#a. will they TELL Yennefer? Oh boy. probably not

[bardcore-jaskier]

♡ Jaskier rant/vent ♡

Hiya, here is a long ass rant/vent about my Netflix Witcher frustrations with how the show-runners are treating Jaskier's character. Because even though I love the books and games, I couldn't give a rat's ass about the changes Lauren made to the witcher plot. Because if it were to be adapted into a show following the source material word for word, page for page, it wouldn't be worth watching because I already know the damn story. It's refreshing to see these changes, new ideas etc. But ofc, I do still have a bone to pick with them.

The venting part:

Ok, so you know how in my bio it says that this is a Jaskier centric blog and that Jaskier deserves to be loved? Yeah, that's because I'm salty AF, the saltiest motherfucker on Earth right now. Because the way Netflix or...mostly Lauren treat Jaskier as a character on this show is atrocious! A beloved fan favorite they intend to milk but know not how, using him instead as nothing other than comedic relief and the occasional tool to move the plot in a certain direction.

They're stingy with his character development, with his screen time, with complexity. When we see him in pain it is later dismissed, as if it never happened. Where are his bruises and burns from Rience's torture? He was bleeding from his mouth, he had probably taken a few punches to his face. And Rience held his flame to Jaskier's fingers for at least five seconds, the heat of which compares to a lit match, nobody could walk away from something like that without second degree burns that would take many weeks to heal. And in Jaskier's case? Walking around with an exposed wound like that, touching things all the time, crawling across a dirty floor under the table when the witchers were fighting Voleth Mier? He realistically should have had a serious infection by now.

Also, tell me I am not the only one who noticed this, and I ask myself this quite often: Why OH WHY does it seem like the ONLY people who enjoy Jaskier's company, his presence, him in general, are the audiences he performs for and the elves? Everybody else seems to either shit on him the moment they see him or keep him around because he's loyal and amusing.

Idk about you, but I don't take kindly to the fact that the only character to treat Jaskier with respect and dignity in season 2 was Yennefer. Although THANK FUCK for Yennefer, I fucking LOVE her so much! But yeah.....

Like sure thing, Geralt evidently trusts Jaskier a lot, he is obviously fond of him, but to be honest I haven't seen enough of that fondness on screen to get the impression that their friendship is just like their bromance in the books. In season 1 they only show us scenes of Geralt barely putting up with Jaskier, ignoring him, insulting his singing (which is basically Jaskier's core, his life, his everything, it's what he lives and breathes for), barely admitting to their friendship out loud and then blaming Jaskier for everything that went wrong in his life! Like dude, I know Jaskier isn't exactly a pure and innocent cinnamon roll, I'm aware that he is a slutty little trouble magnet who can sometimes talk too much, but he is also a good friend! Even with whatever little screen time he gets, he is every inch the good friend that Dandelion is in the books!

In season 1 it's very clear that he cares, he asked Geralt if he's ok, he said "Talk to me", he tried to help Geralt deal with Borch's fake death, he offered Geralt an opportunity to go on a vacation, because he gives a fucking damn about him. Even in Cintra, when he asked Geralt for a favor, aka guard him, he made a comment about rubbing chamomile on his body, aka most likely massaging Geralt's sore arse muscles after a hunt.

But Geralt? Just the bare fucking minimum, saving Jaskier's life a few times, a few fond smiles here and there, otherwise looking rather uninterested in Jaskier's life. A brick wall that barely says anything nice to him. Or well, looks like talking to him in general is a chore.

And season 2? Whoooo boy! Jaskier still cares! Though he has to pry basic human decency out of Geralt in that jail cell at Oxenfurt:

- "We don't have time, we need to go"

- "Are you sure? Because the last time we saw eachother, you basically told me to fuck off, remember? And you left me on a mountain!"

- "Jaskier.."

- "Don't fucking Jaskier me, I'm talking to you, this is how this works!"

Jaskier still makes do with Geralt's pathetic arse "I need your help" and leaves EVERYTHING in his life behind to be there for Geralt. He left his Sandpiper smuggling business, he didn't even get to pack a bag, trailing after Geralt like a loyal dog, still wearing the shirt he was tortured in, with his dried blood on it, because Geralt needed his friend.

Thankfully Geralt seems to be doing better by Jaskier in the second season, but not nearly enough to be enough! I mean, Geralt came for Jaskier only when he needed something from him, didn't apologize to him until Jaskier hinted at the problem (Via discussing Yennefer's betrayal, she's been pushed into a corner, she's desperate, it's why people do stupid things and SAY stupid things). And Geralt's apology was shit, because he didn't offer it until Jaskier had accidentally guilt tripped him into it. And Jaskier? Yeah, no, he might have forgiven his friend for the Mountain, but he is still human, he's still got feelings and knew he deserved an apology. However, right there and then it clearly wasn't the right time, whatnot with Geralt's apology being too simple and nonchalant, not nearly serious and earnest enough to undo the hurt that had given birth to Burn Butcher Burn. Not to mention the dwarves being within earshot and the dangerous mission ahead. Which is why I understand why Jaskier brushed off Geralt's pathetic attempt at making amends with a joke.

When I was watching the Rare Species episode of season 1, the expression on Jaskier's face after getting shouted at by his best friend honestly broke my fucking heart. So when season 2 aired, I started binging it with high hopes of getting to see Geralt apologizing, them becoming friends again, Geralt being a better friend to Jaskier while also being badass as shit with his child surprise, battling monsters etc. But I did not expect it to fall so flat and I did not expect for LITERALLY EVERYONE to treat Jaskier like absolute dog shit. INCLUDING THE SHOW RUNNERS!

Geralt was basically using Jaskier for his loyalty, the dwarves found Jaskier's presence as the most annoying thing ever, Ciri literally fucking ignored him in all of their scenes together, the show-runners fucking forgot that Jaskier was tortured and filmed every scene with Joey in it as if Rience never happened, then for some dumb reason Lambert fucking had to be more of a prick than necessary, effectively alienating Jaskier with one single word, when that man had done nothing to deserve it!

FUCK!!!

#jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #netflix witcher #witcher netflix #dandelion #jaskier dandelion #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #yennskier #cirilla of cintra #cirilla fiona elen riannon #witcher ciri #geralt bashing #netflix #lauren hissrich #joey batey #henry cavill #geraskier #blood origin #netflix blood origin #jaskier blood origin #witcher blood origin

[blackberrywars]

I just realised I wasn't following you yet? Which is honestly a crime. For your Witcher ficlets, I'd love to see some grandpa Vesemir bonding time with Ciri as a child. Just a lot of fluff, preferably modern where Vesemir gets to spend an afternoon alone with her

Hi hello sorry for the delay and thank you for this prompt!! It's very cute, and the fluff was a nice treat.

Title: Grampa's House

Rating: G Words: 1,945 Relationships: Vesemir & Ciri, Background Vesemir/Guxart, Background Yennefer/Geralt Additional Tags: Family Bonding, Fluff, Young Ciri, Grandparents & Grandchildren, The Magic of Your Grandparents' House

Summary: Vesemir struggles to figure out what to do while watching his five year-old granddaughter for the weekend because he’s an old-ass man with old-ass man hobbies, like bird-watching, whittling, gardening, and making coffee on the stove because who needs a fancy machine anyway? Turns out, she’s happy to do all those things with her grampa.

AO3 LINK

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When his idiot son drops his squealing granddaughter onto his porch, not even Yennefer can hide a sheepish grin. “Business trip,” his bony ass. He can smell a swinger’s party from here. Still, their hesitation doesn’t stop Ciri from running toward him and wrapping her skinny, freckled arms around his thighs.

“GRAMPA!!”

She hits him with the force of a gale wind, and Vesemir can’t help but run a hand through her hair. Whiter than his, but not quite so pale as Geralt’s. Before that thought overwhelms him, he takes both a deep breath and her little, inexplicably sticky hand. She proudly shows him her missing incisor as she yells hello, and she’s so much bigger now, but even still, the straps of her tiny backpack barely fit over his elbow. Her wolf plush toy has a dark stain that might just explain the state of her fingers, but he holds them anyway for the goodbye kisses and hugs. Yennefer gives him a less-stiff hug than usual, and Geralt shoots him a wry smile over her shoulder, nodding in what he probably thinks is encouragement. Vesemir just shakes his head. The pair of them slide back into the ever-beloved shitbox, Roach. Which leaves him with a five year-old granddaughter.

He’s raised several boys over the years in the Wolfe home, all of them hellions in their own special ways. Half of his grey hairs have nothing to do with his age.

That was nearly twenty years and two knee surgeries ago.

Guxart had told him in the morning that he’d do just fine, but that was just before the bastard had blown him a kiss from the driveway and sped off, off to his own weekend away. It was right about then that he realized he has no idea what little girls like to do. Ciri has only been with his son for two years, and they’d got along well, but he’s never watched her for more than a few hours. She’d been littler then. What can he offer her, now that he is old and his own boys are grown, most of their favorite toys destroyed, given away, or lost? When he was younger, this might have been easier. He had more energy then, enough to chase and tumble after a tot without fearing his worse knee would give out.

Cleaning her up is probably a good place to start.

That decided, Vesemir finds an old stepstool and guides her onto it, making sure she washes her hands. He takes some dish soap to Mr. Wolf, who is much fluffier, but just about as gray and scruffy as himself. All the while, Ciri tells him about her life.

“At recess, we play Lions and Ant-lopes! I run really fast! I like taking my shoes off, but Mama gets mad when that happens.”

“Oh? And why is that, lass?”

“It gets my socks dirty. An’ stinky. And —kitty!”

She points to the edge of his windowsill, just behind where the dish soap had been, to a tiny wooden cat figurine. The chubby little creature had been yesterday’s work, hidden in its little nook where his partner would never find it, because the bastard hates washing plates more than anything else. Vesemir chuckles.

“Hm? Oh, yes, for Guxart. It needs some work, but it’s almost done now.”

“You made that?” she asks, eyes wide as dinner plates, “How?”

“Well, if you’re interested…… I suppose I can show you.”

“YES!” she balks a bit, smiling sheepishly, “…please?”

Vesemir spends the next two hours answering that please. He gives Ciri a full tour of the garage-turned-woodworking-shed. Explains to her the difference between his chisels —paring, mortise, tang, that fancy one Eskel bought him that he still doesn’t know the name of— and almost starts in on the mallets before he stops, with no small amount of trepidation. The poor lass must be bored to tears. He braves a look down at her face and finds wide blue eyes and pursed lips. One of his larger chisels is polished enough to show her reflection, shining with curiosity. As deftly as he can, he pulls the little cat out of his pocket, holding it out to her.

“As for this little beast… are you listening?” Vesemir tweaks a pale curl, just to hear her giggle (and to distract from the chisels because she probably shouldn’t touch those until she’s at least eight or so), “What he needs is to be sanded down and polished so he’s shiny.”

“Howdja do that?”

“Sandpaper. The grains smooth out the rough bits. Here. Feel it.”

He fans out his collection, arranged from 40 to 180 grit, and lets her pet each one. He doesn’t worry for her soft skin even though she winces at the roughness because she quickly reaches for the next one. She picks out the 120 grit sandpaper —a bit too fine for this, but he allows it— and lets him show her how to gently smooth out the figurine. Her fingers are still small and clumsy, but she dutifully keeps to the direction of the grain, and the cat feels even softer than her little hands once they’re through. She paints it with a sponge brush and his own polish, a mixture of olive oil and lemon juice, gasping as the red bubinga wood reveals all its colorful stripes. Again, it receives pride of place on the windowsill.

“So…” Ciri asks, somehow even more excited than before, “whad’we do now?”

She’d liked his workshop, dusty and turpentine-smelling though it is.

“Hmm. Why don’t we go outside? I have some birdhouses I made there.”

— — — — —

Ciri squeals over the birdhouses, especially the dark purple one that “looks like Mama!” but the real noise comes when the painted bunting couple —unusually late in the season, spirits bless them— pops out of it. The little husband’s rainbow coat is vibrant as always, and while Vesemir scolds Ciri for trying to chase him, he can’t blame her for wanting to pet his colorful feathers. She agrees, thankfully, apologizing to the ruffled pair. Vesemir settles into the rocking chair he made, and once she finishes cooing at the green little wife, Ciri leaves Guxart’s alone in favor of his lap, and they sit to watch the birds until his hips start creaking.

His garden provokes similar wonder. Vesemir points out each plant and all the weeds that had sprung up in between the rows, which she happily plucks. Ciri categorizes his herbs by smell and taste, ranks sage as her favorite, and eats a little bit of dirt as a control group. He nods approvingly, because little immune systems need help, and then offers some dandelion roots instead, since they still have dirt on them and are more nutritionally useful. Maybe tomorrow they can take a walk and he’ll teach her how to forage properly. It’s good knowledge, especially for a tot. If her stomach is anything like the bottomless pit that was Lambert’s, she should know what will be delicious and what could make her sick, spirits forbid.

