. He blinked sluggishly, and hid a yawn behind his hand as Eskel fumbled in his pocket for the keys. Geralt was stroking Jaskier's arm, fingers brushing against the bare skin at his wrist ever so softly. Jaskier stared in awe, stunned as he always was by how tender and careful Geralt could be with both him and Eskel. It was all very different from the Geralt who had punched him when they first met. Though, Jaskier supposed, Geralt hadn’t really changed very much- he'd punched that stablehand last week for trying to butter up Roach with sugar lumps- but they understood each other much better now. He hid his face in Geralt's neck, hiding the overwhelmed tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. The door clicked softly shut behind them, and Jaskier felt himself being lowered to the ground. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, looking up to see two bright pairs of yellow eyes staring straight at him. He blinked, lost for words for a moment, and then felt Eskel's warm hand on his lower back. He shivered, and leant further in, sighing happily when Geralt's hand joined it.

"Geralt, why don't you go and fetch the wine?" Eskel said as his hand rubbed circles across Jaskier's back. "I'll fetch the pillows,"

With a quick peck to his cheek, Jaskier found himself being ushered to sit on the rug in the middle of the living space and watched as Geralt rummaged in the cupboard for glasses. Eskel scurried about their rooms gathering all of their pillows and blankets, which he dropped in a pile at Jaskier's feet. He shuffled, feet rucking up the edge of the carpet, and when Jaskier looked up, he could see a faint blush rising in Eskel’s cheeks. Jaskier tilted his head to the side as Eskel cleared his throat, staring at the floor, unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes. What could possibly have made the other man so nervous? He reached a hand out to him, and wrapped it around Eskel’s ankle, petting it softly in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

The fidgeting stopped as Geralt appeared behind him and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“C'mon, Eskel, just ask him,” Geralt murmured, before moving away to set down the wine. Eskel blinked and took a sharp breath before finally meeting Jaskier’s gaze.

“It’s silly but… we thought you might like it,” he paused again, pushing the rug back into place with his foot. “We used to do this thing as kids were we’d make a fort-” he gestured vaguely at the collection of pillows- “and then get snacks and stay up talking and shit. ‘S just nice, you know,” he scratched the side of his face, bashful grimace marring his expression. “Thought we could just enjoy being close to each other, and you could maybe get some sleep after your perform-oof!”

He was cut off by Jaskier slamming his full weight into him with a forceful hug. Jaskier was chattering excitedly, though much of it was lost with how squashed his face was against Eskel’s chest.

“-yes yes yes, let’s do it, Geralt can you get some snacks, too,” Jaskier babbled, and Geralt was up and into the kitchen within seconds. Jaskier slowly eased back and smiled broadly up at Eskel, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re so sweet to me, darling,” he whispered, and bounced away to begin arranging the blankets as he wanted them.

It didn’t take long before the three of them had a very cosy looking fort set up in the corner of their room. Stripped down to their braies so that they wouldn’t overheat, they crawled into the space and settled themselves comfortably. Jaskier had ended up in the middle, surrounded by the two larger men, and he felt very small and very, very safe. He sighed, and wriggled back against the cushions, eyes slipping closed. He could hear rustling coming from his two witchers, and then warm arms were wrapping around him. He slung his own arm around Geralt’s shoulder, and smiled widely as he felt them lean in closer.

“Love you, Jask,” Eskel whispered, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Jaskier’s smile grew bigger as he felt Geralt lean in from the other side, his nose pressing into Jaskier’s face as he gave him a kiss as well. They sat in contented silence for a moment, the two witchers occasionally kissing his face, as he basked in their affections.

“Want some of this wine, Jaskier?” Geralt said after a while, still managing to sound gruff despite the way they were all cuddled up to each other. Jaskier giggled, and leant over to kiss first Eskel and then Geralt.

“You spoil me,” he chuckled again and reached out, waggling his fingers. “Go on then.”

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

(@sophiakuso1​ gave me the prompt for a modern College AU drabble with Jaskier being at least part dragon and it got completely out of hand so here it is.)

Warning: Minor Injury

Primary tags: Magical College AU, Dragon!Jaskier, Injured!Geralt, Hurt/Comfort with a happy ending, Slight Jaskier Whump?, super fluff, Eskel is here and Lambert is an ass

————————- 

Jaskier swept through the doors of the campus medical center, making a beeline towards the emergency wing. He was determined to get to his destination and no one would get in his way if they had even a shred of self preservation. He had completely forgotten to put his guitar down when he ran out of his dorm room so a few nurses gave him the side eye as he passed but thankfully the place was rather quiet this late at night and no one tried to stop him. This also meant there were not that many people around to witness him stalking down the halls looking rather disheveled. He had been lounging on his bed with only his tight jeans which were more hole then pant in the front, his knees and almost all his thighs on display, when the text came in. He then proceeded to grab the first shirt available, a large button up of his boyfriend’s, which he barely buttoned up before, was out the door while wielding his guitar by the neck. He supposed he was just so used to taking it everywhere that he absentmindedly brought it. He had also forgotten his shoes in his haste and was too worried to waste time going back. At least his dorm was close and it wasn’t winter, so being barefoot wasn’t that bad. 

Now, normally, he would try to keep up his friendly harmless appearance but his worry and urgency had him on edge and he didn’t really feel like sending a polite little comment to everyone he passed this time. In the back of his mind, a small voice told him that Yenyen would be proud.When he finally reached the waiting room, Lambert and Eskel were sitting in plastic chairs looking uncomfortable. Both of their gazes flickered to him as he marched over and, from the way Eskel winced, he must have been making a rather severe face. “Well?! What happened!” He demanded, fuming mad that Geralt was now in the emergency room after his two brothers had insisted he come along to a low key event. They had assured him it was going to be nothing more than a small get together at the frat house since Geralt wasn’t one for larger parties.

“Whoa, ok Jask, just calm down a bit… Are you growling? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you growl before…” Eskel immediately tried to sooth him.

Yes, it seemed he was growling, but his boyfriend Geralt, his dorm mate and love of his life whom he just started dating only a few months ago, was in the hospital! So Yes, he was allowed to growl!

“It’s not that bad, I swear!” Eskel tried again, glancing nervously over to the woman behind the help desk to didn’t bat an eyelash at them. She either hadn’t noticed the commotion or she just didn’t care.

“Not that bad-- Not that bad?!” Jaskier shrieked incredulously before digging in his pocket for his phone with his free hand before tapping furiously away on the screen. “A-hem, Lambert at 12:31 in the morning: Geralt rushed to the emergency room. Come now with, like, a gazillion exclamation points!” He promptly pushed the phone into Eskel’s hands so he could look at the evidence before continuing on his tirade. “I sent back like thirty messages which no one replied to! So I think I have a right to be a little upset and worried!” He did however try to breathe deeply to calm himself once he was finished venting, the feeling of tears pricked at his eye and tickled the back of his throat. 

Eskel, to his credit, gave Lambert a questioning look which screamed ‘really?’ and sighed in sympathy. “Lambert…” He paused to inhale deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What- What the fuck?”

“You told me to text him. I texted him!” Lambert shrugged defensively, his tone flippant but confused.

“I told you to let him know what was going on! Not send him into a fucking fit! I, Fucking… Why did I expect anything different...” With a shake of the head, Eskel turned to Jaskier once more. “It’s really just a minor injury and he’s fine. Something just fell and popped his shoulder out of his socket slightly is all and I didn’t want to fuck with it so we decided to get it checked.” He tried to reassure the shorter man.

“Pfffft, I don’t see what the big deal is, at least he’s here now and we can leave Geralt to him.” Lambert huffed under his breath. His gaze finally fully took in the musician’s state of dress  however and a grin slowly plastered itself across his face. “But I gotta say, if he’s going to look this fucking rediculous every time I text him that Geralt’s in trouble, I might do it more often. And look, he’s ready to entertain at a party.” He joked lightly, the shit eating grin never leaving his face. Oh, and the anger was back.

Normally, Jaskier would snap something back in playful banter but he really was not in the mood at this hour of the night. He grabbed the larger man by the shirt and lifted him off his feet by the collar. “I swear, Lambert, I will burn you to a crisp if you worry me like that again for no reason.” He growled in warning, letting a small puff of fire out to emphasise his threat. 

“... Well shit. Sometimes I forget you’re part dragon…” Lambert laughed warily, his eyes wide with surprise.

Eskel put a tentative hand on the smaller student’s shoulder and Jaskier slowly lowered Lambert back down after taking a deep breath. “Hey, why don’t you go stay with Geralt until they release him while we go deal with the aftermath of the party. They only want to keep him until some of the side effects wear off ‘cause he reacted oddly to what they used to knock him out. It left him a little, uh, weird. He’s completely fine, really.” Eskel insisted softly, understanding how upsetting the situation must have been. He was glad his brother had someone who cared so deeply about his well being. With a pat to Jaskier’s shoulder, the scarred brunette steered Lambert out of the place, cuffing him upside the head lightly for being an asshole. “Oh, and his room is 109.” He called just before they exited.

The musician sighed before sweeping a hand through his hair, trying to tamp the last of his nerves down before heading off to find his dear wolf. A soft beeping is what greeted him once he reached the small dimly lit room and stepped in. And then a low whistle followed after his entrance which had him smirking and huffing a laugh. “Wow… You don’t look like a nurse.” Geralt’s confused but curious voice filled the space as he openly eyed Jaskier up and down.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, wondering what his boyfriend was getting at. “You would be correct, I’m not a nurse nor do I think I would be any good at the profession.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice or the soft smile from spreading across his lips as relief flooded him. Geralt seemed fine for the most part, other than the sling cradling his arm.

A hum followed before he opened his mouth to speak again. “So, do you go into random hospital rooms to magically serenade them better?” He asked, smirking and nodding toward the guitar that Jaskier kept forgetting was still in hand. 

Alright, he did seem oddly talkative, which wasn’t bad in any way just odd, but Jaskier was just happy he was in one piece so he indulged him. “No, but I do perform at a bar quite a lot.” He announced proudly as he walked over to take a seat at the side of the bed and set his instrument down. 

“Hmm… So, talented and beautiful.” Geralt nodded to himself, his voice sounding so confident that it had Jaskier blushing and tongue tied. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Ah! So that was what Eskel meant by weird.The question made Jaskier snort but he reached a hand out and put it atop one of Geralt’s, patting it. “Sadly yes. I am currently dating someone.” He nodded solemnly, deciding that this was too cute not to prolong.

Geralt’s hand turned over and gently but firmly held Jaskier’s hand. He met the musician’s gaze with a very serious expression that left no room for joking. “Have they proposed yet?” 

Jaskier stamped down a fit of giggles and gave a solemn sigh. “Not as of yet.” He fluttered his eyelashes as he looked down at their hands in overly dramatic dejection. 

“Tsk! Fucking idiot.” Geralt grumbled before tugging Jaskier’s hand to get him to look up at him. “If I proposed right now, would you leave that idiot for me?” He asked in complete earnestness.

