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flowercrowngods · 1 year

Note

Suggesting/Requesting Eddie having a crush on the valiant knight Steve Dustin goes on about, not realizing it's Steve "the Hair" Harrington and the way he reacts when he realizes they're the same dude. Cue adjustment period.

hi! first of all thank you for the prompt 🥰 i slipped and kinda decided to take your ‘valiant knight Steve’ quite literally and made this a medieval/regency au with knight steve and bard eddie, kinda enemies to lovers. it totally got out of hand, so this is part 1, with all my apologies to your original prompt 🤍🌷

Eddie smiles as the fields and forest that surround Hawkins come into view, kissed by the early afternoon sun with more affection and richness than the city probably deserves. It looks different this time of year, the green seems deeper than he left it, and nostalgia paints him a picture of glory and welcome that would make any traveller linger at the sight.

He knows it’s only the magic of coming home, the thrill of having been gone so long that he needs to learn his town a-new, and the curiosity of a poet that makes his heart beat faster; but it’s his life’s blood to embrace all of that. So he spurs on his trusty horse to make it home even just a minute sooner.

The people’s reactions to his arrival come in multitudes, though Eddie can respect the healthy dose of mistrust with which they regard him. He has made a name for himself after all, a bard more than a jester these days, but most people don’t tend to forget the pretty face they chased out of the city on multiple occasions.

He lifts his head in greeting as he passes the elderly Wheelers as they’re tending to the flowers lining their windows, and grins with glee at both the disapproving scoff and the wary nod he gets in return.

He’s in good spirits. Great spirits, in fact, the sun shining down on him, welcoming him and lighting familiar paths for him to tread again after years of absence. Hawkins will see his glory, his success, his victory, and it will pale in jealousy and regret. They cannot chase him away this time, not with the title of royal bard and winner of the bardic competition three years in a row.

If his travels have taught him anything, it’s that he is pettiness acts as a wonderful motivation.

Of course, he shall also see his friends again. One of his saddlebags is half full with their letters that have accumulated over the years, all of which Eddie has kept for reasons of muse and a heart entirely too soft for his own good.

Most of all, though, even more than proving his worth and success to his city and its people, it is curiosity that brings him home.

Dustin and his friends have been mentioning a most valiant knight, waxing poetic about his glorious deeds and his kinder heart — or, as poetic as they get, which is hardly at all. Which consequently made Eddie write no less than five ballads about the stories they told him, three of which have made it into songs yet, one of which he was made to play in every tavern on his long journey back to Hawkins and to Princess Nancy herself on more than one occasion.

The Knightmærs, as he calls his little collection of poeterey, his pride and joy about a man he has yet to meet. Tales about maidens saved and brothers defeated, hearts stolen and retrieved with the gentlest gestures, and children protected against the evils of night, expecting naught but friendship. And friendship he got.

If Eddie’s heart picks up yet another notch at the thought of meeting this knight as the familiar city walls tower before him, he allows it for a second before announcing himself to the guards. They looked wary upon his approach and blanch now as they hear his name; Eddie does not hide his laughter this time and preens as he is told to ride on.

“Oh, Hawkins, old friend,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to hide his smile. “You and I shall have so much fun, shan’t we?”

~*~

He barely makes it to the home he has been sharing with his uncle since the ripe age of twelve with minimal fuss, unsaddling his horse and guiding her to the trough, when he hears it.

“Eddie!”

Halting in his motions the currycomb, he looks up from the rusty brown that shines red like embers in the sun and spots Dustin racing down the street towards him.

He lowers the comb and steps around his horse, grinning at his rapidly approaching friend.

“Why, good day to you, young traveller, what brings you to my humble abode?”

Dustin doesn’t falter in his approach, doesn’t even slow down, and Eddie braces himself for impact. Years of experience have made him quite practiced in handling tackle-hugs, but Dustin has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, and they both stumble backwards when Dustin’s arms wrap around Eddie in a way that seems to press all air out of his lungs. Eddie laughs as he hugs his friend back with as much ferocity.

“I’ve missed you! I was writing to you this morning when I remembered you said you’d come this week. I didn’t think it would be today!”

“I came as soon as I could. Such is the Munson way, or did you forget?”

Dustin shakes his head and finally lets go, though Eddie yearns for another hug. It’s been too long. The boy has grown. He’s hardly a boy anymore, though he shall always remain as such in Eddie’s heart. He smiles and ruffles Dustin’s locks, realising with a pang that they’re almost of a height now.

An ache like homesickness settles in his gut and wears on his heart heavily.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smoothing out the curls he’s put in disarray. “It’s just been too long. And I’ve missed you, too. You’ve grown quite a bit since last we talked.”

“I have!” And he looks so proud of it, too, preening a little under Eddie’s faux scrutiny, and it’s what makes him pull Dustin against his chest again.

Eddie continues taking care of his horse, feeding her, combing through her mane, making sure she has as much comfort as he can provide after their long days of travel. Dustin sits on the fence and watches him tend to her, feeding her the occasional apple when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. He hides his smile and pretends not to see.

God, but he has missed his friend.

Their twosomeness is rudely and entirely too quickly interrupted by Lord Harrington of all people, who hurries down the street in search of Dustin.

Eddie never did like the lord and his pompous appearance coupled with his rude personality. He always acted like a prince among men, subject to many a jest in Eddie’s younger days. On one memorable occasion, Eddie managed to steal the lord’s clothes and swap them with his own, making him walk about in linen rags and torn-up trousers.

Days later, all of his lute strings ripped just as he was getting ready to play at the tavern, and he never messed with Harrington again — even though there was a parcel three days later with new lute strings and his old clothes he had made the lord wear. No note attached to it, because Lords didn’t stoop down to converse with lowly peasants even for revenge.

So, seeing Harrington now on the very first day of his being back, it sours Eddie’s face and his humour.

“Why, Lord Harrington,” he speaks before the man can get a word in. “To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you here? Have you suffered a fall from grace yet, or was it a hit in the head that left you disoriented, bringing you to my humble abode?”

Harrington frowns at him, though Eddie deems to detect confusion more than distaste.

And then he has the audacity of not even answering to Eddie’s ruse, simply ignoring him and instead turning around to Dustin.

“Dustin, Master Clarke is expecting you. I will not cover for you once more.”

“But—“

“Spare me,” Harrington says, hands on his hips now, and Eddie is starting to feel defensive over Dustin. How dare his lordship come and steal his best friend away when he hasn’t even been home for an hour yet?

Before he can get so much as a word in, however, Dustin is already jumping from his perch on the fence and trudging towards Harrington, rounding the man and leading the way up the hill towards the castle.

“I’ll come back later, Eddie,” Dustin says over his shoulder, and then he is gone, rounded the corner, out of his sight.

Harrington, however, lingers. Eddie raises his eyebrows in question and challenge, and the Lord scoffs a little. It’s like he wants to say something — but what could it be? What could Lord Harrington have to say to him, years after they last saw each other?

He does look stunning, Eddie has to admit with a grudge against his self and his integrity. The golden light of the afternoon sun catches in his hair, likening it to strands of gold that kings and queens pay alchemists across the world to procure. Eddie, for a moment, feels like he has found it in Lord Harrington’s hair and the skin of his face, but he quickly snaps out of it, cutting off that particular train of thought before it can run away form him.

“I hear you are a bard of great renown these days.”

The words catch him off his guard, for Eddie was sure that the Lord would not attempt to converse. Yet it seems that propriety still has a tight grip on him.

Does Harrington like his ballads, his plays, his poetry and sonnets? Has he heard them? Or has he heard of them? Has word travelled across the countries, telling of Eddie the Bard and his brave-hearted muse his soul yearns for and his quill bleeds for?

Eddie is not sure which option thrills him more, but whichever one it is, it makes him smile, feeling quite bashful and yet proud.

“So you hear,” he says, approaching the stiff Lord. “What exactly is it that you hear, my Lord?”

He swallows, following Eddie’s steps with his eyes, turning his head when the bard circles him slowly. “I hear you sing of beasts slain and brothers banished, a knight at the heart of your ballads.” Eddie smiles at that, knowing that Harrington has at least heard of two of his Knightmærs. I hear it sounds like mockery, the knight but an object of your hyperbolic fascination and flowery imagination, his pain and bravery nothing to you.”

He stops dead in his tracks, his feet planted right before Harrington. The Lord looks like he is taking personal offence to his works, and it irritates the bard.

“And what, Lord Harrington, would you know of fascination, pain and bravery? I cannot imagine you have faced a lot of hardship in your life, and the only acts of bravery you had to chance upon were mislead in the name of false honour.”

“False honour,” Harrington repeats, his words like poison, sharp and dangerous as the sword’s blade at his hip. “You would know something about that, I imagine, telling stories of which you have no idea. Immortalising glory where there should be sympathy.”

Eddie studies him, the frown between his brows, the hard line of his jaw, set and calmed to keep more words from spilling. Imposing, this Lord is. A sight for sore eyes even in his purely misplaced anger.

Eddie huffs, his eyes travelling between the Lord’s where they are standing so impossibly close.

“Sympathy,” he repeats. “Nobody, my Lord, wants a ballad of sympathy. It is glory that the people seek!” He steps back from Harrington, gesturing with his arms as he dramatically recounts the lessons he has learned over the years, passionate for his craft. “Glory, heroism, heartbreak and love! Yearning and longing and deeds of an aching heart, that is what the people want to hear. That is what deserves to be immortalised in art, in poetry, in song! I shall forgive you for being so painfully unaware of this, my Lord, but I shall not stand to be in your company much longer, calling my work lacking or a mockery when it is borne out of nothing but loyalty, fascination and love.”

They are close again, because Harrington did not step back when Eddie approached him once more, his feet planted like a tree, fierce and strong and unbudging.

It is intoxicating, though Eddie blames half of it on the passion and the rage, on the bravery that possessed him to send the Lord away, or the fierceness with which he came to his muse’s defence.

Harrington swallows again, his eyes wandering over Eddie’s face once more, lingering at his lips, both their jaws set in determination and perhaps a sudden tension.

“Forgive me for insulting you with my company,” he speaks at last, his voice nothing but a rasp. “You will find there is an irony to your words soon. I shall not rob you of that discovery. I ask you do not take it out on our mutual friends when you do, Munson.”

And with one last glance, Harrington turns on his heel and hurries up the hill, too, leaving Eddie puzzled and quite dazed upon the lingering warmth of their close proximity.

When did Harrington become so handsome? There was a fire in his eyes that Eddie got to witness for just the blink of an eye, but he wonders where that comes from, what it means, and what other secrets he holds.

Perhaps, if he cannot meet his muse, the knight Dustin has only ever referred to as Steve, Harrington might serve to inspire a ballad or two himself.

~*~

Harrington catches his eyes on more than one occasion over the next days. Eddie is invited to the castle to play for Princess Chrissy, though she greets him like an old friend and makes him sit close to her at the banquet. Right beside Harrington, who merely nods at Eddie, his fists clenched as Chrissy asks the bard about one of his ballads — the one about the valiant knight slaying a horde of monsters to keep the kingdom’s children safe.

The Lord must really hate Eddie’s work. It fills him with spiteful glee, for some reason, and he makes sure to play and recite all of his Knightmærs that night. Harrington excuses himself when Eddie hasn’t even made it halfway through his songs, and he doesn’t return that night.

He takes personal offence now and vows to make the Lord’s life as difficult as he can.

But still there is no sign of Steve.

Eddie is starting to get frustrated.

He was supposed to be here, stand tall and proud with a smile on his face upon seeing Eddie, sweep him off his feet, make him swoon, dare Eddie to fall in love with the face long after the name.

His mood is sour, and only sours further when Harrington rounds the corner and stumbles upon Eddie who is tuning his lute for tonight’s banquet. The annual royal tournament is set for the next morning, so everyone is in a good mood.

Well, everyone except Eddie. And Lord Harrington, by the look on his face.

“Munson,” he says, straightening before he bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, I was looking for some quiet. I shall look somewhere else.”

And, somehow, that is enough to snap his patience that was already wearing thin. “Why can you not stand being in my presence, sir?” he asks, rising from his seat. “Does it disgust you so to be around mere peasants?”

Harrington looks taken aback, shock and confusion clear on his face before a frown takes its place and washes away all further emotions.

“It is not your presence that bothers me, nor the nature of your birth.”

“And yet you leave every time I so much as strum a tune, Lord Harrington, ready to throw both caution and propriety to the winds. Leaving me to wonder what it is that I have done to deserve such treatment.”

Eddie finds himself walking closer and closer to the Lord, coming to a stop not one foot before him. He is drawn in by his presence, his charm as alluring as his cold silence. Everything about Lord Harrington intrigues him, horrified as he is to admit it. But with Steve not around to catch his eye and captivate his heart and mind alike, he simply has to find inspiration elsewhere.

And the way Harrington’s face is taken over by a dangerous expression is the most inspiring, alluring thing he has seen in a while, even though it is directed at him.

“How can you have the audacity to feign confusion over my disdain, bard,” he hisses, and Eddie shivers slightly. Harrington does not even have the sense to step back, staying right where he is, so close, so improper. “How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own, singing songs and telling stories, making into nothing but a jaunty tale recited by drunkards with no regard to the blood it was written in.”

Eddie blinks, not quite catching up with the point Harrington is making.

“What—“

“You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.”

Lord Harrington speaks to him as though he takes offence at the content of Eddie’s ballads, offence at the reality of their background. But what right does he have to take offence when his songs are based on heroic deeds, recounted to him first hand by his very best friend. What right does Harrington have to question the truth behind them?

“If it is a matter of truth that concerns you, let me reassure you, my Lord, that all of my ballads are based on true events. I ask that you do not call me a liar, no matter how great your dislike of my craft.”

“It is not a liar that I call you, but rather a thief.”

Eddie gasps, offended now. “What do you suggest I have stolen, then?”

“A person’s right to their own story. To their own nightmares. A man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.”

“How dare you call his deeds horrific,” Eddie hisses now, feeling protective over his knight. “How dare you accuse me of ill intent when every word out of my quill is written with nothing but love and admiration.”

“For whom?” Harrington challenges, disdainful and cold. “Only for yourself, your vanity, your overgrown sense of artistic ambition.”

“No,” he shakes his head, hands clenched into fists as he finds himself incredibly close to Lord Harrington, their faces only inches apart now. “It is love for this person I have never met, whom my dear friend has told me about. A man who has kept me awake at night as I was pouring over letter after letter, hoping he should be well. It is a love so strong it has to be turned into art, into song, love that should be sung in every voice of the kingdom.” He scoffs, stepping back to catch his breath. “I do not expect you to know such a love when all you have in your cold heart is disdain for all things beautiful. You would never know bravery if it looked you in the face, you would never know love if it was the very fabric that makes this world. It would slip through your fingers, my Lord, for you would be busy yearning for the day your life found its meaning.”

He is seething, heaving breaths, out of control over the words tumbling out of his mouth. Insulted in his pride and his muse, offended, hurt. Confused, still, as to why the Lord hates his songs with such vigour.

“Is that your opinion of me?” Harrington whispers, though even in that toneless voice of his lies so much that Eddie cannot begin to decipher.

“Yes,” he whispers back, the fight leaving him now, the very air sucked out of the room they share. “I believe I made that clear just now.”

Harrington takes one step closer once more, but Eddie does not budge.

“Then I suggest you forget that knight of yours,” he says, quiet and final. “And forget the idea you have of love. To love someone is not to turn his nightmares into song. To love someone is not to look him in the eye and insult his very existence even further. You love yourself, your craft, your mind. But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.”

Eddie huffs, just barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “And what makes you so sure of that, Lord Harrington?”

A smile twitches his lips, though there is no mirth, no glee. “You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.” He takes a step back and evades Eddie’s eyes. “I believe you should return to the fest now. Good night.”

And with that, he turns around and leaves.

Eddie finds himself rooted to the ground, air returning to the room now but still he is unable to catch his breath, staring ahead as he is.

Words echo in his mind as the picture paints itself and a horrible, horrible realisation dawns on him.

You will find there is an irony to your words soon.

How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own?

But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.

You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.

But… There is no way. There is no way that Dustin’s friend, Dustin’s knight and protector, his saviour, Steve, should be the same as Lord Harrington with his careful, quiet, disdainfully quirked eyebrow.

Except, Lord Harrington collected Dustin from Eddie’s home, speaking with him in a tone filled with such familiarity, they cannot be mistaken as anything but friends.

And Lord Harrington had listened with such rapt attention when Eddie played his jaunty tunes and the well-known classics at the banquet days ago, looking like he enjoyed Eddie’s play. His face had only soured when people started requesting his newer original songs, his fists clenched upon the opening chords of The Knight and His Nightmare, leaving the hall altogether when people requested more.

You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean.

Eddie’s heart falls when he realises what he has done. How blind he was to the frowns and the tension, how deaf to the hints and insinuations, how ignorant he was of the pain he inflicted on Lord Harrington. Lord Steven Harrington. Steve.

His Steve. And yet not his at all.

He falls back onto the bench, dazed, as the weight of his realisation settles inside his chest.

onwards to part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #honey i’m so sorry you gave me a rather clear prompt and i went and disrespected it but i hope this is fine too??#this is also the part where we remember i’m german and am using this language like lego bricks on a playmobil set #dio words #this wasnt meant to be so dramatic but uh. apparently i write miscommunication tropes now. pride&prejudice made me do it #i am planning on a part 2 but i do not control the brain #knight!steve harrington #bard!eddie munson #bard/knight

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zydrateacademy · 9 months

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Current Activities in Baldur's Gate #4

Somewhat minor, teammate based spoilers to come. No big story moment, just... a mistake.

So today I spent on a new version of Sinji (my bard/rogue golden gal) specifically for multiplayer so my brother and I could play. He's got his own solo venture, I have my... dozen or so. So we're just experiencing the game together. He basically just got started and it didn't take us long to exceed his own experience. He's an "along for the ride" kind of people, just following me along and not really going off to do his own thing. He's not ruining any story beats but just letting my high charisma bard/rogue go through most situations with some exceptions.

Like knowing what was in the... 'barn'. You know the one. There's an interrupt there specific to barbarians that to my own knowledge is the only way to end the encounter without combat. Thought it was funny. He's also the one that took down the door at Waukeen's Rest when Karlach failed her roll.

Anyway my point is he's just on a rollercoaster as I fulfull a sort of order of operations in act 1 given some of my meta knowledge of events. My order is usually: 1) Get Shadowheart. 2) Get Astarion. 3) Get Lae'zel/Gale, choose my mid-term term from there. 4) Go get Withers. 5) Do the grove entry combat encounter. 5a) Do some basic puddling around the grove, sell junk, get money. 6) Respec one partymember to fulfill a proper roll. 7) Send Wyll to camp. 8) Get Karlach

And that's when my priorities can splinter a bit depending on the kind of character I'm doing. Most of the time it's clearing out gnolls, playing nice with that thieves guild so I can go buy those sleight of hand advantage gloves. My future spellcasters may not prioritize that as much.

Even all this time I've spent in the first act I've still discovered new things, like a dapper little bard hat on the beach not far from where you pick Shadowheart up.

Yeah, that's a completely new item to me.

Anyway, my method of playing has put a lot of typical scenes on long rest in a fairly long queue. Wyll/Karlach after TWO long rests still haven't had their scene together so Wyll can reconcile with her and subsequently get punished for it.

Anyway there's a sequence that was in Early Access, and probably still is there. When Astarion tries to bite you for the first time and you can kind of choose what to do. Feed him, fight him, tell him he can stay but not become his juicebox. Anyway I wanted to see my character shake his stick at him again like I remember because it was funny... but I passed the skill check and instead of fighting him off she went for an immediate staking. Blood and all, he just falls over and that's the fucking end of him.

My brother and I were so goddamn shocked. Withers doesn't have the option to bring him back for some reason. Got a unique sequence of using Speak With Dead on him. It was so insane, did not expect immediate staking.

I didn't necessarily plan on using him in the party, my bard/rogue takes the party's role as the rogue so I wasn't worried about that aspect. I was so shocked at the events I completely forgot there was a roll at all, I was so distracted. I was expecting the stick-shakey scene!

My brother will just have to explore Astarion's plotline on his own save. Big whoops!

Sorry dude!

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #gaming #pc gaming #larian studios

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

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72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

Request a prompt

#havenwrites #the witcher #wiedzmin #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher geralt #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #dandelion x geralt #geralt/dandelion #request open

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

Thicker Than Water (Part 4)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (here) Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

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He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

Jaskier made it through the next day. He ate a little of the food Ciri offered him, only because when he tried to decline the first time her eyes got large and her bottom lip showed just the barest hint of a tremble. He couldn’t bear it. The dry horse bread that was usual for traveling rations crumbled in his mouth. He was so hungry, it was one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to even unsling his lute from his shoulder during their trek. His fingers itched to play, of course. He continued his story for Ciri and in his mind he played music for the background, he just couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell his lute in this next town, but before they reached Kaer Morhen he would have to. It would give them money, and he wouldn’t be a burden. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and continued telling Ciri the story.

He noticed a bit before mid day that Geralt was watching him. That wasn’t out of sorts, of course. Yennefer and Ciri were watching him too, he was an excellent storyteller and the tale was enthralling. Geralt didn’t seem to be paying attention to the story though. He was staring-- glowering--brow low and furrowed, at Jaskier.

Jaskier felt hurt lance through him and he almost staggered, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. He knew Geralt didn’t want him along, didn’t want him at all, but he couldn’t even pretend? He couldn’t go back to their relationship before? Not the warm, almost companionable silences that had been nurtured between them, but the grunts and stone faced silence of the beginning of their acquaintance.

Jaskier breathed through the pain in his chest. Twenty years of silences, all kinds of them, stony and friendly and sleepy and painful and quietly nice. But they were back to the beginning, or worse, Geralt angry and Jaskier’s voice filling in places it didn’t belong.

“Jaskier?”

That was Ciri, and Jaskier realized that he’d actually trailed off mid-sentence.

“Sorry little highness,” he smiled and gave a funny little bow. “I’m but a simple entertainer, a poet and a fool, sometimes my mind runs away from me.”

“Fool is right,” Yennefer snorted. It wasn’t totally unkind, but it still stung. It stung even more when Geralt, so taciturn all day, snorted with laughter at her comment. Jaskier felt his ears burn and his chest ache.

“Now, where was I?”

“The king’s son met the North Wind,” Ciri said, matching Jaskier’s steps. “And he has to beat him in a game of wit to gain knowledge of where the sorcerer’s daughter was taken, that’s what you said, but you didn’t tell us what game yet.”