By the end of the afternoon, his knees are dirty and sore, and he desperately needs a coffee. Sunshine and sweat have tired Ciri out, but she’ll be up again before long, which he’d need more than a little artificial energy to survive. Quickly, he herds Ciri back inside and into the bath with as little contamination as possible. Once his sleeves are soaked to the armpits, he sets her into a chair with two pillows stacked atop it and heads over to his wood stove. The greca is an old, battered thing now, but it still makes his brew as sweet and strong as it did the day Guxart brought it home. As soon as it’s full, he pours himself a mug and turns back to the table.

“Do you want some?”

Ciri wrinkles her nose, “Coffee tastes icky.”

“That is why your abuelo uses lots of milk and sugar.”

He adds both into her sippy cup to fix what Guxart calls a tetero and puts a suspirito on the plate beside it. Then gives her another three because he’s a grandfather, and it’s his job. They eat in mostly-silence, aside from the gummy sound of her chewing the cookies through her first missing tooth, and the clink of his own mug on the table. Ciri finishes her cup with an exaggerated ah! and he can’t help but smile.

“You liked it, lass?”

“Mmhm! I din’t even taste the coffee.”

Which is usually exactly what Vesemir says to Guxart when he’s making fun of him, but it’s hard to argue with this kind of sincerity. Especially not when she tips her mostly empty cup back again, trying to get the last few drops between the gap in her teeth.

“Grampa, can we watch a movie now? Do yours have color in them?”

His knees cheer for joy even as his eyebrows quirk of their own will, which might just prove her point, along with the fact that he barely had any movies at all. Thank the spirits Geralt had given him a DVD along with her overnight bag. He remembers the fat, seal-like creature on the cover.

“Yes, we can watch a movie. How do you feel about Neighbor Toto?”

“Grampa!!” Ciri bursts out laughing, knocking over her sippy cup, “Nooooo, it’s My Neighbor Totoro!”

“My Neighbor Tot-ro, then.”

“Noooooooo! To-to-ro!”

He smiles and takes their dishes to the sink, letting her pester him until he finally says it right. She nods imperiously, and he can’t help but ruffle her white-blonde hair. She’s more or less a quiet presence beside him as he cleans the greca, right until he pulls out his jar of popcorn kernels. Apparently, those are supposed to come in a brown paper bag, and they get cooked in a microwave. Vesemir owns neither.

“Well, lass. This way is more fun —watch, now.”

For once, he’s glad for the new glass lids Guxart bought, since they let Ciri ooh and ahh and the popcorn exploding with butter (and a little bit of brown sugar). It’s easy enough work to herd her onto his admittedly-ancient couch. Less so when he has to remember how to play movies.

“Spirits, how does this damn thing work again?” he grumbles, unsuccessfully starting to put the brick through the slot, and then pivots back to Ciri, with her wide blue eyes and perked up ears, “Don’t repeat that.”

“Why not? Papa says bad words all the time.”

“Yes, well I tried my best with him. You’ll have to be better.”

“Aw damn.”

He barely restrains a laugh, settling for a cough as he retrieves the ever-so-slightly burnt popcorn. The movie is made slightly grainy by the TV he hasn’t changed in twenty years, but it plays nonetheless, and he can understand Ciri’s defense of it. She’s utterly enraptured, practically bouncing in her seat before she settles in beside him. He wonders if he could carve a Totoro before Ciri has to leave. By the time he hears Ciri go quiet beside him, he’s fully planned out the size and polish he’s going to use, but should he paint it? It’s never been his strength, but he should try, at least. A gentle snore interrupts his thoughts, and the weight against his side grows heavier. Ciri is fast asleep against his arm, drooling ever so slightly from the gap in her teeth. He’ll have to wake her for dinner and clean the (yet again) sticky child, but he can let her sleep until the credits roll. He yawns.

She can help him paint the Totoro on her next visit.

——————————————————————————————

Well that was some tooth-rotting fluff, and I enjoyed every second of it. I tried my best to keep the story in line with Vesemir's gruff disposition, but softened for the modern era and prompt. Ciri gets to be baby, and an utterly curious delight.

greca: a stovetop mokapot, popular throughout Latin America abuelo: grandfather tetero: baby bottle/Venezuelan term for coffee made with lots of milk and sugar, usually given to children or used to mock people who drink coffee this way suspirito: a small, bite-sized meringue cookie

Taglist: @karolincki, @hellinglasses, @girls-and-honey, @halehathnofury, @the-butch-of-blaviken, @keirametzbrassknuckles, @t4tlambert, @alllthequeenshorses, @round--robin, @on-a-lucky-tide (if anyone wants to be added/removed, pm me and I'll have it done no problem)

#berry's fics #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #vesemir #ciri #guxart x vesemir

[fangirleaconmigo]

Just wanted to say thank you for your reply and I loved your thoughts netflix Vesemir <3

Though I feel that the major difference between netflix Vesemir and book/game Vesemir is that the latter never had the opportunity to carry out the Trial of the Grasses after the pogrom happened and then Yennefer basically bringing the ability back in Witcher 3. But remember he kept the table that the boy was strapped to during the Trial and all the other implements for all those decades.

We never really learn why he did so but it's hard to imagine anything other than him hoping on some level to get the ability to make new witchers at some point. Which would mean recreating the Trial of the Grasses, which was not just torturous but to the vast majority of boys a death sentence. And this is without touching on everything else he put the boys of the old generation of witchers through, like the Trial of the Medallion.

Not saying people aren't allowed to love him - ffs I love Raistlin Majere and Lord Soth anyone who knows those characters know they're soooo much worse than Vesemir - I guess it just makes me a bit miffed that fandom is so willing to ignore the brutal and frankly abusive side of Vesemir's character because we never see it that clearly on display in the books or in the games so it gets buried in the kindly grandpa image we get in Witcher 3 and then his fate in that game.

It's one of the things I like about s2 though I wish they had dived more into the reaction the other witchers would have to that whole thing. Or you know, at all. Even the game gives more of a reaction to Vesemir having kept Sad Albert than netflix does to what Vesemir does there.

Oh my god yes. Let's talk about Vesemir.

But first...Raistlin Majere...*strokes beard* I haven't heard that name in a long time. (Dragonlance hive rise uuuup)

Ok but yes. On track again. Vesemir. (sorry this gets very long and passionate and ranty)

So first, I shouldn't have mentioned game Vesemir. I should be up front that I don't know anything about him except that I assume he didn't try to dose Ciri. So, unfortunately, I can't speak to that. And it probably explains how I feel about him. I only have book!Vesemir to compare Netflix!Vesemir to. And here is what we know about him from the books.

What we know:

Geralt tells a priestess that Vesemir is his father, or like one. Geralt very obviously loves him.

Geralt tells his mother that Vesemir gave him his name. He says it in a very defensive way, like he values Vesemir for having been there for him. (of course she corrects him, but that is neither here nor there)

Vesemir disciplines him when he is a child for trapping a honeybee.

Vesemir was his tutor.

Both Ciri and Geralt draw on Vesemir's wisdom when they are in tough situations and think fondly of him

In Season of Storms, he is spoken of as the moral center of witcherdom, opposing witchers killing humans and enacting consequences for those who do.

Vesemir's relationship with Ciri

He is protective of her. Triss commends them for not giving her any elixirs or grases or anything that could affect their hormones. But she also demands they stop giving her the natural herbs around the keep, which sound like some kind of supplements. Vesemir responds gratefully and pledges to do so. He very humbly and quickly says

"we will," promised Vesemir, "and thank you for the warning, child."

He is gentle with her. When Geralt loses his temper with Ciri in a very emotional moment, Vesemir says:

"too severe, Wolf," said Vesemir. "Much too severe..."

He is a patient tutor, drilling her on monster facts, and offering her advice that she calls on later in her life:

"That's why you're learning about ghouls now, Ciri. When you know about something, it stops being a nightmare. When you know how to fight something, it stops being so threatening."

So does that make him an uncomplicated or of morally pure character? No. We know that the trials killed most boys and were horrific. And he was a tutor there. So he was complicit to a certain degree.

Now that is where the most fascinating shit comes from with Vesemir. The mages created witchers, right? The mages created the trials. They ran them. Vesemir was their victim in that sense. He was a boy too.

But at what point does he stop becoming a victim and start being seen as complicit? Is there a certain age or level of consciousness where it stops being ok and he can be seen as an agent of the mages?

There is this whole blank spot in between the pogroms and the present. The questions that most fascinate me are:

Did Vesemir ever believe that what they were doing was wrong?

Did he ever resist or leave? If so, what brought him back?

How closely did he identify himself with his identity and with the mages.

Did he tell the boys what their risks were?

Did he walk them to the laboratories?

How dirty are his hands?

How does he feel about that now?

And now in the present, he is a normal, gentle person. Further, he isn't just a normal person, he is an active positive moral guide for all of witcherdom, and a kindly man that Ciri calls "Uncle Vesemir."

So how did that happen?

I am deeply, deeply just...meh on what Netflix has created for him. It is so anticlimactic for me. They have him (basically) murdering an innocent women in cold blood for money (Nightmare of the Wolf) and then (we hope)

turning a 180 after the seige on Kaer Morhen.

I didn't really buy that and it didn't take into account AT ALL the power structure of the mages vs the witchers. You can have complicated morally gray characters that are nuanced. They are both oppressed and complicit. And they made it like...well, witchers were making monsters that was slaughtering people. So basically that and Vesemir's actions were the instigating forces resulting in the attempted pogroms.

No, no one deserves to be killed for something someone else did (only one of the witchers was making the monsters) but in a world where they have people's limbs and heads chopped off on the spot for minor crimes, you can see how it very predictably led to that.

Instead of institutional racism and bigotry, their destruction was the result of legitimate complaints against them simply taken too far. That is so goddamn uninteresting and simplistic and it doesn't take into account the structure of oppression for witchers.

If they were out here murdering villagers with their monsters, an eye for an eye didn't feel to extreme for these people. Did they deserve a trial? Did people lump them together because of bigotry? Yes. But it played a relatively minor role.

So, the progroms are complicated and Vesemir is complicated and there is a lot of room there for imagining how his story went. But I'm just really think that, as great as Nightmare was as a movie, (it was fantastic just as a movie) as an origin story it was a disappointment. But AT LEAST they set him up for redemption. But then in TWN the man hadn't even changed!!

By the time of the current time, he is supposed to be kindly, gentle, and protective of Ciri!! There is no indication anywhere that he would be alright with anyone doing trials on her, quite the opposite.

I hope you don't regret asking me this question about now. XD I have so many feels. I'm so compelled by Vesemir's story because he is a very very favorite archetype of mine within the witcher.

Person is part of institution, perhaps they got there as a kid. They didn't choose with all the knowledge or in a critical way.

Person finds out institution is abusive or corrupt. They have to make a choice. Yen was like this with the Brotherhood. Cahir with the Nilfgaardian military.

And I feel like Vesemir is this for the witchers. He was brought into the system as a victim. At some point he became complicit, and we don't know to what degree and we don't know what that looked like. But it HAS to make his relationship with the wolves complicated.

I know the games complicate up his relationship with Lambert, and I think that is very fitting and very logical extension of this. It seems like Geralt just loves and forgives whatever role Vesemir had. But not every witcher could respond that way, right? Or should!

So it's fascinating! And complex! And then TWN just has him be an absolute piece of shit, accepting "consent" from a traumatized grieving child, betraying Geralt, BRINGING BACK THE TRIALS SINGLE HANDEDLY WHAT THE FUCK.

I mean you CAN do that? But why would you? He should be a loving figure with a very complicated past, not just a big old turd lololsob.

So now TWN Vesemir is on my shit list. Fuck with Ciri and fuck with Geralt and we're over. I've got him on page one in my burn book. I don't care how hot your ho ass was in NOTW. loloool

That's a fitting place to end this.

Dragonlance forever.

#asks #vesemir #the witcher #the witcher books #twn #twn critical #thinking about the witcher books yet again

[spielzeugkaiser]

I need more soft ot3, your art of all them together makes me feel so many things 😭😭

Okay, I went in the silly direction with this, but.

You'd think it's Jaskier who is a fussy sleeper, but Geralt and Jaskier? They're used to it. They've slept together for ages, probably since Jaskier was a lanky, underprepared, freezing 19 year old. (not the first year. but they started at the second.) They basically curl into each other like a pair of puppies and instantly fall asleep. Like, they bicker a lot, but once they lie down, it's actually pretty serene (and adorable) and they just. slot into each other. Meanwhile Yennefer? Is NOT used to actually share her bed. She hogs all the pillows and blankets, she has the pointiest ellbows, and keeps tossing and turning all the time. She just doesn't lie down and fall asleep. She snores. (which nobody has ever told her before)

#the witcher #the witcher fanart #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geraskefer #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #this N E A R L Y became a series of sleeping arrangements because: #a. will they TELL Yennefer? Oh boy. probably not #b. will it end up in various shenaningans while they try to get it right? one more stupid than the other? y e s #c. is there some h/c potential too because. Jaskier sometimes feels left out through the day but he is the one #who rubs Geralts joints through the night when he is in pain - who just knows how to do it right #and Geralt is the one who calms Jaskier down - if the night terrors come #and who doesn't want anything for himself but holds his bard through the whole night #LIKE THEY DON'T TALK. but it says so much #all this mixed in with Yennefer #who finally is comfortable enough to let go a little #GUYS I have FEELS

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from current writing (aka the de-aged Witcher fic):

Jaskier is having a very bad day.