Jaskier had to raise a hand and placed it on his lips to hide the amused smile as he desperately held back giggles. He didn’t trust himself to speak so he shook his head lightly in response.

“Yah. I thought so. You look too nice to do such a thing. Your boyfriend may be an idiot but he’s lucky to have you.” The disappointment that openly showed on Geralt’s face had him finally take pity on his lover. 

“Darling, I can’t leave my lovely boyfriend because he’s laying right here and I am oh so terribly fond of him. I can think of no one I would rather be with.” He spoke honestly, flashing his wolf a shy smile which drew a happy gasp from the other.

The next minute, he found himself pulled into Geralt’s lap as the man looked at him as if he hung the moon. “I must be the luckiest fucking idiot in the world.” He sighed happily as he hugged Jaskier and buried his face in his neck so Geralt could kiss anywhere he could reach. “I have the hottest, sweetest wife in the world-- or wait, do you prefer husband? Shit! I haven’t gotten you a ring or asked yet…” The man looked up at him in slight panic. 

Jaskier laughed openly now, unable to wipe the smile off his face as he gently took Geralt’s face in his hands and kissed the ridiculous man. “Oh dear heart… I’m never letting you forget this…” He giggled as he was pulled down more so they could cuddle. He thanked Melitele for keeping his love safe as the two showered one another with soft kisses and whispered ‘I love yous’.

[jaskiersvalley]

Look I knew from things my friend reblogged that you have A Gift but now I'm following you and crying every time you post because it is ALWAYS top quality and I am but a poor little goblin with Feelings. You are my favorite and I love you. (also "oh what a hairy valley it is" is fucking hilarious I laugh every time I read it)

You are my new favourite and I love you too! Especially because you find “oh what a hairy valley it is” funny. As thanks, I hope you like a bit of a twist on the Witcher Wolf Pack and their Bard in a modern setting.

Street life was harsh but the wolves had learned how to play the game over the decades. Witchers had become nothing more than myths and they had died out. Or rather, they faded from visible existence and found ways to get with the times. But nobody really wanted grizzly, musclebound men with facial scars so the wolves of Kaer Morhen were left behind by society. It wasn’t like they could get paperwork and ID needed for work and rent, so they lived on the fringes, accepted the ‘help’ of a sorcerer. It wasn’t much better, living on the streets as wolves most idiots mistook for large dogs. But at least they could slink around relatively undisturbed. They could shift forms as they needed but most of the time, they remained four legged.

They had a whole system worked out, honourable as much as thieves could be. Because they needed to steal, needed food and money to survive. The back alley that they’d pulled blankets and cardboard boxes to had become home. But they couldn’t live off things they fished out of the dumpster all the time. It was how they ended up with a range of schemes and ploys.

Easiest was the sad, scared puppy game. It was one that Lambert excelled at, looking vulnerable. If he rolled in a puddle first, he could look exceptionally pitiful. His scars showed up the least too and, as the youngest, he often got the most response. Some days he would hang around outside a food shop and whimper at those going in. The more generous humans would emerge with their shopping plus a little something for him. When something was thrown his way, Lambert would snatch it out of the air and run, hide the stash until he could haul his trophies home to share.

More elaborate was the teamwork of Vesemir and Eskel. They didn’t pull it off often because it was much more dangerous for them both. At some traffic lights where cars were slowing down, Eskel would step in front of a car and get clipped. He’d perfected the art of just getting a glancing bruise on his shoulder but it sounded impressive enough. Once the car stopped, Vesemir, in his grizzled old glory, would fling himself in front of the car with a whimpering howl. That usually got everyone’s attention, the poor old dog, shaking and quivering on the floor. It was enough of a distraction for Eskel to shift to human form and dive into the car, pulling anything of value out. They had to be so careful, not taking anything from those who obviously were in need. That was on top of the constant worry that Eskel could actually get hurt or Vesemir would get carted off to the pound. But the few times they did it, they often got enough things to pawn or, once, a shopping bag full of party food.

Geralt was too bulky to look sad in front of a shop, he got chased with a broom more often than not. He also didn’t have Eskel’s light fingers to steal from cars or Vesemir’s gravitas to look convincingly injured. What he could do though was pickpocket and steal bags. It was so easy to walk pad through a square, a stray dog nobody paid attention to. A snout in a passing pocket resulted in a mouthful of wallet. And the times someone put a bag down to look at their phone or, rarely, to pet him, he could pick up the bag and trot off without much fuss. The other thing Geralt did was trail buskers. He learned about them, knew those who were busking for fun and those who needed the coins tossed at them. Those who did it for a hobby, Geralt had no qualms about ambling up to and snuffling their things. It usually earned him a pat on the head and a laugh. It meant he could curl up with whoever it was playing and, at the end of their stint, Geralt could snuffled a little more under the pretence of curiosity. Nobody ever thought to look in his mouth to find the coins they could have sworn were there.

It was a great ploy until a new busker turned up. Geralt couldn’t get a read on him. The man looked and acted like a peacock but he smelled tired and hurting. Before Geralt could even approach him to investigate, the man was setting his instrument to the side and reaching out in invitation for Geralt to join him.

“You might need a bit of rest.” The man said and pulled a water bottle from his pack. Shoving his handwritten sign of gratitude from the plastic container, it was filled up with water instead. “It’s a warm day, I doubt there are puddles around for you.”

It turned out, the man chattered a lot when he wasn’t playing. He was called Jaskier, had no real family to speak of and loved singing. There was an art to speaking a lot without saying much and Geralt knew Jaskier was a master. In the evening, when Jaskier packed up, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to take any of his coin.

“If you’re ever in the area, you’ll always have a blanket to rest on with me,” Jaskier promised and waved to Geralt. It was only then that Geralt realised that not once did Jaskier touch him.

Once a week, Geralt sought Jaskier out. It was oddly relaxing and on his third visit, Geralt found he had actually fallen into a deep sleep, trusting this stranger to keep him protected. Of course, the others teased him about it relentlessly. Late at night when they were all sprawled in their alley with a rare treat of beer Eskel had managed to snag, they laughed about Geralt’s crush.

“Fine. You go see if you can do better,” he grumbled.

From then on, the wolves took turns and each came back suitably cowed. Eskel had taken the first chance to go see Jaskier for himself. He’d come back subdued and quiet. “He told be about his White Wolf,” he’d said. “How I must be his brother because I’m just as handsome.”

There was nothing handsome about Eskel, or so he thought. His scarring in wolf and human form had his lip pulled up and, as a wolf, he looked like he was continually snarling, teeth bared.

“He wasn’t scared,” Eskel whispered in wonder.

Unable to believe it all, Lambert went to see Jaskier next. He only came back late at night and refused to say anything. It was only later the next night that he whispered to Eskel that he’d tried to goad Jaskier into hurting him, to prove a point. And he got belly rubs instead. Which were a lot nicer than anything Lambert had experienced in a long time, so he had to slink off and think for a few hours before returning home.

Vesemir still had his doubts. His three pups might have been taken in by the singing stranger but he was suspicious. Determined to get to the bottom of their infatuation, Vesemir set out to spy on Jaskier. It didn’t go as well as planned because he was spotted and beckoned over. Even worse, there were freshly bought treats in Jaskier’s pocket, coming out to appease him.

“You look like you could be their father,” Jaskier prattled, handing over another treat. “The same noble, ancient look they’ve got. Living on the streets is no easy feat and I imagine you’ve done it your whole lives. But your pack seem wonderful. You ought to be proud of your boys.”

Vesemir would have thought it all some great, cunning plan were it not for the fact that he could smell the street on Jaskier. Obviously he’d been sleeping in hostels or the like until recently. And yet there he was with the best treats he could afford for a bunch of stray dogs who he knew to be wolves.

From then on, Jaskier enjoyed the company of a wolf beside him for four of the seven days of the week. Geralt slept on the blanket, running and eating in his sleep. By contrast, Lambert was needy, demanding attention and petting, constantly by Jaskier’s feet. Eskel liked to lie calmly and watch, sometimes he’d howl along and get laughs. Occasionally trotting off and coming back with a snack or a drink for them, clutched carefully in his mouth. The first time he presented Jaskier with a sandwich, he man had looked both scandalised and then blissed out as he bit into it like he was starving. Vesemir was by far the calmest, he watched Jaskier rather than the crowds around them, keeping track of how things changed.

“He sleeps on the streets,” he told his pups one night. “I worry for him.”

They couldn’t find Jaskier though, it was a large city and there were a lot of places to hide. By pure luck, they were settling down into a tangle of limbs, tails and fur when they heard voices.

“Just hand it over and you’ll live.” A menacing voice growled.

“I can’t give you that. It’s how I make what little money I have. I’ve already offered you everything I can!” That was definitely Jaskier.

“Along these parts, our word is law. You’ve not paid your dues and now we’re raising fees.”

There was the soft thump of someone being struck and the smell of blood. The wolves were up on their feet as one, quietly padding closer to investigate. Jaskier was on his knees, guitar behind him along with his usual pack which looked like it had been rifled through already. Opposite him were three men, one of them with a nail studded baseball bat.

“I think you need to be taught a lesson,” the man snarled and raised the bat. It arced through the air and there was the sound of it striking flesh and a sharp whine of a wolf in pain rang through the alley.

“What the fuck?”

Geralt was laid flat on the floor and panting, white fur staining red. The other three wolves were snapping and growling at the attackers while Jaskier knelt and watched in awe. Lambert jumped first, jaw latching around the wrist holding the bat and shaking his head.

In two minutes, the attackers were running, bleeding and cursing and the alley was silent save for the panting of the wolves. Eskel and Vesemir shared a look as they approached Geralt. They shifted, ignoring the gasp of surprise from Jaskier.

“You need to shift, pup,” Vesemir stroked over Geralt’s head. “Let us get a better look.”

It took a moment longer but Geralt was human once again and wheezing.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hands clenched in fists.

“Let them sort it,” Lambert murmured from just behind Jaskier, making him jump. “It’ll be okay. Geralt’s just a drama queen.”

“A drama queen with broken ribs,” Eskel grumbled. “At least the nails didn’t puncture his lung.”

In all of that, Jaskier was quiet and surprisingly unafraid. Puzzled, most definitely but he didn’t panic or run.

“Will he be okay?” he asked, soft and worried.

“He’s a strong one, survived a lot worse.” The reassurance from Vesemir lifted a little of the tension. “Why aren’t you running and screaming?”

“Why should I? You saved my life and you’re the wolves I’ve known for weeks now. It’s nice that you can talk back now.”

That seemed to settle matters somehow. And the wolves got a fourth act in their repertoire. Now, Jaskier sang and busked with the protection of a wolf by his side at all times. And, when he returned back to the alley, he always shared his bounty with the others.

“And when I get famous, you’re all coming with me. We’ll tour the world together,” he promised each night from the centre of the wolf pile. It usually earned at least one tail thump or a chuffed out wolf-y laugh. The wolves might have indulged him in such fantasies but they were the ones who had to eat their words. A talent scout did indeed pick Jaskier up. Along with his four wolves who became his bodyguards.

