#HIS FIRST SEVERAL DAYS WITH GERALT WERE EITHER

[deandoesthingstome]

Back to Reality - A Final Fantasy

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter x Reader

Summary: Go get your wolf, girl!

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v (missionary), fingering, monster fucking (right?).

A/N: A little angst never hurt anyone, right? It'll all be okay. I swear. I wanted to get this out the day after Geralt, but life. At any rate, I think this is it for now. A real nice end to spoopy season with Walter.

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

“Hi.” 

He wasn’t right there when you turned from the counter after picking up your coffee, but he was standing close enough that there was no mistaking who he was greeting. Had he been any closer, you probably would have sloshed your latte all over his chunky, dark blue sweater and you were glad you stopped short when you saw him. You didn’t think he’d want to smell like pumpkin spice the rest of the day.

“Hi yourself,” you smiled, a little shyly. 

When you asked at the front desk if they really meant anything, and then again if they could get a message to Walter, you had no idea he’d show up at your regular coffee shop the very same day. As in the day after the night you'd just been with another man. It wasn’t as awkward as you’d thought it might be, but it wasn’t exactly relaxed either.

You'd been dreaming of this moment, but now embarrassment began to creep in and you wondered if you'd made a mistake. Several of them. Four to be exact.

"Would you like to sit and talk with me?"

The urge to sink right to the floor in front of him was hard to resist but you were still at a coffee shop and people were lined up to grab their to-go orders so you found an empty table in a secluded corner and sat yourself down across from him.

His eyes were melancholy and you imagined they matched the lonely howl from your night with August. There was no mistaking it and you wanted to wipe the sorrow from his face but how could you? You were likely the cause and he was probably just here to tell you to forget it as a courtesy since you'd stupidly put your business on blast at the front desk. Fuck.

"You alright over there? You look a million miles away. You sure you're okay to talk with me?"

You took a deep breath and let it rush out.

"It's really nice of you to do this in person. A lot of guys would just not call."

"Not call? What are you...? What do you think is happening here?"

"I mean, you came to tell me to back off, right? Like, you're flattered and all, but you wouldn't, couldn't be with me after everyone I've been with. I mean, you worked with those guys."

"So you know I don't work there anymore. That was the first thing I wanted to say, so good. That's out of the way."

Why would he want you to know that? Maybe so you knew you could keep going back to the hotel and not have to worry about running into him? He continued.

"But why on earth do you think I'm here to tell you to back off?" he raised a quizzical eyebrow at you.

It was as if all the air was suddenly knocked out of you and it was all you could do to gather your wits to answer him.

"Well, I just thought...I mean, you can't possibly want someone who..."

"What? Someone who isn't afraid to go after what she wants?" Now both eyebrows raised.

"Walter. You can't mean that. You...I'm sorry but you don't look like someone who's super excited about the prospect."

He paused.

"I know I look tired. I am tired. I've been up nights trying to figure this out. But, look, my exhaustion is also not all about this. I left the hotel for a few reasons. One was you, but maybe not why you think."

"Well, why did you?"

"It's not ‘cause I fell hard, though I did. And you might think that made it difficult to keep hosting, and you'd be right. But honestly I got torn. Torn between knowing you were having the time of your life, which you absolutely deserve to do, and dealing with the taunting."

"Taunting?"

"Some of the guys figured out how I felt, and one of them started giving me shit about it. Betting me he could steal you from me if you ever made it to his room, not that you were even mine to begin with. And, yeah, feeling the way I do made it harder and harder to host properly so I made a decision."

"You left."

"I left."

You thought back to your night with August and now you knew for certain he was referring to Walter. And after what Geralt had said, you wondered why August gave you an option to shut him out. It sounded like August wanted Walt to see, to know you were being satisfied by another man. You could understand how that must have felt. You had jealous thoughts, too, when you found all Walt’s time slots had been booked. Imagining him with other women, well, it wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world either. And yet, Walter indicated there were other reasons he left.

"But that's not all?"

"I was also studying part time and between all the bookings, I was falling farther and farther behind. I had to stay up late to finish assignments and I had an important test coming, so I quit to focus on that because I never wanted to host forever, but once you came along, I never wanted to do it again."

You were speechless. Awestruck. If anyone had told you that Walter felt the same way about you from the get go, as you found yourself feeling about him after weeks of experiences, you would have said they were crazy. And yet, here he was, spilling his guts. He gave it all up without even knowing if he had a shot with you.

"And you don't care I went back? To other rooms?"

Walter looked around the coffee shop, then turned and spoke cautiously to you.

“Can we…? Look, I know we don’t really know each other, and if you want to do this in a public place, I get it. But could we at least take a walk? I feel like everyone’s looking at us and I can’t think straight.”

This man was flustered and you were, too. Confused by all the feelings and emotions and confessions. Plus, what did you really know about Walter anyway?

“I’m going to text some friends and let them know where I am and who I’m with. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. We’ll just head across the way to the park, okay?”

“I’ll be right out.”

sendmeanangel: you’ll never guess who showed up to get coffee this morning    sendmeanangel: we’re having coffee and talking in the park across from a place called The Runcible Spoon.   sendmeanangel: I’ll text again in an hour so don’t expect any replies until then

Then you shut off your phone and headed out to meet Walter.

MNstrluvr: Ohmygodddd! darkgothnightengale: it’s all happening!!! Where are you now? darkgothnightengale: hello??? I know it’s only been 20 minutes but how can you not have just admitted your feelings and jumped his bones by now? Give us all the details!

You found him on a park bench and sat, one leg drawn up with a foot tucked under your other knee so you could turn to face him while you talked. You wanted him to reach out and touch you as well, run his hand over your arm while you talked, but maybe you weren’t there yet. Maybe that would be awkward.

He took a deep breath and began.

"As to your question from before: I can't lie and say I don't care or wish I'd told you that very night how I thought I was feeling, but I thought it was way too soon to trust those feelings. And since you didn't know, and we weren't together, how could I expect you to just not do what you wanted? That's something else that's kept me up at night. Thinking about how to reconcile my feelings about you with both our pasts.”

Walt went on to tell you how much your night together had affected him. How he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He apologized for the locker room talk. He knew Sy had mentioned it and he felt miserable about it. It was just something they did, share notes in case a guest came back around so they could make sure to work any of their favorite things into the stay. They weren’t usually so personal with the comments, but he’d gotten carried away.

August had been particularly prickish about it, especially when it became clear how uncomfortable talking about the guests was making Walter, even going so far as to taunt Walter with the exact date and time of your reservation in his room. He’d given notice the next day.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“You quit your job over me. Well, sorta. What are you going to do now?”

“I was already working towards my private investigator license. Ironic, huh? A PI and I couldn’t find the one person I really wanted. I asked the hotel, but they were not interested in breaking protocol or the privacy agreement. And until I got the call this morning, I thought I wasn’t on the best of terms with them anyway. I think I left them kinda high and dry. But the desk agent is a friend.”

“Yeah, Geralt mentioned something…” you trailed off, embarrassed to be bringing up your latest conquest.

“Who’s Geralt?” Of course he didn’t know.

“He’s a new host at the hotel,” you answered sheepishly.

“Oh. Right.” Walter looked away for a moment. “Of course.”

“Walter, I’m sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings.”

“By going back there?” he turned to you again. “How could you know I had feelings to hurt?”

“Well, I knew I had feelings that hurt.”

He stared at you in disbelief as you continued.

“I thought about you almost every day after our night together. I kept going back to different rooms, because I’d had such a good time and I wanted to see what else was out there. And look, I did have good times. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“I hosted other guests after you. I can’t really say anything about it, can I?”

“Right. Okay, well. The more time that went by, the more hosts I met and experiences I had, the more I knew I only wanted you. And then I couldn’t find you.”

“Find me?”

“I tried to re-book your room for weeks. You were always full.”

“You tried… What?”

“I know it’s probably super odd for me to keep going back there the way I have been, and then admit that I also wanted to come back to your room. But it’s true. That’s what’s been happening.”

“I guess the only thing I can say to that is I’m flattered. And then to let you know that if you still feel that way, I’d love to take you out tonight. I’d love to stop talking about all this time we’ve lost and maybe see if we can move forward. Because it took me a while but I realize it doesn't matter either way. Whether you went back or not. You are your own person. You're allowed to experience life the way you want to. I'm just here hoping you want to experience it with me again."

sendmeanangel: okay, i’m back and still alive, but i need a shower. Gimme another hour. I’ll fill you in I swear! MNstrluvr: meana, where are you????? Did you already fuck him???

sendmeanangel: oh my god you guys are insane. It’s only been 45 minutes MNstrluvr: you can’t just drop that and run. You had to have to known we’d need more sooner sendmeanangel: i think i’m allowed to gather all the intel before i share it with you lol darkgothnightengale: you got your intel and then bailed for a shower! Boo! MNstrluvr: so what’s happening? Why are you stalling like this??? sendmeanangel: he’s taking me out on a real, honest-to-goodness date tonight MNstrluvr: YES!!! Where are you going? sendmeanangel: dinner and then a moonlight walk darkgothnightengale: isn’t it a full moon tonight? sendmeanangel: yep ;) MNstrluvr: you are so getting fucked outdoors!! sendmeanangel: Wait someone's at the door. I think it’s my lunch. Hold on. MNstrluvr: send them away and come back to finish this talk!!!

"Walt? What're you...?" you spoke with surprise, thinking he wouldn't be here to pick you up for dinner for another five hours at least. It had only been one since you gave him your address and left him at the park, floating home on cloud nine. Now he stood in front of you, a bag of food in his hand.

"I couldn't wait any longer. I had to just...can I...?" Walter  dropped the bag and made a motion, hands out in something like a plea, knee beginning to bend with something like reverence. Nothing you understood until you nodded your head.

He stepped forward then, into your space, your tiny studio apartment that until now was always just fine for your needs but suddenly seemed three sizes too small for the man who was bending to kiss you and wrap his arms around your thighs, urging you to encircle his waist with your legs as he moved to kick the door closed behind him.

Your fingers tangled in his gorgeous locks as you relished the feel of his lips on yours once more. You'd only experienced that two times with Walter at the hotel, and the urgency of only one of those came even close to the feel of this one, and you suddenly wondered if he'd held something back when he kissed you goodbye back then. The euphoria blinded you to any other movement until you felt your body peeled from his and deposited on your sofa. And not that you minded couch sex, as previously confirmed with Mike, nor were you assured in the moment that couch sex was the end goal, but you wondered briefly when you'd have a moment to help him unfold the futon, since your studio only had enough room for a convertible bed.

For now, Walter simply slipped down to the floor and settled between your thighs, braced his arms tightly against your hips, caressed the bare skin between your shirt and pants with his rough hands, and nuzzled his face into your stomach. You held him close, hands still shifting through his curls and you could swear you heard a whimper, but whether from you or him it didn't seem to matter.

For a few beats, it was just this sweet. A man on his knees before you, somehow awed by your presence and content to be pressed against you, to feel you hold him close. And then it was more. Then it was his mouth, covering a clothed breast with warmth, teeth nipping at the flesh through your shirt, his tongue leaving saliva on the fabric so that it clung to your erect nipple protruding proudly regardless of your bra and top in the way.

When he noticed you staring down, as if surprised by your body’s own response, he simply smirked and moved his attention to the other side. When he tired of the barrier, he slipped his hands up your back under your shirt to unhook your bra, then lifted both articles of clothing up your body and pulled them off your arms, before returning his attention back to your chest and his hands to your hips.

Heat was building, and along with it, an urge to roll up into him. When he felt the movements of your hips, he drew a hand over one thigh to cup it against your clothed sex as he peeled his head back to gaze up at you.

"Just as eager as I am," he grinned. "I like that."

"Please, Walter," you begged, though for what exactly you weren't sure.

"I got you," he emphasized with a firm press of the heel of his palm, dragging it up and over your increasingly sensitive nub to hook his fingers into the waistband of your leggings. At your approval, he removed them and settled back between your legs, though he nuzzled a little lower than before.

He dragged you down, pulling your ass off the edge of the futon so he had a clear path to his objective. You expected him to dive right in, hoping he remembered what he already learned from before, and then he spoke and your mind exploded.

"Such a delightful sight," he said, tracing down the crease of one thigh and up the other with a finger you desperately wanted him to dip inside you. And he could tell. "She's so eager, positively dripping, isn't she?" He squeezed an inside thigh, then nipped and licked the other before speaking again.

"Yes, Walter. Please," you gasped, already anticipating the sensations he was going to create for you. You shuddered and bucked involuntarily at his low chuckle, putting your pussy directly against his lips and he didn't try to resist any longer.

His hunger was apparent, and it matched the desire building in you. He lapped eagerly, licked and sucked with need, tongued expertly at all the spots he already knew were favorites and then he found a few more, too. You tried to hold onto a fleeting thought about his technique before it drifted into the air above you as you found your fingers back in his hair, clutching and pulling him close to your core. Walter feasted like there was no tomorrow and you closed your eyes with the knowledge you were going to have as many tomorrows with this man as you wanted.

When you came it was with the cry of his name on your lips. He crawled up off the floor to settle on the futon beside you, scooping you onto his lap and hugging you close to help steady you.

He placed kisses on your forehead and spoke words into the consciousness you struggled to maintain as your chest heaved. "Shh, I got you. You're good. So good. So beautiful."

"Walter, that was..., jesus..., fuck...," you stammered, barely able to control your thoughts and you wished you could have sunk into the ground below you when you heard the next words out of your mouth. "Did Sy give you pointers?"

Walter's immediate laugh was hearty and heartwarming, dispelling the thoughts you had that you deserved to be tossed across the room for even daring to bring it up.

"I've always known clients prefer him for that over any of the rest of us. I took him out for beers one night and I may have begged for a trick or five. Sy's a good guy and he thought you deserved it, though I'm sure he never would have agreed if he thought I was coming back to the hotel." Walt bent to capture your lips and when he was done kissing you hard and deep, he spoke again. "I do, too. Think you deserve it."

"What about you?" you asked, aware now of a hardness pressing against your flesh through his pants. "Don't you deserve more, too?"

You wiggled off his lap and stood, hand out to urge him up. You swallowed hard as he towered over you, eyes full of desire and lust.

"I deserve whatever you're willing to give me."

"I'll give you everything, Walt," you admitted, fingers already working the buckle of his belt and buttons of his pants.

His lips crashed to yours as soon as he tossed his sweater to the floor and he held you entranced with his tongue even after you dropped his jeans down his legs along with his boxers. It was just a low growl but the sound from the back of his throat was enough to send a wave of slick down your thigh as you clenched around the space where you most desired him to be.

"Fuck, Walter," you gasped into his mouth and begged. "Fuck me, please."

It was a mad dash to remove his boots so he could discard his pants, though not before he grabbed the made-just-for-him condoms from the pocket, and then unfold the futon for a larger surface area on which he could move you around and manipulate your passion. It was no plush cabin bed, but it would have to do.