And for once, it’s not his own fault, thank you very much.

“Oh . . . hell,” he says, staring at the two slumped cloaked bodies on the ground in front of him. Geralt and Yennefer don’t move.

The wild-looking teenage mage on the other side of the clearing bares her teeth. Jaskier considers hiding behind a tree. It probably wouldn’t do him any good, though.

“Leave me alone!” she screams, and then, thank the gods, turns and flees into the woods. Jaskier sighs in relief. Well, that’s a mercy, at least.

This day started off with breaking a string on his lute, getting rained on, and running into Geralt and Yennefer—separately, but at the same time—and the mage who they were both apparently looking for running off is officially the only fortunate thing to have happened. Jaskier is seriously tempted to follow suit, frankly, and leave the other two to their own devices.

They might be dead, though, and he really needs to figure that out first. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what sort of spell the girl cast, but whatever it was knocked both a witcher and a witch off their feet.

“Well, I suppose this is my problem now,” Jaskier says resignedly, then heads over to Geralt. He’s expecting shouted at again, frankly, but he’d rather be shouted at than leave the idiot to drown in the mud. “Geralt? Are you dead?”

Geralt doesn’t move. Jaskier . . . frowns. His silhouette looks . . . strange, actually. He hadn’t realized from a distance, but it’s small.

Jaskier leans over and flips back the hood of the other’s cloak, and immediately balks at the sight of an unconscious boy with white hair. That. That is not Geralt.

Except it is, obviously.

“Shit,” Jaskier says, looking around helplessly. The trees do not offer a solution. The boy doesn’t move.

Well, he’s not drowning in the mud, at least, so Jaskier goes to check on Yennefer too, and her silhouette is also not right, and when he moves the hood of her cloak, he finds an equally unconscious girl the same age as the boy who’s replaced Geralt. They can’t be more than thirteen, and frankly that’s being optimistic.

They’re unmistakably Geralt and Yennefer, though.

This is not a situation that Jaskier is equipped to handle. Magic is not a him thing. Magic is Yennefer, or occasionally Geralt, or literally anyone else he knows. Definitely never him.

Also, he had literally no idea magic could even do something like this. His education was sorely lacking in that respect.

He really needs the other two to wake up now. He’s going to get shouted at again, yes, but at least the two of them will have some idea what’s actually going on. Or any ideas whatsoever.

“Nn,” Geralt says, to Jaskier’s great relief.

“Thank you for not being dead,” he says. “I really don’t think I could’ve dragged both your bodies back to the village.”

“What?” Geralt says blurrily as he sits up, rubbing at his muddy face. He’s not wearing the clothes he was wearing a moment ago, though his cloak is unchanged and hanging loosely. Odd, Jaskier thinks. Well, it’s probably better, really, since the clothes Geralt was wearing a moment ago were meant for a rather large full-grown man. The plain gray shirt and brown pants he’s wearing instead at least fit.

He doesn’t have his medallion or his weapons anymore, either, so that’s hopefully not going to be a problem.

“Yes, hello, welcome back to consciousness,” Jaskier says. Geralt blinks groggily at him.

“Who are you?” he says. “Where’s Vesemir?”

“I have no idea who that is,” Jaskier says, although knowing Geralt’s luck he’s going to assume the answer is “dead”. Also, wait—“What do you mean, ‘who am I’?”

“Mother?” Yennefer mumbles, pushing herself up too and looking around. She’s wearing a dull yellow dress and looks just as unsettled as Geralt, all hunched in on herself. Jaskier is feeling an incredible sense of dread.

“Please tell me you know me,” he says. They both stare mutely at him. “Oh . . . dammit. Really? Neither of you?”

“Where are we?” Yennefer says, retreating farther into her cloak. Geralt looks wary.

"Nowhere," Jaskier says. "Literally. We are outside the most backwater little village you could ever dream of. And probably slightly lost in the woods as well because to be honest I do not whatsoever remember the route out here."

Geralt and Yennefer stare mutely at him. Jaskier experiences a sinking realization that he is, in fact, the adult in this situation.

Well, that's sure to end terribly.

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #netflix witcher #rinfic

[candied-cae]

I've Rambled About the Witcher Once or Twice

This is going to be an ongoing masterlist for all the OFMD stuff my brain does - it's somewhat organized by its subject/style with little descriptions! But if you wanna check out my fics or drabbles... Click Here!

Art: ...

Edits: ...

Clips: ...

Proper Thoughts: ...

The Difference Between The Golden One and Burn, Butcher, Burn - short comparison between the two songs and the hints and context clues it gives on how Jaskier felt and his timeline Post-S1E6 Mountain BreakUp.

I think Jaskier only performed Burn, Butcher, Burn once

I Don't Think Jaskier Really Trusts Geralt Yet - Analysis on the Geralt/Jasker reunion scene and how it looks like Jaskier is still hurting from what Geralt did to him and is still doing

Geralt Moving to Catch Jaskier's Vest - a little ramble on how this scene looks like the first steps Geralt's taking to prove he deserves the second chance he's getting from Jaskier.

Geralt introducing Jaskier and Ciri makes me mad every single time

Wait a Minute, Jaskier did Elven Activism through song? - pulling together context clues from the scene in S2 where Yennefer and Fringilla mention Jaskier's songs to Filavandrel and what that might mean in the grander scheme of his life and career

Jaskier may be Taylor Swift in the Witcher, but if he attended a Mitski Concert he'd be on his knees - excerpts from Mitski's "Nobody" and "Old Friend" why they are super similar to Jaskier's situation.

We deserve a Geraskier SnowWhite!AU

I want Marilka Back - I miss her and I loved her character, especially her profound effect on Geralt following that first episode.

"Have You Ever Shed a Tear Over Anything Elven?" - Massive appreciation post for this incredible line from Francesca to Yennefer with small analysis on why it's important and accurate.

^Pt. 2) this is not to say Elves who "pass" a human should be excluded from the community - further explanation of Yennefer's relationship with her Elven Blood and why she has alienated herself from the community, not the other way around.

Were there Non-Mutant Wolf Cubs Vesemir Raised at Kaer Morhen? - headcanon that since there was no way to tell the Continent that Kaer Morhen lost the ability to make more witchers, there were probably many more boys who were left to the keep who might've been taken in anyway.

People Don't Understand Vesemir? - an analysis on Vesemir's character, motivations, and canon backstory on why I believe it made a lot of sense for him to want to turn Ciri (and others) into Witchers. Minor Spoilers from Netflix's Nightmare of the Wolf.

Yennefer and Cahir's Wanted Posters - Let's look at these for a moment. You try to tell me anyone was going to actually catch them based on these if not for plot reasons and them acting suspicious as hell.

Oh My God, I forgot Yen had siblings, and they could still be alive?!

Why does TWN quote a line from the books that doesn't appear in Season 1? It Doesn't Make Sense. Geralt shouldn't have this quote in the show's Canon

Why I want to like Yennefer, but struggle to sympathize due to many writing choices from S2 - Character Analysis on why Yen being a morallly grey character is already difficult for me, but with what they did with her S2, particularly how they wrote her and Ciri together, I'm really not enjoying her :( Love the Fanon, but in Canon Yen stresses me out

Netflix is making Geralt and Yen look like a married couple who want to/should get divorced, but try bringing a child into the relationship to "fix" them and I hate it

My Critiques of Yennefer and the decisions the show makes with her character are criticisms of the Writing, Showrunner, and Production team. It is NEVER about Anya

I think the writers ruined the dock scene when they killed someone - analysis on the SandPiper scene on the dock and why it makes scene for Jaskier to retaliate, but it looks like he killed someone for being immature.

S1's excessive nudity was atrocious and I am so happy they dialed it back for S2

Silly Stuff:

Jaskier invented icon behavior when he wrote The Golden One

The Golden One is barely in the show and it makes me MAD

The Saddest Death of Season 2 (joke + obvious S2 spoilers)

I'm choosing to believe Jaskier DID "win the hearts of the huntress pair"

Sometimes I cry at my job while I write Angsty Geraskier fanfics on the computer (meme)

If the Continent treated Geralt like TS fans treat J*ke Gyllenh*l after BBB (joke)

My Geraskier fanfics aren't horny, just really S A D (meme)

I watched S1 of The Witcher in my senior year at highschool, and those fanfics had me by the gd neck

The Witcher is just Fantasy Queer Eye because I said so (+ lil sketch)

#Candied-Cae #Cae’s Masterlists #Cae Has Lots of Feelings About The Witcher

[pillage-and-lute]

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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

Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone. 

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat. 

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns. 

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold. 

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind. 

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend. 

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough. 

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago. 

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time. 

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain. 

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body. 

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it. 

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad. 

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying. 

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth. 

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are. 

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair. 

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white. 

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath. 

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded. 

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

#geraskier #hanahaki au #hanahaki disease #tw: gore #angst with a happy ending #yo im actually so proud of this what the heck? #askbox answers

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus' #ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

[viking-raider]

Love Language Challenge - Intro

Summary: Your friend points out your and Henry’s Love Language.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 492

Rating: None - Fluff, Cotton Candy Goodness

Inspiration: Just thought it would be fun to do a Love Language Challenge. So, this is the intro to the Challenge, Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Acts of Service and Gifts will follow at some point.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @itsreigns​, @constip8merm8​, @scorpionchild81​, @mylifefallingupthestairs​, @onlyhenrys​, @luclittlepond​, @ellixthea​, @lebguardians​, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn​, @p3nny4urth0ught5​, @iloveyouyen​, @hollydaisy23​, @mcuimagination​, @psychosupernatural​, @sweetlybigdragonn​, @whitewolfandthefox​, @moviemonzy​, @the-soot-sprite​, @hell1129-blog​, @trippedmetaldetector​, @captaingothgirl1996​, @dont8mind8me8eue​, @peaky-marvel​, @desperate-and-broken21​, @monstersnmoney​, @dancingwendigo​, @redhot-mystacism​, @thereisa8ella​, @black-ninja-blade​, @oddduckthatgirl​, @rosewinx​, @henrythickcavill​, @tinabean37​, @hnryycvll​, @msblkfire84​, @romangenesius​, @emelinelovesjc​, @strangerliaa​, @lovieebby​, @pinksdaydream​, @fanfictionaddiction99​, @seb-owns-these-tatas​, @oh-for-fic-sake​, @sauvage-et-libre​, @mis-lil-red​, @angreav​, @crazyandanonymous4u​, @the-mighty-jellybean​ @henrycavell​, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​, @iam-laiya​, @worshipping-skarsgard​, @thetruthandotherstories​, @ruthoakenshield​, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​, @theonetheycallhannah​, @nina-skyee​, @thatgirly81​, @inanna999​, @suueeeeeee​, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8​, @beckster07890​, @daddys-littlewhitegirl​, @magic-and-the-macabre​, @stxphmxlls​, @radaofrivia​, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​, @starstruckkittyangel​, @heartfelt-pen​, @stuckupstucky​, @dummiesshort​, @la-cey​, @singeramg​, @queenoftheworldisdead​, @brooklymw​, @raspberrydreamclouds​

“You and Henry are a thing, aren't you?” Your best friend asked, smirking at you, knowingly.

“What?” You replied, your voice a little higher than necessary.

“I knew it!” They laughed, slapping their knee.

“How!?” You demanded, voice cracking.

“Love language.” They answered, proud of themselves for noticing.

“The way you lean into each other as you sit on the couch, knees and thighs always touching. How Henry's hand lingers on the small of your back, as he stands beside you, or how his hugs are just a little bit longer than they are, when he hugs a friend or anyone else, and how he hugs you against his full body, not half of it or the side hug thing.” They explained to you, rattling everything off that you and Henry had thought you kept on the down low.

“You always sit or stand beside each other, and the look of annoyance on Henry's face or the disappointment on yours, when you can't sit or stand together. He has a key to your flat--”

“Wait, wait, wait, how the hell do you know he has a key to my place?” You cut her off with a wave of your hand and shake of your head.

“Because I have a key to your flat and I know what the tooth pattern looks like and saw it, when he pulled his car keys out once.”

“Okay, it's weird that you memorized that and you were staring that closely at his keys.” You snorted, refilling your wine glass.

“Where was I?” They hummed, taking a gulp of their wine. “Right, He has a key to your flat, which means you probably have a key to his place. How, when Henry brings Kal around, you call the Akita, and I quote: 'my Baby Boy', and how Kal goes so bonkers over you, as if you were a golden squirrel in the Garden of Eden, and the Bear falls asleep in your lap faster than he falls asleep with Henry.”

“He is such a good boy.” You grinned, thinking about the floofy Bear.

“I also know that you have his address saved on your Uber account, which means you've Ubered to his place, at least once. You're always making eye contact with him, whether you're talking to each other, or staring at each other from across the room. He's gotten you some expensive and very thoughtful and meaningful gifts for your birthday and Christmas, and always compliments you.”

“All right, I get your point.” You told her, trying to hide your grin around the rim of your wine glass.

“So, how long have you and Henry been together?” She asked, finishing off her own wine.