Part 2 here.

[wordsablaze]

10~ the chance to see the light

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: 2021 is lowkey already a mess so here some good vibes with these two dorks being almost the exact opposite !!

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @cloudspeck @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @havenoffandoms @lasaga666 @mayastormborn 

previous chapter

-

The market is loud.

So incredibly loud.

Eskel has rarely ever come across a market so loud and even if he has, he’s never stayed longer than just passing by for necessities or just travelling through to leave town. Crowded places can never exactly be a witcher’s best friend due to all the mutations so no matter what, Eskel always feels a little on edge in markets.

Jaskier on the other hand seems to be in his element from the moment they enter the crowds. He greets practically every merchant they see even though he buys nothing from them, which baffles Eskel, who’s used to often buying things he doesn’t remotely need from various people because he feels bad for wasting their time, but it seems to be the norm for Jaskier - he figures it’s a bard thing. And a pretty endearing bard thing at that.

Well, it’s endearing until Eskel bumps into someone, swivels on the spot as they both apologise to one another, and then turns back to find Jaskier gone.

“Jaskier?” he asks, but said bard is nowhere to be seen.

Eskel groans, his mind unhelpfully reminding him of the siren incident, and cranes his neck to look over the people around him to try and spot either Jaskier’s lute or his bright doublet. When he can find neither, he sighs and starts moving, mumbling apologies every time he has to literally push past the sheer number of people that he didn’t even think could fit in this town and hope none of them think badly of him for it.

He’s just beginning to think Jaskier had used the market as an excuse to be rid of him when someone crashes into him but instead of immediately jumping back, latches onto his arm with a surprising amount of strength.

“Eskel, there you are!” Jaskier grins, steadying himself but still not letting go. “I am so sorry for disappearing, I didn’t know you’d stopped walking.”

Eskel exhales slowly, nodding. “That’s okay. There’s just, uh, a lot of people here.”

Jaskier’s expression softens into sympathy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be so crowded. You can never really tell which towns go for the morning rush until you’re part of it, unfortunately. Do you want to leave?”

Eskel blinks at being given the choice. He’d figured that, the same way he’d taken responsibility whilst hunting a siren, Jaskier would decide their plans whilst hunting a mirror. “No, that’s fine, just… let me know where you’re going next time?”

He means for it to be a joke but Jaskier frowns, biting his lip as he slowly lets go of Eskel’s arm. The small distance that creates between them doesn’t last long because Jaskier hesitantly slips his hand into Eskel’s, not quite gripping it properly but carefully holding his fingers in place as if waiting for approval.

As much as Eskel wants to provide said approval, he hesitates. “Are you sure? That’d send a pretty clear message that we’re… that you’re friends with a… with me.”

Jaskier smiles softly, somewhat sadly. “We are friends, darling.”

“But this is different and-”

“I know,” Jaskier interrupts, “but I can’t promise I won’t get distracted again and I don’t want to get overwhelmed with your witchery senses and all.”

Oh, so Jaskier is just being considerate. Eskel chides himself for thinking anything on the contrary and nods, returning Jaskier’s smile as best as he can because he’s not about to refuse him when he’s just trying to help. “That’s very kind of you.”

Another frown flickers across Jaskier’s face but he doesn’t explain it, only nods and gently squeezes Eskel’s hand as he firmly interlocks their fingers, so Eskel doesn’t question it, letting himself be guided to the different stalls.

If later asked, he wouldn’t be able to recall what anyone was selling at any of the stalls. What he would be able to recall is the way their hands may as well have been made for being held, the way he could feel a firm tug all the way up to his shoulder every time Jaskier turned to admire something or the other, the way Jaskier turned around with a look of concern if Eskel didn’t move fast enough when being pulled along.

He genuinely has no idea how much time passes before Jaskier comes to a complete stop with a rather dramatic gasp. “That one! Oh, Eskel, isn’t it lovely?” Jaskier asks, gesturing to a small, circular mirror.

The merchant seems a little sceptical to hand it over at first, presumably not a huge fan of witchers, but Eskel watches as his gaze travels to their connected hands before his doubt morphs into amusement. When he looks up again, he’s smiling and offers the object up with no hesitation, which is a little confusing but it’s not like Eskel is going to question it.

“Well, what do you think?” Jaskier asks as Eskel takes the mirror, squeezing his hand in what could be excitement or support but is appreciated either way.

It’s a pretty simple design, with one side smoothed down perfectly to create a reflective surface and the other side curved outwards with a flower carved into it. He shrugs. “It’s really nice.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Melitele save us from witchers and their limited reviews. It’s a rose, Eskel. It’s not just really nice, it’s perfect!”

Well, if Jaskier is so determined to continue comparing him to roses, he’s not going to complain regardless of how much he disagrees. And yes, upon further inspection the carving is an impressively delicate rose, so he smiles. “It’s really perfect?” he offers.

Both Jaskier and the merchant laugh, and Eskel is so distracted that he forgets to pay attention to how much Jaskier is spending on the mirror, on him. He’s drawn out of his thoughts when Jaskier tugs on his hand again, grinning.

“You’ll be happy to know we can leave now!” he announces. Although Eskel is more than relieved to finally get out of the sensory mess otherwise known as a market, he selfishly doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier’s hand yet.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not really, no. I replaced my lute strings not long ago and we just ate and I don’t really have much coin left anyway because the patrons of this town aren’t particularly generous so there’s nothing keeping us.”

With a sigh, realising there’s no excuse for them to stay attached any longer, Eskel releases his hold on Jaskier’s hand and starts walking back the way they came. He makes it about three steps before the scent of honey he’s so quickly become comforted by turns sour. Though when he turns to see what’s happened, Jaskier is smiling as if there’s nothing wrong.

“You forgot your mirror, Eskel,” Jaskier tells him with a nervous chuckle, holding out said object.

He takes it from him but that can’t have been the matter because Jaskier still smells the way Lambert does when Vesemir withholds his brewing privileges. Before he can ask, Jaskier brushes past him and speeds up so quickly that Eskel almost loses sight of him again before he manages to catch up.

“Jaskier? What is it, did something happen?” he asks eventually, by the time they’re nearer the inn and there are less people around.

Jaskier shakes his head but doesn’t stop walking. Eskel glances between him and the mirror, which he then pockets so he doesn’t break it, before sighing, confused. “Do you need more coin?”

That seems to have been the wrong way to go about fixing things because Jaskier turns on his heel and folds his arms, all but glowering at him. “I do not and will never need your pity coin, I am perfectly capable of covering my own expenses, thank you very much!”

Eskel wants to disagree, considering that Jaskier is currently wearing his spare clothes, but he also has the feeling that Jaskier wouldn’t take too kindly to him pointing that out. Instead, he just shrugs. “I’m sorry, bardling, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jaskier interrupts once more, but this time he just sounds tired, his previous determination long-gone. “Just tell me honestly, was it really that bad?”

“What?” Eskel asks.

Jaskier gestures vaguely to nothing in particular and yet somehow looks surprised when Eskel doesn’t seem to catch on. He sighs quietly. “You know, holding hands?”

Wait, what? Oh gods, Eskel seems to have completely missed something here. And apparently Jaskier has too, because he seems equally as lost when he sees that Eskel has no idea what he means, his glum transforming into uncertainty.

“How about we go inside first?” Eskel suggests, which he feels is the most logical course of action since the inn is within sight.

The second they’re back in their room, having deposited their respective lute and swords on the floor, Jaskier whirls and gives Eskel a pointed look. “You let go of my hand. I think it’s better you explain why instead of me standing here and guessing.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Eskel says honestly, “you said you were helping me in the market and I didn’t want to take advantage of that kindness once we left.”

Jaskier scowls, but it’s clearly not directed at him because the next thing he does is launch himself forwards and throw his arms around Eskel, who definitely doesn’t stumble in a not entirely unpleasant shock, no sir.

“All due respect, darling, but you witchers can be so stupidly obtuse,” Jaskier mumbles into his shoulder and Eskel laughs, letting himself relax into the embrace and waiting patiently until Jaskier eventually pulls back, thankfully free of any sourness.

“Just to clarify then: this is permission to uhm, hold your hand even when we’re not in markets?” Eskel asks, swallowing down the awkwardness he can sense burning inside him even as the words leave his mouth.

Jaskier grins. “Yes, even the mightiest of witchers are allowed to engage in the more ordinary act of hand-holding.”

Although he’s sure his doesn’t have quite the same charm to it, a matching grin blooms on Eskel’s face. “You know, I thought it was rather extraordinary, actually.”

Just as Eskel had predicted, there’s about three seconds of confusion before Jaskier blushes and his grin once again widens in a way that seems impossible and highly dangerous. He’d say it must be another bard thing but he’s beginning to think it’s just a Jaskier thing and he’s almost afraid of how many Jaskier things he’s been keeping track of lately.

“You’re quite the flirt for someone so obtuse,” Jaskier informs him, raising an eyebrow.

Eskel shrugs. “Must be the company I’m keeping.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests, but the accompanying giggle just makes it sound adorable. As soon as he thinks that, though, Jaskier smirks at him. “So you’re keeping me?”

Ah, not again. He truly has no idea how he’s meant to react to what he’s almost certain is flirting and unfortunately, that fact only seems to amuse Jaskier instead of discouraging him. Not that Eskel has any idea why anyone, especially this bard, would want to flirt with him in the first place.

“You’ve got your thinky-face on again,” Jaskier accuses him quietly, poking his chest. “Do you really have to think so hard on the concept of keeping me?”

Eskel finds himself shaking his head just a little too quickly. “No, no. I would be honoured to continue keeping your company, I just- I don’t know how to do this.”

Jaskier tilts his head to the right, raising an eyebrow. “With ‘this’ being what, exactly?”

That’s exactly what he wants to ask.

“This… this flirting thing,” he settles on.

“I wasn’t really considering it to be a thing so much as just the flirting,” Jaskier says, so quietly that it’s barely even a whisper.

Eskel can literally feel the way his eyes widen. He can also literally smell the way Jaskier begins to doubt himself so, without thinking, he reaches out and grabs the bard’s wrist, instantly regretting that choice when Jaskier flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he says, letting go immediately, “just, uh, just don’t leave yet. Please.”

With a slow exhale, Jaskier nods. “Yet?”

“You can leave whenever you wish,” Eskel clarifies, relieved when all Jaskier does is smile rather than take him up on that offer.

To his credit, Jaskier barely even moves as Eskel tries to compose himself. He rubs his fingertips together before just wrapping his arms around himself and shifts from one foot to the other but he doesn’t leave, giving Eskel as much time as he needs to choose an answer that doesn’t come across as something else that can be taken in the wrong way.

In the end, he just sighs. “I don’t- I mean, I haven’t been flirted at for longer than I can exactly remember. You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing the difference between the typical bardic reputation and the- and anything more… serious.”

