#try-hard jaskier 'doing his best'

[proheromidoriyashouto]

headcannon that Witchers are obligate carnivores and it means they can't just drink normal tea they have to brew that shit with bones in it or something or else it upsets their sensitive tummies.

like whenever Jaskier is brewing tea in camp and turns away for a second Geralt tosses in little bones he won't notice until its time to drink up and little pieces of white bone just plink into his cup. trying to get answers out of Geralt for something like this is a fool's errand so Jaskier just has to figure out why this is happening over time.

made all the more frustrating by Geralt getting miffed about Jaskier not eating the little bones and calling him wasteful and taking them for himself to eat. "the crunchy bits are the best part of tea."

but Geralt will not just call it soup. will not just ask for bone broth with herbs in it. it's "tea" and special "Witcher tea" when Jaskier won't let it go. and people think Jaskier is the dumb and pretty one of their pair.

but the other Witchers all do it to some degree, and if Jaskier wants a hot drink experience that doesn't taste wildy off and like shit he has to start just making broth or soups. crushed rosemary and garlic and a hefty helping of salt along with a big marrowy bone at least.

if he wants his own tea he has to brew it after Geralt is asleep or meditating or off on a hunt becaus he ALWAYS sneaks little bones or chunks of meat into it even when its only for Jaskier. he complains enough about it that Geralt buys a little tea pot Just For Jaskier that he promises not to mess with (but still does because surely the bard will die without animal fat and protein in every cup. Jaskier has to burst into tears for Geralt to stop in truth).

Geralt is delighted that tea is good now--he had no idea humans knew how to make a good Witcher tea! ah the bard has been holding out on him the strange little herbivore. glad he finally saw sense.

now if Jaskier would believe Geralt when he says he can't taste sweet things and stop trying to feed him pastry and wasting their hard earned coin on things that aren't even real. like sugar.

Ciri gets bit by a tick when she's on the run from Nilfgaard the first time and becomes deathly allergic to meat and it is SO upsetting to the Witchers. why even live.

[mlm-writer]

Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

Pairing:  Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic

Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl. 

You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy. 

Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound. 

“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire. 

Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave. 

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked. 

When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”

Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night. 

Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you. 

When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.” 

Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you. 

The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin. 

Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency. 

Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one. 

Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself. 

“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!” 

He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que. 

Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared. 

His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.” 

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer. 

“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny. 

—————

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[annmarcus63]

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

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

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

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

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

"Go away, Jaskier."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You thought wrong." 

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

Fic here

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Aches and Pains

Aches and pains are a normal part of life for most people. Geralt, however, has a profession that causes him an unfair amount of aches and pains. New injuries are a given. It's not uncommon for Geralt to return from a contract with cuts, scrapes, bites, bruises, and torn tendons or ligaments. Being a Witcher is a hazardous job. Most of the injuries heal, leaving only scars and memories.

And then there are the injuries that heal, but never really stop hurting. Injures like a broken leg and back from deciding to fight a rogue mage.

Sometimes the pain is so bad that Geralt's knee locks up, or spasms, often times both. And if his back starts acting up? He's down for the count.

The old injuries give him h*ll when the weather changes, particularly if it's going to be damp and cold, or if he pushes his body beyond it's limits during a hunt. Sometimes, it flares up just because.

He ends up relying on crutches to get around on those days, and he despises it. It's embarrassing; a big, muscular Witcher hobbling around on crutches, but he also doesn't want to end up on the floor because then he would have to call for Jaskier to help him up, or even worse, Yennefer.

The witch would be sympathetic, but she would also roast his a** for being bullheaded and not using his crutches.

Normal tasks are more difficult to do and take longer when he's on crutches, but he drags himself around, much to Yennefer and Jaskier's distress.

Witchers were raised to ignore pain. The Trials left them with the animalistic urge to keep moving and hide the pain. They could be severely wounded, and still, they would drag themselves along. Never stop, do what you have to do to distract yourself from the pain because on the Path, stopping meant death.

Geralt is so used to being in pain, that his body has just adapted to it; his brain downplaying the pain signals.

He doesn't even remember what it was like to not be in pain.

Yennefer and Jaskier watch him drag his a*se around the house, trying to function as best he can. Sometimes Geralt just has to deal with knee pain that makes his leg inconveniently unstable. When it's just his knee acting up, he only needs one crutch to get around, and he goes a bit stir crazy because "If I can get around good enough on one crutch, I can be out doing something useful!"

One these days, there's not much Yennefer or Jaskier can do to convince him to sit down and take it easy. Geralt is determined to at least be useful around the house. He needs something to do, so Jaskier usually suggests making a trip into town for coffee, snacks, a visit to the park, or a trip to the bookstore (a visit to the nearby bookstore always gets Geralt out of his bad mood).

Geralt is hesitant to go out. He doesn't like to be stared at. People stare at him enough because he's a Witcher, but when he's on his crutches, they just outright gawk. But Jaskier always goes with him, which helps him feel more comfortable. His Emotional Support Bard distracts him from the stares, and from the pain.

On days when he can hardly get around on two crutches, he's still trying to convince himself that he can push through the pain. He's p*ssed, and refuses to lie down, or take one of Yennefer's elixirs. He'll just take one of his Witcher potions and keep going.

Yennefer and Jaskier are doing their best to show him that he doesn't need to suffer through the pain. He can use pain medications, rest, and take care of himself.

Geralt is having a hard time grasping the idea that he doesn't have to live in constant pain, so Jaskier and Yennefer have to come up with ways to get him to allow himself to be 'soft'.

Yennefer will try sweet-talking him, then just goes right into b*tching at him if he puts up resistance.

"Sit your crippled a** down and take this pain elixir, you absolute donkey!"

*Angry cat noises*

"Don't you yowl at me, you f***ing tw*t!"

*Grumpy hissing*

"You drink this f***ing elixir, right now, Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde, before I kick those crutches out from under you and really give you something to b*tch about!"

Breaking out the name Geralt almost chose for himself is enough to force immediate compliance. Heaven help him should she ever decide to use it in public!

Jaskier just starts wheedling, pleading, making snide comments, or being really f***ing annoying until he gives in. Sometimes, he has to take drastic measures.

"Oh, look, Geralt! I have one of your Special Horsies! *Holds up a very detailed custom horse figurine*

*Rageful yowl*

"That's right, and if you want her back safe and sound, we're going to have to make a deal."

*distressed hissing*

Geralt's eyes are dilated and locked on the figurine. It's one of the special ones that he made himself as a memorial to one of the many Roaches he'd had in his life. They were very dear to him, and Jaskier was sitting in the recliner, casually petting it like a cheezy 80's villan as he laid out his demands.

Geralt complied, and spent the day in bed, guarding his figurine collection. The alternative was finding the figurine dressed up like a stripper with painted hooves, glitter, fake eyelashes, and a Lisa Frank paint job.

Yennefer had been impressed with Jaskier's level of deviousness. Geralt would have had to spend hours, possibly days, repainting that figurine. And then he would spend at least a week hiding in his room. Would Jaskier have actually done it? No. He wouldn't have ever hurt Geralt like that, but Geralt was paranoid about his figurines, so the threat worked wonderfully.

They try different tactics, until they find something that causes the least amount of drama. They find that anything horse-related makes the transition easier. The horse video game was easily the cleverest idea Jaskier had come up with.

A video game about breeding and raising horses?!

Geralt was in heaven!

There were so many pretty horses to collect!

And there were fun games to play!

And there were quests!

And horse accessories!

He was so engrossed that he didn't even protest when Yennefer handed him an elixir for his knee and back.

A wonderful fantasy novel about a horse on a magical adventure had kept Geralt in his recliner for the better part of a day. Jaskier had brought him a throw blanket, a mug of hot tea, and given him some muscle relaxers while he read.

A horse movie had kept him happy in his bed so Yennefer could rub his back.

There are times when the pain lasts for a week or more, and Geralt is extra grouchy about being 'weak' and having to stay his a** at home instead of going off to get himself killed in a spectacularly stupid way because his leg gave out.

He slowly hobbles around the house, "hmm"ing frustratedly to himself. He's itching to get back on the Path. If he's not on the Path, he's not earning money, and he's not contributing to the household.

Yennefer and Jaskier both mentally wish he would just retire from Witchering.

Yennefer is a sorceress with power and prestige in the Conclave. And magic is a business. There's always someone who needs something, be it a spell, a potion, or some kind of favor.

She might b*tch about lights being left on when no one is using the room, or someone moving the thermostat, or Jaskier taking really long showers and wasting water, but having enough money isn't something she has to worry about.

Jaskier is a godsd*med Vicount. He can easily support both Yennefer and Geralt for the rest of their lives! H*ll, he could quit being a bard and never work again, and they could all still live a very, very comfortable life!

Geralt grumbles and makes self-depreciating comments, and Yennefer just wants to take one of his crutches and shove it straight up his ar*e! But she doesn't give into the the intrusive thoughts. Instead, she gives him his space, or some cuddles, and offers him what support she can.

Jaskier tries to cheer him up, and will resort to whatever means necessary. When Geralt is really down, and refuses to stay off his feet, he will call his Grannie to come visit.

Jaskier's grandmother had taken a liking to the Witcher, and had informally adopted him.

The elderly woman will bustle in and start chatting, herding Geralt to the nearest chair or couch, and start fussing over him. Geralt doesn't know how to react. She's both commanding, and soft, and he can't help it.

He's a grown a** man, and at least 20 years her senior, but she starts calling him "me we'an", and talking to him in that sympathetic tone, and he's gone. He's not an 80 year old Witcher anymore. He's an over-gown child getting coddled by grandma. And f**k you, he likes it.

He ends up tucked in on the couch, in his recliner, or in his bed, bundled in the blanket Grannie made him, sipping hot tea, and with his aching knee and back smeared in liniment (which is doing wonders in combination with Yennefer's potion). Jaskier's Grannie checks in him periodically, and if he's in a good enough mood, or when the pain eases enough, she'll sit and tell him stories about Jaskier until he falls asleep.

It works so well, and Geralt always feels so much better after a Grannie Visit, that he secretly acts extra grouchy so Jaskier will call her when his injuries start acting up.

[thedemonofcat]

It is not meant to be mean, but Geralt has always been dismissive of Jaskier's career. He believed that since it is so simple to make music, anyone could do it.

Following the mountain, meeting Ciri and finding Yennefer to teach Ciri magic. In her recommendation to Ciri that she should get a tutor for when she becomes a queen, Yennefer suggests Jaskier. She is confident that he is the only professor that she can rely on not to sell them out.

While Geralt is hesitant to do so, he says that he thinks it would be best if Jaskier stayed far away from them while Nifflgaard is hunting them.

Yennefer convinces Geralt that Jaskier will probably be safer with them than away from them.

Eventually, Geralt agrees to the plan and ends up in Oxenfurt in order to fetch Jaskier from there. Instead of apologizing for what he said on the mountain, Geralt just tells Jaskier to come back to Kear Morhen with him. Jaskier is unwilling to do so, and Geralt just thinks that Jaskier is being a stubborn idiot by refusing to do so.

As a result, both men agree to a deal that is made between them. For a week, Geralt will sit in on Jaskier's classes and if he can pass a test by the end of the week, then Jaskier won't have any problems returning to Kear Morhen. However, if Geralt fails, he will have no choice but to leave Jaskier alone, for good. (This time, for ever).

At the very beginning, Geralt is truly of the opinion that passing Jaskier classes is going to be an easy task. Only to be shocked when he finds out that he does not understand what Jaskier is saying in the classes he is taking. As opposed to Jaskier who tends to ramble on from one topic to another on the path. His lectures are always on the same topic, but he presents them in such a technical and advanced manner. That Geralt almost thinks that Jaskier is a textbook come to life.

As Geralt was not willing to lose Jaskier once again, he only started to study hard in order to be able to win the deal.

Elsewhere Jaskier is also trying to decide on how hard he should go on Geralt. A part of him wants to be needed again by Geralt in a way. The problem is that Jaskier is also hesitant to open himself up again after the first heartbreak that he had to endure from Geralt.

[samstree]

A Careless Omission

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely. (Or, the "Jaskier likes a dilf" fic, 2.9k, on ao3)

Jaskier doesn’t try to hide his interest.

His face has been slowly heating up with a blush, his lips worried and bitten with nervousness. It nearly makes him feel like a blushing maiden at the sight of her first crush, stomach fluttering and all. Who can blame him? His eyes have been caught by the barkeep since he sat down at the table.

Distantly, he knows Geralt is able to tell, sitting in front of him across the table. A witcher’s senses are too sharp for Jaskier to hide his intentions for anyone they meet on the road, but there’s no room for self-consciousness. His attention is away, following the other man as he works.

The barkeep is tall and burly, with wide shoulders and long legs, hair slightly wet with sweat from working in the kitchens. A few strands of grey hair pepper his brown curls beautifully, as well as his well-groomed beard. The simple clothing cannot hide the taut muscles underneath. Every time he rolls up the sleeves to show the strong lines of his forearm, Jaskier lets out an audible gasp.

Meeting Jaskier’s eyes, he comes to their table and serves two cups of ale with a bright, warm smile.

A bright, warm smile, and a little girl trailing behind him.

“Aww,” Jaskier whispers to Geralt as the man walks away. “Look at him with his daughter.”

The barkeep has brought his daughter to work. The girl looks no older than six, demanding bedtime stories and tugging at his apron constantly. He has to gently coax her to let him finish work first, all the while leaning down to kiss her on the head.

Jaskier’s breath catches, the hammering of his heart so loud he can practically hear it in his ears.

“Hmm.”

Geralt only gives a noncommittal hum while sipping his ale.

“Here we go.” The barkeep returns to their table with two bowls of soup, his smile still bright despite the late hour and his daughter’s chirping. “How do you find our establishment, kind sirs? Hope you liked the ale?”

Before Jaskier can chat up the guy, Geralt cuts in quickly.

“A bit sour,” he says, seemingly grouchier than usual. “And the place is loud.”

It’s entirely too rude, but before Jaskier can apologize for his friend, the barkeep scratches his head shyly and does it first, which makes him all the lovelier.

“Apologies,” he says sincerely. “My Lucja can be a menace when she’s tired. It’s a shame her bedtime happens to be our rush hour. She’s not bothering you too much, is she?”

“No, no!” Jaskier answers, rather too eagerly. “She’s adorable! I hope she’s not making your job difficult, is all.”

Jaskier’s face becomes even hotter when he takes his bowl, their fingers brushing, lingering. Finally, the barkeep is looking at Jaskier properly. His smile grows, stretching almost to his ears.

They hold each other’s gaze, until Geralt sets down his cup suddenly, much louder than necessary, breaking the moment.

“It can get hard at times, but I don’t mind,” the barkeep answers, eyeing Geralt for a moment before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, you see. I’d choose raising her on my own every time.”

“Oh? Where is her mother?” Jaskier frowns.

“I do not know where she is, sir, nor Lucja’s real father, for she was left at my doorstep as a babe. I meant to send her to the orphanage, but in the end, I just couldn’t see a little girl without a home. She is as much my daughter as she can be. We are a family, as destiny intended.”

What a sweet, sweet man.

Jaskier holds his chest as the fluttering inside intensifies. He’s nearly melting on the spot “Aww…” he sighs softly. “Such sadness, and such a happy ending. You truly are a kind man, sir…?”

“Andrej.”

“I’m Jaskier.” They shake hands, lingering some more.

“Still, it must get lonely for you, being on your own. Would you ever seek other forms of companionship, Andrej, when the long nights are difficult to pass?”

The hopeful hint hides so well under the concern in Jaskier’s voice. He’d like to think he’s rather smooth in his probing, after all these years.

“Well.” Andrej looks as flushed as Jaskier feels. His eyes lower, before lifting up again, looking at Jaskier from under his lashes. “I try to find company when I can, but none as fine as yourself, Jaskier.”

He drags out Jaskier’s name, patiently, sensually, making his bones hum.

The man leaves Jaskier with a suggestive look, and finds Lucja again. He lifts the girl easily, muttering about how he can finally tuck her in bed now. They disappear upstairs, with the girl draped over Andrej’s shoulder, her cheeks round with happiness.