At least someone treasured his words, Jaskier thought. Although they weren’t worth much, he threw one out after the other.

Like garbage, whispered the back of his mind.

“Ah yes,” he said instead. “the North Wind sat before the king’s son, and laid out a chess set made of ice and wind.”

“How can chess pieces be made of wind?”

Jaskier smiled, Ciri asked questions at all the right places. “The North Wind wanders, he goes everywhere, blowing cold breath across The Continent. When the North Wind is present and we breath our breath can be seen.” Jaskier smiled here and added an aside, “My little sister used to call it dragon smoke. But by the same magic that gives the North Wind a body to walk the world, he can take our frozen breath and turn it cold and solid as glass.”

Jaskier let himself tell the story on autopilot. His feet ached. He’d been darning the socks he was wearing for a year or more, but he wasn’t good at it and the lumps were rubbing his toes raw. Worse than that, the soles of his boots were almost worn through. Just one more thing he’d have to buy.

He felt ashamed of himself. His boots had been going thin for a while, and instead of saving his coin and getting them repaired or just buying new ones, he’d drowned himself in drink, feeling sorry. Oh, he hadn’t known he would be making a trip up a mountain, but he needed boots regardless. No wonder Geralt had always been upset with him, he always put pleasure over sense, couldn’t even spend coin sensibly.

Couldn’t darn socks, couldn’t budget his coin, couldn’t shut up. A fool.

He stumbled on a tree root and nearly swore. Couldn’t even walk right. One of the blisters building on his foot had burst, he was sure. It was easy to tell, the pain had gone from a rubbing ache to stinging and warm. Only years of practice and performance kept him from interrupting the story.

Something must have shown on his face though, or his scent changed or whatever because Geralt was staring at him intently. That face, always so unreadable.

Jaskier wasn’t going to give him anything else to scowl about. He kept walking, keeping the story rolling and his voice light. His bones ached. He had to stop for just a moment when a button, long past hanging loosely on his doublet, finally pulled free. He picked it up and the head rush nearly took him to the ground. He’d eaten little, slept poorly, and the only food he’d had in a long time before this was ale. He blinked the grey from his vision, trying not to let the panic show when it didn’t go away as quickly as he’d have liked.

It was okay. It was all going to be okay. They’d make it to the village by nightfall. They wouldn’t sleep there of course but he could get proper food. Maybe even slip away and catch a quick nap in a stable or hayloft or something. His whole body was buzzing with a sort of exhausted energy and his heart was pounding.

Jaskier reflected that he hadn’t been well before meeting up with Geralt and his little family. He’d been sick with drink and heartache and had not enough food then too.

Smile through the pain.

This wasn’t even bad as performances could go. Once he’d actually broken a finger just before a set at Oxenfurt. Simple clumsiness, he’d closed his index finger in a door, but he’d played his whole set, with a perfect score from his professor.

It grew darker, the sun just setting when they reached a field at the edge of the town. It was a large open field and, in warmer months, it was likely home to fairs and large market days. Probably in these rural areas people traveled for a week to bring their goods and livestock to this town. It didn’t matter now, mid autumn settling into late autumn. To Jaskier the town was nameless.

They set up camp in the field. It left them exposed to being seen, but they hid themselves behind a small rise on the edge of the field, blocking them mostly from sight. Still, Geralt seemed on edge. Jaskier wasn’t sure it was about the camp. Geralt kept looking over at him with his eyebrows pressed together. Whenever he did that it formed this little crease right between his brows that Jaskier wanted to kiss away.

Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to focus on anything other than that.

The three of them sat, too tired to talk much more. Jaskier had finished most of the story and decided to leave the rest for the next day they were traveling a lot, to give Ciri something else to think about. She was definitely Calanthe’s blood. They traveled all day and she never complained, but also told them when she needed to stop, advocating for herself in no uncertain terms. It was the princess herself who interrupted his thoughts.

“You said you had a sister, do you have lots of siblings?”

“Not really,” Jaskier said, settling down on the ground and feeling his bones pop. His blisters were definitely bleeding inside his boots too. “Two older brothers, Henrik and Teodor, and I had a younger sister, Lotte.”

“Had?”

“She was sickly, always too small for her age,” Jaskier said quietly. “I learned the lute for her, at first. She liked music and was often bedridden. A fever took her when she was about your age.” Jaskier looked down at his battered boots.

“I’m sorry,” Ciri whispered.

“It’s allright little highness, it’s been almost thirty years now. Time flies.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Geralt said. It was growly, but Geralt always used that tone.

“You never really asked.”

Dinner was a quiet affair. Jaskier ate the last of the rations in his pack, waving away Ciri’s offerings and showing her his food as proof that he had some. It didn’t really settle the hunger that had been eating him from the inside out all day, but at this point he figured he could eat a mountain and still have room for dessert.

“Tomorrow,” Geralt said gruffly once dinner was cleared away. “We don’t all enter the town as a group. Yen and Ciri go together. I go alone. Jaskier goes alone.”

Jaskier nodded, so did Ciri and Yennefer.

“If we see eachother, act as though we don’t know eachother,” Geralt said, then he turned his gaze on Jaskier. “Don’t attract too much attention.”

Jaskier bristled at getting his own private reprimand. “I’m a bard, Geralt,” he said. “How am I supposed to earn coin if I don’t play.”

Geralt grunted. “I didn’t say don’t play just no... don’t do the whole...” he gestured a vauge hand.

“The whole...me?” Jaskier said sarcastically. He was pulling at the lion’s tail he knew, but he was in pain and tired and hungry and Geralt had no right to be so cruel.

“The whole bright colors, loud and annoying thing. Country bard, not court bard, got it?”

Loud and annoying.

“Got it,” Jaskier said, looking back down at his boots. He didn’t say that none of his clothes could have passed for courtly anymore anyway.

They set about getting ready for bed. Ciri gave him a quick hug before she and Yennefer disappeared into their magical tent. Jaskier sat and pulled off his boots, not letting a single flicker of pain show on his face. He knew Geralt would be able to smell blood, but Geralt had gone to get water from the nearby river. He had to peel his socks off and yes, there was blood there, by now stuck into the threadbare fabric. He let himself wince then. He rinsed off the wounds but he was without bandages, so he just dried off the area and put his other pair of socks on. He only had the two pairs anyway, but at least the blisters would stay dry.

He rolled himself into his bedroll and thought of tomorrow. At least there were no tree roots here.

The next day dawned slowly, instead of bright pinks and oranges it was a kind of runny yellow that just leeched into the sky before fading into early morning blue. Jaskier watched in admiration as Yennefer changed Geralt’s hair to short and dark, and then gave herself brown eyes and a slightly different bone structure. To look at both of them was odd, because Jaskier could see the similarities. Yennefer’s nose was changed and her cheekbones were a little different, but it was still her, and Geralt just looked like a different, although quite handsome, version of himself. Ciri was simply given mousy brown hair and some extra freckles.

Just like that, the perfect and all powerful family looked like two normal people and one witcher who was still clearly a witcher but not the white wolf. Jaskier shouldered his lute. He’d cleaned up the scruff he’d been growing into a more respectable look and with his longer hair and tatty cloak he looked like any poor traveling musician. If he’d traded the lute for a shortbow he could have looked like a woodsman, totally nondescript.

He was entering from a different direction, so as not to arouse suspicion, and so was Geralt. Jaskier began walking around, so that he could enter from the east. Yen and Ciri would walk into town the closest direction, and Geralt was entering from the west. This early, it was unlikely they would have been seen all together.

Jaskier made his way to the eastern edge of the town and walked in, scanning the streets. If this were a farm people would be up and awake long before now, farmers wake well before dawn, but this was a town, and so few people wandered the streets. Shop keepers were just beginning to open up. Jaskier bought a couple pears, slightly overripe but cheaper because of it, off of a fruit seller and had breakfast. He tried to lock into his mind all the shops around so he could find his supplies easiest later.

His mind was resisting him though. In spite of the softer ground, Jaskier had still slept badly last night. His body ached and he wished he could find somewhere warm to lay for an hour or two. Instead he found the well.

As wells should be, this one was right in the center of town. He set down his lute case beside it, tuned his lovely lady, and began to play.

In his very first few months after leaving Oxenfurt he had learned this trick, and used it often. If you get into a town early, play at the well. People get their water first thing in the morning and there you are.

A few young women with yokes and buckets smiled at him and he nodded in return. The day brightened a little further as the sun crept above the buildings and more people came to gather in the town square. They weren’t there to hear Jaskier, not at first, most of them came for water, or to chat with neighbors, or discuss business. Many of them gathered around him though.

Coins clattered into the case. Mostly coppers, but in a little town like this that was quite normal.

“As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed, A sudden strange fancy came into her head. "Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove, I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love,” he sang.

“So early next morning she softly arose, And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes. She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown, And went for a soldier to fair Rinde Town.”

Sweet Polly Oliver was one of his favorites, a simple country song about a girl and her lover in wartime. This town was far enough north that with luck Nilfgaard wouldn’t attack, but the anxiety threatened.

Jaskier gave a good performance, perhaps not his best, but he was tired and cold and the flagstones beneath his feet were very hard. He danced about, playing sweet folk songs and jigs and reels, delighting in the people who swept up and danced along. Still, though, he felt his feet bleeding inside his boots. He played from just after dawn until perhaps an hour after noon before bowing away and taking his coin.

He’d done better than he’d expected, but there wasn’t nearly enough coin for all the things he’d need for Kaer Morhen, and extra food to help Geralt and Ciri. He’d buy what he needed now, and they’d stop again in Ard Carraigh before the keep. He’d sell his lute there, it was a large city, and he’d get a good price. The thought still made him ache, though.

It wasn’t just his emotions causing him pain, he realised. The aches he’d been experiencing were in his chest lately, and both physical and emotional. He just needed more rest.

Jaskier slipped through back alleys and bent streets. He’d seen a stable on his way into town. He stepped in quietly, startling a stable hand, no more than a boy, who’d been quietly talking to a horse.

“You’re the bard,” he said. “Saw you in the square jus’ this morning.”

“That’s right,” Jaskier said, bowing a little. “I’m afraid I’ll be moving on this evening and--”

“And you want to have a kip in the stables,” said the boy. “Yeah lots o’ musicians and peddlers do that. Rule is though, I got to get a coin off ‘em first as payment. I’m sorry, but I get a beating if’n I don’t.”

“No worries,” Jaskier said, he’d expected as much. He handed the boy two copper coins. “There’s pay, won’t have you getting beaten for my sake, the second coin is to wake me in two hours.”

The boy gave him a lopsided grin. “You got it sir, thanks.”

Jaskier snuggled up in the hay loft. He’d often done it, it was pretty common, if you couldn’t buy a stay at an inn or especially if you just needed a ‘kip’ as the boy had said, during the day. He’d slept in haystacks once in a while on the road too. They were sort of comfortable and surprisingly warm and, best of all, robbers didn’t get you if you kept yourself mostly under the hay.

The scent of hay and oats and horses lulled him to sleep.

He dreamed about haystacks. For some reason Roach was in the haystack with him. Geralt and Ciri too, even Yennefer. It was a crowded haystack indeed, and it grew smaller and smaller until Jaskier had to leave it and sleep on the ground so that the others weren’t squished.

He awoke to the stable boy nudging him.

“Pardon me mister,” he said. “But it’s been two hours.”

Jaskier thanked him and brushed off his clothes.

The shops were doing a good trade this afternoon and he’d be sure to be a face in the crowd. He bought a small cooking pot and plenty of ground oats and barley for porridge at one shop. They were light to carry and owner packaged them nicely, first in one cheap, cloth drawstring bag, and then in another such bag, but with the drawstring on a different side, so he was unlikely to lose food.

In another stall he bought plenty of nuts, walnuts were cheap here and would keep well. Good for traveling and they had protein. Some dried jerky, dried peas, and dried lentils finished his food shopping, and also most of his coin.

It was three days to Ard Carraigh, another week to trek up to the keep. The food would sustain him for that long, and they’d probably just pool their food to make sure everyone was fed. Still, he wasn’t being a burden, not too much.

He couldn’t afford new boots, gloves, or a cloak right now, but with the last of his coin he bought a new pair of thick, warm socks, a small roll of bandages, and a couple pieces of candied ginger in a little paper twist. He tucked them all away and left the town, disappearing back to the field and their little camp well before the sun set.

Jaskier’s heart sunk to see that he was the last to arrive. Everything was packed up, they couldn’t risk staying in the same place two nights in a row. Geralt grunted at him, but didn’t unleash any thoughts on Jaskier being a burden, so he counted himself lucky.

He hung his head a little at having delayed their parting and trekked after the perfect little family, his pack much heavier than it had been. Ciri slid her hand into his and they walked on in silence. The hand was nice though.

In an odd way, it hurt, too. He wasn’t part of the family, so he didn’t really deserve this, but it was painfully good to have just a taste of being wanted.

What would happen, he wondered, when the winter was over. He was a danger to Geralt and Ciri if Nilfgaard found him. He wasn’t wanted by Geralt at all. Jaskier was reminded once again that it would be so much easier for Geralt to kill him, or for Yennefer to wipe his memory. Maybe he could fake his death to get Nilfgaard of his trail.

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked. “How did you become a bard?”

Jaskier looked down at her, maudlin thoughts interuppted. “Oh, well, it’s not as though you have to register, you just become one. Walking into an inn and saying ‘let me play for you pretty please I need food’ is a good start.”

“No,” Ciri giggled. “I meant, you said you learned the lute for your sister, but you write your own music and stuff too.”

“Oh, well, anyone can write music if they have an instrument and a good enough memory,” Jaskier said. “Indeed, many of the greatest bards had little education at all, I, however, studied at Oxenfurt.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sometimes. It was school, and some parts were dull but I learned much.”

“I heard some of the maids giggling once about a young scholar who’d come to stay with us,” Ciri said, matter of factly. “He was always in the library and was kind of snooty with me when I asked questions, but the maids were saying he certainly had a lot of ‘carnal knowledge’. Did you study that too?”

Jaskier was choking on thin air.

“I, um, no it was more of a hobby,” Jaskier said before his head could catch up with his mouth. “Little Highness, I suspect you weren’t supposed to hear that conversation, and no, I studied the seven liberal arts.”

“So it was about sex, I was never sure,” Ciri said.

Jaskier coughed awkwardly. “Yes, princess.”

“It’s okay, I know about that stuff, Grandmother explained it.”

Jaskier let out a breath, at least he wouldn’t have to be the one to explain anything to her.

“When you went to school were you scared to leave your family?” Ciri asked.

“No, pet, I was excited to go,” he wasn’t about to get into all his trauma with her, she had enough of her own, poor thing. “I couldn’t wait to learn about music and poetry.”

“Grandmother said all poets were silly romantics and dreamers, but I think that sounds nice. Do you have a moose?”

“A what?”

“I read it in a book, a moose, somebody you love and you write about it.”

“Oh, that’s one of the trickier words Ciri, it’s said ‘muse’, and yes, I had one or two.”

“Only one or two? In the book the poet had hundreds,” Ciri sounded almost disappointed.

“I only ever needed one,” Jaskier said quietly. “One that mattered anyway.”

“And your Countess still left you,” Geralt said, rather coldly. He was doing his annoyed face and Jaskier could have kicked himself. He’d been talking too much. The reminder that the Countess de Stael had left him too hurt, but Jaskier wasn’t going to risk Geralt’s ire to say that she wasn’t the muse he was talking about. That was maybe something he should keep to himself.

“Do muses often leave?” Ciri asked, wide eyed. “If somebody was writing me poetry I wouldn’t want to.”

“No, usually the poet does the leaving,” Jaskier said. “After his muse asks him to go. There’s a shelf life on a bard, you know. We only have so many stories and songs before we’re used up and no one wants us around anymore. That’s when we move along.”

“I’ll hear your stories again and again,” Ciri said. “I won’t ask you to go.”

Jaskier’s heart curled up and whimpered inside his chest. He’d have to go sooner or later, he’d have to leave her. Geralt would get sick of him, too sick to bear even for Ciri’s sake. Or Jaskier would just have to leave of his own volition, lest he shovel shit into her life too.

If he could give her life one blessing...

“This’ll do for a campsite,” Geralt said. It was a tiny, clear area. Jaskier almost groaned. It was surrounded by oak trees, with dropped acorns that would dig into his bedroll and mottle his back with bruises come morning. He’d had a good rest in town, though, so another bad night of sleep wouldn’t be too bad, he told himself.

The others had eaten in town. Jaskier said he had too, so he wouldn’t waste rations. He had plenty, but strangely, he wasn’t so hungry lately. Anyway, always best to save.

He pulled off his boots and his freshly bloodied socks. Ew. Ciri retired to the magic tent early, exhausted from their long days of walking. Jaskier listened to Yennefer and Geralt talk.

“We’ll need lots of supplies in Ard Carraigh,” Geralt was saying.

“We don’t have any money,” Yennefer replied.

Jaskier had his back to them as he cleaned the wounds on his feet, but he could picture grave expressions.

“We’ll get some, I’ll do a quick contract there, something. We’ll need a cart and pony to get Ciri up The Killer, it’s too much for her, it’s too hard for some witchers even.”

“That’ll cost,” Yennefer said. “But you’re right. I wish I could portal us but--”

“Tracking, exactly. There’s always plenty of contracts in cities, it’ll be fine.”

Jaskier looked at the blisters on his foot, they’d opened more with his long performance that day. It was no matter, he wound the bandages around them and put on his new, thick socks. At least his feet would be warm.

Not too warm, though. He spotted a hole in the bottom of his boot that he hadn’t noticed before.

And they needed lots of money for Ard Carraigh. No matter. He knew how to get some.

He pretended his eyes filled with tears from the pain of blisters, not from heartache, as he pushed his feet back into his boots and opened the lute case. He pulled out his beautiful girl. He wouldn’t play her, it would annoy Geralt. He’d always hated Jaskier’s music, although he hated to hear Jaskier sing even more.

Pie with no filling.

Jaskier wished he could play her, though. It was going to break his heart to part with her, and he didn’t think he’d ever played another instrument as fine. If he could, he’d play her every second until he had to sell her.

Probably for the best, though, if he was going to fake his death. She was distinctive.

He brushed a hand over the beautiful wood work on her front. There was a little bit of linseed oil left, and he poured it on the rag he kept in the case and began to work over his girl lovingly. His eyes teared up again, but he fought it back. He would have smashed his lute if it meant helping Ciri. And Geralt.

Jaskier longed for Geralt to forgive him, to take him back and let him stay by his side, but he’d meant what he’d said, bards have a shelf life, and Jaskier’s time was up.

He wished Geralt would at least speak with him, though. His heart was aching. In a completely different sense, so was his chest.

“Play us a tune, bard,” Yennefer said.

Jaskier turned around. Yen and Geralt were sitting beside eachother, close together. She looked so beautiful in her fine cloak that Jaskier wondered how he ever thought he could catch Geralt’s eye when beings like her existed.

“You know,” he said. “It’s late and I wouldn’t want to bother Ciri.”

“Tent’s soundproof,” Yennefer said, waving her hand.

“I mean, really,” Jaskier protested weakly. Disobeying Yennefer’s request/command was like bathing your brain in lava, but Geralt was looking angry again. Some would say there wasn’t much change from Geralt’s normal expression, but Jaskier knew his face better than he knew his own. Something had made Geralt angry or upset. The only possible answer was Jaskier. It was always Jaskier.

“Play us a song, bard,” Yennefer said. “You’ve been so quiet other than stories, I’d almost think you were a doppler, Melitele knows no one could have taught you to shut up.”

Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat.

He began, slowly, to pick out a gently tune on his lute. It was a song about winter and home, and he knew the lyrics well. Yennefer had only asked him to play, so he would. His music was at least less offensive than his voice.

He reveled in the feel of his lute beneath his fingers, letting the feeling wash over him, committing it to memory.

When he was finished Yennefer said, “I suppose your voice was tired from your performance, I heard in the town how the bard had played such a long set.”

Jaskier smiled grimly back at her. “Just earning my keep.”

He went to bed, feeling the cold seep into his bones.

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Tag List!

@frywen-babbles @mordoriscalling @thedarkestangel1 @kerfufflezz @live-long-and-trek-on @holymotherwolf @gryffinqueen

@samukai @charlies-dragon I can’t seem to tag, but they’re on the list

#geraksier #adhd Jaskier #the witcher #angst #jaskier #geralt #yennefer #ciri #platonic yennalt #yennefer is a good mom #and deserves nice things #kaer morhen #soon but not yet #emotional hurt/comfort #just hurt now #the comfort is yet to come

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years

Text

SBI HadesTown AU That Lives In My head Rent Free

(in fact I probably pay it to live there)

Links at the end under the cut.

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Starring:

• Dream, George, and Sapnap as The Fates • Philza as Hermes • Wilbur as Persephone • Technoblade as Hades • Tommy as Eurydice

and

• Tubbo as Orpheus

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Changes to the story -

Instead of spouses, Wilbur and Techno are estranged brothers.

Instead of lovers, Tommy and Tubbo are best friends.

The focus is still on restoring balance to the world but through familiar and platonic love instead of romantic. Also, the reason the world is so bad is a more social crisis (some people work too much while others can’t work at all) instead of a natural one (the seasons being wack.)

It takes place during a seething summer drought rather than a frozen cropless winter but its still the same tune of spring/fall disappearing because the the world being out of tune.

Character Changes -

+ Philza is an old god. He’s not weaker nor stronger than Wilbur/Techno, just fills up a very different role. He’s god of history, of legends, of simple stories and narration. He’s very human compared to most gods, some theorize perhaps he straight up IS human in some way shape or form. He lives a human life to meet people and collect their lives and stories and appreciate them. He can’t really interfere as more than a mortal man but still just tries to give as many happy endings as he can.

+ Tommy’s a scrappy lost child. His problem is similar to Eurydice but a little inverted. Rather than learning to trust people he needs to learn to value them. He’s no issue with interacting with people and enjoying their help/company but he’s a tendency to use them. He doesn’t believe they’ll stick around so he doesn’t bother caring about them.

+ Tubbo is also an abandoned child. Unlike Tommy he grew up in one spot, although still homeless. Philza found him camping in a crate box behind his station and gave him a job and a bed. He’s pretty much exactly like Orpheus, optimistic, sees the world for what it could be instead of what it is, but maybe spends a little too much time looking forward and not around.

