#borch three jackdaws

[sgushyonka]

Happy New Year!!! My only new year resolution is going to be to survive 2024.

#the witcher #saskia the dragonslayer #Saesenthessis #Villentretenmerth #borch three jackdaws

[hanzajesthanza]

geralt’s moments of Appreciating Men compilation. happy pride 🏳️‍🌈🐺

#the witcher books #the witcher #c: geralt #c: dandelion #c: villentretenmerth #c: regis #c: zoltan #c: reynart #geralt of rivia #dandelion #emiel regis #borch three jackdaws #villentretenmerth #reynart de bois-fresnes #zoltan chivay #excerpt #story: the voice of reason #story: bounds of reason #story: something more #book: season of storms #book: baptism of fire #book: the tower of the swallow #book: lady of the lake #i literally had to take out a regis quote bc there were too many pics in the post…

[elianzis]

Какой у тебя топ 10 самых красивых мужчин в Ведьмаке?

И входит ли в него Ума?

transletion below ->

ok, let's do it this way, it won't be top 10 because I'm not very good at making them... so it's just a list [although maybe try to somehow make a tier-list?]

Regis: Well, let's start with the best vampire bun. Regis. How could anyone not like him? He's kind, he's sweet, he's good with plants and booze. He won't let you get hurt. 10/10 Jaskier: Jaskier. A man with whom you can find adventures on your ass. Kind, loyal, always helpful, a great fucking singer, funny bun, eloquent. On the downside: Adventures can be life-threatening, talks a lot, has to be rescued. Overall, a very comfortable man. 8/10 Zoltan: Oh, and Zoltan, of course! Courageous, friendly, loyal and of course the soul of the company. Always there for his friends. He's a classy guy. 10/10 Borch: Borch three jackdaws is my favorite from the book. He's dragonish, calm, smart, generous, kind, and strong. Cute bun, both as a human and as a dragonfly. His girls will protect you, and in the form of a dragon from all will win. 10/10 Geralt: Well, Gera, where without him? Smart, honest, sarcastic, will get you out of trouble, appreciates friends. Sometimes too rough, loses his memory, has slept with almost every witch he knows.7/10 Roche: Roche, where without him? I like men in uniform. A bun with a hard past, a faithful dog, a patriot, smart. I want to hug him, but I'm afraid he'll stab me, you have to earn his trust. Minuses: hot-tempered, a war criminal, he has many enemies, cruel, lives for work, perhaps not particularly romantic. 8/10 Foltest: Foltest. Well he is the king that people love. Also, of course, he is a handsome and intelligent man. But he's too much of a lover, and some political decisions can be questionable. [his voice is gorgeous] 7/10 Dettlaff: Another vampire, Dettluff. He is handsome, statuesque, introvert, doesn't like lies, sensual, loyal, handyman, caring. But he's too much of an emotional puppet, especially to anger. But I pity him, to be honest. Bad luck, man. 7/10 Olgierd: Uh…Olgerd… Well, he is fair… he knows what honor is, and he also knows art, is quite clever and handsome… He's quite a controversial person, but you can't deny that he went to a lot of trouble for love. I have contradictory feelings about him… 6,5/10 Damien: [ha ha, I think I really have a thing for men in uniform] Damien. A faithful servant of duchess Henrietta. Handsome, strong, brave and, as I said, loyal. He is untrustworthy, but if you earn his trust, you can become comrades with him. Anyway, I think… 8,5/10

roche bonus:

And also the voice in the Russian voice-over is just beautiful. I also really like his Polish voice.

#the witcher art #the witcher 3 #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #vernon roche #emiel regis #regis #dettlaff van der eretein #dettlaff #zoltan #king foltest #foltest #olgierd von everec #borch three jackdaws #borch #damien de la tour #my sketch #sketch #digital drawing #digital

[dukeofdogs]

Gwent: The Witcher Card Game | The cards that could’ve been 43/?

Vea (Denitsa "Elindiriel" Noeva), Villentretenmerth, Tea and Vea (NastyaSkaya), Tea & Vea (Kamil Patynowski)

#gwent #gwent: unreleased content #gwent: contest #tea & vea #borch three jackdaws #villentretenmerth

[myidlehand]

I just want to see Borch's face when he realises not only Jaskier outed him as an extremely rare mythical dragon to the entire continent but also made it extremely easy to find him cause how may old guy travel with two Zerikanian women?

#the witcher #Jaskier #borch three jackdaws

[astaldis]

@smubbles-etc

Chapters: 1/1     Words: 900 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Borch Three Jackdaws | Villentretenmerth, Véa (The Witcher), Téa (The Witcher), Yarpen Zigrin Additional Tags: Smubbles, dragon, directly after season 1 episode 8, Humour, penis talk

Summary: After Geralt leaves, Jaskier gets the story about what happened on the mountain from the others. Still, there is one question left that he needs to ask the dragon, a rather personal one.

#2024 02 dragontines smubbles #smubbles #the witcher tv #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier #borch three jackdaws #villentretenmerth #vea & tea #yarpen zigrin #the witcher s1 e8 #penis talk #humour #dragon

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Me, who is hit and miss with titles playing a title game XD

Water in the Desert

You... I tried to think of something different, like maybe Ciri meeting a manticore in the desert, but the Witcher Collector Borch would not leave me.

Since bedding Geralt, Borch has been witchersexual. He wants to create a treasure hoard.

He starts when he spots a Griffin Witcher dying on a battlefield.

Instead of Coën dying in battle, he's rescued by Borch and taken to a secluded oasis in the Korath desert to recover.

Griffin witchers hunt dragons. They're famously very good at it. Coën is distrustful and wary.

