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annmarcus63 · 3 years

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He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

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An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask” said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

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First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

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Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

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Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #injury #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

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three-words-or-less · 4 years

Text

How to write Roach (and other horses)

I’ve seen a LOT of fics starring Roach. And it’s amazing, I love how this fandom just accepted a horse as an important character and went with it. I’d like to help the writers out and give some tips about writing horses! So, here we go:

physical limitations of a horse:

two riders won’t fit in a saddle simultaneously (except if one of them is a very small child). a second rider won’t fit in front of the saddle as the saddle is located directly behind the neck of the horse. so the only way for a horse to carry two riders is one sitting behind the saddle as we saw in the djinn episode

however it’s not a good idea to frequently ride in tandem as it’s very hard on the horse’s back

about what a horse can or can’t carry: generally, it’s best to avoid the horse carrying above 20% of its body weight frequently. that includes the rider and the equipment. an average horse weighs about 500 kg, or 1100 lbs (though draft horses can be over twice the weight, but they’re not really built for riding). so 100 kg or 220 lbs is already quite a lot for a horse. obviously those are modern day standards based on modern knowledge and and historically horses used to carry quite a bit more

horse height is measured in hands. an average horse is around 14-17 hands or 140-170 cm, though they can be significantly smaller or larger. Geralt is quite tall so Roach is probably somewhere around 170 cm, or 17 hands

horses have a really large field of vision to their sides, but have a blind spot directly behind and directly in front of them

a top speed of a horse is around 70 km/h, or 44 mph. note this is a top speed of a horse specifically bred for going fast, for a very short time

the average speed of a galloping horse is 40-50 km/h, or 25-30 mph

the gaits are walk, trot, canter and gallop. walk is slow-paced (about the same speed as human walk or slightly faster) and comfortable to ride. trot is faster but usually quite uncomfortable, being quite bouncy. it depends a lot on the horse, though. canter is generally faster than trot, is similar to gallop but slower, and actually more comfortable for the rider than trot. canter is the gait we see in ep5 when Geralt first brings Jaskier to Chireadan. a horse can also alter its speed within a gait, so, for example, fast trot can be faster than slow canter

a horse can move at slow pace for a really long time, but only run at full speed for a short time. the most a horse can gallop at full speed is around 3-4 km, or 2-3 miles

80-100 km, or 50-60 miles in a day is a long distance for a horse to travel though doable. 50 km, or 30 miles in a day is more realistic, less if the terrain is difficult

some pointers about the gear:

the horse wears a bridle when ridden. usually, the bridle has a metal mouthpiece called a bit. the part that the rider holds is called reins (not reigns. a king reigns. the bridle has reins) and the reins are connected to the bit from the both sides. the reins are gently used for steering and stopping/slowing down. a rider can let go of the reins while riding and they will hang against the horse’s neck, though if the horse lower its head, the reins may slip over the head to the ground (I can totally see that happening to Jaskier if he’s riding)

alternatively, the horse can wear a halter. that’s what we see on Roach in ep6, when they’re preparing to leave for the mountain. halters aren’t generally used for riding, they lack the bit and are simpler but sturdier. they are used for tying or leading the horse. the lead rope is attached to the halter under the horse’s chin

the saddle bags are placed behind the saddle on both sides and should be evenly filled

the saddle is secured in place by a girth, which needs to be properly tightened. not tight enough girth can cause the saddle rolling to the side. you can use this to add some nice drama to your story!

the rider’s feet are placed in stirrups. they can slip through the stirrups, which can potentially be really dangerous if the rider falls off the horse and gets dragged behind with the foot stuck in the stirrup. drama potential, again!

random things:

a horse’s snout is called a muzzle. it’s very velvety soft and lovely. it’s also extremely flexible as well as sensitive, horses actually are able to differentiate between plants and tell which ones are edible with their muzzle. if you give a (well-behaved) horse a treat, she’ll gently pick it up from your palm with her lips and it will tickle a bit

Netflix Roach is chestnut in color. game Roach is bay. some other horse colors are black and brown (duh), grey (the shade can vary greatly), palomino (golden), buckskin (golden with black mane and tail), dun (sandy), piebald (large black and white patches). true white horses are extremely rare, white-looking horses are usually white greys

some horses mentioned in The Witcher 3 are Nilfgaardian black (”from the purest Nilfgaardian stock”), Redanian chestnut (”a pureblood Redanian. gallant steed, but too headstrong for my taste. difficult to control”) and Zerrikanian bay (”Zerrikanians are reputed to have incredible stamina”)

limping in a horse is called lameness. a horse can go lame for a ton of reasons and it’s quite common. even a horseshoe coming off can make some horses lame

a horse can kick really hard, easily hard enough to kill someone. horses are also able to kick incredibly high, even someone on the head, and are really precise with their kicks. a horse can kick with its front legs too, it’s called striking. kicking with back legs is usually defensive or fearful behavior while striking is full on aggression. horses can also bite or even grab people with their teeth but it’s really uncommon

sometimes horses can also kick on accident, like knocking someone with their front hooves when rearing or trying to kick off a fly but kicking a person instead. that can happen easily if someone stands in their blind spot

horses get spooked easily. when spooked, they usually rear or jump to their side and it’s easy to lose balance and fall off. a spooked horse can also bolt, which means galloping uncontrollably at full speed

horses don’t neigh a lot. it’s really not that common. the most common sounds are nicker (a soft sound, often heard when a horse is happy to see its owner), snort (usually means contentment), or whinny (when the horse is spooked)

an angry or frightened horse flattens its ears back towards its neck. its called ear pinning

horses are extremely smart. they’re able to tell human facial expressions apart, recognise other horses and people even after years of separation, and learn very well. they’re not dogs, though, so they won’t sniff stuff out

many horses will try and grab a bite of grass or leaves when riding at slow pace. stubborn ones may also stop to nibble on an especially delicious patch of grass

This ended up being quite a list, but I really hope someone will find this useful! Let’s make our favorite equine that little bit more well-written!

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #roach #roach the horse #geralt #geralt of rivia #writing #writing tips #horse writing #fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfic tips

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

company ~ geralt of rivia;the witcher

part one

word count: 1896

request?: no

description: after slaying a monster all on her own, geralt decides to help the run away princess in cleaning the blood from her body

pairing: geralt of rivia x female!reader

warnings: smut, swearing

masterlist

The bar fell silent as the woman walked in, covered in blood, carrying a sword nearly twice her size that was dripping in blood. She looked around before approaching a table where the Witcher and his Bard were sat. Jaskier looked up in shock and fear as she stood before them, while Geralt took a sip of his beer, almost ignoring her presence.

A smirk came across her face as she declared, “I win.”

Geralt lowered his glass and raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s the proof?”

Jaskier yelped as she tossed the head of a monster onto the table, its glazed over eyes staring at the two men. Geralt let out a chuckle as he shoved his hand into his pocket and put a bag of silver onto the table. The former princess took her winnings and shoved them into her pocket.

“What the bloody hell is happening here?!” Jaskier exclaimed as he scooted as far away from the head as he possibly could.

“Geralt has been training me in fighting,” (Y/N) responded. “I told him I thought I had a handle on it, he told me he was sure I didn’t. So we made a bet; I said I could kill the first monster I found. He told me I’d crack under pressure, or die.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt in shock. “So you sent her out there by herself?!”

“She’s a commoner now, Jaskier, she doesn't need any bodyguards anymore,” Geralt responded in a matter of fact voice.

It had been months since (Y/N) had ran away from her responsibilities as a future queen and joined Geralt and Jaskier on their adventures. It had taken her court just a month to find her, and when they did she promptly told them where they could stick their royalty. The next day, the news that (Y/N) had been stripped of her royal title and banned from the Northseed kingdom travelled so fast that it got to the trio in no time.

(Y/N) was definitely not upset over this. If anything, she was overjoyed. When they heard she literally jumped and exclaimed with excitement to be free. Geralt found himself also relieved. He was getting used to having the beautiful former princess joining him on his travels.

With this burden off her shoulders, (Y/N) started begging Geralt to teach her how to fight monsters. She wanted to know how to defend herself, whether she continued to travel with Geralt or not. She finally managed to break him down and he trained her in simple battle, something easy for someone who had never even picked up a sword before, but still effective should she find herself needing to defend herself.

(Y/N) smiled at the two triumphantly before declaring, “I’m going to go wash myself off. If you boys are looking for me, I’ll be in my room upstairs.”

Geralt watched as she walked off, her new, leathery clothes so heavy with blood that it stuck to her body, showing off her every curve. Geralt had to reposition himself so that Jaskier didn’t see the lump growing in his pants.

“Go after her, dummy,” Jaskier told him.

Geralt looked at him with his usual stony face. “What?”