+ Technoblade is basically the god of work and motivation. His problem is generally the same as Hades’ in that he misses his family and is too busy working and building security for what he wants to get what he wants. He misses his brother so much he’s hardend himself to the reasons they’re apart so much in the first place.

+ Wilbur is basically the god of play and rest. In this AU, instead of Hades, Persephone’s role is the biggest reason the world is out of wack. His problem is that he doesn’t face his problems. As the god of such frivolous things as music, games, rest, etc. he is (feels) weak and useless. He’s jealous of Techno and how needed he is so Wilbur retreats away to somewhere he feels needed and wanted, entertaining miserable people. He’s stayed away for longer and longer amounts of time, not realizing his distracting them from their troubles (inadvertently preventing them from fixing them) is a reason they’re so miserable in the first place. All he can do is have a good time so he’s begun forcing it every second of every day and ignoring his brother in the meantime. He needs to learn that he CAN do good, people NEED breaks and fun, but recklessly enforcing it only enforces what he fears, that he’s a liability.

So, the main problem is a cycle the brothers have spiraled into:

Techno does obviously important things (stirring progress and improvement) and Wilbur feels bad, unimportant, and like a burden.

Wilbur leaves Techno to go distract himself/play with the humans.

Wilbur becomes useless and detrimental without Technoblade there to balance him out.

Techno works even harder, becoming empty and cold without Wilbur there to balance him out, trying to get enough work done so Wilbur won’t have to worry and will come back.

Wilbur sees Techno working so hard and shies away even more so as not to disturb his brother’s important work.

Technoblade has to basically force Wilbur to stay with him now, making it more work.

Wilbur sees Technoblade as both too important for him and now generally unappealing as unnecessary effort. Besides, he’d probably just get in the way.

Technoblade now sees Wilbur as just another part of his endless job. Keep people working, keep things improving, keep the numbers going up, try to keep Wilbur here. Its become work for the sake of work instead of work to the sake of rest.

So even when they’re together neither is relaxed enough to balance the other, both are distant.

Wilbur’s become too carefree, he ignores Technoblade and drops anything that seems challenging, including reconciliation and self-examination. He’s still just playing, even when with Technoblade.

Technoblade’s become too obsessed, focusing more on how to get and keep his brother with him than on being with his brother. The work has become meaningless without the end goal that Wilbur provides. A self sustaining cycle of labor for more labor’s sake.

Now the humans are suffering because they find themselves trapped in an unbalanced cycle of being either incapable of work or incapable of play.

Thematic notes:

- The dancers in the station during the first half are Skeppy, Antfrost, Bad, Eret, and Puffy.

- The workers (the dancers in the second half) consist of Niki, Fundy, Quackity, Ranboo, and Awsam.

- Tommy is implied to vaguely know/be brotherly to Techno and Wilbur, this is partially how Techno convinces him to leave and go work for him.

- Likewise, Philza has a few lines about feeling sorry about how Techno and WIlbur have ended up (implying he took some part in raising them) and already knows Tommy when he enters (implying he’s been a dad to helped Tommy out before.

- Technoblade is less malicious than Hades, more just cold and apathetic. In a way, he thinks he’s helping by pulling Tommy away from Tubbo. He, like Wilbur, believes that work is good so more work must be better, even if you’ve nothing to really work towards. At the end he listens to the fates because needs to figure out how to let Tommy go without undoing either all of Wilbur’s power or all of his.

- Tubbo’s song has a bigger impact on fauna than floral, specifically insects. His first song brings out bees, butterflies, and moths that Tommy goes all star eyed for because pretty bugs but more importantly, living things that don’t want to hurt him!

- Instead of a flower Tommy gets a big beautiful orange moth (named Clementine) that hides in the back of his coat neck whenever Technoblade is near. He remembers in ‘Flowers’ when he goes to wipe some sweat from his neck but its Clementine and she flies around him while he sings. (I thought that’d be much prettier than him just holding her like Eurydice holds the flower.)

- During ‘Living it Up On Top’ Wilbur dances specifically with Philza (who greets him very much like a father might greet a son who’s been away for a long time) and Tommy (who he teases and ruffles his hair a lot).

- Wilbur does drugs instead of alcohol. He... he makes a lot of drugs so I thought this would be an appropriate swap. Also it’s really funny to me that he sings Our Lady Of The Underground (or, Brother To The Underground) just completely stoned; handing out weed and shit to the workers.

- Instead of a mine Hadestown (Technotown? Technoville?) is a farm in a giant glass case built way up high. Instead of going through the dark that challenge is Tubbo has to climb up its side to avoid the train. Its an unnatural and unwelcoming greenhouse. Everything grows in lines but they’re mismatched and overrun with thorny weeds. Everything is grey and tough and flavorless. There’s so much dust and dirt being kicked up it’s hard to breathe and see. The workers are using various gardening tools during the beats instead of swinging a pickaxe. Half will sharpen while the other half swings (tilling the ground/cutting weeds), it makes a real nice schwing/thunk mix sound.

- During ‘Word To The Wise’ George sings (“if you tell them no you’re a heartless man”) Sapnap sings (“if you let ‘em go you’re a spineless king”) and Dream sings (”here’s a little tip”) and (“men are fools, men are frail”)

- Tubbo still looks back during ‘Doubt Comes In’ because he's scared of Techno and feels bad about himself (“Who am I? Who am I to think that he would follow me into the blazing heat again”). Techno, Wilbur, and Philza try their best to take care of them but it’s still a tragic ending.

- Tommy and Tubbo may or may not become (very sad and minor) gods. Unofficially and not in the story, but still... maybe. If they WERE, hypothetically, they’d be a very tragic pair. Tubbo would help mend relationships and guid people towards good advice while Tommy would help catch/ignore/cut out bad ones. Always working together, never together.

Lyrical Changes

> Pronouns are changed, obviously.

> Techno and Wilbur sing “brother” instead of “lover.”

> During ‘The Wedding Song’ (The Friendship Song, I do not care if it’s childish, Wedding is replaced with Friendship) They sing each other’s names instead of “lover.” (Tubbo, tell me if you can...////Tommy, when I sing my song...)

> Anytime they’re complaining about the cold winter replace it with a hot summer

> Tommy’s lines are much sharper. He never loses his edge with Tubbo. Instead of him remembering him and going “my best friend, Tubbo” he remembers and says something more along the lines of “that fucking idiot, Tubbo” but he’s say it with a quivering smile and bittersweet tears in his eyes. Harsh in words not in tone.

> Wilbur still pours a glass for a toast during ‘Living It Up On Top’ but the rest of the time he’s smoking something instead of drinking. (Who gives breaks when the work is hard?//That's right, Wilbur Soot!//Who makes the music? Who’s your bard?//(Wilbur Soot!)//Thank you//Who makes a rough life fun again, in spite of a pig//(You do!)//Who’s the most awaited gig? Eh? Wilbur Soot, that’s who!)

> When Wilbur shows up during ‘Chant’ he complains about how cold and dark it is. (Colder than a tundra) Techno explains it away as having set up shades/coolers to counter the glare from the sun through greenhouse glass and how he did it to protect/comfort Wilbur. (Brother when you feel that chill, it’s my protection from the kill, its my protection that i’ve built for you.)

> In the Chant Reprise the workers are singing about why they’re working if they can never enjoy the security and safety they keep making. Technoblade, instead of telling him to buy Tommy’s love, tells him to make himself needed. He, instead of warning Tubbo about Tommy leaving, scolds Tubbo for being too light and fluffy and spinelessly letting Tommy go. He scolds him for trying to take Tommy away, back into uselessness and empty fluff, when he’s found a good purpose because clearly Tubbo wasn’t point enough.

> Philza’s still the narrator, but diegetically his lyrics show more clearly that he knows everyone in the story already. I really like the idea of him giving Tubbo advice on making friends that gets shown in ‘Come Home With Me’

> When Tubbo sings about Techno, instead of singing about minework, he’ll sing things like ((from the second stanza of Epic II) “Technoblade, king//of power and pain//of a hard days work//that never ends//and for half of the year when Wilbur’s away//the strain and the stress just won’t give way//he thinks of his brother, light and carefree//and is taken in a rage of obligation and need//to ensure wants are met and safe//so there will be time for play//so his bother//his brother comes home)

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This post all started because I was thinking of Tubbo singing the “La lala laaa” that was originally Wilbur’s song.

Also, I realize this entire AU is just one big punch in the gut to Philza, like, “HEY, ALL YOUR SONS ARE SCREWED UP, NOW SING ABOUT IT.”

#drugs tw #ask to tag #sleepy bois inc #sbi AU #sleepy bois inc AU #Philza #technoblade #Wilbur soot #tommy innit #tubbo_#sbi + tubbo #sbi hadestown au

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

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Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched.

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again.

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

#geraskier #Jaskier x Lambert #Immortal Jaskier #jaskier #Essi Daven #canon deaths #play me out Dandelion #Let's go together #also Anon I specifically Requested NO IMMORTAL JASKIER CAUSE IT NOW BREAKS MY HEART #damnit #hope this breaks your heart you bastard #thanks for the prompt #someone send me fluff #writing

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thevalleyisjolly · 2 years

Note

19, 31, and 32 for the D&D ask meme?

Thanks anon!

19. How did you discover D&D?

As with so many things in my life, it’s all down to my fantastic nimble bird friend, who sent me a link to a clip of the love potion prank in Critical Role campaign 1. The rest, as they say, is history!

31. Tell me about your current party!

YES, ok, I’ve been waiting to gush for a while, let me tell you about EWF (names redacted/abbreviated for privacy reasons)

So our party currently has four active members - Vyce (my character, a tiefling rogue), “O” (tiefling monk), “D” (human cleric), and “N” (gnome wizard). We also have three past/infrequent members - “Z” (kyrid (home-brew lizard race) bard), “T” (dwarf barbarian), and “Ol” (half elf sorcerer).

“O” is played by my nimble bird friend, and she’s both a very competent fighter and also very young. Vyce, who has been a little brother his entire life, thinks of her like a little sister, albeit one whom he’s slightly in awe of. In Vyce’s opinion, she’s the beating heart of the party - she takes such joy in things (especially shiny things) and she doesn’t seem to be weighed down by the unfortunate things that have happened in her past. She’s not very smart (aka the best type of D&D character) and she’ll run where angels fear to tread, but it’s that kind of reckless bravery that’s saved the party’s bacon more times than we can count. I personally am of the opinion that "O" should be allowed to use a gun. Would this solve some of our problems? Maybe. Would this cause a lot more problems? Certainly. Should "O" even have a gun? Probably not, but the correct answer is yes. She's got the guns, now let her fire a gun!

We're just wrapping up a story arc dealing with “D’s” backstory, and it’s been so fun to see how his character has grown and changed over the course of the arc. He’s gone from a bit of a directionless adventurer, getting drunk and squabbling with “T” about who is in charge of the party skyship, to really coming into his own as a captain of the wind and waves. Like, it’s truly been so satisfying to watch him instigate revolutions, reach out to old friends and stand up to old enemies, lead fleets into naval battles, and step into the heart of the storm. I think for Vyce, “D” has really gone from someone that was a bit of a dark mirror in many ways, to someone that he respects and admires. Not that there isn't still a streak of recklessness in "D" but hey, that's part of what makes the game fun!

It is impossible not to like “N.” “N” alone has shifted Vyce’s dislike of mages (although with our most recent session, there’s been some regression!) “N” is like that friend who is enthusiastically, 110% up for anything, you tell him the plan and he’ll commit to it so hard. You will never meet an Abjuration wizard, or flat out any wizard, who loves Fireball more. He’s also ended up in so many situations where he’s separated from the party and 1v1-ing a baddie all by himself and no one knows, and the thing is, he’s actually won most of the time? I mean, apart from the time he died, but he’s better now. You’ll also never meet a wizard who uses a dagger so successfully in combat. He’s literally killed at least two bad guys with his dagger, we’re all bewildered and both Vyce and I are delighted, you go you funky lil old gnome you. He’s currently got a running interest in trying to figure out what shape the world is, which is some of the funniest and best wizard RP ever. He’s also come out with some of the most devastatingly poignant lines in the campaign so far, his memorial speech for a beloved NPC friend still haunts me ahhhhhhh.

32. Most memorable NPC you've encountered in a game you played in.

Hmm, gotta be three-way tie between Lynley, Rutley, and Frode. Lynley was an old friend of “D” and was also a cleric (I think?) of the same god. He helped us start and lead the revolution against the pirate lord, and when the pirate lord sent a massive fleet, much larger than our remaining ships, to retake the port, he loaded a ship with gunpowder and sailed it into the middle of the attacking fleet.

(Does Vyce feel guilty because he suggested that as an idea, albeit with unmanned ships, when we first heard about the fleet? YUP.)

Anyways, the party wasn’t in the port at the time, we were trying to retake a temple partway down the coast, but we got to see his death scene in a scrying pool, and just, the way our DM narrated it and the music he put on, it was just this incredibly heart-wrenching and moving scene that will stay with me forever. Our DM is incredible, that’s all I can say.

Rutley is just a goblin with a gun. He is very good at shooting the gun. Naturally, I love him.

Frode is the worst person ever (in Vyce’s opinion). Vyce dislikes mages in general, he very definitely dislikes charmers, and he fears wit and wordplay because he’s not in the least good at it (-2 CHA baybeeeee). Of course, this means Vyce’s mortal enemies are bards (except for our party bard, who is just a lil lizard with a cello and not, say, an obnoxious know-it-all with higher Perception than Vyce’s Stealth). Frode is a mysterious bard we found wandering in the forest, who may or may not be our world’s equivalent of Jaskier. Vyce loathes him with a deep and unshakable hatred, and I the player loved every minute of that interaction.

#thanks anon!#the themes of this post are that our DM is incredible and that everyone else is also incredible #leviathan is sealed! now we gotta go deal with vyce's ex who's definitely involved in some kind of shady business?#d&d tag

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laurenhufflepuff2 · 3 years

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A list of fandoms I'm in (in no particular order, will probably be updated regularly. Some fandoms are more intense and some are more casual. Depending on the fandom, I could go on and on about fandom topics for HOURS. Let's get into it!)

Harry Potter, Disney, Marvel, DC comics, Miraculous Ladybug, Avatar: The Last Airbender/The Legend of Korra, Star Wars, Literature, Winx Club, Nintendo, Minecraft, Little Witch Academia, Voltron, Coraline

Details:

Harry Potter- I got into Harry Potter in 7th grade and now I am the resident expert in my family and in my friend group. I read all the books, watched all the movies (notably the British version), and I've seen the Fantastic Beasts films as well. I've also read Tales of Beedle the Bard (the Warlock's Hairy Heart was traumatizing) along with the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them textbook (plus an updated edition). I also read The Cursed Child script and while I mean no hate to anyone that liked it, I hated what it did to the canon. I am in Hufflepuff with some Ravenclaw tendencies (I took the Pottermore quiz 3 times, 2 out of 3 I got Hufflepuff, the other time was Ravenclaw). I had a pottermore account and I was so upset when it got converted to the Wizarding World page. I cosplayed Hermione in 7th grade complete with British accent and even monologued as her for a talent show (classmates and teachers would recognize me as the Hermione girl all the way through high school). I was obsessed and I still love it even if J.K. Rowling has gone off the deep end on Twitter... yeah... my favorite character is Hermione but I also relate to Luna

Disney- there's so much that goes into the Disney part of my fandom list. I'm excluding Marvel and Star Wars from this part as they were originally separate entities before Disney got the rights to them. I have seen almost every animated Disney film ever and often use random movie quotes in conversation. My favorite villain is Maleficent, my favorite princess is Ariel (followed by Belle, Rapunzel, and Anna). I relate to so many of the characters. I'm not sure who my favorite Pixar character is though (I love Violet, Sadness, Dory, and Piper (from the short)). My favorite Disney fairy is Fawn. My favorite characters overall are Ariel and Stitch. Disney is definitely on the list as one of my biggest obsessions. My favorite movies are Lilo and Stitch, the Little Mermaid, Inside Out, Alice in Wonderland (original), and The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.

Marvel- I mostly get my Marvel exposure through the MCU, other movies, and animated TV shows. I have difficulty reading graphic novels so most of my comic book knowledge comes from friends, posts, or wikis. My favorite characters are Spider-Man, Captain America, Peggy Carter, and Scarlet Witch. I also like Gwenpool, Deadpool, Spider-Gwen/ Ghost-Spider, Venom, Squirrel Girl, Daredevil, Mantis, Gamora, Black Widow, Iron Man, Thor, Loki, Bucky, Black Panther, and most MCU characters. Out of the X-men I really like Professor X, Wolverine, Mystique, Magneto, Nightcrawler, and Quicksilver (either version- MCU or Fox).

DC- this was the franchise I was more familiar with growing up but again, graphic novels aren't easy for me to read so most of my knowledge comes from information pages about the comics or from tv/movies. My earliest experience with DC came from the 60s Batman series, with Catwoman and Robin being my favorites. I also watched the Wonder Woman series from the 70s and a handful of CW shows, my favorite of which being the Flash and Arrow. I also managed to watch all 5 seasons of the Teen Titans Cartoon Network series from 2003. With that being said, my favorite characters are Wonder Woman, Catwoman, Flash, Batman, Nightwing/Robin (Dick Grayson), Green Arrow, Starfire, Raven, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and Alfred. I also like most of the bat family, and when it comes to CW I LOVE Caitlin Snow/Killer Frost and Cisco.

Miraculous- this is one of my guilty fandoms but since this is Tumblr I'm not too worried about it. I love Marinette and I relate to her on an astoundingly deep level (minus the stalking and obsession with potential lovers, that's creepy). If I had a miraculous, I'd probably want the Ladybug one, but the Cat miraculous, fox miraculous, and snake miraculous are good too. My favorite character is Marinette/Ladybug.

Atla/Tlok- I jumped on the avatar bandwagon just when it was starting to get popular, so I managed to get through the series before the memes took over everything. Same with Tlok, although i couldn't completely avoid the spoilers for that when i started it. I've been wanting to get into the comics because of the short story comics I've read, they seem easier to read than superhero comics. My favorite characters are Aang, Katara, Ty Lee, Iroh, Korra, Jinora, Asami, Suki, Appa, Momo, Naga, and Pabu. I also like Sokka, Mai, Zuko, Lin, Kuvira, Varrick, Zhu Lee, and Azula. I feel really sorry for her and while I understand that a redemption arc would undermine the importance of her corruption arc, I still wish she could have one. I would love to be a waterbender or an airbender... maybe a waterbender raised in the air nation? Obviously, being the avatar itself would be awesome. The show has taught me a lot of great lessons and put a lot of stuff into perspective for me.

Star Wars- oh boy, talking about this one is dangerous. I've seen firsthand the horrors of the Star Wars fandom but then again no one will probably see this anyway so... I've seen all the movies and I remember watching the clone wars series with my brother when I was younger but we fell wayyy behind and it's taking us forever to get back into it. I've also seen the Mandalorian and quite enjoyed it. I like the prequels unironically, in fact, the prequels are some of my favorite movies. I especially like how they switched from lightsabers being heavy weapons to light weapons that can be used for all kinds of tricks that make for epic battles like the ones we see in Revenge of the Sith. The sequels were fun to watch but when I would analyze them along side their predecessors, I came to the conclusion that, for me, they were good to watch but did not do anything good for the rest of the franchise. My favorite characters are prequels/clone wars Obi Wan and Anakin, Padme, Ashoka, Leia, R2D2, BB-8, R4-P17, the Mandalorian (Din Djarin), and Grogu. If I had a lightsaber I'd want it to be blue, but when I was little I got a purple one like Mace Windu because it was closer to pink and I was into pink at the time. I still have that lightsaber and none of my friends have a purple one so it's one of my flexes. I feel like I wouldn't make a good jedi because of attachments being forbidden, so I'd probably become a grey jedi.

Literature- this is a broad term I use to cover all the random books and stories I liked reading and have studied. So we have Shakespeare (Macbeth, Much Ado About Nothing, Romeo and Juliet), The Great Gatsby (bored while reading, loved to analyze), Grendel (HATED reading, loved to analyze, Grendel really needed a hug and a friend), The Crucible, Fahrenheit 451, Dark Life (+ the sequel Riptide, both are by Kat Falls good reads, sci-fi and kind of dystopian), The Once and Future King

Winx Club- I think the show is trashy but I still love watching it. I haven't been able to get through season 6 though and I hated what they did with season 8 and Fate: the Winx Saga. My favorite character is Bloom along with Stella and Flora. I prefer rai to nick. My favorite transformations are magic winx, enchantix, and harmonix. My favorite member of the Trix is Icy followed by Darcy. My favorite Pixies are Chatta and Lockette.

Nintendo- mainly Pokémon above all else, followed by Animal Crossing. I have also played (mostly as player 2 or just never beat or watched my brother play) mario games, legend of zelda, pikmin, and kirby. Games I haven't played but I just liked the characters/the lore and probably learned about through Super Smash Bros. are Fire Emblem (Lucina mostly), Metroid (Samus and baby metroid), and Kid Icarus. Pokémon is where I'm most knowledgeable but you'll most likely beat me in battle. I am however great at MarioKart and I always destroy my friends at it. Terrible at fighting games though.

Minecraft- I like playing this casually. Sure, I'll play for hours and hours on end for months, but I prefer to stay exclusively in peaceful when playing Survival mode and I don't make anything too ambitious in Creative mode. I like to write, so sometimes I'll make a rough layout of the settings of my stories in different worlds. I prefer interior design and decorating when building, and when in survival mode I focus more on mining and gathering while my brother works on ambitious building projects. I just bring him the raw materials and furnish the interior when he finishes the outside.

Little Witch Academia- this takes up a smaller portion of my fandom list because there were only 2 seasons and a couple movies and I watched the whole series years ago, but I still enjoy it. At one point I wanted to cosplay Akko, and I loved the nod at Twilight through the Nightfall series. And I especially liked the twist that Shiny Chariot was Ursula, which I suspected for some time. The blend between magic and technology was fun to see, but I was so sad that the series ended RIGHT when Akko finally showed signs of magic proficiency. Also, Shiny Chariot being the reason Akko couldn't do magic was heartbreaking.

Voltron- this takes up a much smaller portion of my fandom list mainly because I haven't even finished it. I know hardly anything about Transformers aside from the Bumblebee movie so to me I just watch it for fun. It reminds me of power rangers, star wars, and star trek, and then there's just a transformer insert. But I don't know anything about Transformers so maybe the show is more rooted in canon than I think.