By showing kindness and patience, Borch earns Coën's trust, and then his affections. Coën can't help the attraction he has and the night he spends beneath Borch opens his eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

After a while, Coën settles into his new life as a dragon's treasure. He has everything he needs and he's safe.

It helps that Borch disappears one day and then returns with a hissing, spitting, angry wolf Witcher who he drops into Coën's arms like a gift.

Lambert is Unhappy. Coën can't convince him to let it go, and eventually wheedles out of him that he wants his damned family.

Eskel appears a week later. Borch bedded him and whisked him away while he was still sleeping. Eskel is perplexed and wary.

Borch asks him to help with building better accomodation and facilities for the Witchers. The task occupies Eskel's mind and Borch is able to settle him.

Geralt's next. He's flustered, but Borch didn't need to do any witcher-napping; they've slept together before, of course. A fact Geralt mentions to the others as casually as possible.

Lambert can't believe he's the only one present who hasn't fucked a dragon. Before Borch heads out for the last wolf, he remedies that.

Vesemir arrives with a little more dignity, and Borch has a wagon of books and artefacts clutched in his claws from Kaer Morhen.

It was easy enough to convince him to leave the old castle behind when Borch informed him that his sons were elsewhere.

As time passes, the settlement gets bigger. More witchers arrive. Some of them willingly submit to Borch's affections, and he doesn't force those who aren't interested.

Borch has created an isolated retirement home for Witchers. He is content and so are they.

The look of a man horny for witchers:

#borch three jackdaws #witchersexual borch #geralt of rivia #the witcher #title game #hexer borch is so hot for Geralt

[finleycannotdraw]

hexer borch for @yakowo !!

realizing as i type this that I should’ve put a dark layer underneath the blond hair before blending but ITS FINE

alternate caption: anyone else like men?

#the hexer #the witcher #borch three jackdaws #villentrethenmerth #WHY aren’t these character tags. #you guys are ignoring him >:( #finley cannot draw #SERIOUSLY WATCH THE HEXER #GERALT AND BORCH ARE SO GAY FOR ABSOLUTELY NO REASON #in all seriousness actually though the character dynamics are so much richer and relatable and actually played like INTERACTIONS BETWEEN #PEOPLE. which netflix did not leave enough room for #i have feelings & thoughts & opinions. #ANYWAY FEL I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE MAN #the witcher fanart

[fandomwarehouse]

When Geralt, Saskia, and Borch Three Jackdaws reunite

#geralt of rivia #saskia #borch three jackdaws #two dragons and a witcher: the musical #pls consider THE DRAMA

[the-butch-of-blaviken]

(tw misogyny, discussion of sterility; spoilers for the short stories Bounds of Reason and Something More)

Why do sorceresses and witchers go so well together? At least according to Andrzej Sapkowski i guess

In Bounds of Reason, right before their famous foursome in the bathtub, Geralt and Borch Three Jackdaws have a conversation about golden dragons. Geralt argues that golden dragons only exist in legends and fairytales; Borch mentions the possibility of one having been born as the result of "an accidental, unique mutation." The conversation takes a different turn then as Geralt sees a parallel between this hypothetical golden dragon and himself: "'If there were, it met the fate of all mutants.' The Witcher turned his head away. 'It differed too much to endure.'" man i wish i could write a line that slaps as hard as this one

There seems to be three main characteristics that define mutants, according to Geralt: their unusual appearance, their extraordinary abilities and, most importantly here, their sterility. "'[...] Golden dragons and other similar mutants, were they to exist, couldn't survive. For a very natural limit of possibilities prevents it.' 'What limit is that?' 'Mutants,' the muscles in Geralt's jaw twitched violently, 'mutants are sterile, Borch. Only in fables survive what cannot survive in nature. Only myths and fables do not know the limits of possibility.'"

During a later conversation between Geralt, Yennefer and the sorcerer Dorregaray, Yennefer seems bent on marking a clear frontier between witchers and humans, while assimilating herself to the second category: "'Dragons aren't man's enemies,' Geralt broke in. The sorceress looked at him and smiled. But only with her lips. 'In that matter,' she said, 'leave the judging to us humans [emphasis not mine]. Your role, Witcher, is not to judge. It's to get a job done.'" She's still mad at Geralt at that point, so it's safe to assume she's just taking this opportunity to try and get under his skin, but it seems there's another reason why she insists on framing the situation as 'us (humans) versus them (witchers and by extension mutants of all sorts).'

Later during the conversation, she argues that “fecundity […] is the condition for survival and domination” of the human race. She tries to keep her tone scientific and dispassionate, but apparently the entire community of magic users across the Continent has heard about Yennefer’s dissatisfaction with her sterility, because Dorregaray picks up on her weakness and uses it against her: “Yes, Yennefer, fecundity, fecundity and once again fecundity. So take up bearing children, my dear; it’s the most natural pursuit for you.” (asshole)

Despite being a brilliant sorceress, as a barren woman, she can't contribute to the "survival and domination" of the human race in the only way that matters, at least according to her own argument. By bringing up her sterility, Dorregaray has thus singled her out as an individual on the margins of society. What is her place then if she doesn't belong with humans? Geralt, riding right next to her and trying very hard not to make her any angrier than she already is, provides a silent answer to that question: if humans don't count her as one of theirs, it must mean she belongs with him and his fellow mutants.

(Although he is probably sterile as well, I think Dorregaray doesn't consider that the criticism he levelled against Yennefer applies to himself because he's a man as well as a sorcerer and thus considers that there are other ways in which he can contribute to society.)

