g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r

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WHAT COULD’VE BEEN... 11 years after “The Diamond of the Day” (24.12.2012) Merlin returns (in/sp.)

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THIS

Insane Merlin AU

Hear me out, hear me out!

What if, instead of waiting for Albion's moment of greatest need, Merlin brings it upon them?

Like. After years of desperately waiting, Merlin would be like, “Arthur needs a catastrophe to wake up? Well, I'll do one.”

To the point of what if he is the one responsible for the destruction of Camelot?

And Arthur actually comes back then, only to watch in horror how Merlin turned, and it would be up to him to save Merlin this time

Holy shit

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My favourite artist 🥹🥰

Ten lock screen wallpapers for your phone - (2024)

Here they are, just for you guys. I hope you will enjoy them. Thank you so much for enjoying my art for all these years. 💗

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@flootzavut ❤️❤️❤️

I love The Lord of The Rings so have a meme dump of my favourite LOTR memes

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😂😂😂😂😂😂

based on this hilarious post by @homosexual-having-tea.

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This is so ridiculous and hilarious at the same time

I just think he's neat and deserves to have fun

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Rewatched Lotr and I love how tiny Pippin looks when he’s carrying Gandalf’s oversized hat. I relate to Boromir because I too would die for him

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I’ll never not reblog this

Thinking about that thing again

Jaskier and Geralt's time together in Brokilon

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This is everything I wanted and more 😭😭

This, at least, I can do for you

read on Ao3

Geralt is drifting in a haze of pain, too uncomfortable to sleep and too exhausted to be entirely awake. Even when his bruised eyes crack open, the world around him stays vague and unreal, blurry shades of brown and green punctuated occasionally by painful shards of sunlight that glint through the closely curved branches above him. He can feel the warmth of the day on his skin, but it is no comfort. It takes so much effort to focus his eyes, to grunt answers at the dryads that try to speak to him, offering him food or healing, asking him questions that he has no good answers for. It doesn’t seem worth it, for them or for him, and he wishes that they would just give up. He has. Or, he wants to.

Sometimes, like now, it’s blessedly cool and dark, with only the dim, golden glow of a lantern sitting somewhere outside his field of vision. As he floats he tries, for once, not to connect to his body. He already knows about his splintered bones and torn muscles, the inflammation and ripped skin. If he focuses inward, the pain of his injuries is overwhelming. 

Instead, Geralt focuses on the feeling of the smooth, slick leather of Jaskier’s jacket under his palm where he is still holding onto the bard’s wrist. On the warm weight of Jaskier’s hand where it rests on his arm. On the soft pressure of his head leaning into Geralt’s ribs where he’s slumped forward over his own arm with his face smashed into the mattress, sleeping soundly with his mouth wide open and snoring gently. On the sound of his heartbeat, steady and comforting. 

He doesn’t deserve that comfort; he deserves to suffer his failure here alone. But he’s so shamefully grateful for his friend’s presence and care, given freely as it has been for decades now. Jaskier has always been so much more than he deserves.

Suddenly that steady heartbeat lurches and speeds, the bard’s fingers twitching spastically around his arm as his breath comes shallow and fast. Geralt rouses slowly out of the fog, grunting uselessly, and dips his thumb under the cuff of the jacket and the shirt below to rub back and forth over the soft, vulnerable skin on the underside of Jaskier’s wrist as the man whimpers in his sleep. He’s having a nightmare; Geralt can feel the veins and tendons jump as the bard’s right hand clenches and jerks under his loose grip. Geralt swallows painfully, working his dry mouth and throat until his voice finally works. 

“Jask, wake up,” he rasps, then chokes and coughs shallowly, gritting his teeth against the agony radiating from spine with the movement. 

Jaskier jerks again then comes awake with a gasp, flinching away and still breathing too hard as he struggles to focus his eyes in the near-dark and understand the waking world around him. His racing pulse and heaving breaths slow as he slumps forward again with a groan. 

“Geralt. Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m fine,” he mumbles breathlessly, hand fluttering over Geralt’s chest reassuringly. Geralt grunts again, hoping that the noise won’t trigger another coughing fit and discovering the hard way that he’s wrong. His fingers close hard around Jaskier’s wrist, holding on as his body jerks. Jaskier grimaces and fumbles with the other hand at the side of the bed for a waterskin, and brings it to Geralt’s mouth, murmuring soft, soothing words as he drinks then falls back against the pillowy moss, wheezing. The waterskin disappears and Jaskier’s hand returns to gently stroke the hair back from Geralt’s sweat-dampened forehead as they both calm. He loosens his grip, rubbing apologetically with his thumb again.

“There we are. Just breathe slowly. I didn’t mean to startle you, Geralt, I’m alright,” Jaskier says quietly as Geralt finds himself leaning into the bard’s touch. 

“Y’re dreaming,” Geralt grits out into the silence some time later, worried eyes asking the question that his throat can’t manage. Jaskier takes a deep breath in and out before he answers. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “It’s fine, it’s a familiar one; I’m used to it.” 

Geralt just looks at him from under puffy eyelids, frowning. He can feel Jaskier’s right hand curl up tightly. “Firefucker,” he says shortly.

Geralt’s chest clenches. He’s drowning in hopelessness, but this…this small comfort, at least, he can offer Jaskier. He failed in almost every way, but this much he was able to do this to protect his family.

“Rience is dead,” Geralt murmurs hoarsely, his words still thick and indistinct from the swelling in his face, and all of the air in Jaskier’s body seems to rush out in a long shuddering breath. Geralt watches as his face flickers and twitches through a series of complicated expressions before he speaks. 