Coraline- I am in a love-hate relationship with Coraline. I have watched the movie several times, I've read the book, I've watched hours of theories and analyses on youtube, I've watched behind the scenes videos by Laika, and I even wrote a script for a fan film parody. I am amazed at how original the story is and how impressive the stop motion animation is but I also have recurring nightmares from it and it scares me/creeps me out to the max. If anyone asks what my scariness limit is, it's definitely Coraline.

#fandoms #about me #harry potter #disney #dc #marvel #avatar the last airbender #the legend of korra #star wars #miraculous ladybug #literature #winx club #nintendo #minecraft #pokémon #little witch academia #voltron #coraline

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quasieli · 3 years

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top six: fictional characters that give you gender envy, flowers, little things that make you happy and d&d moments :D

Ooh lotsa questions!

Gender Envy:

1) Bow from She-Ra (2018). Something about buff athletic dude who wears crop tops and is soft as hell is very Gender to me.

2) Vax from Critical Role. Pretty boy, kinda goth rogue? That’s sexy as hell and I wish that was me.

3) In a wildly different idea of gender envy, I’ve been thinking about it lately and @quantum-lesbian’s character in the Frostmaiden game I’m in with them, Ambrose, is Big Gender. Beautiful non-binary drow with a starry and kinda witchy aesthetic that dresses super grandly and ostentatiously no matter the occasion? Yes please.

4) Pete from The Unsleeping City, specifically season two. I adore season one Pete but season two Pete that works in a queer bookshop and has a teapot arcane focus, is artsy and is unapologetically a trans man who doesn’t give a shit about gender roles? Sign me the fuck up.

5) Beau from Critical Role. Buff GNC lesbian mixed with academia, but like academia from the prospective of a grad student with ADHD trying to learn everything about their special interests? A+, I love her and I’m jealous.

6) I’m gonna cheat a lil bit for this last one. I know the prompt is fictional characters, but Julia Lepetit and Jacob Andrews in their Hitman streams? Simultaneously both of them were Gender for me. Jacob esp felt like that for me, which is weird cause dresses can make me dysphoric, but I am also slightly envious of the Dude in a Dress type of gender presentation.

Can you tell that I’m a confused trans masc enby

Gonna put it under the cut from here cause oof, there’s still a lot more.

Flowers:

1) Big slut for Sunflowers, always have been, always will be.

2) Fun fact, my dad’s family used to own a flower shop (in like the 70s, so I never got to see it :(), and one of their big things was hydrangeas. My dad has always loved them and now I love the snowballs too!

3) A recent favorite, the Baker’s Globe Mallow. It’s a type of flower that only grows from the soils of forests that have been affected by wildfires. It’s a simple little flower but I love the idea of something beautiful rising from the ashes after tragedy. A little dramatic, but I’m queer, ofc I’m dramatic.

4) Roses are another important flower to my family (Rose was a family name for a couple generations), and ya know, they’re a classic.

5) There’s this beautiful magnolia tree in front of my house that blooms with the most beautiful white and pink flowers every spring, and it’s one of my favorite things to see every year.

6) There’s so many different types of Lillies and they’re all very pretty, but the Purple Stargazer is prob my favorite.

Little Things That Make Me Happy:

1) My cat, Maddie. She may be a cranky girl at times, but she is also very sweet and will always be my baby (even though she is 12).

2) Not a little thing really, but my best friend. Just getting a sweet/silly text from her or the two of us chilling in a room, sitting in a comfortable silence because we just like being together, nothing better.

3) Baking, esp if I’m doing it for others. I’m not much of a sweets person myself, a little treat every once in a while type person, but I love baking. It’s a very relaxing process for me, even when it can sometimes get stressful, but seeing people enjoying something I made, especially something that brought me great joy to make, is simply the best.

4) In the same sorta vein, crafting and other art, but that’s a bit more personal. I love making things for others, but art, particularly drawing, is something I do more for me. It’s such a great feeling when you can get into a really good art mood and just sink yourself into a project. I love it.

5) My plush toys. Yes, I am a 23 year old, no I will not stop loving my plushies. I just got a few new friends, which I made a post about recently, and they such good cuddle buddies. However, there is one king amongst them all. I have this old, beat up christmas puppy beanie baby, on his tag named Jingle Pup, but I just call him Jingle. I had one version of him since I was like 6, but he currently lives on a shelf cause he is very beaten up and fragile, but his “brother”, who I got when I was 8, is still in kinda good shape and is currently chilling on my chest as I type this lol.

6) Again, not a little thing, but it’s important to mention; D&D. The game itself is such a joy, but truly the best part of it is the people. I love creating stories and memories with people through this weird little game. Truly one of my favorite things to do.

D&D Moments:

These are all gonna be personal moments, rather than anything from actual play shows/podcasts. RC is Reforged Campaign, where I play Saube, and FM is Frostmaiden, where I play Sparks.

1) RC - Meeting Mahety, Saube’s girlfriend. We met her way back in session 12 and we are now up to like session 73. Saube saw her and was immediately big heart eyes at her but also felt a bit awkward and shy. So, being a game a dice, I decided to roll. 10 or higher, Saube would talk to her, 9 or lower, she’d stay put. I rolled a 17, 17 is now a lucky number for me. I love Mahety and I’d die for her.

2) FM - This was an insane fight that should not have been so crazy, but in a fairly early session, my group went up against an angry druid and her awakened animals. So much batshit stuff happened in that fight, and we unfortunately lost our bread loving bard (RIP Agneyis), but one of my favorite combat turns happened in this fight. Our artificer, Omaren, has a robe of useful items and one of the patches on it creates a large pit. Thinking quickly, Omaren tore off the patch, slid it under one of the dire wolves we were fighting and created a looney tunes style pit under it, allowing us to take it out easily via pot shots. Such a clutch move and such a funny visual, especially because the dire wolf kept failing the checks to get out of the pit.

3) RC - Saube’s Zebrith (I will never remember how this actually spelled RIP). So, for context, Saube ended up with a death curse (long story) that mechanically meant they had disadvantage on any death saving throws. Scary as hell, need to get that fixed! So, Saube and their party had to be smuggled into another country to talk with some religious leaders of a goddess known as The First, the goddess of death. They were told that Saube would have to go through the aforementioned ritual, which included her soul leaving her body for a short period of time. During this ritual, her friends had to call back to her, to say things that would bring her back to her body and I still cry thinking about that game. That ritual was not only important for Saube bodily, but spiritually as well. After that ritual, Saube officially became a cleric of The First!

4) A real sappy one, RC - Saube meeting all of her friends. Anyone who follows along with the rantings on my blog probably knows how important this game is to me. I met this random group of strangers on tumblr and formed a D&D party with them and now, a year and a half later, I honestly think it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I know that sounds silly and dramatic but not only has this game brought me so much joy and comfort, but I also gained a group of really amazing friends who have been nothing but amazing since day one. As much as Saube knows she can depend on SICL, I know I can depend on my group of weirdos lol. We both love our friends very much and even though we’ve all been through some crazy shit, we wouldn’t change it for the world.

5) RC - Just playing Saube in general. I really didn’t intend for it to be this way, but Saube is very much a reflection of myself. She is the first long term character I have ever played and so much of me is in her. I try not to treat D&D like therapy, because that’s unfair to my DM and fellow party members, but playing Saube has allowed me to work through some of my own problems, especially social anxiety, in a lot safer of an environment. It isn’t so much that I’m asking this game to help me fix my life, but playing out these scenarios that, in the real world, would make me anxious or make me freak out, I can stop, take a moment to breathe and work out these issues in a way that makes sense to me. Playing her has led me to understanding myself a bit better, as well, and that’s truly such a wonderfully unexpected gift from this whole experience.

6) Lastly, a silly one: RC - Getting a crit 6. The last session of this game got real interesting. Saube’s party ended up in the ethereal plane and magic got real fucky there. So, any time any of us tried to cast a spell, we’d roll a d20, not look at the result, and then try to guess what number rolled. The closer to the number, the better the result. A few times, a few people managed to get within like 3 or 4 of their roll, but oh the power I felt when I rolled a 6 (on Saube’s die!) and guessed it correctly! So, not only did the spell (Bless) work, but it worked super well. So instead of getting +1d4 to attack rolls and saving throws, Saube and two other party members got +2d4 to attacks, saving throws and skill checks. So powerful I broke the rules of D&D lmao.

#asks #ask games #floralprintshark #D&D #Flowers #Saube #Sauhety #SICL #Sparks #long post #thanks <3 <3

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amazingmsme · 4 years

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A Bard’s Broken Heart

AN: This is yet another 10k+ post mountain fic about Jaskier. I have a bit of a problem, but I promise it’s good! Jaskier’s sad and fed up so he sings! The songs in this fic are Fair by the Amazing Devil, I've No More Fucks to Give by Thomas Benjamin Wild, Farewell Wanderlust by the Amazing Devil, and No Worries by Robert Hallow.

Jaskier's ears were ringing, his mouth slightly agape as he stared in horror at the man he once thought was his best friend, who he had loved, but who clearly didn't love him.

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands." The words were the harshest that have ever been thrown his way. His voice was a deep and angry growl that sent a chill up his spine, and not the good kind. It took him a moment to gather himself enough to speak, and he couldn't be more grateful that Geralt had turned his back to him. If he had to look at him he knew he would burst into tears.

"Right. Uh... Right then... I'll- I'll go get the rest of the story from the others..." He knew he wouldn't. "See you around Geralt." Except he hoped he wouldn't. He could go the rest of his life without seeing this bastard and it would be fine by him. Except he'll miss him... fuck everything hurts so damn much.

He turns and slowly makes his way down the mountain. Why is it that whenever your sad, you're slow? He wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the mountain as possible, and yet his feet drug in the dirt. He finally made it to the lower level of the camps where everyone left their horses, and that's when he saw her.

A sob caught in his throat as he realized he would never get to see her again after this...

He trudged over to Roach, her ears perked towards him as she tossed her head. Hot tears streamed down his face and a trail of snot dripped from his nose. He reached up with his handkerchief to blow. She gave a concerned whinny, gently bumping his shoulder with her head to comfort him. He only cried louder. He wrapped his arms around her neck and cried the hardest he had since he began his walk. Gods, he could barley breathe.

"Goodbye girl. I'm gonna miss you so much." He pulled back, and Roach nickered in distress, pressing into him more. Jaskier stroked her muzzle as he spoke around sobs. "I have to leave, and I'm afraid I won't be coming back." She snorted, as if questioning him.

"I know, I don't want to either. But you know how Geralt is, and he made it clear he never liked me." Call him crazy, but he swears she shook her head. He sighed, "It's true I'm afraid. I'd tell you what he said, but it hurts too much to repeat. So I guess this is goodbye," he sniffled, pulling out an apple he had been saving, just for her. He gave her one last, tight hug and a few pets before turning and going.

Roach pulled on her tether, trying to follow him. The farther he walked, the more distressed she became.

Why was Jaskier leaving them? Why was he so sad? What did Geralt do? Surely this isn't the last time she'll see him, she had really grown to love him, almost as much as she loved Geralt.

Jaskier's crying increased tenfold as he heard Roach's neighs of distress. She pawed at the ground, throwing her head back as she brayed. Jaskier didn't dare look back. He didn't need his heart broken a second time today... Truly he would die.

It was well past nightfall when he made it to the closest town near the base of the mountain. He knew if he camped on the mountain it would only increase his chances of seeing Geralt or Yennefer, and that was the farthest thing from what he needed.

It was barely past midnight when he stumbled into the inn's tavern, weary and weak. He sat at the bar and ordered the first of many drinks. He needed to forget. He needed to be numb. Someone noticed his lute case and came up demanding a song. He looked at them with bloodshot eyes and answered in a broken voice, "I'm not working right now, sorry. I've had a rough day." But they were insistent and even more drunk than he was.

They grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off of his stool. The barmaid eyed them wearily, unsure of what to do.

"I said, play us a fucking song."

"Are you perhaps deaf? I'm not playing anything, I simply wish to have a few drinks and a bite to eat before I retire for the night," he clarified, shoving the man off.

"I ain't deaf! Now if you know what's good for you, you'll play a fucking song or else!"

Jaskier was done. There was nothing left to fight for, he just felt empty. Nothing mattered anymore. "Oh so maybe you're just stupid then. My mistake." He stood to go to his room only to be shoved back down in his seat. Before he could do anything, his head was slammed into the bar. He burst to life, ready to unleash all of his hurt onto this man who picked the wrong fight.

This is what Jaskier needed. A good adrenaline rush! He craved to feel bone crack under his fists, to have blood on his hands, both from this poor sucker and his own cracked knuckles. Only some bastard came and stole that away, delivering a swift punch to the side of the head, knocking him out. The barmaid had ran and gotten the owner, and the assailant was thrown outside. Jaskier huffed. Seemed he can't even have the pleasure of getting the shit beat out of him. It would sure feel a hell of a lot better than what he was currently feeling. And it would've been a nice distraction.

The man sat down next to him, and Jaskier refused to look up. He just took a few large gulps from his tankard before speaking.

"I would've handled it you know."

"I don't doubt it, but you look like you've had a rough day."

Jaskier snorted into his glass. "You have no idea," he muttered. He glanced to the side, taking him in. He was tall, maybe even taller than Geralt. Shit, no, don't think about him. You can't let this stranger see you cry. He allowed himself to turn his head more, studying him. He had dark hair, just past his ears and ended near the nape of his neck. His face was handsome, even if he had a huge scar running down his right side and caused his lip to curl, almost in a sneer. And how could he possibly miss those striking gold eyes.

Jaskier winced, finishing off his drink and gesturing for another.

"No offense but the last thing I need is to be saved, especially by some witcher," he was decently drunk, his words slurring but he managed to get just the right amount of discontent in his voice. The witcher held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Never said you did." He was just about to leave, but a strange part of Jaskier wanted him to stay. Maybe so he could tell him everything he wishes he could tell Geralt now.

"Y-you know, you aren't so great-" he started. The man tilted his head in curiosity, settling back into his chair to listen. "With your stupid potions and swords. I mean yeah you guys are strong but there's plenty of strong folk out there. And FUCK all that "witchers don't feel" bullshit, I know it's a damn lie!" He pointed an accusatory finger at him. The witcher only smirked and put his hand back on the table.

"I mean who the hell do you think you're fooling? Yourselves. I mean you guys are so emotionally constipated you can't even bring yourself to call someone a friend after they've been traveling with you for two fucking decades! And not once in that time did I hear a thank you Jaskier, you're not as useless as I once thought Jaskier. No, it's always you're such a fucking nuisance, and you ruined my whole life." He deflated after his little rant, hunching over his drink in shame. The witcher held out his hand.

"Eskel," he greeted formally. Jaskier took it in a loose handshake, not having the energy to put effort in it.

"Jaskier," he mumbled.

"So, emotionally constipated, huh? Pretty grumpy from the sounds of it too," he pondered aloud. Jaskier looked at him, puzzled. "And let you travel with him for 20 years. Take in the consideration that fine gentleman demanding you sing for him... you were with Geralt," he concluded.

"You're good."

"So, what the hell did my dumbass brother do now?"

"What didn't he do would be a better question. I can't believe I stayed with him after all this time. I should've never started singing his praises," he lamented.

Eskel shrugged, "You sure did help the rest of us out. Thanks for that." Jaskier stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Tears barely held back.

"Y-you're welcome."

"Look, Geralt's an idiot, especially with his feelings. But what I know is his bark can be a hell of a lot worse than his bite. He probably didn't mean whatever it was he said," he tried to comfort him. Jaskier shook his head.

"You weren't there. In all the time we've been together I've never seen him so angry. And it was all directed at me. You wanna know what that bastard whoreson said to me?" Eskel nodded. He was very curious.

"First he snapped and blamed me for all his life troubles, simply because I was there. Then he said, he said..." he trailed off, a lump in his throat preventing his speech.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to tell me if you want."

"No, no I need to. Need to get this off my chest, share the burden, you know?" He took a shakeup breath to brace himself. "If life could give me one blessing... i-it would b-be to take you o-off my hands," he barely managed to say. He couldn't hold it back any longer and the tears began to flow once more. He turned away from Eskel.

He was shocked to say the least.

"Wow... Geralt you really fucked up," he said in disbelief.

"I never want to see him again," Jaskier spat out.

"I don't blame you."

"But... is it wrong that I also do? Want to see him?" he asked. Eskel shook his head.

"Not at all. Like you said, you traveled together for 20 years. Hard not to get attached to someone during all that time."

"Not hard for Geralt apparently," he snarled. Eskel placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck him."

For the first time that day, Jaskier gave a small, albeit sad smile. "Yeah, fuck him." They clinked their mugs together, chugging the rest of their drinks. Eskel ordered two more.

"You've had a shit day, let me pay for it," he insisted.

"Thank you," Jaskier said. "Not just for the round, but for everything. For listening."

Eskel shrugged, "What can I say? You're fun to listen to, even if you're sad as hell right now. Bet you're a hell of a guy when you're not all torn up like this."

Jaskier was floored. Maybe because it was the most genuine compliment he's ever received, or maybe because it was a witcher who said it. Or maybe because Geralt had never said anything half as nice to him.

He put a hand over his heart, "Wow, that's- that's the nicest thing a witcher's ever said to me." He was only half joking. Many drinks later, and they were both sufficiently drunk. Jaskier leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder. It had been... years, decades even, since someone touched Eskel like this. No traces of fear, hatred or disgust on his scent. He wasn't paid to hold him like this. He just simply treated him as though he were normal. It made his head spin, and not just from the amble amount of ale he had.

"I can't believe I lo-hic-loved him," he slurred, interrupted by a hiccup. Eskel's eyes widened at the confession. "I'm just a ssstupid, hopeless romantic who fell in love with someone who- who can't even admit, at the very least! That they like me!"

He patted his back in a mimic of comfort. "Hey, uh- I'm sure you're not those things. Romantic yes. But stupid and hopeless? I don't think so." Jaskier reached a hand up to pat his cheek, his scarred cheek, in thanks.

"Oh you poor stupid witcher. If I am anything it is stupid and hopeless." Eskel rolled his eyes.

"You said loved, as in past tense."

Jaskier sighed, sitting up on his own. Eskel almost felt sad. "Yes well, it's hard to love someone after they say something like that. But I already miss him. Yearn to see and touch him again. But I can't let that happen."

"Why not?" Eskel tilted his head in curiosity.

"Because I'm weak," he said, his voice so small. So utterly broken. "I'm weak for him. I already know that if I even catch a glimpse of him I'll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness." His voice was wet and heavy now.

"You're not the one who should be begging for forgiveness."

"You see, my brain knows that, but my heart tells me to try and get him back. I feel, torn. Why do I still want him even after he shoved me away in the worst way possible?" His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked to Eskel for an answer.

"Uuuh, look kid, if you're looking for a real answer, I don't have one. I may understand feelings better than Geralt, but they're still a mystery to me," he admitted.

"Yes, I suppose so.

Eskel was staring into his mug when he spoke. "Winter will be here before you know it. Normally we all head to the keep and wait out the bad months. I'll probably see Geralt, want me to, I don't know, pass on a message? Teach him a lesson?" he asked. It wouldn't be the first time he beat him up, and he always had fun doing so. And Lambert always liked to watch.

Jaskier snorted. "I don't know. Make him feel guilty though, if you can. Tell him he blew it."

Eskel nodded solemnly. "I can do that. Anywhere specific you're planning on going?" he questioned. Jaskier eyed him suspiciously.

"Depends. Do you plan to tell Geralt where I ran off to?" he asks. Eskel shrugged.

"Depends on how sorry I think he is," he answered truthfully. Jaskier didn't really like that answer but at least it was honest. "I won't tell him if he hasn't learned his lesson. You have my word."

Jaskier hums. "I don't really know where I'll go from here. Wherever I feel like going, I suppose. I might go back to Oxenfurt and teach for the winter." Eskel nodded.

"Right, well. I'll be on the lookout for you. Stay safe." He clapped him on the back as he rose from his seat, heading out of the tavern doors and into the night. Jaskier went up to the room he rented and cried himself to sleep.

~~~~

Geralt realized his mistake, and shame washed over him. His anger at Jaskier had been misplaced, and he didn't deserve his harsh words. But it was so easy to blame him instead of taking the fault as his own. As he walked down the mountain alone, he began to feel worse and worse about what he said to Jaskier. He always had good intentions, even if things didn't always work out. He was pure at heart and tried his best. Geralt should've tried harder. He needed to find him and apologize. And hopefully it wasn't too late for Jaskier to take him back.

When he made it down to Roach, she seemed less than pleased with him. As she saw him approach in the distance, she snorted angrily and tossed her head, looking away from him. It didn't take long to figure out why. The closer he got to her, the more he could smell Jaskier. His scent was all over her, mingling with salty tears and bitter sorrow. Geralt frowned to himself, knowing he was the reason Jaskier had left in tears.

Roach didn't meet his eyes, even when he tried talking to her. He stroked her mane apologetically, but still received the cold shoulder. He sighed.

"I promise, I'll make things right with him." She whinnied as if to say, "You better."

At least that had been his plans. But the bard was surprisingly hard to track. The trail had gone cold by the time he had made it to the small town at the base of the mountain. This would have to wait. He was running low on coin and needed to find jobs.

~~~~

Jaskier had no idea where he was going. He drifted with the wind, a truly lost spirit unsure where he would turn up next. He supposed he could continue on the path, drifting from town to town like he normally did. However, that increased his chances of running into Geralt... He could head to the coast alone, but that would just remind him more of his rejection. It was too early to head back to Oxenfurt, summer only just around the corner. Hm, the road it was, he supposed.

He sat on the forest floor, idly strumming his lute. He needed new music. Something to help sort out the mess inside his brain.

"Damnit Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?"

"Well, that's not fair-"

Fair. Nothing in this word was fair. He inhaled deeply, breathing with the grass and sighing with the trees. He began plucking a few chords, testing the waters of a new song.

"It's what my heart just yearns to say, In ways that can't be said. It's what my rotting bones will sing When the rest of me is dead."

His fingers gained more confidence, strumming more clearly as he continued.

"It's what's engraved upon my heart, In letters deeply worn. Today I somehow understand the reason I was born."

Images of Geralt flash before his eyes. A dazzling bright smile, so rarely seen. A voice that could be so gentle when he tried to be. Soft golden eyes, warmer than sunshine and sweeter than honey. His hair was surprisingly soft for everything that happened to it. Maybe monster guts are a sort of conditioner.