And she fits right in the definition of a mutant according to Geralt: as a character, she's defined by her distinct appearance (her black and white clothing, which is the most efficient way for both Geralt and the reader to identify her in the books and the games), her extraordinary abilities (magic powers) and, of course, her barrenness. Her conflictual relationship with Geralt stems from the fact that they're both very bad at articulating what they want and being emotionally vulnerable, of course, but also because his very presence reminds her that no matter how powerful she is, she belongs in the same category as the mutants and has no chance at leading an ordinary woman's life. Ultimately, however, they keep circling back to each other because no one else can understand them like each other does: they have been through the same things, the same choices have been taken from them and ordinary humans give them the same wide berth, although it manifests in different ways.

The fact that this is the short story that opens Sword of Destiny is interesting and so funny to me. Themes of sterility and the impossibility of having a family keep cropping up throughout the story but you can't forget that the book ends on Geralt and Ciri finding each other again and, most importantly, accepting each other. Geralt pretends to be disillusioned and cynical as a coping mechanism against the hardships of his life but destiny keeps proving him wrong and shows him that, like the golden dragon that managed to have a child against all odds, his happily ever after (and Yennefer's) is within reach, even if they don't conform to the traditional definition of a family and have to make up their own.

#tossing this out there in the void #in other words #im finally rereading the witcher books #expect more long ass posts like this in the future when i can't keep my brain from going crazy over them i guess #the witcher books #bounds of reason #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #yenralt #my post

[hanzajesthanza]

happy year of the dragon 🎉🎊🐉 with our favorite golden dragon

(and, because it wouldn't be a post of mine, after all, without a long footnote: to be clear, villentretenmerth was inspired by the legend of the dragon of wawel hill, and when people (meaning: netflix) erroneously claim that he was inspired by asian dragons instead, and mention nothing of this krakówian dragon nor the cobbler twiney whom defeated it, it actually kind of ticks me off, not only because i find it lazy, but also because the whole point of villentretenmerth's character is that he's a subversion of the type of cruel, greedy dragon from european mythology... however, i'm setting all of this aside momentarily, because since i was born in 2000, my zodiac is that of a golden dragon, and because i also happen to be a witcher fan... i call for borch-posting)

#my two girlfriends. and yes. they smoke weed #the witcher books #art #my art #c: borch three jackdaws #villentretenmerth #c: véa #c: téa #'there's a lot of CoMpLeXiTy To LiMiTs oF tHe PoSsIbLe' #im sorry im like this. but it must be like this. nothing can anymore be changed. by the diamonds at the ends of your eyelashes

[jewishsuperfam]

imagine getting banned from social media for saying what borch three jackdaws did to geralt

#the witcher #witcher netflix fans dni this is about the books only

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Four

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: swearing, grief, crying

Word Count: 5331

Masterlist

Tag List Form

“The hunt begins at sunrise.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Jaskier gestured anxiously as he spoke, eyes flicking back to Yennefer nervously. He could still remember precisely how his last encounter with the sorceress had gone. “That’s only four teams. You said there’d be five.” The bard looked to Geralt for confirmation, or even just someone to back him up at all, but the Witcher’s golden eyes were stuck on the witch.

“Ah.” Borch Three Jackdaws sat back on his bench. His hands were intertwined and resting on the table, fingers fiddling with the handle of his ale.”They won’t be arriving until tomorrow. So I’ve heard, it’s a knight from Temeria.” His wise gaze turned to the distracted man before him. “They say he has a Witcher with him, too.”

Geralt was brought back to attention instantly.

“Another Witcher?”

Borch nodded, humming.

Jaskier perked up as well, leaning closer as if a secret was being shared. “Do you know what they look like? Or where they’re from, maybe?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

Jaskier turned to Geralt, hand on his shoulder and eyes wide. “Do you think it could be Viper?”

Geralt hm’d noncommittally, but didn’t answer.

-

“What’s got your goat?”

“Someone’s stolen my pack.” The Dwarf glared past Jaskier at another team, who was already glaring right back. “Probably those FUCKIN’ REAVERS!”

Jaskier jumped at the shouting and decided it may be within his best interests not to be in between the two teams. The Dwarf, Yarpen, walked beside him, his team of Dwarves following him with their bags and packs in tow. “Aye, well… three days’ journey and only one route to the top. Leaves plenty of time for me to PISS IN HIS GRUEL!” Yarpen cackled coarsely back at the Reavers.

“You needn’t shout so much.”

Jaskier nearly pissed himself as he whirled around toward the voice, only to come face to face with a hooded figure. Their focus was not on him, however, but on Yarpen, who frowned in a way only a belligerent drunk with years of practice could.

“An’ who the fuck do ya think you are?”

You removed your hood. Jaskier’s eyes grew wide with recognition. Yarpen stepped back a little once he saw your face, and the piercing yellow eyes that stared back at him.

“I’m the Viper of Nilfgaard,” you replied calmly, “and your yelling is hurting my ears. My advice? Keep your mouth shut. Making enemies on a lone pass with a reward this grand only paints a target on your back.”

Yarpen grit his teeth, lips curling in a snarl, as though he wished to unleash a barrage of curses in all the languages of the Continent. Instead, he cursed under his breath (though still quite loudly) and continued down the trail with his men.

“Wow. Well, you showed him.” You and Jaskier stopped on the path, watching as the Dwarf introduced himself to Geralt. Blinking himself back to reality, he turned to you. “Gods! It’s been months! How’ve you been? Did you catch those deserters?” He looked you up and down. You appeared almost exactly as you had the last time he saw you, albeit now with a small scar along your cheek. He cut you off before you could reply. “Wait, nevermind. Who’re you here with?”