Jaskier stares at them as they leave, eyes following the man until he cannot see them any longer, and then turns back with a dreamy sigh. He stirs his soup absently, occasionally letting out a goofy smile and a quiet giggle, ears still burning. Thoughts of Andrej fill the whole world, his eyes, his smile, his loving heart.

Jaskier knows he’s quickly, entirely, and head over heels, falling in love.

He lets out another giggle at the thought.

Their interaction replays over and over in Jaskier’s head, making him completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Out of nowhere, Geralt clears his throat.

“Oh, dear!” Jaskier startles, blinking. “Geralt, um… You are… still here.”

Huh, he seems to have completely forgotten about Geralt.

“My, my,” Geralt snorts. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier has no intention of being mortified. He is no longer capable of that emotion when the stars align and hit him with a spell of love. Still, he gives some attention to his friend.

“Sorry, I was a little… beside myself,” he says, his spirit too high to be ruined by Geralt’s inexplicably bad mood. “You know,” Jaskier whispers, revealing the great secret. “It’s my weakness.”

“Weakness?” Geralt narrows his eyes.

“Yes, a man like Andrej.” Jaskier’s eyes brighten in fondness. “I happen to have no resistance around a good father like him.”

A pause of silence, and Geralt squints harder.

“A good… father,” he states, very, very slowly.

“Of course! Did you not notice? He was so good with his daughter earlier, so gentle and loving. I bet he tells the best bedtime stories, and little Lucja will want for nothing in her life. Oh, I cannot help myself, and I—” Jaskier sighs, once again. The amount of sighing today is a bit excessive, even for a poet. He’s well aware. “I think I’m falling in love.”

Geralt looks like he’s trying to suppress a growl, but ends up with an unpleasant grimace.

And Jaskier takes issue with that. He makes an unhappy noise.

“Oh, stop with that face. I know you want to mock me,” Jaskier admonishes, mouth forming a pout. “But I am not ashamed, I’ll have you know. I see being a good father as one of the most attractive qualities in a man, if not the most attractive! Though I admit, I have a soft spot, especially for him. Did you hear the story? To think Andrej took in an orphan girl under such tragic circumstances, just to give her a home… How can my heart not go out to him?”

Jaskier looks into the distance, lapsing into silence. The soup is no longer hot, and he digs into it slowly, mood still chirpy and stomach still full of warm fuzziness.

For some reason, Geralt keeps staring at Jaskier.

He seems offended, even.

“Hmm,” Geralt deadpans, stressing every word. “You are in love, because he is a good father?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier hums absently.

Geralt stares for another moment, and another, his food and drink forgotten. It’s disconcerting. He simply slurps his soup loudly, filling the silence.

Tentatively, Geralt opens his mouth, and closes it, and then, he does it again a few times more.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. Geralt does the same.

“What?” The bard is running out of patience.

“Nothing,” Geralt answers at the end, rather pointedly, looking directly at Jaskier. “So… Ciri.”

Jaskier blinks at the non sequitur. “Hmm?”

“You do remember her,” Geralt adds, “Ciri?”

Frowning, Jaskier is slightly concerned for Geralt’s sanity. Or his.

“Yes? I’ve not suffered a blow to the head, Geralt. I remember Ciri.”

“Just checking.”

The tiniest pout forms around Geralt’s mouth, a hint of dissatisfaction tugging at his lips like an overgrown child. His eyes are still boring into Jaskier’s face. He pauses for a beat, as if waiting for Jaskier to catch up on something.

Jaskier is even more confused about the weird mood of his witcher. He waits with bated breath for a moment longer, but Geralt is still looking at him expectantly.

Losing patience, Jaskier gestures for him to go on. “Well, what about Ciri?”

Geralt sighs, somehow sounding defeated.

“She wrote to me,” he says, finally dropping the grouchy tone when talking about Ciri. “I got the letter today.”

“Oh.” The mention of Ciri’s letter brings joy to Jaskier’s heart. The girl tends to write to them sporadically during her travels, and Geralt always discusses everything about her with Jaskier. It’s nice to hear from their little witcher-princess, who is actually not so little anymore. “That’s good, Geralt. What did she say?”

Taking a very deep breath, Geralt continues.

“She’s traveling, mostly. Took contracts here and there. Also—” Geralt says carefully, “said she missed me.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier smiles, proudly.

“Yeah, you know. She does… um, miss me, because I—um, you know, I’m her…” Geralt doesn’t finish the sentence, but leaves room for it to be finished. With what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

But Jaskier’s heart twists in sympathy. He misses Ciri dearly too, and it could explain Geralt’s strange behavior today, so he tries something else. “You know, we could visit her,” he suggests. “Write back, see if we can meet up and travel together for a while.”

Geralt’s eyebrows lift, ever so slightly, at those words.

“We can,” he agrees, voice lighter. “And… you remember how she has nightmares. If we travel together, I can stay with her at night until she falls asleep.” He thinks for a second. “Tell her a story or two, chase away the bad dreams, perhaps. It is my duty for her, as she is my… um, Ciri.”

The phrasing is perplexing. She is… all of their Ciri, of course. There’s no telling why Geralt said it like that.

“That’s a shame.” Still, Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of their little girl having nightmares, but then— “Wait, does she still let you tuck her in? She’s turning… twenty this summer, I believe? And now an independently working witcher. Isn’t she too old?”

It seems to dawn on Geralt too.

“Oh.” He blinks. “So she is,” Geralt splutters. “Never mind, then.”

Jaskier can’t blame him. Sometimes, they both forget how fast their little girl grows. She is now a proper grown woman, slaying monsters with better witchering skills and magical powers than anyone could have imagined.

He understands Geralt’s tendency for nostalgia, though. When you find a scared little girl and help her become this confident version of herself over the course of a decade, you’d want to linger in those memories, even though she can easily stand on her own feet now.

“Still, I believe it if you say so,” Jaskier muses. “She’s been through so much before, and past hurt fades slowly. Seeing you could be good for her too.”

Geralt looks down, suddenly stabbing the gooey soup with his spoon as if it’s a particularly difficult fiend. After a moment, he sighs. The excessive sighing seems to be catching on today.

For all of Geralt’s emotional constipation Jaskier has witnessed over the years, today’s grumpy episode is truly a bad one. And then, he thinks more about Geralt’s behavior all day, mentioning Ciri out of nowhere, insisting that she still needs care even though she’s grown. It’s nearly like Geralt is trying to make up for something, or drive a point home.

It’s just that Jaskier has been missing the point all along.

It clicks, all of a sudden.

Oh.

Of course.

How could he be so blind?

“Oh, I see.” He places a hand on Geralt’s arm, exhaling in relief. “Forgive me, Geralt dear, but I see it now.”

“You do?” Hope shines in Geralt’s eyes.

“I do!” Jaskier confirms. “It’s terrible I have not realized earlier. I have been incredibly neglectful of you.”

Eyes wide with hope, Geralt seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation. “Go on,” he prompts.

“It all makes sense. You have been acting weird since we sat down, and with me fussing over Andrej and his daughter…” Jaskier states gently, eyes bright. “Your guilt is acting up again! Am I correct?”

Geralt is frozen like a statue, incredulous.

He must want to deny it, but everything about him says he’s been caught off guard, which means Jaskier must be right on point. He pats himself on the back mentally, proud for having figured out his witcher’s internal struggles. After a few decades, he has become an expert in reading Geralt’s every mood.

Jaskier pulls the chair to the side of the table so they sit closer together, their knees touching. He wraps an arm around Geralt, hands running small circles on his back, a familiar soothing motion for when his witcher’s mind is being unkind to him.

“Um, Jask…”

“You don’t need to deny it, you know.” It’s silly that Geralt still has trouble accepting Jaskier’s help sometimes, so he remains patient. “It’s perfectly reasonable, with Ciri traveling alone, being away from your protection. You still feel responsible for her, as you should. The bond between the two of you is stronger than destiny itself.”

Geralt pinches between his eyes, looking torn. “You don’t need to tell me these things, Jask. That’s… really not what I’m thinking.”

This ridiculous, stubborn man. Jaskier shakes his head.

“Nonsense. You don’t need to hide it from me, Geralt. It’s only me.” Jaskier smiles encouragingly. “I’m always here when you have these doubts. Always. Ciri has to leave you—leave all of us—precisely because you’ve taught her well. You have prepared her in every way you can, and now the world will see what she can do.” He hugs Geralt tighter, knowing his touch is comforting for Geralt in these bouts of self-deprecation. “It’s okay to feel at a loss, but it’s not like she’ll never need you again. You are her father, and nothing will ever change that.”

The words settle quietly, genuinely, and Jaskier feels the tenseness in Geralt’s body fade. He takes pride in himself again, a grin stretching across his face, feeling incredibly achieved.

“Yes,” Geralt whispers, looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes. Their faces are only a hand’s breadth away, his tone intimate and sincere. “I am her father.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jaskier agrees happily. “You are the best father she could ever ask for.”

“Yeah?”

Geralt breathes in, his gaze lowering. They are leaning into each other’s space, with barely any distance in between. Jaskier’s hand is still wrapped around Geralt’s shoulder, and now Geralt has placed a hand on Jaskier’s knee.

For some reason, the fluttering in Jaskier’s stomach returns. The sensation is such a surprise that he nearly falls out of the chair.

“Geralt…”

“Jaskier, look,” Geralt breathes, lips parting, “I—”

Before he could finish a sentence, they are interrupted by someone coming down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the tavern. Jaskier snaps his attention away in an instant.

Oh, Andrej is back!

Jaskier lets out a delighted squeal, all thoughts replaced by the barkeep’s warm smile.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Jaskier says absently, patting Geralt on the back. “I should be… going.”

“But I—”

Geralt’s eyes are wide, darting between Andrej and Jaskier.

Jaskier stands up, checking on Geralt again. “Hmm? What is it? Do you still need me here?”

He would stay with Geralt, comforting him for the rest of the night if those old insecurities still plague his friend. A good night with a handsome and kind man will always come second when it comes to Geralt, but…

But, but, but…

Jaskier’s heart is already soaring away.

Luckily, the moment of panic in Geralt’s eyes fades into calm acceptance.

“Nothing,” Geralt says, resigned with a quiet smile. “I don’t need you here, Jaskier. You should go.”

His posture goes slack. It must be the relief after all of Jaskier’s words, all the doubt eased, judging from the way Geralt’s face morphs into an emotionless neutrality. Once again, Jaskier mentally pats himself on the back for having cracked the problem.

He beams at the thought, bending down to press a good night kiss on Geralt’s cheek, who lets out a little gasp, leaning into the chaste kiss.

“Don’t wait up!”

Jaskier winks before turning away, not looking back again. When he takes Andrej’s hand, there’s even a spring in his steps.

Oh, Jaskier should be allowed to feel a little smug, just a little bit. He has had the most wonderful night. On top of seeing right through Geralt’s emotional turmoil, he’s also landed himself a fine companion until morning.

The wonderful night can still get a lot better, he thinks.

[saturnshrew]

Modern world, Geralt x Jaskier, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Open ending, Presumed character death

Authors Note: Hi! This is a snippet of a fic I’m working on. I’m recently getting back into writing so I’m a bit rusty but I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The truck barreled down the empty stretch of road, headlights cutting through the darkness in long, thin beams. A faint glare from the dashboard radio illuminated Geralt’s tense jaw and Jaskier’s livid eyes. The air is thick with tension and unsaid words.

The speedometer ticks higher as they sit in silence. Naturally, Jaskier, ever attuned to his own anxieties in vehicles, notices but remains silent. His fingers clench tighter with his hold on the truck’s door handle as he fights to bite back the words he’s so desperate to let out, knowing it would just make things worse. Geralt’s grip on the steering wheel is ironclad, his knuckles paling as he stares ahead with his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

The only sounds are the low hum of the truck’s engine, the tires on smooth pavement, and their breathing. Neon lights flash over their faces in bursts of red and green as they pass the nearby gas station. Jaskier shifts in his seat, finally letting out a sharp exhale as he stares out the window.

“You’re not making this any better by ignoring me.”

The words cut through the truck as if someone struck a match.

Geralt scoffed, “I tried to talk earlier, and you were being a bitch, so—”

“Excuse me?” He whipped around to look at Geralt. “I tried to be civil, and you’re the one who lashed out!”

“Uh, no,” he gave a disbelieving laugh, “you started hounding on me, right in front of my friends, mind you—”

Jaskier laughed right back, “Right, ‘cause they’re such wonderful company!”

Geralt gripped the wheel even tighter. “Stop interrupting me. This is exactly why we couldn’t have a,” he pitched his voice higher in a mockery of Jaskier’s, “civil conversation filled with love and understanding, earlier!” he finished, back to his own voice.

“I’m trying my best here!” Jaskier gestured to himself, “But you,” he jabbed a finger at Geralt, “make it impossible! You can’t stand one singular conversation about how you feel—“

“You’re not my damn therapist; I don’t have to talk about my ‘precious feelings’ with you!” he mocked, “You’re constantly pushing and pushing, and I can’t stand it!”

Jaskier started tearing up, “Oh, I’m so sorry I care about my boyfriend, who I thought cared for me too, but apparently—”

Geralt let out an exaggerated groan, “Oh my god, can you just not? I can’t deal with your crap right now; of course I fucking care!” He exploded, hitting the dashboard with his fist.

Jaskier just crossed his arms tightly. “Well, I’d like to believe that, but when you’re being such an ass, it’s difficult to tell!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry that you need constant,” he pressed harder on the gas pedal, “attention and assurance, but sometimes I need a fucking break!”

“That’s not what this is about! You—you just—” his voice broke, “You always do this! You never talk to me,” he sniffled, “and you always run when things get even a little serious!”

“Oh great, and now you’re gonna start crying as if I’m the problem!” He huffed, “When really, Jask, you’re the problem!”

“Hey—”

“You can never just let things be; you always have to rub your nose in my business, and it’s so annoying!” He ignored Jaskier’s hitched breath, “You’re like a bedbug! You’ve dug in, and you won’t fucking let go, won’t give me a single second of peace. You’re so clingy, and I can’t stand it sometimes!” Geralt was panting by the end of his words.

Jaskier’s breath came in short little gasps as he tried and failed to stop the tears, the sobs that wanted to rip out of his chest. Jaskier was crying hard now, wiping furiously at his eyes as if he could stop it. Geralt regretted the words as soon as they came out, but he felt like he couldn’t say anything else now. He sighed and tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the words.

Jaskier let out a small sob, “I’m sorry I’m such a—a problem in your life, but,” he sucked in a breath, “you’re not exactly easy to be with either, Geralt!”

That hurt, but Geralt knew it was nothing compared to how cruel his own words were. He tried to reach for a single word to say, but he just sat as Jaskier kept trying to get his own words out.

He didn’t notice when he ran the red light. Nor did he see the car coming towards them at full speed.

Jaskier didn’t either.

…

Geralt came to with a groan. All he could hear was the obnoxious ringing in his ears that emphasized the pounding in his head. His arm felt like it was on fire, spreading through his entire upper body when he tried to move it. He gasped at the pain, deciding it wasn’t worth it to move. Why did it hurt so bad? Heaving in a breath he realized his chest hurt too.

His mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t really hear his thoughts. Everything was just jumbled together, a mix of words Geralt couldn’t decipher right now. What happened? He remembered someone yelling, feeling angry, then…

Jaskier?

He jerked suddenly, whipping his head around. There was Jaskier, slumped over in his seat.

“Jask.. baby?” he tried to call out, his voice hoarse.

[florianniss]

Coin, Peace, and Quiet - RatedE

For all his trepidation about her arrival, Geralt is genuinely pleased to see Triss.

“Hello, Geralt,” she smiles, offering her cheek and returning his embrace with grace.

“Thank you for coming,” he says into her ear. “Your service is needed more than you can imagine.”

Triss steps back. She looks different. Not only due to her longer hair and her mottled skin, but also inside her hollow eyes and the way she carries herself, too. The Witcher recognizes unhealed wounds when he sees them, but also when he doesn’t.