“Please, I’ve seen the way you look at her. I know that you want her. She’s about to be alone, and naked, in her room. Go after her, conveniently walk in, or something like that.”

Geralt scoffed. "I’m not going to walk into her room in the hopes that she’ll let me fuck her. She is former royalty, Jaskier, she was definitely raised to wait until she is to be wed.”

“She most definitely was, but that is so she would bare a child whose blood is so noble he would be declared a gentleman right out of the womb. She is free of all of that now, she can fuck whoever she wants. And I see the look in her eye, too, so I know it is you she wants.”

Geralt thought over what Jaskier was saying. He was still of the mindset that he would never defile (Y/N). She may not be a princess anymore, but she was still a lady. Then again, if the lady wished for Geralt to defile her, who was he to say no?

Geralt ignored the exclaims of encouragement from Jaskier as he raised from his seat and made his way up the stairs to where the rooms the three of them had taken for the night were located. The hallway was dimly lit, but Geralt could still make out the faded numbers on the doors. He stopped outside of the one (Y/N) was in, his hand raised to knock. Before he could think against it, he knocked on the old, wooden door.

“Who is it?” came the singsong voice of (Y/N).

“It’s Geralt,” he responded.

There was a pause before (Y/N) told him, “Come in.”

When he walked in, she was laying neck deep in the water. Her bloody clothes were discarded all over the floor. Her face and hair were now clean of the blood, and through the dimly lit room Geralt could just make out the look on her face; it was one of seduction.

“I was hoping you’d follow me,” she told him.

“Did you?” Geralt asked, deciding to play coy. “And why is that?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “It’s scary having to slay a monster on your own. I was frightened to be alone. I was hoping for some company. You know, to help me feel safe.”

“I suppose I could help with that,” Geralt responded. “How would you like me to protect you, my lady?”

(Y/N) put on a face as if she were thinking before responding, “You could always get in with me. I’d like to have you close just in case something comes to attack me.”

Geralt smirked as he began to strip himself of his clothing. (Y/N)’s eyes lingered on his muscular torso before following his hands to watch him strip his pants off. She felt a tingling sensation growing between her legs and had to clench her thighs together to relieve it some.

Once Geralt was completely naked, (Y/N) leaned forward so that he could climb into the bath behind her. When he was sat comfortably behind her, she leaned back against his chest.

“Feel more safe now?” he asked her.

“I feel very safe, thank you,” she responded.

She was pressing back against him. She could feel his manhood against her back. She nearly smirked to herself as she felt it twitch against her.

“So, how does monster hunting live up to the royal life?” he asked her. “Are you missing sitting up in your safe palace with nothing to worry about besides who you were going to be betrothed to?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “Never. That place was more like a prison than a palace. I could not be more happy to be free of that place.” She paused then added, “Well, I suppose there is one thing that is making me happier than that.”

She turned suddenly to face him. Before he could understand what was happening, she was straddling him. “You.”

She was kissing him then. It was different than the last time they had kissed. This one was more passionate, more hungry. She really did want Geralt, and Geralt wanted her more than anything.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her against him. She moaned as she felt him rubbing against her, feeling more needy with every passing second.

“Have you ever been made love to before, (Y/N)?” Geralt asked her. The question alone, especially hearing it in Geralt’s husky voice, drove her wild.

“A few times,” she admitted. “I romanced a few of my guards, another way to rebel against my forth coming ruling of the kingdom.”

Geralt chuckled at her defiance. She kissed him again as she lowered herself down onto him. They both groaned together in pleasure. Geralt caught her lips again, biting at her bottom lip. (Y/N) giggled as she kissed him deeply and began to roll her hips against him.

(Y/N)’s head rolled back in pleasure, and Geralt took it as his opportunity to kiss her neck. She let out a gasp in pleasure as his lips found her sweet spot, and he continued to kiss and suck on the spot until he knew he was leaving marks. His marks, so that any man they passed while travelling knew that she was spoken for.

(Y/N) was in ecstasy. She felt so much pleasure that she almost cried out. She had been with men before, but they were never this good. Maybe because she only used them for passion and for her own version of rebellion. With Geralt it was more than that. They had built a connection in the passing months, one that went far beyond just travelling mates, or even beyond friends. There was something there between them, whether either of them (namely Geralt) wanted to admit it or not.

(Y/N)’s hands were tangled in Geralt’s hair. Her grip tightened suddenly and Geralt knew that meant she was close to her climax. He moved his lips close to her ear to tell her, “I want to feel you tighten around me, (Y/N). I want to feel you finish with me inside you.”

The words were enough to push her over the edge. (Y/N)’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she let out one last loud moan as she hit her climax. Feeling her walls tighten around him pushed Geralt over the edge as well and he grunted as he let go inside of her.

(Y/N) collapsed against Geralt, breathing heavily to catch her breath. She noticed how much of the water from the tub they had splashed onto the floor. She chuckled to herself.

“I hope we didn’t ruin the nice gentleman’s floor. I would hate to cause any trouble for him.”

Geralt lazily looked over at the floor and shrugged. “We’ll leave him a fine tip for his troubles.”

After regaining themselves, Geralt wrapped an arm around (Y/N) and stood from the tub, lifting her with him. He placed her on her bed and laid down next to her. She rolled onto her side to look at him.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” she asked him.

A small smile came across Geralt’s lips. “Since the night we met.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Me too. I thought it wouldn’t be very lady like of me to jump on you the night of our meeting.”

They laughed together. (Y/N)’s eyes began to grow heavy and soon she found herself starting to drift off to sleep. Geralt wrapped the blanket around the both of them and pulled her body close to his. She buried her head in his chest, taking in the warmth of his body against her cool, damp skin.

“How often can we do that?” she asked him. “If you would like to do it again, I mean.”

“As often as the lady desires.”

(Y/N) smiled to herself as she told Geralt, “Then you best get your rest, because when I awake again I’d like to do it again.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #geralt x reader smut #henry cavill smut #imagine #smut #one shot #netflix

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thatfanficstuff · 4 years

Text

Need You - Geralt of Rivia

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: just canon typical monster fights and stuff

A/N: I don’t know what this is. Enjoy!

***

You stepped into the Rotten Pig and ran your gaze over the patrons. It was a horrible name for a pub but setting eyes on the cliental told you how they may have arrived upon it. No witcher. Damn it. You’d been trying to find Geralt for weeks. Every time you thought you’d caught up to him, you’d discover he’d left days before.

A familiar tune caught your ear and you followed it across the room. You grinned when Jaskier came into view behind a rather rowdy group. If anyone knew where Geralt was, it would be the bard. You leaned against a pole, arms crossed over your chest as you listened to him perform.

“Nicely done, bard,” you called as he finished.

He turned with wide eyes and grinned when he saw it was you. A moment later he was in front of you shaking your hand enthusiastically. “Y/N! I haven’t seen you in an age. How are you? Any tales you’d care to share with your favorite bard?”

“What do you need my tales for? Geralt is far more interesting than me.”

Jaskier’s smile fell into a sour look. “Yes, well Geralt doesn’t appreciate me like you do.”

You huffed and sat at a nearby table. He took the seat across from you. “He likes you. He’s just grumpy.”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. He’s worse since you left. Downright miserable he is.”

Part of you was happy to hear it. After all, Geralt had been the one to declare that he didn’t need your help after you saved him from a particularly nasty clawing. You weren’t about to stick around where you weren’t wanted. Even if you did make more money with him at your side. For some reason people hesitated to hire a lone female to rid them of their monster problem. It didn’t help that your gear had you looking like anything but a witch.

“Where is he, Jaskier?”

“In the swamp. Bloedzuiger keeps attacking people traveling on the road.”

You curled your lip. Bloedzuigers were basically giant leeches that spat acid. “Well, that won’t make a very pretty ballad will it?”

The bard tilted his head from side to side as if he was considering it. Before he could say anything, the door slammed open. Geralt filled the opening. He was dirty and bloody but appeared mostly unharmed. Your gaze trailed him as he walked over to the man sitting at the end of the bar. A merchant if you’d tagged him right. A merchant who suddenly looked very nervous.

“Bloedzuiger’s dead. So are the drowners. I’ll take the rest of my pay now.” Geralt’s deep, rough voice sent a chill through you. Gods, you’d missed that voice.

“I paid you up front, Witcher. Even made a point of telling people that I’d done so. You aren’t getting more out of me now.” Sweat beaded on the lying man’s brow as his gaze darted around the room. Probably looking for someone to back him up.

Geralt hummed. “I wouldn’t kill a ghoul for what you gave me up front.”

“That’s not my problem. I paid and you did the work. It’s not like you can bring the creature back to life.” The merchant seemed very proud of himself. As if he’d pulled some great trick on the witcher.