“Bards can’t be serious?” Jaskier jokes, but it seems like an automatic response rather than his genuine response if the frown on his face is anything to go by.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eskel replies, very much wishing that he did.

Jaskier nods, reaching out for and taking both of Eskel’s hands. “I can assure you that despite also holding the uhm, the typical bardic reputation, I was being entirely serious about flirting with you.”

Eskel was a little afraid of that, to be honest.

“But if you don’t- that is, if it were to make you uncomfortable, I would be happy to uh, take that problem off your hands and stick to less serious flirting,” Jaskier adds, “or no flirting at all, even. That one may be considerably more difficult since flirting essentially becomes second nature in my trade but I can certainly attempt such an endeavour if it would ensure that we continue to travel together. And I’m aware you’ve already told me you’re happy with that arrangement but it only feels right to make sure in case-”

“You can stay sure,” Eskel cuts in before Jaskier rambles himself into a mess, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“But?” Jaskier asks, raising an eyebrow.

Amazed at how the bard somehow knows he needs to continue, Eskel smiles a little. “But I don’t know how to flirt and be serious about it.”

And he genuinely doesn’t. Obviously. He’s a witcher, he’s more than lucky if anyone at a brothel wants to keep their eyes on him, never mind maintain a conversation, and even then, that’s only if he goes to one in the first place. It’s not like he’s never been flirted at before, but it’s a little hard to take any of it seriously when it’s usually accompanied by undertones of fear or curiosity or mocking jest.

“It’s not like I’m an expert,” Jaskier scoffs and immediately, inexplicably, some of the tension in Eskel’s body melts away.

“What about all those romantic ballads of yours?” Eskel asks, frowning.

Jaskier shrugs, his thumbs drawing tiny soothing circles on Eskel’s hands. “Just because I sing about relationships doesn’t mean I’m in one, darling.”

Eskel is honestly a little baffled by how that can be possible. He can’t imagine being blessed with someone like Jaskier and then deciding not to try and keep him around - which reminds him to violently berate his brother for doing so - but frankly, he’s pretty glad nobody else has because if they had, he’d never have been given the chance himself.

“You look nice in my clothes,” Eskel blurts and, going by the redness that bridges over his nose all the way to his ears, Jaskier mercifully seems to understand what he’s trying to convey.

“I hope you’re aware you’re not getting them back now,” Jaskier teases.

Eskel shrugs. “A loss I’m willing to endure.”

Jaskier laughs brightly, throwing his head back with his hair arching messily in the air above him, his hands tightly clutching onto Eskel’s to stay balanced, and Eskel doesn’t need to be an expert on relationships to know that he’d happily lose any of his belongings if it meant being able to keep Jaskier in his life.

Well, maybe not his mirror.

-

...in retrospect, i may have made them a tad ooc by projecting too much but hey, it be like that sometimes :)

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[fangirleaconmigo]

Pay Your Witcher, Sir

I’m reading through the books, and it makes me SO MAD when people cheat Geralt. 

So it made me feel better to write a scene where Jaskier verbally eviscerates and humiliates a shitty alderman who tries it on Eskel and Geralt. Because then I get to indulge my competent, protective Jaskier kink as well.

(In this fic I call him Dandelion, it’s part of a larger AU I write where Jaskier is a sex worker who goes by Dandelion.)

----

Toss More Coins Than That to Your Witcher, Mother$*cker

The alderman dropped a bag on the table. Five coins slid out. Dandelion couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath through his teeth. That was an insult. Even if he hadn’t seen the dangerous, disgusting work, he knew well enough the average payouts and this was meager to the extreme. He looked from Geralt to Eskel to see what they would do.

Geralt scowled but stayed quiet. Eskel looked unruffled, as usual. He pulled a flyer out of his shirt, opened it, and set it on the table. He smoothed it out and tapped it.

“This says 90 Oren.”

“Yes, but.” said the Alderman, sliding his fingers through his thinning blonde hair, “The beast had moved away from the city. So it wasn’t a threat anymore. We meant to take those announcements down, but just forgot. So really the reward would be nothing.” He lingered on the word ‘nothing’ and held his hands out in an open gesture. “But because I am a generous person who respects your profession, here are five orens to cover your lunch.”

Geralt’s nostrils flared and his jaw flexed. “That’s bullshit,” he said. “The stomach alone is worth 200 oren for alchemical purposes.”

Gregor shook his head. “Oh but we don’t have any sorcerers in town to harvest it. By the time we get one, it’ll be rotted. But you are welcome to leave it and we’ll provide the service of disposing of it.”

“So you can still make money off of the creature’s organs and skin, after you’ve cheated us?” It was a question, but Geralt said it like a statement, and one he found entirely predictable.

“Oh Geralt, are you always so paranoid?” asked Gregor. I’m only trying to help my old friends.”

Geralt growled. The man seemed nervous but not properly frightened. Perhaps Geralt leaving him with life and limb last time made him brave. But not completely stupid. He bobbed his head and began to back away slowly.

What a little man, throwing around his power, thought Dandelion.

“Alderman.” Said Dandelion casually. 

It was like bursting a bubble. It seemed like the other men had forgotten he was even there. Eskel and Geralt both whipped around to look at him. Geralt seemed annoyed. Eskel confused. The alderman froze at being called upon, but still looked around as though identifying an exit.

“What, young man?” Gregor said impatiently. The alderman looked him over, unimpressed.

“I just want to know what you’re going to do with the rest of the money.” Dandelion said,leaning back in his chair. He laced his fingers behind his head.

“Rest of what money?” asked Gregor. “There is no more money. This is it. That’s all.” He pointed at the five pitiful coins lying on the table.

Dandelion shook his head. “Liar.”

Gregor’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

Eskel nudged him with his knee. Dandelion didn’t worry about it. He was going somewhere with this.

“Excuse me?” sputtered Gregor, drawing near once more. He leaned over the table. Dandelion just shrugged.

“The council meets on the first of the month,” he explained slowly, as if for a child. “Their seal is on that flyer, so they formally appropriated 90 Orens. So you had to withdraw it all. But you had no intention of giving it to these fine men, which is why you wanted to meet us here. What does that mean? That means you have 85 oren somewhere on your person. Why would you be carrying around 85 orens of taxpayer coin? Some light embezzlement perhaps? Something pretty for your mistress? I hear she’s partial to jewels.”

“What?? How dare you!” Gregor slammed his fist on the table. “That’s outrageous--”

Dandelion was not impressed by the display. He cut in acidly. “I agree, corruption and embezzlement is outrageous. It’s become rife here in Posada. I imagine the king is keen to get rid of it. Royalty doesn’t take well to thievery.” Dandelion looked him up and down. “Judging from your worn hems and slapdash tailoring, you aren’t favored enough to get away with it.”

Eskel unsuccessfully stifled a cackle. Geralt was watching Dandelion carefully now. He looked interested for the first time.

“You cease your treasonous talk this minute,” spit Gregor. His voice was louder this time, and more shrill. It hinted at a rising anxiety. Good.

At that moment, the barkeeper came with another bowl of bread. He skirted around the alderman and reached between Eskel and Dandelion to lay down the bread.

“Denof.” said Dandelion. The pointy, brunette man looked startled. He’d obviously expected to place down the basket unnoticed.

“Yes, master Dandelion?” He asked, rubbing his hands on his apron.

“You have a son, right? That’s what you said?” Dandelion asked.

“Yes I do, his name is Paul. He’s sixteen years old in May.” The man’s face lit up. People’s faces usually lit up when talking about their children, and it always made Dandelion feel wistful.

“How would you feel about sending your own son out to fight the next monster?” He asked. “When witchers refuse to service your town because Gregor refuses to pay them?”

Dennof’s eyes snapped to look at the alderman. “What? You aren’t paying them Gregor?”

Eskel and Geralt seemed a bit more relaxed now. They looked at Gregor and smiled, waiting.

“Yes Alderman. Are you paying us?” asked Geralt pointedly.

Gregor sputtered and he took too long to answer. The barkeeper’s expression grew knowing. Then outraged. “I would never. None of us would tolerate that. He can’t have our kids. They aren’t trained for monster hunting. Witchers are built for it. They have potions. Silver swords. Mutations.”

“Indeed,” said Dandelion. He patted Dennof’s arm. “Your sons would just be kindling. Maimed. Killed. So predictable. Practically homicide at the hands of council corruption if you ask me. But why don’t you see what other people think? So many other citizens come in here, hundreds a day I assume. You should ask them what they think of Gregor using the funds for his mistress--”

“Shut up this moment.” Screamed Gregor. “Leave, Dennof.” The barkeeper scurried away but not without giving the alderman a look that could wilt a stone.

“Let me give you some advice.” Hissed Gregor, drawing closer to Dandelion and leaning close. “Continue to mouth off and I’ll throw you in the stocks.”

Dandelion flopped his arms down then rubbed his chin in mock thought. “I mean you could. That’s certainly an option. But when Redania and Sodden both request a formal explanation for it from the king, you’d have to tell them the truth. That I was arrested for the crime of asking you to do the most simple, basic function of your job without stealing from the public coffers. By all means, go ahead, if that’s the kind of attention you crave.”

Eskel was smothering a smile. He looked like a kid in a classroom enjoying his mate smarting off to the teacher. Geralt was staring at Dandelion now, and his jaw had dropped just a touch. It was extremely satisfying.

Dandelion held out his wrists to Gregor and batted his eyes. “Arrest me, go ahead. I don’t like to share this much, but I’m actually quite happy to be bound. I could even do it myself. Rope bondage is one of my specialties.” He cut his eyes at Geralt and winked. Geralt cleared his throat. Gregor was not going to be distracted so easily though. If anything, his face looked more and more disdainful.

“Why would Redania or Sodden give a shit what a vagabond witcher’s whore is doing in stocks?”

Dandelion felt Eskel tense beside him, so he put his hand on his leg and squeezed. Witcher whore. Dandelion actually, perversely, really liked the sound of that. He pushed ahead, speaking fast before Eskel could react angrily.

“Well, Lord Dulik in Sodden is my patron. And my sister Sarah Pankratz, Viscountess of Lettenhove is a close advisor and friend of the Redanian royal court. So I imagine they’d both file a petition. But feel free. Again, I don’t mind a good binding. And I’d be out of stocks by the evening.” He gave his most dazzling smile. “And I suspect that you, would be in them.”

Gregor’s face froze. “You are the viscountess’s brother Julian?” His voice sounded constricted.

Dandelion nodded blithely.

“Well. Well well.” Gregor laughed nervously. “Julian. What a pleasure to meet you. Your sister is quite a force of nature, isn’t she?”

Dandelion nodded again, smiling generously, enjoying the man's attempt to shovel his way out.

“Well. What a pleasure. What are you doing traveling with witchers, might I ask? In simple clothes--” (With bites and bruises all over your neck, went unspoken.)

“Well. I like keeping the company of honest people who work hard and help others.” He nodded to Eskel, then Geralt, making a point that Gregor was not counted in the number of honest folk.