But he also remembers his lips curling in hatred. Evil words spat his direction, ending 20 years worth of friendship. Well, friendship on Jaskier's part.

He thought of Yennefer, and everything she took from them both. Things had been relatively fine until that fucking djinn. But... maybe Geralt did care after all, at least a tiny bit. He had seemed so desperate to find someone to save him... But of course he could never compete with Yennefer. She was powerful as all hell with the beauty and grace to match. She knew the control that kind of thing had over others, and used it to her advantage. He couldn't really blame her. He probably would've fallen at her heels had she not been so utterly terrifying. They were perfect for each other, he thought sadly. She was a heartless witch in search of something she may never have and he was a clueless witcher who cared very little about anything else and denied the fact he had any sort of emotions. They are timeless beings, similar to himself. Oh if only Geralt knew... maybe he wouldn't have been so quick to choose her.

"Cos outwardly he says I try so hard to make you laugh at me. And she, she does, She laughs as though she not heard the joke ten thousand times before. And he adores her, He watches her get dressed as though she's hurtling through time. Oh darling please be mine."

That was a good verse. Most people will assume it's about some lost love, a fair maiden who was swept off her feet by another man. Well, that was half true. A few more verses, then he reached the chorus. He let some of his magic seep into his words, having filled his heart and overflowing from his mouth. He didn't know what good it would do, but it felt right on his tongue.

Elven magic was a bit different than the kind that mages typically used. It drew its power from the earth, and in return the magic would breathe life back in the world. He remembers his grandmother's lectures that he had brushed off at the time. You have to pull from your core, whatever that meant. He hadn't tried in years, and when he had, he could never tell a difference.

"It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you. It's not fair, Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually Really fucking cross at you for something. And he'll say- Oh how, oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am, with everything you do. I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm Standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

The words felt hot in his mouth, tasting like a sweet smoke. He didn't notice how the life around him teemed, seemingly growing towards him. He had always had an affinity towards nature, as most elves do. In this moment, the whole forest grieved with him. As he continued to sing, a doe and fawn wandered into the clearing. A small fox raised its head from where it was bedded down. He debuted his newest song at the next tavern he stopped at.

It was late, and the patrons that were left were tired and very inebriated. He had played some upbeat crowd pleasers and now, all their excess energy was spent. They were bound to be much more accepting of a slow song by now. He pulled up his stool and sat down, adjusting his lute as he did so.

"Alright, one last song. It's a new one I've been working on, so I hope you enjoy it." His eyes locked on a table full of young, good looking women. "This is for anyone out there with a broken heart." And just like he knew they would, they swooned.

The song was very well received; as he traveled the continent, so did his song. Followed by another and another.

His latest was an upbeat jaunty little tune, that left courtrooms and taverns alike in stitches. It was one everyone, no matter who you were, could relate to. He even thought it was more popular than Fishmonger's Daughter, which was saying something.

He stood in the ballroom of some palace in Vizima. It was the Duke's birthday, so of course they had requested only the best bard in the continent to come and play. And with flattery like that, how could he refuse? All around him beautiful people talked and ate, flitting about the room. He was pulled from group to group, engaging in both thrilling and dull conversation. He grabbed his lute from where he had set it aside, strumming the strings a bit to gain the room's attention. With everyone staring at him, he smiled, wide and dazzling.

His fingers set to work, playing the bouncy tune as he bobbed up and down. The crowd erupted in cheers upon the recognition of the song.

"I've tried, tried, tried, and I've tried even more. I've cried, cried, cried, and I can't recall what for. I've pressed, I've pushed, I've yelled, I've begged, In hopes of some success. But the inevitable fact is that it never will impress!"

He jumped into the chorus, spinning around the room as everyone danced and clapped along.

"I've no more fucks to give My fucks have runeth dry I've tried to go fuck shopping but there's no fucks left to buy! I've no more fucks to give Though more fucks I've tried to get I'm over my fuck budget, and I'm now in fucking debt!"

Laughter and cheers rang through the air. Men and women hooked arms and twirled around in circles before changing partners. Skirts twirled across the floor and feet stomped in time to the beat.

When Jaskier had written the song, he didn't expect it to grow so popular. He had been so fed up with life. So unequivocally done with his very existence. Of course he was still upset with Geralt. He never knew if he would ever really get over that. And Yennefer's utter bitchiness any time they were in the same vicinity fueled his fire. His talk with Eskel stood out in his mind, and the thought of possibly seeing Geralt both thrilled and terrified him. Oh how he hoped the bastard was sorry. Lately all of his love endeavors ended in either failure or nothing more than a one night stand. And overall he just felt like anything he tried backfired. He was tired, hopeless, and fed up. All of this swirled in his mind until it was just too much. He scribbled down the very first thing his angry hornets nest of a brain could spit out, and this was the result. It was cathartic, and he had sure got a kick out of it. He played it in a seedy tavern as a joke, but they absolutely loved it. Begged him to play it again and again until his fingers bled. Now wherever he went, it was a sure thing that he would have to play that song.

Not that he was complaining though. It was a hell of a lot better than when he was forced to sing Toss A Coin.

He finished with a flourish, holding out the last note and strumming the lute strings a bit faster, a gesture of finality. Everyone roared with applause and cheers, coin and even a few flowers tossed his way. Hm, they looked strangely similar to the bouquets acting as table center pieces... Regardless, he reveled in the praise all the same. Even went as far as to catch a flower in mid air- with his teeth. The cheers grew louder at that, and he shot a wink towards the crowd.

He was stolen away from his glory by a countess who dragged him to a quieter corner of the room.

"Your musical skills are most impressive," she complimented, taking a sip from her goblet. "Though I'm sure you're used to hearing that by now," she teased gently. Jaskier chuckled.

"Oddly enough, I don't hear it too often. But I suppose I don't need to, I'm quite aware of my talents," he said, testing the waters. She raised a brow, seemingly intrigued.

"Oh? And what are your other talents?"

"I am a professor at Oxenfurt. Many of my students graduate with honors. And of course you're aware of my musical skills," he said, plucking at his lute, making her giggle. "But I must say most of my other talents are only shared in closed quarters." He licked his lips, awaiting her response. She flushed beautifully, adverting her eyes as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Well, I must say. As forward as that was I am most intrigued." She opened her fan, wafting air over her face. She couldn't seem to help the smile on her face as she pulled on his arm, leading him down a corridor and into an empty bedroom. After an hour and a half of pure bliss they returned to the party, satisfied and smitten, if just the slightest bit disheveled. This time, he was pulled away by a viscount.

"I'm glad you could make it Julian!" Jaskier didn't bother correcting him. After all, it was what the man had first known him as, and he supposed he was too old to learn anything different.

"I am too. This is quite the party," he said, taking a drink.

"So, where's your witcher?"

Jaskier nearly choked, sputtering his drink and coughing slightly. The man patted his back to help.

"Come again?" he asked, hoping he was just hearing things.

"The witcher you always sing about. He usually accompanies you to these things, does he not?" Great, just when he was doing better, just when he was starting to forget and began enjoying himself, he was reminded of what would never be again. His heart clenched in his chest and his stomach turned in knots. A lump caught in his throat. He struggled to speak around it, to act like everything was fine.

"He's on the path on his own at the moment. But when I see him again I will be sure to give him your regards," he said with a fake charming smile. Oh he'll send his regards. He'll send them right up Geralt's ass where they belong. He excused himself, going off to find a bathroom. He tried to stop himself, but hot tears flowed from his eyes, and he did what he could to keep his makeup from running. In the end he had to do a quick touch up, but when he returned to sing once more, he looked fresh as a daisy.

~~~~

Months go by, with no possible leads on where Jaskier, or his child surprise, could be. Just songs sung in taverns that he's heard the bard sing too many times before. But oh what he wouldn't give to hear that voice right now.

The bard at the inn he was currently at wasn't terrible, but they just weren't him. He had a voice unlike any other, and though he had never admitted it aloud, he really did like it. Why he never told Jaskier was beyond him. Maybe he thought by distancing himself, he wouldn't get too attached. Maybe at first, he really did hate his singing. Or maybe he was just afraid to acknowledge his own feelings. Witchers didn't really do compliments. After all, most of the affection he showed his brothers was through insults. It's one of the only ways he knows how to show he cares. But Jaskier didn't know that. He probably just thinks he hates everything about him. All because the one time Geralt should've kept his mouth shut, he erupted like a volcano. Hot, angry, and destructive.

The song they sang was one he hadn't heard before, but it sounded undeniably Jaskier. Everything from the chord progression, the range, the tune, the excessive swearing, to the hilariously relatable lyrics, just screamed Jaskier. He didn't need to ask who wrote it. He knew.

Winter was drawing near. It was time to make the yearly trip to the keep. Geralt had hoped that by this time he would've found Jaskier and made up. Wished for him to stay the winter with him and meet his brothers. Oh well. There was always next year he supposed.

The journey was just as harsh and bitter as he remembered it always being. But when he arrived at Kaer Morhen, he had three happy faces waiting for him. After the exchange of bear hugs and hair ruffles, Vesemir left them to chat amongst themselves. He couldn't help but notice that Eskel had been giving him the stink eye ever since he had gotten there. They were currently in a large den area, seated close to a fireplace.

"Okay I'll bite, why the fuck are you glaring at me like I just kicked Lil Bleater?" he asked, none too kindly. Lambert shifted in his seat, settling in for the show. He looked to Eskel, eagerly waiting for his response.

"Hm. I assumed you'd know," Eskel said in an even tone. Lambert's head snapped over to Geralt, ready to hear what he had to say.

"What the hell did I do to you?" he asked. Lambert nodded.

"Yes, please tell. I'm dying to know."

Eskel met Geralt's eyes with harsh judgement. "It's nothing that you did to me." Oh this was positively juicy. And Lambert was eating it up.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Geralt snapped. Eskel just shook his head.

"Nothing. Just means you blew it."

"Blew what?" he asked. He was tired of beating around the bush. Eskel just shrugged, infuriatingly.

"If you can't figure it out, you're an even bigger idiot than I pegged you for." Okay that was it.

Geralt slammed his fist down on the table. "Damnit I'm sick of your cryptic ass bullshit! What the hell are you talking about?" Eskel's face finally showed a hint of emotion. His scar curled lip quirked up in a smirk that could only mean trouble. And a playful malice danced behind his eyes.

"A little lark told me," he began, noticing how stiff Geralt became. "All about your little mountain breakup." All of a sudden Geralt surged forth, gripping Eskel by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. Lambert stood to get a better view of the action.

"You saw Jaskier and didn't tell me?" he growled. Eskel shrugged with a cocky smile.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? And it's not like he was eager to see you. And from the sounds of it I'm shocked you'd want to see him either. Geralt's eyes widened in shock, his grip loosening ever so slightly. "If life could give me one blessing-"

He smacked a hand over his mouth, slamming his head against the stone just a little harder than necessary. Eskel didn't fight back, only raised his eyebrows. Behind them, Lambert let out a low whistle.

"So you finally fucked up the one good thing in your life? Can't say I'm surprised," he mused. Geralt whipped his head around to look over his shoulder.

"You want to be next?" Lambert held his hands up in mock surrender.

Eskel reached up and slid Geralt's hand from his mouth so he could speak. "He was pretty torn up when I found him." Geralt looked to the ground in shame. "Pissed as all hell, sad fucker too. You really did a number on him." Geralt's eyes were full of regret.

"I should've never said those things to him." He let Eskel go, arms hanging limp at his sides. The heavily scarred witcher crossed his arms.

"Yeah no shit. You really need to do better."

"I know. He was my best friend," he admitted. Eskel's expression softened.

"Why didn't you ever tell him that? He made it sound like you only ever insulted him."

Geralt sighed. "I wasn't as nice as I should've been. Any time I tried I just. Froze and said some stupid shit."

Lambert clapped him on the back. "Oh Geralt, you always do that." A ghost of a smile flashed on his face as he brushed off his hand.

"What was it that made you throw two decades worth of friendship down the drain?" Eskel questioned. Geralt sighed even deeper.

"The dragon hunt was long and tiring. Too many people wanting to kill the dragon, protecting it was harder than I thought. Yen and I fought. I told her about the last wish I made with the djinn and... she didn't take it well. Needless to say we're through. And then- Jaskier was right there and he was talking like he always does, and I. I lashed out. I just felt like hurting someone the way I was just hurt."

Eskel rolled his eyes. "You're a fucking moron. Just because you don't know how the hell to handle your emotions doesn't mean you get to take it out on other people. Especially those who had nothing to do with it."

Geralt wholeheartedly agreed. "I know. I just want him back."

"You better hope you know how to make this right."

"I tried looking for him, but his trail went cold. I need to apologize. I need him to know that I never meant those things, and that he's my friend," he said, sounding defeated. He took a few steps back, collapsing in a chair.

Eskel eyed him, a funny look on his face.

"What?"

"You sure he's only just a friend?"

"Of course he is! What else would he be?" he asked, brows furrowed. Eskel smirked, pacing the room in an aloof sort of way.

"I don't mean to go around telling secrets that aren't mind, but knowing you you'll never figure it out on your own." Geralt growled as Lambert snickered. Eskel cut them both off. "But it seemed like a lot more than just friendship, at least on your bard's end."

Geralt perked up, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait really?"

Lambert nudged him. "Careful, you almost sound excited. Don't tell me my big brother has a crush," he teased, locking him in a headlock. Geralt easily threw him over his shoulder, making him flip over his lap before landing on the hard ground.

"Shut the hell up, this is serious."

"Oooo you do have a crush!" his teasing increased tenfold. He wrapped an arm around his ankle, shaking his leg slightly. Geralt moved so the sole of his boot pressed against his cheek, effectively keeping him pinned.

"Ah! Hey let me up!" Geralt rolled his eyes and lifted his foot, setting him free. He turned his attention to Eskel.

"What makes you think that?"

"Aside from... everything about him?"

"Eskel get to the fucking point!"

"He was broken hearted, easy as that... And he, uh, told me himself," he said, looking away. For some reason he felt a sting of guilt. He wasn't betraying Jaskier, not really, but it felt like something the bard should tell him himself. But on the other hand, Jaskier said to make the clueless bastard feel bad, and he knew if this were a fight, that would be the final blow.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and buried his face behind his hands and let out a low, suffering groan. "He probably never wants to see me again."

"With a face like that, who could blame him?" Lambert joked from his spot on the floor. Eskel kicked him semi gently and shook his head at the youngest wolf. He then turned his attention to Geralt.

"Well don't get me wrong, he was very upset. But it had just happened, so he might've cooled off by now. And even then he was conflicted about whether or not he wanted to see you. I say give it a shot," he encouraged. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"But how will I find him again? I mean, where do I even start?"

"Well he's a bard ain't he?" Lambert said, finally sitting up. "Just follow his songs."

Eskel's face scrunched up in confusion. "The hell does that mean?"

"No, no Lambert has a point. If he's been performing then chances are other bards will be singing his songs in places he's recently been. Then I can follow the trail from there," he said.

"See? I have good ideas!" Lambert stuck his tongue out at Eskel, who rolled his eyes. He reached out and grabbed his tongue, pulling on it. Lambert's eyes bugged out and he made a strangled noise before biting his hand. Eskel recoiled and snarled at him in warning.

Geralt paid them no mind, instead thinking of how he would win back his bard.

~~~~

When the months turned cold, Jaskier tucked his tail and holed up in Oxenfurt. After a life on the road, teaching just wasn't as thrilling as it used to be. He still loved these kids, saw their blooming potential. But he also saw too much of himself reflected in those faces, with their wide hopeful eyes and innocent naïvety. They idolized him. He achieved what so many could only dream of, had seen amazingly horrific beasts and lead a life of wonder and adventure. But that was over. At least he could relive those glory days vicariously through his songs...

Winter came and went. His students were all talented and lovely people, and he earned the title of the fun, hot professor. And while he might would have hooked up with a student or two when he was younger, the thought no longer appealed to him. His heart and mind were elsewhere.

As the snow began to melt, he set off. He had bought a nice and sturdy steed for his journey ahead, being tired of traveling on foot and finally acquiring enough coin for one. Bruno was a beautiful smokey gray with a white mane and tale. He didn't seem to mind his singing or his rants, and offered the occasional neigh in response. Jaskier suddenly understood why Geralt talked to Roach as if she were human.

During his time at Oxenfurt, he was productive and debuted a few new songs. Now as spring fast approached, he was ready to share them with the rest of the world. He was currently in some small village not too far from the academy, a mere pit stop on a long journey.

After performing a particularly successful set, he sat at the bar to wet his whistle in preparation for the rest of the night. He only glanced at the body that sat down next to him, going back to his drink.

"Nice songs, they all yours?"

Jaskier swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I normally only play my songs. They're quite popular and people expect it. But if I get a request by someone else I won't turn it down. Why, you want me to sing something?" he answered, turning to look at him. He was quite handsome if he said so himself.

"No I can never remember the songs or how they go." Jaskier hummed into his glass in lieu of a real answer. "So uh, what was that last one called again?"

"Her Sweet Kiss," Jaskier said, lip curling in saddened amusement.

"Oh yeah, I remember. What's it about?" he tried.

"Just a... an old relationship that didn't quite turn out."

"Sorry to hear that mate. If you don't mind me asking, what happened." Jaskier snorted and shook his head, staring at his reflection in the liquid.

"Let's just say they didn't choose me." The man shifted in his seat.

"I'm Lambert by the way."

"Jaskier, pleased to meet you," though his voice didn't sound all too enthused. Lambert licked his lips.

"My brother's looking for you." Jaskier's head snapped over to look at him. Really look at him. He had a scar over his eye, short brown hair, two scary looking swords strapped to his back, and a wolf medallion hanging on his chest. Another witcher. He didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed that it wasn't Geralt.

He decided to play dumb. After all, maybe he didn't know. "Eskel?" he asked in feigned confusion.

Lambert rolled his eyes. "No dumb ass. The other one." Jaskier tilted his head.

"I'm sorry, but how do you expect me to know who your brother is when I've only just met you?" he asked. Lambert snorted and folded his arms.

"Well you know Eskel. Geralt was right, you really are a smug lil smart ass."

"That's funny, a second ago I was a dumb ass."

"Hey I'm not afraid to hit you," he threatened.

"Nor am I," Jaskier countered. Lambert wore a shocked half grin, eyebrows raised.

"Huh. Okay then."

"So what, did Geralt send you? Am I too close within his vicinity that I'm fucking up his destiny yet again?" he asked bitterly. Lambert looked him up and down, judging his next words before he spoke.

"No, I found you all on my own thank you very much. Though I bet he'll be pissed that I also found you before he did," he mused. This seemed to peak the bard's interest as he turned to face him. Lambert leaned in to say more. "He's looking for you ya know."

"So you said. Why though?" he asked. Lambert shrugged.

"Wants to apologize I guess. Make things right," he said. Jaskier just looked... lost. Then his face morphed into one of amusement as he doubled over, letting out a stream of shrill, slightly manic laughs.

He wiped away a few tears as he spoke. "The day that man apologizes is the day he dies. He's much too prideful and stupid to do such a thing."

Lambert rolled his eyes. "I know he is, but he also really seems to care about you."

Jaskier snorted. "Funny. Normally when someone cares about you they don't blame you for all their life's problems and tell you to get fucked," he spat out.

"Look, I get he may be a stubborn horse's ass, but he really is sorry."