You sighed and stood. Geralt didn’t need your help. He had his own ways to get his payment, but none of them would endear him to the townspeople. “He might not be able to, but I can.” You couldn’t actually, but they didn’t know that.

Geralt turned with a lifted brow. He ran his eyes over your length and back up. The corner of his mouth kicked up ever so slightly. “Y/N.”

“Geralt,” you responded with your own twitch of the lips. Your gaze shifted back to the man at his side. “Now, about that payment.”

“You’re Y/N? The mistress of night and slayer of injustice?”

What fresh misery was this? You turned your head to look at Jaskier who gave you a sheepish smile and a little wave. Damn bard. Geralt’s smile grew a bit wider.

“Yes, that’s me apparently. Money? Or would you prefer to be in a ballad yourself? Strictly in a slain enemy capacity of course.”

He tossed a bag of coins on the bar. “I don’t want no trouble. Times is tough, that’s all. You can’t blame me for trying to save some coin.”

Geralt hummed again and snatched the bag from the counter. As he ambled to the table, you motioned the barkeep for food and drink for the three of you. The witcher sat beside Jaskier and you took the spot directly across from him. Neither of you spoke as you just looked each other over.

When your ales were placed on the table, Geralt broke the silence. “It’s been awhile. You look…good.”

“You look filthy. How was the swamp?”

“Damp.”

“Of course, it was.” You rolled your eyes at his simple answer. Jaskier’s gaze kept darting between the two of you as if waiting for something monumental to happen.

Three bowls of stew were placed on the table and Geralt lost his patience with you. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

You arched a brow as you took a bite of your food. “Maybe I was just passing through.”

The look he gave you said he didn’t believe that for a moment.

“Fine. I need a favor.”

He paused with the spoon partway to his mouth. “What sort of favor?”

“Striga.”

He grunted. “That’s not a favor. That’s a job. A big one.”

You grimaced. “For what they’re paying, it’s definitely more like a favor.”

His amber eyes studied you. “Then the answer’s no. Besides, I’m in the middle of something.”

“You’re still looking for Yennefer.” Your heart twinged as you said the name. No matter how many times you warmed Geralt’s bed he always went back to Yen. And it hurt every single time.

The silence stretched. Finally, Geralt tore his gaze from you. “I haven’t found her yet.”

You pushed yourself to your feet. “Well then, I guess there’s no reason for me stay. Jaskier, good to see you again.”

Geralt grabbed your wrist as you passed him. “Sit. Down.”

With a sigh you took the seat beside him. “What?”

His gaze locked on yours again and his grip didn’t loosen. “You won’t go after the striga on your own. Promise me.”

When you didn’t answer, his hold tightened. “Swear it.”

“You won’t hear a word about me fighting a striga. I promise.”

He held you a moment longer, his thumb running along your pulse point. “Be careful.”

***

The thing about strigas is they were fueled by a need to feed. They didn’t care who they killed only that they got to eat. They were also strong and vicious. This particular beast was tormenting a poor village. The money they’d managed to get together wasn’t much, but it was everything they had. You needed to kill the beast to spare them any further suffering.

You checked the potions on your belt and your weapons one last time. The men standing in front of you shuffled their feet nervously. “Remember, no one goes out tonight. No matter what you hear. And if anyone asks—”

“Your name is Yvetta of Nilfgaard,” recited one of the men.

“Very good. Now go.” You watched them hurry off to lock themselves in their homes. You had promised Geralt he wouldn’t hear word of you hunting the striga. Yvetta was another matter entirely.

The cemetery that spawned the creature sat at the foot of some nearby ruins. As far as you’d been able to tell, that was where the striga stayed when she wasn’t hunting. As the sun dropped to the horizon you opened the jar of pig’s blood you’d brought with you and splashed it around one section of the ruins. This was the area you had prepared earlier. An intricate trap ready to be sprung with a touch and the whisper of a word.

A scrambling of claws came with full dark and you drew your dagger. Taking a vial from your waist, you dumped the contents on your blade all the while hoping the creature wouldn’t get close enough for you to have to use it. After all, you were no witcher, just a witch that tried to right some of the wrongs in your world.

You strained your ears, but the sounds seemed to have stopped as suddenly as they started. You sucked in a breath and pushed all your senses to their limit trying to locate the creature. The searing pain at your back came with an unearthly shriek. It had snuck up behind you. There was nothing worse than a smart monster. Thankfully, your armor had blocked most of the impact. You’d be bruised for sure, but that was better than dead.

You fell forward and scrambled away before turning over. The circle was a short distance away waiting for you to finish the spell and you backed toward it as quickly as you could. The striga tilted her head as she looked you over and you got the feeling she was trying to figure out what you were up to. Your hands slid in the dirt and you curled your lip. Fantastic.

Finally, the power in your circle buzzed along your skin. You slapped your palm down and recited your word of power. A blue glow surrounded the area you were in and the striga immediately howled in panic. She lunged for the nearest opening in the wall and was bounced back. You kept your eyes on her while you withdrew another vial. If you timed things right you could take her down without her getting near you again.

Another word and a toss of the vial had a burst of flame shooting up from the floor and burning the beast. It screamed in outrage and pain. And then it turned those angry, beady eyes on you. Well, fuck. You tried to get to your feet, but the striga was too fast. She lunged, pinning you to the ground. You plunged your dagger into her side and she lifted her arm as she screamed. One swipe of those claws across your throat and you were done.

You grasped desperately at your waist trying to draw another vial but the beast was too heavy and had you pinned too thoroughly. You closed your eyes and braced for the impact. Instead, warm liquid covered you followed by another screech from the striga.

The weight was suddenly gone and you opened your eyes. Realizing you were covered in blood that was not your own, you wiped a hand down your face and pushed yourself up. There, at the other end of the small room you’d blocked off was Geralt fighting the striga who was now missing part of her arm. It laid a short distance away from you where he must have severed it to keep her from clawing you.

You got to your feet quickly, weaving slightly from the pain in your back. Geralt fought the beast, his eyes black from some potion he’d consumed before the battle. Your fingers found the vial you’d been searching for earlier and you launched it at creature. It exploded across the striga’s back and you yelled the elder word for stop. The creature immediately froze and Geralt took full advantage to end the beast. The striga was no more.

You looked between it and Geralt who stood over it panting. You wondered briefly if you could sneak away without him noticing. He was going to be pissed. After a moment, he put his sword away and turned to face you. You expected him to yell at you. To tell you that you were an idiot and he was never helping you again.

What you did not expect was for him to eat the ground up between you with several long strides. Before you could even think of reacting, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck and he pulled you forward. His lips slammed into yours and tension flowed from your body as your hands found his chest. The kiss was long and needy. When he finally pulled back, his jaw was still tight.

“You lied.” His already deep voice had dropped even lower. Yeah, he was pissed.

“Technically, I said you wouldn’t hear about me fighting a striga. I’m fairly certain you didn’t, so no lie.”

“Y/N.” That was nothing more than a growl. He released you and paced away from you. “Why would you go after the striga alone? You know how dangerous they are. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Geralt, these people have nothing. Less than nothing. Do you really expect me to stand aside and let them lose their lives as well? I had to try.”

He spun to face you, hands clenched at his sides. “And if you failed?”

“Well, then they at least would know someone cared enough about their fate to try to change it.” This all seemed perfectly reasonable to you, but every word you spoke seemed to make Geralt angrier.

“And what was I to do if you died?”

You sighed. “You would find another witch, Geralt. As memory serves you were on your way to find one the last time I saw you, so why are you here?”

He licked his lips. “Because I need you.”

You lifted your brows but said nothing. He didn’t need you. He needed Yennefer. You were just a convenient substitute for when she wasn’t around.

He sighed and tore his gaze from yours. “Yennefer hasn’t been in my bed since White Hall. No one has other than you.”

That was the first time the two of you slept together. “Don’t lie to me, Geralt. It doesn’t suit you.” It would take both hands for you to count the number of times he’d left you somewhere to run after Yennefer.

“I never lie.”

It was true that you’d never known him to lie before but if what he said was true, you’d suffered so much heartbreak for nothing. You shook your head, not even wanting to discuss this right then. “Let’s go back to the village. I need to get cleaned up.”

He grasped your arm and turned you back to face him. His hand cradled the side of your face. “Why are you crying?”

“Am I?” You moved to wipe the tears away, but he beat you to it. You licked your lips. “I’m not a fool, Geralt. I know where I stand in importance to you. And I tried to be okay with it because I love you. But I can’t do this anymore.” You took a step back. “So, thank you for your help and maybe I’ll see you around someday.”