A soft, almost endearing grin played on your lips at Jaskier’s familiar charms. His mind always seemed to be running a mile a minute. “I’ve been hired to guide Hendrick of Temeria through the mountains,” you informed him. You glanced up the hill to your employer, who struggled to gather his bags and swords from his horse. The equipment in his arms clattered to the ground. He tried to play it off by waving at the Reavers. “He has no experience hunting monsters - or of the world, for that matter. It is his belief that with a Witcher at his side, he will be able to pull through by sheer luck.”

The bard snorted. “I don’t think he knows what luck is.”

As if he could feel two pairs of eyes on him, Hendrick waved you over with one hand and cupped the other around his mouth to call, “Viper! I need your assistance!”

You sighed through your nose, but smiled at Jaskier anyway. “I’ll catch up with you later.” You began your way back up the hill, but turned and walked backward to speak to him once more. “And I will answer all of your questions, I promise.”

Excitement coursed through his veins. The promise of a new story to tell thrilled him to no end, especially with a subject actually willing to give him details. He watched as you began donning Hendrick with bags and equipment, and as you took a moment to press your forehead against the nose of your own horse.

The gruff, aggravated voice of his own Witcher calling him fell on deaf ears.

-

Hendrick made it quite clear when hiring you of how unused to the Wild he was. He grew up well-off, he never worked a farm, never even went fishing with his father (he mentioned this several times). Unfortunately, that left you to take the brunt of his complaining. Less than an hour in, he was complaining of his feet hurting. (“Is there anything you can do to ease the pain? Perhaps there is an herb I might take?”) Thirty minutes later, he complained of his back aching from the weight of the bags. (“Would you be able to carry one more? I’ve heard tell of a Witcher’s enhanced strength; surely one more bag would not weaken you any.”)

You would have gladly welcomed the pain in your feet or the ache in your back, should it provide a distraction. As it was, you were stuck trying to focus on the birds and flora of the mountain.

“Mighty fine lord you’ll be,” came a sarcastic jibe from in front of you. It was one of the Reavers. He looked like someone you would hunt for a small sum; crooked teeth in an equally crooked smirk, and skin yellowed from months of unwashed grime. His dark eyes, filled with emotions you wished not to know, turned to you. “And you, freak? What’ll you do if this prick slays the dragon?” He cackled as he offered up his own suggestion. “Become his little monster-hunting consort?”

“Why do you wish to know?” you bit back. Your face remained neutral and wholly unfazed. “Looking to fill in an application?”

His grin became a grimace as he spat at your boots. You were grateful he missed - his saliva was probably as acidic as a Basilisk’s poison, and you quite liked these boots. “Fucking mutant.”

As he stomped ahead like a toddler that lost an argument, you distracted yourself once again with a chickadee gathering twigs for its nest.

-

You couldn’t tear your eyes from the fire. Even as the world quietened and the sky grew dark, the dance of flames held you entranced. The tendrils reached into the air, reaching for the stars gleaming overhead in the thinning mountain air. For a brief moment, you could let yourself imagine a burning hand cupping the sky, gathering all of the stars within its palm, and swirling them around. Constellations churning and sifting, until they all stilled; new and beautiful.

But your mind always wandered. The hand crushed the stars. The sky became completely dark, lit only by a lonely moon. The hand morphed and changed until it caressed stone, tore down archways, consumed flesh. You could not look away. Faces in the fire became the screaming faces of your brothers. Of Ivar Evil-Eye clutching priceless scrolls to his chest as he clawed toward an exit, uncaring of the death of your siblings. Of Oalvir running from the burning grand doors, only to meet his doom at the hands of Nilfgaardian soldiers. Of Stul…

All your childhood, you looked up to him, even more than the mentors. He would sneak you scraps of bread when you were locked away for misbehaving. He’d cradle you to his chest and whisper soothing words into your hair as terror gripped you, body and soul. He was always there for you. And the moment he needed you most, you were prancing around the Cintran palace, acting as a hero.

“You should rest.”

The grumbling voice brought you back to the present. You blinked away the memories, and were met with the dying ashes of the campfire. It went out long ago, it seemed.

You looked up into the eyes of Geralt, sat across from you, yellow a warmed amber in the dim light of nighttime. You cast a glance around - everyone was gone, asleep in their tents - and to the sky. The stars were still there, in the same constellations they always had been.

“I’ll keep watch,” he added.

You shook your head. It took more effort than you would have liked to avoid looking at the embers again. “I’ll be fine. I can’t sleep anyway.”

His gaze burned through you, studying your movements. Foolishly determined to prove you could handle yourself, you grabbed a few sticks and tossed them onto the pile. They would not light on their own. Yet, when you tried lifting your hand to cast Igni, it remained like a solid brick of lead in your lap.

Without saying a word, Geralt raised a hand. A burst of fire erupted from his palm and claimed the sticks like a starved beast. You flinched at its warmth.

“What happened?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and stared into the flames once more. You were not lost in their flickering, but you could not bear to look at the Wolf. He sighed.

“Last we met, you told me to be careful.” He tilted his head, searching for answers. “You seemed lost in another world when you spoke of your brother.”

You visibly swallowed. His question lingered in the air, alongside the distant cries of owls and bats, and the droning melodies of crickets. With a deep breath, you finally met his eyes. Your own burned with unshed tears.

“Gorthur Gvaed… The Viper Keep… It- It was burned down,” you whispered. Your voice would not go any louder. Geralt sat up straighter. “The Usurper commanded it. My brothers-” A trembling gasp broke loose from your lungs, silencing you.

He watched helplessly as you wiped at your eyes, determined not to cry. He remembered the attack on Kaer Morhen. Hiding in the cellar, waiting for the humans to find him and kill him like all the others. The screams, the fire, the blood. He knew too well what it was like to sit by and watch everything dear be ripped from you.