"Fuck, I wanted this outside tonight," he admitted, staring at you as he rutted into your core with abandon. 

"It's a full moon tonight," you noted, as if he wouldn’t already know that.

"I still wanna fuck you under it," he growled, staring deep into your eyes.

You were losing control, falling up through space and time as you felt every inch of him against every inch of you and it still wasn't enough. You couldn't stop your eyes from closing as you begged him for more.

"Hey," he called, lifting your leg around his waist and when you opened your eyes you saw him smile as you wrapped your other leg the same way without prodding from him. You were mesmerized by the motion of his hips and barely caught the glint, a hint of change to amber, but you did.

“No!” He stilled immediately but you held on as he tried to withdraw from you. “No, stay with me, here just like this. We can do that again, later, whenever. Just,” you drew a hand to cup his face, “please. Like this. Like you. Just you.” You kissed him deep and rolled your hips to spur him on again.

You were prepared to feel less full, less fucked, though not by much, with Walter in human form. You were not prepared for the way he fucked you to feel just as animalistic as the monster. His assault was merciless, even as he grunted in your ear all the ways he was going to make you his. How he planned to take you softly in the moonlight so you’d know it didn’t matter what form he was in, you could have him any way you wanted. 

When you finally came apart for him, he let loose with a loud growl and you were sure your neighbors were gonna call the landlord any minute. He hurried back to your side after disposing of the spent condom, curling around you and melting you in his warmth.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?” he asked. “I still wanna take you to dinner, but I’d love to just stay here with you for awhile. If that’s okay?”

You were about to answer him, but your returning senses also meant you could hear the buzzing vibrations of notifications on your phone. Shit!

“Uh, no. I don’t have to be anywhere. Maybe you could grab that bag you left outside and we can see what else I can scrounge up for us to eat right now?”

You grabbed your phone as he peeled open the door, careful to tuck himself behind it as he grabbed for the food, lest a neighbor get a view they didn’t pay for.

sendmeanangel: okay look. He’s here. Right now. Can’t talk. All good. MMNstrluvr: MEANA!!! darkgothnightengale: GIRL YOU BETTER SPILL SOON!

You found some chips and salsa and split your sandwich with Walt, not that it looked like nearly enough food to tide him over till dinner. But he didn’t seem to mind. The next few hours flew by as you both sought to learn as much about each other as you could as soon as possible.

He explained that the special skill he had only worked within the confines of a vortex, over which the hotel had been built. It’s why he couldn’t bend time to allow him to study and work and wonder about you without losing sleep somewhere along the way.

After a shower, and some shower head, and then another shower, Walter asked if he could take you somewhere special for dinner. Somewhere not in town. He let you send GPS coordinates to your online friends with the promise they wouldn’t send you any details of the location. He wanted it to be a surprise for you. They were only to use it if you didn’t check in after dinner and again in the morning and once more when you were back at your apartment.

The sun was just sinking low with a burst of evening color when Walt pulled up to the lakeside cabin. He helped you out of his truck, then grabbed your overnight bags and the groceries from the backseat. You couldn’t wait to see the place in the full daylight, but you could already tell it was magical. 

An a-frame cabin with large windows faced the lake. An oversized wooden deck made up a large seating area and all around landing pad in front of the entrance. A set of side steps allowed access from the driveway, but along the full length of the deck three stairs led to a narrower mulched path that in turn led to a wooden dock out onto the lake. A seating area was visible there as well, though there were no chairs.

Walt let you in first, then followed and set the bags down before closing the door.

He must have noticed you still admiring the sunset out the windows.

"I can make it last."

You blinked and turned, curious about what he'd just offered.

"Are we in a vortex then?"

"Yes, I got lucky finding this spot. Don't own the place, yet, so I can't come out whenever I want, but I made sure tonight was free."

"And, I mean, no. It's beautiful but I'm really looking forward to the moon. Can you make that last?"

He bit his lip and nodded, letting a smile and glance drift to the floor, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe his luck.

"Yeah, I definitely can," he grinned at you before sweeping you into his arms. He kissed you hard and deep and you could feel the way he held back.

"Don't," you said, pulling away from the kiss so you could look him in the eye.

"Don't make it last?" he asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Don't hold back."

He did not. Every ounce of your clothing was on the floor next to his in what felt like a heartbeat. He was pawing at every inch of your body and you were enjoying it, the way he caressed you, held you, molded you to his form.

"Outside?"

"Won't matter," he huffed between kisses. "She's not up yet. Later. After dinner."

"Will you do it anyway?" you asked, and nodded earnestly when he asked if you were sure.

He again didn't waste a moment. One second he was Walter, the next he was the wolf and he was at your throat. Then down your body, then between your legs.

He made you come on his tongue at least three times before he presented his enormously hard member to you and helped you work your mouth around the tip.

You wanted so much more. You gave it your best shot. But he was huge. Larger than you recalled. When it was clear you'd need your hand to cover him completely, he licked your palms and wrapped your fingers around his length.

He pulled you off just as you finally found the right rhythm, the right pressure, the right speed.

"You're gonna make me come," he growled.

"Kinda the point, Walt," you grinned up at him. "C'mon, lemme..."

"You asked me not to hold back. Sorta assumed you meant the fucking."

"I meant don't..." you licked your lips. "Hold..." then your hand. "Back..." And with that, you took him back into your mouth and kept working him to climax.

You swallowed him down and glanced up, marveling at the way he shifted. The hair receded, though clearly not completely. The nose shortened, teeth shrunk, though a fang still peeked from his mouth as he panted for air. His stature gave back the extra inches balancing on the balls of his feet gained him. And with claws retracted back into his normally large hands, he reached to bring you to his feet before him.

After the kiss, you admitted, "I just figured the faster we finish dinner, the faster we can get to her."

His laugh never failed to make you feel safe and at home.

"That isn't how the moon rise works, but I appreciate the initiative."

She was just at the horizon of the mountain crest behind the cabin when Walt cleared the plates from the table. You started a quick, warm shower just to freshen up and welcomed him into your arms when he joined you.

Then he dried you off, handed you a flannel of his to wear, escorted you outside where he shifted on the way down the steps and led you to the end of the dock. You sat between his legs, back against his chest, and let the heat radiating from him keep you warm. You smelled the chill in the air you knew would lead to frost soon, but not tonight, not tomorrow.

She peered over the tree tops and cast her gaze upon you. You felt her power and you felt his power and you arched against him as he moved his hand between your legs. He nuzzled down your neck, nipped at your shoulder, and carefully, with precision, made you come on his hand.

As you recovered, you unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off your body, and laid it down behind you. You made your way to your back, letting the flannel shield your bare skin from the hard wood planks. And you pulled him to you, urged him inside you, and held him close. Your bodies moved in tandem as she shone brightly across the gentle rippling of the water, her reflection casting you in her glow.

Walt didn't lie about taking you gently. It was like nothing you ever imagined being with a wolf would be like. As sensual as any touch any man or monster had ever given you, and given your recent adventures, that was saying a lot.

But you could tell he was still holding back.

"I get it Walt," you whispered in his ear. "This doesn't have to be the way you say it though." You smoothed the fur along his face as he pulled back to watch your face. "Don't hold back."

With a snarl, he did as you bid, taking you apart as he had back at your place just mere hours ago. Though once the moon reached her peak, you could tell he'd halted time and it was gonna have to be you to beg him for mercy, plead with him to stop treating you to the most intense, overpowering yet intimate orgasms you'd ever felt. You had to urge him to finally come and let the moon fall how she wanted.

"I love you, too," you whispered to him as he collapsed beside you.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS header created for me by my wonderful friend in fic, @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble @brattymum96

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's another monster fucker lol!)

Tags from Werewolf!walter (if you commented):

@ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoo @augustsprincess @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 @agniavateira @sammat97 @meb79

if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

#walter marshall #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall fanfic #werewolf!walter #werewolf!walter marshall #werewolf!walter x reader #werewolf!walter marshall x reader #spoopy season #back to reality #fantasy hotel #mine #deandoesthingstome

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - The Splinter

Jaskier likes learning new ways to do things. There's alway more than one way to do the same task, and he likes watching people to see how they do it diffferently. And then he wants to try doing it. Especially if it makes the task easier, or more fun.

He gets plenty of time to do just that as he travels with Geralt. Geralt will see him doing something oridinary, like folding up his bedroll, and he'll just wander over and show him a more efficient way to do it. Or a faster, easier way to start a fire. Jaskier never knew there were so many ways to get wood to burn, even green, unseasoned wood.

So when Jaskier gets a splinter in his palm, he tries to get it out like he usually does. First, he tries picking at it, trying to worry it out. When that fails, he tries to use the tip of one of his daggers to dig it out. He's still trying to dig it out when Geralt sees him and wanders over.

Hmm?

Oh, i've got a splinter in my hand... I've almost got it.

Hm.

Well, of course. All I have on hand is a dagger. Son of a...! Do you have a sewing needle? I could probably winkle it out in half a second with a sewing needle.

Hm.

What do you mean, I'm doing it the hard way-!

Jaskier is still talking when Geralt just reaches over and grabs his hand. Before Jaskier can react, Geralt is pressing his mouth on his palm. He does a complicated thing with his teeth and tongue as he sucks hard. The splinter comes out far enough for Geralt to grab it with his teeth and pull it out.

Wait-! What are you-? Oh... How did...? Wait... WhAt???

Geralt just grunts and rubs some salve on Jaskier's palm, then goes about his business.

Well, that had been interesting...

And of course Jaskeir wanted to learn how to do it. He nagged Geralt for days, asking in increasingly annoying ways as the Witcher continued to deny his request. He'd begged, pleaded, whined, made up an annoying song, and even tried clinging to Geralt's leg.

He almost got himself knocked into next week when, as they were riding through town, Jaskier whined loudly "Come on, Geralt! Teach me how to do that thing you did with your mouth the other night!" Geralt had frozen on Roach's back.

*Geralt.exe has stopped working*

Roach conintued to walk as people turned to stare while Geralt's brain rebooted. He gave Jaskier the most severe look the bard had ever seen.

Jaskier just grinned back at him, unfazed thanks to his high concentration of sheer audacity. Geralt gave up and showed him how to do it when they next made camp. It was either give in, or be publicly embarrassed, or privately harrassed to death.

And of course Jaskier had to try it out the first chance he got. That winter, he got his chance.

Lambert had gotten a large splinter stuck in his index finger. He'd spent several hours trying to get it out. He'd succeeded only in pushing it deeper into his finger.

"Just leave it alone, Lambert!" Coen had grumbled as he'd watched Lambert trying to dig the annoying piece of wood out with a sewing needle while they ate dinner, "You're only pushing it in deeper. It will come out on it's own."

Lambert grunted but kept picking at his finger, intermittently cursing or snarling to himself. He was considering cutting his finger off just to be rid of the annoying pain. He squeezed it as hard as he could stand, and managed to squeeze the end of it up just a little bit. He tried to get it with the end of the needle, but ended up pushing it back into his skin.

"F**k, sh*t, b*tch, c**k, c**t, a*sehole, motherf**ker, godsd*mnit!"

He became aware of Jaskier standing next to him. "You've got a splinter?" He reached over and caught Lambert's hand, pulling it towards him for a closer look. "I can help you get it out-!"

Lambert just growled at him and tried to tug his hand back.

"Don't be a jacka**, Lambert," Coen warned "Songbird is just trying to help!"

"I can do it myself."

Lambert and Jaskier had a brief tug of war over Lambert's hand. Lambert insisted he didn't need help, while Jaskier insisted he did. He began growing more and more annoyed by the persistent bard.

Jaskier finally got fed up with Lambert's stubborness.

"S*d off, I don't need your help-!" Lambert's protest turned into a surpised squawk as Jaskier's mouth closed over his finger.

Lambert: * Windows Error Message sound*

Jaskier: *his mouth doing something intimate to Lambert's finger*

Lambert could only sit there stunned, making an odd, strangled sound in the back of his throat, face going hot as he felt Jaskier's teeth and tongue move against his finger.

His brain tapped out and started a cascade of error message pop ups before blue screening as Songbird sucked hard on his finger.

Jaskier spat the splinter out while the other Witchers laughed raucously. Lambert was shook. As soon as the splinter was out, he glowered at Jaskier, then stalked out of the Great Hall, his expression stormy.

Jaskier had been a little hurt at the reaction. He thought Lambert would be happy to have the splinter out of his finger, but instead he'd looked p*ssed. Was he mad because his brothers were laughing? Why were they laughing, anyway?

What do you mean that's not how you usually do it? That's how Geralt showed me-! GeRaLt!!!!

As soon as Lambert was out of earshot, he sprinted for his room. WhAt dA fUq, wHaT Da FuQ, WhAt dA aCtUAL FUQ jUsT hApPeNeD????

He has to have a lie-down while he tries to forget about how he just had his finger violated.

Lambert literally hides in his room for a week before he plucks up the courage to come out. Then he just has to deal with the teasing and jokes. And that f***ing hurt look Songbird keeps giving him because he thinks he's mad at him.

And Melitele, are things awkward the rest of the winter!

#the witcher #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #the witcher headcanon #kaer morons #twn #the witcher netflix #lambert #witcher lambert #lambert the witcher #the splinter headcanon

[wren-of-the-woods]

OKAY i am home i am showered i am Cozy and Tucked In let’s do this

i know we know i’m foaming at the mouth for the renfri fic so imma switch it up a bit, i want to hear about king radovid saves the day and jim please stop!

Okay I am now home and showered and I've finished all my assignments for today so here we go! Thank you so much for the ask <3

King Radovid Saves the Day is a fic I started shortly after the last part of season 3 but have only continued recently, inspired by the thought that it could be quite convenient for Jaskier that his lover now has an army. It also features a bewildered Geralt! Here's a snippet:

Radovid holds Jaskier closer. Jaskier opens his mouth, searching for anything else to say that could possibly take the horrifyingly sad look from Radovid’s face, when— “Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” asks Geralt.   Jaskier and Radovid jump apart in equal parts surprise and automatic embarrassment. Somehow, Jaskier had completely forgotten his friend was in the room. Radovid wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his fur robe, swallows, and shakes himself a little, turning to face Geralt.  “This is your witcher?” he asks. Jaskier has heard that question many times over the years, usually with derision or shame directed at one or both of him and Geralt, but rarely with such gentle curiosity, let alone with the rough voice of someone recently on the verge of tears. “He is,” says Jaskier, while Radovid takes a deep breath to compose himself more thoroughly.  “It is an honor to meet you,” says Radovid to Geralt. “To have inspired such songs and such loyalty, you must be a great man.”