“No,” he growled as he grabbed you and pulled you back to him. “You are not saying goodbye.” His lips slammed into yours and you couldn’t resist kissing him back. He tangled his fingers in your hair and held you in place as he pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours. “I don’t deserve you. I told myself to keep my distance, but fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I need you, Y/N. No one else just you.”

“What about me?” came from the darkness, startling a laugh out of you.

Geralt growled. “Jaskier, if this ends up in one of your songs you’ll wish that drowner had eaten you.”

“But what an epic tale it would be. The white wolf and the mistress of night.”

You shook your head and looped your arms around your witcher’s neck. “No. This one’s about Geralt and Y/N.” And his lips found yours again.

#Geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x you

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fea-warriorheart · 3 years

Text

Another Life

His heart pounds as he edges around the side of the barn, peeking out into the field beyond. There's no sign of his hunter, yet he's not stupid enough to think he's safe.

He's given odd looks as he sneaks across the gap between the buildings, from people and animals alike. One of the horses gives him an indignant huff as he brushes past, and he's probably lucky there's a fence between them.

He's in a bad spot. His hunter knows it better than him. He has to get to familiar ground before-

"Found you!"

Jaskier shrieks as strong arms wrap around his waist, lifting his feet off the ground. He can hear the smug grin as the boy behind him adds, "Too exposed, lark."

The hands dart down his sides, tickling him while also letting his feet touch the ground once more. Jaskier shrieks again, but there's no fear this time; laughter and mirth sound in every sound as he squirms in the stableboy's hold.

"Geralt! Stop it! I yield!"

A soft laugh comes from behind him, and the arms around him loosen, releasing him. Jaskier turns, face flushed and split with a grin as he takes in the redhead before him. Geralt's a good head taller than him, despite only being two years older. While Jaskier spends his days studying and being proper, Geralt spends his split between helping at the estate stables and learning medicinal practices under the watchful eye of his mother. He's lean from winter, as most of the village is, but there's already muscle starting to build back up on his frame with the scraps of food he's given by a sympathetic cook.

Laughter sparkles in Geralt's fern-colored eyes, a feature many might call dull compared to some of the other shades sported by humanoid races, but Jaskier was of the firm belief it fit him perfectly. Geralt was a child of nature, just like his mother, and it was fitting for such a prominent feature to reflect that.

"Julian! Get back here!"

The brunette grimaced at the sharp tone. Geralt's expression instantly smoothed into the neutral stance most of the servants took when a member of the house approached, let alone one of Jaskier's parents.

His father stalked over, scowling at him. "You're late for your lessons. I shouldn't have to come out here and drag you around. It's disgraceful."

Julian bowed his head slightly. "Yes, father. My apologies."

An iron grip latched on to his upper arm. His father sneered at Geralt as he started dragging him back towards the manor. "Get back to work, brat."

Julian didn't risk glancing back. Geralt would only get in further trouble; he knew his father already disliked the boy for being friendly with him, but kept him around because of his old friendship with Visenna. The woman had been there for Jaskier's birth, as well as his two sister's. Plus, Geralt had a way with the animals that no one could quite explain - or replicate - and it was too much trouble in his father's eyes to find and train a new boy for the job.

Geralt is one of the few good things Julian has in his life. He won't risk him by being stupid.

A fierce storm is raging against the windows of the kitchen. Many of the servants are fast asleep, but Jaskier paces the room, worry lines etched into his brow. Geralt is making them both a pot of tea; a messenger had arrived in the early evening, stating that Jaskier's father had been ambushed by bandits and that his location was currently unknown. Despite being reassured by his mother, sleep had not come easy to the young viscount.

Geralt rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts, and offered him a steaming cup. "Sit down," he murmured. "You'll do nothing for no one wearing holes into the floorboards."

He sits with a flop, tracing a finger along the edge of the cup as he waits for it to cool a bit. Geralt sits beside him, something they're only allowed to do in moments like this; moments of solitude in a life full of company. "You know I worry."

"Yes. It's why I knew you would seek me out."

Jaskier glances at him. Geralt's coat is drying by the fire; he'd accompanied the messenger to the manor through the storm, soaking both of them through, and his mother had insisted the poor boy stay the night. He'd taken a place by the kitchen fire to stay out of the way, and had been waiting when Jaskier slipped inside.

With Geralt, Jaskier is able to be... well, Jaskier. He's able to laugh and tell stupid jokes and not care about being proper, but only with Geralt. With all others, he must be Julian Alfred Pankratz.

It's no wonder why he feels drawn to the boy.

He sighs softly, leaning against Geralt. "What if they hurt him?"

"He's a hardy man, you know. This isn't the first time he's had to fight."

"That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

"I know, lark." Geralt gives him a one-armed hug-squeeze around his shoulders. "He'll be alright. Probably just lost his way in the storm, is all."

Jaskier shrugs miserably, sipping at his tea. They sit in silence for a while; Geralt eventually stands to clean their cups and dry them off. He's placing them back in the cupboard when the door slams open, startling both boys and causing the fire to give a threatening flicker.

Two figures stumble inside; one is unmistakably his father, while the other has broad shoulders and wears a thick cloak, obscuring all but the chestnut beard with gray flecks peppering it. The stranger slams the door shut, bolting it against the wind, and Jaskier's father stands there for a moment, breathing heavily as he takes in the two boys.

The stranger turns, then, and Julian's heart clenches when he sees the Witcher's medallion hanging around his neck. He pulls down the hood of his cloak, golden eyes reflecting the light of the fire. His gaze is on Julian, studying him curiously.

He turns back to Julian's father. "I assume you didn't expect either of them to be here. Which would fulfill your payment."

The man tenses, then shakes his head. "No, I expected my son to be here. He always waits up when I'm late. The stable boy, though- bah. You can take him."

Julian feels his world slow to a halt. When he looks at Geralt, he feels like he's moving through pine resin. The redhead's eyes are wide with shock and fear, and his mouth opens and closes a few times, though no sound leaves him.

"Fine. I doubt I have enough rations to bring both of them with me, anyways." The Witcher turns back to them, crossing his arms. "Your name, boy."

"No!" Julian's voice starts working again, and he stands between them. "You can't take him!"

"Julian," his father hisses, storming over to him and yanking him away. "He claimed the Law of Surprise for saving my life. It must be fulfilled."

"No! He can't take Geralt! Please, father, you can't let him!" Tears burn his eyes. Geralt still isn't moving, still hasn't looked away from the Witcher.

Golden and green gazes snap to them as Julian is backhanded. The Witcher is there in an instant, gripping his father's wrist enough to make the man cry out.

"I don't take kindly to those who would abuse a child for caring for a friend," the Witcher says softly. "Touch him again and lose your hand. Your oath has been fulfilled. Leave us, now."

"Wait." A small voice sounds from the corner where Geralt stands. He's trembling, eyes darting between the Witcher and Julian. "Can I- Can I at least say goodbye?"

Something in the Witcher's face softens, and he steps back, nodding. "Do you have any family?"

"My mother, she lives in the village..."

"You can say farewell to her as well and grab some spare clothes. Make it quick."

The Witcher leans against the fireplace, and Geralt rushes over, wiping at Jaskier's tears with soothing motions. "It's alright, lark. Don't cry... It'll be okay..."

"Geralt... Please, you can't leave me..." Jaskier gripped his shirt, twisting the fabric in his grip. A gentle hand brushes through his hair.

"You know I can't just ignore this, lark... I have to go, but we'll see each other again eventually, yeah...?"

Jaskier sniffles. Geralt lifts his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. He smiles gently, and for the life of him, Jaskier can't help but feel the truth in his words. He nods, even as his bottom lip wobbles. "Yeah."

The Witcher steps in again, a hand on Geralt's shoulder. He hands the boy his coat, and with one last look back, Jaskier's best friend vanishes into the stormy night.

He learns in Oxenfurt how few boys survive the Witcher mutations. He does not want to believe it, but part of him mourns his friend. Geralt was strong, but verging on too old for the Trials; his body would be more likely to reject them than to adapt to them. And besides, Geralt was a farmer, a healer, not a monster hunter.

So Jaskier does his best to move on. But there are nights, often dark with storms, where he curls in on himself and wishes things had happened differently.

He graduates Oxenfurt a master of the arts and top of his class, and then he just... wanders. He plays as a bard in taverns and inns, earning enough coin to stay the night and occasionally buy some new clothes. He takes lovers, but never partners; he loves too much and yet too little, flitting from person to person as his very being rejects each and every one.

He's nineteen, playing in some backwater village. The road there had been harrowing; he had been lucky to join a group of merchants at the last town. A nest of monsters - he wasn't sure what, he hadn't paid attention - had been terrorizing most travelers in small groups for weeks. They'd even been so desperate as to put up a notice for a Witcher.