“Almost a year.” You confessed, biting your lip.

“It must be serious, by how strong your guys' love language is.”

“It really is.”

#Love Language Challenge #Love Language Challenge *Fic* #Intro #Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill x You #Love Language #Wine #Body Language #Physical Touch #Words of Affirmation #Quality Time #Gifts #Acts of Service #Fluff #Floof #Rating: Cotton Candy Goodness #Cotton Candy Goodness #Viking-Raider Fics

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Shelley The Raven

did yall ask for more tattoo bois? lol cuz here they are.

I got my essay done earlier than i thought i would and had time to fuck off before bed so have double brunch date tattoo au bois - i did not edit this at all so plz have mercy lol

Warnings: use of the word ‘bone’ like too much, meeting le boyfriend’s friends, talkin about when the boys fucked, swearing? maybe? If i didn’t use a swear word i would be shocked, bit horni at the end there

____________

“Sweetheart, why are you so nervous? The girls love you.” Jaskier fixed the collar on the emerald green dress shirt he’d gotten for Geralt for his birthday. Three weeks was a little early in the relationship for birthday presents, but Jaskier had said he just looked ‘too good in green and I couldn’t resist’.

Geralt swallowed and cracked his neck, “They’re your friends. I want them to like me.”

“They adore you! Even in your monstrous zipper pants,” Jaskier giggled, cupping Geralt’s cheeks in his hands and placing a quick peck on his nose.

“Not my pants,” Geralt grumbled, wiggling his nose and earning a quick kiss on the lips, “Should I shave?”

“Do you want to?”

“Jask. Please. I don’t know how fancy this place is, just get me ready,” Geralt whined wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and leaning into him with most of his weight, his head resting on his shoulder. 

One high messy bun and a failed experiment with a necklace later, they were off to meet Yen and Triss for brunch. Hugs were exchanged all around and Geralt was rather pleasantly surprised to be included, even if Yen whispered in his ear that he looked much better in jeans with a smug smirk. They sat down and grilled Geralt for a few minutes until their server showed up. Jaskier’s hand didn’t leave Geralt’s knee the whole time, a gentle reminder that it wasn’t a job interview or interrogation. Even so, Geralt was grateful when Triss steered the conversation away from him. 

“Mmh, yes. Mary Shelley is the baddest literary bitch. Don’t try to hit me with that ‘Agatha Christie’ shit right now J,” Yennefer waved her breadstick at Jaskier like they’d had this conversation more than twice, “The woman kept her dead husband’s calcified heart and lost her virginity on her family’s grave. That’s metal as fuck.”

Geralt nodded, “So you did Shelley the Raven?”

Triss grinned and Yen looked between Geralt and Jaskier with wide eyes and a surprised smile like she’d just been told a secret, “Oh, you’ve met Shelley and the ladies?”

“Alfie and Chad are ladies?” Geralt shot Jaskier a grin that bubbled into a full blown smile with how red his boyfriend’s cheeks were. 

“Alfie is short for Alfina. Chad is just the bastard child and an asshole.” Jaskier explained, resting his elbows on the table and covering his face with his hands.

There was clearly an inside joke or embarrassing story to go with this and Geralt was doing his best to wait patiently for it. 

Yen tapped the boy’s shins under the table with her Docs, “You two boned didn’t you? Like with feeling.”

“Yennefer,” Triss’ tone was full of warning, but her expression was gleeful, “He didn’t have to show him the ladies.” 

Geralt blushed and took a too-big swig of coffee that burned the roof of his mouth while Jaskier heaved a deep sigh. 

“Oh shit, you totally boned,” Triss gasped.  

Jaskier wrapped an arm around Geralt’s and hid his face in his shoulder as he mumbled, “Can we stop calling it ‘bone’?”

“Oh my gods tell me everything.” Yen laid her hands flat on the table and leaned over so her hair was brushing the empty plate. 

Triss gave a long suffering sigh, “You don’t have to say anything,” She addressed Geralt directly as she rubbed a hand over Yennefer’s shoulders, “She just gets very worked up over new relationships.”

Yen sat back and crossed her arms as the server set down everyone’s breakfast, “It was the first date wasn’t it? That’s the only reason you’d be blushing so much.”

Geralt and Jaskier shared a look, both of them trying not to laugh.

“Yup,” Jask squeaked, “that’s the only reason.”

Triss’ eyes went wide and Geralt didn’t have to know her well to know she put the pieces together, but to her credit she said nothing. Yen eyed them the rest of brunch, even as the conversation moved on and Jaskier recovered his ability to speak. 

When they’d gotten back to Geralt’s place Jaskier’s phone fell off the counter from ridiculous number of messages that came flooding in at once. 

Geralt came up for air from where he was leaving little nibble marks on Jaskier’s shoulder as they laid on his bed, “You gonna get that?”

Jaskier hooked a leg over his hip, and shook his head, “It’s just Yen. Triss probably told her we defiled the studio.” 

“Mmmm, good. I wasn’t done.” Geralt purred, nipping at Jaskier’s collarbone and drawing a breathy whine from his boyfriend. 

Suffice it to say, brunch was a success. 

#inked up idiots #tattoo artist jaskier #tattoo artist yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #triss #triss merigold #flower twink #lol takin flower twink to a whole knew level with the sleeves he's got #geraskier #geraskier boyfriends #tattoo au #geraskier tattoo au #geraskier double date #geraskeir fic #yen x triss #geralt x jaskier #geraskier modern au #the witcher #the witcher modern au #i am pumping this fic full of gay deal with it #the girls are just so fucking cute together #also Chad is a seagul

[thearvariblues]

And They Were Roommates - Chapter 1

Slimmer Than Yennefer’s Waist

***

“I just wish he just fucking did it already, you know?” Lambert muttered, leaning against the bar counter.

“Yeah, I know,” Eskel nodded, wiping another glass dry. “He’s like a lovesick puppy.”

“And you don’t have to live with him,” Lambert groaned as he watched Geralt “help” Jaskier pack his things on the tiny stage at the back of the bar. The help consisted of Geralt doing all the work while Jaskier just stood there and watched, smiling like an idiot.

“Yes, every fucking day I see them like this, I thank all the gods I know for that,” Eskel agreed.

“Hey, Geralt!” Lambert yelled. “Aren’t you fucker supposed to be helping us close the bar? Or are you too busy playing a roadie?”

Geralt lifted his middle finger, not even looking up from Jaskier’s things.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Lambert snorted.

“By the way, aren’t you supposed to be helping, too? Because it seems to me like I am doing all the work here.”

“I’m giving you moral support or something, jeez,” Lambert sighed, rolling his eyes.

“And that prevents you from doing anything else, or…?”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever. Whose bright idea it was to close almost right after Jaskier’s gig ends, anyway?”

“You mean whose bright idea it was to plan a gig that ends at midnight,” Eskel replied. “Although there were so many people here tonight that I’m starting to think Jaskier’s really good. Probably.”

“If you have any doubts about that, don’t mention them to Geralt. He’ll gladly explain to you that Jaskier is the best thing that happened to rock music since fucking Queen.”

Eskel paused.

“Doesn’t Geralt only listen to death metal? Power, if he’s feeling particularly soft.”

“Yeah, I said rock, not metal,” Lambert chuckled. “Besides, Jaskier loves Queen.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, it’s absolutely disgusting.”

“That he loves Queen?”

“No, I mean what Geralt’s doing.”

“Well… Yeah,” Eskel chuckled, but then he suddenly paused, blinking. “Uh-oh. I think he told him something.”

“What?!” Lambert turned back to the stage, his ginger curls whipping around his head.

Jaskier was just standing there, utterly baffled, staring at Geralt with his mouth wide open. Geralt, meanwhile, was red as a beetroot, clearly trying to come up with something to say and failing.

“Oh, no, don’t you dare,” Lambert muttered. “Don’t you dare back off now, I won’t spend the next two years listening to your lovesick bullshit!”

“You don’t even know what he told him,” Eskel remarked.

“Don’t care,” Lambert shrugged. “Oh. Oh, yes. Can you see that? Jaskier’s coming closer!”

“Oh, fuck, it’s happening,” Eskel gasped, leaning against the counter next to Lambert. “It really is happening.”

“No no no, Geralt, don’t you fucking dare run away, you moron.”

“Yes, Jaskier, stop him, that’s a good boy.”

“Of course he was gonna stop him, that queer bard has been madly in love with him for years.”

“Are you allowed to say queer?”

“Jaskier calls himself that!”

“Fair point.”

“Besides, I am… Oh, god. It really is happening!”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it.”

That was the moment when Jaskier and Geralt’s lips finally met in a careful, almost shy kiss.

“Yes!” Lambert yelled, jumping up and down. “Fucking finally, you hare-brained dickheads!”

Geralt pulled Jaskier closer with one arm, using his other hand to give Lambert another middle finger.

“You gotta admit they’re kind of sweet, though,” Eskel chuckled when Jaskier jumped up, wrapping both his legs around Geralt’s waist.

Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. But if I ever start being sappy like this, just promise you’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh, Lambert,” Eskel sighed. “With pleasure.”

*

Precisely six months later, Lambert was sitting on his couch, staring at Geralt in utter disbelief.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re gonna move out?!”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” Geralt sighed, taking another sip of his beer. “But we knew this roommate situation wasn’t gonna last forever, didn’t we?”

“Oh, fuck of. We’ve been living together for how long? Since your divorce. That was what, four years ago?”

“Five.”

“Even better,” Lambert snorted. “Not forever, my ass!”

“Look, Lamb, I can give you… three rents. So you have time to find another roommate or… a cheaper apartment to live in, I don’t know.”

“You know where you can shove your fucking three rents, don’t you?” Lambert growled. “Am I really that insufferable a roommate, Geralt?”

“No. Well, you’re very… yourself,” Geralt smiled.

“Thanks a lot, mate, really appreciate it.”

“Lambert. It’s not you. I just… I just want to live with my boyfriend, really.”

“Yeah, and I get it, but I…” Lambert sighed. “I fucking love this apartment, I really do, and now I’m gonna have to give it up. I could never afford a place like this on my own.”

“You just need to find another roommate, Lamb.”

“Hate to break it to you, honey, but chances that I find another person willing to put up with my bullshit are slimmer than Yennefer’s waist.”

“You know, you could just say you’re gonna miss me,” Geralt smiled.

Lambert sighed again, but then he raised to his feet and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“I am gonna miss you, Geralt,” he said, placing the glasses on the table with a soft clink. “Wanna get utterly wasted one more time?”

“With you? Always,” Geralt nodded, finishing his beer.

*

Geralt’s task to speak with Lambert was a walk in the park in comparison to what Jaskier had to go through.

“So… You want me to move out, basically,” his roommate said.

“I didn’t say that, dear heart,” Jaskier sighed, pouring them another glass of wine. “You’re more than welcome to stay, it’s just…”

“It’s just that I’d have to live here with you and your boyfriend. No, thanks.” He ran his fingers through his long black hair. “It’s fine, really. I’m sure I can find a place to stay.”

“Geralt’s not gonna move in immediately, of course. I was thinking… perhaps next month?” Jaskier shrugged. “I can even help you with the apartment hunting, if you want.”

“That’s sweet of you, Jaskier, but there’s no need. I’m sure I can do it on my own,” he said, adjusting his long skirt to cover his feet. “Damn, it’s fucking cold today, isn’t it?”

“Just put on some socks.”

“You know I hate socks.”

“Fine, freeze to death, then, if you want. Just… Listen, I want to help. To compensate for kicking you out!”

His roommate smirked.

“You just wanna ease your conscience, that’s all, babe. Stop it, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna be fine. I’m just gonna miss my friend, that’s all.”

“Oh, honey, but you can still see me whenever you want!” Jaskier said quickly. “Just stop by for a glass of wine, or we can meet at Geralt’s bar!”

“You mean Geralt and those other two’s bar.”

“Eskel and Lambert. Geralt’s adoptive brothers.”

“Yeah, those two. The scarred one and the asshole one.”

“You could meet them if you wanted, you see.”

“No, thanks. Knowing Geralt is probably enough, I don’t need to meet his family, too.”

“Well, you’re gonna meet them at the wedding whether you want it or not, so–”

“What fucking wedding are you talking about? Jaskier! Did he propose and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Relax. I meant a… potential future wedding I absolutely haven’t already planned every detail of.”

“Jesus, you’re incredible, Jaskier,” his roommate laughed. “Hey, I have a question. Couldn’t you like… you move in with Geralt and leave this apartment to me so all I’d have to do would be to find another roommate?”

“I wish,” Jaskier muttered, licking his lips. “But I told you Geralt lives with his brother Lambert, remember? And he insisted on leaving that apartment to him.”

“Lucky bastard. Think I could convince him to let me move in with him?”

Jaskier blinked, mouth falling open.

“Aiden!” he gasped. “That’s a fucking brilliant idea!”

Aiden groaned finishing his wine in a single one gulp.

“Oh, well. Looks like I’m gonna meet one of Geralt’s brothers, after all. Lucky me. Just remind me, Lambert is…”

“The asshole one.”

