#aka. my favourite insult Dandelion receives in the witcher books | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowercrown-bard · 3 years

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I have a sentence for you...or a prompt. I don't know what I want you to do with it, but by god please do something:

"He doesn't have anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!"

My darling nonny. First of all, what. Second of all, I love you and I love this prompt! I made the weirdest noise when I read it. I did not expect that second sentence XD

The thing is, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this prompt either...while being sober, so here's what my slightly tipsy brain came up with :D

word count: 2160

can be read platonic or romatic I think

content warnings: use of the name ‘Julian’ (not by Geralt), one very bad sexual innuendo (nothing sexual happens)

part 2

The spell hit Jaskier square in the chest, before Geralt had time to react and throw himself in front of him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, though not in fear but in anticipation, as they snapped over to the witcher. “Geralt, what’s happening?”

Helplessly but not overly concerned, Geralt watched as Jaskier’s arms took on an unnatural position, bent at his sides. The bard’s head started to bob.

Geralt blinked at him and turned to the young sorcerer that looked curiously at Jaskier.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” The mage furrowed his brows. “Shouldn’t he be terrified?”

He turned to Geralt, who only shrugged.

“This happens regularly,” Geralt replied and his lips twitched up. “Last month, he’s been hit by a truth spell and the month before, he drank a potion that made him invisible to all but Roach.” His smile turned into a grin. “That was a very peaceful time.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier squawked, his head still bobbing. “You missed me!”

“I didn’t. I could still hear you.” Geralt turned his attention back to the sorcerer who stared at them as if they were insane. “So, what exactly does this spell do?” Almost casually, Geralt’s hand wandered to the sword strapped to his back. “It better not be anything actually dangerous.”

Jaskier might have gotten cocky with how easily Geralt was able to break curses with all the experience he now had, but that didn’t mean Geralt wasn’t prepared to fight anyone who meant to cause Jaskier true harm. Even if Jaskier thought himself near invincible by now.

“No, no!” The mage held up his hands. “It’s not dangerous. I swear! It’s just supposed to…” he swallowed, his eyes darting between Jaskier and Geralt, clearly trying to figure out which one was more dangerous: The armed witcher or the bard who didn’t seem to be bothered in the least by being cursed but seemed rather giddy at the prospect of finding out what was going to happen next – after all, curses made for the most exciting songs, according to the bard. “It’s supposed to make his appearance match his character.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I already am as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside’, but instead of words, a loud cock-a-doodle-doo left Jaskier’s lips. For a second, he looked terrified, before his expression morphed into one of fury and he let out a tirade of what was probably supposed to be insults.

Geralt exchanged a look with the mage, drawing up one eyebrow, when Jaskier continued to cluck.

“Ah, well, you see,” the mage turned bright red, “Marx was quite sure that he,” he glanced at Jaskier, who suddenly shrunk, his hair turning bright red and rising up and turning into a coxcomb, “was a coward and would turn into a chicken.”

Jaskier gave the mage one final indignant glare, probably cursing his rival’s name, before his mouth turned into a beak and his face was no longer that of a human, capable of expressing such emotions.

“Your employer was wrong,” Geralt deadpanned. “Jaskier is anything but a coward.” With the corners of his lips twitching and a glint in his eyes, he added, “But he definitely can be a cocky bastard.”

Jaskier, the cock, fluttered with his wings in indignation and let out another crow, looking up at Geralt. Though Jaskier could no longer speak or make facial expressions, Geralt knew exactly what the pleading look Jaskier sent him meant.

Geralt knew a hundred and one ways to break a curse. But more importantly, he knew Jaskier.

And so, Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier needed him to do.

It was ridiculously easy to break into Valdo Marx’ quarters at night, even while carrying a rooster that never stopped clucking and fluttering his wings excitedly in one arm. Jaskier could count himself lucky that he hadn’t turned into a peacock. It might have been more fitting, if Geralt had anything to say about it, but it would have definitely made scaling the building and squeezing through the window together, much harder.

Once inside the troubadour’s rooms, Geralt set Jaskier down gently.

“Do your worst,” he said with a grin and watched Jaskier ruffle his feathers in excitement, before he darted across the room, tearing at Valdo Marx’ notebooks with his beak, tearing at the decorative pillows on the armchair and plucking the strings of the lute standing against a wall harshly enough with his claws that they nearly snapped.

Geralt grimaced at the sound, but leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching in amusement as his best friend wreaked as much havoc in his rival’s rooms as possible.

The noise must have roused Valdo Marx from his sleep, for a muffled curse came through the closed door, presumably leading to the troubadour’s bed room. The sound of Valdo Marx jumping out of his bed and hasting towards his now destroyed living room was interrupted by Jaskier, who crowed again and fluttered his wings in an attempt to make himself taller, preparing to make an impression when Valdo finally saw him.

The door was flung open and a dishevelled troubadour appeared, staring in horror at the mess that was his living space.

“What in the name of –“

His eyes fell on Jaskier first, then he saw the witcher still leaning against the wall, pointedly casual. Realisation dawned on Valdo’s face, followed briefly by a flash of triumph, that instantly turned into regret when Jaskier began hacking at the notebooks with more glee than before, preening under the horrified attention of his new audience.

“Witcher,” Valdo said breathlessly. “Put a stop to this, this instant!”

Geralt lifted a brow. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I proved Julian is a coward.” He waved his hands through the air, his voice turning shrill with every second that his panic grew. “I get to see him anxious and he’s reacting very poorly and I have to face the consequences. I get it. I shouldn’t have hired that mage. Is that what you want to hear?”