Despite all of the stories, Jaskier hasn't seen another since that night. He's beginning to wonder if they're just a figment of everyone's collective imagination; perhaps the monsters just kill themselves off or migrate elsewhere when the pickings are slim.

He's just finished a song, collecting some meager coin as the door opens. Jaskier is retreating to his table when a hand rests on his shoulder; his mind runs through anyone he might have pissed off. He hasn't been in town long enough to anger any husbands, fathers or brothers, and no one would have followed him through such a dangerous area. So truly, for the life of him, he doesn't know why-

"Lark."

His world goes still in a way that has happened only once before.

He turns slowly. He's no longer a head shorter; his eyes are about level with his nose. His skin is paler than Jaskier remembers, contrasted with dark armor. A wolf's head gleams above it, snarling at his foes, and two swords are visible on his back.

Snow white hair brushes his shoulders, tied back clumsily. Jaskier can't find the strength to breathe as he finally looks him in the eye.

Gone is the green of ferns and grass in the spring; molten gold takes their place, slitted pupils darting in minuscule movements as he searches Jaskier's face. For all the differences, he's still the same boy - still the stable boy Jaskier knew.

He's still...

Jaskier is breathless as he whispers, "Geralt."

A small smile spreads across the boy's - man's, he's twenty, twenty-one now - face. He takes Jaskier's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I told you I'd see you again."

//An indulgent thing that I came up with out of the blue. Lost steam at the end which is why it sort of trails off, but hey, if anyone's interested in a part two.... (bold presumption, I know.)

#witcher #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geralt of rivia #fic #what-if

41 notes · View notes

collapse-and-comfort · 4 years

Note

Prompts you say? If you want to/it intrigues you - any (and all) Geralt whump would be amazing! As far as a specific prompt - maybe something involving poisoning? Something lethal to humans and not-so-fun for Witchers? But only if you want to! -@sick-bae

Oh, my goodness!!! Thank you, @sick-bae for the amazing prompt! Sorry it took me so long (roughly forever) to write it! I meant to make it a drabble. (Oops!) Here is a bunch of Geralt whump for the sake of Geralt whump! I hope you enjoy!

It also helped me fill another @badthingshappenbingo square! (View my BTHB Card.)

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Whumpee: Geralt of Rivia

Caretaker: Jaskier

Pairing: None

Squire Filled: Delirium

Word Count: 3,303

Jaskier sat in their little camp and plucked at his lute’s strings. The tune was flippant, atonal nonsense but Jaskier stopped and started again as though he’d made a mistake.

This is taking too long, he thought as the sun slipped below the horizon.

He nudged away the familiar pang that came with being unable to do anything in these situations. He continued to strum, and imagined the thing Geralt was hunting -a creature that was feline and reptilian in grace and appearance. It was difficult not to find inspiration in that horror, though. His fingers sussed out a new rhythm. He looked into the fire and wondered if the creature's eyes were similar in color, how Similar to Geralt’s.

Jaskier stopped abruptly when the brush to his left rustled. He gripped the neck of the lute tightly and jumped.

“You’re back,” Jaskier said as he huffed out self-deprecating laughter, but gave a smile that insisted he knew it was Geralt all along. “You really-”

Something was wrong.

The fact Jaskier had heard Geralt approach was testament to that fact. Geralt’s steps were slow. His right hand held his ichor-slicked silver sword, and he kept his left arm across his abdomen. Jaskier couldn’t see the blood very well against the dark fabric of Geralt’s tunic, but he could see that the hand covering the wound was stained crimson.

Jaskier set his lute down, stood and walked closer without bothering to brush the dirt from his clothes. In the pale evening light, Jaskier could see the sheen of sweat covering Geralt’s face. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wondered where Geralt’s armor was.

“Hey,” he said as he reached out to take the sword, or help in some way. He wasn’t really sure.

“Leave it,” Geralt growled as he slumped against a tree. He winced and swallowed hard.

Jaskier would not be so easily rebuffed. He let Geralt take a couple of breaths before walking over and taking a soft hold of Geralt’s forearm with one hand, and the sword’s pommel with the other.

“Is it dead?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said by way of confirmation.

“Then let go,” Jaskier said.

It was not a request. He supposed it might have been an imitation of Geralt. Jaskier squeezed his forearm lightly. Geralt, for his part, looked at Jaskier with annoyed resignation as he uncurled his fingers and let Jaskier relieve him of his weapon.

Without taking his eyes off of Geralt, Jaskier carried the sword and placed it by Geralt’s things. He opened his mouth to lament Roach’s absence when Geralt heaved himself away from the tree trunk and tried to walk. One step, then another that faltered. Jaskier closed the distance between them and caught Geralt under the arms before gravity could claim him. It must have pulled the wound; Geralt gave an abrupt, pained grunt.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said as he helped Geralt right himself.

He nudged his way under Geralt’s left arm and was surprised by the heat Geralt’s body was putting off.

“You’re so warm.”

Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier, but said nothing.

“Come on,” Jaskier said as he took as he took a step.

Geralt’s movements shadowed Jaskier’s as they made their way to Geralt’s bedroll. The going was slow and with each step, Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier. They paused when they reached the bedroll. Jaskier struggled for something to say. Expressions of concern were jumbled with glib proclamations about how heavy Geralt was. He settled on silence and focused on settling Geralt. Jaskier’s knees threatened to buckle, and he felt the strain in his back, but he didn’t let go until Geralt was on the ground.

Jaskier huffed out a breath and smiled at how close he’d come to toppling. His smile was short lived, though. Jaskier had expected Geralt to begin rumaging through his pack and begin the process of making himself well. But Geralt sat there, jaw clenched, with his hand still holding his side.

“You’re hurt,” Jaskier said.

His words didn’t spur Geralt into action, but it did earn him a half hearted scowl.

“I'm allowed to indulge in stating the obvious every once in a while,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Thirsty,” Geralt said.

Jaskier was used to Geralt answering with sounds, gestures, or monosyllabic words, but his voice was quieter than it should have been; he sounded so worn. Jaskier located Geralt’s water and handed it to him. Geralt drank from the skin with the urgency of someone who had been stranded in a desert. Geralt’s breathing escalated with the effort, and Jaskier watched with both worry and morbid fascination as some of the water ran down Geralt’s chin and onto his chest. Geralt exhaled harshly when he was done. He let the water skin fall from his hand, then scrubbed a broad palm over his face and winced.

The longer Geralt took to make a move for his pack, the more nervous Jaskier became. He couldn’t see the extent of the wound on Geralt’s side, but that seemed like as good a time as any to mention it.

“We should get that cleaned,” Jaskier said.

Geralt made no move for his things. He just sat there, staring forward with his jaws clenched, sweat on his face beading anew.

“Do you need a potion, or-”

“No.”

Geralt’s voice was flat and impatient, but not angry enough to dissuade Jaskier from pressing the issue.

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Geralt said as he looked up at Jaskier.

Jaskier guessed he was trying to glare, but Geralt looked too tired to muster any real menace. Jaskier frowned, but quickly marshalled his expression.

“If I were an insecure person, I might think that remark was about my value as a travelling companion.”

“The venom,” Geralt said as he bowed his head and moved it from side to side as though he were hoping to clear his vision. “There’s no potion. Nothing.”

Jaskier thought of the people the creature had already killed; their ends hadn’t been pretty. Icy fear crept into his gut.

“You just intend to curl up and die then? What if...”

Jaskier’s impassioned speech about not giving up fell short. He looked at Geralt. He looked miserable and ill, but not afraid. But then, Geralt couldn't usually be relied upon to display his emotions in a way that would allow Jaskier to gauge the desperation of the situation.

Geralt sighed and looked up at Jaskier with a flash of aggravation.

“It’s fatal to humans,” Geralt said.

Not to witchers, Jaskier thought, unable to miss the subtext of Geralt’s statement.

Geralt licked his lips and swallowed hard before slowly enumerating all the ways he was about to suffer. It hurt Jaskier to hear the frankness with which Geralt discussed the inevitability of his own agony. It was far from the first time Jaskier wondered how much pain Geralt had withstood in his past to make this seem acceptable.

Geralt moved his hand from his side. He put both of his palms on the ground and lowered himself down; he shook as he did so. He rested on his uninjured side and wrapped his arms around himself. Jaskier walked over and knelt down next to Geralt and put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” Geralt said as his muscles bunched. “Leave me. I told you I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said. “You did.”

He didn’t like how Geralt’s voice seemed to come from miles away, or the way he was trembling. But he removed his hand and stood. The sky had darkened; it called to attention how low the fire was burning. That thought gave Jaskier direction. He got some of the wood he’d gathered earlier and added it to the fire. The kindling popped, hissed and shifted in the flame.