“Of course, of course. I’ve worked with these men before, men of honor.” Stammered Gregor.

“ Also,” said Dandelion, pausing and savoring his words “you should see their cocks--”

Eskel made a choking sound. Gregor blinked. The threat of a smile passed over Geralt’s face. Dandelion leaned towards Gregor and whispered conspiratorially, mouthing the word dramatically...

“Spectacular.”

Gregor turned beet red and slammed the rest of the money down on the table. He made a few stammering attempts at a sentence. But then he clearly decided he was in over his head and he turned on a heel and made a swift exit.

Geralt’s face was unreadable. Eskel just giggled quietly to himself.

“How did you know he had a mistress who liked jewels?” asked Geralt.

“A very good guess.” said Dandelion.

“And what about the council meetings?”

“It’s pretty common.” Said Dandelion, shrugging. “Meeting at the beginning of the month. Appropriating necessary funds for the month. And why did he want to meet us here instead of paying it out in front of his bookkeepers? Honestly.” Continued Dandelion. “I know you witchers like to stay out of politics but it does come in handy sometimes.”

Eskel grabbed the money and stuffed it in his shirt, grinning triumphantly.

“That’s enough for a roast pig dinner and two rooms for the night.”

Geralt grunted.

“That meant thank you.” said Eskel, turning to Dandelion.

Geralt smiled a small begrudging smile. Dandelion caught sight of his teeth. He had incisors that were a bit longer than the rest of his teeth. Little witcher fangs. Dandelion smiled wide, though he was glad no one could read his mind at the moment.

“Well, it was my pleasure. After all, I expect at least one of those coins to be spent buying my supper.”

Eskel raised his glass.

“A toast to a successful day..in hunting and in negotiations.” They all drank deep.

“Now.” said Dandelion, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I adore the both of you--” He noticed Geralt blinking in surprise-- “but that beast smell is beginning to ripen. Let’s get my witchers a bath, shall we?”

He looked hopefully at Eskel then at Geralt.

--fin

You can also read it all on AO3.

It’s from a larger Eskel/Jaskier fic, where Eskel is bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for a visit. They’ve met Geralt on the road, so its about to be Eskel/Jaskier/Geralt mayhaps?  Then we get to Kaer Morhen and Lambert makes an appearance.  So it’s basically Eskel/Jaskier --> Witchersexual Jaskier. 

[officerjennie]

@fus-ro-nah may this short soft snippet bring you some joy~~

Eskel/OC, hurt/comfort, Sho is Sick and doesn’t feel well and gets cuddles

--

It had been quite a long while since Shokashi had felt quite so icky. His body ached, his eyes refused to open despite the beautiful and warm sunshine that shone through the spaces in his blinds. Instead of shushing his alarm and stretching and getting up like normal he just groaned, face still pushed into his pillow, blindly patting around to find his phone and discovering it had fallen off the bed in his slumber.

Wow but it took a lot of energy to find it. He ended up having to lift his head up and whimpered at the sudden pounding that came from the movement, the pressure just right inside his forehead, hot and constant and throbbing. In the end he found the phone cord and tried to pull his phone up, the soft chimes and piano that usually helped him greet the day happily just making his eyes tear up because he wanted to sleep.

Maybe he didn’t want to sleep exactly, but he certainly didn’t want to be awake. Not when existing felt like this. 

After his phone charger just unplugged from his phone and he had to lay half off the bed, trying his best to find his phone without getting up, Shokashi decided this day was very very much not for him. But he at last got his phone and turned off the alarm - not even hitting snooze, just turning it off all-together - and promptly pressed his face right back into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut tight and hoping to drown out the light that he usually loved to bask in.

His face was still squished into the fluffy pillow, another pressed on top of his head and held down with both of his hands, when his phone went off yet again. It hadn’t felt like more than three minutes since his alarm went off and Shokashi felt like crying that he wasn’t allowed to rest (though he knew he was just being a bit of a baby about it; he’d never been able to handle any sort of pain). But it wasn’t an alarm this time, it was the distinct, not soft chimes or piano sound that told him he was getting a phone call.

Peeking out from his shelter of pillows, he just pouted pitifully at his phone for a few seconds, wondering if he could really handle answering it. At least his throat didn’t feel sore so he should be able to talk - if, and only if, he could gather up the energy to answer his phone to begin with.

And that took almost every single ounce of his energy to do, but he did it. He was rather weakly proud of himself for that.

“Hello?” Not even having bothered to look at who was calling him, or, rather, not having the energy to, Shokashi had just fetched his phone and brought it back to his pillow shelter, hiding from the sunlight yet again as he did.

“I’m, er...guessing you’re not coming in today?”

The voice sounded familiar, but Shokashi was really really bad at putting faces to names over the phone. He had to take the phone away from where it was pressed to his ear, squinting at the screen and feeling his head throb at the soft light coming from it.

Oh. Oh.

“I’m sorry!” He winced at his own voice, squeaking as it was, and scrambled to get out of bed. But as soon as his feet touched the ground his whole body very much said no, his butt dropping right back to the disheaveled comforter and sheets he’d tried to escape. “Forgot the day, time, I’ll- give me 10 minutes?”

“Sho, you live half an hour away.”

“Right. Yeah.” Shokashi held his head with one hand, whining very quietly, rather upset with himself for forgetting he’d set up a meeting for this morning. Of course he’d feel awful on the day he’d been supposed to meet his mother for the first time in three months. Of course. Just his luck.

“Sorry, mom, I’m just-”

“Go back to bed, sweetie.” Her voice was like a balm even if it didn’t touch his pain in the slightest, and he whined a little more audibly this time. “Do you need me to bring you anything? You don’t have work later, do you?”

“No.” Shokashi crawled right back to his shelter, this time managing to burrito himself into his comforter while he went. Might be too hot for one but there was just something comforting about feeling something wrapped around him. He pouted, wishing it was someone instead. “’ll be okay.”

“We can meet next week instead, love. If you’re okay, if you’re up for it.”

It hurt that she felt like he wouldn’t be. He swallowed the emotion threatening to bubble up, his throat tight and his eyes watering from both physical and emotional pain. “Love you, mom. Lots. I’ll see you next week.”

He swore to himself that he’d very much make it up to her - spending all of those years apart had just...worn on the whole family, and he hated that he couldn’t see her now, like he’d promised. But he hung up the phone and would just make sure he absolutely, no excuse, not one single doubt would meet with her next week. 

Most of his day past in a bit of a haze. Every once in a while he braved the outside world just enough to check the time, not really able to get a grasp on how fast or slow it was passing. Sometimes minutes felt like hours, once he lost two hours in the blink of an eye, and the entire time his head hurt like it was trying to cave in on itself.

Didn’t help when his entire body started to ache with it. Shokashi groaned, starting to fidget because laying still felt awful but the movement felt just as bad. Had he caught something? He hoped it was just a bug but he really wasn’t sure, just thankful for the blessed few minutes sleep took him down enough to not feel anything.

At some point, his phone went off again. Or maybe it was a couple of times, he really wasn’t sure, just whimpering and squirming further into his shelter and hoping the noises would stop. They did, eventually, though a car alarm very rudely set off next door and went on for what felt like an eternity, haunting his every breath with its blaring.

He wanted a hug. Or for someone to lay on him. Or both. A few tears leaked out, wetting his pillow as he squeezed his eyes even tighter.

It didn’t even register past all the pain - the sound of his front door opening, shoes being taken off in the doorway, shuffling through his house. What did register was a soft voice calling out his name, and everything in Shokashi reacted so pitifully at the same time he whimpered at the sound.

“‘m in here.”

Another wince at his own voice, and Shokashi curled up tighter in his burrito blanket, hearing footsteps coming towards him. And oh, despite how awful his whole body and the whole world was it was blissful, the feeling of a gentle hand barely touching his shoulder, just a weight against his skin.

“Was worried when you didn’t answer. You alright, honeybee?”

“Did I miss something?” Shokashi peeked out and pouted at the creases that brought Eskel’s expression down - he hated it when he made him frown, always doing his best to hear him laugh and see that face light up. Eskel deserved the world not a pile of painful and whimpering goo.

The fingers that reached out to brush against his cheek were so gentle and everything Shokashi needed at that moment. It hurt to see the sun but he didn’t want to hide with Eskel there to brush the sweaty hair out of his face and stroke his jaw in just the right, soft way that always made his eyes flutter. “No, I just wanted to hear your voice. ‘s’alright that I came in, right? Don’t wanna intrude but you usually answer, and I knew you were travelin’ today.” 

“It’s okay.” He grabbed onto the hand that cupped his cheek and held it there, nuzzling into the palm and closing his eyes.

“You need anything? Have you eaten today?”

Shokashi shook his head - all he’d gotten up for was a single bathroom break and he’d crawled right back to his sick bed, determined to never leave it.

The sunlight was suddenly blocked from his eyes, and Shokashi cracked them open just as Eskel brushed his lips against his forehead. He paused there for a soft kiss, then rested against Shokashi’s sweaty hair as if it wasn’t gross, thumb still gently caressing his cheek.

“I’ll get you some breakfast,” he said softly, as if he knew the pain Shokashi’s head was in - and even that soft soft voice still made him wince, no matter that he loved hearing it. “Something easy on your stomach. Does your throat hurt?”

Shokashi shook his head no.

“Alright. I’ll still make you some tea. Just rest for now, honeybee, I’ll take care of you.”

It was pitiful, the noise he made to that, but Eskel didn’t comment on it. Just gave him one more soft kiss to the very top of his head before removing his hand and getting up, and without even being asked shutting the blinds properly to keep the sun at bay.

Shokashi didn’t deserve him. He whined in his own head as he buried it once again, readjusting his burrito to hold him while his boyfriend went off to take care of food and tea. The world didn’t deserve him. He was just too soft and sweet and good. 

And perfect for cuddling when one didn’t feel well. For now, he’d accept the pillow and blankets, but the moment Eskel was adequately satisfied with Shokashi’s basic needs Shokashi was dragging him down to snuggle straight into his chest and hold him and never let go.

[jaskierswolf]

The Viscount and The Witcher pt.4/4

(Note: Reposted from my old blog. The rest can be found on my Ao3 or on my pinned masterlist)

The witchers gathered around the table were all laughing drunkenly as Geralt finished his latest tale of Dandelion the fake bard. Over the years, Dandelion’s attempts at creating monsters had been a source of entertainment over the winter for the witchers of Kaer Morhen.

“A fucking horse with wings!” Lambert could barely catch his breath between bouts of laughter. “Why didn’t the idiot just call it a unicorn or something like that?”

Geralt smiled fondly at the memory of the Viscount’s sheepish expression when the horse had ridden out of the barn.

“The real idiot here is Geralt.” Eskel pointed out.

Geralt snarled at his brother and glared fiercely but it didn’t have any affect on Eskel, he was too used to Geralt’s moods.