“Fucking great,” Aiden said, lifting the hand holding his glass. “In that case, more wine, please. I don’t want to face that idea sober.”

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #lambden #lambert x aiden #and they were roommates #idiots in love #mutual pining #friends to lovers #slow burn #multichapter #my fics

[retvenkos]

“shall i capture your heart with a song?”

A/N: lol, i only know the witcher on netflix, and what i have found out about jaskier via tumblr osmosis, so how accurate is this? i guess we’ll have to see, lol.

requested HERE WE ARE, IMAGINING WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS TO EVENTUAL MARRIAGE WITH THE ONLY AND ONLY JASKIER....

well, seeing as jaskier is of noble birth, i’m going to say that you are, too.

your families are old friends, so when you guys first meet, (i want to say you’re like 8 or 9) it’s at some celebration or another and at first you’re a little unsure if you should talk to each other or just,,,, stand there.

one of your parents absent mindedly tells you to talk to the boy, and so you have to do the awkward introductions.

“i’m (y/n) (l/n)”

“i’m julian alfred pankratz.”

“that’s unfortunate.”

“hey!”

“don’t worry. i’ll find something better to call you.”

“yeah, well... i’ll find something better to call you.”

(sorry, guys,,,,, i still can’t get over jaskier’s real name)

the two of you decide to sneak away from your parents to get some food or something, and then you eventually decide to sneak away from the party entirely 

it was jaskier’s idea, really. he was trying to avoid some family or something - the family that thinks they are oh so better than you and compare achievements and what not...

the two of you are just wandering (jaskier’s sense of direction is horrible so it’s really up to you to keep everything straight) and you end up in some field or another, talking about whatever comes to mind. jaskier is telling you stories and you scoff.

“you’re like a weed, julian alfred pankratz. like a.... dandelion.”

“i am not!”

“what flower would you want to be, then?”

“something better than a dandelion!”

“like what, a buttercup?”

“yOU are.... are like....”

“like what?”

“...aconite! that’s a poison.”

“aconites are related to buttercups, dandelion. you can’t get rid of me.”

and jaskier thinks it’s wildly funny that you know horticulture, of all things. he finds it so funny, in fact, he fails to miss that you’ve coined a new nickname for him.

it seems that all the time, afterward, you run into jaskier and his family. by virtue of constantly seeing each other, the two of you end up being really good friends.

it’s a running gag that you love horticulture, and since the illustrious julian alfred pankratz uses it against you at every turn, you fluctuate between calling him “jaskier” and “dandelion”. he eventually gets used to it, but he hates it when others start to catch on.

he also comes up with ridiculous nicknames for you, but none of them quite seem to stick. he’s constantly cycling through through new ones, hoping to find the right one.

the two of you hang out a lot, but since you do a lot of reading or gardening and need jaskier to stop chatting with you for five minutes he picks up the lute and learns to play it really well.

you’re the first one who tells him his singing voice is quite beautiful.

“i’m sorry, did you just say my singing voice is ‘quite beautiful’?”

“it’s nice, okay?”

“nice?”

“if you keep this up, i’ll just have to insult you.”

“you’d never.”

“do you not remember the first time we met?”

“like it was yesterday.”

“i laid down some pretty decent insults, if i remember right.”

“i called you poison.”

“yeah, but aconites are pretty. unlike dandelions.”

and jaskier scoffs. “and buttercups?”

“they’re not bad looking.”

so we all know that jaskier supposedly gets into poetry when he’s 19 because he’s inspired by his love for the countess de stael,,, bUT,,,, consider this instead:

he actually gets into poetry for you.

jaskier has had a few loves at this point, and with each one, he’s a nervous wreck. you always help him by curating the most beautiful bouquets (all of which come from your amazing, thriving garden) and you are always there to help him with his flirting (which needs serious help,,,, i’m not even sure you’re cut out for the job)

you guys have probably even kissed before - both of you were regrettably drunk (don’t tell your parents) and jaskier said he desperately needed ‘the practice’. plus, he wanted to know!!!! was he a good kisser or not? no one else would rate him on a scale from 1-10 with brutal but accurate honesty! neither of you fully remember what exactly happened, come morning, but you remember the lead up to the moment and jaskier remembers the thoughts running through his head afterward... both of you agree not to speak of it.

anyway, when jaskier starts to realize that he has these awkward feelings that seem suspiciously illicit, he knows he has to get them out, somehow, but you are the only one who would listen to his complaints, and he very well can’t tell you.

so he decides he has to write them down.

but clearly they can’t be literal, lest someone stumble upon them,,,,, so he has to learn the secret art of poetry.

you, of course, notice how oddly quiet hanging out with jaskier has become, and his odd questions on flower symbolism, and it doesn’t take you long until you realize that, of all things, jaskier has turned to poetry.

“you can’t make fun of me for liking horticulture, anymore, dandelion. you’re a  p o e t .”

“at least i’m a good one.”

and you flick his forehead

“what will your stage name be? surely julian alfred pankratz won’t work.”

“which one should it be? jaskier or dandelion?”

and you laugh, the sound like a summer breeze.

“i knew you’d come to appreciate my nicknames, eventually.”

jaskier frequently “serenades” you, under the guise that he’s practicing, of course, but it’s also his not so subtle way of seeing if you like his poetry and his songs - they are for you, after all.

“you’ll certainly capture hearts with that one.”

“did i capture yours?”

and you, feeling very flustered, especially seeing as you’ve had feelings for jaskier for a while now, can only let out a guttural sort of scoff.

“of course,” and you try to say it over the top and jokingly, but you can feel your face heating up.

and jaskier winks. you huff and turn back to your books.

oh, yikes, i didn’t realize this was getting a little long,,,, let’s speed things up.

everyone knows that you and jaskier are end game. your families think it’s vvv sweet, and everyone that either you or jaskier attempt to woo know it’s only going to be a passing fancy because,,,, have you seen the way you look at each other? like you hang the moon and the stars?

but of course, both of you are dramatic as hell, so you frequently have conversations like:

“we’re piss poor in love, aren’t we?”

“i guess the world just doesn’t understand our genius.”

“terrible that i have to share this lonely cleverness with the likes of you.”

“absolutely devastating.”

and you just sit there for a while, staring at the ceiling.

maybe you guys do some traveling together for a while, but you eventually find a place to put down roots (lol, horticulture jokes). maybe you run an apothecary! that would be precious. 

either way, jaskier is a bard so when he isn’t traveling around, he’s staying with you. 

a frequent request of yours goes something like this:

“dandelion, play me a song.”

“what kind?”

“a love song.”

and he does, and afterward, he sits down across from you and winks.

“did i capture your heart with that one?”

and some nights you’re a little too tired to make a show of it and some of that blissful candor slips out and slaps jaskier across the face when you smile and say, “yes.”

if you haven’t noticed, the two of you hella dance around your feelings. it’s insane, because catchphrase is: “anything for you” meanwhile you are the most soft™ for him and yet you don’t seem to clue in.

100%, you are going to have to be the one that expresses your love first, because jaskier is the definition of suffering in silence

but what’s also really funny is you both probably try to keep it hidden just how long you have loved each other for, and yet you are both nosy as hell and want to know how long this has been going on, so it leads to really funny conversations where you are both trying to dodge giving a proper timeline, but are drying to coax one out of the other.

ohmygod, i forgot to do marriage headcanons

alright, lightning round: firstly, i don’t think it takes you guys long to get married - you have known each other for so long, and you already act like a married couple, might as well make it official

jaskier refuses to let anyone else sing at his wedding, but you eventually coax him into it because how else are you going to dance with him?

let jaskier invite all of his witcher friends. the divide between your wealthy families and the witchers would be funny as hell. like inlaws that don’t get along but wORSE.

some quick marriage thoughts:

jaskier has definitely learned the art of flowers, thanks to you, so (1) he leaves you flowers everywhere, and (2) both of you get to garden with each other all the time.

sleep and jaskier don’t mix - no matter what time of the night, you can wake up and he’s up and about, doing something or another. maybe he’s writing a song, maybe he’s eating, maybe he’s arguing with yennefer (she often visits, just to antagonize jaskier. you guys are great friends) in the livingroom and trying to keep his voice down 

similar with nicknames, jaskier is constantly using pet names, trying to decide on which one is best. it doesn’t really work out, but maybe the most common one is he’ll call you his muse.

and it only sounds cheesy 20% of the time

you guys get to go to parties together! that’s fun - you like dressing up and sneaking away half way through because you’re bored. you guys steal food and hide out until they realize the bard is missing and drag him back.

so we all know jaskier is big on compliments, and it only gets worse when the two of you are together. it’s like,,,, yes. now i can shower you with love and affection at all hours of the day, and it’s okay! he still does his poorly timed winks but he insists they’re charming!

you begrudgingly agree

consider for a moment: going to get breakfast with this man. first of all, breakfast is probably his favorite meal, and he’s always adamant you get a good one (since being with geralt means no breakfast at all). jaskier talks like you haven’t seen him in years, despite living together, and he’s very big on holding your hand or bopping you on the nose. plus, he smiles.

oh! and his singing is 100%  contagious, so it doesn’t take long before you are singing around the house, and jaskier is just stunned at you,,,, you find him staring and roll your eyes at his ridiculousness, but this man is in love!!!! let him be in love!!!!

and you also talk to your plants, so you know jaskier picks that up, to. you’re a very vocal couple, lol.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @lenalxvegood, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @multifandomfix // message me if you want to be added!

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier headcanons #jaskier witcher #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tw marriage #fluff #the witcher

[jaskierswolf]

Dearest Wolfie, I am here to humbly request some Jaskilion vampire smut pls 🥺

Dear Buttercup

Prompt: Frottage/grinding/scissoring Relationships:  Jaskier (netflix)/Dandelion (book) Rating: E Content Warnings: vampire sex, sex magic, frottage, biting, blood drinking. Summary: Jaskier gets caught in a thunderstorm, luckily there's an appropriately spooky house near by to shelter in.

For my darling @dani-dandelino and also my last prompt for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Art by @dapandapod

Lightning shot across the sky in a vicious streak of blinding light, and there was a resounding clap of thunder that made the ground shake. Jaskier’s hair was stuck to his forehead as he tried, with very little success, to shelter under his guitar case. He blamed Geralt for this entirely. The bastard had gotten into another fight with Yennefer and Jaskier was left to find his own way home from the pub. He wasn’t drunk, just mildly tipsy and sorely lacking a driving license. It had been too late to catch a bus so here he was stomping through the park in the middle of the night, during a fucking thunderstorm. The old house in the centre of the park looked like something out of those stupid horror movies that Geralt and Yennefer liked to watch. It looked haunted during the day, but at night… fuck. It was something else entirely.

So naturally, Jaskier wanted to have a look. He was soaked through to the skin and shivering. His house was still a good hour away if he didn’t get lost, which, if he was being completely honest, he probably would. Directions just weren’t his strong suit, and everything looked the same at night. The house, despite scaring the shit out of him, looked incredibly tempting. It would be warm. He could dry off. Maybe the owner would even let him stay the night, if they were kind.

And if he was really lucky, they might not kill him.

He laughed and he wiped his nose, pushing his sopping wet hair off his forehead and away from his eyes. His fringe immediately fell forward again.

“Oh fuck off,” he muttered and shook his head, wrapping his arms around his chest in a futile attempt to stay warm. “Stupid Geralt, stupid Yennefer, bloody fucking thunderstorm.”

The large wooden doors creaked open, startling Jaskier from his pity party. There was candlelight flickering in the hallway and the sound of a violin singing from somewhere in the house. Jaskier crept forward, cocking his head as he peered inside. The house was extravagantly decorated in burgundy and gold. From the porch, Jaskier could see a faded painting of a young man, dressed in old-timey clothing, regency if he had to guess. It was rather Mr Darcy. The young man was tall and slender, with a mess of golden curls that just about covered his ears. Jaskier couldn’t look away. The man was beautiful, with soft pale skin and rosy cheeks, a smile that could outshine the sun. He had a long dark blue tailcoat, and there was a small white dog bouncing at his feet.

But it was his eyes.

Beautiful cornflower blue.

Utterly stunning.

The door slammed shut behind Jaskier and he spun round, arms flailing, “Oh cock!”

The sound of the violin stopped. The house fell eerily silent. Jaskier could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his chest and he pulled at the edges of this shirt, flexing his fingers and tapping out a rhythm on his leg. Nothing helped. He was pretty certain he was about to die. The worst thing was he couldn’t even remember entering the house. One minute he was admiring the portrait from afar and the next he had his hand raised, ready to trace the sharp cheekbones of the handsome blond.

“I haven’t had a visitor for a long time,” a mesmerising tenor voice lilted from the top of the stairs.

Jaskier jumped, almost falling over as he twirled again to face the mysterious owner of the murder house. His mouth fell open as he saw the beautiful blond at the top of the stairs. His skin was deathly pale, and his hair now fell to his shoulders in a cascade of curls, but there was no denying that it was the same man from the portrait. Blood red eyes glowed in the darkness, never blinking as he peered down at Jaskier with a haughty expression. Gone were the elegant regency clothes from the portrait. Instead, the blond wore an unreasonably sexy lingerie set, black as the midnight sky, with garters strapped around his thighs. On each thigh above the garter was a holster, with an elegantly decorated hilt; daggers.