He cast a glance back at Geralt before making his way to the nearby stream for water. He rushed back, but everything was as he’d left it. Geralt’s chest moved with short, quick breaths and the deep furrows in his brow informed Jaskier Geralt’s sleep was not a restful one. There was no comfort he could offer his friend in that moment, but he sang one of his own ballads dto himself as he found a pan, then filled it with water and put it over the fire. He willed the water to boil as inactivity grated on him. He considered picking up his lute, or cleaning the sword. Anything but the impotence of waiting.

Jaskier shifted his weight from foot to foot, then made a noise in the back of his throat before getting a blanket from his own belongings. He brought it over to where Geralt lay, and folded it. He sank down behind Geralt. With gentle hands, Jaskier lifted Geralt’s head and put the blanket beneath it. Jaskier felt how damp Geralt’s hair was, and a concerned tut escaped his mouth. He moved a hand to Geralt’s forehead, then his cheek.

Too warm, Jaskier thought. Far too warm.

Geralt’s eyes slid open when Jaskier moved his hand to his throat, but he did nothing to prevent Jaskier from helping.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jaskier told him as he focused on the way Geralt’s pulse jumped under his touch. Was it too fast for a witcher?

Jaskier was unsure if the heat radiating off of Geralt’s body, or his lack of response was more worrying. Geralt’s eyes seemed to look right through him. Jaskier was disabused of any notion of pressing Geralt for a way to help him when Geralt’s body seized up and began to shake.

“Nonononono,” Jaskier said.

Geralt had told him this would happen, but he wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t want to see the way Geralt shook; he didn’t want to see the way Geralt’s eyes rolled back in his head. He put a hand on Geralt’s arm and another on his hip, if for no other reason than to let Geralt know he was there. He knew the gesture was useless, but maybe, maybe, it would keep Geralt from shaking himself apart.

“Okay, you’re going to be okay,” Jaskier said. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You said so yourself.”

Geralt’s back remained straight as his limbs and head shook and spasmed with malignant force. The stuttering, uneven hiss of Geralt’s breath being dragged in and out of his noise was the only sound Geralt made. Jaskier wanted to tear through Geralt’s pack and search out a potion, but he knew that would have been absolute idiocy. He knew whatever he selected would, in his hands, likely do more harm than good.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease, Jaskier prayed to whichever deity might have been listening. Please let this stop!

It did stop.

Eventually.

The shaking tapered off. Geralt breathed hard, but his body went slack. He let out a strangled noise, likely the remnant of words that had snared in his throat. Jaskier moved his hands away, though he doubted Geralt noticed their presence in the first place.

A hissing sound drew Jaskier’s attention; the forgotten water was boiling. He leapt up and took it away from the flame and set it aside to let it cool, but his attention returned to Geralt, who was reigning in his breathing. Jaskier walked in front of Geralt where he crouched and cleared his throat. It was so discreet a noise that Jaskier barely heard it himself.

“Are you with me, Geralt?”

Geralt breathed out, in, then out again before giving a little nod. His eyes remained closed.

“Okay,” Jaskier whispered; relief had muted the volume of his voice. He rose and found his way to his pack.

He brought it over to where Geralt was and began rooting through it. He kept odds and ends on hand, little just-in-case things that he thought he would have needed before Geralt ever did. He found the poultices easily enough; he supposed he could have found them by scent alone. A priestess of Miletele had given them to him; he remembered the crinkle in her nose when she’d admonished him about their pungence.

Jaskier moved Geralt’s arm and pulled his tunic up. It came away easily enough; the fabric had barely begun to stick in the blood. He breathed a sigh of relief when he revealed the wounds. His mind had conjured images of spilt viscera and gushing blood. The wounds, undoubtedly inflicted by one of the creature’s claws, were ugly but they were nowhere near as bad as Jaskier had feared. The blood seeped lazily. Jaskier thought that staunching it should be relatively simple. But the skin around the wounds piqued his concern; it was raised and red.

Poison, Jaskier thought.

Or perhaps it was venom. He chose not to dwell on the distinction. He drew a pained groan from Geralt when he put pressure on the wound. Jaskier mouthed the word ‘Sorry,’ but he didn’t relent. Geralt did what he always did. He tolerated the pain; aside from the occasional tensing of muscle or grunt, he made no complaint as Jaskier worked in silence. He did his best to mimic the priestess’s ministrations. When he was done, he chewed his lip and hoped his limited experience as a healer was adequate. At least there was no more blood and Geralt’s breathing seemed to be more even. Jaskier pulled Geralt’s tunic back down and wished his friend a restful sleep, all while knowing unconsciousness wouldn't find him until Geralt returned to himself.

The night seemed in no hurry to pass. Jaskier shifted from one position to the other, trying to escape the aches in his legs, back and neck. The period of time the relief for his muscles lasted was shorter each time he moved. The fire’s warmth was no comfort to him, especially considering how comparable it was to Geralt’s body heat. Jaskier had no reason to believe their problems would fade with the sunrise, but that didn’t stop him wishing it.

Darkness remained. Geralt groaned and curled in on himself. Jaskier feared another seizure, but while Geralt’s body tensed and trembled, Jaskier realized another symptom Geralt had mentioned was presenting itself. Geralt shifted as he made strangled, pained cries, and Jaskier sat with a desolate kind of uselessness as cramps wracked Geralt’s body.

Nothing you can do, Jaskier thought as he rubbed circles on Geralt’s back and intermittently wiped the sweat from his brow.

Geralt raised a hand. Jaskier watched as it stayed where Geralt had lifted it; several fingers were tightly curled as he trembled with the force of his muscle spasms. Jaskier reached out his own hands and wrapped them around Geralt’s before he guided it back down to his chest. Jaskier moved his thumbs back and forth over Geralt’s hand.

He sounded inane in his own ears as he hushed Geralt and tried to comfort him through the pain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he dashed the idea of running for help when it resurfaced.

Geralt said he would get through this and Jaskier had to trust in that. He bit his lip as Geralt’s hand threatened to crush his. He quelled the urge to attempt to wriggle free. Even if Geralt ground his knuckles into dust.

Geralt’s cries crackled with agony, but they tapered off into muffled, breathy sounds, but those too faded into silence as his body stopped warring with itself. Geralt’s muscles eased and his hand went slack in Jaskier’s. When Geralt’s body unwound, Jaskier patted his hand and set it down before nursing his own and sitting back with a long exhalation. Beneath the light breeze and the occasional snap of an ember there was the occasional hitch in Geralt’s breath. No matter how things seemed, Jaskier didn’t allow himself to sink into the calm, relative quiet.

He sat and watched the thankfully steady motion of Geralt’s shoulder as it rose and fell. Jaskier counted as Geralt breathed, one on inhalations and two on exhalations as though it might make time go faster. A thought flitted into Jaskier’s mind. What if the sun didn’t rise? He nearly chuckled at the thought, but it continued to rattle around in his head. Darkness eternal? It was poetic. It could be the subject of a song. There were no words for that song, not yet, but it would begin with a plodding one-two, one-two tune.

But the rhythm became a staccato riot that was accompanied by murmuring. Jaskier had no wish to wake Geralt, even when those murmurs shaped themselves into names. Some Jaskier recognized, some he didn’t.

“I’m here,” Jaskier whispered.

The desperation in Geralt’s voice made him sound so lost and unlike himself. This part would not make it into his song.

Geralt made an ugly, uncertain noise as he rolled onto his back; his mouth hung open as he gasped for air. His eyes, unseeing and ablaze with disquietude, searched the camp.

“No,” Geralt rasped as the corners of his mouth tugged downward and he rolled back over onto his other side, facing Jaskier. He tried to push himself up on shaking arms.

Jaskier knew better than to try to reason with him. He put firm hands on Geralt, who tried to scuttle away. It took hatefully little force to keep Geralt still and his arms, unable to hold his weight, tremored before giving out. It hurt Jaskier to feel the extent that Geralt’s power had fled him. Geralt panted and raved as he struggled weakly against Jaskier, who alternated between apologizing, begging Geralt to be calm and offering him comfort. All told, it did not take long for Geralt’s energy to deplete itself. He stared at nothing as he settled.

“Ma?” Geralt called out again.

“Shh,” Jaskier hushed him as he shook his head.

He brushed silver strands from Geralt’s brow, hoping to show him the gentleness his life so often lacked. Jaskier willed Geralt to close his eyes, to find rest.

Geralt was quiet, save for the occasional, insensible whimper. Those sounds stopped too, though and Geralt lay there with his eyes half-lidded. Jaskier wondered what specters were haunting Geralt and if the venom’s repertoire of tortures had exhausted itself yet. He dabbed the sweat away from Geralt’s brow again. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He savored the feeling of the muscles in his back stretching. His own heart rate slowed and, despite his best efforts, he felt his eyes begin to droop.

