#twn netflix

[kuwdora]

Whats a piece of prose youre really proud of?

Oh! Yes, I have quite a few pieces I'm very proud of but here is one section in particular. I don't always do a lot of talking about my fic on main but I like writing soft romantic Geralt and Jaskier a lot. ---- Geralt wasn’t sure how long he was drifting with the memories before Jaskier slid his arms around him and kissed his nape. Affection swelled in Geralt’s chest and Jaskier’s hands fanned across his sternum. He welcomed the touch immensely, particularly after the long week away in the rain.

Jaskier pressed his cheek against the back of his shoulder, hands sweeping down Geralt’s abdomen. His beard was a scratchy counterpoint to the silk robe that brushed his thighs. 

“Finally run out of words?” Geralt asked with quiet humor; it was his familiar jab, like Jaskier’s incessant need to bait him about the white honey. Usually he asked the question when Jaskier was breathlessly fucked out.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s shoulder in reply. He turned around and Jaskier swayed, moving like he did when he wanted Geralt to dance with him, albeit in a slower, more fatigue-ridden way. His fingers skimmed along the scars on Geralt’s chest that he’d once sung about, and all those he hadn’t. 

Jaskier’s smile was small—the kind of smile he wore when he was focused and thoughtful—and his brow furrowed, softening the mirth in his eyes. He cupped Geralt’s face and gently kissed him on the chin and the corner of his mouth.

“To think that after all this time, I could still want you like this. Have you like this,” Jaskier said, letting go of Geralt’s face to sweep his hands across his shoulders and back with the reverence he had for the simple, intimate touches. “I could grow to be a thousand years and never tire of this.” 

Jaskier leaned forward and kissed Geralt’s chest. His lips were dry and his beard tickled the divots of scar tissue where he whispered, “All the Spheres spin with envy that I have learned the shape, the taste of this love.”

Geralt exhaled slowly, his mind staggering from the words.

Jaskier was still fully clothed in the rumpled nightshirt and silk robe, wearing those mismatching socks, but he was naked in the poetry of his words, wearing nothing but his years. Geralt’s heart fucking wrenched.

“You can write that one down for me later,” Jaskier said, and that damnably coy smile lit him from the inside.  read more: stories we tell, memories we share, and the words we hold dear, aka the scribe fic, aka the one where geralt strips naked and transcribes jaskier's poetry for him. they're also very old, it's a happily ever after.

[izzy-hands]

The Adventures of Fun Uncle Jaskier™ and his Pocket-Sized Princess™

[justslightlyconfused]

Book Jaskier: chaotic idiot who starts shit like he isn’t the size of a football you can punt over the fence

Hexer Jaskier: chill lil dude who follows you everywhere and just wants to snuggle and lounge in the sunniest window

Netflix Jaskier: unhinged feral last kitten in the sad box on the corner with big ol eyes that make you forgive him for destroying your couch

Geralt: always desperately trying to herd cats

[pickleforstony]

POV: Geralt was hexed but still has a type.

[feelsforsterek]

[fioblah]

i cant let you love me like this

tip jar

[userkhael]

#big bad witcher ready to risk it all for love

[hannibard]

Geralt: you're beautiful

Jaskier:

Jaskier: witcher eyesight mustn't be as good as the rumors say because it took you over 20 years to notice

[helpfulhellhounds]

new witcher promotion from twitter!

[wild-blue-wanderlust]

I think about the scene where Jaskier is asleep in Kaer Morhen at the end of season 2 way often than I should because like. He’s made himself so comfortable! He’s been there for less than 24 hours and he feels right at home. This is WEIRD.

Vesemir mentioned to Geralt about how nobody sleeps well on their first night in Kaer Morhen. I get he’s mainly talking about children, and Jaskier is an adult. But still. It’s a spooky place no matter how old you are.

Either Jaskier has visited Kaer Morhen before (which I think is unlikely, but I would love to hear people’s thoughts on why and when and how that went) OR he’s just… comfortable anywhere. Which I wouldn’t be surprised by, he travelled with Geralt for twenty years and I imagine it would be quite rare for them to have somewhere cozy to sleep.

Maybe he just feels content as long as Geralt is in the same general area. Or maybe Jaskier’s just a weirdo.

[davids-corenswet]

JOEY BATEY as JASKIER The Witcher | S02E07

[kuwdora]

some kind of disaster - chapter 2 ~3700w yennefer/jaskier This chapter has some violent imagery/trauma flashbacks, a lot of angst, and still some humor. More tags and notes on ao3. Jaskier shows up on Yennefer's doorstep after the coup.

The door swung open and Jaskier recoiled.

"W—itch," Jaskier said, the word caught in his throat. Yennefer's face was creased was pillow marks and her eyes ringed with fatigue. Her mane of hair was frazzled in less-than-artful disarray. Even while they'd been camping and fearing for Ciri's life, Yennefer hadn't looked like this. Her clothes were rumpled like she'd been...

"Shit, you were sleeping. Of course you were asleep, what the fuck was I thinking? I'm sorry. I can leave this with you—food. To eat. Triss said you would be up here. If I haven't eaten in a day, that probably meant you haven't eaten since last night so I—"

Yennefer hugged him. "Bard. I've been awake," she murmured into his neck.

Her breath was warm but Jaskier shivered, the surprise making him woozy. He clung to her like she was a buoy and sighed, relief washing over him.

She pulled away and Jaskier tried to catch her eye, but her gaze was hollow. Even when she had shown up on Jaskier's doorstep magic-less and reeking of three kinds of shit, she had never looked so drained. He'd spent most of his life terrified and awed by her—a woman who wielded such power, vengeance and arrogance that had annoyed the fuck out of Jaskier. A tempest that could not be stopped or reasoned with.

The Yennefer that stood before him, holding him by the shoulders and looking past his face…She was the wreckage of a storm.

The sight was terrifying.

Jaskier swallowed. What could he do? "Food? Hug? Do you need another pillow? I can—"

"Did you drink any of the wine downstairs?" Yennefer asked, narrowing her eyes. She touched his cheeks with the back of her hand, like she was taking his temperature.

"What? No," Jaskier said. "I was a little busy trying not to throw up after slipping on somebody's intestines." His hands were still shaking and he really could use a drink, but that had been lower on his list of priorities.

read on ao3

[izzy-hands]

That is the role of poetry. To say what others cannot utter.

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

we got it guys

[pickleforstony]

Ride, Witcher, Ride.

[disdaidal]

"I do not wish to fight you." THE WITCHER S03E06