“Oh?” The Mage sounds surprised. “I imagine all you lonely old Witchers are doing a very good job bringing up a young lady togeth —“

Triss stops, because this is the moment Ciri strides into the room. She steals a tankard from a Brother and shoves two others aside to make room at the table. Then, without looking up, tears a chunk of meat right off the carcass and begins chewing with her mouth quite open.

Geralt and Triss share a knowing look. “I did try to warn you,” he says fondly.

The Mage smooths down the front of her dress and nods once. “Very well. Best introduce me now to avoid —“

“And what sort of enchanting visitor do we have here with us today?”

Jaskier has appeared out of nowhere. He bows low and takes Triss’ hand, kissing her knuckles before straightening to look into her eyes. He curls her fingers to his chest and turns on the charm. 

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove,” he croons, very nearly singing it. The blue of his eyes flash to Geralt, and he gives a roguish wink. “But you, my dear Lady, may call me Jaskier.”

“We all call you Jaskier, idiot!” someone shouts from the hall. Laughter erupts around them and Ciri’s attention is drawn.

The girl wipes her mouth with the bloodied sleeve of her blouse and pushes back from the table. She’s cautious as she approaches; at least Geralt has been able to teach her that.

“Ciri?” he says as she nears. “This is Triss Merigold.” He places a gentle hand on the middle of Triss’ back and catches Jaskier watching the movement. There’s a moment where the man opens his mouth to speak, then bites it back hard. Geralt makes a point to address it later; there is a method to this madness.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Triss says as she takes Ciri’s fingertips in her own. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Geralt.” She looks up at the Witcher with a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

Jaskier’s gaze moves between them as his head keeps still. There are calculations being made inside the man’s mind. Geralt can’t even imagine.

Ciri has been practicing her scowl. It’s more convincing than ever.

“Why is she here?” she asks, ignoring the Mage’s greeting and rounding on the Witcher. “Did you bring her to teach me how to be a lady? Because I’ve already got Jaskier for that.”

Jaskier comes out of a trance, posture straightening. “Yeah. She’s already got me for that.”

Geralt prays for an extra dose of patience. He hasn’t even made it past the introductions.

“No,” he assures, collecting Ciri’s elbow and pulling her to his side. “She’s here to teach you about Chaos. Her powers are more  — nuanced than mine.”

Triss laughs softly. Ciri frowns. Jaskier’s face is stone quiet, revealing nothing of what he’s thinking.

“But I don’t need to learn about —“

Geralt sighs and pushes Ciri onto Triss’s arm, sends them down the hallway without attempting to explain further. He and Jaskier watch their backs as they go. Ciri looks over her shoulder and Geralt knows there will be hell to pay. He’s just not that skilled at handling more than one dilemma at a time.

Jaskier’s mouth falls open and he finally speaks.

“You know each other well, then? You and Triss?”

Geralt does not turn his head. Instead, he waves for the man to join him at the nearest table.

“She saved my life,” he says once they are seated. He chances a glance and finds Jaskier looking horror-stricken, as if the bottom has fallen out of his stomach.

He recovers quickly, though.

“Oh. So, nothing important or anything,” he drawls, waving one elegant hand in the air as if dismissing a court. “Nothing that would bind the two of you together for eternity at any rate.”

Geralt sighs, again. He should have guessed there would be some residual hard feel —

But Jaskier is back to his usual bright, grinning self, and Geralt thinks he’s gotten it wrong, again.

“So she’s not off limits,” he says, elbowing Geralt with so much force it shifts him sideways. 

The Witcher’s been turned upside down within the spanse of a few minutes. He’s really not cut out for this socialization thing.

His friend is staring, waiting for an answer, and it would be very easy to just get on with it and let the inevitable take its course. Jaskier could open up his bag of tricks and woo the beautiful woman, and Geralt would be able to get some peace and quiet.

Except that’s not the kind of peace and quiet he desires.

“Listen,” Jaskier raises both hands and tucks his chin to his chest. “I’ll not step on toes if that’s how it is. I respect you too much.”

With that, Geralt is reminded why they’re even having this conversation. “And I respect you enough to tell you that she is not what she pretends to be.”

And Jaskier laughs. “I have no idea what that means, Witcher! I think you’ve been spending too much time with monsters. You’ve forgotten how to trust.”

He pulls Geralt into a sideways hug. There are pink flowers woven into his hair.

“Come on. I want to show you how much I’ve improved. Ciri even let me use the sharp blade this morning.”

Geralt concedes, follows Jaskier into the courtyard, all the while mulling over the concept of trust and its multiple facets.

Jaskier is right, of course, about the trust and about his improvement. He keeps his core flexible and shifts the bulk of his weight onto his quads. And even though his size has increased (he’s taken to carrying a shortsword strapped to his back, both for practice and for the additional weight), he’s lighter on his feet and much more confident. Geralt must remember to compliment Ciri on her teachings. It appears both have learned more than he originally thought.

“You didn’t trust me to do it,” Jaskier teases as he finishes the basic movements he and Ciri have been working on. His eyes are bright with success, and there is color in his cheeks that does not stem from the mountain winds. 

“Hm,” Geralt says, because it’s no good arguing with Jaskier when he gets like this. The man is happier than he’s been in months. 

They both are.

They circle each other as Jaskier begins to deviate into more complicated moves. Geralt meets him with every strike, amused at the enthusiasm with which his friend bounces on his heels. Jaskier’s mouth never ceases moving, and he’s spewing so much self-assurance that Geralt almost falls for it. It’s only when Jaskier lunges forward, and the Witcher has to ward off an actual strike to the throat that he understands.

Jaskier means to best him with distraction.

Vivid blue eyes hold his own as Jaskier leans into their connected swords. His grin is cocky and contagious.

“I’m disappointed in you, Witcher,” he laughs. 

It’s obvious that he’s not, but Geralt asks anyway. “And why is that?”

Geralt’s back foot is beginning to slide along the snowy ground as Jaskier holds his position. The man’s breath is coming faster now as he exerts a sustained amount of force.

Jaskier is smug, holding onto the answer until Geralt’s footing gives and he has to set both shoulders.

“You’ve forgotten what I taught you about being an annoying bastard.”

The Witcher hasn’t forgotten. He’s applying all of Jaskier’s methods, only in a different way. It’s much like toying with one’s prey before eating it, teasing out weaknesses. Geralt finds his mind and body rejuvenated and reacting positively. Sparring with Jaskier this way is —

“I am not going to talk a monster to death,” Geralt chides.

And the Witcher taps into his strength reserves and shoves Jaskier away.

“Again,” Geralt says, gruff but enthusiastic. 

Jaskier, taken aback, chest heaving, allows his sword to fall on the snow-packed ground.

He then proceeds to rip off his protective vest, to unlace his shirt, lifting them both over his head until he’s standing tall, vulnerable skin and muscle and flesh quivering with anticipation. Adrenaline pulses through him as if he’s drunk from a flask.

Jaskier crouches to retrieve his shortsword from the vest, deep, expressive eyes catching and keeping Geralt’s gaze. The flowers have fallen from his hair to the ground.

The Witcher is frozen in place and not thinking about the six different ways he could easily kill a man without armor. Instead, his mind is static, buzzing, swirling at the sight of Jaskier’s magnificent confidence.

“Come on, Witcher,” he says, swinging his weapon in an exploratory arc. “I know you’re holding back. Peel off that very thick, incredibly sexy armor and give me everything you’ve got.”

Something surges in Geralt’s chest, and he should be fighting against Jaskier’s mind weapon. The man knows how easy it would be for the Witcher to strike him down. But the temptation to bare his own body, to trust Jaskier just as much Jaskier trusts him, to engage in a battle of wits? Well, it’s —

It’s thrilling.

Jaskier watches with wide eyes as Geralt strips, mouth falling open when he’s not the only one braving the elements with sheer stupidity.

“Wow! I didn’t think that would work! I figured you’d —“

And he lets his guard down just enough for Geralt to take the available steps between them and knock Jaskier’s sword away.

It lands with a thud several yards behind them, and it’s Geralt who’s grinning now as he says, slowly, growling, “Close your mouth and pick up your sword and show me you can keep up.”

Jaskier moves so quickly that he renders Geralt impressed. He shakes out his shoulders, squares up, and says the only thing that a man with balls of steel would dare to a Witcher.

“Go on then.” A pause. A wink. The flash of white teeth. “Run me through. Stab me with your little sword. Thrust with all your might.”

Jaskier touches the tip of his sword to Geralt’s, then runs it down the edge, scraping metal as he works his way towards the hilt. It’s seductive and cocky and would likely be the death of anyone who wasn’t Jaskier. The Witcher, however, feels like he’s finally gotten his friend back. He gladly accepts the challenge.

They spar, joyous, Geralt most indeed pulling his strength, and Jaskier holding nothing back. They laugh when their footwork becomes a little too vigorous and the horses bolt from the stable. They grunt when the other lands an impressive strike against steel, as sparks fly in more ways than one. As Jaskier visibly tires but refuses to stand down, Geralt checks in and calls for time.

They rest. Steam rises from Jaskier’s slick body, his chest hair curly, nipples and cheeks bright red. His lungs drag in great gasps and he laughs, delight evident in every part of his being. 

It’s this overall picture that Geralt considers as he catalogs his own body’s response to their play. Mind racing, chest tight. Arm hair standing on end and blood roaring through his veins, filling him with a sense of accomplishment, causing his thighs to tingle and the ever-present urge behind his navel to swell to the point of pain.

Every inch of him is aroused, attention piqued and satisfied. Gone is the regret and sorrow and crushing sense of loss. In its place, he’s found something to fill the void.

He’s found Jaskier.

“All right, you, old man.” Jaskier straightens, stretching his back. His gloves creak on the handle of his sword as he takes another flirtatious swipe. “Ready to take me down and make me blush like a virgin?”

Geralt shakes his head, smiles, and Jaskier falls on his arse with the very first swing.

He lies back in the snow and roars. “I wasn’t ready, eager thing!”

Empowered and vibrating, looking down at the beauty that is a laughing, happy Jaskier, Geralt offers a hand to bring his friend to his feet. But the other man kicks out, swipes at the Witcher’s ankles, and he, too, goes down in a pile of hard-packed snow.

Jaskier reaches across Geralt’s heaving chest and fists his weapon away, all the while chuckling about distractions and how easy a target Geralt is. The Witcher joins Jaskier in a seated position. Legs crossed and knees touching, facing each other.

The words are out of his mouth before Geralt can think how to say them.

“You are ten times more worthy than any other,” he grins, hard as a rock between his thighs. “If anyone ever argues to the contrary, they will experience my blade.”

Jaskier, eyebrows shot skyward, lifts that adorable chin. “I hoped I’d be the only one to experience your blade, Geralt.”

There’s something electrical sparking between them, but before Geralt can get a handle on it, Jaskier drops back into his easy charm.

“You must want me to work on Ciri. Get her to listen to the Mage.”

Geralt hasn’t even thought of this, but now that Jaskier has said it, he realizes that’s exactly what it looks like.

“I didn’t mean to —“

Jaskier leans over, resting his palms on Geralt’s knees. He's ripe with sweat and excitement and that familiar bittersweet scent.

“You never mean to. That’s what’s so loveable about you, Witcher. It takes a man well-versed in grunting and swearing to get inside that thick skull of yours and discover that you’re just a softie.”

Geralt knows it to be true, knows it with all his heart that there has only been one other person to break through his defenses. And while Yen did it with sex and mystery and power and lack of fear, Jaskier did it without needing any of that.

“All right,” Jaskier says with finality. “I’m taking Roach to the spring. When I get back I expect you to be clean and dry and ready to take Tess away so I can have a father-daughter talk with Ciri.”

He pushes up. He brushes himself off. He smiles crookedly and oh, does Geralt want badly to follow him.

But he doesn’t. He sits on the ground as Jaskier dresses. And he watches his partner mount and disappear from the courtyard.

Read on AO3

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

The Witcher Season 3

Chapter 1 - Shaerrawedd

Summery: Constantly on the run to protect Ciri’s life. You, Geralt, and Yennefer face deadly foes while trying to keep the peace between the three of you.

Warning: fighting, blood

Of Monsters and Men masterlist

They came for her again last night in the hills by the water. Before that, a few weeks past with some guards and a man with glasses. Some professor. All of them hired by that fire mage, Reince. The reason your traveling party hasn't been able to take a rest for longer then a week at a time.

You'd left Kaer Morhen a time ago with Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer. Jaskier choosing to go his own way for awhile, concerned about his safety and wellbeing and all that. Understandable. So the four of you left, traveling with the intention of living somewhere for as long as Cirilla needed. A place where she could learn to fight and tune into her natural magical gifts.

Somewhere safe and comfortable. A home to grow and enjoy life for all that it is and can be. The place you'd help raise Ciri until she was strong enough, until she was ready to force Nilfgaard back into their den. Or become a Witcher like Geralt. Whatever her choice, she would be well prepared for it by then.

However, life refuses to make this easy for anyone. Men hunting you four always. Hiding and sneaking in the dark, a few in broad daylight, a couple on horseback. All have come to take her and kill you, Geralt, and Yennefer. All have failed. Yet these events have made Geralt all the more paranoid, more so then he's ever been.

You go through it a day at a time. Teaching Cirilla how to fight, how to hold a blade, how to survive. Yennefer teaches her magic and control of chaos. Geralt teaches her about herbs, monsters, and Witcher things. Together she's got wonderfully exceptional teachers. The best at what they do, the perfect guides for her.

You understand her urgency to grow and learn, but you also know running from place to place is wearing her out. If not now, later. She's bright and fearsome as a spring flower. She doesn't deserve to be hunted for her existence. You know all to well what that felt like, how it still feels. Hunted for what you are. Tracked ruthlessly for days on end.

This is no life for a young girl. Being on the run.

Your hand touches the rough bark of a tree as you press your body against the trunk. High up into the canopy of an evergreen, watching over the snow covered forest for any sign of a threat. The night is dark and the snow falls gently from all around you. Below is your companions camp. They're sleeping near the horses in their thick blankets and clothing. Ciri is wearing your cloak.

You can't feel the cold so your attire looks slightly out of place here. You look more prepared for the spring then this chilly winter weather. All in all, it bothers you not.

You scan the woods but see nothing of any concern. You're far enough north, you haven't seen another person in days. You stay in the tree, siting down with your back against the trunk this time. Letting your head rest pressed to the bark. The scent is an earthy one with remnants of home in the pines outside your mothers castle. There, you'd do the same as you are now. Sit and watch from a hidden point of view.

Circumstances greatly different.

Your mind wanders to the events that led you thus far in your journey since the banquet. That damned party. The place in Cintra where it all began, where destiny chose to push you on a new path. Oh so long ago. A far away memory.

Their tranquil breathing is a good sign that they're all sleep. Some nights you'd keep watch till the dark blue hour before dawn and Geralt would still be awake. Other times that would be Yennefer. Yes, your dear friend Yennefer. She is doing her best for Ciri. She is an immensely patient help to the girl. She is what Cirilla has needed for a long time.

You have been giving her a hard time anyways. You love her, you really do. She's your friend, you considered her your sister at one point due to your closeness and history. You've known one another a very long time. Longer then Geralt. Yet she had hurt you deeply.

Many moons ago she had taken whom you have grown to love and protect. The Cintran princess. Ciri. She had been tricked and deceived by Yennefer just as she did to you. All in the name of chaos. Granted, Yennefer couldn't give Ciri away when it came time for the act to be done. She did go forth with the plans to obtain the enchanted girl anyhow. And she did succeed. She took Ciri from you.

Though Geralt gives a word or two to the mage. You haven't been able to bring yourself to say anything at all. You still feel all too strange about it. Puts a bad taste in your mouth. Most notably, it's severed the trust you had built with her. You'd wished it never happened, and yet it did.

You wished there was no battle at Sodden, you wished that Yennefer never disappeared and lost her powers all at once, and you wished she never took Ciri from you. Those things cannot be undone and you understand this. Some acts are meant to happen for other things to take place. No matter if they hurt or not.