Jim Please Stop Almost Getting Killed is one of my first tentative forays into the Star Trek fandom! It's set after an episode in TOS s2 where Kirk almost dies and the basic premise is that Spock was a lot more worried about it than he let on. I'm having a lot of fun with it so far! Here’s a bit:

Still looking at his hands, Spock paused for a moment before speaking. “I admit that I would have found it most disagreeable if you had lost your life in that mission.” Jim smiled a little, gentle and a bit sad. “I wouldn’t have exactly been pleased with it either.” Spock continued as though Jim had not spoken. “Were you to perish, the ship would feel your absence most keenly.” Jim considered him for a long moment before, throwing caution to the winds, he spoke. “And you? Would you feel it?” For the first time in several minutes, Spock finally looked up and met Jim’s eyes. “I admit that I would have, captain.”

Also, because you’re the best, here’s a bit of the Renfri fic <3 in the name of spicing things up, it’s a song rather than prose!

The shrike with hooked beak Will come for the weak She’ll catch you before you can flee She’ll seize you with claws Before you can pause And carry you off to her tree With strength hard and true She’ll run you right through And leave you to rot on a thorn And before you expire All that you’ll desire: Is that you had never been born

(From this ask game)

#no idea if I’ll get to many asks before bedtime #if not i'll get to the rest in the morning #anyway thank you so much for the ask!!! it means a lot #really made me smile <333 #writing’s been a struggle lately so the motivation is appreciated #dreamofbecoming #wren talks #asks

[pterodactylterrace]

Dating Paul Bullion

Because BOY HOWDY do I have thoughts about dating this man!

He will send you a picture of every dog he sees.

When he is filming for the Witcher, you get multiple pictures of Kal every day.

You will never understand his need to get up at stupid o’clock for his first workout of the day.

It makes him happy, though, so you just burrow further into the warm spot he left behind and go back to sleep.

Plus the physique that comes from his fitness dedication is a nice bonus.

He seems almost magnetically drawn to you.

Sitting quietly on the couch? BAM! Giant ginger suddenly pressed against you.

Cooking dinner? Better not bend down or his giant hand will be all over your ass and you’ll end up burning the food. Again.

The house is always filled with music.

Either coming from a speaker, or Paul just belting out whatever comes to him.

You never knew just how handy he was until you moved in with him.

One day you were climbing the pantry shelves because your boyfriend is 6’3 and hasn’t seemed to realize that the top shelf of all but useless to you.

The shelf you were standing in gave way beneath you, sending you sprawling onto your ass on the ground, various shelf stable foods littering the ground around you.

He ran across the house to you when he heard the crash and was kneeling at your side with hover hands before you even registered what happened.

You braced yourself for a lecture, so sure he was going to be upset with you for ignoring his constant requests to ask him for help instead of climbing.

But once he realizes the tears are because you’re upset and not from physical pain, he gathers you up in his arms and plants the pair of you on the couch for the rest of the day.

The shelf is repaired the next day before you even get home, and you tear up a little when you see a step stool made of the same wood as the new shelf.

Neither of you ever showers alone if the other is home.

Not even always a sex thing, more just an intimacy thing.

It used to freak you out, having your privacy invaded by a giant ginger pushing the curtain aside and climbing in with you.

Don’t get me wrong, he’d seen you naked several times before, but he’d never seen you like this.

Naked, looking like a drowned rat with half your bush shaved. You couldn’t bring yourself to resume your shower yoga to properly shave your junk, so you just pretend you meant to only shave one labia and half your mound.

One week, and seven ginger invaded showers later, you gave up on being able to sneak shave.

You sort of expect him to cut his shower short when you start positioning yourself in the odd poses required to shave everything. Instead he drops to his knees in front of you, taking the razor from you like it was the normal thing to do and just takes over for you.

He dutifully removes all the hair from your nethers, pulling the shower head down for a more through rinse. The little shit knows exactly what he’s doing when he aims the jet at your clit.

He waits just long enough to make his intentions clear before abandoning the shower head and diving in with his mouth instead.

You develop a nightly routine of sorts after a while when he is home in the evenings. You’d both laze around on the couch, your legs often thrown over his lap while he absently massaged your calves and feet.

At some point you always end up falling asleep, and yet you always wake up in bed.

And nothing can compare to the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms at night, safe and sound as you dream away.

Taglist:

Tags:  @weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay @packerfan43 @cavillsthighs @poledancingdinos @pretty-toxic-revolver @oh-for-fic-sake @geralt-of-baevia @littleone65 @littlefreya @eldarwen333 @sillyrabbit81 @beck07990 @pandaxnienke @marytudorbrandon @identity2212 @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @stardusted26 @cardierreh15

#Paul Bullion #Paul Bullion head cannon #Paul Bullion headcannon

[horsedadgeralt]

darlin’ i’d wait for you (2/3)

On a hot summer day on the side of the road, Jaskier decides to do what he does best: speak his mind.

Has it been exactly 5 months since I posted the first chapter? Maybe. But life, specifically law school, got crazy and I got hit with several months worth of writer’s block that I still haven’t really recovered from. I am slowly getting back into writing and I was able to finish the final chapter of this story yesterday - it is going to be over 3k of fluff, so that should make up for my absence I hope <3 In the meantime, enjoy this very short “intermission” - it may not be long, but it needed to be its own chapter. Hope you like it nonetheless!

wc: ~500 cw: none tags: fluff, idiots in love

read chapter one on ao3 and tumblr!

It had been a few days. A few days since Jaskier had decided to bare his heart and soul, and say what either of them had been too afraid to speak up about for too long.

Geralt had asked for time. How long, he hadn’t said. Jaskier hadn’t asked, either. It wasn’t his place.

His place was by Geralt’s side, walking next to him, following him from one contract to the next and turning the best ones into songs. It had been his place for so long, and he would be happy for as long as he would be allowed to stay.

 And please stay.

The words had been faint but his voice was certain. Geralt wanted him there, hadn’t pushed him out and left him for good on the side of the road.

It had been a few days, and they had just arrived in another small town with a serious drowner infestation.

The people were almost happy to see Geralt, and the Alderman had promised him a pay that was more than reasonable as long as he took care of the problem as fast as possible. “Too many people have died,” he had said, the look in his eyes shrouded by a veil of grief.

Once they had settled into their room at the inn, Geralt began preparing for the hunt.

It was a routine job, Jaskier knew that, but just like it was part of Geralt’s routine to meticulosuly go through his entire inventory to figure out what exactly he would need, it was part of Jaskier’s routine to worry before the Witcher had even left the room.

He watched him pack a variety of vials and give his swords a final inspection before putting on his armour, the sound of the clasps closing a familiar melody in the bard’s ears.

When he was done, Geralt turned to look at him, his face blank as though he was lost in thought.

Tentatively, he took a few steps forward until he was right in front of the bard. Jaskier smiled at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Geralt clench his hand into a fist before lifting his arm and putting his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back soon. Try not to get into any trouble whilst I’m gone.”

There was a lump in Jaskier’s throat as he answered.

“I won’t. Be safe.” Come back to me.

Geralt nodded, and then he was gone, out of their room and stomping down the stairs until Jaskier could no longer hear him.

He was left staring at the door, trying to process what had just happened.

The smile was still on his lips though: Geralt had taken the first step. Had reached out, literally, had made himself clear. And all throughout, it hadn’t felt awkward or forced, like he was made to do it.

No, it had only felt familiar, as though Geralt had finally found the right path, walked towards him because he wanted to, because even though there was uncertainness surrounding them both, there was safety waiting on the other side.

Jaskier turned to grab his lute before sitting down on the bed, plugging the strings to see if it was still in tune.

He didn’t have a specific song in mind as he started playing, but nothing was able to quiet his thoughts like his fingers dancing along its neck, coming up with new melodies and rhythms as he waited for Geralt to come back home.

tagging @luteandsword​ @natilieal​ @herostag ✨

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskiersource #kathi writes

[officerjennie]

the ruin in me

CW: Sex addiction (atm undiagnosed), cheating (mentioned, in past chapters but none this chapter), masturbation

Summary: Jaskier is determined to be strong for Geralt

Taglist: at the bottom - let me know if you want on/off it!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Story Masterlist

It was a blessing that Geralt was in no rush to get married. As excited as Jaskier was, he had no idea how to even start on a wedding, and was more than happy to put that off for as long as Geralt would let him.

The guilt still ate at him. Sat heavy in his stomach like a festering illness as he spun the ring on his finger, pushing food around his plate at the local cafe. 

As it turns out, work was close enough to walk to from their new apartment, though the offer was still being finalized. Within the next few weeks they’d be renting a truck, moving their stuff, and officially be living together. 

Living together meant spending more time together. A lot more time together. Jaskier took a sip of his coffee and stared out the window, watching the first few droplets of rain slowly roll down the glass.

Geralt wasn’t one to crowd anyone. He liked his space, and didn’t expect Jaskier to go everywhere with him - and in turn didn’t expect to be invited everywhere either. It worked so well for them, and left Jaskier schedule open to fuck whoever happened to cross his path on any given day.

Would be harder to do it once they lived together. Jaskier’s hand shook as he sat his coffee down, and it spilled on his fingers, making him jerk his hand back and shake it with a hiss.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Wiping off his hand first, he pulled it out and checked who was messaging him, and when he read the name he really wasn’t sure how to feel. His friendship with Valdo had always been hit or miss. When it was good it was brilliant, but they’d go full months at each other’s throats.

Truly, Valdo was his best friend. He was just also his greatest enemy, and where they were at any given moment was up to the gods and the gods alone.

Still, the message was harmless enough. Just a congratulations on the engagement, though there was no telling who exactly told Valdo that they were getting married. Scrolling back up in their messages, it had been a hot minute since Jaskier had said anything to him at all. 

He’d gotten worse and worse at keeping up with people. Yet another thing he was doing horribly at. Couldn’t maintain any sort of healthy relationship. 

New guilt added on top of the old was why Jaskier didn’t just send back a thank you. He asked if Valdo happened to be in town that week (his sister lived in the city, and Valdo had always been close to her) and went back to his breakfast after that, though he didn’t feel all that hungry.

Saturdays were always his lazy days. He got up early by habit but didn’t really have to be anywhere, though he tended to stop into work just to make sure the place wasn’t burning down without him. Everyone knew they could call him if they needed him but several of the newer people felt bad about doing it anyway, meaning his desk by Monday was filled with sticky notes concerning problems that should have or at the very least could have been solved days before.

Worst yet was that some of them were already fixed, and he never knew until he did some digging. It saved him a headache if he just popped in and made sure they were alright.

But since he wasn’t expected, he didn’t have to go in at any set time, and his little cafe was the perfect place to get ready to face whatever the office would throw at him. He just hoped it wasn’t anything too terrible that day, else he risked getting caught out in whatever storm was brewing outside. He leaned against the glass to look up at the sky, sighing at the darkening grey clouds. Better to go in as soon as possible if he wanted any chance of outrunning it.

His phone went off again as he gathered his jacket. Valdo was in town, and before Jaskier could give it much thought he asked if they could get dinner sometime. As he watched the little check marks show his message had been read, he worried his lower lip between his teeth.

Should he be asking Valdo to meet him like that? Jaskier shook his head and scowled, shoving his phone back into his pocket so he could dig a tip out of his wallet. Meeting a friend wasn’t inherently nefarious, and it wasn’t like he was attracted to Valdo anyway. He could have dinner with a friend and not turn it into a fuck date. 

And he was determined to do just that as he made plans with Valdo. Tuesday, a local Italian place that was sure to give them enough leftovers to have lunch for a few days after. Jaskier wrote it in his calendar and even told Geralt about it - though Geralt had never met Valdo and didn’t know much about him beyond ‘old friend’.

“Not sure you’d get along, really,” Jaskier admitted as he’d curled up in Geralt’s arms that night. “He’s a bit stuck up and peculiar.” 

“Exactly like all your other friends then,” Geralt had sighed, and Jaskier could only bother being offended for a few seconds before relenting that he was right.

Tuesday came, and despite himself Jaskier was nervous. Hands fretting over everything all day, thoughts refusing to be quiet, and work continued to pile around him without any sort of relief. It didn’t help that Rose was in office that day, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, long lashes fluttering at him every time she leaned over his desk.

Only last week, he’d met her in the bathroom, and had fingered her with his free hand over her mouth to help smother her moans. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and any hope of getting any more work done was out the window. 

It really wasn’t a bad idea to get it out of his system before going out to dinner with Valdo. Better to get it over with instead of flirting with his friend, or worse yet blowing a waiter in the bathroom there. Jaskier flashed Rose a grin, handing her the paper she’d asked him to print out and purposely letting their fingers touch-

And jumped when a call came through his headset, cursing when he saw his boss’s name flash across his screen.

He wasn’t sure how he survived a half hour long call with them, though pacing around the room seemed to help ease some of the tension and anxiety. But as soon as he was off the phone Jaskier made a beeline for the bathroom, locking it up tight behind himself and soaking his face in cold water.

Wasn’t a bad idea to get it out of his system now. As if it was an inevitability that he’d fuck someone other than Geralt tonight, just a matter of where and when. He couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror, staring at the white porcelain as water dripped off of his bangs and ran down the drain. 

His knuckles were red, he gripped the sides of the sink so hard. And with every breath he was fighting back tears that he had no right to spill. He wasn’t the one hurting; even if Geralt didn’t know it, Jaskier was tearing into him each and every time he fucked someone else.

Tonight, he wasn’t going to do it. Jaskier grinted his teeth and finally looked at the mirror, his eyes hard despite their shine - he wasn’t going to do it. For once he was going to be strong and wouldn’t let himself stray.

One night. He could do it for one night. Starting with not letting Rose catch him and risk being tempted further.

Unlocking the door and peeking out of it just to make sure no one was there, Jaskier quickly left the bathroom and went straight for his desk. He sent a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening that he was salaried and could just leave, packing up his belongings at his desk and waving a quick goodbye to his employees. 

“Call me if you need anything.” With that reminder, he was out the door, shooting a quick message to his own boss that he was going to one of their in-store locations to make sure everything was going smoothly with the new general manager.

It wasn’t often that he went to one of the stores, having gladly given up seeing customers in person years before and never wanting to go back. But he wasn’t in any sort of uniform that a customer would recognize so it wasn’t ever that bad anymore. He held his arm over his head as he jogged to his car through the rain, making sure to drive extra carefully since everyone on this side of town seemed to forget how to drive as soon as a cup full of water was dropped on the freeway. 

As it happened, the rain kept the customers away, so he didn’t have to deal with much of anyone at the store. The general manager was a younger woman who’d been hired out of company, which meant that she knew a whole lot about being a manager and not that much about the basics of the jobs beneath her level. Jaskier hadn’t ever worked their job either, but he’d helped enough when they called his office that he didn’t feel too awkward being the one to teach her.

She also didn’t hesitate to ask her own employees for help, and that’s exactly why Jaskier believed she’d do just fine. 

Keeping his thoughts on their stock and computer system wasn’t all that easy, not after seeing Rose earlier, but knowing the general manager was happily married and not interested in anyone else at least helped. The other employees for the most part ignored him, knowing his name and voice but not his face, and after just a few short hours he felt confident enough to leave for good for the night. 