“Huhuh,” he admonished himself as he drew in a deep breath and shook his head. He began to hum while he put another log on the fire. As the flame grew, Jaskier’s humming bloomed into a melody. It was only when he began to mouth the words that he realized it was some half remembered song from his youth, something he’d sung with glee before having had any concern for skill or method.

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and Jaskier could see that his body had, at last, had enough; his muscles relaxed and his breath evened out.

Jaskier yawned and started singing another song he hadn’t given voice to since childhood. After a verse of that song he came to the realization that, at that moment, there would have been nothing better than to hear Geralt grumble at him to shut up.

He sipped water when his throat and mouth became too dry and he smiled lopsidedly for no reason at all. His eyes burned and when he rubbed them he found tears, though he could not recall when they’d fallen.

When the sky began to lighten, Jaskier was unconvinced that he wasn't imagining it, but when the brightness became tangibly gray, his sleep-deprived mind became giddy. He knew the light would not guarantee Geralt would be well, but the dissipation of the darkness was something.

#bad things happen bingo #delirium #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #bthb #poison #er...venom #drabbles done wrong #fevers #slight wound care #Jaskier helps #geralt!whump #my writing #unbeta'd #released into the wild

39 notes · View notes

writemoment · 4 years

Text

Failing Flirt

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: She wasn’t used to growing affections, Jaskier wasn’t inexperienced but he was rather untalented at showing his feelings, and Geralt was tired of it all.

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Mostly fluff, maybe second hand embarrassment if you squint.

Word Count: 2,163

A/N: With everything going on with the virus, I figured I might as well post some of my drafts that have already been finished. I’m working on more! Hopefully I can get a few series finished over the next two weeks. Thanks for being patient! xx

( Reader ) P.O.V.

When I had agreed to travel with the Witcher and the bard, Jaskier had played off their need for a healer with much exaggeration. “I mean- you can tag along but Geralt can take care of himself.” That’s what he had said.

Since then, I have used chaos to heal not only Geralt but also Jaskier many times. The more they played off their need for assistance, the more they seemed to need it. Though, I was not one to brag about this. I was more than content to be a part of something bigger than the life I had been scraping by.

However, as the days turned into weeks, I had fallen into a rhythm of friendship, or mutual acceptance according to the Witcher, with my colleagues. These types of dynamics were something I hadn’t much skill or experience in.

How was I to know the difference between friendly banter and awful flirting?

Jaskier and I got along the best. Though Geralt and I could have decent and meaningful conversations underneath the fall of the night. Jaskier was the delightful opposite of your everyday Witcher. He was loud, obnoxious, didn’t know how to take a breath in between talking and, man, did he love to get smack dab in the middle of where he doesn’t belong.

It was a stark contrast to your quiet, all-brooding Witcher whom of which spent most of his free time complaining to Roach. That or yelling at the bard to shut the hell up. Yet, this somehow made up a family-like scenario for me. I could even get Geralt to crack a smirk at my lame jokes on occasion.

But the closer I got to Jaskier, the more flustered I became around him. I know of his past dalliances with court women and others-alike, but I was very inexperienced and unprepared in this territory. Romance had no place in the life of someone who had to use every moment to survive. Finding this unlikely pair had been the first breath of fresh air I had in a long while.

One night as we were eating at our camp, the fire blazing to chase the chill away, Jaskier said from beside me, “Y/n, you are like the flames in which set in front of me. I can’t stand to look at you for too long.”

Geralt huffed and, almost as if being just as exhausted at us, Roach snorted derisively. My brows furrowed at the bard as he looked uncomfortably at the ground. “Uh, I’m sorry to hear that, Jaskier.” I replied, but my tone set it up as more of a question.

A moment lingered before I had bid them both goodnight, retracting to my tent. As I settled in to rest, I heard a groan followed by Geralt’s gruff voice saying, “Nice going, bard.”

Ever since then, Jaskier has been saying things of a similar nature. All of them easy to misconstrue one way or another. Despite his odd behavior, I continued to seek out his company any chance that I could. I felt pulled to him, like a bond between our destinies, as if his soul were meant to be melded with mine.

Finally reaching the village, we pad behind Geralt into the streets. Jaskier the ‘dandelion’ bard was almost as recognizable as the ‘white wolf’ Witcher of Rivia. His ballads painted the tales of awe and woe, of adventures and horrors alike. The valley’s rang with the people singing his work from far and wide.

We quickly spot a tavern for us to rest in for the next few days while Geralt finds work. The sound of clanking pints and drunken jeers are familiar as we slither in past the occupants. Taverns all tend to have the same musty aroma mixed in with the scent of earth and stale sweat. It’s a common occurrence to travelers like us. Not that it makes it any better.

While getting our rooms, a man fidgets over to the Witcher with hushed words. I get the gist of it; another monster in need to be reckoned with. Jaskier floats about as if he just received the gift of a lifetime, “Let us go and slay thy beast!”

“Us? Would you like me to let you take care of this one?”

Jaskier backpedals, hard. “Oh, I- You wouldn’t let your most best friend in the whole wide world get hurt, now would you, Geralt?” But he’s only met with a grunt of a hum from the Witcher. “Geralt?”

With a light chuckle, I grasp Jaskier by the arm and drag him along to follow. Being in contact with him like this causes my pulse to race. I hardly want to let go. He grabs my hand that has a fist-full of his garment bunched up in it and loosens my hold. Slowly, my fingers fall against his own and together they fold over each other.

The tips of his fingers are hard and calloused, obvious traits of being a musician. What’s unexpected is how soft and warm his palm is as it’s pressed up against mine. It molds with my own in a way that I could never explain in it’s complexities of perfection. The feeling draws a shiver down my spine.

Jaskier doesn’t let go of my hand, he just continues to hold it. Nervously, I attempt to look anywhere but at the man beside me. That’s how I spot Geralt glancing back at us with a raised brow. Embarrassment strikes me and I yank my hand away, coiling it into my abdomen as if to quell the eruption of butterflies.

Instant regret tugs at me as the cold replaces the warmth of his embrace. I feel so bad about it, I can’t even bring myself to look at him. So we walk in Jaskier-esque silence. Which translates to an occasional ramble as the opportunity presents itself but not as much talking as you would normally get out of the bard.

Geralt pauses outside the location he was given, telling us to wait for him here. There’s nothing much more to do, really. One thing I’ve come to really admire over these past months is Jaskier’s blind faith in the Witcher’s ability to be to stubborn to die. Time and time again I’ve been proven that it’s a fairly reasonable belief. Besides the handful of times one of them have almost died due to that faith. But I suppose destiny has continued to side with them.

Being left alone with Jaskier feels different now. On the verge of uncomfortable. My ache to be near him is combated with the pure horror of making another mistake. It was a conundrum.

“Did I burn you?”

My eyes jump up to meet his pale blue orbs, “What?” I question. We were surrounded by nothing but earth and a mild heat from the sun. Nothing to cause any, if much, damage.

His jaw clenches in, what I can only assume is, frustration. “You sure whipped your hand away fast enough. You either got hurt or I’m about to be.” He purses his lips, brows furrowing. “So which is it, Y/n?”

The words tumble in my head, knocking into my ability to form coherent sentences that portray what I want to say; how I feel. Inhaling, I try to gather my courage to bare my soul to him.

“Life as a mage has ingrained in me many things. All these years, I’ve learned the art of give and take. Everything has a price in my world, Jaskier. If I were to be painfully honest, I’m afraid that if I give a part of me to someone... I don’t know how much they will take.”

I stare into his eyes and I see my own vulnerable reflection staring back. “I can’t afford to lose.” It’s the truth. My entirety is built upon giving only enough to survive. To give my heart, my whole self, to someone would be a risk. It’s a luxury that can’t be had to people like me.

I hate the pity that swirls behind his expression, hate the way I care about how he thinks of me. It hurts to be so close to him and yet, feel so far. The unknown is a dangerous lover to destiny. You can never be too sure that one won’t hold the other.

“Y/n, I-”

Geralt returns, effectively cutting off Jaskier’s sentence. The Witcher is covered in a thin layer of blood and heavily coated in his signature irritation. He grunts at us as he obviously couldn’t care less about the conversation he interrupted. Silently, we follow his trek back to the tavern where he will collect what he’s owed and we can rest for the night.

At this point, feeling heavy with exhaustion and clouded with gloom, the idea of sinking into the stiff mattress of my room sounds inviting. That’s all I can focus on as we walk in true silence. Chaos is an element in which I’ve learned to control, though I sometimes wonder if that’s a cruel punishment from this world. What’s the point of being powerful if everything around me is spiraling?

When the tattered building is in view, I pick up my pace. I had been falling a ways behind the white wolf but now I’m almost stepping on his heel to get where we are going. Of course he’d take notice of this.