“Stul-” You cursed, frustrated with your emotions. “Stuldweck, my brother, he- he hunted that djinn with me. He gave me Bayard. He helped me, comforted me.” A strained sob forced its way through grit teeth. Your shoulders hunched with grief; you contained so much agony it radiated from you. “He’s gone and I- I couldn’t even do anything to stop it.”

The world fell still as you cried. Fat, ugly tears that clench your chest, prevent you from breathing. Your hands tightened, holding onto the figment of Oalvir’s body. The last time you cried was over his corpse. Too long ago. Months and months of build up, ripping through you like a tsunami. An earthquake. Any number of natural disasters - none were as powerful as your grief.

Geralt could do nothing but sit and watch. There was nothing for it; no remedies, no cures. The only balm for loss, sorrow, despair, was to let it out, lest it consume you forever.

It may have been minutes, or hours - days could have passed and you would be none the wiser - before your cries lessened to hiccuping gasps. The stars watched coldly as you wiped away snot and tears, making room on your cheeks for more.

As your tears ran out and dried on your face, you had nothing left but whimpers. Mere ghosts of the wails that came before. Geralt formed his hand into another sign, casting Aard on the flames to put them out. Even in the dark, he could see the sorrow across your face.

“Get some rest,” he insisted as your body stopped shaking. His usually grumbly voice was now as soft and soothing as he could manage. Despite everything, you were still just a child. “We’ll still be here come morning.”

You sniffled, whimpering at the dry pain at the back of your throat. You would think it a mercy no one awoke, but you knew if they had, they stayed hidden inside their tents, powerless to do anything but listen to your cries.

You took in a trembling breath and stood. You stayed there a moment, before reaching out a hand to Geralt. He grabbed it. His hand held more calluses than yours. It was cold, as were yours - a side effect of the mutations and the slow heart rate that came with it. But it grounded you there, beside the dead campfire, up on the mountain, beneath the stars.

He squeezed your hand with tempered strength, and slipped from between your fingers. You did not have to speak your thanks. With a quiet sigh, drenched in relief, your exhaustion took place where your emotions had been. He listened through the darkness as usually inaudible footsteps scraped and slid across loose dirt, all the way to your own lone tent. His ears did not leave you until soft, even breaths were all he heard.

-

“Are you alright?” Jaskier was breathless from jogging to catch up to your brutal pace. You were just doing your best to stay ahead of Hendrick so you could avoid his ceaseless complaining. You slowed down to fall into step beside him. “I heard what that Reaver said to you yesterday. Just wanted to, you know, be sure.”

“I’m fine,” you assured. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Geralt was far in the back, walking alongside Borch. The Witcher’s eyes kept drifting to Yennefer, walking alongside her escort, though she seemed to pay Geralt no attention.

“Like ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’?” he asked tentatively.

You nodded. “No matter how hard we try to help, humans will always be against us. To them we’re just mutants, freaks, bloodthirsty killers that snatch children in the night.” He frowned, a deep crease formed between his brows. “It’s just how it is.”

“It shouldn’t have to be.” His voice was determined, disgusted with the treatment you and his adventuring partner faced every day. “I’ll write a thousand ballard if that’s what it takes to-”

“No number of fancy words will change their minds, Jaskier,” you interjected sternly. “At the end of the day, he will still be the Butcher and I will still be the Viper - there is nothing you can do to change that.” His throat dried up, closing at the futility of it all. “We’ve made our peace with it. You should, too.”

You pulled yourself over a large boulder that blocked the path and helped Jaskier up after you. You held a hand down for Yoran who followed close behind, but he just knocked it away, claiming that he and his men could get up by themselves. Jaskier and you stopped a short ways ahead, watching with little interest as the Dwarves and Reavers raced to get up before each other, all the while spitting insults back and forth.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “You, uhm, said you’d answer my questions,” he reminded you. “About the deserters?”

You hummed and turned all your attention to him; he was far more interesting than any Reaver or Dwarf. “I caught them in Novigrad, working together to sneak onto a ship transporting cargo to Kovir. They offered me money to let them go. Naturally, I refused - all they could offer me was 10 crowns and a pamphlet to a brothel in Oxenfurt.”

He chuckled at the thought. He knew better than anyone how the city favored poets, craftsmen, and prostitutes. The bordellos in Oxenfurt were nearly as infamous as the school was famous. “I’m guessing they didn’t come quietly.”

You huffed, remembering the trouble they gave you. “I wish they had,” you said. “They each bolted off in different directions. Pain in the ass to catch them both again.” You stopped yourself short of the gorey details, watching as Geralt helped your useless employer over the rock.

“What then?”

You turned to him with a tight, concerned smile. “Are you sure you wish to know? I am not Geralt - I do not spare lives for the sake of sparing them.”

He opened his mouth to say Yes, of course! but the look in your eye made him think twice.

It was easy to follow Geralt and his heroics when all he tried to do was slay monsters and save towns. Unless it was absolutely necessary, Geralt refused to kill people, and only when they attacked first. The Wolf told him about Vipers when he did not stop prying. He told him about the contracts they take, how they were more assassins-for-hire than beast-killers. Perhaps he didn’t want to know the end of your tale. Perhaps he only wanted to imagine a scenario for himself, where you went through the effort of bringing the deserters back alive, or even let them go free for a mere 10 crowns.

As his silence persisted, you watched the groups pass you both by. The Reavers went first, determined to get to the next campsite and steal all the good spots for themselves. The Dwarves were close behind. Hendrick gave you a carefree grin and an assuring, “Don’t worry - I’ll meet you at the camp!” Yennefer and Sir Eyck came next. Then Borch and his Zerrikanian warriors, with Geralt firmly in last place. When he passed, you nudged Jaskier by the shoulder and fell in step behind the Wolf.