Seriously, who the fuck carried daggers in this day and age? Surely you needed a license for that?

But on the mysterious stranger it just seemed to work. He was timeless in his beauty.

The fine silvery silk robe trailed behind him, and he raised one perfect eyebrow, looking considerably unimpressed. Jaskier’s eyes widened as he realised he still hadn’t said anything, too busy gawking at the angel before him…

Or perhaps the devil.

There was no way this gorgeous creature was a man from god. He was too sinfully tempting.

“Ah, bollocks,” Jaskier stammered. “Well, you see I just- there was a teeny problem with my ride, and then the storm, and well… the wine. Oh the wine, it was absolutely delectable, you have never tasted anything as delicious, a true blessing from the gods themselves.”

He was rambling. He knew he was and yet he couldn’t shut up. Jaskier just kept talking, letting his wine fuelled brain spew poetry about everything and nothing. He talked about Geralt, the flowers he’d seen on his walk, the stars that had been glittering in the sky before the clouds had ruined the view. He talked about the way the river shone in the moonlight, and Geralt, and the cute adorable kitten he’d seen sheltering in an alley… and well… about Geralt.

“Forgive me, dear fellow,” The man finally interrupted with a wave of his hand, “but if you are quite done, I’d like to ask what you are doing in my home.”

Jaskier blushed, glancing between the very much shut door and the handsome figure before him. Gesturing wildly between himself and the door he stammered, “The door? It- it- ah, well, it just sort of opened.”

“And you walked in? I must say, you really have no sense of self preservation. Pretty little thing though, aren’t you?”

Jaskier scoffed, putting his hand on his hips. “Little?!”

“How old are you? Barely twenty by the looks of it,” he smirked, a long finger brushing Jaskier’s cheek. “So young.”

“I- I-!” Jaskier spat out, “You! I’m twenty five!”

“A child,” the man hissed.

And Jaskier’s heart jumped. He froze, an icy feeling creeping through his veins.

Fangs.

Red eyes.

Definitely immortal.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” Jaskier fell backwards, tripping over his own feet. “You’re a vampire! No. No, no, no. This is a joke. Fuck!”

“Vampire,” the vampire scoffed. “How rude! I have a name, buttercup.”

“I- how- oh cock,” Jaskier whined.

But before he could flee, the vampire’s hands were around his neck. The bastard moved faster than light. His pale skin a blur as it pressed against Jaskier’s throat, lifting him from the floor.

And Jaskier, in all his idiotic horniness, was starting to feel rather aroused by the whole thing. Sure, he was scared shitless, but if the vampire didn’t kill him…

Well…

Jaskier really hated his dick sometimes.

“So, ah- umm, will you do me the pleasure of telling me your name?” Jaskier squeaked, gasping for air.

The vampire chuckled, a beautiful melodic laugh that could charm aphrodite herself. “Finally, some manners, darling. My name is Dandelion, you would do well to remember it.”

That was… promising.

“A flower for a flower?” Jaskier suggested, praying that this would not be his last night on earth. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Oh, my dear Julian, I have no intention of killing you. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a monster, unlike the villain that turned me. Now, he was an utter cock. He didn’t even ask! Day before my wedding, unbelievable.”

Jaskier laughed. Was the vampire, Dandelion, actually telling him his backstory? What the fuck had he walked into?

“That’s… unfortunate?”

“It was a complete disaster, my darling Henrietta married the deplorable Valdo Marx instead and I had to flee to the shadows like some bloody monster. It gets lonely.”

Jaskier blinked, feet still dangling as the vampire held him by his collar. He was struggling to breathe, his cock was hard in his pants and he was almost certain that he probably would survive the night. “Can’t- breathe.”

“Oh, poppycock! I am ever so sorry, dear boy,” Dandelion cooed and dropped Jaskier to the ground. “Better?”

“Yeah, yup.”

Dandelion inhaled deeply, “Oh, you do smell good, really good.”

This felt more like what Jaskier would expect from a vampire encounter. Before he could even respond, Jaskier felt himself being thrown back against the nearest wall, Dandelion’s cold body pressed up against his. The vampire ran his nose under Jaskier’s jaw, a low moan falling from his lips. “Talk about fine wine. You, my dear buttercup, smell utterly irresistible.”

Jaskier whimpered, his hands nervously gripping Dandelion’s silk robe, fingers intertwining in the soft fabric. He wasn’t really sure what was happening but he knew he liked it. Getting fucked by a vampire, there were worse things in life, especially when the vampire was as pretty as Dandelion. Jaskier wondered whether his eyes really had been such a dazzling blue before he was turned into a creature of the night. Red eyes burned like fire instead, the pupils almost completely black.

It should have been fucking terrifying.

It should have.

And Jaskier thought he’d never seen such a beautiful creature as the man before him. There was a scrape of teeth against his throat, and Jaskier groaned, helplessly baring his neck to give the vampire better access. He’d never thought getting his blood drained would be so alluring, but he was achingly hard and feeling heady with arousal at the mere thought of it.

The vampire just laughed and pressed a skin to Jaskier’s neck. “Eager little whore, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Now, now, patience,” Dandelion purred, making Jaskier shiver. “First we need to get you out of those clothes. You must be absolutely freezing, where are my manners?”

“Fuck your manners,” Jaskier grumbled, yelping as Dandelion scooped him into his arms and flew through the house. “Oi! Watch it!”

“Such a fragile little flower.”

“I- You, oh fuck off,” Jaskier protested weakly, because to Dandelion, he was fragile. He was human, mortal, weak. Despite looking like the stronger one of the two, Jaskier was like a glass rose compared to the glimmering diamond that was the vampire.

Dandelion fussed around him in a blur of silver and blonde, peeling Jaskier’s wet clothes from his skin, bringing him a steaming mug of sweet tea. It was all… kind of nice?

The vampire had said he was lonely after all, and maybe Jaskier’s blood would taste nicer if he was not miserable and cold. How was he supposed to know?

“Dandelion?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head as he looked up at the pretty blond from the pile of soft silk sheets on the bed.

“Yes? Did I miss anything? It’s been a while since I’ve had human company.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile. He’d been in the strange house less than any hour and yet his head was spinning from the rollercoaster of emotions, fear, arousal, panic, and now whatever this was, a sort of fondness perhaps?

“Everything is perfect, Dandelion, but why- why am I here? I thought… you’re a vampire. I smell good? Didn’t you want to- to-, you know?”

Dandelion giggled and perched on the bed next to Jaskier. “Sweet buttercup, I would never drink from you unless you wanted it. It’s not expected of you. I can go without.”

“You can?”

“But of course! And I’m not about to fuck you when you’re shivering, and reeking of fear, no matter how hard your cock is. I have standards, Jaskier.”

The vampire had standards. Of course he fucking did. “I’m not afraid now,” Jaskier whispered, “And I want you to drink. Come on, trapped-”

“You’re not trapped.”

“- in a vampire’s house, in the middle of a thunderstorm. It practically writes itself.”

“And yet, I made you tea?”

Jaskier laughed, “Yes.”

“Well then?” Dandelion breathed in a soft low whisper that made Jaskier’s skin tingle, “Perhaps a kiss?”

This time it wasn’t Dandelion’s hands that forced that air from Jaskier’s lungs, but his words. Jaskier swallowed, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as Dandelion approached him. The daggers had been removed from their holsters and set aside on the table, but the rest of the vampire’s ensemble remained. Jaskier, on the other hand, was as naked as the day he was born, only the silken sheets to protect his modesty. His cheeks warmed under the heat of Dandelion’s gaze, a blush that he was sure bloomed right down to his heart. He nodded dumbly, unable, for the first time in his life, to find the right words.

Dandelion’s skin was like ice as he cupped Jaskier’s cheek, their lips barely a breath apart. “You really are such a pretty flower, I love beautiful things.”

Jaskier whimpered as their lips met, ice and fire, vampire and human. Their breaths mingled as Jaskier eagerly parted his lips, and Dandelion’s tongue slipped inside his mouth. Jaskier had kissed a lot of people in his life but never anyone quite like Dandelion, centuries of practice served the vampire well, and Jaskier was left breathless and panting in mere seconds. His arousal from before reared up and he moaned wantonly against Dandelion’s lips.

“Divine,” the vampire murmured as they parted, and he pushed Jaskier backwards against the bed, their legs entangling so that Dandelion’s thighs pressed against Jaskier’s cock, “simply divine.”

“Dandelion,” Jaskier moaned, his head falling back onto the pillow.

“My venom won’t harm you, darling,” Dandelion whispered, his lips pressing against Jaskier’s neck, “but it will enhance your pleasure, dull your other senses so you know only me, my lips, my hands. You’ll be more relaxed than you ever thought possible…”

“Yes,” Jaskier answered Dandelion’s unanswered question.

The vampire sank his teeth into Jaskier’s skin, sharp pain soon subsiding into what could only be described as the most intense pleasure that Jaskier had ever felt. It was heavenly, magical, a blessing from god herself. He vaguely heard himself moan, arching his back off the bed as he thrust against Dandelion’s thigh. Every movement sent wave after wave of never-ending pleasure through his body, fire burning in his soul. He whined when Dandelion pulled away from his neck, rocking into Jaskier’s body, unheard praises whispering into his ear. When their lips met once more, Jaskier could taste his blood on Dandelion’s tongue.

It was addictive. He wanted more, more, more. “‘Lion,” he slurred as their bodies rocked together.

“Shh, little buttercup,” the vampire cooed, brushing Jaskier’s fringe from his eyes, before biting once more on his shoulder.

Jaskier keened, his orgasm shattering through him as he bucked up against the vampire. It seemed to be an eternity before he came back to himself, covered in cum and his own blood on Dandelion’s bed. The vampire in question was running his fingers through the thick hair on Jaskier’s chest, blood staining his lips, smearing down his chin. He looked as fucked out as Jaskier felt, smiling serenely as he hummed under his bed.

And his eyes were cornflower blue.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed shakily. “Did you…”

“Mhmm, not long after you. What a sight you made, truly stunning? I really would love to paint you one day.”

Jaskier groaned and rolled over, grimacing at the mess but too tired to care. “If the sex is that good, you can paint me every fucking day.”

“Oh, darling buttercup,” Dandelion cooed, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder where the bite mark was beginning to heal. “You and I are going to get along splendidly.”

#the witcher #jaskilion #jaskier x dandelion #vampire dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

[bard-llama]

Finally watched TWN Season 2

Honestly, I liked it. I went in with pretty much 0 expectations, which I think was good, but it was pretty fun on the whole! I also stayed up all night to marathon the entire series (and then decided to fuck sleep and am still up), so I def need to do another watch after some sleep, but there were a lot of things I liked and a lot of things that made me think about the fic potential.

I fucking loved the relationship dynamics, honestly. Not the development, ‘cause we saw very little of it that wasn’t in the immediate plot, but like... Jaskier & Yennefer were a delight, Fringilla & Francesca were amazing, Fringilla & Cahir were interesting, Yenn & Cahir were def fun, Yenn & Ciri was great, Geralt & Istredd was nerd-tastic, it was awesome! They threw together a lot of characters and let their personalities talk, and that was a lot of fun to watch.

The politics!!! Y’all know me, of course I’m here for the Cintran elven refugee plotline! I aaaaalmost called the final twist, but not quite. But I was already wanting to write a story about the refugees from the Slaughter of Cintra, so now i definitely want to do SOMETHING with all the different refugees who have/now call(ed) Cintra home.

Also DARA!!! My boy Dara is back!!! And I thought his storyline was really interesting, but also, his hair was awesome and reminded me of hair I gave a version of Eldain in the Sims and now I want Eldain and Dara as Scoia’tael bros.

Rience is a fucking creep oh my god what the fuck. (Also Eskel was a creep too and we’re not talking about that. Why did you even name him Eskel???? That was not Eskel.)

I could not tell Filavandrel and Francesca’s brother apart (I’m faceblind and they had the same hair) and this caused quite some confusion. Also, were Filavandrel and Francesca lovers??? Because by the end of the season, it really looked like it, but it seemed like it came out of nowhere, ‘cause they def resented each other at the start???

I REALLY liked Fringilla’s story! Though, I will say, I like my version of her backstory better in that in TWN canon, she was imprisoned in a “playhouse” by the Usurper until Emhyr freed her after his coup. In my version, she’s the one that recruits Emhyr out of his previous life and convinces him to overthrow the Usurper. I thiiiiink in the books, a certain mage plays that role, but that’s a spoiler that hasn’t been revealed yet, though if you’ve read my stuff with Emhyr, you probably can guess. But anyway, I think in a TWN context, it’s waaaaay more interesting if Fringilla got to be the one to empower Emhyr. But obvi I’m not the one writing it 😂

Jaskier’s songs were fucking amazing lmao. Honestly, I loved everything about him this season? I’m mad the fandom kinda made me hate him for a long while (or at least, have a negative/unpleasant reaction to seeing him), because they leaned into his ridiculousness really well and it was dramatic and wonderful. Also, when the guard critiques his song at the dock, that was TOTALLY a play on the critiques they got for S1 and that was hilarious lmao. Added a touch of much-needed levity to a pretty intense scene.