“If I had a pretty blonde throwing themselves at me like that, White Wolf.” Eskel grinned. “I would not ride off until the world was overrun with monsters and Vesemir pulled me out of the house kicking and screaming.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Lambert agreed.

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “You have got to be fucking kidding.”

Geralt shrugged. “Humour me.”

“That Viscount wants to ride you until he can’t remember his own name.” Lambert laughed.

“And then some.” Eskel added.

Geralt frowned. Sure Dandelion was a flirtatious man. The first time they’d met Dandelion had practically thrown himself at Geralt but after that he’d been more reserved. Geralt had assumed that the Viscount had changed his mind after Geralt’s vicious rejection. They had settled down into a sort of camaraderie.

There was nothing more to it than that.

Dandelion created his monsters and after some food or a bath Geralt would tear them apart.

That was it.

A foolish Viscount and his witcher.

Geralt scoffed.

Perhaps he was the foolish one. He was still not sure why he kept going back to Lettenhove.

“It’s not like that.” Geralt grunted.

His brother burst into hysterics, too much white gull in their systems.

“Oh White Wolf.” Eskel smirked and patted his cheek. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“That was your first mistake.” Lambert cackled.

“That Dandelion of yours knows that you aren’t fooled by his trickery.” Eskel explained. “And yet he keeps calling you back.”

“And the wolf always comes when he’s beckoned.” Lambert snorted into his drink. “Maybe the Viscount is the real monster? A siren!”

Eskel laughed. “Or a succubus.”

Geralt growled. “He’s not a monster.”

“Calm down, Geralt. It’s a joke.” Eskel rolled his eyes.

“Hmm.”

“Fucking hell, he’s worse than usual.” Lambert groaned and topped up Geralt’s flagon with white gull. “Drink up!”

“I’m not thirsty.” He pushed the drink away.

He stood up and left his drunken brothers in the dining hall. He fled to the safety of his room and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He could picture Dandelion’s soft blond curls, hear his musical laughter, smell the sweet scent of lavender.

He groaned and rolled over, burying his nose in his pillow. “Fuck off, Dandelion!”

But the Viscount stayed with him, even when he closed his eyes.

Were his brothers right? Did Dandelion still want him or was it just a game like it always had been?

Last summer Lambert had decided to ride out to Dandelion’s lands. He had paraded around the villages and in the taverns with his swords proudly on his back. He had enquired loudly, in typical a Lambert manner, about any jobs that might require a witcher, but no letter had been sent, only a purse filled with coin. Lambert had been bemoaning about it all winter. Apparently it wasn’t fair that Geralt had a safe space at the castle, somewhere to bathe and recuperate should he need to, and the other witchers had to make do with scornful looks by shitty tavern owners.

Geralt had brushed off the story before, assuming that Dandelion had just been too busy to entertain a witcher, but Geralt had been in a nearby town less than a week later and no sooner had he arrived than a young girl had pressed a letter into his hands, Dandelion’s familiar seal stuck to the paper in vibrant yellow wax, the scent of buttercup perfume wafting from the paper.

Geralt snarled at jumped out of his bed. He stared wistfully out of the window. The path was still thick with snow and the chill in the air would prevent the path from clearing properly for another few days at the least.

He was stuck in Kaer Morhen until spring and for the first time in his long life, he didn’t want to be. He was restless. He didn’t feel comforted by the hot springs in the bathhouse. He didn’t feel at home with his family surrounding him. He didn’t feel well rested after months of sleeping in his own bed.

He peered back out at the snowy mountains. The snow wasn’t as thick and treacherous as it was in the middle of winter. There were already signs of melting. The rivers flowed fuller than they had all winter, no longer frozen solid in blocks of startling blue ice, and the branches of the trees no longer sagged under the weight of snow.

If he could melt away some of the snow then Roach would be able to navigate the trail. She was used to this journey now, no longer the skittish mare from three years ago. She’d grown into a reliable and trusted companion, as Roach always was and always would be.

With his mind made up he began to pack up his belongs and pulled his heavy winter cloak from his wardrobe.

It was time to leave Kaer Morhen.

_____________

Dandelion was packing up his essentials into his lute case, humming a new melody under his breath, when Annabelle ran into room without knocking.

“My Lord Dandelion.” She panted. Her cheeks were rosy from her run through the house and her red hair was wild as it tried to escape its bonnet on top of her head.

He dropped his lovely shimmering lilac doublet back onto his bed and caught the girl’s hands in his own. “Annabelle? What’s wrong my dear?”

“The witcher!” She gasped.

Dandelion felt his eyes go wide. “Geralt?”

“Lord Dandelion, he’s here.” She beamed up at him.

Oh no.

No no no.

Geralt wouldn’t have come for him. It was too soon. Spring had barely thawed the snow. Geralt should still be stuck up in the mountains with the other witchers, with Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir. There was no chance in all the Continent that Geralt could have made his way all the way from Kaedwen to the Lettenhove Estate already.

Dandelion ran a hand through his hair. It was a mess. There wouldn’t be enough time to curl it either. Oh to the gods he was a state! The witcher simply could not be here already. He thanked Annabelle and pressed a gold coin into her hands, sending her on her way and then turned to face his mirror.

“Oh this won’t do at all!” He whined and stripped off his mossy green jerkin that he’d picked out for travelling in and madly hopped about the room as he tried to pull on his lilac ensemble. His hair was a lost cause but he hoped that his hat would hide the worst of it. He appraised his reflection carefully. Perhaps he could draw Geralt’s eyes away from the mess of his hair.

He stuck his tongue between his lips as he considered the best plan of attack. Eyes… or lips?

Or both?

A last attempt to woo his witcher.

It was time for something utterly shameless. He pulled out the drawer of his dresser and plucked the kohl pencil from the top. His tongue slipped between his teeth as he concentrated, his hands shaking slightly as he brushed the kohl around his eyes. It was a miracle that the liner wasn’t horrendously wonky. There were a few shaky scuffs but overall Dandelion was proud of his work. The dark lines around his eyes made the blue pop. He smirked and moved onto the lipstick. It was a dark blood red stain that stood out brilliantly against his skin and golden blond hair.

He would just have to be careful not to bite his lips too much and wipe the make up off before Geralt could see the full look.

He tilted his head and adjusted his hat, making sure the feather was in place.

Now, he was ready for his witcher.

He strode from his room and down towards the foyer. Sure enough Geralt was waiting for him. He was stood awkwardly by the stairs, swords on his back and looking rather out of place in the extravagant mansion.

Geralt’s eyes flashed up when he heard Dandelion approach. Dandelion basked in the witcher’s gaze. Geralt’s amber eyes lingered on his lips and the witcher looked like he wanted to devour him. Dandelion smiled smugly and winked at the witcher.

“Greetings Geralt!” He purred as he slowly made his way down the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

As he reached the bottom stair he reached out and stroked the witcher’s cheek, letting his finger trail down to Geralt’s jaw and neck.

Geralt visibly swallowed and his eyes darkened.

“Dandelion.” He growled and captured Dandelion’s wandering hand in his own.

“You’re lucky, witcher. A day later and you would have been quite disappointed. I am finally leaving this godforsaken house. You’ve inspired me, dearest. I want my adventure! I am going out to see the world for myself. My lute is tuned and ready to compose ballads that will change the world.” He sighed wistfully.

Geralt scowled and tilted his head. His hand still gripped Dandelion’s which was a pity because he so wanted to thread his fingers into that radiant silver hair. “You’re leaving?”

Dandelion nodded. “I am. I think we’ve been playing this game for long enough, don’t you think? It’s time for me to go out and see some real monsters.”

Geralt unexpectedly smiled playfully and brought Dandelion’s fingers to his lips.

Dandelion almost swooned. He suddenly felt rather breathless and he had no words to say, they were taken from him by this glorious man.

“I heard” Geralt leant forward to whisper in his ear, which was really quite indecent. The man’s voice was husky and low, his breath tickled against Dandelion’s cheek. “that you had a monster problem.”

Dandelion whimpered. He wasn’t proud of it but he found he was quite under Geralt’s spell which was really not fair. He was supposed to be the one that was doing the seducing, not the other way round.

“There are rumours” Geralt continued, his hand now resting on the small of Dandelion’s back, pulling their bodies closer together. “of a succubus in the Viscount’s castle, living right under his nose.”

“Oh?” Dandelion asked as heat pooled in his stomach.

“Dangerous creatures.” Geralt growled. “They can drive a man mad with lust.”

Dandelion gasped as Geralt’s lips moved to his neck. “I know the feeling.” Dandelion answered breathlessly.

Geralt chuckled and his hands slid down Dandelion’s back to grope his ass. Dandelion yelped in surprise and threw his arms around Geralt’s neck to support himself as his knees threatened to give out. He was positively dizzy with lust, his vision was hazy and all he could see, feel, smell was Geralt.

It was all he needed.

Geralt’s lips were still lavishing his neck, kissing and sucking at the tender skin, sending shocks of pleasure through Dandelion’s body. Geralt was surely leaving marks on his skin and that thought only made him feel even more aroused.

He tilted his neck to allow the witcher better access. “And where, my darling Geralt, would a succubus be hiding?” He asked, playing along with Geralt’s game.

“Hmm?” Geralt pulled away and looked at him with dark eyes.

“The succubus?” Dandelion asked weakly.

Geralt smirked and brushed a finger along Dandelion’s bottom lip. Dandelion trembled under the touch. Instead of answering Geralt suddenly wrapped his arms around Dandelion’s waist and threw him over his shoulder. Dandelion let out a surprised squeak as his feet were swept up from underneath him. Geralt’s strong arms were wrapped just under his ass and he was flopped over the witcher’s back as he if weighed nothing at all. His poor hat tumbled to the floor as it fell from his head. He caught the eye of Annabelle who was watching the whole affair from the other side of the foyer. She was laughing behind her hands.

Dandelion sighed as he was carried up the stairs, he waved to his staff with wink.

“Make sure no one disturbs us Annabelle!” He called to the girl. “I have an important meeting to attend to!”

“Shut it, Dandelion.” Geralt growled.

He laughed and smacked the witcher’s ass. “Dear witcher, Geralt, my darling.” He purred as the man pushed open the door to his bedroom.

“What?”

Dandelion smiled seductively as he was placed back on the ground in front of Geralt, the bed pressing against the back of his legs. He cupped Geralt’s handsome face in his hands. “Make me.”

Geralt growled and did just that, pulling Dandelion into a bruising kiss. One that the Viscount would remember for the rest of his life.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt. 9/25

Previous

The winter holidays were a chaotic affair for the wolf pack. Since their own families were a mess it had become tradition to come together as a team and spend the Solstice as one big found family. This year was extra special because it was Ciri’s first winter with them and her first without her own family. This year was Lambert’s turn to host and he was going to make damned sure it was the best Solstice that the team had ever had.

The only problem was his cooking skills.

Cooking had never been his strong point.