“Pay attention to the alerts, and don’t be afraid to say no,” he reminded her as he put his jacket back on, scowling out at the rain that had only started to pour harder over the evening. “Selling stuff isn’t the same as renting it. We have to get it back, and at the end of the day the next 10 customers are more important than one shitbag.”

“Ever call one of them a shitbag?” 

“Nope, but I did call someone a dumbass.” 

She laughed, and Jaskier really hoped she stuck around longer than the last one had.

The little Italian joint wasn’t exactly on this side of town, but thanks to living here most of his life he knew a decently fast backway to get there. Much faster than it would have been from his office, and less traffic to fight through, though he thankfully didn’t ever deal much with rush hour. His office opened before most and closed later as well, and the roads, though rather slick, weren’t all that bad for how much it had rained.

It hadn’t been that long since he’d been there. Geralt wasn’t much for Italian but he indulged Jaskier on occasion, and just the month before they’d come here with his brothers for a night out. His brothers weren’t in town very often, what with Lambert off at the trade school and Eskel slowly taking over the farm back home, but when they were Jaskier made a point to make sure they all got together.

None of them were that good at communicating with each other. He shook his head, a fond smile on his lips as he locked up his car and went inside. Disasters, the lot of them, but there wasn’t a single one of them that he didn’t love.

Though Lambert had taken getting used to. Jaskier wasn’t convinced the good feelings were mutual, but he was also pretty certain Lambert didn’t know how to differentiate his good feelings from general annoyance or anger. 

Despite his rather good timing to the joint, Valdo had beaten him there. Jaskier waved at him as soon as he spotted him, not bothering to be perturbed that once again Valdo was earlier than him - seemed like he could never beat him somewhere, even when he actively tried, but that wasn’t the night for pettiness. 

He was getting married, and he hadn’t seen his best friend in ages. No petty annoyances were allowed to get under his skin.

“Ever been here before?” Jaskier didn’t bother with a greeting, sliding in and only glancing at the menu out of habit. When Valdo shook his head and sipped his water, Jaskier continued. “Whatever size you assume something is, double it. Really if you see something you like we could get away with just ordering one thing. They expect you to share.”

"Don't remember us sharing much in tastes." Valdo folded up his menu, placing it on the edge of the table. "But I'm not picky about Italian. Whatever you order will do."

"Good, cause their carbonara is excellent."

It was easier than he expected to fall back into their routine - their pleasant routine, notably, since Valdo was being polite and amicable that evening. Jaskier relaxed and enjoyed learning what his friend had been up to, and despite how reserved Valdo could be about himself Jaskier managed to get him talking. 

Valdo had followed his passions after all, slowly making a name for himself as a composer. Once upon a time, Jaskier would have been jealous to hear it. At that moment he was just happy for him. 

"Already composed for movies." Jaskier sighed wistfully, spinning his straw in his water as he picked at the last of his garlic bread. "You'll have to send me the names, you know I won't remember them."

"I wasn't the lead composer," Valdo grumbled, and Jaskier tsked at him. 

"Doesn't matter, it's brilliant. Stop seeing yourself short."

Valdo didn't respond, and the color in his cheeks told Jaskier to drop the topic. So he helped himself to another small helping from the large bowl of carbonara they'd placed in the middle of the table, letting Valdo relax in the quiet again. 

He needed more of this, Jaskier decided. More time with friends. It could never be like it was in college, working schedules wouldn't ever allow it, but he wanted to at least see a friend or two often enough that it wasn't all catching up. Valdo hadn't even met his fiance yet, and Jaskier had been friends with him since the 7th grade. 

Well, he still didn't think Geralt would like Valdo much. Jaskier slumped in his seat, picking out the peas in his pasta and rolling them off to the pea graveyard. Didn't mean he didn't want them to at least know each other. 

"How long will you be in town this time?"

Valdo poured himself more water, and stole Jaskier's glass to do the same for him. "A few more days. I was looking at moving back though."

"Oh?"

"Likely not in the next few months." He scowled as water spilled onto the table cloth, and tried to clean it up with his cloth napkin. "I'm contacted to work on a show right now. They're finishing up editing but they expect me in office."

"Can't you write music at home?"

"Some studios are behind the time," Valdo sighed, wiping the stray ice cube into his hand to dispose of on his bread plate. "Work from home positions are saved for people they can't afford to lose. Besides, you know it's more than just writing music."

Jaskier wrinkled his nose, glancing over at the drink menu and wondering if he should order something. "Stupid of them to think they could replace you."

"I'm just another throwaway artist," Valdo shrugged, though his eyes were dark. "Composers don't get big names and press. But I knew that when I went into the business."

Sucked, but Jaskier knew he was right. He raised his water glass to him and said, "Here's to being replaceable" - and with a clink of glasses and a shared snort of laughter, they drank to that. 

"But speaking of replaceable," Valdo put down his glass, laughter still making his lips twitch and his eyes light up, "sounds like you don't qualify anymore, and I haven't heard anything but his name yet."

Jaskier grinned, thumb immediately moving to play with his ring. "Guess not. And Geralt is... well, he's Geralt. Not perfect but better than I could have ever hoped to find."

Better than he deserved by a long shot. Before his smile could slip, Jaskier sipped his water. 

"That tells me nothing. Talk or I'll get his number and meet him myself."

Considering Valdo never made empty threats, Jaskier answered every question he had that night. 

It was well past his usual bedtime when he finally got home, the rain having for the most part passed. His place was dark, no one greeted him when he got in, and he couldn't help the giddy feeling that grew at knowing soon that wouldn't be the case. 

And for once, he didn't feel guilty when he saw Geralt's goodnight text. He had stayed out with a friend, had told Geralt he loved him, and not a single bit of it had been a lie - even of omission. 

It was pitiful that he had any reason to be happy about that, proud of himself even if just a small amount. Hurray, I didn't cheat tonight - it wasn't really an accomplishment. 

Except it was. Jaskier locked his door behind him, chewing over the conflicting feelings that were clawing their way through him. 

He could do it. He had done it. For one single day, Jaskier had been the partner Geralt deserved: faithful and loving. He'd finally met the baseline expectations and for fuck's sake he could do it again tomorrow. 

Would do it again tomorrow. He put his keys in the bowl near his door and hung his jacket up, his jaw set and every bit of him determined to follow through. 

Geralt deserved better, and for him Jaskier would be better. If he could do it once, he could do it again, and again. 

He jerked off in the shower thinking of Geralt, and fell asleep with one last "I love you" sent to his fiance, and made a promise to himself that one day he'd be good enough for Geralt - good enough to not feel guilt over being with him. 

--

@fontegagrilledcheese @damnbert @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @oldandkinky @blooodymoon  @kan0chan @silvermintnightprincess @flowercrown-bard @sharinalein @concussed-dragon @hayleynzlive @feral-jaskier @sweetiepieplum @stonedstargazer666 @deafeningnightcollection-things @luteandsword @kmuir1 @little-boats-on-a-lake @dani-dandelino @rurousha @renewlucifer

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt de rivia #the witcher #witcher #the witcher fic #witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfic #fanfiction #mywriting

[eburneae]

I do not want to hear comments from white people on this post to come and defend themselves or to say that this isn’t racist. I have seen many PoC, not just myself, say that Allison’s treatment is racist. Do not try to tell me as a PoC that the writing is not racist. Do not comment on this—it is not your place right now. If any other PoC have anything to add, please do.

I apologize if I sound off, I just woke up and I am going back to bed momentarily. I have been sitting on this for days because of how upsetting it is. I get violently upset when I think about it and have a clear mind.

I keep seeing bad takes about Allison and how she’s either “justified” or “out of line.” I see little nuance to her character and how she acts in this season. Everyone keeps forgetting that Netflix has a history of being absolutely awful to their actors of color though whenever it comes to character writing. Allison, Fei, and Marcus are some of the only black protagonists in TUA. Cha-Cha was a villain. There may be more but they are either insignificant enough to the plot (Ray and Claire being background characters but important) that I cannot remember them or they were killed or they were also antagonists. Marcus fucking dies in the first two (if not just the first, I’m not going back and checking) episodes. Fei is seen as antagonistic and selfish and she also fucking dies. So, we sort of only have Allison. Hell, a fucking cube got more screen time than Marcus. A fucking cube had more impact than the only black man this season. Sometimes things just have poor diversity, but that is not what it is like with TUA. Now I want someone to tell me this—Why did they have to make the only black protagonist into one of the worst characters? And I don’t want someone to say that they’re just following the comics, and that Allison is far worse in the comics. Viktor’s character is not trans in the comics. Delores is not a mannequin in the comics. Diego’s power is different in the comics. Allison is white in the comics and does not experience the severe racism and Antiblackness she does in the show. There are many differences between the two. Five is ten in the comics, and Luther’s twin. I cannot list them all, but you can find more differences. So, now tell me how Netflix could not have done her more justice to her character. Tell me how they did Viktor well in portraying his transness, but they did not with a black woman in her racial identity? They had trans people help write Viktor other than Elliot Page himself, but why did a white woman write Allison sexually assaulting—nearly fucking r*ping—Luther? Why did they write her killing an autistic man? It’s not borderline targeting, it is targeting. I have seen so many people victimize Luther over this and demonize Allison. I have seen so many people say that Allison went “too far” and that they hate her. You could remove the sexual assault and everything would be almost the fucking same. It is never fucking mentioned again after that episode, how Luther was almost r*ped. She’s still involved in everything that happens. It is no coincidence that they made Allison into a black woman. A character, known for her ability to manipulate people, for her own gain. The writers of TUA put in so much shit we would be so much better without. Why did they make the main black protagonist *ncestuous? It is genuinely ridiculous with how people now hate Allison completely or “girlbossify” her for what she did. PTSD and coping with trauma is ugly, and it can result in reweaponizing trauma—but this is more than just that. What happened was neither of those—it is horrific and demonizes women of color, especially black women. Netflix has a history of making awful characters into women of color. For example, did you know that in the Witcher book series, Triss r*pes Geralt? And in the show, they also made her into a black woman? The same thing is happening with TUA almost. It’s colorism, racism, antiblackness. Netflix’s writing has been covertly and blatantly racist for a while and its fans just keep letting them get away with it.

#Allison Hargreeves #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy season 3 #TUA

[limerental]

ficletober 2022 day 14

Rejected by Geralt in Toussaint and immediately failing at the Lodge's plan, Fringilla encounters a drunk and emotional Milva in Beauclair's wine cellar.

This is twn!Fringilla meets book content again so spoilers for the end of Time of Contempt and takes place mid-Lady of the Lake. Contains references to miscarriage and child loss.

"It's certainly not difficult. You should have seen the way he looked at me at that banquet. Send me instead, I say."

"Men are simple. Even simple people like Sabrina can appeal to them sometimes."

"You can't go, Sabrina. For one, you just admitted the Witcher knows you and–"

"I doubt he looked at her face the whole night. Just make her wear a high neckline."

"-- the Duchess is Fringilla's cousin. The Vigos are a well-respected Toussaintois family. Artorious Vigo–"

"Artorious is dead. When was the last time Fringilla even set foot in Toussaint? Who's to say Anna Henrietta thinks of her fondly at all?"

"Knowing her Lady Duchess, that won't matter. She's so air-headed that she's likely to blow away on breeze."

"That's settled then. It's simple. Fringilla goes to Toussaint and follows the plan we put forth."

"Are we certain that this is the most judicious plan? Seduction?"

"Make use of our assets, I say.

"Politics is all seduction either way."

"May I suggest that we ask Fringilla what she thinks of the plan?"

Fringilla, who had been sitting stiffly with her hands folded before her as the Lodge debated, looked up to meet Francesca's questioning gaze. For all that these meetings were louder and more colorful than Brotherhood assemblies of old, she found their content and conclusions the same as ever.

In any case, Fringilla Vigo always pulled the short straw.

"What do you say, Fringilla? If you agree, it's best you head to Toussaint at once. The mundane way, of course, so as not to arouse suspicion."

"So my task is to infiltrate Beauclair Palace and compel Geralt the Witcher into bed with me in order to retain he and his company in Toussaint, while we continue our work."

"Well it doesn't have to be a bed."

"No, any surface will do."

"Or no surface at all, really, if he's the adventurous sort. There's a popular suspension charm that allows a couple to safely hover several hundred feet above the earth for the duration of coitus."

"What happens post-coitus?"

"Pray you're over a body of water."

"Ahem, that's enough, ladies."

"Fringilla, you're in agreement, then? The plan?"

Fringilla, who had become distracted and quietly flustered by calculating the physics and logistics of mid-air sex, smiled a smile that she hoped looked self-assured and not simply awkward. Truth be told, not only had she never seduced anyone in her life, but she had never participated in any kind of consensual sexual activity, drastically adventurous or not.

She could have said so when the suggestion was first presented, but it felt like a pathetic thing to admit in any context, especially seated before a group of exquisite and worldly sorceresses.

"Of course," she said, focusing on the confident inflection of her voice. "As you all have said, it's no difficult task. I will not fail."

*

Fringilla failed almost at once.

Francesca had been kind enough to offer some advice, though she had likely never intentionally seduced anyone before, given that she was so devastating beautiful that she seduced the world with only a simple sigh or smile.

Getting the Witcher into position had been easy enough.

She'd been occupying her free time in Toussaint cataloguing the library and lured Geralt in with the possibility of research. Sabrina had assured her that the library, despite the utterly boring amount of dry tomes, was a highly erotic location. It was private and hushed and the shadows among the shelves lent a sense of mystery.

While she had taken offense to the dismissal of dry tomes, Fringilla had to agree that her most erotic experiences so far had occured cloistered away in libraries. She had had a particularly enlightening experience as a girl at Aretuza with Master Aquinas' Sums, Figures, and Mathematical Equations.

And yet, Fringilla had barely lowered her lashes or whispered a single word before Geralt politely and vocally declined her advances.

"The fault's not in you," he'd grunted, eyes downcast. "But in me."

And he had bid her goodnight and left her alone surrounded by dusty books.

Fringilla knew better. She not only did not have the charisma of his beloved Yennefer but had all the sex appeal of an old dishrag.

She knew that she should report her failure to the Lodge at once, but she already knew what they would say. She would simply have to try a different technique. Maybe he had been in a bad mood or had a touch of indigestion. She could try again tomorrow.

Fringilla didn't wish to endure chastisement from the Lodge as she burned with shame over her failure. Not tonight.

So she did the only logical thing and headed to the kitchens to steal a bottle of wine.

Unfortunately, when she entered the wine storage, she found it already occupied.

Fringilla recognized the flaxen-haired woman slumped amidst the racks of wine as one of the Witcher's company. The dryad girl. Known for her heroic feats in the conveying of elves to safe havens. Said to have exquisite grace and form with a bow.

She displayed none of that grace now, captured in the throes of drunken hiccups.

"Maria," said Fringilla. "You're Maria Barring, yes?