Things will be better, you know this in your heart.

Your scarlet eyes fall upon Geralt tucked warm in his dark cloak, body sleeping on a thick mat. The fire next to his head flickers with the breeze, embers glowing deep fiery colors. You can smell the burnt wood. You can smell him. An odor you could find in the largest of cities, no matter how far he went wandering. A strong man smell of earth and metal. A Witcher's scent.

Tomorrow you'll sleep in a bed. You're sure of it.

———

The day turned to gray storm clouds faster then you'd have liked, bringing wet icy-cold snow from the heavens. Every time you exhaled a puff of white was sure to follow. You could tell the winter chill was beginning to weigh heavy on the other two ladies by the time you all reached Yarpen's home.

The feisty foul mouthed dwarf you first met on the trip to kill that dragon. He welcomed you four nonetheless, though he made himself clear not to touch a thing. And that payment would be due for this unexpected arrival. He did remember you however, and he made it known to stay away from him. Joking of course. Well......you couldn't completely tell.

Fortunately he had room to spare. You, Geralt, and Ciri to one house. Yennefer to the other. You could tell she would have liked your distance to be within a few feet. And maybe a word or two. But you didn't look at her so she knew better then to join you three in the small house. You're not ready to share a conversation just yet.

A few nights passed after the first. You all finding your new home quiet suitable for the time. It's safe and warm. It's far from people and any towns. Secluded. Just how you'd prefer. Just how Geralt likes it. Just what Ciri needs.

You've talked it over with Geralt a few days back. To live here with Ciri and Yennefer until the girl is ready. Keep here through the seasons and let her grow in body and magic. Stay in this quiet place by the water and the pines. You'd like that, but you know Geralt too well.

—

The axe cuts through cold wood on the stand, two chunks of now smaller wood falls to either side. Geralt reaches down for another while you stand nearby with the letter Yennefer stuck to your door. You hold the parchment in your hand and begin. "Dear friends, we're so far off the map here that we may never leave again. Come to think of it, would that be such a bad thing? We'll continue magic lessons before the ice melts, I promise. But for now, perhaps the girl deserves a break. Perhaps you both and I do too. Your friend, Yennefer."

Geralt says nothing. You let the moment pass while he cuts another log in half. "Well?" You ask.

"Hmm?" Another log is cut.

You fold the paper, glancing over to Yennefer and Ciri ice skating together a short distance away. "You have nothing to speak of it?"

"She's trying." He grunts. Two more pieces of wood fall to the piles in the snow.

"I do agree this place is good for us, all of us. But I don't know about waiting too long for these lessons."

"She is still young."

You absentmindedly turn the paper in your hand. "So was I."

He cuts another chunk, then he gives you his full attention. "Her mother wasn't a vampire."

"But she was a queen. Just like my mother. She cannot waste time."

"She has us, do not forget that." His golden eyes shine bright with truth. "She is bound to us."

You watch the young girl smile and laugh with Yennefer, they're a sweet pair losing their footing on the slick ice. They're not very good with skates and yet they're enjoying themselves immensely. You can't help the small smile forming onto your features. "You're right. She has us and she needs laughter if she means to live to her eighteenth birthday."

"You should join them." He suggests with a kind grin.

You set your eyes back to Geralt, "Don't be ridiculous, I'd look a fool." His laughter is sweet as you kick a piece of wood, sending it sailing towards the forest. "Why don't you join them?" He holds up his axe and you flick a hand at him like you mean to swat him like a fly. "Oh shut up."

He smiles again, admiring you dearly.

———

The days pass and the snow stops falling yet it still sticks to the ground. Still keeping your boots wet and some feelings damp.

It may have taken awhile, but one evening Geralt let Yennefer in for dinner. She invited herself, but you could tell Ciri was glad to have her there, so you didn't mind. The time spent was not wasted and the meal was good, though you could not let yourself speak to her. At the end of the night all you gifted the mage was a simple good night and that was it. She smiled when she left. You looked to Geralt and he smiled at you. Giving your hand a squeeze.

A day later you said hello when passing her to hunt for deer in the woods. The next evening you invited her to dinner, well you sent Ciri to invite her. But Ciri told Yennefer you did....you were simply too busy to do it yourself. And now, much to Geralt's surprise, you're about to give Yennefer some extra wine.

You're not forgiving her, but you do miss talking to her. Geralt isn't exactly the best conversationalist of the group and Yarpen is more or less off-put by your presence. Ciri is kind but sometimes you merely want another adult woman to talk to. The horses don't care to listen. So Yennefer it is.

Your boots press into the snow covered earth as you grip the wine bottles handle. You're still uncertain of this decision but Geralt insisted it was the right choice. You are all Cirilla's parents in one way or another, so keeping ties strong should be important. You're still not sure if this is a good idea.

It's too late once you reach the thin wooden door. Just before your knuckles make impact with the wood, it opens. Surprising you, however you don't flinch. Long black hair and two exquisite lavender irises stare back at you. She smiles warmly. "Y/N." A soft, happy voice.

"Yenns." Her old nickname slips out before you can stop it.

Her smile never fades. "You need..."

"Wine." You finish. "I know you needed some more. So I brought you this." You stiffly hold up the large bottle for her to take.

"Oh?" She takes the unexpected gift. "Thank you. I did need some more."

You give a small nod, taking a step back as you mean to leave now. She's unsure of herself or what to say and you don't stick around to listen. You're halfway across the yard when she calls for you. Unlike other times, you stop and turn around.

She's still at the door with the wine bottle in her hand. "Maybe we could share this an evening?" Shaking the bottle to further promote the hopeful question. You can hear it slosh around from here, you can still smell it too. What a lovely scent. Reminds you of the vineyards in Rinde.

"Will there be dancing and music?" You jest.

She tilts her head knowingly, appreciating your light humor again. "It can be arranged."

She watches you flash a quick half grin before turning and continuing on your way. She has waited months for that, not sharing a few words with you has been almost as horrible as losing her magic. Perhaps she'll tell you that when the time is right.

———

Outdoors and crouched by the fire a short distance from the houses, you poke the burning embers with a stick as Yarpen pulls his wagon past you. His horse flicks it's tail as he shouts for it to stop. You stand and go to help unload, Geralt and Yarpen are already taking baskets off the cart by the time you reach them. Though it appears the dwarf is less satisfied with this haul.

"Wish I had more for ya, but the Squirrels hit Henselt's convoy." He says, standing on the porch, picking up a potato from a bag. "Look at these. Potatoes the size of gnome nuts."

The Squirrels, some band of thieves that keep bothering travelers.

Ciri and Yennefer join when you grab a leather bag of something smelling of old bread. "Did they attack your convoy as well?" Asks Geralt, setting a basket onto the porch.

Yarpen scoffs. "I'd like to see them fuckin' try it!" He states, leaning into the wagons side. "The elves' gripe is with the kings, not us. They're just trying to soften the North for the grand cock of Nilfgaard." He makes a little gesture with his thumb and pointer finger. Insinuating Nilfgaards cock is indeed tiny.

"Nilfgaard gave elves refuge, and now they're fighting on their behalf." Adds Yennefer while you walk past with a bag of apples, giving her one in the process. "Amazing what people will do when you give them a second chance." She muses, taking a bite to hide her smile.

Yarpen doesn't miss the subtleties. His brows furrow as he points between you two. "Hold on! You're talking to creepy eyes again?" You glare at him as he laughs. "Bout' time too. I was fearin' we'd never have Spring if you two lassies didn't lighten up. Reminds me, our Belleteyn festival is just down the valley." He turns his attention to Ciri. "You should come."

Ciri grins, excited at the thought. "I'd love to."

"Bad idea."

"It's not safe." Are promptly heard by Geralt and Yennefer just before you add. "Alright." In agreement to this lively spring gathering. A princess should have fun after all, shouldn't they?

The two of them look at you, surprised. Ciri appears rather elated. You shrug at the hesitation from the older ones. "No one's asked about her in months. Everyone will be in costume and we'll be there." They remain unconvinced. "We can handle ourselves."

"And...I was born on Belleteyn." Adds Ciri, looking between the three of you.

Yarpen grins mischievously. "Ah! You'd have had a shot at bein' May Queen. Except my niece's beard is comin' in nice and full this year. May be some competition. Hahaha..." His laughter is rapid and annoying with that accent of his, but you don't mind his enthusiasm. Geralt gives him a warning glance as he walks around him to pick up more stuff from the wagon.

"Just say yes, already!" Shouts Yarpen, irritated with Geralt's usual disapproval. "About time for a fuckin' thaw round here." He walks off to sort his things, no doubt fed up with the lack of adventure radiating off of your group.

Ciri approaches Geralt. "I promise I'll be safe." He sighs, taking his focus off of the wooden box he's about to grab from the wagon.

Taking out a bottle of wine from the box in your left arm, you casually flip it in your hand. "We may not have the grandest luck, but honestly with us so far out here. How bad can a Spring festival be?"

———

"I feel ridiculous in this thing."

Sat diligently in his chair, Geralt turns around to meet you in a rather beautiful dress. You stand there like a fish out of water in a green thing that makes you look like some sort of queen of the water nymphs. It is gorgeous and spring-like, but it is Yennefer's extra gown. Not quite your taste by any means.

Geralt keeps silent, too awe struck to speak a word, no less think to create one. He's never seen you in such color before. His golden eyes scan all over your dress, the way it sits on your body, the way it hugs in just the right places. He finally stands and approaches. His eyes are dazzling as he looks into yours. "You look lovely." He says softly. "So beautiful my dear Y/N."

Your irritations slink back with the sweet words. You can't help but reach up to hold his cheeks in your nimble hands. His strong ones resting on your hips. "Thank you. Though I may have neglected to realize I would need a dress for this thing."

He squeezes your hips. "Would you have me take it off you then?"

Heat immediately blossoms in your nether regions with his sly words, enticing question indeed. You rub your thumb over his lips. "Perhaps." You gift him a tender kiss. "When we return."

"Now let's get going shall we?" Geralt parts from you to open the door, he holds it for you and gives a slight nod of his head. "Your carriage is waiting my princess."

You step past him but not before running your finger across his broad chest. "Why thank you sir. Will you be with me all night?" Gerald chuckles as he follows you out the door.

"If you'll have me." He adds, playing along.

You smile deviously. "Wonderful. We're going to have a brilliant time."

———

It didn't take long until the lot of you had made it to the Belleteyn festival. It didn't take long for you all to get to comfortable and thus before you knew it, shit went south. The night was filled with fires and food and music. Joy and laughter and drunken spirits. Then in the maze, a place that was meant to be an enjoyable time with company. A place to get lost in for a little while and act silly as you tried to find the way out. It was fun.

Then you heard something. So faint, a movement on the earth. A rolling vibration, many legs, a mass of energy larger then anything that should have been at Belleteyn. Geralt didn't hear it. No one around you wandering the maze revealed any inclination of hearing this mysterious being. You knew it was alive and going somewhere.

Then you caught it's foul scent when the wind changed. Putrid and stinking like an insect left with a rotting corpse. Then the sound and the smell intertwined as it neared wherever it was in the maze. Yes, it had entered the maze. And no sooner did the name of the creature leave your lips did the terrified screams begin.

Geralt ran and so did you. Luckily Yennefer came to Ciri's aid faster then either of you could get there. Together, the Jackapace was defeated and no one from your company was wounded. But it hurt knowing what this meant, and so here you are now. A new plan settled and mapped. A different turn in your ongoing traveling protection team. One crafted by Ciri herself.

To lure Reince out of his hole. The fire mage who sent the Jackapace, the one who has been sending all those men after your group. After Cirilla. After you. He stole her Elder blood in Kaer Morhen and used it on the Jackapace, once they have a scent, they never stop hunting. Always a problem, always running and running and running.

You miss those days before all this. Before Ciri and Jaskier and when it was just you and Geralt traveling the Continent. Just you and your Witcher together. Old times. Good times they were.

Now you're being sent to the closest city over to bring back Jaskier, so he can help your merry band lure Reince out. You would greatly enjoy a week without this hiding and moving to just sleep in a tavern with Geralt. Oh how destiny has other plans for you.

———

Redania isn't so bad, well if not for the smell it really wouldn't be such a dull place in your eyes. Though you've never been fond of cities to begin with. Always terrible smells and loud noises, drunken folk and watchful guards. Too many people.

You walk past merchants selling their wares, children running with a dog, and others shopping in the streets. Men laugh loudly from a tavern on your right while a horse screams on your left when a fool smacks it's arse. Women hurry past you to get to where they're going. A boy almost runs into your legs, not looking as to where he's going. If there's one blessed thing about cities, people don't pay you any mind here.

You hunt for the Sandpiper. You know where he stays when he's not at the taverns or wooing ladies at the court. And if you're lucky, he won't be in the middle of entertaining that blonde woman again. What she sees in those bright blue eyes of his, you have not a clue. He's a bit too loquacious for your taste.

You still love him for his quirks anyway.

Past a man with a brown and yellow snake around his hand, you turn the corner and stop, your legs have brought you to a riveting sight to be seen. A woman with dark hair and plush deep red lips is, what it appears to be, threatening Jaskier. She's close to him and she reeks of magic. A mage. A man with reddish blonde hair stands off to her right, he wears royal clothing. Furs and red. They are undoubtedly Redanian figures of importance you're sure of that.

Unfortunately, you don't catch the conversation and just as you came, they leave him. You watch them walk off somewhere else, a few guards following dutifully behind. Not wasting a moment longer, you're behind Jaskier and holding up his lute that was on the ground for some reason. He doesn't hear a thing.

"Will you sing me a song for a few coins? It's all I have." You tease the distraught bard. He instantly recognizes your voice.

"Now this..." Jaskier turns around to see you at long last and by the looks of it, he's genuinely glad to see you. "Is a delightful surprise." He smiles blissfully, not even aware that his lute is in your hands. "Still ever so radiant, and terrifying and uh why...why are you here? Is Geralt here too? Ciri? You guys hunting something or just stopping by finally to hear me sing with my...oh right. My lute."

You give it a little strum. "Just me."

"Yes and though I am thrilled to see one of my very best of friends again. Whenever I see you and those magnificent ruby red eyes of yours. I know it means trouble." He points. "Or you've come to your little vampirey senses and realized I'm way more interesting then Geralt and a joy to hang around."

Plucking some cords, you share a fangy grin. One that is devilish and beautiful. "Oh how I've missed you. But no, not here to listen to your sweet voice nor protect your bum when that mouth of yours gives more then your coins do."

Jaskier laughs. "That's fair I suppose."

"Yes, but I do need you." You insist with a nudge to his shoulder.

Jaskier's face falls. "Oh no, no, no. What is it this time?"

•••

"Bait!" Exclaims Jaskier. "I rode for days with Y/N, mind you, to get here. Battling hunger, battling the elements, only to discover upon my arrival that I'm being used as..."

"Jaskier, me." Interrupts Ciri as she walks with her horse, Jaskier doing the same, you in between them. Notably without a horse to lead.

"...bait."

"I am the bait. Rience is after me." Adds Ciri matter-of-factly.

"Yes, which means he wants you alive, and me very much not alive. You see my anxiety?" He insists, loudly. Dramatic.

"We're not gonna let anything happen to you Jaskier." Says Geralt now as he and Yennefer ride near on their own horses. The three of you stop as they approach closer.

"I saved your arse once. I can do it again, Pankratz." Adds Yennefer as Jaskier casts his eyes on her doubtfully.

"You didn't save me..." He glances between you and Ciri. "She didn't save me. She.." You both begin to smile as his horse snorts at him. "She didn't! But seriously, you are gonna save me, right?"

"Of course, Jask." You pat him on the arm. "Have we not before?"

He scoffs. "Well, there's been moments. Moments where I've feared for my sweet lovely life."

"Seem fine to me." Whispers Ciri, holding back a grin.

"Ah, ah, ah! I may look it, yes. But the memories. The things I've seen because of them." Jaskier waves a hand at you and Geralt and Yennefer. "I should be more traumatized then I appear. I probably am really."