“What about you and Geralt?” you changed the subject. The Witcher in question turned to look at you over his shoulder. Your lips quirked into a soft yet mischievous grin. “Asked me about a djinn last we met, but you never explained why.”

Geralt grunted and walked faster. Jaskier’s eyes seemed to glow with the change in topic, as he launched into the tale of the djinn, their encounter with Yennefer, and a blooming romance between the Witcher and the Witch.

-

“You should eat something.”

You glared at the carcass roasting over the fire, lips curling in a disgusted scowl. Your cat-like eyes remained set as you watched Eyck cook and eat the innards of the Hirikka, so proud of himself and his proclamation of Knights never waste a kill. It turned your stomach to see the desecration of an innocent creature. The head, resting on a pike behind the great knight, stared into you.

“I’d rather starve.”

Borch, Geralt and Jaskier all looked at you with concern and understanding. Or maybe it was just pity. Your words of rage still echoed at the forefront of their minds, even Yennefer’s, who tried to appear supportive and adoring of Sir Eyck.

“Oh, yes, how brave of the knight to murder a defenseless, starving, endangered Hirikka. You stupid bastard. You’ve worn the moniker of Sir too long - you are nothing more than a coward masquerading behind a sword.”

Despite the fear Jaskier felt when the creature stood to its full height, he knew that Geralt’s call for everyone to sheath their weapons had been the better option. If they had handed over the berries he picked, perhaps even a scrap of bread, it would have left them in peace, unharmed.

Soft hands, calloused at the fingertips, lifted your hand from its place on the log. They peeled your fist apart with little effort, and placed something within. “Please,” Jaskier pleaded in a whisper. You did not need to look to know they were the berries he picked earlier.

Jaskier watched, helpless, as you pressed the berries back into his palm and rushed from the campfire. All eyes seemed to follow you as you jerked your tent open and disappeared inside. He wished to run after you; toss the berries into the fire and comfort you as best he knew how, with ballads and poems and tales. But he caught Borch’s gaze, and, at least for now, the thought died.

By the time he was brought back to the conversation, it had shifted to be of politics. At least Sir Eyck had left, hunched over and clutching his stomach.

“The rightful son of Nilfgaard has returned, burning through the south!” cried Yarpen.

Yennefer scoffed. “With Fringilla as his mage.” She laughed. “Nilfgaard’s a joke.”

Yarpen shook his head, voice tense. “I saw it with my own eyes down in Ebbing. Those zealot freaks are inching closer by the day. Won’t be long till they try and take Sodden.” His eyes shifted to Hendricks. “Next it’ll be Temeria. Redania.” Your employer sunk under his gaze, staring forlorn to the ground. “Cintra.”

“No.” Jaskier swallowed. He surprised himself with his sudden outburst. Maybe it was the threat of Nilfgaard, or knowing you hailed from it, but something stirred inside him uncomfortably. “Queen Calanthe would die before letting them take what’s hers.”

Geralt tried meeting his eye, but the bard’s gaze was set to the ground and unfocused.

“Perhaps if Nilfgaard’s religious zeal had been tempered earlier by a stronger hand…”

Jaskier abruptly stood. He floundered out some excuse about needing to polish his lute, yet in his daze, he had to turn back to grab it. The berries fell uselessly to the ground. Nobody pointed out how he stumbled over to your tent; he tried to make it seem casual - looking down to his boots and the ground as though they were more interesting than anything else, kicking pinecones and meandering around. But everyone knew he set up on the opposite side of camp.

Now that he was in front of your door - er, tent flap - he didn’t know what to do. After a moment’s hesitation, he awkwardly knocked on (slapped the back of his hand against) the fabric. “Knock knock?”

It was quiet. Inside, he could hear bottles clinking together. He glanced over his shoulder toward the fire, making sure no one was watching him.

“Who’s there?” called your tentative voice. He found his worries eased by the mere sound of it. He knew, beyond any doubt, that you couldn’t possibly be as ruthless as the Nilfgaardians were.

“It’s Jaskier.” Quiet again. Perhaps he didn’t think this through enough. Should he have just gone to bed and left the issue alone? Maybe you wanted to be left alone for the rest of the night, and he could ask tomorrow. Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

Before he could stumble out an apology or excuse, the flap was pulled aside. You stood at the entrance, sans your usual cloak and weapons, and gestured for him to come in. He nodded his thanks as he slipped by.

Just before you closed the tent again, you caught Borch’s eye. He had a knowing grin on his face, as though he carried more secrets than you could wish to know, and the only ones he shared them with were Téa and Véa, who giggled softly at the cryptic knowledge. You shut the door before you could decipher his wisdom.

“Erm, thought you’d like to know that the Hirikka made Eyck sick.”

“Good,” you hissed. “Bastard deserves it.” You started for your cot, but stopped when you realized Jaskier was stood searching in the dark. With the embarrassing realization that he could not see as well as you in the dim light, you lit a hanging lantern. You tried not to flinch when the small, controlled burst of flame left your palm and caught on the wick.

You went back to your cot, where laid out over ratty sheets were dozens of vials and your twin daggers. Jaskier sat on the corner of your bed, careful not to disturb anything, as he looked around the small tent. It was much like his own - just large enough for one person to stay comfortably, with a single cot and a folding stool. In the corner were your bags, undoubtedly filled with strange herbs and monster bits. 

He turned to look at the vials. Some were filled with odd liquids, some were filled with substances just a bit too thick to be called liquids, but not yet thick enough to be deemed solid. He reached out and carefully picked up one of the bottles, turning it over and over to watch the red liquid slosh around. “What’s this do?”

You frowned at the question, looking at the potion in his hands. “Geralt doesn’t tell you about them?” You picked up one of your daggers and a whetstone. The scraping sound of metal against the whetstone filled the tent as you sharpened your weapon.