Oh yeah, also, I loved what they did with a lotta imagery this season. They had a lot of stuff about the White Flame, of course, but they also called him the New Sun, referencing him as the new beginning after Ithilenne’s Prophecy. And of course there was the stuff with the hut thingy. Idk, their metaphors were on point lmao

I’m curious what they’re planning for Vizimir, ‘cause it kinda seems like they’re going a different direction than the books? Well, maybe. He’s not in the books a lot, from what I understand, but it’s kinda implied, at least in the games, that he was... more competent than his TWN counterpart lmao. Or at least more willing to listen to Dijkstra and Philippa. But it’s definitely interesting to see their dynamic. Also - did we ever get explained how Dara ended up in a Redanian prison??? He was supposed to have gone back to Brokilon, tho tbh they probably would not have taken him. At least... not in a well-intentioned way.

So rewatching the series made me go back and read a ton of my fics for it (mostly my non-geraskier ones as a start/my Cintra ones and plotty ones) and aaaaahhhh, I really wanna finish them!!!! I had some really cool stuff planned for the Families of Choice series and I’d love to actually get to it dammit. 

Anyway, that’s my rambling about TWN s2. Overall, I thought it was fun and more coherent than s1 on a first watchthru. I also watched s1 in one sitting with no sleep (well, I fell asleep after ep 6 and watched 7/8 the next day) and I was so much less confused after way longer without sleep this time lol. It was nice rewatching s1 too, I forgot how much I loved a lot of it. S1E4 will always hold a special place in my heart and in my memory lmao. Literally, I still have a lot of it memorized, it’s weird.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #fic planning #just tagging in case it's helpful later

[queenxxxsupreme]

Heyo! 💖I just wanted to say that I completely ADORE your works and I was wondering if you could maybe give us some dad!Witcher reactions to when the reader goes into labor? Totally up to you, only if you want to and if your comfortable with this!☺️ again, I love your work so much and I really love seeing the boys being included in amazing fics and hcs💕

A/N: This has also been sitting in my box for a while, and many people have asked about this, so I’m glad it’s finally done. You can all thank @pressedinthepages for helping me out with Geralt cause he’s the reason y’all haven’t gotten this sooner. Thank you again baby!!!

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, labor, pregnant lady going into labor but not the actual birth part, just labor pains and water breaking :)

***

Lambert 

You sucked in a sharp breath, your hand coming to hold your side. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lambert sat up in his chair, brows drawing together as he looked across the table at you.

“I-I’m okay.” You told him, rubbing your ribcage. “The baby just kicked me.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’ve stopped moving at all today.” Ciri commented. She sat next to you, talking to you about different names for your unborn child. 

“They haven’t. I think they’ve gotten too big. There isn’t enough room in there for the little thing.” You rubbed the side of your stomach. “Anytime they stretch, they bruise one of my organs.”

You started to stand up, needing to stretch your legs. 

“Where are you going?” Lambert followed you with his gaze. 

“Just for a little walk.”

“Thought you couldn’t walk too far ‘cause your ankles hurt.”

“They do, but sitting hasn’t helped my back at all. It's making my legs hurt even more.”

Lambert stood to his feet, a mug of ale in one hand, and moved to your side. 

“The baby needs room to move. They can’t do that if I’m sitting down.”

He placed his free hand on the small of your back, offering what little support he could. 

“They need to get a move on and get here soon.” Lambert thought out loud. He used his shoulder to push open a door that would take you out to the courtyard. 

“Can’t rush a pregnancy, love.” You sighed gently, though you agreed with him.

“Just don’t like seeing you hurting knowing I can’t do anything to make it better.”

“I’ll be okay.” You looked over to him to meet his gaze, offering him a little smile. 

“But what if you aren't?” He stopped, his hand slipping from your back to your hand. “What if…. What if you don't make it through this? Through having the baby? What if…. I-I’ve heard stories-,”

“Lambert, I’m giving birth to our child here at Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Triss. Should anything happen, I trust them to do what's needed to save both myself and the baby. So stop with all that nonsense.” 

Lambert nodded, knowing what you said was true. The safest place you could possibly be was Kaer Morhen where some of the best mages in the world were. 

“I just can't help worrying.” The witcher muttered shyly, putting his hand on your back once more to lead you through the courtyard. 

“I know.” You smiled softly. It was a rare sight to see the young witcher look so anxious and worrisome. “You’ve been worrying a lot recently.”

“‘Cause I know you're getting closer to having the baby. We’re…. I'm gonna be a father.” He shook his head like the mere thought was too good to be true. “Don't want to turn out like my old man. Damn bastard wasn't worth shit.”

“You'd never be like him, Lambert.” You assured him, looking over to admire his side profile. “You're too kind of a man.”

He scoffed. 

“Don't hurt my feelings like that, bug.” 

You grinned. 

“Besides, if you need to be put in your place, Eskel and Geralt would gladly kick your ass. Though I know it will never be needed.”

“What about us kicking Lambert’s ass?” Geralt asked as he and Eskel moved towards you two. 

“Y/N said she doesn't think you two could beat me.”

You elbowed Lambert in the side. 

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” Eskel asked you. 

“Not too great, if I'm honest. Though today it doesn't feel like a rib has been kicked out of place.”

The three boys began to chat about something Vesemir was asking them to work on together. It was a fallen wall on the west side of the keep. 

You weren't paying too much attention, shifting your weight from one foot to the other every now and again. You slipped your arm around Lambert’s holding the inside of his elbow. You didn't want to just excuse yourself and walk away. Lambert would follow you and not even finish talking to Eskel and Geralt. You figured you could endure standing just a little longer. 

But then the pain between your hips sharpened and took your breath away. Your grip on Lambert tightened. There was a wetness between your legs that made you furrow your brows.

“Oh gods.” You whispered. 

“What?” Eskel asked you. Lambert was in the middle of taking a sip of his ale and hadn't had the chance to ask first. 

“I think the baby’s coming.”

The father-to-be choked on his ale, coughing and sputtering. He hit his fist against his chest, struggling to speak. 

“What?!”

“I’m going into labor, Lambert.” 

“The fuck you are.” His voice nearly cracked. 

“Eskel, give me a hand, please.” You weren't too sure how Lambert would react so you needed someone you knew wouldn't freak out. 

Eskel moved to your side, holding his arm out to allow you to use him for support. Lambert remained on the other side of you, one hand on your lower back and the other on your arm. His ale had been discarded, no longer important to the witcher. 

“How-How do you-I mean, how do you know they’re coming?” Lambert stumbled over his words worse than you'd ever seen. 

“I do believe my water just broke, love.” You met his gaze, smiling softly. Though you wanted to scream and curse at the gods for the pain you were feeling, you needed to stay calm for him. 

With Eskel’s help, Lambert’s rambling promises that everything would be okay, and Geralt’s moral support from right behind you, you were able to make it to the room designated for this very occasion. You knew it would be wise to have a room on the main level just in case you weren't up in your room when the time came to deliver. 

Geralt went to gather Yennefer and Triss while you carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. Eskel went to stand just outside of the doorway so that he was far enough away to give you both some privacy but close enough that if you needed anything, he'd be there. 

“Should-Should you lay back?” Lambert asked you, brushing your hair back out of your face. 

“No, love. I’m fine. I’m-I’m fine.” Your voice cracked as you softly shook your head, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision. 

“Why are you crying? Are-Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Is something wro-,”

“Lambert, I love you but please breathe.” 

“I am breathing! Are you breathing?”

Your head fell forward, hands gripping your knees as the tears left your eyes. A surge of pain tore through your pelvis. 

Lambert saw the way your strong facade was crumbling. He needed to be strong for you. He needed to swallow his fears and be there for you. You were doing all of the hard work. He was just there to watch and encourage you. He had no right to freak out. 

It took the witcher a few minutes to gather himself, to tell himself over and over that you would be okay. Then he was able to elevate his heartbeat and focus on you. 

“Hey, hey, bug.” His tone softened. He turned your head to him, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “I'm right here, okay?”

“Lambert, it-it hurts.” You whispered, turning your head to bury your face in his neck. 

“I know, bug. ‘M sorry.” He rubbed your back, pressing kisses to the side of your head the best he could. “But you know what?” 

He pulled back and you had no choice but to pull your head away from him. 

“If there is anyone here in this keep that could do this, that could go through this, it's you.”

“That's-That’s not true.” You shook your head. “You-You’re strong. You survived the trials. You're a witcher for crying out loud!”

“And he's the biggest cry baby you’ll ever see.” Geralt spoke from the doorway. You smiled a little, wiping your cheeks. 

“That’s debatable.” Lambert muttered. 

Triss and Yennefer entered the room. Yennefer stayed off to the side while Triss came to you. Yenn was there for backup if Triss needed it. 

“You ready for this, bug?” Lambert asked you, rubbing your knee. 

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head. 

Eskel 

You slammed one of the cabinets in the kitchen shut and turned to gather the rest of the clean dishes from the woven basket on the table. 

“Y/N, you really should let someone else take care of that.” Eskel said. 

“No one else knows how to put them away the right way.” You told him. There was no kindness in your voice, no peaceful tone to your words. You sounded bitter and angry. 

“I don’t think there’s really any wrong way to put away dishes.” Lambert thought out loud. 

“And that’s exactly why I’m putting them away.” 

“Y/N, let me help-,”

“No!” You cut Eskel off, turning to face him. “Just let me do this! Let me put these away so they are done right.”

Eskel stopped walking towards you, brows drawn together. 

“Eskel.” Geralt said his brother’s name and beckoned for Eskel to join him and Lambert at the table. 

Eskel looked back at you once more before going to his brothers. He sat down next to Geralt, arms resting on the table.

“What is up her ass?” Lambert whispered low enough so you couldn’t hear. 

“I don’t know.” Eskel shook his head, eyes finding you. “She’s been like this since she woke up.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s made the whole keep feel like hell today.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Geralt asked. 

“She won’t tell me if anything is wrong. She’s just been an entirely different person all day.”

The witchers fell silent as Jaskier entered the room. 

“Good evening, Y/N!” The bard chirped. 

You were reaching a shelf that was probably a little too high up for you, so he decided to offer a hand. 

“Let me help you, darling-,”

“Fuck off, bard!” You snapped at him, placing the plate down on the counter with enough force to nearly break it. “Just-Just leave me alone! What is with you men not understanding a gods damned word coming out of my mouth today?”

You stormed across the room, jaw locked and eyes set on the door you wanted to leave through. Well, to say you stormed through was a little bit of an exaggeration. With your enormous pregnant belly, the most you could do was angrily waddle.

The witchers and the bard watched you leave the room, the door slamming shut behind you.

“That was absolutely terrifying.” Jaskier put his hand over his heart. “What did I say to make her so explosive?”

“It’s not you, Jaskier.” Eskel shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m sorry about that. She’s…. She’s never like this.”

“I’ve faced bloodthirsty alps and I can honestly say I’d rather deal with them than an angry Y/N.” Lambert shook his head. “Good luck, brother.”

Eskel felt as though he’d need more than luck to deal with you. 

He found you in the courtyard, resting on a stool by the goats’ enclosure. Your legs were parted and you braced your hands on your knees. Your eyes were closed tightly. 

“Are you okay, doll?” 

You didn’t answer him. This worried the witcher. He moved to kneel down in front of you. His hand slipped around your stomach, holding you tenderly.

“Y/N, my love, please answer me.” He begged quietly, brows drawn together. 

Your eyes opened, glossy and red. You shook your head gently. You knew that if you spoke, you’d lose what control you had over the situation. 

“Please, Y/N. Just-Just tell me what’s wrong.” Eskel reached up to brush a few pieces of hair out of your eyes. 

“Nothing.” You shook your head, pulling his hand away from your face. You rubbed your face and tried to stand up but he wouldn’t let you. 

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’ve been acting weird all morning. Is everything okay with you? With the baby?”

“I’m fine, Eskel.” You spoke through your teeth as a surge of pain drove through your hips. You removed his hand from your stomach, his touch burning in a way that made the pain worse. 

“No, you aren’t. You’ve been avoiding me all day, Y/N, and-and you’ve been mad at everyone who talks to you.” He placed his hands on his thighs, feeling hurt that you’d push his hand off of you. So many thoughts ran through his mind and his stomach churned. Why had you pushed him away? Why were you avoiding him? Why were you angry at him and at everyone else?

“Did I do something?” His voice was weak and timid.

“No, Eskel.” You shook your head, rubbing your eyes once more.

“Then please, Y/N.” He begged, heart racing in his chest. “Please just tell me what is wrong so I can make it better. I-I-I feel so helpless. You’re angry and you’ve been harsh with everyone. You’ve never raised your voice at me, let alone the others. Something is wrong, Y/N, and I-I can’t leave you alone until you tell me what it is.”

Your head hung and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. He could hear how furiously your heart was pounding. Tears fell from your eyes as you brought your hands up to cover your face. You shook your head.

“I-I can’t- Eskel, I can’t do this. Everything hurts so bad.” You cried, finally leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

“What hurts, my love?” He pressed kisses to the side of your head, one hand coming up to embrace you in a careful hug while the other rubbed the outside of your thigh. 