"Oh you little princess." You playfully start as Ciri begins to giggle with amusement. Jaskier just swats you away, poking at you until you move out of reach from him.

"Be gone woman!" Says Jaskier, still whipping his hand around. "Mean." He leans his head close to Ciri, trying real hard to whisper. "She may save your life but she won't save you from her insults." Ciri simply nods, holding back a laugh.

Rolling your eyes, you rest a hand on your hip. "I can hear that."

"Oh I know you can!" He shouts dramatically, enjoying your friendly squabble. "Maybe I wanted you to!"

You stick your tongue out at him. Jaskier does it back. You make your face contort a little to show off the more vampiric side of you. Jaskier hisses, pulling down the bottom eyelid of his left eye. Your skin begins to turn grey, irises glowing blood red and fiery orange near the pupils. Jaskier kicks a foot out like some drunken man attempting to brawl.

"Alright you two." Sternly breaks the voice of Geralt. You and Jaskier return to your composure. "We won't make Hagge by sunset." Geralt looks to his left, the landscape with its small hills, trees, and an old ruin. "We'll make camp here."

"Sleeping in the woods again?!" Complains Jaskier. "Honestly!"

—

Your party, consisting of your friends and Yarpen's, settle among the broken rock of the ruined tower. You all take your time to set up camp, built small fires for their warmth and let the horses feed. When curiosity takes the better of Cirilla, yourself, Geralt, and Yennefer follow her to the center of the ruins. A more quieter place from the others.

Here the ground is open dirt with little grass but in fair patches scattered about and near the rocks. Further is an unambiguous platform made of stone, a large statue of an elven woman in the center. Two sets of stairs lead on either side of her to another platform the same as the first. Around this, and this old courtyard of sorts, the walls are tall with open doorways of high arches leading further into the structure. You can feel the energy of this place, it's violence and pain.

You can almost smell the blood.

"What is this place?" Asks Ciri as she goes on ahead, captivated by its melancholy beauty.

"It's Shaerrawedd." Answers Geralt. He knows the story just as Yennefer and you do. Though you were alive on the Continent when it took place, they had yet to exist.

Your scarlet irises linger over the white roses growing in patches here, below rocks, and at the bottom of the weathered statue. "Tread lightly. This land is full of stories." Warns Yennefer, not wanting Ciri to touch something and risk a vision. The imagery would be a horrible sight, you know this just as they do.

Ciri approaches the stone platform, enchanted blue-green eyes bewitched by the flowers in such an odd place. "Never seen so many wild roses in one place. They're beautiful." She admits, stopping in front of the elven woman of stone.

The three of you stand to either side slightly behind her. You focus onto the moss crawling up the sides of the carved robes. "Their story, sadly, is not." You stop next to Ciri who looks up at you, your eyes never leaving the moss. "Aelirenn. A brave and inspiring elven warrior who thought she could defeat the humans. She was wrong."

Yennefer steps closer to the roses. "A rather condensed version of the story." Spoken with a tinge of bitterness. She is of elven blood so you understand.

"And what's yours, then?" Asks Ciri.

Yennefer turns to address the young girl. "After the Conjunction, humans arrived. The elves thought the humans were just a nuisance, like a plague of locusts or a drought. That they would die off in the blink of an elven eye. But the humans kept multiplying. And killing." Yennefer glances up at the statue. "Aelirenn knew the threat wasn't going away. So she rallied all of the young elves to fight, at Shaerrawedd."

"Sounds like she fought for what she believed in." Says Ciri, admiring the statue as well. "To protect her people."

Geralt rests an arm around her shoulders. "She did fight for what she believed in. She led those young and passionate elves to war. They revered this place. This is were they fought. They fought for her. And they died with her name on their lips and their honor and integrity intact. And in doing so, they condemned their species to annihilation. She led them all to their deaths." Geralt explaines, giving a remorseful sigh. "Neutrality. It won't get you a statue. But it'll certainly help in keeping you alive."

He gives her shoulders a comforting squeeze before releasing her and choosing to head back to camp. You can sense his unsettlement with this place the longer he lingers around. Yennefer stays a moment and then turns to leave as well, you doing the same. This is no place to sit and remember it's history.

———

The night arrives and you tuck in close to Geralt. There is not much to say with Ciri and Yennefer sleeping so near, a usual and necessary occurrence these past few months. The four of you can't seem to get away from one another for too long. Then again, the world hasn't quite let you. Ciri is much too important for you all to disperse and go your separate ways. A ridiculous thought really.

You can't complain with a white haired Witcher at your side and a heart beating only for you. He is moody, tranquil, and formidable. Yet he is gentle, soft-hearted, and deeply alluring. You would never trade him for all the gems and gold in the entire world. And at your origins, you are a princess. Daughter to the Vampire Queen, the first vampire in all of the Continent. A pure-blood vampire. One who was never turned, simply born as she is. A true terror. Your mother.

You haven't seen her in centuries.

Geralt pulls you close, his chest pressed to your back with his arm slung lazily over your waist. He's sleeping though his hand holds yours, a soft grip that remains with his unconsciousness. He holds you when he sleeps, you know this is the only time he fully relaxes. He knows you sleep light and would, and have, protected him when he slumbers. He knows he's safe now.

Your lips press to his fingers and you snuggle in closer, if that's even possible. You relax and listen to the careful thudding of his heartbeat. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Hear the expansion of his lungs, the contraction of the heart in his chest. At first when you began traveling with him, these human sounds would bother you. You'd close your eyes and smell the blood through the skin and hate yourself for the thoughts that would arise.

Then, as a new night would arrive, those thoughts of blood and natural hunger would disappear. Disappear until they were no more. Now you relish in the presence of Geralt and all his essence that keeps him alive and well. The vessel containing spirit. The soul of your beloved Witcher. Without him in your immortal life, even knowing this will not last, you wouldn't have ever changed meeting him.

So you sleep and wait for dawn.

—

When the first morning bird fluttered down from its perch on the thin branches above. Before it opened its throat to sing of the rising dawn, you woke. The rustle of feathers and the quick movement of its three pronged feet reached your ears in sleep. Your ears with their slight pointed look, the inherent characteristic of a vampire. No matter if you are half or not. Your mothers blood is far too powerful. By right you are a damphir, yet your blood gives you the strength of a pure-blood.

Not all attributes are a delight. The noise of the small bird is enough to keep you awake, granted more time spent held in the wee hours of the morning with Geralt is bliss. But when you find the pink of the sky readying to turn everything bright again. You cannot make yourself stay and lay docile when you know others hunt for your people. And you.

Silent as the winter snow falling from the heavens. You slip from Geralt's embrace and away from Ciri and Yennefer who continue to catch needed rest. You make not a sound as your legs take you throughout the camp, this is unintentional but you cannot help the gentleness of your footing.

You check on Jaskier who is fine. Then the dwarves still sleeping and the horses keeping watch. When your nose picks up the scent of smoke, are you following it to a small gathering of branches. Yarpen tending to it with a stick in his hand. You stand silently, observing his movements like a fox on a hillside. He remains unaware for a few minutes until your curiosity causes you to speak.

"Cold?" Your voice cuts through the morning chill though gentle it may be. Yarpen jumps like a startled dog, almost managing to throw his stick in the air.

"Well fuckin' gods ye tryin to kill meh?" He yells with a hand over his chest. "When in the great fuck did you get here?"

"Apologies. I did not mean to scare you."

Yarpen laughs merrily, shoulders relaxing as he takes a seat on the rock near him. "Ay, not many bastards can do that." He points the stick at you. "You're not like those silly old cats anyways. Odd bugger you are." He chuckles, resting the stick over his knees.

You glance at the ruins of Shaerrawedd. "Indeed." Voice soft and reflective.

Yarpen cannot tell if he's offended you or you're simply lost in thought, perhaps pondering a matter intuitively. He shrugs. "Eh, you ain't so bad if Imma be honest with ye. Just uh, guess I'm not so fond of those sharp toothed bloodsuckers from the north." He muses.

You let out a humored breath. "I respect you for your truth. But I trust you because Geralt does." You swiftly turn to leave but stop a moment to speak to him from over your shoulder, he's intrigued by this. "Thank you for your help." And with that said, Yarpen blinks, readying to speak though you have already gone. He jumps up looking this way and that but you're nowhere to be seen.

He sits again, contemplating your words.

In the stronghold of the ruins of Shaerrawedd, you stand below the towering statue of the elven warrior. A she-elf who died fighting for her people. You remember her. That name from so long ago, you remember when your mother told you about what the elves were doing. What happened here. You could only see it as unfortunate but brave, not that a whole species was condemned in one battle.

Your kind was here before them and the humans. Surely these beings were meant to rise and fall and change and evolve. That's what creatures do who can die easily. That's how their kind survives and thrives.

You are immortal and cannot die like them, so you can only watch and understand, your mother would explain. Vampires are meant to remain forever and protect their own, keep the world in a sort of balance.

Whatever that meant.

Footsteps sound from a short distance behind you, small and delicate, coming to the place where you stand. They have not entered into this ruin but you need not move from panic, it is Cirilla. You wait for the young princess to join you if she chooses. The wait is not long.

When she gingerly approaches to your right, you give the girl a nod of acknowledgment. "Out for a walk?" You ask. Ciri goes to take a seat on a broken chunk of the ruin.

"I had another dream." She answers softly.

You nod. "Dreams huh? No dream you bring to me is ever filled with sweet marshmallow bunnies. Was it a nightmare?"

"No, it wasn't frightening. Just couldn't sleep thinking about Aelirenn. And my grandmother." She explains as you go to sit next to her. "They lived centuries apart, but burned with the exact same mission. Wipe the other species off the Continent."

Ciri stands up, eyes set to the statue and the white roses crawling up it from below. "When I finally fell asleep, it came to me." She kneels down to touch the beautiful flowers. "If I can offer something different. A way forward that doesn't divide, but unites." She stands once more. "I'm part elf, I'm part human. I understand both because I am both, and that is my strength."

"I understand what you're saying. History, it..." You sigh. "...has a way of repeating itself. Even for the idealistic."

"You say Aelirenn's idealism is what led to the massacre of the young elves, but maybe if her elders had supported her instead of abandoning her, they could've won." Ciri glances at the statue. "Yennefer said they have a saying."

You reiterate that saying in perfect Eldar. "What has been need not always be." You speak in common tongue. "Yennefer told me the elven queen, Francesca, could offer more to her people."

"So could I." Adds Ciri, defiantly. "Geralt taught me how to fight. Just like Calanthe. Yen has been teaching me how to harness my powers. Like Mousesack. And you, Y/N, you've taught me how to weald a blade. Something I always wished to know. What if this is the reason destiny brought us together? Nenneke said I have the power to change the cycle of hatred. And I want to. To bring balance between kings and mages, and to align the Continent, instead of constantly putting parts against each other. Because I am sick and tired of destruction and loss."

Her eyes are close to filling with tears of great frustration and sadness. You quickly stand and go to her, resting your hands on her thin shoulders. Sincerity in your voice. "I don't doubt you, Ciri. I do doubt the world, though." Your sensitive ears prick with the sounds of many footsteps. Clang of metal and hushed voices in the distance. Ciri immediately picks up on your abrupt silence.

Her eyes grow with confusion. "Y/N what is it?" She quickly turns to the sounds of Geralt and Yennefer running into the grove. "What's happening?"

Geralt has his sword in hand. "They're here."

"I know." You reply, taking hold of Ciri's hand. She looks up at you. "Be brave, child. We'll be near." You slip from her fingers and silently walk into the shadowed parts of the ruin.

Yennefer and Geralt talk to Ciri a moment before joining you in your hiding spot. You keep still and listen, they watch your face for the sign that Rience and his men are here. The one you four have conspired to draw out, luring him to his death as you'd planned. Ciri completing her duty well as the bait.

You didn't think they'd arrive so soon, but he is a fire mage who can portal after all. And he's irritatingly clever when it comes to tracking what he so desperately wants. You have no choice but to keep quiet and wait for the right time.

From under the ruin archway to your left, behind the statue of Aelirenn saunters out the fire mage and his equally as appalling men. You can smell the stink of horse and ash on them. The scent of magic, putrid and rotten, coming from Rience's vessel.

Ciri snaps her head around at his decrepit voice. "Cirilla of Cintra. Alone at last. Well, not quite. I've brought some friends this time." Says Rience, moving in with swaggered steps.

They get close, surrounding her in a half circle, preparing to strike. You resist the urge to move and aid her. The men begin their assault yet they are met with great resistance by the princess. She wasn't trained by the best of Kaer Morhen for nothing. She fights them off the best she can until Yennefer leaves the hidden space near you. She knows Ciri cannot do this alone.

You and Geralt join her with swift destruction. Yennefer duels with Rience as yourself and Geralt kill his men easily. That is until a few moments later when Rience is able to get a handle on Ciri. He holds her against his chest, one arm around her neck and a dagger to her throat.

A war cry is heard as Yarpen's men and Jaskier follow suit. They bare their weapons and clash with the fearsome enemy. You knew they'd come just when they were so desperately needed. This rush of noise and new faces takes Rience off guard. But not you nor Ciri.

You're busy with two angry men to help her but no sooner is one of the men bleeding on the ground when Ciri races away. A strangely blackish portal behind them. Rience holding his nose, more pissed off then ever. You watch as he falls back in pain straight into his portal, it begins to close when Yennefer holds out her opened hand. She forces it to remain open.

Before you can run after the fire mage, Geralt races into the unknown after him. Leaving Yennefer to keep the portal open until he returns. You hope he returns.

You drive your blade into the throat of a screaming man, blood spatters everywhere as it slips gracefully out again. You run to Yennefer and Cirilla but halt, deciding not to follow Geralt. You hear something new that keeps you back on the battlefield.

You whip around just as a small army of elves race out to join in the battle. Who they are and why they're here are half a mystery. You can only assume they must be with those rouge elves of the queen. While the why can only be known as Ciri as it's source. Of course they're here for her. Everyone always is. All the time. How would this be any different?

Not putting into question their exact motive. You only know to protect your own.

Yennefer stays her ground. Ciri runs for cover and you swing your sword at an approaching elven man, ready to let it taste blood. He's tall with dark hair braided back, his eyes sting with anger as he runs to you with swift footing. His arm moves a sword in hand, following its masters command. The metal clashes with your block, sparks flying from the force.

He draws forth for another attack, this time his sword arrives with a pointed jut. He tried to simply stab you. The point is easily deflected off to the side. When his body pulls with it, you cut his arm off and finish him with a slash to his back. He falls instantly. Screaming out in pain, blood splattering everywhere.

Two more follow after him, however they attack you simultaneously and without much fear. Their attacks are precise and clean, aiming to go for your head. This tells you they know who protects the Cintran princess. It's not every day you face someone who knows how to properly kill a damphir. If there's no fire and no silver. A decapitation will do just fine.

To die without your head. Not how you plan to go out.

The two elves are skilled, more then Reince's men, and more then some of the elves you've fought before. This excites you. They thrash and throw their blades at you, stepping and moving out of your attacks. Their hearts beat heavily within their chests, you can smell the sweat off their brow. You waste no time in bringing them down, however.

Then it's time to move again. You're off on your feet dodging through the mess of men, elves, and dwarves. Swords and axes singing on the air, voices shouting, limbs moving and falling around you. You smell the spilt blood. You hear the strained breaths.

Your eyes spot Ciri amongst the carnage. She's perused by a blonde elf with short messy hair and another with long brown hair. Less unkept then the first. They chase her but the blonde is struck down by a lone arrow, his partner remains. You follow. No sooner has the elven man grabbed her shoulder, yelling, "I've got her! I've got her!" Have you sent your blade straight through his armored chest from behind.

Ciri gasps. The elven man makes a soft wheeze of pain, your sword retreats from his body and he falls to the side. You hear a heartbroken scream erupt from further away, a woman's voice. The voice of anguish. You pay this no mind and continue to protect the wanted Cintran girl until Geralt arrives from out of Yennefer's portal hold. Wonderfully unharmed.