When he’d lived with his brother, Eskel had done most of the cooking in the house and had developed quite a passion for it. So Lambert, like any good younger sibling, had quite happily taken advantage of every second of it. Of course, once living together had reached boiling point and they’d decided it was best for everyone to move apart, Lambert’s quality of diet had dropped considerably. He now lived on ready meals and takeaways most of the time, unless Eskel took pity on him, which happened on a fairly regular basis.

He stared at the cook book in front of him. The woman on front was smiling brightly in a sunlit kitchen and holding a ridiculously picturesque pie.

“Fuck it.” Lambert growled as he flipped through the pages to the right section.

He’d brought all the right ingredients and he’d carefully written down all the timings for everything, just like he’d seen Eskel do in the past. He read through the recipe for the roast lamb a couple more times before tying an apron round his waist and pulling his hair back into a bun.

“Cooking. I can do this. Easy as pie!” He grumbled as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge.

Today was all about prep, chopping veg and potatoes ready for cooking tomorrow, baking cookies for snacks during the day. He was also making an onion soup to start with that could be reheated tomorrow. He grabbed his peeler and stared down at the sack of potatoes.

There were so many fucking potatoes.

He was going to be here all day.

He should probably ask for help. Eskel always called him and Renfri round to help chop shit up.

“Fuck off, I don’t need help.” He grumbled and got to work with the potatoes.

He was about three potatoes in when he decided he was going to die of boredom. He washed the starch off his hands and put on some music. The sound of acoustic guitar filled the kitchen. It was some unknown folk band that he’d discovered online by chance, called Dandelion and the Bards. The two lead singers Dandelion and Priscilla harmonised so perfectly that it was like they’d almost been born to sing together.

He spent the next hour or so dancing around his kitchen with the potato peeler and singing along to the songs. The music was so loud he almost didn’t hear the doorbell. He paused, turned the music off and dumped the potato in the bucket of water.

The doorbell went off another three times in quick succession.

Eskel.

“I’m coming you ass!” He called out as the doorbell continued to ring.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary and glared at his brother who was grinning back at him. Geralt was stood behind him with Ciri perched on his shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow at his appearance and Lambert looked down at his starch covered apron. He huffed but didn’t say anything, for Ciri’s sake.

“Ah Ciri! Hello little lion cub!” He waved the peeler at the young girl and then paused. “Wait. What day is it?”

“Don’t panic, you big lump. We’re here to help.” Eskel pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back.

“Oh. Yeah. Well I have it all under control.” He growled.

“Nice singing.” Geralt said with a smirk.

He felt his cheeks heat up, damned ginger complexion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sooo… what’s the plan of attack?” Eskel asked as he pushed through into the house. “Apart from putting the heating on. It’s freezing in here!”

Lambert shrugged. “Kitchen’s hot.”

The four of them made their back into the kitchen. Eskel pulled out a bundle of aprons from his rucksack and a cloth carrier that contained his set of actually sharp knives. It took about three minutes to delegate the tasks between the four of them. Eskel was in charge of marinading the lamb and making sure it was properly trimmed and ready to go in the oven. Lambert was to finish the potatoes and start on the veg. Geralt and Ciri would be on cookies. It was a tad cramped in his kitchen with all four of them working together and they almost crashed into each other at every turn but they were laughing and chatting away.

It was actually sort of fun.

He was starting to understand why Eskel enjoyed cooking so much.

They sorted out a game plan for the next day. Eskel went through his list of times and corrected any mistakes. Honestly, how was he supposed to know you were meant to let the lamb rest out of the oven after cooking. Surely that just made the food go cold. He hated cold food but Eskel insisted it would be ok but they had to make sure the plates were heated. In the morning Ciri and Lambert would make cinnamon buns together for team breakfast, Eskel would be in charge of the savoury snacks and salad, and Geralt would make the mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice for Ciri.

That way Lambert wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for the whole day and he’d actually get to spend some time with the wolf pack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa with a beer in his hand. Ciri was sat by his feet with a glass of chocolate milk and Geralt and Eskel were lounged out on the arm chairs.

“See that wasn’t so bad.” Eskel grinned.

“I would have been fine.” He growled back.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Seemed like you were having a party in there before we arrived.”

He shrugged. “I like to cook to music.”

Eskel almost choked on his beer. “You don’t like to cook.”

He growled. “I do too!”

“You never once cooked!”

“Only because I knew you liked it so much!” He shot back.

“I had fun!” Ciri announced loudly. “Even if Dad did drop flour in my hair.”

“Sorry, Princess.” Geralt grumbled.

“It’s ok! I blame Uncle Lambert! He crashed into you.”

Geralt laughed. “I blame Uncle Lambert too.”

“So what was the music you were listening to, Uncle Lambert?” Ciri asked as she wiped chocolate milk off her nose.

Lambert chuckled as she scrunched her nose up. She still managed to miss a huge smear of chocolate that was on her cheek. He wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get chocolate that far away from her mouth. Geralt sighed at went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to help her clean up.

“A band I found on the internet.” Lambert smiled. “You wanna hear some of their stuff?”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Dad get off!” She squirmed as Geralt attacked her with the kitchen roll.

“Mucky cub.” He laughed.

“I can do it myself!” She squealed and grabbed for the paper towel. Geralt let her take it and she scrubbed ferociously at her face until she was sure it was all clean. “Good?”

“Perfect.” He ruffled her hair fondly and she grumbled under her breath like an angry kitten.

Lambert went to get his phone so he could put his music back on. The melodic tones of Dandelion’s guitar filled the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Eskel chirped up.

“Thought you liked the heavy metal stuff.”

Lambert shrugged. “I’m a man of many tastes.”

“I like it!” Ciri agreed. “Sounds like Mr Jaskier’s playing.”

Eskel and Lambert both rolled their eyes at that. They heard enough about Jaskier from Geralt at work. They had almost forgotten that it was all because Ciri was just as fond of her teacher.

The first song was sung almost entirely by Priscilla. It was a soft heartbreaking number that always left him feeling emotionally strung out. It was only about halfway through that he remembered the cursing and he coughed loudly over the swear words earning a glare from Geralt. Ciri didn’t seem to notice though, thankfully.

The next song began just as quietly on the guitar but this was one of Dandelion’s. The moment he started to sing, Ciri began to scream excitedly and Geralt spat a mouthful of beer out onto the floor.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri shrieked.

“Calm down, Cub.” Geralt spluttered. “I’m sure it just sounds like him.”

Lambert and Eskel exchanged a despairing look.

“No!” Ciri stomped. “It is him!”

Geralt looked at Lambert with a fierce glare. “What the hell, Lambert?”

He put his hands up in defence. “Woah now. I didn’t know anything about Ciri’s teacher.”

“Jaskier isn’t exactly a common name.” Geralt challenged angrily.

“Exactly!” Lambert cried. “It’s not Jaskier!”

“It is!” Ciri demanded with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well what’s the band called?” Eskel asked as he scooped Ciri up into a hug.

“Dandelion and the Bards!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not Jaskier. The guy singing is Dandelion.”

“No!!” Ciri cried.

“Ciri, Princess.” Geralt said calmly and tried to smooth the young girl’s hair as she squirmed in Eskel’s arms.

“No!!” She repeated.

Lambert sighed and turned the music off. “I’m sorry Ciri. It doesn’t say anything about any Jaskier.”

But it didn’t matter. Ciri was having a meltdown. No matter what they did or said helped her to calm down and in the end Geralt had to bundle the screaming girl into the car with the promise that they would email Mr Jaskier about the band. Eskel left soon afterwards with the excuse that his goat needed feeding and Lambert was left alone once more.

“Ah blessed peace.” He sighed happily as he watched Eskel amble down the road towards his own house.

__________

For the second day in the row, Lambert’s kitchen was covered in flour. Ciri’s hair was now as white as her father’s and her fingers were covered in sticky cinnamon sugar. Lambert’s shirt was covered in tiny floury handprints from where Ciri had hug attacked him, her tantrum from the previous day now a distant memory. He’d reluctantly made sure to uncheck all of Dandelion’s songs from his Solstice playlist. He would miss the calming melodies of his favourite band but it was not worth another screaming match from the youngest wolf cub.

Ciri was dancing happily in the middle of the kitchen. She twirled and leapt about effortlessly with all the energy of a six year old. She was incredibly graceful and Lambert wondered whether Geralt had secretly enrolled her in some sort of dance lessons. That was a thing girls did right? He groaned as he thought about his present for Ciri. He’d probably completely fucked up. He’d bought her a wooden sword and matching bow and arrow set, something he’d always wanted as a kid but never had the good fortune to receive. Ciri would like that right?

He ran a hand through his own hair with a sigh. How the fuck was the White Wolf raising a daughter? It seemed like only yesterday they were all just getting pissed at the pub after every shift. Lambert had to admit. Geralt had guts. He would probably have had a meltdown if the task had been left to him but Geralt seemed to have taken to it pretty well.

“Uncle Lambert!!” Ciri giggled excitably.

“Yeah?” He scowled at her mischievous grin.

“You made your hair all white!” She pointed up at him.

He looked down at his hands in horror and sure enough they were covered in sticky floury dough.

“Fudge.” He caught the swear just in time.

“You look like Dad!” Ciri exclaimed as she spun round in a pirouette.

“So do you!” He shot back.

“Do not!”

“Do too!” He argued and scooped her up into his arms. “And I’m right because I’m the adult!”

“That’s not true!” Ciri countered. “Mr Jaskier says even adults make mistakes!”

“Mr Jaskier hasn’t met me.” He growled.

Ciri laughed. “Yes he has! See you made a mistake!”

“I was testing you.” He grumbled and flushed as he realised the young girl was right. He had met Jaskier at the school back in October.

“Suuure.” Ciri sang. “Now let me down! I want to open my presents!”

Lambert chuckled and dropped the girl gently back on the ground. She sped off out of the kitchen like a blur. It was almost certainly a mistake letting her dip her fingers in the butter and sugar. He grinned. The sugar crash was Geralt’s problem. He was the fun uncle and got to enjoy eating sugar out of the pot. He squatted in front of the oven to check on their creation. The warmth seeped right into his bones and he hummed contentedly. It had been a cold couple of weeks and there was just something unsurpassable about the glow of a warm oven, especially when it contained baked goods. The kitchen was full of the smell of baking and cinnamon, the perfect scent for the winter holidays.

“Wolf!” Vesemir barked from the doorway sternly.

Lambert looked up sharply and almost toppled over from his squat.

“Exactly how much sugar did you give the cub?” Vesemir muttered wearily. “She’s bouncing off the walls.”

Lambert shrugged. “It’s Solstice. Give her a break.”

“Smells good.” Vesemir nodded at the oven with a softening smile. “We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”

Soon enough the oven timer went off and the kitchen was crowded by hungry firefighters. Vesemir ordered them to queue up properly and in no time they were all crammed into the living room. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Ciri stared into the flames, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns of the fire licking up the chimney. Lil’ Bleater was curled up next to her licking at her hands. Geralt had put on a pan of mulled wine and a smaller pan of spiced apples juice for his daughter and the spicy scents had permeated the air. It was warmth and homely. Lambert grinned as he looked around at his family. He’d never felt so at home in his house before.