"It's Milva," said the drunk woman. "You're that Vigo woman."

"It's Fringilla."

"Hullo, Fringilla," she slurred, waving with her bottle of wine. "D'you like to hear a damn sad story?"

"No," said Fringilla.

"You know what's sad? My life. Whole damn life."

"Oh I see."

"See, t'was bad enough that my Pa died young and my Ma's new husband hated my guts, you know?"

"Ah, that's unfortunate."

"But then I run away from home and starved half to death in the forest. Squatted on some lord's land poaching squirrels."

"Oh my."

"And on account of that, I owed my life to Eithne when she took me in, 'a course and so I risked my fuckin neck for years and for what? For fuck all. Ain't that sad?"

"Quite sad, of course."

"Well listen, that's hardly the saddest part."

"It isn't?"

"No, see, it didn't mean anything. That night. I didn't feel anything, and I still can't feel anything. I'm all hollowed out, you know?"

"Sorry to hear that," said Fringilla, sorry mostly that she was trapped here with a raving mad woman with no polite way of escaping.

"And Geralt…" Milva sighed. "I was a fool to think following after him would bring me anything but misery."

"He rejected you as well?'

"Hmm? No! Worse, he accepted the whole thing and then accepted the blame. Out of guilt, maybe. Out of regret. He won't even look me in the eye any longer. Not after…"

Quite lost, Fringilla reached delicately for the open bottle of wine in Milva's hand and took a swig.

"You and the Witcher?" she asked.

"What!! No, of course not!! Me and– by golly, no way. But if anything, Geralt is an honest, good father. If anything, he's that."

"Hasn't his daughter gone missing? With no clues as to where and no real hope of locating her?"

"Well sure," said Milva hiccuping. "But he's here, isn't he? He would have been… well. I had hoped he would be… Before the bridge. Before the rest. Before I…" To Fringillla's horror, she began to cry, rubbing the tears away from her pinking cheeks as they came. "Shouldn't be fuckin telling you any of this. I shouldn't–"

"There, there," said Fringilla, handing her back the bottle. "It's alright."

"It's foolish, is what it is. Foolish and… none of it makes any sense. That I would feel like this. Even after… it's not as if I wanted the kid. It's not as if…"

"Oh," said Fringilla, suddenly understanding. She thought of the impossible Elven child swaddled in her arms. The warmth of her, the relief of her cries. She sobered. "I'm truly sorry," she said and meant it.

Milva shook her head.

"It wasn't– I mean, don't be. It wasn't as if it was even real yet. Not far in, I mean. And the father wasn't… was just some Scoia'tael fighter or another. They're probably dead as a doornail. None of it was real. Before it ended."

"It was real," said Fringilla. She again thought of Francesca's babe, who had lived three days before being snuffed out. How Francesca's smile was that much different now. "It was real if you feel it was. It's alright to mourn."

Milva seemed to think about that, really think, looking at her with startled, wide eyes, and then she dropped her head forward against her bent knees and began to cry in earnest.

Fringilla knelt carefully, mindful of dirtying her skirts, and lay a hand between Milva's trembling shoulderblades. She no longer felt much like drinking away her failure. It felt like not much of a disappointment at all. Not in the wake of what Milva had lost, of what the Witcher still sought, of a hundred similar tragedies the Continent over.

The two women knelt in the wine cellar for a good long while after that.

#my fic #the witcher #fringilla #milva #ficletober 2022

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Ten - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv: Wedding Shenanigans

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Much of the dialogue in this chapter is based heavily on the short story 'A Little Sacrifice'.

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Ten

When the Witcher and Bard met again, neither of them said a word about Rinde. Jaskier fell into step next to Roach just as easily as he had the first time, not even bothering to ask if he could come along.

They met on the road near Dorian in the middle of summer. Geralt had a fairly decent season up until that point, and Jaskier had obviously done much better sporting four expensive-looking doublets, a new fur-lined cloak, and two pairs of good walking boots. 

They traveled east along the Adalatte and straight through Kerack. They ended up at a party in a tavern called the Four Maples, and for once Geralt was just as much at fault for the resulting mess as Jaskier. 

Jaskier had a slightly nasty side, that was usually only coaxed out from under his performer's joy by bigots and racists. At the Four Maples there was a group of local hunters known as the Rangers. The Rangers had a reputation for 'hunting' elves and other non-humans, usually in the most gory and violent ways possible. They did not take kindly to a witcher.

Geralt had been used to the treatment, ducking his head low in his back little booth, and if the owner had asked him to leave, he would have without objection. Witchers can't retaliate against humans, not without consequences.

Jaskier, however, had worked for years to change people like these Rangers' opinions, and did not bother hiding his anger from them.

One thing led to another, and the whole tavern might have ended up burning down. Luckily for the witcher and his bard, Jaskier was good friends with the local judge. The judge ruled that the Rangers, Geralt, and Jaskier split the repair costs and subsequent court fees evenly, which left them broke but no longer in jail.

Then the Rangers got released from jail right behind them, and the unlucky pair had to spend the next week riding through the forests trying desperately to outrun the hunters. They couldn't go east, the Rangers were blocking all those roads. They couldn't go north, Calanthe would have them thrown in Cintra's dungeons if they came anywhere near the kingdom.

They were broke, tired, hungry and in the middle of nowhere along the coast. They came across no villages big enough for a tavern for Jaskier to play at, and none had any monster problems for Geralt to earn from either. Jaskier ended up selling off several pieces of his good jewelry for food, and Geralt finally sold off some good-quality knives he'd relieved from bandits. Their small provisions had run out the day before, and even Geralt's considerable hunting skills could not make game appear where none lived.

They finally got a break as they were walking up the road toward Bremervoord.

"Oi! Master!" A voice called out suddenly from a small cart parked off the road, and both Geralt and Jaskier looked up at the call, bewildered. "Oh! It is you, Master Bard!" At a look from the bard, Geralt dismounted Roach gracefully and led her a little closer to the cart, where a heavyset man was climbing down.

"Indeed, good sir, I am the Master Bard Jaskier." Jaskier said with a small bow and a smile as the man approached them. "This is my companion, the witcher Geralt of Rivia. It seems you have the better of me, though." He introduced Geralt flawlessly, and the man nervously nodded his head in the Witcher's direction before shifting all his attention back to the bard.

"Ah, yes. I am Teleri Drouhard, spice merchant and leader of the local guild." He gave a little bow back before glancing between the pair. "I had heard rumors you were in the area, and I am very glad indeed I caught you before you passed through." Geralt barely contained a grimace at that reminder of their situation.

"What may I do for, Sir Drouhard, that you have sought me out?"

"Well, you see, my son is to be wed this night. My wife heard you perform last winter at the de Stael Midinváerne banquet and became a fan. When some of the guests told her they spotted you along the road, she demanded I come out to find and hire you. We already have a bard, of course, but she will not be satisfied unless you perform as well, I'm afraid."

"I may be a great bard, but even performers have standards, my good sir." Jaskier said after a moment's consideration. "You have hired another troubadour already and I will not take the money you already promised them." Jaskier turned away from the man to rifle through Roach's saddlebags. Geralt would have objected if he hadn't seen Jaskier use this tactic before. 

"Jaskier." Geralt grumbled softly, but the bard just winked at him, out of sight of the merchant. Of course, just because he'd seen it before didn't mean that Geralt would tolerate it. "Beggars can't be choosers. We need that money." Jaskier turned to face the witcher with a scoff.

"Beggars can't- Why you…!" Jaskier trailed off, affronted and making disagreeable noises. "That's the pot calling the kettle black! What about you, mighty Witcher? You who turned down contracts for hirrikkas because they are endangered? Let the mecopterans alone because their bones don't cure impotence? Who doesn't hunt dragons because your Witcher code prevents it? I, too, have a code!"

"Come on, Jaskier." Geralt said with a little eye roll. He was too used to his bard's antics by now, and all too easily played along. "For me? I'll take whatever contract I'm offered next."

"Please, Master Jaskier, my wife will be inconsolable if you do not play tonight." The merchant stepped in to beg. "The other bard will still get her pay, I swear. I'll offer you the same, and a room for you and your companion for the night." Jaskier hummed and let his fingers tap a beat on the saddlebags, letting the man sweat for a moment.

"Alright, my good sir. You drive a hard bargain but I will accept your offer for my services." The man visibly relaxed at hearing those words, and Geralt just rolled his eyes at his bard. Not like Jaskier would have refused either way; they needed the coin too badly and an actual room to stay in would be a great luxury.

"Please, follow me to my house. You both may use it to make ready, and both of you are welcome to the feast tonight."

"And who am I to be performing beside tonight, if I may be so bold?" Jaskier asked as the man clambered back up into his cart.

"Ah, a feisty young lass by the name Essi Daven."

Jaskier couldn't believe their luck! Essi Daven, his dearest sister, was in a small backwater like Bremervoord.

Drouhard was a cheerful enough fellow, even if he did continually get Geralt's name wrong, and didn't even blink twice about putting a Witcher up for the next several nights. It was nice after that... disagreement with the Rangers to see that his songs had reached all the way to the Coast. 

Jaskier got to spend the morning getting him and Geralt both presentable; Geralt got to soak in a tub that he could actually fit all the way down in for hours. Jaskier loved when he got to pamper his Witcher. He shaved them both and washed Geralt's hair until it was pure moonlight in his hands, pulling it up into a neat tail that accented his face quite well.

Geralt only had one moderately fancy outfit to wear, and it was one that Jaskier had tailor made several years ago for him. Jaskier loved it when Geralt got a chance to wear it, though it was too informal for the banquet in Cintra. More's the pity; he hated the doublet he'd wrangled up at the last minute for that.

No, this was a simple vest, embroidered with buttercups, and dyed black by Geralt a year after he'd gotten it. He wore it over a soft gray undershirt, and it went well with his leather pants and study boots. He smiled as he finished fussing with the vest and Geralt cast a glance at himself in the mirror. Geralt never said a word about him very publicly claiming the Witcher and Jaskier was damn sure not going to bring it up.

The wedding feast was in a warehouse, and Jaskier was unfortunately separated from his Witcher by Drouhard, who insisted Jaskier be introduced to the whole crowd, and rather poorly at that. At least he waited until Essi was done singing, he had to give the merchant that. With an elegant bow to the audience, Drouhard called for the banquet to begin.

Jaskier tried to catch Essi as she was leaving the stage, but a surge of pretty maidens got between them. Jaskier watched as she tossed a glance back at him, mischief sparkling in the one eye not hidden by her hair. Oh, cock. This wasn't going to end well for him, would it?

She was already making a beeline for Geralt, and blessed Melitele how did she find him so fast? That... that needed his attention. Immediately.

"Ladies, ladies, I must beg your pardons." He cried out, desperate. "I must confer with my fellow bard on our music for this lovely wedding banquet!"

He managed to give them the slip, bringing his lute around into his hands to protect it a measure more. He arrived just in time to see Geralt standing awkwardly next to Essi, who was watching him in fascination.

"Oh good, you found him." He called out, catching both their attention. "Geralt, be nice to Essi." He said seriously, waggling a finger in the Witcher's face. "She's like a sister to me."

"He's been a perfect gentleman so far." Essi cut in with a smile. "He even kissed my hand like a proper court lady."

"Oh?" Jaskier asked, an eyebrow raising in surprise as he looked over at his Witcher, who was steadfastly looking away. "I think some of my courtly graces must be rubbing off."

"Courtly graces or brothel etiquette?" Essi asked lightly, Jaskier resisting the temptation to stick out his tongue at her. Geralt let out a small chuff of laughter that would have barely been more than a breath to someone else, but Jaskier caught it immediately.

"Dearest Sister, I believe you are a miracle worker. You made my witcher laugh."

"That was a laugh? Seemed more like a dying man's breath, if you ask me."

"Geralt is a very reserved man." Jaskier said with a smile, enjoying the grumbling of his Witcher. "Now, we should get down to our serious business."

"Oh? And what serious business do we have, Jaskier?" Essi asked, lightly pulling the one stubborn lock of hair back out from over her eye.

"Who will play first, of course, and what ballads should we play?"

"I've already had a go, why don't you start?" 

"Agreed." Jaskier said with a smile as he turned to take in the crowd.

"Oh, looks like the crowd's just gotten a bit more stately." Essi exclaimed as a rather pompous-looking young man entered. Jaskier watched as several rows of people bowed deeply to the man, who gave a small nod, then stepped out of the way toward the other side of the warehouse. "Though he's a bit flighty on his debts. Likes to hire people, but hates to pay for good honest work."

"Some kind of local noble?" Geralt muttered and Jaskier shrugged back.

"You haven't heard yet?" Essi exclaimed in surprise as the three watched Drouhard hurry over to the noble, each man talking swiftly to the other.

"We hadn't even made it into town proper before Drouhard accosted us, Essi." Jaskier explained, and Essi just grinned mischievously.

"That's the Most Noble Duke of Agloval. There's been talk all over the harbor that he apparently has a mermaid problem."

"Mermaids? This close to a town?" Jaskier asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yup." Essi said, emphasizing her word by popping the 'p'.

"Master Jaskier!" A woman's shrill voice interrupted the conversation as the Lady Drouhard approached. It took Jaskier a moment to recognize the Lady Drouhard before he hid his frank unenthusiasm behind his performer's mask.

"My Lady Drouhard, what a pleasant surprise!" Jaskier stepped forward, leading the woman a ways away from their little group. Oh well. He'd just have to corner Geralt and Essi again in a little while and find out exactly what these mermaid problems looked like. It wasn't like mermaids caused a ton of problems for people, other than mean-spirited tricks when they felt like they'd been cheated.

#what about the bard #wuv the bard #jaskier #essi daven #geralt of rivia #geraskier #a little sacrifice #non human!jaskier #non human!Essi Daven #my fanfic

[narniaandplowmen]

undone again

Fandom: The Witcher  Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier  Also on AO3 10059 words.

Mature / Graphic Depictions Of Violence Chapter 3/4 (2735 words)

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four

Summary:

Look at him now, the offspring of the King's most obedient followers, knee-deep in mud and covered in soldiers' blood. Saving the ass of the person he had sworn never to follow again. See, not obedient at all. Though Fate was still a– a– Jaskier sighed. He'd come up with a proper insult when he wasn't actively ruining his favourite doublet. Maybe after a long bath and a night's rest. And after a decent fucking blowjob.

* * *

Jaskier had once met Fate. She had predicted mountain-side confessions, deep kisses, mutual desire. And with that, Fate had vanished, leaving behind a sprig of yarrow, two sharp, silver daggers, and a piece of Cintran-blue string. That summer, Geralt had gone dragon hunting. That summer, it all had come undone.

and the sharp bramble bushes

Kear Morhen was old, and cold, and beautiful. And above all, it was safe. Or, well, as safe as any crumbling castle could be. For all the years Jaskier had dreamt about being invited for the winter, about joining Geralt in his home, he had been terrified when he had actually walked through the doors. By the time they arrived, snow was already falling, and, as Geralt reminded them multiple times as they rushed the final part of their journey, it would be impossible to reach the Keep once the Pass was blocked. Impossible to reach, but also impossible to leave. And with Jaskier no longer needed as a familiar face – for Geralt fulfilled that role now – he knew that it was not a matter of if, but when he would overstay his welcome. So Jaskier withdrew, and kept quiet. 