“No,” he scoffed. “He won’t even tell me what he had for breakfast, let alone about a monster he just slayed or what any of this,” he gestured to the other bottles with the one he already held, “does.”

“Okay, well, the one in your hand is called Swallow.” Jaskier, eager to learn, held the bottle close so he could peer into the container better. None of the ingredients that went into making a concoction like this were decipherable anymore. “It’s named after the bird and the coming of spring. It helps us heal faster for a time, and can even stop bleeding. It’s a Witcher’s best friend.”

He set the bottle back down in its place and picked up one that contained a whitish-yellow almost-liquid. It clung to the glass walls as he turned the container over. His nose scrunched up in disgust. “What about this one?”

You set the silver dagger back on your bed and picked up the steel one. You didn’t expect to need it on a contract like this, when you were only hired to kill monsters, but one could never be too careful with characters like the Reavers around.

“White Honey,” you answered with hardly a glance. “Witcher potions are toxic; they poison our blood. Deadly for humans, but we’re able to withstand the toxicity for longer. If we take too many potions, however, it begins to take a toll on our bodies.

“This,” you gestured to the bottle with the whetstone, “detoxifies our blood.”

Jaskier was utterly fascinated, in awe even, at the info you so easily gave him. Aside from traveling with Geralt and spreading his heroic deeds, all Jaskier ever heard of Witchers was how ruthless, bloodthirsty and savage they were. Nobody ever mentioned anything about their knowledge of alchemy, their wits, or their courage.

Another question slipped into his mind. He never asked before, nor did he really ever think about it, yet it came unbidden, as easy as a farmer slipping inside at nightfall after a hard day’s work. Something about it (all of it, in fact) felt wrong to question, but you had been so generous with your life and knowledge so far…

He set the bottle back down just as you finished sharpening your weapons. He watched, mulling over whether to ask the question, as you sheathed them in their leather casings and slipped one under your pillow. The other was placed lovingly back in your pack.

Before he could stop himself, he asked.

“What’s it like… becoming a Witcher?”

You visibly tensed up. Back becoming rigid and hand tightening where it still held onto your dagger. You would not turn back to face him.

Realizing he fucked up and overstepped probably a hundred boundaries, he dismissed it. “Nevermind. I don’t need to know. Forget it.”

You relaxed slightly into a huff of laughter at how quickly he backpedaled. Jaskier was always curious; he fed on new information like a starved man ate stew. To see him take back a question for your own comfort, rather than press forward as he probably would have with Geralt, was… nice. You couldn’t figure out any other word to call it. Any other person, anyone curious enough to question a Witcher, didn’t let up until they were sure Witchers were the mutated freaks the stories said they were.

You stood and went back to the bed, sorting out potions to figure out what you needed more of. “It’s alright, Jaskier,” you assured him with a quiet voice. He relaxed, knowing he didn’t fuck everything up. “I… I don’t think I can go back to that place just yet.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Viper.”

“One day, I promise, I’ll tell you.” You were determined to tell him. Your eyes gleamed in the firelight, absolutely certain. You did not want to carry this knowledge with you any longer than you already had. But it felt too soon to discuss the Trials, knowing you would never again see the mentors that guided you through them.

Voice as soft as a butterfly’s wingbeat, he said, “Take as long as you need.”

It was silent for a moment. Not a thick, awkward silence, but a warm, easy one. Outside, he could still hear distant conversation from around the fire, mixed with the scattered calls of crickets. A distant wolf howl mixed with the clinking of bottles.

But Jaskier was awful at leaving silences alone. “So, a dragon,” he began. His fingers fiddled with each other, desperate to have something to do with them. “Why did so many people sign up for a quest for something that’s not, you know, real?”

“Dragons are real.”

He gave you an incredulous look. You shot one right back, lining a belt with your current potions. (Two Swallow in the front, a gold one he didn’t know the name of, a greenish one he also didn’t know the name of, and one White Honey.) You didn’t even have to look as you did it; it was purely muscle memory.

“Dragons are real, Jaskier. Treasure hunters and poachers have hunted them to near extinction, but I’m sure many still exist, hiding away until their numbers recover.

“The one we’re after is a green dragon,” you continued, “they’re the most common. Red dragons are rarer; black ones even rarer still. And, finally, gold dragons are the rarest of them all. No one even knows if they’re real. Nobody’s seen one in ages.”

Slack-jawed and starry-eyed with wonder, Jaskier fumbled around the inner pocket of his jacket until he pulled out a love-worn journal. He flipped to a fresh page and hurriedly wrote down what you told him. He would ask about the rest of your potions - their uses, ingredients (you withheld the specifics; it was forbidden for Witchers to divulge how they’re made), discovery. When the topic came up, you told him (and even demonstrated a few) of the spells Witchers could cast. Axii fascinated him the most.

As you busied yourself with grinding herbs, mixing potions, and preparing for tomorrow, the questions trailed off. When the silence returned, it was intermixed with snores. Still sitting upright, pencil in one hand, and journal in the other, Jaskier was fast asleep.

You saved the journal from falling to the floor and tucked the pencil inside. After a moment of consideration, you worked to carefully remove his jacket, laying it with the journal on the stool. All it took was a little shove to get him to lay down. He curled into the flat pillow instantly, cradling it longways under his head and to his chest. You covered him with the thin sheets, blew out the lantern, and sat on the floor beside the bed. Your cloak acted as a blanket, and the dagger from your bag became your new defensive weapon.