"Thanks but I'll believe it when I hear it from him. If you'll excuse me I need to get back to work." He pushed off from the bar, walking back to his stool and lute. Lambert leaned back in his seat, allowing himself to listen to the music. As he drank himself into a stupor, tales of heartbreak and anguish washed over him. But there was also a deep seeded sense of longing, a yearning so strong it almost hurt Lambert to listen to. But it was there that he saw a glimmer of hope for his brother to win him back.

~~~~

Things never went as planned. For some reason, destiny liked to fuck with Geralt as much as it possibly could. It seemed as though he was finding everyone except the man he was trying so desperately to find. The first to come to him was his child surprise, who he had also been searching for and had been given the most importance in his mind. Good, one thing crossed off the list. He knew they were bound together, so they would find their way to each other eventually, but with the fall of Cintra he much preferred sooner rather than later.

She was kind, but also had a fierce bite to her personality that reminded Geralt of her grandmother. He could feel the untapped potential of her magic sizzling beneath her skin and sparked under his touch. She was curious and talkative in a way that emphasized the hole that Jaskier had left behind.

And then, much to his chagrin, they met up with Yennefer during the middle of a contract. It would be hard to miss the way she stared at Ciri, with a want so strong and a hint of jealousy that Geralt had been gifted what she could only dream of having. Even with his knowledge of magic, he would need someone with stronger abilities to help train the princess. And as much as he had regretted it, he was now thankful that he had tied his and Yennefer's fates. She seemed to be more forgiving now, but made it obvious that whatever romance might have been blooming was now long dead. He was okay with that. He was just glad to have her back in his life. They were good friends, and as a witcher, that was hard to find.

It was dangerous to travel with Ciri, what with the state of the continent. Nilfgaard was on the prowl for the lion cub of Cintra, and would stop at nothing to try and hunt her down. They were still a long ways from the witcher's keep. Only then would she be truly safe to begin her training properly. They had cut her hair to just below her chin to change her appearance enough so she wasn't instantly recognizable. Geralt gave her a thick black cloak to further hide her face. Her old blue cloak was just as much of a dead giveaway as her hair. But no one paid much mind to a veiled child at the side of a famed witcher.

They knew better than to call her by her name, at least in public. Instead they would call her Ella or Ellie, Yennefer claiming that it suited her. Ciri didn't seem to mind. They had been traveling nonstop for a week and were completely exhausted and starving for a real meal. A bath wouldn't hurt either. They came to the inn in search of some much needed rest for the journey ahead. Warm light spilled from the windows and into the darkness outside, a welcome sight. Music and excited chatter met their ears as they approached, greeting them as Geralt held the door open for them.

Avoiding as much attention as they could, they slipped into a booth in the far corner. Ciri sat on the inner seat near the wall, Geralt's large frame mostly shielding her from view. Yennefer sat across from them.

Geralt was tired and worn, otherwise he would've instantly recognized the voice drifting through the air.

"I'm the hardest goodbye that you'll ever have to say-" the last note drug on and scooped continuously into the next word, earning a couple of impressed cheers.

"You don't know it yet, but I'm the Cupid of things That you just don't get, that you struggled to say." The music continued in the background as a waitress took their orders. Once she moved out of their way, Ciri gasped.

"Oh my gods, that's Jaskier!" she said in excitement. Yennefer calmly turned her head to the side while Geralt whipped around, eyes frantically searching for the bard. There he was, swaying to the music as his fingers plucked and thrummed the strings. "I have to say hi!"

"But like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it's my curse. To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse."

Geralt was about to speak, but Yennefer beat him to it. "Ah ah ah, I don't think that's a good idea," she warned.

Ciri shook her head adamantly. "No, he's a good friend! He played at all of my birthdays and our banquets! Believe me, we can trust him." When they both stared at her dumbfounded, she continued. "I get it if you're a bit star struck, I mean he's the best musician on the whole continent."

Yenn snorted. "Who told you that? Him?" Ciri jumped to his defense, but Geralt was too preoccupied to know what she said. His eyes were glued to Jaskier.

Jaskier's voice was raw with emotion as he sang. Deep and guttural around certain words, sensual and alluring with others.

"I'm the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned. All those letters unsent and that garden ungrown. I'm the captain of courage that you've eternally lacked. I'm the Jesus of wishing to Christ he'll come back."

Jaskier looked up at just the right moment, at just the right spot to lock eyes with Geralt. He froze for barely a second. Geralt could hear him swallow thickly before he continued, as though unfazed. His eyes never breaking their gaze.

"Because farewell wanderlust, you've been oh, so kind." His voice was so soft, so tender as he sang the words. Then ramped up in intensity as he continued, finally tearing his eyes away.

"After he finishes this song I'm going to go talk to him," Ciri said with a finality that can't be challenged. Geralt only just now caught up with the conversation.

"No. I will." Yennefer was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. He shot her a glare. Ciri looked at him with an incredulous look.

"I'm practically like family to him, I get to go first," she left no room to argue. Geralt stared at her in slight shock. "You can wait your turn."

"Hm." He would do as she said, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. But at least it gave him time to gather his thoughts and try to form a proper apology. He looked up to see Jaskier's eyes burn holes through him, an angry bitterness woven into his words.

"I'm the tales that the guests will applaud and believe. I'm the child that you just didn't have time to conceive. I promise you I'm not broken! I promise you there's more! More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door."

Ciri leaned forward in her seat to see better. "This must be a new song. It's kinda sad, I wonder who it's about." Yennefer shot Geralt a knowing, accusatory look. He finished, holding the last note of the song for as long as the chord faded out. Everyone burst into applause, tossing coin his way. He made a beeline for the bar, taking the route farthest from them and maintaining that distance. When Geralt didn't move to let her out, too entranced, Ciri crawled underneath the table and made her way to her old friend.

Jaskier leaned against the bar, his head in one hand, a tankard of ale in another. "Melitele's tits I'm too sober for this," he muttered to himself.

"Jaskier!" Before he could turn around he was bombarded by a small figure and enveloped in a hug.

"Wha- hi hello," he said in confusion, tentatively wrapping his arms around her.

"Jaskier, it's me!" she said, and tilted her hood back to reveal her face to him. His eyes widened and mouth dropped in shock. He smiled down at her, scooping her up in his arms and spun her around.

"Gods I was so worried about you! When I heard about what happened I couldn't stop thinking about you! I'm so glad you're okay," he said, smothering her with love and affection that she soaked up like a sponge.

"Come on, I want you to meet someone," she said, tugging on his arm. He pulled it back reluctantly.

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet," he said, tossing a nervous glance Geralt's way.

"It's okay, he's nice," Ciri assured him. He chuckled.

"Maybe to you."

"What?"

"Well I really should get back to work. I'll talk more after I'm done, I promise," he called as he made his way back to his instrument. Ciri stood there, dumbfounded as she made her way back to the table.

"That was weird," she said sitting down at the table. Geralt tensed.

"Why? What did he say?" he asked, slightly too eager to be considered normal, especially for him. Ciri looked at him quizzically, picking up on the strangeness of it all.

"Um, well at first he was thrilled to see me, then I mention introducing him to you both and he suddenly starts walking away saying he has to work," she said, trailing off.

"Don't take it personal, like you said, he's very popular. People want to hear him sing," Geralt tried to comfort her in the knowledge. She sighs, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm.

"I know but he seemed. I don't know, weird? Off? Definitely not like himself," she noted. Yennefer smirked, and looked Geralt up and down. He tilted his head, furrowing his brows and fixing her with a warning look. He was barely holding back a growl. If she said anything...

"You sure it has nothing to do with how you dumped him on the dragon hunt?" she said slyly, smirking with a dangerously arched brow.

"Yennefer!" he snarled her name. He wanted to move past that, he had apologized to her, now he needed to do the same for Jaskier. And now Ciri was glaring at him with real heat behind her eyes.

"Geralt, what's she talking about?" Despite the fire that burned behind her eyes, her voice sounded ice cold. Okay she was definitely spending too much time with Yennefer.

"Nothing of your concern," he said firmly, glaring daggers at Yennefer for telling. The child had no reason to know.

"It is if you hurt Jaskier!"

"I didn't-" he started only to be interrupted again.

"Not physically," Yennefer said slyly, taking a drink. Geralt sighed in defeat.

"Yes I did, okay? But I regret it, and I need to make it right," he said matter of factly. Ciri's expression softened. She reached out and held his hand.

"It's okay, I'm sure he'll forgive you. But just so you know, he's a sucker for grand gestures," she said with a wink. The tavern had erupted with chatter and song requests. Jaskier seems to have finally settled on one. His fingers worked fast upon his instrument.

"Don't think You're mighty cos I said so. It's fine you've got no time to make it home."

Jaskier's voice was deep and smooth, just like Geralt remembered. He caught Jaskier staring his way before the man turned his gaze away as quickly as he noticed.

"And every question's a creeping doubt. I wanna stop the pain, but I don't wanna freak you out. Oh horror the house is shaking, Take it easy. 1, 2, 3, No worries no, no not from me."

Geralt was entranced. As he listened to him, dozens of memories flashed before his eyes. Visions filled with happiness, laughter, fear, singing, anger, screaming... Some of the best memories Geralt has, especially in recent years, are shared with Jaskier. He longed for those times. He wanted nothing more than to wake to blue eyes and a blinding smile. Jaskier moved to the chorus, still beautiful and slower than some of his other songs, but still peppy and upbeat. Most of the tavern's patrons seem to be affiliated with the tune enough to confidently sing along.

"One life to trade away, No use in keeping much I say. Your heart's not mine to weigh. And I'll have words with fate. This earth is burned but I'll sing rain."

Geralt liked this song. As he sat there listening he wondered how he composed it. How many different words bounced around inside his mind before settling on the right ones? How many scratches and scribbles marked in his notebook? He used to have the privilege of knowing, but had never truly appreciated what he had until it was gone. He would never make such a mistake again.

He sang a few more songs, running on requests and ale. But the hour grew later and more patrons retired to their rooms. Jaskier could only put it off for so long, but as long as one other table was there, he would play. The people that did fill the chairs were getting tired, not as eager to hear loud and upbeat music. When a young man requested he play his song Fair, he faltered.

"Uh, perhaps you'd prefer a different song," he tried, casting a nervous glance in Geralt's direction. The song was not only about him, but Yennefer as well, and he wasn't too keen on playing it with both of them here, let alone one.

"Please? It's my birthday and that's my favorite song," he said, batting his lashes prettily. Jaskier sighed, "Well then, how could I say no to that? C'mere," he gestured with a single finger. His eyes darted towards Geralt's table. He was staring at him intently. Good, he wanted him to see this. Jaskier pulled the man closer by his collar and planted a kiss upon his cheek. In that moment they locked eyes. Geralt's burned with regret and jealousy. Jaskier's were smug and a little scared, with the smallest hint of rage.

"Um Geralt? Your mug's leaking," Ciri pointed out. Geralt immediately let go of his grip, realizing too late he had been clenching his fist a little too tightly around his tankard. He wiped up the spill and called the waitress for another.

The boy was flustered and blushing, touching his cheek with delighted awe as he watched Jaskier play his song.

"She promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much. And he, he curses at the world for Leaving him behind and he's falling out of touch. And she is stronger than he's ever been he knows. And she brushes her hand through His hair, he's got so much fucking hair."

Jaskier is glaring at him, Geralt knows it. He dips his head down, unable to meet the gaze. However, he still feels the heat of his stare burn holes through his back. Ciri watched curiously.

"And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay. And when they're sure no-one can hear them. She'll turn to him to say, she'll turn to him and say-"

Yennefer listened with her head tilted, taking Jaskier in fully. He had been broken, barely hanging on and searching for a new purpose. He had been lost, found, and lost again. The strange fuzzy feeling of magic that had fizzled so faintly within him buzzed with a bit more certainty, even if he wasn't aware of it himself. After all, she hadn't known what lie beneath her skin until Tissaia forced her to unlock her potential.

"It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you. It's not fair, Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually Really fucking cross at you for something. And he'll say, Oh how oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do. I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm Standing here maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

It's funny, she thought. He used to be scared of her, or maybe intimidated was a better word. Threatened. They had been competing for the same thing after all. Well for what it's worth, he can have it.

"I've seen enough he says I know exactly what I want. And it's this life that we've created, Inundated with the fated thought of you. And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all Like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born."

How dare they come to him like this? What are they now, some happy little family? Geralt gave her the child she always wanted, surely she'd never leave him now. He can only imagine the disgustingly amazing sex they probably have when Ciri wonders off. Did they find him so they could rub it in his face, or was it a complete accident? Was this the princess's idea? Did they seek him out for help? So many questions whirled through his head as he finished the song. He figured it was time to get some answers. He bid what was left of his audience goodnight before making his way to the table.

Yennefer wore a judging, knowing look as she watched him come closer. Geralt still looked to be in a state of shock, and, was that jealousy on his face? Jaskier liked to have thought he could read witchers, especially his witcher, extremely well. He had only kissed the boy to distract himself, to show Geralt he was just fine without him. That he could move on. But both Eskel and Lambert had seemed insistent that Geralt was regretful of his actions, so perhaps he did care. He smirked at the thought. He would make this as difficult as he could then. If he really did want him, he'd have to earn him back. Walking towards them with a renewed swagger he hadn't felt in months, he threw his arms open.

"Darling, I'm so sorry about earlier. Let me give you a proper greeting," he said as Ciri barreled into his arms. She tucked her head against his chest, grinning from ear to ear as she squeezed the breath from his lungs. Ah, so she'd been training.

She let him go, suddenly feeling the tension in the air. She faltered for a moment before speaking. "Um, Jaskier this is Yenn. And I uh, I think you know Geralt?" she said with such timidness it was more of a question than a statement. Jaskier put on his fakest smile, the one Geralt knew was fake.

"Why yes love, we do. Geralt, care to explain?" he asked and cocked his head. Geralt huffed out a breath of annoyance, with a possible hint of amusement. Jaskier's heart ached.

"Why don't you sit down first?" he asked and motioned them over with his hand. Before he knew what was happening, Ciri rushed past him and slammed herself in the seat next to Yennefer, thus forcing him to sit next to Geralt. He crossed his arms and popped out his hip.

"I will only sit next to the child," he said sternly. He didn't know what they were calling her now, but he knew better than to use her real name. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Jaskier don't be ridiculous, sit down," he said. His eye looked almost pleading, his pupils swelled up like a begging cat. It was utterly adorable. He nearly wanted to do what he said. It seemed so tempting... But no. He wouldn't let him win.

He placed his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow, turning his nose up the slightest bit. He even went as far as to look him up and down with a smirk, "Make me."

Before he could think better of it, Geralt reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrist, yanking him down to the seat. Jaskier was caught off guard and stumbled, falling right into Geralt's lap. They both stared, flustered as their eyes met. Ciri snickered from behind her hand, and even Yennefer gave a small chuckle. They both gathered themselves and Jaskier scrambled out of his lap and in the seat next to him. Jaskier still looked a bit dazed. Geralt leaned closer to him. He didn't pull away.

"Made you," he said, and when Jaskier turned to look at him, he looked so damn smug and cocky. That bastard.

Jaskier brushed himself off and cleared his throat. "Okay then. Uh where was I? Oh um-you were just about to tell her how we know each other," he said, clearly flustered. He was looking anywhere but to his right.

"He's my bard. And my best friend." Jaskier's head jerked upon hearing those words.

"Sure as hell didn't show it much," he argued. Geralt sighed heavily.

"I know, and I should've never treated you that way. I'm sorry for the mountain, and the djinn, and only ever letting you ride Roach if you were hurt, and every time I was cruel or harsh with you. I'm more sorry than I've ever been." His words dripped with truth, forged after hours of regret and meditation. These words were carefully formatted and hand picked just for him. If Jaskier had been standing, his knees would've buckled. He let out a strangled squeak. Geralt continued.

"It was wrong then, and it's wrong now, so I, uh, understand if you're still mad." This time it was Jaskier's turn to hum in lieu of words. "But I want you to know you're my best friend and it won't happen again. I promise," he swore. There was so much emotion swirling in those golden irises. Jaskier believed everything he said.

He took a breath to steady himself before he spoke. "Okay. I accept your apology," he said. He didn't dare say more for fear of revealing his hand. Geralt didn't hint at stronger feelings for him than just friendship, so neither would he. He was content with this, had always been content with this. He could still have his witcher and the life on the road that he missed dearly. He just had to bury the burning love in his chest. But he was used to that. What he wasn't used to was Yennefer's unwavering presence. He wasn't looking forward to it. The way she loved to jab and mock him, flaunting her relationship with Geralt in his face. She was always devilishly smart and cunning, much like a raven. They didn't get along well, or perhaps they did. It was almost like a game between them, to see who can ruffle the most feathers.

But the smirk she wore wasn't smug or triumphant like she won something. It was something softer, more akin to fondness, a sort of teasing glimmer in her eyes. She knew something he didn't. That wasn't new. Geralt was avoiding his direct gaze. He was tired of the stretching silence and spoke.

"I'm assuming it's an accident that you happened upon me. Or was it intentional?" he ventured to ask. Geralt blinked.

"Yes and no? I mean, I was looking for you, but I didn't expect to find you here. We're on our way to the Keep," he explained. Jaskier leaned back in the booth, an amused, surprised expression on his face. His arms were folded over his chest and his lips quirked up in a smirk.

"Huh, he wasn't lying." Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Who?"

"Lambert. He said you were looking for me. Didn't believe him at the time, but I guess he proved me wrong," he said, chuckling. Geralt's jaw dropped as he stared at him. Ciri giggled and Yennefer watched on in amusement.

"Lam- fucking Lambert found you before I did? How long ago was this?" he asked. Now Jaskier was the one squinting at him.

"Only a few months, maybe three at the most." His smirk grew.

"Damnit, how many witchers have you met since I saw you?" Geralt wasn't the best at expressing his emotions, they all knew that, but he was even worse at hiding them when they fought to rise up. Geralt was jealous and Jaskier was drinking it up.

"Ah, so I suppose Eskel had his little chat with you." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned to look at Geralt. He could feel the heat radiating from his body, his nostrils flared out. He looked utterly delicious. Jaskier slipped on a charming smile. "Good. You know, I think he was my favorite. Charming, nice, and extremely handsome-"

"Jaskier, can I talk with you?" he cut him off, voice a deep growl. A pleasant chill ran up his spine. Oh he liked jealous Geralt.

"You already are darling," he said, voice sugary sweet. He's gotten underneath his skin already. That didn't take long. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"I meant somewhere private." He stared at him, hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself. Jaskier made an O with his mouth and slid from his seat, allowing Geralt to follow him. The larger man lead him outside and around the corner of the tavern, close to the stables.

"Oh is Roach here? I've missed her terribly, you wouldn't believe-" Before he knew what was going on, he was slammed against the wall with Geralt's body pressed against his. He promptly shut up, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"W-well I certainly can't say I haven't imagined this," he breathed out in an airy chuckle.

"Come with us," Geralt said.

Jaskier was shocked to say the least. "What?"

"Come with us. To Kaer Morhen. Ciri likes you, and right now we need to keep her safe. A-and you're a professor, and you're smart- she's gonna need a teacher." Jaskier deflated.

"Is that all?" he asked, trying to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"No." Jaskier jerked his head to look at him. Geralt moved his arm from where it was leaning against the wall to caress Jaskier's cheek. He shivered. "I want you to come with us. I missed you Jaskier. And I know I'm not- I'm not good with this. Emotions, and talking about what I want. But I'm trying and-" he looked at him, pupils wide and eyes pleading. "I want you."

"Fuck Geralt, you don't know how long I've wanted to hear that." Geralt surged forth, planting a surprisingly sweet kiss against Jaskier's lips. Jaskier pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He didn't want to be able to breathe, he was hungry for this and wouldn't waste another second. Their teeth clanged and clashed as their tongues danced together as one. When Jaskier was satisfyingly breathless, they pulled apart, still held in each other's embrace.

"I want you too." These words sparked another passionate make out. Then Jaskier pulled away, remembering, "Wait, but I thought- you and Yenn-"

"Just friends." Jaskier couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. He grew himself at Geralt, who easily caught him. He wrapped his legs around his waist, carding his fingers through his hair. He surged forth and caught his lips in another kiss. Geralt spoke around his lips.

"I don't have to worry about you and Eskel, do I?" Jaskier chuckled.

"I like it when you're possessive," he said, thrusting his hips forward. Geralt growled as he dove in for another heated kiss. And just like that, Jaskier's torn heart began to mend.

#jaskier #elf!jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #ciri #ciri of cintra #princess cirilla #the witcher #the witcher fic #witcher #witcher fic #song fic

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9bitghost · 5 years

Photo

REMEMBER THIS AU???

Took me 2 years, but I’ve finally got everyone’s designs roughed out for my RPG AU!! Some designs gave me a lot of trouble, so I’ll probably change a few in the future, but for now, they’re all based around their outfits in the show. Getting back into this has also got me more into learning about D&D, so classes and subclasses are based on stuff from there and homebrews I’ve found and liked, with some liberties taken for the fun of it. ☆

I want to write proper backstories for all of them sometime, but until then, classes, alignments, and headcanons are under the cut!! ↓ ↓ ↓ (VERY LONG)

This AU can be set either as its own, or if everyone sat down and played D&D with characters based on themselves. I would love to write fic splicing the two together if I ever get around to it lol

Character Info

David: Ranger/Bard - Champion of Nature (Lawful Good)

S4E7 pretty much laid out his character and class perfectly; David is a Bard at heart, and sought to make people happy with his tricks and performances when he was younger, until he found his true calling in his connection to Mother Nature. His home is wherever he can set up camp and has his heart set on protecting the forests’ natural beauty and integrity from quickly growing cities. Breaks into song at random and dislikes conflict. Prefers to shut fights down though talk and song, but does excel at archery and long-range combat if the need arises.

(tbh, binary-bird’s david design is so much cooler and i was heavily inspired by it, so please just imagine him in that one instead lol)

Gwen: Bard/Cleric - College of Lore (Chaotic Neutral)

In all honesty, Gwen is the most difficult one for me to place in this AU. She strikes me as the one to DM for the kids so Nerris can play, and enjoys creating stories for them, hence why Bard comes as the most natural to class her. An unconventional one, as she’s sharp-tongued, usually straight-faced, and witty in a sarcastic sense. Probably owns a bookshop in her town and writes many of her own books (half of which are erotica and stored in a curtained off area you need a password for). She has a way with words and handles her spear with the same proficiency. Badass fighter if you get on her bad side.

Max: Rogue - Thief/Trap Master (Chaotic Neutral)

Grew up poor and practically on the streets with barely a glance from his parents, Max learned it’s every person for themselves from an early age. Known for being a little shit and a master at picking pockets, MacGyvering traps, and winning bets through words alone. Shitton of knives, prefers throwing them from the shadows. Says he doesn’t care for anyone but himself, but would actually kill a man or 20 for his friends. Met Neil when trying to swindle him out of some expensive potions and wound up traveling with him. Purely for profit at first after hearing about the tech Neil’s in search of, but they ended up clicking and became fast friends (in denial).

Neil: Artificer - Alchemist (Lawful Neutral)

Neil’s family is very well off and many of his relatives are well known scholars; his father being the leading philosopher in their district. Though proud of his family’s and his own scientific accomplishments, Neil became bored of his mundane village and life, and thus set off in search of new scientific discoveries that could land him a place in the history books. Hates combat and stays out of it whenever he can. Sticks to the side lines, crafting bombs, poisons, splash potions, and buffs for the party. Relatively level-headed and often leads the team’s strategies in battle, until things go wild and sends him into a panic.