As easy as it was to fall into a rhythm while travelling, as easy as it was to fall into a rhythm in the Keep. Jaskier would get up early, but not too early, so by the time he arrived downstairs the others had already finished their breakfast. He would clean up the Hall, do the dishes, tidy the kitchen, prepare lunch. He would then take the long way round to the library, eating a slice of bread as he walked, and spend the afternoon cleaning, repairing and recategorising the old, dusty, and abandoned tomes. And on some days, in the late afternoon, if she hadn't been trained to exhaustion by the Witchers, Ciri would arrive in the library for her lessons. He would teach Ciri politics. Government. How to satisfy complaints without making promises. Court etiquette, healthy farming practices, manipulation, poetry, art. Anything he could think of, until they were fetched by Vesimir or either two of the three other witchers staying the winter. Because it was never Geralt who knocked on the library door shouting for them to come down, who popped in to announce the time, who snuck up on them and grabbed Jaskier suddenly, carrying him over his shoulders laughing boisterously the entire way down as Ciri, giggling, followed. 

The first evenings, Jaskier had been asked to perform. With a glance at Geralt, he had politely refused, using the excuse of exhaustion from travel, an upcoming cold, a lack of instruments. Eskel had searched through the Keep on that third night, convinced he had once seen a lute somewhere. He had been unable to find it, though, and so they stopped asking.  Jaskier withdrew more and more, remembering the lessons he had learned at his father’s house: don’t be seen, don’t be heard, escape notice and all will be fine and safe. Now, several decades later, he found he was much better at it than he had been as a child. And, he bitterly realised, it made him strangely proud to discover this. 

They had been there for three weeks when the script was broken and Vesimir came into the library before dinnertime. 

“It’s still light out, it can’t be dinnertime already,” Jaskier said absentmindedly, focussed on carefully looping the needle through the spine he had just resewn. 

“Am I not allowed to enter my own library save for dinnertime?”

Jaskier blushed, apologised, felt his heart break. Without his lute, without his possessions, without anything he had earned himself, he had started to consider the library as his. It was the sole place he could fully find shelter, feel comfortable. None of the others had ever come inside except briefly, when fetching him. Vesimir’s words rang true, however. Jaskier was merely a guest, an unwanted intrusion, a temporary feature of the Keep, to be removed as soon as the snow melted. 

“No need to apologise.” The eldest Witcher walked in, inspecting the shelves Jaskier had already restored. “You’re talented, bard, even when you don’t sing.”

“I took an elective tutorial in bookbinding when I was studying in Oxenfurt.” Too many words, don’t overshare, he immediately berated himself. In the Hall and throughout the Keep Jaskier managed to keep his head down, stay invisible. But here, in his – not his, he reminded himself – sanctuary, he felt thrown off his rhythm.

“This work is the result of more than a mere elective,” Vesimir replied. He had come closer now, staring at Jaskier as he pushed the needle through the parchment one last time. 

Jaskier bit his tongue, forced himself to stay quiet. don’t be heard. don’t be seen. escape notice. 

“You are also talented when you do sing.”

At that, Jaskier looked up, confused.

“I have seen you perform, once. Years ago.”

“I did not know you left the Keep.”

“Only when I need new supplies. Or when I am curious to meet the man one of my Wolves won’t shut up about.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wondered how extensive the complaints must have been to provoke that kind of curiosity.

The library fell silent again, but Vesimir did not leave. Though Jaskier did not look at him, he could feel the man staring. It seemed like ‘escape notice’ was out the window. Jaskier reattached the cover, put the book back on a clean shelf, grabbed a new one, carefully leafed through it to assess the damage. Names. Numbers. Dates. It seemed like a ledger of some sort.

“It’s how we kept track.”

“Of what?”

“New recruits. Coming in. Treatments. Death.”

Jaskier nodded. “The ink is fading. Want me to make it legible again?”

“Thank you. Make sure they aren’t get forgotten.”

With that, Vesimir finally left. 

Jaskier was alone in the library for the next two days. On the third, Vesimir returned. This time, however, Jaskier was prepared. He stayed quiet, stoically continued his work, mentally thanked the strict librarian at Oxenfurt who had berated him so often for absentmindedly humming that he was now able to keep it in. don’t be heard. 

So it continued, for several days. Jaskier would wake alone, clear the tables alone, do the dishes alone, make lunch alone, eat his slice of bread alone, enter the library alone, but somewhere during the afternoon Vesimir would join him. He would sit and stare, or inspect the books Jaskier had restored, or, on one occasion, grabbed a book and restored it himself. But, to Jakier’s relief, he no longer spoke. 

Until he did.

“We’re concerned,” he proclaimed out of nowhere, putting down one of the bestiaries he was reading. 

“Nilfgard is a formidable enemy.”

The Witcher frowned. “We’re concerned about you,” he specified.

Oh. Oh. Jaskier put down his tools and looked up. “I- I–” He swallowed, tried again. “I apologise for being an intrusion, but I can assure you that I will leave the moment the Pass is cleared. And I will make sure to send you coin to repay for the resources I have used. I am sorry I can give you little more than my word, but I swear I will keep my promise.”

The frown deepened. “I don’t need your coin, bard. Your labour here is payment enough.”

Jaskier looked down, nodded his assent without any intention to let go of his plan of payment. 

“You are a bard, right?”

Jaskier nodded again. 

“Yet I have not heard you sing a single word since you’ve arrived.”

“I did not wish to intrude.”

“We specifically requested it.”

“Geralt-” Jaskier halted. Damnit, traitorous mouth. 

“Doesn’t like your singing?” Vesimir finished.

Another nod.

Jaskier jumped as the man in front of him slammed on the table. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Bullshit. Tonight, you’re performing.”

And with that, Vesimir stormed out. 

* * * 

The first morning in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had gone exploring. While Geralt and Ciri had gone outside to start training, Jaskier had wandered through the hallways, climbed up the stairs, tried rusty doors with broken handles and explored dust-filled chambers. In one of them, he had found an old lute, clearly unused for several decades. He had taken it back into his room with him, cleaned it, and placed it in the chest next to his bed. In a Keep filled with keen-eared Witchers he had been careful to ensure the instrument made no sound. He wasn’t even sure why he had taken it, but knowing it was there made him feel calmer, more whole. 

He tried to sneak away after dinner, the night of Vesimir’s demand. He should have known it was of no use. In Kear Morhen, there is little sneaking to be done. Lambert had walked with him when Jaskier had said he needed to fetch something from his room first. Eskel had yelled at him when he had revealed the lute. And he had lifted Jaskier onto the makeshift stage he had created in the time it took to fetch the instrument, cheered, and sat down to listen. And Jaskier had sung. He had sung shanties and ballads and the epic he had written about an underwater war. He had sung lovesongs and, when the fire burnt low and Ciri had looked at him, pleadingly, he had sung about Calanthe’s feats. And, at the very end, because Eskel threatened to never let him off the mountain if he didn’t, Jaskier had sung Toss a Coin. And Geralt had sat unmovingly throughout it all, polishing and repolishing and repolishing his armour. He had not looked up once.

Now that everyone in the Keep knew he had an instrument, Jaskier spent his evenings in his room writing up the songs he had not allowed himself to hum for so many months of being on the run. Old hurts, those which had originally sparked the anger that had written Burn, Butcher, Burn, were now not dulled – never dulled – by time, but had, rather than exploding outward, started festering inside his heart. And with Geralt so nearby, the Keep around him, and Ciri growing stronger by the day, the so painful words made themselves even more comfortable there, nestling in every crevice and wrinkle with the promise of further hurt and pain if he were not careful, if he overstayed his welcome again, if he did not leave the second the Pass was clear. And rather than vengeful pub songs, the hurt put on a coat made by solemn ballads, mournful dirges, and even a confessional hymn. Jaskier sang them quietly, barely vocalising the words even when he knew all the others were enjoying their evenings far downstairs, with several layers of stone between him and the ears of the men below. 

His performance, Jaskier later learned, had been on midwinter, but he noticed little of the lengthening days. This far North, the sun barely rose above the horizon – for as far as you could speak of a horizon visible from the Keep, surrounded by miles and miles of endless mountains. The empty hallways were filled with moving shadows, the castle’s original inhabitants moving from fireplace to fireplace, navigating quietly through the spaces they had grown to know so well over the years. Only Ciri carried a candle with her when moving between rooms. Jaskier let the darkness envelop him, hug him, embrace him into its folds when he made his way from his bedroom to the Hall, from the Hall to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the library and back to the Hall. It reminded him to be silent, unseen. And every day he would look outside, measure the snow, and conclude that no, he could not leave yet. He would have to remain a burden to those who belonged at the Keep for a little longer.

It was a week after midwinter when he heard Vesimir and Geralt yell at each other. It was a week and a day after midwinter when he saw Eskel and Lambert hack into the man much more aggressively than their playful training normally allowed. It was a week and three days after midwinter when Jaskier, when he arrived downstairs at his usual hour to take his breakfast, found not the expected empty Hall, but a white-haired witcher holding a piece of raw meat against his eye. It was a week and five days after midwinter when Jaskier noticed Geralt’s plate was clean after breakfast, and that no one was seated in his spot during dinner. It was two weeks after midwinter when Jaskier became really, really concerned.

“Vesimir, is the Pass clear?” Jaskier had asked that afternoon.

“No. It will not be for at least another moon. Why? Do we-” the old man cut himself off, clearly believing that whatever joke he was wanting to make would not be appropriate.

“I was wondering where Geralt went. I have not seen him in a few days.”

“Ah.”

It stayed silent for a while.

“Bard.”

“Yes?”

“You care for Geralt.”

It was a statement, not a question, so Jaskier stayed quiet.

“You travelled with him for over a decade. He insults you and hurts you. You do not see him for many years, yet you give up your own plans and jump right back into danger the moment you see him again. Why?”

“Because-” Jaskier sighed. “Because he is a good man. He might not see it, but he is. And when I grab hold of something I hold dear, I don’t quickly let go. Which- Yes, he hurt me, but it was deserving. I ignored all his boundaries and warnings, waltzed all over his life and claimed a place in it without stopping to consider if I was even wanted. He had the right to–”

“No, he didn’t.” In a blink of an eye, Vesimir had gotten up from his usual chair, stepped up to the table where Jaskier had been reattaching a half-torn book cover, and grabbed Jaskier’s shoulders. “He had no right to treat you like he did, nobody ever does.”

“How do you even know–”

Jaskier could count on one hand the times he had seen a witcher blush. Vesimir’s sudden red cheeks and refusal to make eye contact, therefore, were both a surprise and a sign of guilt.

“My new songs. I thought I was quiet enough–”

“Lambert likes to sit outside of your door and listen to you compose. He told me what he heard.”

“Oh.” The yelling. The training. The injured eye. “What did you–”

“We told him to apologise.”

Jaskier sighed. “I– I appreciate the gesture. But it has been years, he does not have to–”

“He does.” 

“Okay, maybe he does. But if he is to apologise, I would rather it came from him, not because his brothers told him to. Leave him alone. I will be fine.”

Vesimir simply raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. The next morning, Geralt’s breakfast plate was used, and the man himself appeared for dinner.

* * * 

The Pass was clear, or, clear enough. The winter had been longer than usual, colder than usual, like the world itself needed its time to mourn the state it had come to. Lambert had been the one to discover it, anxious as he was to rejoin the Path. And now, though it was only two witchers leaving this season, it felt like the Keep was in a frenzy of packing, preparing, getting ready to go. A gathering of potion ingredients, the collecting of extra clothes, exclamations of where is that damned saddle ring gone and has anyone seen my– seemed to fill every room, every nook and cranny of the ancient castle. And in the chaos, Jaskier, upon hearing the news, quietly went to his room and packed. A tunic, three pairs of breeches, two doublets… He vaguely wondered what happened to the supplies he left behind, what felt like years ago. It had contained a fair bit of coin, too. It took him five minutes to pack, another ten to restore the room to the state he had found it in – if not a lot cleaner. It took him seven minutes to say goodbye to the lute, carefully wrapping it in a blanket and placing it safely on the bed, another five to write down a thank-you-and-goodbye note to leave in the library. And less than fifteen minutes later, he had managed to get away from the Keep unnoticed, unseen and unheard. Less than fifteen minutes later, the main gate of Kaer Morhen was out of his sight, and the long and winding path down had embraced its first visitor of the season – no experienced Witcher, but a lonely bard, unsure of what would be waiting for him in the world beyond.

next chapter

#geraskier #geraskier ff #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #jaskier #geralt #the witcher #the witcher ff #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfics #written by me #made by me

[wolfsbane-and-nettles]

I've been trying to draw Geralt's age progression for Prophecies and Promises for some time now, and it has been a struggle to get any sort of consistent style. Children are hard to draw???

Ravix arrives at Kaer Morhen when he is fifteen, though looks between five and seven in human years. He has fluffy curly red hair and bright blue eyes and a kind smile when he is able to muster one.

Geralt "arrives" at Kaer Morhen when he is seven, though his body has been around for thirty years at that point. During his surgery, his elf ears were filed down, the scar more noticeable when he was younger than it is later in life when the story begins when he's fourteen. His curly hair was chopped off during his transformation, as his hair was growing an inch a minute when his powers were activated (will go more into detail later on in the story).

The next picture is Geralt when he is ten, days before the pogram. His face is still covered in freckles and his hair had gone back to growing at a normal rate, though he kept it long most of the time, either in a bun (like in the picture) or in a ponytail, as he enjoyed Eskel putting his hair up for him in the mornings and combing it out at night. I imagine Geralt is looking off to his side where Eskel stood with him, probably smirking about getting into trouble for pulling some stupid prank (*cough* giant bumblebee *cough*).

Geralt's first trial of the grasses is at thirteen and he handles it very well. He was feverish for quite a long time, and his eyes were bloodshot for weeks, making his yellow cat eyes look bright red instead. His hair began thinning out and losing volume, as well as color slightly, no longer a bright red, but a dull red. His freckles were fading as his skin became paler. His face began taking on a more angular appearance from thereon out, as well as growing several inches during the immediate aftermath of his trial. If he wasn't so skinny from the trial, he'd have looked much older.

I imagine that all the witchers before the pogram were much more muscular from their trials. They had ample amounts of food and nutrition and medicine whereas, after the pogram, food became more scarce, the boys eating much less than any of them should, which was probably a contributing factor to the number of deaths from Geralt's class.