“Presents!” Ciri demanded as she tore her gaze away from the fireplace. Her face was now covered in icing and crumbs, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance in the light of the fire.

The sound of laughter filled the air. Renfri and Vesemir got to work distributing the presents until everyone had a pile. Naturally the young girl launched towards the biggest present but Geralt had her in his arms before she could tear the brown paper off.

“Dad!” She whined and struggled to get free.

“That one is last.” He ordered. “Promise me?”

She glared furiously at the floor but mumbled an agreement under her breath.

“Good.” He let her go and she picked up the smallest present instead. She looked up at Geralt to make sure it was ok and he nodded with a small smile.

Ciri tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. She opened it with an adorable confused expression on her face.

“Did you check who it was from?” Vesemir asked.

“Sure.” Ciri growled but Lambert didn’t miss the way she sneaked a glance at the shreds of wrapping paper on her lap that were already being chewed up by Eskel’s demon goat. “Auntie Yen!”

“What is it, Princess?” Geralt asked.

“A necklace, with a bird!” She held the box up to Geralt.

“Looks like a swallow.” Geralt mused.

“That’s what Uncle Vesemir calls me!” Ciri exclaimed happily. “Help me put it on!” She thrust the box into his hands.

Geralt fumbled a bit with the clasp but wouldn’t let Renfri help him and eventually Ciri had a beautiful silver necklace around her neck. The swallow pedant was embedded with what looked like emeralds, and knowing Yennefer, they actually were emeralds.

Most of Lambert’s presents were new pieces of gym kit which suited him just fine. His old boxing gloves had sorely needed replacing so he was very pleased with Renfri’s gift. Although he knew it was probably so they would have an excuse to spar again without him blaming his gloves every time he lost. Vesemir had bought him a new set of guitar strings and a subscription to his favourite boxing magazine, Eskel and Geralt had come together to get him a brand new set of weights, one’s he’d been eyeing up for months but hadn’t been able to justify the costs. Yennefer’s gift was bottle of very expensive vodka that he’d had once in a bar on holiday and had never forgotten. Ciri had bought him a DVD of a film they’d watched together in the summer and a box of his favourite chocolates.

Vesemir had a brand new collection of history and gardening books. He was settled into his arm chair closest to the fireplace with his nose buried in one the books. Next to him was a crystal whiskey glass that Yennefer had bought him. The damned witch seemed to be intent on showing them all up this year with her fancy job and her even fancier salary but who was he to complain?

Eskel had his arms full of new goat supplies from most of team. He turned round to show the little bastard his new stuff when they realised he was missing.

“Where’s Lil’ Bleater?” Eskel frowned as he looked around the room.

Lambert shrugged. The last he’d seen of the goat he’d been munching on brown wrapping paper. Ciri leapt to her feet and started looking for clues to track the goats movements. Something she’d seen on one of her tv shows.

“How about the kitchen?” Geralt suggested. “Goats like food right?”

“Everyone likes food.” Renfri poked the silver-haired man in the arm. “We sort of need it to survive.”

“Goats really like food though.” Geralt insisted.

“Goats eat anything.” Lambert countered. “He could just as well be in the bathroom by that logic.”

“Well I’ve looked under all the wrapping paper and sofas so he’s not in here!” Ciri chimed up from where she was buried half under cushions and half under brown paper. “Oooh what if we track his smell? Lil’ Bleater stinks!”

Eskel gasped at the accusation. “He’s a very clean goat! I take good care of him.”

“There’s a reason Vesemir bought you fancy pet shampoo.” Lambert smirked and punched his brother in the arm.

“Shut it.” Eskel grumbled. “He’s a handsome boy.”

“Who stinks!” Ciri agreed.

“I still think we should try the kitchen.” Geralt insisted and then paused looking at Ciri thoughtfully. “I think I can smell goat from that direction.”

Ciri squealed and ran into the kitchen. “Fucking liar.” Lambert hissed under his breath earning a smirk from Geralt.

They trudged after the young girl. There was no obvious sign of the goat but Lambert could hear a strange scuffling sound coming from the oven.

“He wouldn’t jump in a hot oven would he?” Lambert asked.

Ciri yelled at him for that and hit him squarely in the chest with her wooden sword. Lambert seized the opportunity to fall dramatically to his knees, pretending to be fatally wounded. He let some of his weight fall onto Ciri who shrieked underneath him.

“Uncle Lambert!”

“You got me real good, little lion cub.” He groaned as she tried to hold back his weight. He was still supporting himself enough that she wouldn’t get hurt but she didn’t need to know that. “This might just be my last day in this world.”

“Get off!” Ciri growled. “I didn’t hurt you!”

“I am wounded!” He fell to the floor and pulled her down on top of him.

“You’re an asshole.” Ciri grumbled and there was an echo of shocked gasps from the adults in the  room. “What? It’s not a swear!”

“And it’s true.” Eskel added.

“It is true.” Geralt agreed.

Lambert glared at them both. “Screw you.”

“You’re awfully loud for someone who just died.” Renfri pointed out and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t swear colourfully at her.

“Yeah! I told you I didn’t hurt you!” Ciri poked his chest.

A loud bleating ended the argument there.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel cried happily.

Seconds later the a fluffy horned head poked out from under the oven. Lambert hadn’t even realised the gap between the oven and his kitchen floor was big enough for the goat to hide under. He was only a little goat but still it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.

Eskel picked up his beloved pet and swung him round in a big hug. “I missed you buddy! No hiding under ovens again, alright?”

The goat bleated.

“I know, I know. The oven smells of yummy food but you could have been hurt!” Eskel continued.

“Melitele save us.” Renfri sighed and topped up her mulled wine from the pan before stalking back into the lounge. So they could finish unwrapping the presents.

Eskel clipped on Lil’ Bleaters brand new collar and kept the mischievous goat in his lap as he unwrapped his last present, petting his sandy white fur absentmindedly.

Lambert had bought his brother a new cookbook that he was absolutely not allowed to open in front of Ciri. The names of the recipes were all very crude and there were pictures to match. Eskel had barely removed the paper before bundling it into his bag. His face flushed with embarrassment as Lambert cackled until his stomach began to ache. Ciri obviously asked what the big joke was and Eskel grumbled some lame excuse that made no sense. Luckily Ciri seemed content to let it go as long as she could open her next present. Vesemir had bought her a collection of new books after hearing so much about her love of school and reading. Some of them were a little hard for her age but Geralt would be able to read them with her.

Renfri only had two presents. Ciri had bought her a leather bracelet with wolves stitched into the band chasing each other’s tails all around the strap and howling at some unseen moon. The wolf pack and Yennefer had all teamed up to get her a decorative dagger that she’d seen at a craft fair over the summer. It was a beautiful blade, engraved with some kind of fantastical elven language and there was a stunning moonstone embedded into the hilt. It had been extortionately expensive but between the lot of them they had managed to afford it. Renfri’s eyes had lit up when she’d ripped the paper off the box, not quite believing it until she’d carefully lifted off the lid with shaking hands.

“There’s no way.” She whispered and then pulled them into a group hug. Even Vesemir put his book down to pat her awkwardly on the back. The blade fell from her lap with a clatter but thankfully she hadn’t quite managed to unsheathe it.

Ciri pouted at the sudden outburst of emotion but Renfri pulled her into the hug as well. “Your’s was better obviously! You’re the only person to get me their own present. These guys cheated.”

Ciri preened at that and stuck her tongue out at the rest of them.

The hug fell apart when Lil’ Bleater head butted Eskel in the back and they all toppled in a pile on the floor, much to the oldest wolf’s amusement. After that it was Ciri’s turn to open another present. Renfri bought her a new colouring book with glittery pens that Ciri loved. She had a strange obsession with anything glittery. The young girl declared it was because glitter was obviously magical and the rest of the team just couldn’t understand its power.

Geralt’s presents were all of a practical nature, a new toolbox from Vesemir, a couple of new shirts from Yennefer with a letter telling him that he had to wear them or else she would know. Ciri giggled at that but Geralt just looked at the freshly pressed black shirts in disgust. He was definitely more of a baggy t-shirt kind of guy but at least Yennefer hadn’t strayed from his usual colour scheme. Renfri had bought him some new stirrups for Roach. Lambert had bought him a new pair of boots after Geralt had complained about his old ones leaking following a particularly rainy shift at work. Eskel had made a picture frame filled with photographs of their little family. He’d even included a picture of Ciri with her parents and grandparents. The whole team had gotten a little sniffly at that one. Ciri was still yet to get off of Eskel’s lap and had promptly decided that he was the best uncle.

Geralt also had another present in the form of an envelope that he tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Lambert raised an eyebrow at that but Geralt just shrugged it off.

After Geralt’s presents Ciri was the only one with any presents left. She got a new wolf onesie from Eskel, further cementing his place as favourite uncle, much to Lambert’s displeasure. He vowed to make up for it on her birthday. He hated it when Eskel got one up on him.

And then it was time for Ciri’s last present and the last present of the day before they had to get busy in the kitchen for dinner.

She pulled at the paper excitedly and screamed when the guitar case fell into her lap.

“You got me a guitar!!” She shrieked.

Geralt winced at the high pinched tone of her voice and Lambert didn’t blame him. He was sitting across the room and even his ears were ringing. Geralt shook his head. “I got you a Ukulele.”

“A ukulele?” Ciri scrunched her nose up. “Does Mr Jaskier play the Ukulele?”

Geralt nodded. “He can. He thought it might be a better fit for you. It’s like a mini guitar and you’ve still got little hands. There’s some music in there too. Once you learn you’ll be able to read it just like Mr Jaskier.”

“Will he teach me?” Ciri asked brightly and Geralt shook his head.

“Jaskier won’t have much time outside of class to teach you but he has recommended a friend of his.” Geralt explained but Ciri was already scowling.

“I want Mr Jaskier to teach me!” She pouted.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely he can show you some things at school?” Eskel suggested.

“And you wouldn’t want to upset his friend.” Vesemir added from his place at the fireplace.

“Her name is Priscilla and she’s very excited to meet you. You’ll be starting lessons after school when term starts.” Geralt pulled his daughter into a hug.

Lambert almost dropped his mug of mulled wine.

“Sorry what?”

Everyone turned to face him with matching confused expressions on their faces.

“Lessons are after school?” Geralt repeated, raising his eyebrow at Lambert.

“No no… What was her name?” Lambert’s hands were trembling around his mulled wine.

“Priscilla?” Geralt repeated slowly. “He didn’t mention her last name.”

“Fuck!” He cursed.

Ciri gasped and pointed her finger accusingly at him and everyone in the room glared fiercely at him.

“Dandelion is Jaskier!” He yelled out to try and defend himself.

Ciri squealed happily and all the colour drained from Geralt’s face at the revelation.  

“What the fuck, Lambert?”

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