You fell asleep to the distant sound of crickets and the bard’s heavy breathing.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

#fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #jaskier x reader #jaskier #jaskier the bard #witcher jaskier #the witcher jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt & reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #cross posted on ao3

[witcherscreenshotsdump]

mod project progress! ✔️-> finished ⭐-> progress has been made ⭕ -> on hold

@ningnomaningnong oh a list ! yeah that could be a good idea to list out all my projects,( for me too, so i don’t get lost in the mountain of projects i have :’D )

the one i’m working on right now is the alternate outfit for Syanna inspired by Anna Valerious’ outfits ✔️

i’m also working on a new hairstyle for my Angoulême model, it’s well on it’s way but i’m not satisfied with the headband  ✔️

hairstyles for Ciri:

short cropped ‘mistle’ styled

ashen messy hair

the long ‘ alypre’ hair model ✔️

the ‘jinx’ hairstyle

the braided ponytail

the child ciri ‘actually look like herself ‘ face model ⭐

the witcher 2 faces for both Ves and Triss

 the poet shirt for Jaskier

the Eva green face model for Yen

the rework of the lore friendly Blue dress for Triss

the long hairstyle for Eskel (  i have another version ready for game import but i have to actually do it ) ⭐

the Regis dressed down mod ⭐, i also want to make him alternate outfits, something closer to the books ( love the idea of him with an apron ) but maybe something very fancy too idk yet, maybe i’ll do both 

then i have the Yennefer lore friendly wardrobe ones :

Maribor torso ( started, currently in WIP folder )

Wyzima torso   ✔️

some witcher armors for Ciri :

Cat ( started, currently in WIP folder )

Manticore ✔️

Viper ⭐( started, currently in WIP folder )

Griffin ⭐( started, currently in WIP folder )

i’m thinking about doing a Skellige style mod for both Yennefer and Triss too, but it’s not started yet ( beside the early draft of an hairstyle for yen )

i may do a Nilfgaard style too for Ciri and triss, Yen not sure yet

i would LOVE to do the ‘hexer’ actors like I did the netflix ones :

Michał Żebrowski’s Geralt face is started and it looks cool in blender but i’m dreading the game import :’)

Grażyna Wolszczak’s  Yennefer is also started but i’m going to redo it all over because she looked AWFUL in game, that poor woman

Zbigniew Zamachowski’s  Jaskier isn’t started yet but i’m looking forward to it

⭕ for the netflix crowd i still have the netflix triss mod to update with the new dress and hair option, also would like to redclothify the blue dressthen the other characters models i had planned but never had the strenght to start lmao: netflix dijkstra, philippa  maybe ciri and jaskier complete with outfits and hair ( maybe an outfit and hairstyle for the yennfer mod too idk ) not gonna lie it’s not a priority for me ⭕

the Dicks out for temeria mod check this ask for the list ( minus Avallach who is already out ) ( Eredin’s model is started but i’ll need SBUI for further testing ) ⭐

an alternate outfit for Evelyn Gallo based on Evangeline season 2 outfit from wakfu ⭐ ( near finished )

lady echo model from wakfu season 4 ⭐ ( started )

the romance swaps like i did with Ves, Tomira is next and i’ve finished all the new assets ( fancy bun for parties, custom hood,naked body, party outfit ) all that is left to do is making the swaps ✔️

the Play As Iorveth mod that i desesperatly want but i have to actually work on it to have it :’) ( the mod is fuctional but needs a lot of polishing! V.0.2 is now in WIP folder ) ⭐

then the source mods, omg the source mods i want to make so many of them D’:

Cahir ⭐ ( re-re-re-re started from scratch AGAIN )

but there’s all the others:

Essi daven ⭐ ( not started, STARTED  looking forward to do it because i never see her depicted like i imagined her so either i read the book wrong/have bad memory, or it is another ‘rhino’ experience or maybe i just imagined her slightly differently either way it could be fun  )

Eithné ( started )

Lara dorren ⭐ ( near finished )

Cregennan of Lod

Neneke

Jarre ( started kinda, i have a face/hair initially for Cahir that would be better on him

Borch three jackdaw/téa/véa ( started, well i have a start of a tea or vea Hairstyle, that’s it lmao )

Vilgefortz

Tissaia de Vries

Mève of lyria ( based on thronebreaker ) ✔️

Gascon Brossard ⭐ issues with exporting a needed model ⭕

Reynard Odo ⭐

The rats and Ciri as Falka ( started, only mistle hair for now, also have an old falka hairstyle for ciri but it’s wonky )

some female dwarves ( started)

iorveth ( started )

✔️ also started making child Syanna and Annarietta models, maybe i will make more child characters it’s useless but fun ( started but can’t continue due to mesh exporting problems ) ✔️

i probably forgot some and it doesn’t count the new ideas i consistantly get   😂

#twsd.txt #the witcher 3 #the witcher mod #tw3mod #the witcher 3 mod #tw3 mod #Yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #cirilla fiona elen riannon #Ciri of Cintra #Ciri #Cirilla #Triss #Triss merigold

[astaldis]

im enjoying the "Jaskier is curious about the sexual lives of the creatures and cultures of the continent" because he would be, I kinda want more

Nice to hear you enjoyed it! And yes, Jaskier totally would! I wouldn't even rule it out that he'd write a book about it. He might be using an alias though. 😂

Actually I'm a biology teacher in RL, it might not be impossible that I'll write more of the sort one day if there's another inspiring prompt/event. I'll keep it in mind.

#jaskier #2024 02 dragontines smubbles #a lesson in zoology #the witcher fanfiction #borch three jackdaws

[shadowvalkyrie]

Borch Three Jackdaws really took one look at Geralt and went 'isn't anyone going to cheer this sad witcher up with food and sex' and then didn't wait for an answer.

#the witcher #book witcher #I'm not going to shut up about the hot tub foursome anytime soon #bi!Geralt supremacy