Barely after Geralt recovered from his first round, he and two other boys were taken from training and underwent a second round of grasses. The other two boys died, and Geralt was left looking hollowed and stretched, with no hair on his body, no life in his eyes, and no color in his skin. Most crushing of all, was he lost the ability to emote on his face (will go more into detail on that later on!)

I enjoyed drawing this, even if I'm not happy with the final product...I'm just happy to be writing and drawing something I love and am so passionate about. Thank you for reading!

#witcher geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanart #trial of the grasses #witcher trials #young witchers #young geralt of rivia

[wherethewordsare]

Little Talks

The first time... Geralt is asleep against a tree when he hears a lute. For a moment he thinks to look up across the fire and shoot the bard a look. But there is no fire because there hasn't been a bard to keep from freezing for several seasons. He’s been regretting those looks he used to give Jaskier. He freezes when he hears that same voice he remembers waking up to call out. But not to him. 

To Roach. 

For a moment he thinks to run down to the road to meet the bard again like they had a dozen Springs before. To say something. Anything. Maybe apologize.

 But Jaskier is already talking to Roach. His words are soft and sweet and just for her. He's giving her an apple that he was saving for his lunch and wishing her well. He asks her to look after the witcher. And just like that, every thought of a reunion is dashed as he hears Jaskier return to the road. 

The sound of the lute starts again, maybe a bit sadder this time and Geralt waits until even his witcher hearing can't pick it up and ignores the way his chest aches. He’s sure Jaskier wouldn’t have wanted to see him anyways.

The second time Geralt's limping back to the stables and he hears singing. He's so tired and his body hurts and he needs to get to his potions. Part of him wouldn’t mind listening to those picked along melodies again, either. 

There's the crunch of another apple and a fond laugh. More words, murmured just for Roach that he can't help but overhear. 

"You've been here two days, they said. Been naughty too. But two days means he's been out there for two days. Let's hope he gets back safe. You won't tell him I was here, would you, Roachie girl?" There's the sound of patting and then footsteps coming his way. 

For a moment Geralt takes a step to move towards Jaskier but then remembers the state of himself. Wouldn't do to get the bard messy if he can avoid it. So he slips behind the stable and ducks his head. From between the beams he catches just a glance of Jaskier. His hair is longer and his eyes aren't as bright, like he's lost in a sad thought. It’s not a look Geralt cares to see on him. It’s somehow worse than the look Jaskier had on that mountain after the dragon hunt. 

But Geralt needs to get to his potions more than he needs an awkward mollification in a dark stable. He ignores the way Roach seems to huff at him and can feel her blaming him. Even the fucking horse knows. 

“Next time.” He says in way of apology. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Roach didn’t believe him.

The third time, Geralt's just coming back from hunting down some dinner. There's a fire where there wasn't one before and a stack of wood beside. It had been burning long enough to be useful to cook. 

Roach stands beside the clearing, munching on grass. But her mane.... her mane is brushed and braided with wild flowers. 

He nearly drops the rabbits on his belt and is on the road in a flash. But the bard is nowhere to be seen. 

Geralt trudges back, suddenly no longer hungry and slides a finger down one of the braids, filled with buttercups. "What did he tell you this time, hmm?" Roach only butts her head into his chest. "Being judged for my foolishness by my own horse." He picks out one of the buttercups not even realizing it and tucks it behind his own ear. It's ridiculous but he feels unsettled without it suddenly. 

"Told her you were an ass for saying the things you did. And a coward besides for not coming to meet me when I've seen her before." 

"Jaskier." Geralt spins, not even thinking to remove the flower he’s just tucked into ear.

Jaskier gives him a weak smile, a shadow of the brilliant sunbeam it was a lifetime ago. "We should.... talk."

The first morning after their talk, Geralt wakes to the smell of rabbit being reheated and Jaskier humming softly. 

“Jask?” He sits up and blinks. Beyond the camp, Roach is still where she was the night before, her mane still braided, some fresh flowers tucked between. 

“Ah, sorry. Know you’re not a fan of the constant humming,” Jaskier chuckles. He stands and turns to grab his lute, his bed roll already packed away. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing he can remember how to say anymore. The night before he had seen a man he barely recognized, splintered and rearranged into something far cooler than the easy warmth he knew before. 

“You already said that, Geralt. And I told you-”

“No. I mean about the humming. And the playing. And the… I’m… hmm.” He looks away and all but growls. He had been over this a thousand times in his head and now he’s barely stumbling through his words. 

“I don’t mind the humming. Or your singing.” Geralt looks back at Jaskier but only finds an unreadable face. Fuck. “I never have, and I… While you weren’t… When I was… am alone… I miss it, you.” His tongue feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and still he can’t make out the look on Jaskier’s face. He used to know every line and every curve. He hasn’t forgotten them, just they too have changed. 

“Come on then.”

And it feels like salvation, the way Jaskier crosses the clearing and helps him to his feet. He’s not careful to stay clear of Geralt’s space like he had been the night before and the corners of his mouth tip up just so. It feels like hope and heartbreak and home. 

“We can make it to the next village by dusk if we’re fast. You, witcher, owe me a drink and some stories.” 

They talk nearly the whole way there.

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #angst with a hopeful ending #Roach #Jaskier #Geralt

[wackapedia]

Tomorrow Is Not Promised

Jaskier x Reader where reader has healing powers but things take a harsh turn when someone gets mortally wounded and it will take much of y/n’s powers to heal them Wordcount: 2.1k,  fluff, angst, big time sad, and then fluff, in that order. :)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and bleeding, someone getting stabbed :(

The rattling of a hollow crate disturbs Geralt as he was having his meal alone in the great halls of Kaer Morhen. The food supplies from the town below was scheduled to arrive yesterday. It arrives today, empty. A boy pushes a wooden cart uphill towards the castle gate and is greeted by Lambert and Geralt who so graciously leaves his meal to ask about the supplies.

" Tis all we have left, sir." The boy stutters in front of the two witchers. "A devil's been pillaging the village, eating our grains and livestock..."

The two witchers share a look before Lambert leaves to get the horses.

------

"Jaskier, you didn't have to!" Y/n admires the silver band around her finger and the small red jewel sitting on top of it. Jaskier kisses the back of her hand, keeping eye contact.

"I want you to have it. You deserve so much more, my dearest. It may not be much, but it comes with a promise that one day, I will marry you." Jaskier smiles. Y/n pulls him to a tight embrace, letting her tears of joy stain the bard's lush green coat.

Y/n and Jaskier met a few months ago in a small tavern where the bard played nightly. A few rowdy patrons broke out a brawl, bringing the innocent bard in the middle of it. The thugs threw punches all over, chairs were overturned, and several other damages were caused that night. Y/n stood at the corner, watching the brawl happen from underneath her hood, sipping her mead and trying to be as invisible as possible. Everyone in the room that night was either too drunk or too beat up to notice someone like her. Or so she thought. The bard managed to dodge a few punches as he made his way toward y/n, pulling her out of the rowdy tavern. His nose was broken and his lute was beat up beyond recognition. Despite his condition, he helped her escape through the back door.

Y/n was alarmed at first when Jaskier came to her. Something unintelligible and then a 'this way!' was uttered as she took the hand offered to her. For a second, she was worried she had been recognized, but assured herself that she can start anew in this side of the continent.

Y/n dropped the hood from her head, revealing her face to the cold air and the moonlight. Jaskier's hand stuttered from his nose as he turned and saw her face, worryingly staring at his bloodied nose. The noise of the brawl inside the tavern was silenced by the rapid beating of the bard's heart. His eyes remained on hers, hypnotized by her beauty and elegance. Warmth climbed up from his hand which was still holding hers, electrocuting him in the best way possible. Jaskier's eyes were distracted by her other hand, coming up in front of his face, just above his broken, bleeding nose. Her eyes suddenly turn a couple of shades darker, almost as dark as the night, and then after a blink, they return to their normal hues. "What just happened?!" Jaskier wondered. He regretfully let go of her hand to touch his nose.

It was no longer broken.

"Sorry I can't save your lute." Were the first words she uttered to him, sounding genuinely sorry as if her magic wasn't enough.

The bard sighed at the sound of her voice and immediately declared to himself that he is hopelessly in love.

Since then, Jaskier wrote at least three love songs per day, boring the crowd with his wistful countenance during his nightly performances. Every single tavern patron begged him to just profess his undying love to his muse and get it over with, and eventually he did, which is how things came to be in the present.

Jaskier and y/n swings their joined hands as they trek toward a town up ahead, smiling and humming to themselves old and new tunes. At times, the key doesn't even sound right, and they would break out in a laughing fit. No words were needed between them.

Geralt tosses a head of a creature into a pile of several other creature heads, or devils, as the townspeople referred to. Indeed the town has been consumed by poverty with barely any crops nor livestock. The villagers thank the witchers for getting rid of their problem.

"We'll have to travel to the next village for provisions." Geralt mutters, already beginning to mount Roach. Lambert sheathes his sword as the villagers burn the corpses of their village pests. A piercing cry of "Help!" startles the townsfolk. Geralt's eyes immediately dart toward the western edge of the forest, and spurs on his horse toward it with the other witcher in tow.

"Don't touch her!" Jaskier struggles against two bandits holding him down. Y/n tries to run but is immediately cornered by another bandit.

"Shut up, lover boy, all we need is some coin, we all have families to feed!" The short man with yellow teeth snarls at the bard. Jaskier did not think twice and unlaces the bag of coins on his hip and tosses it in front. His sudden movements alarm the younger bandit holding him down.

"Here, take it! That's all we have, just please let us go!" He pleads while keeping his eyes on you. The short man picks up the heavy bag and motions for his team of bandits to wrap up. That is until the bald one notices the ring on y/n's finger.

"Hey boss, fancy a jewel?" He pulls y/n's arm out rather harshly, making her wince.

"No!" Jaskier scrambles against the pool of leaves. The younger bandit, the shakiest of them all, draws a dagger against Jaskier.

"Hey, Urchin! I said no one gets hurt!" The bandit boss reprimands, stepping toward y/n to take the ring, ripping it from her delicate finger.

Jaskier could not take seeing her in pain. Against all logic, he kicks down and runs toward the band of bandits who were already on their way. In the confusion of orders, the nervousness of first time theft, and the darkness of nightfall threatening to take over, the shakiest bandit spurs into action, driving a dagger into Jaskier's abdomen.

Y/n screams, seeing the dagger driven into her beloved. The bandits scramble to leave the scene, dragging the youngest away, shocked at the turn of events.

Y/n lets out a cry for help, crawling over to the bard who was quickly losing blood, coughing up crimson against his skin.

Assessing his wound, she figures it would take up a lot, if not all of her life force to heal him. But she did not hesitate.

Anything, she had promised. Anything for Jaskier.

As if reading her mind, Jaskier begs her not to heal him.

"Y/n, no..." He weakly protests, knowing that her healing abilities are not meant for fatal wounds. Knowing that she will be trading her own life for his. "Y/n, please..."

"Shut up." She hisses, placing her hands over his gaping wound. Her eyes darken and her brows meet, concentrating on the encantation.

Jaskier pushes her hands away but she remains focused at the task at hand. His vision begins to blur and fears that her powers could no longer save him. He smiles at the notion, comforted by the fact that she continues to live, not wasting her life force for his own lowly and unworthy life.

Y/n begins to mutter the spell out loud, wiping the tears from her face, staining them with her beloved's blood in the process.

Jaskier closes his eyes, keeping a smile plastered on his lips. Grateful that the last thing he sees is her face, the last thing he touches is her skin, and the last thing he hears is her voice.

He passes out.

And then he comes to. He doesn't believe it but he does. He keeps his eyes closed, furrowing his brows, the same way he does when he's disturbed in his slumber. Are those horse hooves I'm hearing? Four? Five or six? Of course four, horses have four legs.

And then he remembers. The bandits. The ring. Y/n.

Jaskier's eyes shoot open and he sits up against the dried leaves of the forest floor. The sun is still setting which means he was unconscious for only a short while. He spots his beloved, sprawled next to him, eyes closed and fists clenched. His hands immediately move to touch her, feeling her warmth dissipating. His vision clouds with tears, The sound of horses draw ever closer until they stop behind him.

"Jaskier?" An all too familiar sarcastic tone of voice rings from behind him. Jaskier turns to see his old friend Geralt, accompanied by another witcher. Jaskier had no time for pleasantries as he cradles y/n's body which was quickly losing its warmth.

"Please, she needs help..." Was all he could say to the witcher.

Geralt saddles the woman Jaskier refers to as y/n to his trusty steed. He breaks his own petty rules of not letting strangers on Roach because of the helplessness of the bard's plea. Lambert assigns himself to go on to the next town to fetch the provisions while Geralt takes Jaskier and y/n to Kaer Morhen.

"What happened?" Geralt keeps his voice low. Jaskier walks on the other side of Roach, gently clasping y/n's hand. "Bandits." He plainly answered.

"And that...?" Geralt nods his chin to his friend's abdomen. Wound-less, but shirt slashed open, and blood-soaked.

"I... I got stabbed and she- she wasn't supposed to, but she healed me, and now it took a toll on her, she isn't strong enough for these kinds of injuries but she healed me and I think she had just traded her life for mine-" The bard starts crying again.

"She's not dead yet, Jaskier. Save your tears." The witcher bluntly states.

They arrive at Kaer Morhen. Jaskier wasted no time in getting y/n inside, shuddering at how cold her hands were. Finally seeing her face in the light, the bard was filled with dread at how pale she has gotten. Geralt leads them to a warm room, where Jaskier gently places her on the bed.

Though the night, Jaskier kept his eyes trained on y/n. Constantly checking her pulse, her breathing, her temperature, desperate for any sign of consciousness. He wipes a damp cloth on her face, taking the stains of blood. His own blood.

Jaskier could never forgive himself if he loses his y/n. He regrets making her wait for a proper marriage proposal. Regretted giving her a lame promise ring instead of saving up for a proper one. He whispers apologies into the back of her wrist, clasping it tightly through the night, staining it with his tears.

"If you wake up right now, my angel, I promise you I will marry you immediately." Jaskier whispers with full conviction. He is entertained by the notion, marrying her as soon as she regains consciousness.

Jaskier did not mean to fall asleep. He jolts awake when he hears light footsteps entering the room. The light of dawn breaking enters the window, gently illuminating the room, and the girl who is intently staring at y/n, carrying a vase of fresh flowers.

"Ciri?" Jaskier recognizes the girl who was training to be a witcher. Geralt's child surprise.

"Hello, Jaskier." She smiles. "I brought her flowers." She places the vase of daisies and dandelions on the bedside table across the bard's seat.

"Thank you. They're beautiful." Jaskier is comforted by the child's presence. He looks at Cirella who is looking at y/n who is still sound asleep.

"Y/n loves dandelions." Jaskier breaks the silence, finding it odd that Ciri is staring too intently at y/n. She hums back an answer, a habit she had probably picked up from her teacher.

"She is very pretty." The princess of Cintra complements y/n. "She is." Jaskier gives in and returns his gaze to y/n.