Nikki: Barbarian/Druid - Path of the Beast Master (Chaotic Good)

Born into a broken family, Nikki fled to the woods at a young age and lost her way home. Found and taken in by a pack of wolves, she quickly answered to the call of Mother Nature and grew into a nomadic lifestyle with her pack. Nikki is a wild one, brandishing her giant axe with ease, communicating with animals, and able to shift into a wolf form. Met Max and Neil as they were passing thorough her forest and nearly bit a chunk out of Neil’s arm on their first encounter. Would do anything for her friends and thinks of them as her own pack as she journeys with them.

Nerris: Sorceress - Storm Bloodline (Neutral Good)

Born to a human mother and elven father, Nerris is skilled in magic pertaining to the elements, specifically lightning and electricity, and not to shabby with their shortsword when the need arises. Left their village on a traditional journey to hone their skills and become a great sorceress to make their family proud. Always up for adventure, but rash and dives head first into more dangerous situations. Met and traveled with Harrison, who they bicker with constantly over who is the better magic user, before they both joined the Main Trio feat. David. Don’t mess with their party, man, Nerris will beat your ass into the neighbouring realm.

Harrison: Wizard - School of Illusions/Wild Mage (Chaotic Good)

Harrison was born with chaotic magic that had his parents on edge since the beginning. He quickly became a specialist in illusions, but due to his wild magic, he’d caused a lot of unintentional trouble in his town, escalating to making his brother disappear with no idea how to get him back. Fled his family and town young in pursuit of honing his magic and searching for a way to bring his brother back. Terrible at hand-to-hand, weapons, or close-range combat, but packs a punch when his magic goes haywire, often being linked to his emotions. Will sometimes levitate without realizing and freak people out. His hat is his nearly unlimited inventory and is probably a dangerous rip in space-time that should be dealt with.

Preston: Bard - College of Glamour (Lawful Neutral)

Preston travels around in search of fame and artistic inspiration and loves any audience he can find. Rarely staying in one place for long, he recites his poetry and one-man acts for captivated audiences in the town’s square or taverns, sometimes accompanied by lute or flute music. His outfits are flashy and as much of a trainwreck as he is so he’s easy to spot. In battle, his acts are usually used to stun or paralyze opponents, often done as a tag team with a more offensive member of the party. If forced to fight, he’s not too bad at fencing his way out of it.

Dolph: Bard - College of Paint (Neutral Good)

Born into a prestigious and proud military family that he left to pursue a career in art. Has painted quite a few nobles’ portraits and has thus become well known as a traveling painter. Became quick friends with Preston when they met in a town square Dolph was passing through. Hates conflict and tends to stay back in battle, but if he has to fight, he’s able to summon whatever he paints in ink to fight for him (think Sai from Naruto lol).

Ered: Rogue - Scout (Chaotic Neutral)

Daughter and assassin-in-training of her two fathers who work closely with their country’s monarchy. Though she loves them more than anything, Ered has more of a go-my-own-way attitude, opting to work more freely and alone for smaller contracts than under her parents’ wings. Amazing sharp-shooter with her crossbow and can hold her own in hand to hand combat. She’s a name quite a few know in underground circles, and Max has heard of her before as well.

Nurf: Barbarian - Path of the Brawler (Chaotic Neutral)

Half-orc and full temper, Nurf is a brawler through and through. On the run for various crimes and resents the justice system for putting his mother behind bars. Fights mainly with fists and daggers and is one of the strongest in the party. Actually quite perceptive and insightful, but whether he chooses to act upon that insight is entirely dependent on how he feels at that moment. Nurf joined the party a little later than the rest, after meeting them during an ongoing brawl and teaming up as a spur-of-the-moment decision. He stuck around for one reason or another.

Space Kid: Cleric - Cosmic Domain (True Neutral)

Space Kid comes from a line of astronomers and astrologists, and he too answers to the Stars and Celestial Bodies. Many of his decisions are based on what star charts tell him and he’s just happy to be along for the ride. Met the Main Trio early on during a quest relating to astrology and, realizing they lacked a designated healer for the team, found Space Kid to be decent enough. Probably has untapped powers that are pretty incredible if he knew how to access them. Sticks around due to the Stars hinting that their fates are tied and good things will come about in the party’s future.

Other Notes

I’ve gotten an ask or two in the past asking about Daniel and he is 1458903% a Lawful Evil Warlock/Bard who answers to his patron Xemüg. Quartermaster is also a Warlock, probably Chaotic Neutral, and I like the idea of his patron being The Octopus (thank you S4E5 for the harrison and QM inspiration).

#camp camp #campcamp #reposting this bc it wasn't showing up in the tag for me?? never posting from drafts again lol #it's been so long since i wrote semi-decently #it feels so clunky but at least it's FINALLY DOWN IN WORDS #i love how i predicted alchemist neil and barbarian nikki long before the quest ep aired LMAO #s: cc #au: cc dnd #art: charades #i still know jack about dnd so please don't yell at me that some stuff doesn't work or w/e

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raynerfoxstuff · 4 years

Text

Give Your Witcher Nerf Swords

I don’t normally write things, but this one has been eating at my brain for far too long. In a modern AU, what happens when School of the Wolf Witchers get their hands on Nerf weapons?

Hear me out on this one.

All the Wolf Witchers are likely several decades older than the invention of foam dart blasters. Even Lambert, the youngest of the Wolf brothers, is probably older than toy cap guns, so none of them have childhood memories of anything remotely like Nerf weapons.

Their first encounter with them is in the hands of little boys emulating their parent's prejudice. It’s something easily ignored, and nothing an amber-eyed glare can’t fix, but they all find it a little unsettling to know exactly what parents are teaching children about Witchers.

All Wolves, and many other Witchers, find toy cap guns incredibly annoying. The pronounced pop they make to the sulfuric scent the percussion caps have after they explode to the fact that the toy weapon is aimed at them. It would be innocuous to humans, but to Witchers, its the worst toy to have ever been created.

Only Geralt found something useful about these things when he tracked down a boy lost in the woods. The scent from those popped caps lingered on the boy’s clothes, leaving a clear trail for him to follow, and the boy was very lucky that Geralt found him in time. But this is way too circumstantial for any Witcher to change their mind about those toys.

Then came the advent of suction cup arrows and plastic toy bows. The Witchers don’t like these much either. But when Lambert snatched one of these suction cup arrows from the air and kept it, the Wolves made a game of how many toy projectiles they can collect from kids shooting at them.

They compare their stockpiles every winter.

Surprisingly, Eskel is winning with Vesemir (secretly) in second and Lambert in third. Geralt is last. He likes everyone to think that it’s because he doesn’t care, but everyone knows its because he’s too nice and gives the toy munitions back when a kid’s lips start to wobble.

So, the Wolves noticed when suction cup arrows transition into colorful soft foam darts.

Lambert ends up with the most darts that winter and has to convince the others that they’re real. The others only have a handful, while Lambert has enough to supply several little kids for a whole kid-friendly battle.

(No, he did not walk into a toy store and buy foam darts, and a toy dart gun for a little boy who’s abusive father recently died in a contract related accident leaving him orphaned. No, Lambert didn’t also buy some for himself. He’s not a softy or a cheat - what kind of Witcher do you think he is?)

So, after much argument, mainly just Geralt and Lambert with Eskel being a devil’s advocate, they come to an agreement that this new toy is worth half a point each. This only bumped Lambert up to second, but just barely.

But, this is the game that the Wolves play. They don’t think much of it anymore. It’s just second nature to snatch any wayward toy projectile from the air and pocket it. It’s another type of trophy for them at this point.

Vesemir is secretly winning by now, and Geralt was bumped up to third for reasons Eskel and Lambert aren’t sure of.

Speaking of Lambert, he’s the reason that this little collection game spread to the School of the Cat via Aiden. The Cats are beating any Wolves by miles if they ever sat down to compare notes. Only Aiden and Lambert do that, so no one’s the wiser.

This game continues, and nothing changes until Geralt meets Jaskier.

The bard (or reporter or musician or busker or blogger or whatever job Jaskier would get in modern times) doesn’t notice the dart game at first. Jaskier tends to be the one in the spotlight during the downtime between contracts, but when he does see Geralt grab a Nerf dart out of the air without looking, he’s amazed. But he has to ask why Geralt keeps it? What does a Witcher need a foam dart for?

Getting a story out of the White Wolf is like pulling teeth at the best of times, and Geralt stonewalls him whenever he tries to get an answer concerning Nerf darts. It’s second nature for the Witcher to grab and pocket darts, and why does he need to tell Jaskier anything?

But, the story comes out eventually once both parties are sufficiently drunk off their asses. Jaskier’s lucky he even remembers it in the morning. Regardless, his first question to Geralt after he finished talking was: “But … do you even use them? Like, you’ve got so many, why not do some … something with ‘em? Huh?”

Geralt only hummed in response, and they both passed out not too long after that.

From that conversation, though, an idea was born in Jaskier’s mind. Before they parted that winter, Jaskier gave Geralt three identical Nerf blasters. He’d heard Geralt mention brothers in passing and decided to arm as many Wolves as he knew about.

Jaskier wouldn’t find out what he’d done until late next spring, and it was glorious.

At first, Jaskier’s gift did nothing.

The colorful toy dart guns sat in Geralt’s car, still in their packaging. Geralt wasn’t sure what to do with them. They weren’t practical in any way.

The only reason he accepted the gift was that he felt awkward as Jaskier handed the bag to him, and he couldn’t quite get a word in while Jaskier went on and on about how much fun he’d had with these kinds of toys when he was a kid.

Geralt also didn’t have the heart to tell Jaskier that he didn’t know what to do with them and never played with anything remotely like this. (Not that he really played as a child.)

So, Jaskier’s gift sat there in Geralt's 4Runner, always dubbed Roach, until nosy Lambert spotted the plastic bag through a window when down to the garage to check on the cars and his motorcycle. (Because you’re telling me that Lambert wouldn’t prefer a motorcycle to a more suitable off-road type of vehicles? I don’t think so.)

Out of pure curiosity, Lambert swears, he brings the bag up to the common area.

Geralt protests, but was promptly overruled by his brothers as the contents are revealed. Lambert won’t accept the explanation that it was a gift and gives Geralt shit for owning toys, but the countdown had started until open Nerf warfare began.

Even though Lambert refuses to believe that Jaskier gave Geralt the Nerf guns, both Eskel and Lambert lay claim to one of them, leaving one for Geralt.

To no one’s surprise at all, Lambert would be the one to instigate it. He fell in love with the toy blaster immediately, though he’d never admit it - even under the influence of alcohol.

He was the first one to fire his Nerf weapon, but Geralt didn’t take the bait to annoy Lambert as much as he could, and Eskel only teased them. No one quite had the energy that evening to pick a fight because of training. Besides, none of the Wolf brothers had figured out how to properly aim these toys yet.

But, it was only a matter of time.

Lambert used his Nerf blaster as a tool to annoy his brothers. Throughout the following week, Geralt and Eskel learned to anticipate a surprise dart to the back, face, or head. The youngest Wolf even tried it on Vesemir once, but a cold glare shut that down immediately.

To say that it annoyed the older two brothers would have been the biggest understatement that winter. Retaliation was on its way.

That evening as the older brothers sat in the commons area playing Super Smash Bros on a well-loved and well taken care of Nintendo 64, Geralt wound up catching the surprise dart heard around Kaer Morhen, and Eskel whipped out his own Nerf blaster.

This first Nerf battle in Kaer Morhen went on for hours.

Vesemir could have shut it down, and he almost did when he came in and grabbed a book from the shelves. But, instead of sitting in his Lazy-Boy, the patriarch of the School of the Wolf retired to his room.

None of them saw their mentor’s smile as he left. He wasn’t about to take this fun away from his boys.

As soon as Vesemir was gone, the battle resumed. Much swearing and teasing was heard that night.

Many similar Nerf blaster fights took place that winter with one epic one in which all collected darts were used, and even suction cup arrows were thrown with surprising accuracy. In the end, no one was quite sure whose darts belonged to whom.

But, winter ended, and all the Wolves had to head back out on the Path. At least next winter, they had something more than training to look forward to.

Back on the Path, when Geralt inevitably reencountered Jaskier, the White Wolf had to communicate his brothers’ (and his own, begrudgingly) thanks to Jaskier for the gifts. In due time, the younger man heard about the mixture of chaos, mischief, and joy the Nerf blaster had brought to Kaer Morhen.

This thrill Jaskier to no end, and he eagerly told Geralt about foam Nerf swords ...

Thus ends my ADD thoughts for now. Should I do more?

#thewitcher #witcher #modern au #witcher geralt #witcher lambert #witcher jaskier #witcher eskel #witcher vesemir #witcher aiden #potential crackpost #crackpost #witcher with nerf gun #how do i tumblr #imagine the Witcher using Nerf swords

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fairymadnessyeah · 4 years

Text

A Bard in Kaer Morhen

Chapter 1: All Party Members are Here!

Find it in AO3!

Summary: After the battle of Soddon Hill and finding his surprise child, Geralt goes to Kaer Morhen to spend the winter and protect his company. What a surprise is he going to get when he finds he is not the only witcher who picked up strays and brought them to safety from the on-going war. Or that said person is so being so praised and spoilt by his brothers. He does care. He is happy for him. He is. ... ... Hm.

Notes: Hey! This is my first Witcher fic, so please be nice! I never had enough money to buy the games (I still don't) but I really got into the fandom when I watched the series! I re-visited it a few days ago and I couldn't get this idea out of my head! I doubt I will write another fic, not until I get enough to buy the book or the game, (probably the book, tho) or until the next season comes out. Sorry if this is too OCC, I tried to do my best!

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The scenery had turned into an icy and snowy deadland in what seemed like a blink of an eye. The travellers, a man with hair as white as the snow surrounding them, a girl who had been through hell and was still standing and two mages, one hurt and the other healing them. They had all come from a worse place though.

Sodden Hill had become a graveyard after the battle between Nilfgard and the mages. The reinforcements of king Foltest were keeping the attacking kingdom at bay, but it wouldn't last for long. People would say it was destiny that Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, was near to help the last surviving mages of the battle, but he only called it luck. Whether it was good or bad was yet to be decided. He had only been travelling with his Surprise child for less than 48hs when he came across a middle-aged woman and the mage from Temeria carrying an unconscious Yennifer.

Triss was wounded too, but it wasn't fatal, and while the two looked as if they were seconds from dropping to the ground, they were still holding on. The middle-aged woman, Tissaia de Vries, explained everything that was going on once they were on safer grounds.

She told him about the war and the decision The Chapter had come upon, along with their little resistance and then asked for him to take the two younger mages with him. She had clearly noticed the girl with him was Princess Cirila, the lioness cub of Cintra, and that he was protecting her. He accepted, but only because he didn't have a choice. Even if Yennifer had left him, the two were still bonded thanks to the Djinn and Triss had saved his life back on Temeria. He owned them both.

The rectress didn't join them. (Not that he would let her). She said something about drawing the attention away from her pupils. Since they were more powerful and younger than her, and therefore played a more important role in the war than her, she would sacrifice being followed and found (and whatever came after that) to give them more time to escape the war. Geralt suspected there was more to it than that, but it didn't seem to be his place to say that.

After farewells' were said between Triss and the rectress (and the unconscious Yennifer), the four made their way towards Kaer Morhen. Yennifer rode on top of Roach, Ciri and Tress by her side and him at the front, leading and protecting at the same time. Yennifer didn't wake up until a week after they set off and it took them another two weeks to arrive at witcher school.

When she woke up, both Tris and him had to physically stop her from going back to Tissaia's side. They were setting camp in the woods when she sat up from the floor with a start. Ciri, who was closest to her, got quite a fright and a scratch, when she tried to calm the sorceress. They somehow got her soothed enough to listen to them and explain the plan for the time being. The kingdoms of the country that weren't below in Nilfgards' reign were holding their attack back, so until she and Triss were ready to join the battlefield once more, they were to stay with the witcher. He would take them to Kaer Morhen, a place filled with witcher during the winter, a place which Nilfgard would have to be crazy to attack. Once the two mages were fine, they were free to leave. Cirila would stay with him up in the north until there wasn't a bounty on her head anymore or she could protect herself, whichever happened first.

They continued their journey the next day, although the air around them a little tense. The first-week Ciri and Triss had talked lightly about trivial things, but with Yen now awake things had turned awkward. It surprised Geralt that the purple-eyed woman was not angry at him, or at least not showing it. After the disastrous Dragon hunt, he imagined the next time they saw each other, she would try to slit his throat. But, alas, she still hadn't tried. Maybe she was too drained to be bothered by it.

He was too in some way. Finding the little princess had drained in ways he never experienced before, and the silence of the journey was weighing on him, strangely. It had never bothered him before, the quiet. But even when the tension between the three women dissipated and the three chattered normally, the feeling was still there. As if something was missing. He didn't understand it. When Jaskier talked and composed whenever they had travelled, he never felt this way.

As they made their way towards his home, the three females got better acquainted. They would trade who would ride on Roach, though Ciri spent more time there. She was still gaining her strength back and this way, they moved quickly. The two mages didn't seem to mind, as they told her stories and fables of magic and spells, the girl opened up to them, even confessing that she believes to have magic of her own. Geralt already suspected it and was planning to bring it up with her once they were in Kaer Morhen, but Yen and Triss beat him to it. They taught her how to hide it and control it so that it didn't explode, but nothing more. Magic lessons were hard when you were on the run.

Unfortunately, when the three ran out of things about themselves to talk about they moved on to talk about him. Ciri was naturally curious about the man who was now her... protector? (Yes, let's go with that. Protector) And her curiosity wasn't satisfied with his grunts and one-word responses, so when he proved fruitless, she asked the two mages. Who was too damn happy about answering her, even if it was the correct answer or not. Besides, he was less than 2 feet away from them, they could at least pretend he was there, right?

By the time they arrived at the snow-covered mountains, he was all too happy to end their little journey.

"Well, look who it is, Geralt of Rivia," Vesemir greeted him with an embrace and a few strong pats in his back when they reached the gate to the fortress. "You know, for a loner, you have the most company this year," the old man jokes as he turns to his companions.

Vesemir welcomes the three females and they go inside. They make a small stop at the stables where they leave Roach before Vesemir shows them to their rooms. Geralt can see they are not the first ones to arrive, other horses have already been left there.

"So, is this where you were born?" Ciri asks as they walk through the old stone hallways.

"No," Geralt grunts. "This is where I was taught how to be a witcher,"

"Am I going to be taught how to be a witcher too?"

"No," he responds too fast. "You'll learn how to protect yourself, in case you need to," he says sternly. He should be more considerate with her, after everything that's been going on, but he can't help it.

"Don't worry, little one," Vesemir tells her. "You'll probably be able to do anything a witcher can. And with good timing, business has never been better for witchers!"

"Hmmm?"

"But I people hate witchers?" Triss asks as confused as the rest of them.

"Well, yes, they do," Vesemir agrees. "But compared to the last century, these two last decades have been wonderful for us. Ever since the great Epic Hymns about The White Wolf, The Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia have been going around more and more people are requesting our services. Your tales are painting us in a better light. Your little bard is making our lives easier, you should really thank that little dandelion of yours," Vesemir tells them.

"Hmmm." if only he could. He hadn't seen or heard about Jaskier since the dragon fiasco. He had been busy, though. And after everything that had happened and had been said, he doubted his the bard would be happy to see him.

"Alright, this is your room ladies, right next to Geralt's," they finally arrive. "I will see if we have anything for you to wear and I'll make sure one of the boys brings you another bed. That thing might be big, but I doubt you three would be able to sleep comfortably," Vesemir tells them as they enter the chambers.

"Oh, no, please, that won't be necessary!" Triss tells the older man.

"We won't be here long," Yenn adds after Triss.

"Nonsense! It might not be as fancy here as a royal court or some other bullshit like that, but you are guest here! If my boys bring somebody here, they are special and they will be treated as they deserve!" the man declares and then turns to the younger witcher. "Supper will be at 10, you might want to take a bath before that," he chuckles and leaves, patting his shoulder a few times.

"Hmmm,"

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Geralt knocks on the door next to his chambers when it's time for dinner. Triss opens the door, letting him in. She is dressed in a simple, yet nice green dress. Probably made it herself. He doubted a place full of witchers owned something like that. When he comes inside, he sees Yen (also in a dress made by herself) braiding Ciri's hair in front of a mirror in the corner of the room. The princess, unlike the two mages, was wearing the clothes they used to give the younger witchers.

"Time for dinner," he announces.

"We are almost done, be a little more patient," Yenn tells him without taking her eyes off her hair.

"Hmmm,"

"What could you be so excited about? Having dinner with more brooding tall men?" Triss chuckles at her comment as Ciri smiles humoured.

"Hmmm,"

Yennifer sighs tiredly and a few seconds later puts the hair down. "Perfect," she compliments and the three start going towards the dining hall.

Geralt, while the three mages are blissfully unaware, has been losing his mind. Coming to Kaer Morhen is supposed to be a season for him to relax and be with his brothers, but ever since he arrived he keeps getting whiffs of nostalgia. Of honey mixed with cedarwood. Of cheap fragrance and dirt. Of the sweet aroma of dandelions. It brings shivers down his spine and it makes his chest ache. It reminds him of pubs and inns and life on the Path. Of a constant melody, right by his side, commenting and praising and joking, but most importantly, never stopping.

He must be losing his mind if a place like this reminds him of the bard. The only time he had ever been here was through his words. When his brothers asked him about Toss a coin and the bard who was telling the epic stories of his adventures. He had never brought Jaskiel here. At the moment, it seemed wrong to bring him to the cold and bitter snow of Kaer Morhen. So why was he smelling the bard in here? As if he was there? As if Geralt had never pushed him away.

"Do you hear that?" Ciri interrupts his inner musing. It makes everybody stop and listen.

On the halls of what should be a cold mountain, the soft sound of strings and music catches their attention. They all rush to the source. Or Geralt rushes as the other three follow him. Because he knew that music. He had heard it be sung in pubs, heard as it manifested in a melody, heard it born from a humming. As he opens the door to the dining hall, the cold stone hallway gets filled with light and warmth. The slow singing that had once been a slight whisper, is now in full blast as his brothers, probably drunk out of their minds, sing along. Or at least try, as the only man with an instrument and tuned voice strouts on top of one of the table, strumming his lute with careful fingers as if they danced around the stings.

"Toss a coin to your witcher,

O' Valley of plenty,

O' Valley of plenty,"

"Is that... ?"

'Jaskiel... ?'

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #princess cirilla #yennefer of vengerberg #triss merigold #yennefer and ciri #yennefer and geralt #kaer morhen #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher fic #ao3 link #fanfiction

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princess-of-riviaa · 4 years

Text

Bewitching the Witcher Part 5

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Summary: Your sickness plays its last hand. As Geralt rushes to save you, will anyone’s efforts be enough to keep you alive? Or is this where you meet your death?

Series summary: You and The Witcher aren’t meant to be together. In fact, the only thing you two should be doing is getting as far away from each other as fast as you can. You shouldn’t. You really fucking shouldn’t. But he’s just too tempting to resist.

Author’s note: This is the final chapter in my first series for The Witcher fandom, and also my first series that I’ve written on tumblr. When I wrote the first part to this I never imagined that the story concept would get as much love as it did. So thank you everyone who has read to this point. SIDENOTE: this part doesn’t contain smut. It’s written purely for the plot. However, the parts prior to this chapter all contain plenty of Geralt love, and I will also be writing more oneshots/headcanons for both the infamous Witcher and his Bard.

You knew it was the last day of your life, but you kept that knowledge to yourself. If you brought it up to either of the protective bastards you’d come to love in the last six months, they wouldn’t let you enjoy it. And you’d be damned if you didn’t enjoy the hell out of your last day on earth.