“I’m so scared, Eskel. I-I can’t-I can’t do this. I can’t.” Your tears dampened his neck but he didn’t mind. Your breath was hot and your fingers dug into him so tightly he thought for sure he’d have bruises. 

“You have to explain to me what is hurting, doll.” He pulled away just enough to cup your face and brush his thumbs over your flushed cheeks. “If I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t help you.”

“I-I’m-I’m sorry I’ve been so angry and so mean.” You leaned into his touch. “The baby- It’s coming.”

Eskel’s brows drew together and he looked down at your stomach for a moment.

“What?”

“My-My water broke this morning.” You shook your head. “But I-I-I can’t do this, Eskel! I can’t do this! I’m-I’m so scared! I can’t!”

“Y/N, look at me.” He held your face between his large hands, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. “Why didn’t you let me know when it happened? You’ve been moving around so much today. You should’ve been sitting down and resting until the baby comes.”

“I can’t do it, Eskel.”

“Yes, you can.” 

Even though you were freaking out and crying, he was calm. He took your hand in his and tucked your hand underneath the neck of his shirt. He placed your hand directly over his heart and applied a little pressure, wanting you to feel his heart beating steadily.

“You need to calm down, doll.” His voice was gentle and tender, matching his eyes and his touch. “Everything will be okay. I know you’re hurting right now but it will be over soon. Okay?”

You nodded. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips and then your forehead. 

“Let’s get you inside and to a bed.” He stood to his feet and held his arm out for you.

Geralt

You shivered a little, pulling one of the numerous cloaks you wore tighter around your body. 

“Are you cold, dove?” He asked, his hand immediately finding the small of your back. 

“Just my nose.” You explained. “The wind is terrible today.”

You had wanted to go on a walk around the grounds of the keep, feeling the need to stretch your legs. You walked alongside him, your arms weaved together. 

“Do you need my cloak?” Geralt asked, starting to take his off. 

“No, no, Geralt.” You shook your head, almost laughing at him. “I’ve got plenty of layers on. I don’t need anymore.”

The White Wolf had made sure you were wearing at least six layers before you both ventured outside. You were sure you had on one of his cloaks and maybe even Lambert’s or Eskel’s. You didn’t mind though. The cloaks were nice and cozy, and they smelled like Geralt, all musk and fire and steel.

Geralt’s arm slipped out of yours so he could go down the steps first. He held his hand out for you, eyes carefully watching your footing to make sure you wouldn’t fall down the four stone steps. 

“Why thank you, good sir.” You grinned just a little, placing your hand in his. 

“My pleasure.” His grin was a little less prominent than yours, but it still warmed your heart. 

You began to lead the way to the little area the goats were kept. You wanted to check on them and make sure they’d be warm enough for the evening.

Before you could reach the goat enclosure, a sudden wave of heat came over you. You stopped walking and started desperately tearing at the cloaks in an attempt to take them off. 

“Y/N?” Geralt furrowed his brows together. “What are you doing?”

“I’m-I’m just too hot.” You handed him the top cloak and then the next one. 

“It’s far too cold for you to be in such little-,”

“Geralt, I am too hot for all those layers.” You told him firmly. Your heart started racing and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. With the wind, this chilled you but at the same time, you felt like you were on fire. 

You were down to your last cloak when you finally felt a little comfortable. The wind shifted and suddenly Geralt knew what was happening. He could sense the changes in your body, the chemical ones no one else would have been able to detect. 

“Are you hurting?” He asked, furrowing his brows together. 

Before you had a chance to answer him, you sucked in a sharp breath and put your hand on the side of your stomach. It was as if your body had waited for the perfect moment to start having contractions. 

“We need to get you to the bedroom.” Geralt spoke mostly to himself. He handed you the cloaks and then, before you could object, he very carefully picked you up bridal style. 

***

Geralt placed you carefully down on the bed. 

You stayed sitting up, one leg hanging off while the other was bent. Your head hung as you tried to focus on your breathing, to listen to what your body was telling you. 

The pressure between your hips didn’t seem to be growing, but it was there and it was bothersome. 

You looked up to see where your dear husband had gone. 

He was moving around the room almost frantically. He checked the windows to make sure there wasn’t a draft coming in. He checked all of the candles lit around the room for when the sun went down. He didn’t want them to run out and leave him in the dark with you in labor. He could see just fine without light, but you wouldn’t be able to see. He checked the chest at the foot of the bed to make sure clean blankets and linens were there should they be needed. 

As he was moving across the room to check the fire in the hearth, you called his name. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you. 

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were leaning forward, one hand on the bed in front of you and the other on your stomach. 

“Y/N?” He wanted to move towards you but his boots seemed stuck to the wooden floor beneath him. 

You didn’t realize until then that his eyes were glossy and he was fighting back tears. 

“Why are you crying, my love?”

He looked away from you for a moment, trying to gain control of his emotions. 

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.” He explained, clearing his throat. “I-I’m the reason why you’re hurting and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

Your heart melted hearing him sound so upset and concerned. 

“Oh, Geralt.” You murmured his name. “Come here. Come sit with me. Please.”

Geralt didn’t hesitate to move to your side. Before getting on to the bed, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. The mattress dipped beneath his weight behind you. 

“Lean on me, dove.” He kissed the side of your head, his hands slipping around your sides. 

You sunk back against him, eyes fluttering shut as the pain seemed to ease up. The new position didn’t put so much pressure on your back. 

His hands, large and warm, rubbed the sides of your stomach. He tucked his nose into your hair, eyes closing as he breathed in and out, listening to your heartbeat and the one inside of you. 

Whenever a contraction came around, you’d tense up and he’d rub your stomach. He’d whisper in your ear how strong you were, how much he loved you, and how happy he was. 

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, you spoke. 

“Geralt? Tell me a story.” You rubbed his hand that rested on your stomach. 

“What kind of story?”

“Of your time with Jaskier before I met you. I miss him, Geralt.”

“I know.” Geralt kept his lips against the side of your head. “He’ll be here soon.”

Geralt began to tell you of one of the many times Jaskier was the reason they were run out of town. He’d pause for a moment when a contraction came, hesitating to make sure you were okay. 

It killed him that there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the pain or lessen it. This had to happen. Yes, it wasn’t fun and yes, he felt so useless, but soon, his child would be in his arms with you at his side. 

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[imaginesblvd]

Title: Begin Again

Part 4 of 10(?)

Jaskier x Reader 

So sorry for how long this took to get up. I’ve just been super busy. Hope everyone that reads enjoys :)

(Part 1)  /  (Part 2)  /  (Part 3)

“Oh, y/n, you can’t blame Jaskier for-”

“That’s not what hurt me, do you want me to continue or not?” You ask as you brush crumbs off the table 

Yennefer stretches out in her seat as she nods for you to keep going. You lick your chapped lips as you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. What happened after he left you standing there? You don’t quite remember that part too well so you’ll move on to the next day. 

“I just want to thank you for listening to this, I can’t really tell anyone what happened there. Colton wouldn’t understand, he thinks all my stories are made up and I don’t have the heart to tell him they’re all real but seeing you I’m sure he’s figuring it out”

You don’t give her time to respond before continuing. 

… … … … . .

The sun begins to set and you look around the camp the woman invited you too. It looks as if everyone is turning in for the night. It’s time for you to head out, you learned what you could from these women as you waited for Yennefer to show up. You must have gotten the spell wrong, you could check your work over but part of you knows you did it right. It would be too dark to see anything now though so guess that won't be something you're going to do. You wish you could have been more helpful today, but you helped them around the camp and that is enough for today. 

“I’m going to be heading back now, see if there is anything in Geralt’s things that could help us out” You say as you stretch 

“Be safe and I’ll see you first light tomorrow” She puts her hand on your shoulder “We will figure this out” she smiles sweetly 

“Thank you, Racheal” 

It should be you giving her reassurance. Maybe she saw the defeated look on your face and you want to kick yourself for not hiding it better. You start your walk back to town with your hand on your dagger handle. The lady may be dangerous but she’s not the only thing that could cause you damage. 

You don’t want to think back to the spell but you are beginning to wonder if maybe you said a word wrong but you double checked everything before even doing it and said the words properly just like Geralt taught you. Maybe it didn’t work because you aren’t a magical person. You shouldn’t be second guessing yourself now but you can’t help it. You should be staying positive and that’s exactly what you’re going to try and do. 

It’s darker by the time you make it back to town. You look over at the bar wondering if you should go there and sneak a peek at Jaskier. There's a pull and you feel your feet turning you into the direction you shouldn’t be going but you turn to look over at the inn and see the shadow in the window. Your eyes widened and you there’s a flicker of hope in your chest. You can't stop the smile on your face as you race over. You almost want to cry that she’s here but you keep it inside. 

You push the door open and race up the stairs. You take a deep breath before pushing the door open. Your smile falters as the world around you starts to spin. The anger is clear on the lady’s face, if looks could kill you thought. Her eyes look to be glowing red as she points a pale finger towards the bed and there's blood on her sheer dress. You expect to see Jaskier’s lifeless form on the bed but instead it’s Yennefer. You look back at her horror clear on your face.

"You really think I wouldn't know who comes and goes in this place?" She barks out "You're an idiot to think I wouldn't know" 

"What did you do?" You ask glaring at her 

Geralt’s standing next to the bed, his torn expression tears your heart in half. You tear your eyes away looking down at the ground. How could you have not looked around? You should have known better. The only person that could have helped is now useless. Something tugs at the back of your hair and you roll your shoulder to rid the feeling of someone standing behind  because you know no one is there. 

"Let's play a game? Shall we?" The lady asks with a smile "and before you start crying and wailing around, she's fine. She's just under a different spell of mine" and you nod for her to keep going "I'll give you a week to figure out what I am, and when you do I'll let your lover and friends go and you leave this town how you found it, understand?" She asks 

"If I ask nicely for more time, will you give it?" You ask and she shakes her head 

"You're already giving the woman of this town false hope, and that's no good. They have to move on because I will not give them what they want. They've littered the lake with waste, this is my revenge!" She rushed towards you "A week or they will all be mine, now let's go my love" 

She leaves with Geralt and you rush over to Yennefer. You look her over and see her bleeding from a cut to her head. There is bruising so you know she must have fought back or maybe she got knocked over. You clean the wound as you let her know what's been going on the last couple days you've been here. You patch it up as best you could before going over to the window. Wiping at your face to rid the tears. 

A week isn't enough time but you have to make it enough not just for yourself but for the woman of this town. 

… … … … . .

Looking through everything you own and the boys own gave you a little insight as to what other kinds of monsters lurk around places with lakes. You stand outside looking at the buildings. There are children here so there has to be some school or library with some history on the town, right? You figure you could go ask Racheal but that's going to be a waste of time having to walk back and forth between the camp and here. You start walking along the main street looking through the windows. 

You wonder about the girl, Racheal had mentioned. The girl, Sabrina, was able to break whatever spell her husband was under. If only she hadn't left, but if you were in her shoes you can understand why. Next would be the deaths of the husbands. The men did the fishing and probably left things behind and the women probably didn’t say anything about it. So the killings are obviously the revenge she wants.

You push the door open to one of the buildings that held books. Not many just a couple laying around on the floor. Children books. Gathering them up as you skimmed the titles before throwing them in your bag. You look around for more but there aren't any. You leave the build and go back to searching before stumbling upon the library. You don't need all the books just the ones that would tell you more about this town. The women should know but again you don't feel like wasting time. You pack a couple books and papers that look important before heading out. 

The sound of a lute playing makes you smile, it's the tune Jaskier was playing before the lady came. You walk over to the bar and close your eyes for a moment. You know she won't let you in to see him after what happened last night but you wish you could just go inside. You close your eyes and with them closed you can see Jaskier stand before a crowd with his lute. 

You think back to the time when you stood inside a hall with  long tables of many royal folk seating around them and banners of the visiting royals. You would turn your head and see Jaskier singing and dancing awkwardly. A smile grows on your face. In a room full of people you would only have eyes for him and only him. 

You could imagine him walking up to you, complaining of all the looks you're getting from the men. He'd make a show of putting his arm around you, pulling you close trying to show them that you're not available to them. He'd make the excuse that you deserve better than men that just want you for your good looks. Then you would share a look that made your heart squeeze. You wished you had grabbed his face and just kissed him. You know you had many chances before and you know for a fact that once this is all over you’re going to kiss, in the kiss you would pour your heart and soul into it. 

"And that wonderful tune is for you my love" Jaskier's voice brought you from your thoughts "If only I could find the words to tell you how much I love you" 

Your heart shatters and your vision blurs and you race from the bar to the inn. Closing the door behind you once you make it back inside. You take a moment to yourself and cover your mouth. He doesn't love her, you have to remind yourself. It's a spell, you add. You wipe your face and walk up the stairs to check on Yennefer and she's still laying there. You check her bandage before letting out a breath. 

"I found some books and papers but I'm not sure if they'll be any helpful" You say to her as you sit down next to her on the bed but then quickly moved towards the ground and pulled what you had found out of the bag and got to work.

.

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