——

A few days past.

The night is wet and dark above a cloudy sky. You wait outside a tavern in the damp street for Geralt. He's inside getting any information he can on the fire mage from whoever wishes to share. You, appearing rather unruly to some locals, decided to stay outside and give them peace of mind. It is simply natural for people to fear vampires. Same goes for a half-blood.

Footsteps sound his return. No sooner have you glanced up has Geralt reached Roach's side. Golden eyes quick to find you leaned up against the brick wall. He recognizes your thoughtful expression.

"Ciri will be fine." He assures you sweetly. "She is with Yennefer.....I know my love, I know your thoughts are heavy. But you know this must be done. Ciri needs to learn and we.." He walks over to take your hands in his. "..are hunting Rience for her. There is purpose in our departure from her. This is how we save her."

"We cannot know this." You whisper, frustrated on the matter. You hated to leave them.

Geralt's eyes soften. "My dear Y/N."

"I know, I know." You squeeze his hands. "I'm trying."

"I know you are." He grins, parting from you to return to the saddle of Roach. Your mind wanders for answers. You wonder if there was a better way to keep Ciri safe without you, Geralt, and Yennefer splitting up. But it's pointless, it's done with and you must track Rience now. With his death and with the discovery of whomever is puppeteering him. That could unlock the mystery of why Ciri is so desperately hunted by so many people.

For the time being, you stay by Geralt's side.

"Y/N." Speaks Geralt gently. Your attention falls to him and a piece of rolled up parchment he's opened. "Dear friends, I miss you both already. Or should I say, we miss you? Your friend, Yennefer. P.S., if Ciri decides Aretuza is not to her liking, I have my eyes set on our next home. A dollhouse on a squid farm." He reads, smiling at the last part of the letter.

You snort and snatch it from him, looking at the words yourself. They are in Yennefer's hand writing. The paper of her scent, a smidge of Ciri and horse. You shake your head, grinning anyhow.

"A squid farm? Not if I can help it."

—————

Authors note:

Alright kids this is the last season I’ll be writing for dear reader and Geralt. It’s been a time and a good one at that, but Henry is Geralt and without him it’s just not the same :( I do hope you all enjoy! I’ve tried to pack each episode in every chapter the best I can so I hope it works. There’s more to come!

[cosmos-coma]

was thinking all night of an eskel request, and i think i finally got one! eskel pining for the reader while at kaer morhen for the winter, maybe some teasing from the other witchers? super in the mood for fluff, so if you get around to this, extra cuteness plsss and thank you!

Before the Snow is Gone

A/N: My friend I will ALWAYS be happy to write up your requests. I'll admit that I really struggled with this one for some reason, but I hope I made it comedic and fluffy for you!

Pairing: Eskel X Reader

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: bit of angst and depression (from Eskel)

_______________________

Geralt and Lambert poked their head around the frame of the kitchen door as another sigh came from the room. There they watched Eskel look forlornly into the stew pot as he stirred, his eyes and thoughts somewhere far from here. 

“Is he still sighing about missing his lover?” Lambert whispered to his white-haired brother, watching as Eskel began rummaging through the spice jars, looking depressed at each and every option.

“He’s been like this for 2 weeks and we’re only a month into winter... Even Lil Bleater can’t cheer him up like she used to.” Geralt said, shaking his head as he watched his brother finally settle on a spice and add it to the pot. 

“What are we looking at?” Asked Yennefer's voice as her head appeared between the two men. 

“Is Eskel moping again?” Jaskier asked now, his head poking out above everyone else’s. 

Geralt blinked as he looked up at his bard. “Jask, you’re shorter than I am. How are you-?” 

“I’m standing on a chair…” he admitted as everyone pulled away from the doorway to talk face to face. 

“There has to be something we can do. I don't want to eat sad stew again.” Lambert complained with arms crossed. 

Yennefer was the first to pipe up this time, “I... think I may have an idea..”

----

Lil Bleater propped herself up on his legs, baaing and begging for attention as Eskel took care of the other stable animals. She huffed when she didn’t immediately get the petting she craved and stamped her feet against him. 

“I’m sorry, Kiddo… I guess I’m just not really here right now.” He said as he finally took the time to pause and look down at her frustrated grunts. Another sigh left his lips as he kneeled down to pet her and jostle her horns in a weak effort to play. He knew he wasn’t being any fun lately and he knew everyone else could see it. Hell, Vesemir even tried to have a talk with him the other week, but it had little effect. 

He couldn’t help it if he missed you so greatly. He had spent his warmer months being by your side as much as he could. Memorizing your voice, your eyes, and the feel of your hand in his as much as he could so it would all be perfect in his memory when winter came. 

But now… now it was only making it more glaringly obvious that you really weren't by his side. That you weren’t truly there to whisper to him in the dead of night when he can't sleep, nor to smile at him as you simply passed by. 

“I don't know what I'm gonna do for the rest of the winter, Bleater… it’s getting hard just to get out of bed each morning, let alone go through my chores.” He mumbled softly to the bright-eyed kid. “I’m a witcher, you know? I should be better than this… I’ve faced vampires, and dragons, so-” he paused for a moment as he idly scratched Lil Bleater’s chin.  “So why is it so hard to leave...? Even when I know I’ll be back…”

Lil Bleater only quietly baaed in response, trying to soothe her dedicated caretaker, but not sure how. So she does what all goats do best- she chews on his fingers. 

Another sigh from the soft-hearted witcher, this time with a small smile, “I Love them so much…” he mumbled out, getting lost in his own thoughts again, until an unexpected voice pulled him back with a snap. 

“I Love you too, Eskel.” 

He blinked as he heard it. That was… your voice…? That was your voice! It was you! Eskel spun around to face where the sound came from and nearly dropped Lil Bleater back to the ground when he saw you.

There you stood in the open stable doors, wrapped in your warm winter clothes, cheeks ruddy from the cold, and a big bundle of clothes in your hands. Your breath puffed up in front of your face as you dropped your bag and ran straight into his arms. 

Eskel could hardly contain his excitement as your beaming face came running into his embrace. “You’re here..! but, how…?” Eskel asked, hugging you tight against his chest and drinking in your scent. Soft kisses pressed against your forehead and your temple as you tried to answer, but you couldn't get your words out past the laughter bubbling from you.

“We thought you could use a visit...” came Yennefers voice as she also drifted into view of the stable doors, followed by Geralt, Lambert, and Jaskier. “You’ve been moping about for weeks now and I figured it's easy enough to conjure a portal,” she shrugged, “I open up another portal Home in a few days, so enjoy it.” 

“Geralt, Lambert, and I are also gonna take care of your chores, so you can enjoy your time together.” Jaskier chimed in with a thumbs up and that characteristic charming smile,“and that time starts now, so go on and get out of here! Shoo! Go be gross and in love,” he said, quickly ushering you two out and tossing your bundle of clothes at Eskel. 

Laughter trailed behind you two as Eskel led you inside so you could settle down. However, Eskel rumbled with quiet excitement, and as quick as you settled he was taking your hand to show you everything about the keep. From the kitchen to the armory and everything in between, your beloved witcher just wanted to share every part of his childhood home that he held dear on your first visit. 

“I missed you so much” You mumbled as you took a pause from reading. 

Eskel had finally snuck you away to the Keep’s library at the end of the tour so you two could spend the perfect first evening together. Hot chocolate filled your mugs and your sweet whispers filled the air as you read to him. His head lay tenderly on your chest as he soaked in the warmth of your presence. The fire crackled softly before you and everything was just as it should be. 

“I missed you too… I’m glad you finally get to visit after hearing about it so much” he lifted his head to smile up at you, that notch in his lip tugging it into a larger grin. “And we’ll make the most of our time here. I promise. We can do anything you want- build snowmen, ice skate-” 

“Even just cuddle up under a blanket to fight off the cold…?” you offered with a shake of your head and a chuckle, “I don't care what we do, Eskel, as long as I can be next to you. We could spend the entire visit cleaning up horse shit and- as long as I don’t get any on my face- then I would still consider it an amazing time.”

Eskel’s chest rumbled with laughter that easily passed through your whole body, “I mean- that can be arranged…” 

An even stronger laugh emanated from him as you poked him in the ribs and frowned, “I think I’d rather fall in the lake, Esk. Let’s just take this day by day, okay?” you asked, running your fingers through that lovely dark hair of his. “I love you so much, Eskel. No matter what we do or how far away you are or how hard it is that I can’t see you.” 

You smiled as you pressed a soft kiss to his slightly chapped lips,“and I love knowing that I’ll be able to see you again as soon as the first flowers bloom.”

“Oh, Darling,” Eskel smiled, his expression easy and light as his honey-like eyes melted your heart into a sweet puddle, “I’ll be at your door long before the snow is even gone.” 

___________________________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight (<3) @dark-academia-slut @madamemelancholysstuff

[littlestsnicket]

witcher wip amnesty 2023

summary: there was a post going around ages ago about an AU where geralt went to get jaskier before A Grain of Truth, so he's there when geralt refers to nivellen as a friend. and i had a 'oh jaskier would not react like that' moment and started writing fic. and then i thought 'do i really need to rehash why i think large parts of fandom are misinterpreting jaskier and geralt's fight on the mountain?' and i thought 'no' but it turns out i already had.

word count: .8k

[also on ao3]

I know someone nearby, an old friend

“Geralt, it’s fine. It was a joke.”

“It’s not fine,” Geralt growled.

“You don’t need to get all self-flagellate-y. I said it’s fine.”

“I’m not self-flagellate-y. That’s not why it’s not fine.” Geralt deliberately did not comment on Jaskier’s tendency to make up words, he did not want to give Jaskier the opportunity to derail the conversation.

“I said it was fine.” Jaskier’s voice dropped to a lower register. He was actually angry. Geralt wasn’t backing down on this though. 

“You do this to me all the time.”

“Well, I am a bard and you are an emotionally constipated Witcher. I’m allowed and you’re not.”

“Jaskier, shut up and let me finish.”

Jaskier’s face scrunched in exaggerated displeasure, but he sat there studying Geralt with uncomfortable intensity for a very long moment. 

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“I’m trying very hard here, but you’re going to have to actually say something.”

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed and pressed the heels of his hands into his browbone before forcing hmiself to speak. “If you hadn’t had some doubt, if it didn't weigh on you in any way that I kept denying we’re friends, would you have left or would you have squawked at me about being a needlessly cruel Witcher and talked in circles until I was too irritated to be properly mad anymore?”

“Oh, that’s...” Jaskier trailed off looking away.

“You mean more to me than I know how to say.”

Jaskier’s mouth quirked like it always did right before he said something he thought was funny but was actually incredibly irritating. But his expression shifted the moment his gaze settled back on Geralt. Geralt could see the gears in Jaskier’s mind downshifting as he forced himself to properly engage with the conversation they were having. It had taken Geralt a very long time to understand that, for all his fast talking and nearly uncanny observational skills, it sometimes took Jaskier a while to really process and integrate new information. 

“I know. And you’re my best friend.”

Jaskier dropped his gaze to stare at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. Geralt was privately glad he did, Jaskier’s intensity discomfited him as much as he also craved the attention.

Suddenly, Geralt found himself fixed with Jaskier’s blue eyed stare, “Do you really think that little of me, that I would let you get away with that for decades if it bothered me?” 

Jaskier’s smile went wobbly but sincere. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I guess I shouldn’t claim it wouldn’t have made any difference to have that reassurance of you having said it, but it wasn’t that. I made it pretty clear you were really hurting me and you just kept going. And I—I get it, I’m not mad anymore, but I can’t just let you do that. Yen hurt you, and you—”

“I wasn’t—”

“No. Yennefer reminded you how easy it is to hurt someone who cares about you and you decided to deal the decisive blow first before I could hurt you too. It’s not fine, but I do understand. You haven’t lived this long by ignoring potential threats.”

Geralt sighed. Sometimes Jaskier was impossible, mostly because he was right. 

“Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t wish for that? You didn’t wish for that, did you?”

“No. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Exactly,” Jaskier replied, his voice pained. 

Geralt, unsure what else to do, rested his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“Just, you know, do better next time. And for what it’s worth, though I made no secret of how much I hated her, I am truly sorry the two of you won’t get a second chance.”

They were both quiet for a long time, at least by Jaskier’s standards, before Jaskier did the imitation of a hyper-alert squirrel he did when his attention caught on something he was uncertain about. “You know, I don’t like this place. There’s something off about it. It’s... creepy? But not in an oooo spooky old house way. You get used to that. This gets worse the longer I’m here. It’s... whatever is in the ceiling is not a cat.”

Jaskier was right. Geralt refocused all of his senses. Cats did not make subtle clicking noises. He remembered the barefoot prints vanishing suddenly in the snow. “It’s a bruxa. We have to get to Ciri. Now.”

“Tell me what you need me to do,” Jaskier said as he tailed Geralt down the hall.

“Go with Ciri and get to Roach. Watch out for her. She doesn’t trust me yet and might not listen.”

“Ok. Yes, easy. This will be fine,” Jaskier mumbled to himself. Geralt didn’t snap at him to be quiet like he once might have. He was used to Jaskier, his murmuring wasn’t distracting as much as it was a reassuring reminder that he was there.

[penny-anna]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

oof only 5 okay!!

i was gonna do 1 per fandom but then i realised that came to 6 so screw it u get 6:

The Engraving (BBC Merlin)

Arthur had somehow got into a situation wherein he had to bugger the man who was – let’s face it – the closest thing he had to a best friend, and unless luck was very much on his side things were going to be awkward forever. Camelot has been stricken by a terrible drought! Fortunately, Merlin has found a magical ritual that can bring back the rain. Unfortunately, it requires group sex - and Merlin is a virgin.

this was one of the last merlin fics i wrote n its a very stupid and silly and fluffy gangbang. really enjoyed writing the 'everyone lives happily ever after' AU on this one. very fun :)

Golden (Doctor Who)

Good gracious, it had been so long since he’d been seduced. He’d forgotten what a delectable experience it was. After an exhausting run-in with the local monsters, the Doctor takes Jamie to a hot spring to relax.

THIS IS ANOTHER SMUT. SORRY. very honest answer here. this is my dw piece i go back to most often. love the atmosphere of it.

And I'll shiver like I used to (LOTR)

He could taste it on his tongue, the salty tang of the sea, fresher and somehow saltier than the sea he knew. He could feel the sand, soft and light underfoot, warm from the sun. 'Sam,' the voice had said, saying his name so tenderly, so carefully, as if it were something precious, something to be treasured. 'Oh, Sam. I’ll wait for you.' Samwise Mason is a junior member of the Stonemason's Guild of Haven City; he works hard, but doesn't stand out. He dreams, again and again, of a beach with white sand and a kiss goodbye. Samwise Mason is making a statue.

tough call here but im still so pleased with this one i worked so so hard and i think it's the most romantic thing i've ever written

Constellations (The Witcher)

"I know how soulmarks work. If a person has two names writ upon them by destiny, then one is to guide them to their true love and the other to their worst enemy. Everyone knows that." / "That’s an old wives’ tale." When Jaskier was fourteen, two names appeared on his skin: 'Geralt' and 'Yennefer'.

VERY tough call here as i wrote a lot of witcher fics i still love but hand on heart this is the one i most enjoyed writing. blasted it out in like a week iirc. great stuff.

the world won't wait till you're older (DCU/Shazam)

Shazam didn’t understand how taxes worked. He always seemed kind of lost when they talked politics. Wally often had the sense that he was nodding along with things he didn’t really understand. He knew what vaping was. Inexplicably he knew what TikTok was. Weird guy. The Justice League try to adjust to their newest member. They know he's hiding something from them, but in their line of work everyone has secrets. Shazam's no different. Is he? Or, the Justice League accidentally inducts a child and then deals with the fall-out.

obvious choice haha!! my most popular DCU fic!! its a banger i hope to match it one day

time to time (Back to the Future)

“Will you shut your damn mouth and listen to me?” his other self hisses. He gulps in a breath, and breathes out; then, resolved, he does his best to shake his head. “No,” he says. “Whatever you have to say, I won’t hear it – having any knowledge of my relative future could –” His other self claps a hand, hard, over his mouth. His palm is damp. Clammy. Emmett makes a protesting sound against it but before he can wriggle free, the other him speaks. “Marty dies.” A cloud passes over the sun. The Brown family are on vacation, taking a break from the stresses of 1986. It's a beautiful summer day. What could possibly go wrong?

hnghh got a lot of bttf fics i love but this one remains the stand out for me. obsessed honestly.

thank u!! i'm not going to send asks bcos im lazy but for once i will tag some people uhh ok @uighean @limerental @bg-sparrow @megamindsupremacy @wromwood

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 7

Geralt had thwarted Jaskier's every attempt to get him with water balloons, eggs, and various nerf darts, citing that his Witcher reflexes were just too good.