So you didn’t bother to elaborate when you asked Geralt to make his famous roasted pork. He hunted down a worthy animal in less than twenty minutes and cooked it slowly over the fire, just how you liked it.

And you didn’t let Jaskier evade you when you cornered him in the woods and asked him the question that had been burning a hole in your brain for weeks: “Why did you never try to fuck me?”

Of course, you enjoyed the way his entire body seemed to go red as a tomato in a matter of seconds. “W-what?”

You rolled your eyes at his innocent facade. “Oh, please. You’ve groped everything that breathes. You’ve lied with every woman from Cintra to Nilfgard. So why didn’t you ever try to sleep with me?”

He looked everywhere but directly at you.

“Do you not think I’m beautiful, Jaskier?” You almost laughed at your own question. You hadn’t seen a mirror in a few weeks, though you had no doubt that you resembled a skeleton more than a living, breathing person. You’d never been further from beautiful than at this moment.

But you remembered who you used to be, when the Witcher blood ran strong in your veins. You’d been the perfect height--tall enough to look down on most people but not too gangly--with legs for miles. Your muscled body had curves in all the right places. Your breasts had been huge, your ass even bigger. Eyes followed you wherever you went, as did a line of drooling men. Back when you’d been a goddess of beauty, you hadn’t cared about any of it. Now you longed for it.

“Of course you were, Y/N,” Jaskier replied, then quickly added, “I mean, of course you are. Are, not were.”

“Just tell me why, then,” you pushed.

He laughed, clearly uncomfortable, though he knew you weren’t going to drop it. “Honestly?”

You nodded.

Jaskier kicked the fallen leaves and small tree branches at his feet, still avoiding your gaze. “I used to tell myself it was because you’d probably cut my manhood off if I tried anything.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you. Jaskier had once been terrified to get within five feet from you. Now, of course, he was like your protective, annoying older brother. That might have been the one good thing that had come out of your sickness: your newfound relationship with the ridiculously talented bard.

“I wouldn’t have gone that far,” you finally got out, still grinning at him.

He shrugged. “I know.”

“So that wasn’t the real reason,” you realized.

Jaskier finally brought his blue eyes back to yours. “No.”

You sighed. “Don’t make me beg for it, Jas!”

He hesitated. Then, “Because I knew--even from the night Geralt and I first ran into you and you tried to kill him and nearly did--I knew that you were his. You were always his, Y/N, and he was always yours. I’ve never believed in soul mates. I actually think that concept is complete bullshit. We get to choose who we love in this life, that’s what I believe. But you and Geralt... if there’s a better word than soul mates to describe the two of you, then I don’t know it.”

Oh.

You hadn’t been expecting that. Not from Jaskier. Not now--not today.

“Is that a good enough answer for you?” Jaskier wondered, breaking the silence.

All you could do was nod.

...

You convinced Geralt to take you on a hunt. There was no better way to end your last day alive than by killing a monster. And so, after an hour of pleading and convincing, he finally agreed, though probably just so you would shut up about it.

It didn’t take long for you two to find a creature roaming through the woods: a berserker. You found it ironic. On another hunt for a different berserker in a different mountain range during a simpler time, you and Geralt had finally revealed your feelings for each other. A berserker had started all of this. It was only poetic that a berserker would end all of this, too.

But before you could even strike the killing blow to the creature, your nose began dripping. Geralt beheaded the monster for you, much to your annoyance. You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. Geralt’s eyes widened when he glanced back at you. You didn’t have a chance to ask him what was wrong before you were doubled over in a coughing fit. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, it was stained with blood.

Your nose was bleeding.

You were coughing up blood.

You didn’t have to be a medic to know that your time was just about up.

Geralt, on the other hand, wasn’t about ready to accept it so easily. In a flash you were in his arms and he was running back to your makeshift camp. He didn’t even explain himself to Jaskier before throwing you over Roach and climbing onto the horse behind you. Roach ran like he was desperate to save you, too.

You arrived at the nearest town in a matter of minutes. Geralt carried you in his arms, screaming wildly in the streets for a medic. Finally one approached you. Geralt followed after him.

All you were concerned about was the horrid, metallic smell of your blood. You were covered in it now. You’d also managed to dampen Geralt’s clothes with it, too. If he didn’t always wear all black, his clothes would have been stained.

You laughed at the thought, though it wasn’t particularly funny. Both you and Geralt knew it was a hysterical laugh; your time was down to minutes now.

“Hold on, Y/N,” Geralt muttered to you. He spoke so softly you could barely hear him. “Hold on for me.”

You stared at him as he carried you in his arms. Something hit you, then. The infamous Witcher, the wild beast of a man that Jaskier had written about and made famous throughout the land--most people feared him because he resembled a monster more often than he resembled a man. But with the fear in his eyes right now he looked so... human.

Your fingers were moving through his hair before you’d even realized you’d told your hand to move. “You’re so beautiful, Geralt. Such a beautiful human.”

“Y/N...” There was a warning in his voice, though you couldn’t figure out what he was warning you about.

“It’s okay, my love.” He had to know you were okay, that there was no better place for you in the entire world than in his arms, feeling his Witcher heart beat slowly against your head. “My love... you’re my love, Geralt.”

The world faded around you. All you could see was a man in the distance--a gloriously beautiful man. His dark hair was clipped short and his shining blue eyes looked longingly at a woman just a few paces from him. The girl’s blonde hair flowed in the wind, circling her tiny body.

The girl was--the girl was you. You, as a human. You, with no Witcher blood inside of you.

And the man who looked at you like you were the center of his universe--

That man was Geralt. Human Geralt.

You tried to cry out to him, to get his attention, to say something, but you had no voice. All you could do was watch as the Human You neared Human Geralt and looped your hands together. He kissed the top of your head and you swear you could feel it on your own head, your Witcher head. And then Human You and Human Geralt walked side by side until you disappeared in the distance, never needing to look back because all you needed was right beside you.

You wanted that, you realized. You wanted a long life with Geralt. More than you wanted to be a Witcher. More than you’d ever wanted anything.

You wanted him.

You wanted to be happy because of him.

You wanted him to be happy because of you.

And you’d be damned if you weren’t willing to fight tooth and nail to get that happy ending.

...

The medic told Geralt and Jaskier that you were dead before the medic could have tried to save you with a potion or elixir. The news made Jaskier erupt into a screaming fit, only occasionally broken up by a painful wail. Geralt, by contrast, became still as a statue. He didn’t move for several minutes. Those long minutes eventually stretched into hours. The night passed. Still, he never left your bedside, despite your body growing colder with every passing minute.

“G-Geralt,” Jaskier finally dared to speak up in the first light of dawn.

He didn’t reply. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t do anything but stare at your body like his gaze could bring you back to him.

Jaskier called his name again. “She deserves...” He swallowed back a hiccup before beginning to sniffle. “She deserves a proper burial.”

Geralt didn’t even acknowledge Jaskier’s presence.

Jaskier moved towards your body on the other side of the bed. Finally, Geralt broke out of his trance. He jumped up and threw his arms around you, cradling you into his chest. Jaskier froze. Geralt’s gold eyes were wild and frantic, his sharp teeth blaring, and Jaskier knew that Geralt would kill him before he could get his hands on you. The Witcher resembled an untamed beast claiming his territory. Jaskier wasn’t about to get in the middle of it.

Jaskier left once the sun had fully appeared in the sky, off to get food for him and Geralt and--though he didn’t include this part--to get flowers for your corpse. Months ago, he’d heard you say that lilies were your favorite, so he went off in search of those.

Geralt remained by your side.

It was surprising, in the end, how your witcher had failed to notice anything changing within or outside of your body. His Witcher senses picked up nothing--not the first beat of your heart, a heart which now beat as fast as a human’s and not a Witcher’s; not the way the heat returned to your skin, bringing a pale color with it, brightening your cheeks and reddening your lips; not even the way your eyelids began to flutter like you were dreaming.

In fact, he was oblivious until Jaskier returned and pointed out that you looked eerily far off from dead. That you looked like you were alive and breathing and--

And that you no longer looked like a Witcher. The physical improvements that had transformed your body after you’d passed the witching test--the longer legs, the muscles that rarely tired, the nimble limbs that allowed you to move as fast as the speed of light--were gone.

Geralt watched you with a frozen awareness, waiting for--for something. He didn’t seem to know what to expect. Neither did Jaskier, which became obvious when he squeaked and moved to the corner of the room upon seeing your eyes open.

Your Witcher eyes had been silver. Not gray, not a soft shade of blue, but silver. They’d glowed as ominously as Geralt’s gold ones did.

But now, the eyes that blinked up at the two people you loved most in the world were an undeniable shade of jade green.

Neither Geralt nor Jaskier moved, unsure if you were a ghost or the undead or what.

They watched, Geralt’s hand moving to hover over the dagger strapped to his side, as you lifted yourself into a sitting position. The room was deathly quiet as you took in everything around you. You must have been staying in an infirmary, which you guessed from the sight of a million tiny jars of potions and healing ointments on the table beside your bed. That was the only decoration in the room besides the bed that you currently occupied. It was completely impersonal.

Your eyes flicked to Geralt. It was strange and unexpected, the feeling of terror that crashed through you. You’d only ever known him as a Witcher yourself, and the sight of another mutant like you hadn’t scared you. But now... now your heart was beating fast, and that was human fear running through your veins. Still, despite the warning signs in your mind screaming for you to run from him, you took in the sight of him with relief. Geralt. Your Geralt. Your Witcher.

You never thought you’d see him again.

The tears blurring his gold eyes were the only sign of his relief. His hand still hovered over his weapon, always cautious. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the stressful eighteen hours he’d just endured. But he’d never looked more beautiful to you.

You forced yourself to look away from him and turned towards Jaskier. The satchel at his side was full, probably stuffed with bread and cheese and cheap wine for him and Geralt. Orange lilies were crumpled in his hand as he took in the sight of you--very much alive, when you hadn’t been the last time he’d seen you.

“Those flowers are beautiful,” you said. Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears. Not as loud or as demanding; it no longer contained the strength of a Witcher. “But I don’t think they’ll be any good funeral. Perhaps a wedding?”

“You’re... alive.” There was no connotation in Geralt’s voice, the shock too great for him to generate a tone of voice.

You smiled at your Witcher. “I’m alive, my love.”

“H-how?” He blinked his tears away, though a few slipped down his cheeks. You resisted the urge to wipe them away. “The medic, he said you--”

“That Witcher we found a week ago,” you said, a thoughtful frown on your face, “her words finally make sense to me.”

The men just blinked at you, unable to follow along.

You closed your eyes, remembering the words of that ancient Witcher: “The only cure for my sickness is death.” The men were still frowning at you when you looked back at them. “I had to die before I could get better. Death wasn’t the sentence; it was the antidote.”

“You’re... better?” Jaskier asked, looking doubtful.

You looked between the men. “Well, that depends on your perspective, I think.” You looked down at your hands, thin and bony and small--not Witcher hands. “I’m no longer a Witcher. I’m human.”

Geralt sniffed. You looked to him, thinking he’d begun crying, and realized that he was sniffing the air--for your human scent. He paused when it hit him. His eyes went wide. “You are human.”

You hesitated. “Does that... disgust you?”

He didn’t answer with words, but rather with a quick kiss to your mouth. He held you tight against him, his arm wrapped so tightly around you that you could no longer breathe, but you didn’t dare ask him to stop. His mouth moved against yours, every touch a declaration of his relief.

Jaskier cleared his throat.

You two broke apart, looking over at the bard.

“So you’re just... you’re okay now?” He asked you. “You’re not sick?”

“I don’t think so, though I’m not sure,” you admitted. “But I think my Witcher magic was enough to fight the sickness. I think, now that I don’t have my magic anymore, I don’t have the sickness either.”

“So you’ll be okay?” Jaskier’s eyes widened hopefully.

You let yourself smile. “Yes. I’ll be okay.” You looked back at Geralt, whose eyes had never left your face. “Geralt, I’m human.”

He smiled back at you as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “So I’m hearing.”

He wasn’t getting it. “We can be together now.”

He frowned, the realization finally hitting him. “We can be together.” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

You looped an arm around his neck and pulled him back against you, giving his mouth a whisper of a kiss. “Marry me, Geralt.”

He pulled back, surprised. “W-what?”

“I want to be with you,” you said. “I want to spend every second for the rest of my human life by your side. I want to be yours--and I want you to be mine. So marry me.”

He laughed. “I never imagined myself being married.”

“Well you should start,” you told him as you slowly rose to your feet, unsure how stable your human body was. “Because I want to marry you. Not in a year, not in a month. Now. I want to marry you today, Geralt.” You pointed at the orange lilies in Jaskier’s hand. “And I want those to be the flowers I carry down the aisle with me.”

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #geralt imagine #jaskier #jaskier the witcher #the witcher #netflix the witcher #geralt the witcher #bewitching the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher tv show #jaskier imagine

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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Hi, sorry if I disturb you but I saw that your request are open. Can I ask you a scenario with Jaskier and a shy reader? Maybe she is the "adopted" little sister of Geralt and he is super protective with her. Can I ask you to add some smut if you are comfortable with that?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,303Rating: ETaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreaka/n: I love the idea of a protective, brother figure like Geralt. And Reader trying to battle between their shyness and their feelings for Jaskier. I hope you like it! Also, hush, you aren’t disturbing me

By the end of the night you were to kiss Jaskier.

You’d spent months with Geralt, the witcher who had taken you under his wing after finding you, the sole survivor of a razed village, and Jaskier, the bard who had joined your surrogate brother on his travels. You’d heard that bards were notorious flirts and you’d hoped to get a taste of it yourself but Jaskier had been oddly formal and distant with you. You suspected this had something to do with the way you say Geralt squinting in your direction when the two of you were any distance away from him but you didn’t bother to ask, knowing if Geralt had threatened him that he wouldn’t dare confess it. Instead you worked on developing your friendship with Jaskier who proved a kind, fun companion even if he kept a barrier of about two feet away from you at all times. There were moments you thought you might have seen him look at you a beat too long, the softest whisper of longing in his eyes when you laughed or read quietly by the fire. It was just enough for you to hatch a plan that you finally had the chance to follow through with tonight.

Geralt had very begrudgingly agreed to let you join them at the betrothal party Jaskier had been asked to perform at. You didn’t need to ask why Geralt had to be there in the first place. The bard had a reputation and more than a few enemies at court. Well, quite a few courts actually. You’d leapt at the chance to join, arguing that you would be safer with them than waiting at camp with Roach. You had your own nefarious purposes of course but Geralt didn’t need to know about that.

That’s how you found yourself here, standing to the side and watching as Jaskier entertained while Geralt sat at a table drinking wine glumly. Jaskier was a different person when he performed than he usually was around you. You say the bard you’d heard stories of and regretted that you couldn’t see him more often, though a part of you wasn’t sure you’d be able to handle it. You weren’t naïve but you were shy, in part because of how sheltered Geralt had kept you. In a way it was probably better that you’d grown to know Jaskier as a friend without the tension of something more there. Until now, on your times, in your time. Still as Jaskier finished his song and walked towards where you stood you felt your heart flip in your chest and tried to hold onto the courage you’d summoned.

“You look enchanting tonight,” Jaskier said. You could hear the scraping of a chair somewhere behind you and knew that Geralt was likely rising to come over and break up this moment between the two of you but when you turned to give him an exasperated look you saw he was looking past you. You followed his gaze and saw a beautiful woman entering the hall, long dark tresses and the most extraordinary violet eyes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you heard Jaskier mutter and you looked back to him, his expression sour.

“Oh is that…?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. Perpetual thorn in my side and the ruination of all of Geralt’s good sense,” Jaskier spat. You looked back towards Geralt but found he was already crossing the room towards the infamous sorceress.

“Do you suppose they’ll be talking for some time?” you asked. Jaskier snorted.

“Yeah, talking, sure that’s what they’ll be doing,” he replied sarcastically. His eyes widened slightly as he realized he was talking with you and he started to stammer. “I mean, that is, I don’t mean to…”

“Oh for heaven’s sake Jaskier I’m not a child,” you said, exasperation making your words harsher than you intended.

“No, you’re not at all,” he said, his eyes trailing over your body in a gesture bolder than he’d ever made. You glanced back towards Geralt and found him and Yennefer talking heatedly in a world of their own. You grabbed Jaskier’s hand and turned, nearly dragging him as you wove through the people around you who had formed a crowd to look at the fabled Yennefer.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked.

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, “Somewhere quiet.”

“I may know a place,” he said. You rolled your eyes. Of course he did.

“Alright then,” you said, stopping so suddenly he nearly bumped into you, “Lead the way.”

He led you through a pair of discreet doors by the kitchens that led to the outside. You were disappointed at first, but he kept walking until you saw he was guiding you to the large hedge maze in the back of the palace. The hedges weren’t the plain green pillars you’d expected but were covered in blooms of varying hues creating a dazzling display illuminated by the torches that lit your way.

“I don’t mean to complain but I am a little worried that we won’t find our way back out,” you said after the third twisty turn Jaskier led you through.

“Oh I can get us back out,” he said reassuringly, “Geralt would never admit it but I’m quite good at tracking. I promise you will not die in a hedge. Well, at least not tonight. Not with me.”

You giggled and he finally pulled you to a stop in front of a little stone bench. He gestured for you to sit first and you felt your face warming a bit. It had been easier to plan this and imagine it when you had the barrier of Geralt there between you and your inhibitions. Now you were alone with Jaskier, a moment you’d longed for, but the reality of it was unsettling and scary and exciting.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jaskier asked.

“What?”

“Well I figured when you said you wanted quiet it was because there was something you wanted to talk about. I’m listening,” he said encouragingly.

“Oh,” you said, twiddling your thumbs a bit and looking at your lap, “Well… Damn. This was easier when you were barding.”

“When I was what?” he asked, his voice amused.

“You know, you were barding. Flitting around flirting and winking and singing bawdy songs,” you explained.

“I do not flit,” he scoffed, but you could see he wasn’t truly offended. “Come on, Y/N, what’s wrong? Would it be easier if I waggled my eyebrows at you while you spoke?”

“I don’t think it… well actually it kind of does,” you admitted as he devilishly waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so ridiculous you felt some of the pressure ease away. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I would never,” he said sincerely.

“I wanted a moment alone so I could… kiss you,” you said the last two words hurriedly and stared at your hands breathlessly. True to his word he didn’t laugh. He didn’t do or say anything. You waited in agonizing silence until you saw his hand loom into view, tuck under your chin and gently guide your face up to meet his eyes.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, though your heart felt it would leap out of your chest. He nodded, eyes falling to your mouth, his tongue briefly darting out to wet his lips. His eyes flicked back up to your eyes and you saw a soft smile playing about his lips as he leaned in closer, pausing just inches from your mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since the moment I met you,” he whispered. You inhaled sharply in surprise and then your lips met, the kiss tender and sweet. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and you let your arms snake around his neck as he deepened the kiss. You were receptive and curious, following his lead as he gently slipped his tongue past your slightly parted lips. You uttered a soft moan and his hands roamed a bit lower, dropping to your waist. He pulled back reluctantly and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, eyes gazing into yours, inquisitive and adoring.

“Why did you stop?” you asked, trying not to sound as pouty as you felt. He chuckled, fingers tracing the curve of your jawline and the fullness of your lips.

“I just wanted to check in with you,” he said, leaning in to give you a soft peck on the lips, “What do you want, Y/N?”

“What do you want?” you asked in return, shying away from the answer. He chuckled lowly, a soft, rumbling sound.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said. The words were vague and tempting.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked. He laughed.

“So many things but for now I would like to lean how you make yourself feel good,” he answered.

“Oh!” you said, blinking in surprise.

“Is that alright?” he asked, planting a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Yes it’s just not…”

“What? Not very barding of me?” he asked teasingly. You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs.

“Look,” you said, tone serious and a little chastising, “I’m not going to pretend to have a lot of experience with this so I’d like to follow your lead.”

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was making fun. In truth I’m rather honored,” he said, “I’m ok with leading as long as you promise to talk to me and let me know if I’m going too fast or if you get uncomfortable.”

“Of course,” you said, holding out your hand to shake on it, trying to lighten the mood. He laughed and took your hand, gave it a firm shake, and then used it to pull you into another kiss. His mouth traveled from yours to your neck, one hand supporting your back and the other pulling your skirt aside. His hand traveled from your ankle up your calf, skirting up your thigh where he paused and tapped once, an inquisitive gesture that you understood and parted your legs so he could continue his exploration. His fingers brushed up against the apex of your thighs and you squirmed against him, hungry for more but trying not to be impatient.

“More?” he asked, murmuring the question into the crook of your neck.

“More,” you answered.

“Show me,” he said, pulling the hand away to take your hand and guide it back under with him. He gently placed your hand where his had been and you pushed aside your smallclothes and took his hand, placing it where you had countless times as you imagined moments much like this one. Your fingers shadowed his, pressing him closer and moving his hand, coaxing and pursuing and reveling in the feeling of his touch. Though the movements were mimicking your own the sensation was still different. His hand larger yet somehow more nimble than your own, his skin a little rougher but no less tender. He seemed content to follow your motions, murmuring encouragement into your neck and jaw and against your mouth. He slid his hand away but pressed yours to continue where he had been as his hand dipped lower and traced your entrance tentatively before sliding a finger in you. The sudden sensation ripped a moan from you and he paused, looking carefully at your face to check for signs of discomfort.

“More,” you insisted, and he smiled and complied, your hands working in complementary rhythm towards your release.

“Does that feel good?” he asked. You open your eyes and look at him, taking in the slightly smug smile he has, blue eyes watching you with the well-earned confidence of someone who knows what they’re doing but still wants to hear that you know it too.

“Yes,” the answer coming in a sigh that he steals from your lips in a kiss. He doesn’t ask any more questions after that, only watches and continues to watch your face, admiring how beautiful you look and feel in his arms, how much he’s wanted this and how he can’t believe it’s finally happening and that it’s worth the disemboweling he will suffer if Geralt ever finds out. He’d die 10 times to bring you this pleasure even once, but he hopes to all the gods that he’ll get to show you all the wonderful ways he can coax these sounds from you and turn you into the quivering, wanting creature you’ve become for him. When you come for him, he holds you steady with his arms until your breathing steadies and you pull your hand away, bringing his with it. You stay like that for some time, resting in his arms as he kisses your temple and hums a quiet tune you can’t place.

“We should return soon,” he says, though he sounds about as excited about it as you feel.

“I suppose so,” you admit begrudgingly.

“I’m not usually one to kiss and tell in any case but I think it would be better if we maybe didn’t tell Geralt about this,” Jaskier suggests. You look up at him with wide eyes and he worries he’s offended you.

“Geralt can never know about this,” you say, your voice deadly serious, “He would kill you and send me to a convent. We never speak of this again.”

“Ah, yes, well, glad we’re on the same page,” Jaskier says, a little disappointment flitting into his eyes. You pause him and turn him back around to face you, pulling him in for another kiss.

“That doesn’t mean we can never do this again,” you clarify, “Just… no songs about it, ok?”

“No songs without an alias, absolutely,” he says, and hurries towards forward before you can protest, already murmuring rhymes for “rose hedge” as you go.

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #jaskier smut #reader request

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