“Are you sure?” the bard asks quietly in a voice that only barely shakes. His eyes are huge and blue and ringed in terrified white. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I cut his head off myself.” The breath required for so many words is agonizing as it stretches his cracked ribs, but worth it. “But first, Ciri took his fingers,” he adds with satisfaction and pride that almost overrides the twinge of guilt and fear for his daughter. He fumbles clumsily to turn Jaskier’s clenched fist over in his hand and encourages him to relax, tracing gently over the fading scar tissue on the bard’s fingers.

Jaskier makes a noise that might be a laugh or a sob or both, and nods jerkily, clinging to him.  

“Good.” he chokes out fiercely. “Good for her.” Geralt can see the unshed tears welling in his eyes, which turn resolutely down to stare at their hands instead of meeting Geralt’s own. “Thank you,” Jaskier says in a broken whisper, then sits up abruptly and swipes at his eyes, clearing his throat, visibly shoving away the upset. Geralt wishes he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” he half-laughs gruffly, shaking his head, “I don’t know why I…ugh. It’s not about me. I’m glad he won’t be after Ciri anymore. One less monster in the world.” He pats Geralt’s arm briskly.

“Jaskier,” he says softly, and he thinks his brow is furrowed but he can’t be sure, given how battered his face is. His friend’s mouth twists in consternation, and he sighs, rubbing one hand over his face roughly. The other is still held tightly in Geralt’s.

“It’s so stupid,” he speaks with quiet fury into the darkness. “After all, you know better than anyone how much trouble I get myself into. It’s not like I’ve never been in danger before, like I’ve never been–” he grits his teeth, lips twitching, “hurt before.” Jaskier seethes for a moment, breathing hard. Geralt squeezes his hand and rubs soothingly over that thin, delicate skin on the inside of his wrist again, waiting for him to gather his thoughts.

“I hated him, Geralt. I hated how he made me feel,” he says hollowly. “Weak and afraid. Afraid for you. For Ciri. For Yen. He threatened my family. ” Geralt grunts in agreement, head twitching in a nod. He understands that feeling very well, has been overwhelmed by it for what seems like an eternity now.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Jaskier continues with a thread of steel through his voice. He leans forward and locks his gaze with Geralt’s with a sudden fierce intensity, the blue of his eyes blazing in the dim light. “You defeated him, and you will defeat every other evil, cruel, twisted thing that stands in your way, witcher mine. You will heal, you will rise, and you will get her back .” 

His words are so sure, his faith and trust so unshakable that Geralt can’t help but believe him. Tomorrow he’ll accept the waters, accept food, healing, whatever help the dryads can offer him. Tomorrow he’ll try to be as strong as his bard believes him to be.

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@flootzavut his little mouth twisty thing in the first one

Mask on... before it cracked. But nobody is watching. And he has to keep it together for Ciri.

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I don’t have the appropriate jomoji’s to respond with here but just know that I am crypuddle times a million about this bastard man @flootzavut 😂 also ty 🥰

We've been spoiled by him 💜

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#i live there

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THIS

For all of us who are fic writers and belong to the Witcher fandom and the Good Omens fandom… we were well fed but it came at a heavy price. Give us time to collect ourselves from emotional devastation. I need at least two business weeks to process.

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Jaskier seeing Geralt injured.. he started crying and everything 😭

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I am Welsh and to say I absolutely lost my shit when he uttered those two Welsh words is an understatement

@flootzavut can vouch

there are many things i am a fan of joey batey in the witcher for and being the first person to more or less correctly pronounce a welsh word is now one of them

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I am very much interested in reading

Fuck it Friday

Cause you all totally love me for writing the fic in which Geralt has to kill Radovid, I thought I'd share another snippet with you

You can read more here

"Ah," Radovid breathes, a shallow smile on his lips when he says, "So you've come to kill me at last, Witcher." Jaskier snorts, "Yeah right. He certainly is not. Right, Geralt?" But when Jaskier looks up, he isn't met with the expected eye-rolling or with an annoyed grunt. Instead Geralt isn't meeting his eyes. "Geralt?" Jaskier asks, his voice sliding into a too high pitch. The Witcher sighs and then finally looks up and meets his gaze. "I'm sorry, Jaskier." "What?" Jaskier asks in a mix of utter disbelief, shock and betrayal and just stares dumbfoundedly at the Witcher. Then he feels a slender but strong hand on his shoulder. "My love, it's ok." But Jaskier can only frantically shake his head as he tries to make any sense of what's happening. The room rapidly grows blurry and his thoughts spiral and break apart without him being able to catch even one of them. This… This doesn't make sense.. Geralt only kills monsters and monstrous men and Radovid, his sweet gentle prince, he's as far from a monster as any human can be. This surely must be a trick; some magic has to be involved. They need to call for Yen, she'll be able to help them; to lift this…this illusion or curse or whatever it is. Yes, she'll help them. Her name is already forming around his tongue when he hears a soft "Jaskier," whispered into his neck. The warmth of Radovid's lips against his bare shoulder shakes Jaskier out of it and he remembers the pendant Yennefer gave him a moon ago. He reaches for it and desperately clutches it in his fist and his entire body is praying to find it humming with magic that it has detected around them. But there is nothing, just skin warmed dead metal. His stomach lurches at the horror of the realization that this is really happening.

Feel free to yell at me. I'm doing the same

Tagging ppl who might be interested in reading

@alyxmastershipper @robin-not-batman @theresoneicouldcallking @flordefandom @elvensorceress @hippolotamus @panbuckley @the-chiseled-dorito-of-justice @wannastayugly @bringyouruin @shortsighted-owl