Jaskier knew Geralt wasn't bragging. It was just a fact. An annoying fact that often runined his fun. Some pranks just weren't as fun when your target kept effortlessly dodging the bit that would make it funny.

Jaskier had decided to test just how good Geralt's reflexes were. He challenged him to Slappsies.

Jaskier failed miserably at slapping Geralt's hands. By the time he even thought about moving his hand, Geralt's hands were already safely out of the way and Jaskier was hitting empty air.

Then it was Geralt's turn.

A few rounds later, and the backs of Jaskier's hands were as red as a smacked ar*e.

*disgruntled bard noises*

*smug 'hmm'*

"Yeah, well...let's see how you do if you have to start with your hands behind your back!"

*sound of massive Witcher paws smacking the backs of human hands at the speed of mach Jesus*

*pained squealing*

Jaskier, inspite of being a rational adult, had paused to check the floor, just to prove to his brain that his hands hadn't just been slapped off his wrists.

No. They were still there, and functioning normally, if a little tingly. Okay, maybe it was time to try a different test before he ended up having to make a career change. Or learn to play all his instruments with his feet.

Which wouldn't be a bad thing. Some people had a thing for feet. Jaskier was absolutely not a kink-shamer!

Jaskier had to come up with a test that 1) wouldn't make a mess that Yennefer would yell at them about, and 2) was much more challenging than the old catching-a-falling-ruler, or Whack-A-Mole.

"I bet you can't take a block of cheese off a rat trap without setting it off!"

"I can, but I bet you can't!"

"Please! I've got very nimble fingers. All the ladies say so! And there's no way you can do it with those clumsy sausage fingers. I've seen your f***ing text messages. Every other word is misspelt!"

Geralt looked at Jaskier.

Jaskier looked at Geralt.

A trip to the hardware store was made, and shortly after, Jaskier was frowning as Geralt casually plucked a cube of cheese off the rat trap without setting it off.

Geralt 'hmm'ed in a smug tone.

Jaskier scoffed, "That doesn't look so hard. Even I can do that!"

Geralt nodded towards the trap, "Hm!" (Go ahead then!)

Jaskier went about very carefully resetting the trap. His hands shook slightly as they set the fiddly mechanism. It was a delicate operation that required a light touch...

Trap, for no apparent reason: *snap*

Jaskier: *shrill scream*

Geralt: *snort*

"Shut your gob!"

Jaskier got the trap set, studied it for a few breaths, then went for it. He crowed triumphantly, holding the little cube of cheese in his fingertips and pretending like he hadn't been sh*tting himself the whole time.

"Hah! I told you I could do it! I have very nimble fingers. I work very hard and put in long hours of practice to be as good as I am at fingering."

"I can finger for hours and not miss a beat. I've been told by various members of the nobility, and even commoners, that my fingering is the best in the Continent!"

"Hmm!"

"Mouthing off? Excuse me, but just the other day, the f***ing Prince of Redania told me that he quite enjoyed my fingering, f***youverymuch!

Geralt's brain had to take a moment to process the very idea that Jaskier was not making any kind of innuendo.

He was completely serious, and it was mentally throwing Geralt off. This was unnatural. The Universe was out of balance.

"And he said my tongue was quite talented, too! He was begging for more! You can ask Madeleine, she was there!"

"Then show me how good you are with your tongue," Geralt rumbled, feeling like he had to make the jokes now.

Jaskier blinked, then tried to hide a cheeky grin. "I don't know, Geralt. Sounds like a bad idea. I mean, what if Yen walks in?"

Geralt realxed. Ah, that was better. The balance had been restored. He lightly smacked Jaskier on the back of the head, saying "Stop bragging about your fingers. If I could play guitar, my fingering would be four times better than yours. And since I'm a Witcher with superhuman reflexes, just imagine how good I am with my tongue!"

"Ow! Why don't you prove it, Mr. Super Witcher Reflexes? I bet you can't knock the cheese off the trap with your tongue!"

Geralt baited the trap, set it on the table, and then crouched down to eye level with it. There was a tense moment of silence where he and Jaskier eyeballed each other distrustfully.

"You better f***ing not touch me or the trap!"

"I won't!"

"You just stay over there! Don't move, don't say anything, don't even f***ing breathe!"

"I'm not going to do anything, you suspicious b**tart!"

Geralt grunted, then slowly extended his tongue. It touched the cube of cheese, barely brushing it...

He must have twitched, or breathed too hard, because the trap went off with a snap!

One second, the tip of Geralt's tongue was touching the cheese, the next second, the hammer was snapping down across his tongue.

Geralt stood up with a loud ululation of anguish, the rat trap dangling from his tongue.

Jaskier went from gasping in shock, to laughing until his sides ached. He couldn't help it. Geralt was making this distorted screaming sound and doing jazz hands while he danced round, the trap hanging from his tongue.

Jaskier was too busy clinging to the kitchen counter, tears streaming down his cheeks as he howled with laughter as Geralt gained enough brain function to start yelling "Fffukhhhh! Fffukhhhh! Helm me!"

Geralt pawed at his tongue, trying to remove the trap with fingers that were suddenly clumsy.

Jaskier swallowed his laughter and came to the rescue.

"Holy f**k, are you alright?" he asked as Geralt prodded gingerly at his tongue. It felt swollen and numb, yet painful at the same time.

Geralt stood there, looking pitiful for a moment, then said in a small, lost voice, "I fink I neeb uh popfikool."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Maybe you should try enunciating?"

"Ahthhoww!"

"Say 'I was born on a pirate ship'!"

Geralt glared angrily at Jaskier

"Do it and I'll give you a popsicle!"

*put upon sigh* "I wath born on a piol-a' sh*'"

Jaskier: *ugly cackling*

Geralt: "now gib me mah ffukhim popfikool!"

"Sorry, we're all out of the F**k Him flavored ones. Do you want blue or green?"

Geralt: *unamused glower* "Boo."

The popsicle was handed over, the trap was disposed of, and Geralt prayed the swelling would go down before Yennefer got home at the end of the week.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Hello dear, that's so sweet of you to send this to me!

I admit, I did one of these just a week or so ago, so I was tempted to just let you know that. However, I realized upon reflection that I had only focused on my 9-1-1 fics, and I have written in other fandoms.

And so here we are! The five non-9-1-1 fics that I would say are my favorites, across five different fandoms.

Richie Tozier: Small Town Trash

Richie Tozier debuts his new routine after vanishing from the comedy scene.

To be honest, I think I could do this fic better five years later, but this was the time I sat down and, in spite of the fact that I was convinced I wasn't funny, wrote a stand up comedy routine (with some Easter eggs from actual comedy routines because I couldn't resist).

People actually thought this fic was funny, and enjoyed it, and this was the moment I realized that I might actually be able to pull off humor. So while I think I'm a lot better at it now, we all have to start somewhere, and I started here.

Defiance & Destiny

When Geralt of Rivia returns to England after a prolonged absence, he and Jaskier, an aspiring bard, are forced to confront the pride and prejudice that flung them apart. Meanwhile, Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg is beginning to wonder if there is more to life than being handsome, clever, and rich.

This is I think my least-popular Witcher fic, because it's very long and also has no smut, but I'm really genuinely proud of it. I have a great love for Jane Austen and worked hard to try and capture the tone and feel of her work while juggling a mashup of three different novel plots. It also puts Yennifer/Tissaia in the spotlight, a ship I love but sadly have written like, nothing for. Shame on me.

Confidence Trick

When police officer Wyatt Logan is tapped to go undercover and get information on the notorious Lucy Preston and Garcia Flynn, he expects it’ll be his toughest assignment yet. What he doesn’t expect is to fall for his marks—and the fallout that comes with it.

One of those rare fics where the inspiration and writing just flowed and the stars aligned. It's I think my best fic in this fandom, although there are a couple others that I think come close such as could twist the sinews of thy heart? and Are You Strong Enough to Stand. It's just really lovely when you feel that the fic you wrote on the page is as good as the one you pictured in your head.

Also I'm still really damn proud of the plot twist at the end. Heheheheheheh.

Untranslatable Shadows

There's only one thing worse than having to make your way through a booby-trapped dungeon, and that's making your way through a booby-trapped dungeon with Xenk Yendar. Unfortunately, that's exactly what Ed has to do to save the soul of his best friend. And extra unfortunately... Xenk might not even be the worst part of this whole thing. Nobody tell him.

I really like all of my Xedgin fics. I'm quite fond of this little ship and yes I swear I will finish the last one! I pinky promise! It was hard to choose just one of them since I actually feel they're all pretty equal in quality which is rare for me, but I ended up going with this one because I'm quite proud of how I adapted the infamous "Tomb of Horrors" dungeon for the fic. It was a lot of work going through the dungeon and deciding what to keep or remove and how to use it to support the character arcs and story, but it was also very fun and rewarding.

My Blood Will Feed Your Flowers (Your Flowers Will Soothe My Blood)

At the start of the new school year a horrifying development rattles both Enid and Wednesday and threatens big changes in their relationship. Oh and there's a serial killer running around too. Huh. Someone should probably do something about that.

Another T rated fic and another one starring some femslash! It's a miracle! This fic was a gift to a friend and was a very fun challenge for me. Writing teenagers is hard, guys. I also had to balance the horror and the humor of the TV series to nail the tone, and I tried hard to write this as if it was the second season of the show and so worked within those limitations. I like to think I succeeded, and I'm very fond of the result.

So there you have it! Five fics that might be a bit off the beaten path so to speak for most of my readers, but of which I am very fond. Thank you again for tagging me!

[whereplotbunniesgotodie]

Here's your blessing Geralt

Geralt said his blessing would be to not have the bard around anymore? So be it. Jaskier would do just that, he would take himself off the witcher's hands... But apparently the mountains and her more monstrous inhabitants have other plans for the bard.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries from a monster attack. I mean nothing more than canon, in fact probably less so than canon but still.

Angst with a happy ending

Cross posted here and on ao3

'If life could give me one blessing…' 

Jaskier let out a shaking breath as he picked his way down the slope. So Geralt wanted him gone?  Well fine... Jaskier would just go ahead and take himself off Geralt's hands then. 

His lute jostled on his back with each step and he did his best to steady it, it wouldn't be good to have the instrument damaged.

Blue eyes glanced back up the slope, searching for movement, for a sign of Geralt on his way down. When Jaskier saw nothing and his heart sank further to his stomach, he looked away. Of course he wouldn't come. The witcher had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of the bard, how little Jaskier meant. Jaskier wanted to be angry, to storm back up the mountain and yell at the Witcher, but instead he felt nearly numb. 

Jaskier was trying to be careful as the path narrowed even more than he remembered from the way up and he briefly wondered if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, he should have hit their campsite by now.  He was heading towards the sunset though and he was sure they had headed away from it on the way up.  Too distracted by his thoughts, and the ever growing hole that seemed to be taking over his entire chest, the bard didn't hear the step behind him until a growl alerted him to how close whatever it was, well, was. 

He turned just in time to catch a sharp claw across his cheek, pulling a pained yelp from his throat. He hit the ground with a crash, his lute splintering beneath him. He reached up a shaking hand and ran it over his cheek, frowning when it came away slick with blood. He looked up as the creature lowered itself towards the ground in a crouch. He realized too late what it was doing, though he tried to back away. His hand shot to his hip, where a dagger lay hidden; gifted to him by Geralt 

The breath was knocked from his lungs when the creature lunged and set all its weight on him, laying him flat on his back, his hand yanking the dagger from its sheath in his pained flailing. It took a moment but he gasped desperately to get the air back into his lungs before he pushed at the creature as hard as he could and swung his other hand, the knife slicing a sizable gash in its chest. It growled in pain as it fell away, it's legs kicking wildly as it attempted to right itself, and Jaskier immediately scrambled to his feet. 

He didn't hesitate a moment longer, turning on his heel and bolting. He could hear whatever it was getting back to its feet and, before he knew it was chasing him, gaining on him. He cried out when it leapt onto his back and both of them collapsed into a heap. He registered the knife slipping from his grip and sliding down the path and he could feel the white hot pain as claws dug into his shoulders and his lower back. He tried to struggle, to shove it off again but the pain as it sunk its teeth into his flesh pulled a scream from his throat. He felt them moving, sliding, but he didn't know where exactly they ended up. 

  He didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean to call out for him but his mind latched onto the vain hope that the Witcher would hear him.

"G...Geralt! Geralt Hel-" The creature putting its weight on the back of his neck cut off any sound he could make and he gasped desperately. Black spots began to swirl in his vision as the pain began to fade, though he could still hear the growling. Oh… he just couldn't feel it anymore. That probably wasn't good. 

He couldn't move his arms and his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He tried though, and managed one last look at the pink of the setting sun over the horizon. 

He couldn't breathe but the pain of claws dug into his back seemed to have vanished. He wondered briefly if Geralt had come and gotten rid of the monster but he cursed himself for hoping. 

"Geralt…" he said, though he had no way of knowing if he even made a sound. His vision swam and faded to black. 

~~

Geralt stood, fists clenched and shoulders tensed as he took in the empty camp. Jaskier was nowhere to be found, though his bedroll and small pack still lay in the remains of the camp. The sun was setting and darkness was creeping over the pink horizon.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose as he realized that any scent or trace of Jaskier was old. The bard hadn't been in camp since that morning. That wasn't normal and Geralt tried to ignore the concern he could feel rising in his chest. The bard, no matter how upset he had been, surely knew not to run off down the mountain alone. 

Geralt swallowed the concern and converted it into anger. 

"Jaskier!" He yelled. "Jaskier get up here!" He knew he was loud enough for the bard to hear no matter where he had stopped for the night.  "Jaskier!"

He heard no movement, no mumbled curses; not even a distant call of 'fuck off!' Any of which he expected. 

He glanced around before he shook his head. It was far too late to go out tonight and when the bard had left he'd been angry. He was probably just ignoring Geralt and the Witcher would come across him in the morning, cold and complaining. He sat down by the corpse of the fire from the night before to meditate. Closing his eyes he almost swore he heard a sound in the distance but when it didn't come again he ignored the urge to check it out, brushing it off as an animal.

The sun rose and Geralt arose with it. He couldn't help the frown that took to his lips when he saw the bard hadn't come back. The lingering scent from the day before had faded and now it was as if the bard hadn't been to the camp at all.  He quickly packed up the few things that had been left at the camp, including Jaskier's bedroll, which he hefted over his shoulder with his own and started down the path. 

It was at least a few hours of walking before he saw splinters of wood staggered around the path and thought little of them. Whatever it was looked to be destroyed and it was no concern of his that some traveler had been unlucky enough to break some possession of theirs. 

He glanced around as he walked, eyes searching for any sign of the bard, ears straining for the sounds he constantly made. Neither sight or sound alerted him to anything abnormal. In fact it was the sticky, iron scent of blood that pulled his attention down a nearby slope. He peered down and caught sight of a creature laying dead at the bottom of the small but steep incline. 

He almost walked away, almost turned his back to the corpse before he caught a glimpse of something just up the path, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight. That was the knife he had given Jaskier, the knife that was no longer in his possession and was tinted copper at the tip. He looked back down the incline with a start and finally noticed something red just beneath the creature. It was too bright and solid to be blood and too textured to be a trick of the light. 

No. No! 