Geralt let out a low hum, drawing it out longer than necessary, simply because he knew how much Jaskier enjoyed witnessing Valdo’s growing despair.

“You’re right, you’re the one who has to face the consequences for cursing him.”

Relief flooded Valdo’s face. “Great. Now make him stop!”

Jaskier looked Valdo directly in the eyes as he fluttered onto the table and ruined the remaining notes the troubadour had carefully arranged in neat piles on his desk in the least dignified way a bird could ruin something. Though Jaskier’s voice was stolen from him, the mess he left on the notes couldn’t have been a more obvious statement: Valdo’s songs were shit.

The slighted troubadour’s face turned red with fury.

“How dare you!” Valdo took a step towards the destructive rooster but thought better of it almost immediately. He settled on pointing an accusatory finger at Jaskier instead of risking coming anywhere near him. “You’re a cad and a coward! I should have known how poorly you’d react to being cursed – becoming panicked and being unable to control yourself!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly, his voice even enough that only Jaskier would be able to tell how much he enjoyed this as well, “That’s where you are wrong. Jaskier isn’t a coward. His fluttering around and destroying things right now? He’s not having anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!" Geralt gave Valdo a shit-eating grin. “And he’s got a crow to pluck with you.”

“He-“ Valdo visibly had to restrain himself. “Help me, witcher. You can’t just let this monster destroy my property. He…he-!”

“You want me to get rid of a monster for you?”

Valdo nodded eagerly.

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier and shrugged.

“I don’t work for free.”

Valdo spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Geralt remained silent and Jaskier took a threatening step towards the open door to Valdo’s bedroom, obviously with the intent of destroying Valdo’s bed in any way he could think of. Panic flashed across Valdo’s face.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted quickly. “I – I’ll write a sing about you. If you help me, I’ll sing about…” his eyes darted around the room, clearly struggling to come up with something on the spot. His gaze found Jaskier, before he grabbed Geralt’s arm, licking his lips nervously, or perhaps in an attempt to look seductive, “ – about how masterfully you handle cock.”

Jaskier froze and Geralt could see the moment when Valdo realised that he had said the wrong fucking thing.

If cocks could look murderous, Jaskier definitely did in this moment.

Geralt couldn’t tell if his rage came from the prospect of Valdo writing a song about this encounter and making a profit out of it, or if he was indignant because Jaskier had had the exact same idea for a song. Or perhaps he had a problem with Valdo’s barely concealed attempt at compromising Geralt, something Jaskier himself had taken great joy in doing with the worst possible pick-up lines, since the day they had met.

Whatever the reason for his anger, Jaskier took a deliberate pause, in which Valdo had enough time to regret every decision that had led up to this moment, before he charged at the troubadour, fluttering his wings and jumping up into Valdo’s face, clawing at his curls and tearing at his lacy night shirt.

“Witcher!” Valdo screeched, not unlike a rooster himself, and waved his arms to shoo Jaskier off – unsuccessfully. “Make him go away! Break the fucking curse! I – I’ll pay you! Twenty crowns!”

“Seventy,” Geralt deadpanned. No one in their right mind would pay that much coin, but Valdo Marx was evidently desperate and his decision was helped along by the rooster, who’s beak came dangerously close to tugging at the troubadour’s moustache.

“Fine! I’ll pay you seventy crowns.” Valdo’s voice broke in his blind panic. He would likely be unable to sing the next day, from all the shouting he did. “Just get him off of me!”

Geralt waited another heartbeat, granting Jaskier a last moment of rightful – and undoubtedly petty – vengeance, before pushing off the wall, opening his arms invitingly.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier clucked in disappointment and pecked one last time at Valdo’s hair, before fluttering into Geralt’s arms.

The witcher left the troubadour’s rooms with his best friend, still in the form of a very smug cock in his arms, seventy crows richer and an experience he and Jaskier would laugh about many times over the next years.

As Geralt sat the rooster down on the bed at the room they had rented and let himself fall onto the bed next to him, Jaskier looked incredibly pleased with himself, preening and making noises, as if recounting the happenings, though Geralt had witnessed them first- hand.

When Geralt tilted his head in amusement, Jaskier seemed to realise that he still had no voice – or opposable thumbs - and let out a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a shit-eating grin, “I have no idea what you want from me. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

Jaskier glared at him and fluttered closer to tug at Geralt’s hair impatiently.

Geralt chuckled and ran a hand over Jaskier’s soft feathers, making the bird-bard relax under his ministrations, though it was clear that Jaskier did so very reluctantly and would hold a grudge, if Geralt didn’t break the curse in the next five minutes.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he petted Jaskier.

“Just for the record, I thought taking revenge on Marx was a terrible idea,” he said, and when Jaskier clucked reproachfully, he added, “but it was quite impressive. And I had a lot of fun watching you.”

Geralt hadn’t known that cocks had the ability to look proud, but Jaskier somehow managed to do just that.

“In fact,” Geralt said slowly, already knowing that Jaskier would agree, once he heard Geralt’s full proposition, “how would you like to wait just a little longer before I break the curse?”

Jaskier pecked at Geralt’s fingers and glared at him.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt said, flicking his fingers lightly against Jaskier’s beak. At his words, Jaskier perked up, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Last winter, Lambert destroyed my room with a moon dust bomb. The damn silver shavings are still everywhere.” Geralt’s lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’m sure, as my ‘best friend in the whole wide world’, you wouldn’t mind returning the favour and wreaking a little havoc in my brother’s room. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be better suited for that job than you.”

Jaskier fluttered excitedly into Geralt’s lap and the sound he made in response to Geralt’s words could only be described as incredibly cocky.

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