Ciri's fingers lightly grazes the edge of y/n's bloodstained sleeve. As if in deep thought of a riddle or a mystery. A question.

"You love her." It wasn't a question. "With all my life." Without missing a beat, he answers.

Ciri's hand wraps around y/n's limp hand. The princess's forehead wrinkles in concentration before her eyes light up in understanding. As if figuring out an arithmetic equation, her eyebrows raise and her lips part. There is life. And there is twice as much power that there ever was on y/n. Ciri's hold on y/n's hand tightens. The bard begins to worry a little with how this peculiar child was behaving.

Recalling his past encounters with the heir of Cintra, things are nothing short of eventful. The battle of Sodden, and The siege of the Deathless Mother. He tries to form a polite phrase, asking Ciri to stop whatever she was doing before she-

"Jaskier?" Y/n croaks, her throat parched.

The bard almost leaps for joy, finally hearing his most favourite sound: his name on your lips.

"Yes, angel?" His tears roll freely.

Ciri quietly leaves the room, shutting the door as it creaks miserably against the hinges.

"What happened?" Y/n asks as Jaskier scrambles for his flask of water. "You saved me." He answered, helping her sit up and handing her the drink.

"Like I always do?" She teases, after emptying the drink. Jaskier laughs hysterically for what felt like a minute, overjoyed that his beloved was given back to him. Y/n begins to worry, until Jaskier suddenly sits up and takes her hand.

"Y/n, the love of my life, the flowers of spring, the sun of the earth, the rain of autumn, and the snow of winter, will you marry me, right here, right now?" The bard blurts out in one single breath.

"No ring?" She questions, her tone indiscernible.

Jaskier was about to answer but she cuts him off:

"That's actually better. Nothing for bandits to steal. Of course I'll marry you."

On the stairwell, Geralt comes across Ciri leaving the guest bedroom. Hearing Jaskier and y/n's muffled laughter, Geralt gives Ciri a knowing look.

"Worked your magic?" He asks.

"Not me, but the child in y/n's womb did."

#witcher #the witcher x reader #jaskier x reader #jaskier dandelion #jaskier #joey batey #fic

[pillage-and-lute]

Prompt: Either out of embarrassment or being a little shit, Jaskier lies outrageously to Geralt about humans (on the level of “I’m molting” or “These? They’re rocks, to snack on.”) and might get away with it?

Hi Dahliavandare! I always love seeing you in my inbox. I changed this just a *teeny* bit. WARNING: VERY SLIGHTLY HORNY (it’s Jaskier, duh) There is also a little bit of angst because Jaskier gets sick.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“What?” The young bard yelped. “I wasn’t even singing that time.”

“No, you just--hmmm.”

“I just hmmm what?” Jaskier asked, pausing in his near-constant strumming.

“You smell like...hmm.”

“I smell?” Jaskier said, both hands planted on his hips. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, my friend--”

“Not friends.”

“You smell like a barn. Anyway-”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, running one, gloved hand through his hair. “Witchers can sort of smell emotions, right?”

Jaskier looked up at him, a sudden hint of anxiety in his scent. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Not entirely.” Geralt shook his head as if clearing a thought from it. “We can’t smell complex things, but joy, fear, anger...desire.”

Jaskier, for once, didn’t look at Geralt, studying instead the flowers at the side of the road. “Desire?”

“I-yes.” Geralt said. “And I wanted to know if all humans smell like...”

“Desire?” Jaskier said, then began talking fast. “Oh yes, of course, most humans, especially my age, well, they smell like this all the time. All the time. Naturally.”

It sort of checked out, at least to Geralt’s thinking. Young humans were horny, and although the overriding scent when Geralt was around was fear, he remembered being a teenager, with all the baggage that entailed at Kaer Morhen, and yes, constantly horny was among those memories. Jaskier himself was definitely still young by human standards, perhaps twenty or so from his youthful features. 

Geralt chalked the horniness up to humanity and hormones and left it at that. 

--- 

Later on, Geralt had other questions related to humanity, more specifically that part of humanity that included Jaskier. 

“I thought humans couldn’t eat those?” Geralt couldn’t, he’d eaten one during training on a dare and spent the next day with his head in the privy.

Jaskier looked down at the mushroom in his hand. It was a beautiful, bright red, with little white spots. He’d been snacking on similar ones for the last mile or so. 

“Of course we can,” he said. “Humans eat these all the time.” There was a rising tone in his voice that indicated something, but as Geralt had mentioned before, witchers couldn’t actually smell the more complicated emotions. 

“They, um,” Jaskier said. “They just can’t be eaten by humans during-er- during summer. It’s fall now, so it’s okay.”

Geralt shrugged. What did he know of human biology? He wouldn’t be eating another of them ever, at any time. His stomach lurched a little just at the thought.

---

“You didn’t buy the ring.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, eyes bright in the sunshine. The bustle of the market around them pushed against him like a tide, but a little patch of space was left around Geralt. Jaskier stepped into the space. “The ring?”

“You liked it,” Geralt grunted. “I could tell.” It had been a little thing, cheaply made of poor materials, but the bard’s eyes had lit up upon seeing the little buttercup detailing, and he’d admired for several minutes, although without touching. 

Jaskier shrugged. “It was made of iron.”

“And?”

“Human’s can’t wear iron, Geralt.”

“Then why did the man sell it?” 

“Well some humans can wear it of course, those with very tough skin, but I’m delicate.” Jaskier sniffed. 

“Humans...can’t wear iron?” It didn’t sound right.

“Not right up close to their skin,” Jaskier said. “It turns us, um, purple.”

Geralt shrugged it off. He’d once been called to a castle where a baron had believed himself cursed because his finger was turning green, but he’d simply been wearing a cheap brass ring.

---

After the first winter they met again in the spring something was definitely different.

“Your freckles,” Geralt said.

“What about them?” Jaskier said, looking away.

What about them indeed. They glimmered like chips of mica. At first Geralt had thought it a trick of the light, but no, there was a definite glitter to Jaskier’s skin.

“They’re...shining?”

Jaskier cocked his head at Geralt, cheeks shimmering. “Geralt,” he said slowly. “You know humans shimmer in the spring...right?” 

Shimmer?

“I’d never noticed,” Geralt said. Admittedly he paid a little more attention to Jaskier than perhaps he ought, but still, one would think he’d have seen this before.

“It’s part of the growing process,” Jaskier said. 

---

“Jaskier, your cheeks are red,” Geralt said, stepping out of the small bathtub the inkeeper had brought up. He stepped closer to the bard, still naked and dripping water, and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Nnhgh,” Jaskier said.

“Are you well?” Geralt asked, cupping Jaskier’s flushed face with his other hand. It didn’t feel like he had a fever.

Jaskier pushed his hands away, face even redder than before.

“I’m perfectly fine, Geralt,” he said, higher pitched than usual. “Human faces get red for no reason now...put on some pants.”

---

“Jaskier you’re drunk,” Geralt said. It was a pretty obvious statement, considering he had his bard draped over him like a shawl.

“Hehe, yep,” Jaskier said, reaching up with one, long finger and tracing Geralt’s jawline with it. 

“You didn’t have any alcohol, I’m sure of it.” Jaskier normally had an extremely high alcohol tolerance in any case.

“‘O course not,” Jaskier said, leaning even more fully into Geralt’s hold. “Had milk.”

“Milk can’t get people drunk.”

“Milk can’t get witchers drunk,” Jaskier slurred. “Get’s humans drunk though, dunnit?”

“Can it?”

“Yeah, definitely, not the kids, but like, how often do you see, like adult humans drinkin’ milk?”

Not often, Geralt thought. He put Jaskier to bed in the inn and it was like pouring an octopus into a bucket. One loose yet gripping arm pulled Geralt closer to Jaskier, the bard leaned in and brushed soft lips to Geralt’s cheekbone.

Geralt wondered if it was another mystery of humans that the spot seemed to tingle all night and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

---

Geralt clutched Jaskier as the bard fell to his knees, groaning. His face was sickly in it’s palor and he was trembling. He’d just lurched up from the table at the inn and stumbled to the door. Geralt had followed him and the young bard had just collapsed like this.

“Jaskier,” he said, clutching a chilled cheek, his other hand seeking one of Jaskier’s. “Jaskier what’s wrong.”

“Lemon,” Jaskier whispered, lacing shaking finger’s with Geralt’s. “In the fish, there was lemon.”

“Lemon’s fine, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, slow heart racing as he looked into eyes that were becoming glassy and clouded.

Jaskier shook his head and it seemed to exhaust him.

“’S fine for humans.” He said. “Not fae.”

“Fae,” Geralt said, cradling his friend. “Jaskier you’re not making sense.” 

“Mmh,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly. His face changed, his eyes going glow bright and his ears lengthening a little. His skin took on a slightly green tint. 

Geralt looked into the face of his fae bard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and the shimmering freckles there. “How do I heal you, you have to tell me.”

Jaskier blinked slowly, eyes dimming further.

Geralt shook him, desperation taking over.

“Jaskier what heals a fairy?”

What heals a fairy? He’d learned that at some point hadn’t he? Long ago. They were rare, and most witchers never saw one in their whole lives but if you could help one they’d grant you one wish, not tricks. 

Poetry. 

Fuck.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, throat feeling dry. Those beautiful eyes blinked at him, slowly. 

“I...I think you have pretty eyes,” Geralt said. “And I like when they, um, match the skies.”

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, brow wrinkling slightly.

“You look pretty in blue,” Geralt managed, inventing wildly. “And look pretty in green. You look lovely in about every shade in between.”

Some of the deathly palor was fading from Jaskier’s face now and Geralt sought more words. “I thought you were pretty that day you wore purple,” he said. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, idiot he was an idiot, nothing rhymes with purple. 

“I like your spirit, your moxy, your...your yurple.”

Jaskier was indeed looking better now, and he was smiling.

“I like the way you talk to me, and how you’re always there,” Geralt whispered. “I like the way you hum to me when you help me brush my hair.”

Jaskier sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light.

“I like the way you give treats to Roach, um, and I like the way you smile,” Geralt gulped at the look on Jaskier’s face. “But most of all I like how much I love you, so I want you to promise to, uh, stay? For a while?”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said, cupping his cheek. “That was bad.” Then he kissed him and Geralt’s brain went very very fuzzy.

A little later, in their room in the inn, where Geralt was finishing the fish and Jaskier was having stew avec no-lemon-at-all, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaskier tilted his head thoughtfully as he chewed a piece of potato. “Well, at first I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he said. 

Geralt nodded. Fae were a feared and reverred group amongst humans, so caution was reasonable.

“Then it became a sort of game,” Jaskier said shrugging. “I couldn’t resist. So I left you little hints. I thought you’d figure it out for sure with the freckles or the milk.”

Geralt huffed a little sheepishly.

“I don’t care that you’re fae,” he said after a moment.

“I know,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t care that you’re an awful poet.”

“It worked, didn’t it.”

“It did, and now you get a wish, no tricks,” Jaskier held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

Geralt thought for a moment. A wish from a fae was no small thing. It should be something powerful, something earth shattering and precious and rare.

“I wish you would kiss me again.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oop, here it is (after quite the wait, sorry about that) I’m actually so proud of this and it’s super sweet and fluffy.

#geraskier #fluff #creature Jaskier #fae jaskier #Roach borrowed the braincell and she isn't giving it back #the witcher #geralt of rivia

[kenobihater]

eskel’s scars in fanart

there's a problem in the fandom that irks me: people either seem to struggle with drawing eskel's facial scars, or they don't even attempt to do so. you may not think that's a big deal, but as someone with an old and faded relatively minor facial scar in an inconspicuous place, that makes me feel like shit! if i knew who eskel was when i was first dealing with the psychological fallout of being scarred, i would have felt a lot better about myself, because if he's still handsome while scarred, i could be too! he's a very visibly scarred character, and i'm absolutely certain i'm not the only person with a facial scar who looks up to him. minimizing or, god forbid, completely failing to add his scars in the first place, sends the message that the scars are both unimportant to his character and/or "ugly". both of these sentiments are false!

in the games, he got his scars from his child surprise deidre. i'm certain they had a negative impact on his self image as well as served as an unwelcome reminder of his mistakes every time he looked in the mirror. not drawing them, or minimizing them, erases that. now, onto the second part of why minimizing his scars is bad: it sends a terrible message to people with facial scars, that they're either not worthy of being portrayed accurately due to being "ugly", or that they're such an abhorrent concept that they should be erased altogether. that's bs, plain and simple, and i'm not going to waste any more time explaining why that's so harmful, as i'm sure y'all can understand how messed up that is.

so to hopefully rectify this problem of inaccurate representation, i've put together a guide consisting of some reference pics and commentary with the goal of guiding people to improve how they depict the character!

TL;DR at bottom!

okay, so first of all i want to say that i understand that not everyone draws in a hyperreal style, and that some simplification/streamlining of the scars is unavoidable. that's fine, so long as you aren't crossing the line into minimizing them. the easiest way you can avoid minimizing them is to add depth! his scars are extensive and vary in depth, with some areas being more superficial and some being more severe.

(click 4 better quality!) here i've made a map of his scars via picsart, outlining the edges and shallower areas in red, and adding blue where the scar tissue seems deeper in the face. it isn't a perfect map (his hair is in the way, and i myself attempted to simply so that the overall form of the scars is easily discernable), but it'll do.

some things to take note of are where each scar starts and ends, like how the one bisecting his upper lip starts the highest up and ends below his lip. another thing to note is the width and depth of each scar, and where they are the widest and the deepest.

now, i want to make note of one thing in particular that i most often see misrepresented: his upper lip. eskel's upper lip is so scarred and damaged that it no longer completely covers his teeth when his face is completely at rest.

this, this right here, is the thing that a good portion of eskel fanart is missing. something i've noticed in particular in fandom in general is how certain superficial facial scars, like geralt's, are celebrated, or at least never misrepresented, whereas severe scars that would actually affect the scarred person's day to day life for a while, like eskel's, are ignored or minimized. this lip injury would have made eating, talking, and drinking difficult for a while. he probably can't whistle or drink through a straw anymore. his other scars were undoubtedly deep enough to his a facial artery and possibly even a nerve, both of which could have complicated recovery, even for a witcher. and now that they're healed, his teeth still peek through. ignoring that is ignoring his canon character design, plain and simple. i don't care if you think his lips being damaged and his teeth showing through isn't "cute" or "hot" or "aesthetic" - scarred people don't exist to be any of those things, we exist because we exist, and we deserve accurate representation in fanart.

TL;DR stop drawing eskel's scars badly or not at all, doing so is an injustice both to the charater as well as people irl with severe facial scars. try to study both the width and depth of each scar, as well as where they begin, intersect, and end.

#len's meta #eskel #witcher eskel #the witcher #tw3 #the witcher 3 #tw3 wild hunt #the witcher 3 wild hunt #eskel fanart #people who are assholes abt this get blocked