He started down, trying to keep his expression from morphing into distress. He slid most of the way and stopped just a foot from the body… no. Bodies, it was bodies. He could see now, the lithe form of the bard curled beneath the monster. He didn't hesitate to throw the monster body off of Jaskier's limp form, not caring as it slid away down a steeper incline to the left. 

"Jaskier!?" Geralt felt his legs give out and he hit the ground with a thud. He reached out, hands hovering over Jaskier's cheeks, his shoulders. Finally Geralt steadied himself enough to grasp the bard by his shoulders, pointedly ignoring the ripped and shredded fabric that he felt beneath his palms, and hauled him up to lean against Geralt's chest.  The bard, limp in his grasp, with eyes closed, could too easily be confused with a doll or a corpse.

 One arm slid to wrap around Jaskier's back to hold him and Geralt's other hand cupped Jaskier's cheek to tilt his head towards him. The witcher almost yanked his hand away as his heart fell to his stomach. The bard was so cold, his skin sickly pale. A deep cut marred his cheek, dried blood crusted across his skin. A gash, no, a bite, where his shoulder and neck met stood out in angry blistered red. Geralt laid a hand over it shakily. The wound should have been bleeding! Why wasn't it bleeding? Not that Geralt wanted Jaskier to be bleeding, but bleeding meant his blood still flowed, his heart still beat… He still lived.

"Jaskier!" Geralt hissed as he gave the bard a small jostle. The bard didn't react, didn't respond and Geralt growled. He had to stay under control; had to calm down. The blood rushing in his ears and the growl low in his throat kept him from hearing Jaskier's heartbeat. The shaking of his hands, that had to be why he couldn't find a pulse. 

"Jaskier, wake up!" He couldn't let the bard die, not when he was the cause of it. He had sent him away, sent him waltzing down the mountain on his own… and he had been the one not to go looking after dark. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt tried again, his hand cupping nearly Jaskier's entire neck. He tried to calm down, to relax enough to be useful again. Finally, he managed to quell the blood roaring in his ears and the shaking of his hands. Then, blooming just beneath his fingertips was a pulse. It was nearly as sluggish as his own and did little to give Jaskier the appearance of life, but it was still there. Jaskier's heart still beat in his chest and Geralt still had a chance to make this all right.

He frowned as he eyed the bite on Jaskier's neck. He didn't have anything for it, not at the moment; but he could make something if he got to roach. He looked up the incline, he couldn't climb it with Jaskier in tow, not completely comatose anyway.

"Jaskier, come on. You've got to wake up just a little." He tried, voice quiet and far too soft. He tapped gently at the bard's cheek in an attempt to rouse him. "Jaskier, please." He said, voice nearly a whisper. He couldn't help but lower his head, pulling Jaskier closer until his nose was buried in brunette hair. Beneath the smell of blood and old fear was the overly familiar scent of cinnamon, blueberries and summer flowers, with the softest of vanilla undertones lingering beneath them all. Geralt found the scent terrifyingly comforting.

The scent gave the distinct feeling of…Home… One that so very few places and people gave him. It was warm and familiar, and caused Geralt to realize he might never get that again. Geralt had sent Jaskier away, told him that his absence would be a blessing. Now… Now, Jaskier was barely clinging to life and Geralt could do little to help him. 

His grip on the bard tightened slightly and he felt, for the first time since he was in training, truly overwhelmed. He couldn't carry the bard up the steep incline, couldn't leave him and come back, couldn't wake him. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, stuttering breath. Geralt felt useless and the feeling was so overwhelming he didn't notice the Bard's pulse get slightly stronger as he kept the other close. He didn't feel the heat slowly returning and the color bleeding into pale cheeks.  

He did hear the sharp, sudden and deep intake of breath from his arms and his eyes snapped open. Lowering his gaze, he found himself looking into open but glassy blue eyes. 

"Jaskier!"

"...Ger't?" 

The Witcher couldn't find the words he wanted, not surprising really, but he didn't really try too hard to find them either. He instead pulled Jaskier close, resting the bard's head against his shoulder as one hand curled tighter around Jaskier's back and the other cupped the back of his head, tangled gently in his hair, nose buried in Jaskier's neck. 

"You're alive..." He breathed, so quietly it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud. 

The bard didn't respond and for a moment Geralt feared he had passed back out, but when he leaned back enough to see Jaskier's face, he saw the still glazed blue eyes wide in shock. 

"Jaskier." He said again, his tone sharper than he meant for it to be, but he couldn't let Jaskier fall back into shock. Especially now he could see the bite had started bleeding sluggishly.

"Geralt…" Jaskier said slowly, reaching up and running his fingers down Geralt's cheek, the touch feather light. "You're… Really here." He cringed as the move caused the bite to pull, bleeding more steadily and a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. 

"Don't move your arm. You'll hurt yourself worse." Geralt murmured, watching Jaskier's expression curl in confusion. 

"So I am dead?" The bard questioned quietly. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're worried about me…Telling me how not to get hurt worse…But Geralt said he didn't care so I must be dead and you must be a figment of my imagination." His voice was strained, as if stringing so many words together was hard.

Geralt didn't answer him, didn't immediately assure the bard that he didn't hate him, because Geralt couldn't put into words what he was slowly realizing  the other meant to him. 

"I need you to stay awake so we can get back to Roach, alright?" 

Jaskier frowned but gave a small curt nod, eyes closing. Geralt maneuvered him to his feet and, though he had to do most of the work in pulling him along, Jaskier was able to follow his lead when the pair headed to the incline. The bard opened his eyes a few times but seemed unable to keep them that way for long.

"Stay awake." Geralt snapped when he felt the bard start to sag against him. "You have to stay awake, Jaskier."

Jaskier mumbled an apology as he tried to straighten up. Geralt looked up the incline and then at the nearly unconscious Jaskier and thought. He had an idea but knew he would have to be quick about it.

"Jaskier." He said, pushing the bard to face him and hold him at arm's length. "Listen. You need to stay awake enough to hold onto me. Can you do that?"

Jaskier swayed in his feet but nodded, eyes still closed. "Think so…" he muttered.  Geralt eyed the bite again, it had started bleeding in earnest now, worryingly so.

Geralt let go and quickly turned his back to the other and just as he'd thought, Jaskier sagged weakly against him. Geralt knelt and used the momentum to get Jaskier onto his back. As if by instinct, Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and held on.

The witcher brought Jaskier's legs to wrap around his waist before he released him. Trusting the bard to hang on, and keeping in mind the shallow but steady breaths against his neck, he started to climb. 

It was slow going, Geralt mumbling to Jaskier to keep holding onto him and Jaskier trying to do just that. At least once, Geralt was sure the bard had passed back out fully, but his grip didn't slacken. It took three sharp calls of the bard's name to get a mumbled response. 

They reached the top of the incline and, with a small amount of aid from Jaskier, Geralt pushed the bard to lay on solid ground and then followed up himself. As soon as he was no longer clinging to Geralt, Jaskier let his body fall limp. Geralt sat for just a second, just long enough to calculate how far from roach they were before he shuffled to Jaskier's side. 

"One more time Jask, wake up and stay awake." Geralt said sharply, the only tone that seemed to really snap Jaskier to attention.

Jaskier made a small noise, possibly an objection, in the back of his throat but his eyes did blink open blearily. Geralt glanced up towards the path and then back at Jaskier. Decision made, he stood and then leaned down to scoop up the bard quickly. Holding him in a bridal carry, he jostled the bard only enough to secure his grip on him. Jaskier, despite the manhandling, stayed worryingly silent. He glanced down and saw that, while Jaskier did indeed still have his eyes open, he was far too busy staring intently, or as intently as he could seeing as his eyes were still glassy and far away, at Geralt's face. 

Geralt decided he would question that later, they didn't have time now, and started down the mountain at a pace that couldn't be called a run, but only because of how careful the Witcher had to be.

He reached Roach even quicker than he anticipated, and quickly laid Jaskier into the grass beside her before immediately digging through the nearest saddle bag. 

Roach, for her part, seemed to sense Geralt's unease, as she nickered softly at him. As he searched she leaned her head down towards Jaskier and nosed at, and then gently lipped his cheek, pulling a soft, worryingly wet laugh from the bard that had Geralt freezing in place for a second. 

"Roach?" Jaskier murmured. "Hello darling girl. When did you get here?"

Geralt couldn't help but feel his chest lighten slightly. Jaskier was talking, he was laughing, he was staying far more awake than he had for Geralt, and even if it was because of Roach, Geralt found he couldn't be upset. Roach huffed a breath at the bard before looking back at Geralt, almost as if to say 'Hurry up you absolute buffoon! He's hurt!"

Geralt decided the other thing he would question later would be how the hell his horse had given him such a look, shelving that particular question in the back of his mind. 

Once he had gotten what he needed from his bag, he knelt beside Jaskier, on his other side seeing as Roach nipped and refused adamantly to move when he'd tried to ease her aside. With Jaskier still talking to the horse, even if it had at some point careened into less talking and more absently mumbling about Roach's lovely coat, Geralt got to work. 

The first application of salve,enchanted thanks to a very smug Yennefer last time they'd met, had Jaskier hissing through his teeth, eyes clenched shut and all playful mirth about his ode to Roach immediately vanishing from him. 

"I know…" Geralt found himself murmuring. "I know. But it'll help Jaskier. It's going to help." 

Hurts…" he hissed, bleary eyes opening for only a moment before he clenched them shut again. They didn't open the rest of the time that Geralt worked. 

Once the bite and gashes on his cheek and lower back, he had to turn him to his side for that, much to Roach's apparent disapproval, were covered in salve and then bandages, Geralt laid Jaskier gently on his back again. The bard, having passed out again, looked too worryingly close to how Geralt had found him earlier and Geralt couldn't help but reach out and run his fingers through the bard's hair, down his unmarred cheek, coming to a stop over his pulse point. Roach, for her part in this strange happening, slowly knelt and then huffed as she laid down beside the bard and her Witcher, laying her head gently across Jaskier's stomach.

Sitting there, the sun now high in the sky, Geralt couldn't help but fall into a light meditation, his hand never leaving Jaskier's neck, never leaving the steadying heartbeat beneath his fingertips. 

That's how Jaskier awoke, with a gentle press of fingers at his throat, a tightness from the skin where bandages were wrapped tightly, and the feeling of something warm and heavy across his stomach. Opening his eyes, he couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face as he saw both Roach, and then Geralt, sitting so close to him. 

The uptick in his heartbeat had Geralt snapping his eyes open only seconds after the bard and when honey met cornflower, he all but shoved Roach's head aside and pulled the bard to him in a hug, blatantly ignoring the horse as she let out an angry nicker and climbed slowly to her feet. He buried his nose against Jaskier's throat, taking the place of his fingers, and his hands wrapped around the bard's shoulders and tangled in his hair. 

Jaskier was so taken aback that he didn't even have the state of mind to question what Geralt was doing, instead, raising his arms to wrap them back around the Witcher. 

"Jaskier… You're alright.." he heard Geralt murmur against his neck, the movement of his lips and the warmness of his breath pulling a gasping shiver from Jaskier, despite the uncalled-forness of the timing. 

"Geralt?" 

Geralt tightened his grip slightly, cutting Jaskier off before he could speak again. "I'm sorry. Gods Jaskier I'm so fucking sorry." His tone was tight, angry, and Jaskier tensed at it. Geralt was quick to smell the change in his bard's emotions, the strangely citrus scent of confusion giving way to the sickly sweet scent of fear. 

He leaned back, golden eyes wide as he looked Jaskier over, and then met his eyes. "I'm sorry." He repeated, using as much willpower as he could to keep the self hatred and anger from his voice, leaving it instead soft and broken. "I never should have let you leave like that…What I said was just…" 

Jaskier watched him struggle to find the words, to speak more than three at a time and felt his lips curling into a soft, tentative smile. 

"You've so rarely apologized that I have half a mind to test you with silver." He said, attempting to joke with Geralt, but frowned when the statement pulled a look of hurt across Geralt's face. "Geralt… No, I know it's you…" he amended quickly, reaching out to cup Geralt's cheek. 

Geralt absently leaned into the touch, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he did. Gods, the surprise on the others face at the movement, the soft smile that slowly returned, made Geralt's heart skip a beat. " I'm sorry." He repeated instead of doing what he wanted to do and pressing a kiss to Jaskier's lips. 

Roach, apparently having had enough of whatever it was her two men were doing and the dancing around each other, huffed and stomped her foot before slowly circling around to stand behind Geralt and pressing at the back of his head with her nose, leaning him closer to the bard. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked, tone soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the other. 

"Jaskier… Can you say you forgive me… please?" He found himself whispering. 

Jaskier's eyes widened and he fumbled over his words. "What? Of course I… I mean you apologized and… I knew you didn't mean what you said, but I mean I'm still a little upset at you and…" the bard was stumbling over his words and Geralt had the urge to quiet him. Realizing that Jaskier was continuing to try and fumble out an acceptance, Geralt took a deep breath and leaned forward, capturing the bard's lips with his own and silencing the other man. 

Pulling back a moment later Geralt couldn't help but smile at the soft 'oh' the other let out. He had half a mind to say something else, something more, but didn't have a chance as Jaskier surged back to him and pulled him into another kiss. 

Geralt had the feeling it would still take some time for him to fully apologize to Jaskier, even if Jaskier himself denied the need, and he was already attempting to plan out more apologies for the future. For now though, he simply pulled Jaskier close, deepened the kiss, and for once, didn't ignore the spicy scent of arousal that surged from the bard. He did, subconsciously take note of the sweet, honey scent that lingered below the arousal. 

Love, he realized belatedly, the soft vanilla scent was love. 

[sacred-algae]

who is your absolute fave character to write, or fave dynamic to write? 👀

I’M SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE?! *sigh* I suppose this is what I get for asking you to choose a favorite fic. Honestly it depends!!! So I’m gonna break it down a bit.

Narration? Dirk. 100% There is something so fun about narrating with Dirk’s voice. It’s so over the top and chaotic and I love getting to make absurdist jokes that only he would think of—and he doesn’t even think about them as jokes, that’s the best part!

Dialogue? Jaskier. For the same reasons I love writing Dirk’s narration. He’s over the top and says the most insane shit, but he does it poetically, just for The Bit. He makes everything dramatic on purpose whereas Dirk just is being Dirk and not trying.

Internal drama? Jack Harkness. I have always loved torturing Jack, don’t get me wrong, but Passing Through (oh my god he’s talking about Passing Through again, sound the alarms!) has been rotting my brain so severely and taught me a new way to appreciate it. I’m seeing a lot of new sides to him that I knew were there, but I’m exploring them in depth now in a way I think Doctor Who and Torchwood really missed out on. He will throw himself away for somebody but be so confident in himself that he doesn’t know he’s doing it until it’s too late. Yeah he does this with the Doctor but he also can’t save the Doctor. But he can save Dorian. Or at least he thinks he can. He’s a character that so paradoxically thinks he’s invincible while also thinking that he’s the most broken person ever. He’s so strong but all it takes is for the exact right buttons to be pressed and he CRUMBLES. They’re tiny buttons, and hard to find, but once you find them he goes down like a Sontaran who’s vent has been hit (his vent is just a lot more well hidden).

Uhhhhhhh—dynamics?

Platonic: Doctor and Donna. Hands down. I don’t need to elaborate much more. They are SOULMATES!

Romantic: The Waiting. I fully blame Stephen Moffat for altering my brain chemistry on this one with all of the waiting happening in Series 5 of Doctor Who, but honestly it’s not even about them. It’s about Geralt and Jaskier and Dorian and Basil.

I’m talking 20 years (give or take) of the friend zone. I’m talking the type of yearning that tears you apart with claws, leaving you wrecked and covered in blood. I’m talking about the kind of love that kills you but you’ll die faster if you leave. The kind of love that is the sun because it’s beautiful and it burns you. The kind of love that is poisonous but still life sustaining. The “there is no one else for me.” The “fuck it if I can’t have him.” The sheer amount of devotion and sacrifice that comes with that kind of love is ADDICTIVE to me. It DOES THINGS to me.