Holding the door open, Geralt allows me to sweep past him. It’s as if I’m on autopilot; marching up the stairs to my quarters, dressing for the night and sinking onto the edge of the bed.

I’m not one for self-pity. There’s nothing to be done but accept what you’ve been dealt. Though the cards I’ve been given have been nothing but rubbish. I wonder if Jaskier and I could work through this, if we could remain like we have been in the past. If not, then I’d have to revert back to the life I lead before.

Knock-knock-knock

Three taps. Three perfectly timed raps are placed upon my door. They’re so distinct and unexpected that they break me from my self-absorption. I’m up and opening the barrier in a flash, eyes searching for the cause to the interruption.

“Jaskier...”

He stands on the other side looking a bit sheepish. “May I?”

Standing aside, he waltzes into the room and I shut the door behind him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” There’s a lingering awkward that hangs between us and it makes my skin prick with unease.

For a moment, I doubt the bard will say anything or if he’s even heard me. It all tumbles forth from his rosy lips so fast, I don’t have any time to prepare myself for what they mean. “I know you said that everything has a price and the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t deny that truth.

“You’re afraid of the price you’ll pay for loving someone, but you shouldn’t be afraid of loving...me.” With every breath he takes a step closer, “Because I can’t promise to know what the future will hold or that we won’t lose some along the way, but I can tell you that I believe destiny has us bonded. I can tell you, without a doubt, what you would gain if you allow me to have your heart.”

I can feel his breath on my lips, fanning over the curve of my cupids bow. “What would that be?” I insist.

“My heart.” Everything inside me lurches as his lips capture mine in the sweetest embrace. The taste pulls every cobwebbed emotion from my depths and I willingly surrender to him. Because this exchange, this give and take, is one that I would gladly partake in with confidence.

His name tumbles from my lips like a mantra. I can’t get close enough to him to satisfy this hunger that’s growing inside. My very breath seems a burden in this show of affection. “I love you, Jaskier.”

It’s a whisper. Those words float between us and I can only pray he’ll catch me as I fall. His lips stretch into a wide smile, eyes lighting up with giddiness. “I love you, too.”

Here in this room, our hearts pressed up against one another’s, I feel at peace. This bard has plucked at my heart strings for so long and finally, we are in tune.

The next morning, Jaskier and I walk out hand in hand. Geralt watches us with a vaguely amused expression. “Geralt of Rivia! What a fine morning it is!” Jaskier announces, prancing about and dragging me with him as I smile widely.

Geralt’s lips turns up into a smirk, “It’s about time you two figured it out.”

Laughing, I shake my head at them. Destiny or not, venturing into the unknown with these two makes the risk seem all the more worth it. Besides, our fate is still to be made.

Masterlist Here

A/N: I love Jaskier. That is all. - Ellie-Mae

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designatedloveinterest · 4 years

Text

please tell me where I’m going with this

Yennefer woke up because something was tickling her nose.

She slept in the foetal position as she always did, undisguised by a sympathetic body to wrap around, shutting out the cold uncaring world. Having spent her formative years in a stable, she felt no urgent reason to engage with the tickling. Probably just a lonely harvestman, lost on its way to its web - but by the gods, she would certainly need to get up and piss soon.

The cries that ensued from both parties on waking could be heard across Vengerburg.

Familiarity breeds contempt, and hatred is all too frequently a projection of the features in oneself that one despises the most. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that the unlucky recipients of new bodies as mentioned above performed almost identical rituals, in order:

1) poking at their new face, Yennefer scrubbing at her newfound stubble - and crow’s feet - in utter dismay, Jaskier marveling at his resemblance to a baby’s bottom, and;

2) immediately returning to bed to experiment with their unfamiliar genitalia.

“You boring, boring little man. You talk a big game of entendres and seduction, but you don’t own so much as an egg,” muttered Yennefer, rifling through Jaskier’s things and hoping he owned the room, or at least was paid up. Across town in Yennefer’s apartment, Jaskier was opening jars and bottles and sniffing them, wondering if any of them were safe for personal use.

ARGENTUM IBISCUS DI CERIKAN

“Sorted!” gloated Jaskier, spotting his very favourite beauty cream in its distinct rifled coffret. Lightly scented with a silky feel, Argentum Ibiscus di Cerikan was safe for delicate body parts, such as, ahem, eyes. Out of sheer habit he dabbed a tiny amount in the corner of each eye then, clutching the bottle, positioned himself in front of Yen’s full length mirror, legs splayed for a perfect combination of watcher and watched.

Yen grinned smugly at finding a near-finished bottle of her best-selling beauty potion nestled in Jaskier’s smallclothes like a dirty secret. Whilst the merchants proclaimed its rejuvenation properties, the unspoken benefit was the unique but painless tingling sensation it offered - a benefit the bard was clearly familiar with. She was quite sure he would forgive her for smearing it over three or four of her fingers and applying it deeply.

Jaskier collapsed to the ground, gurgling incoherently.

“Ba” was all he could manage. “Ba. Ba.” He stared at a loop of silk edging the extremely fine carpet he lay on, hands clutched between his legs, heart pounding like a thunderstorm.

How did women not just fucking die from this?

Very suddenly, Jaskier understood why women who failed to finish before he did beat and kicked him so savagely.

Poor Yen had had to make do with a lousy candle, nowhere near enough width for the beastly pounding she knew the bard could easily withstand. She was also disappointed to find that luxurious living and what felt like a hereditary spinal condition prevented her from being able to get her mouth quite down to her surprisingly generous cock. Still, discovering that the bard had extraordinarily sensitive nipples gave her plenty to work with.

But her sheets were so fine, and her bed so soft, and the smell of not only lilacs and gooseberries but also roses, freesias, jasmine, frying eggs, donuts, and even horseshit coming in through the high window was wrapping him in a sensuous haze, and he decided that just a few more minutes of sleep would be fi…..

Yen was no stranger to suffering for beauty, and even respected the bard’s commitment, but… what the hell was going on with these shoes? These PANTS?? Eventually she managed to cobble together an outfit from the least ridiculous items in Jaskier’s wardrobe - which for a travelling bard was entirely too large - and arrange her new bits in a less uncomfortable manner.

Her first port of call would, indeed, be her own home…

All right, perhaps that was more than a few minutes of sleep. Jaskier grinned smugly to hear the elegant and proud Yennefer’s stomach gurgling like a summer brook.

Well, the only decent thing to do would be to feed her! Jaskier felt very, very sure that Yennefer would be so grateful when she found out he’d maintained her refined diet. He fell out of bed and treated himself to a leisurely hour or so of trying on clothes, occasionally yelling at his stomach to shut up and make way for beauty, and settled on a simple all-black ensemble that he felt really emphasised both tits and arse.

Patting himself on the bottom for his good taste, he headed out for breakfast. Lunch. Lekfast. Whatever.

"What're YEE staring at, cont?"

Yennefer, who had barely registered the thug's existence, continued as she normally would - eyes straight ahead, nose not at all in the air but somehow looking as if it was.

“Hey! Don’t fuckin’ ignore me you puffed-up prick! A’ll ‘ave ye!”

Puffed-up prick? Oh, of course. Yen had somehow managed to get comfortable in this weird huge bear of a body, and none of her womanly wiles would get her out of this – appeal to his mates, cutting but witty remark, setting on fire as a last resort. She made a cautious gesture in the hope of generating some energy, and of course just looked camp. She hoped this body was any good in a fight.

Curiosity overriding his irritation, he smiled as smugly as he imagined Yen to be and murmured "Of course, Dragan." He swished into the pub and slid into a booth, making sure to really stick his arse out as he did so.

This body was not that great in a fight, to be honest, but thankfully, neither was Mr. Sensitivity and after some unpleasant blows to the face Yennefer channelled her first-year Aretuza energy, grabbed her assailant's ears and headbutted him right in the nose. His face exploded with blood and snot and his mates roared, advancing on her for revenge. Yennefer took the win and, using her long muscular legs, ran like all Jaskier's fiancee's were after her.

"What... is this, Dragan?" Jaskier had no idea how his face looked, but he felt like it probably resembled this sad assembly of rabbit food masquerading as a meal.

The dwarf rattled off a word salad that involved far too little "pork" or "venison" and far too much "emulsion" and "jus" and for fuck's sake "julienne".

"Are you trying to kill me? I'll waste away from this."

Dragan flinched slightly.

"The last time I brought you the house special you threatened to set me on fire."

Of course she did. Still, of all the things Dragan could suspect of the sorceress, being occupied by her best frenemy's mind was unlikely to be the first, so Jaskier declined to simply reverse the threat.

"Dragan," he reassured the dwarf, "I've given it some thought and I believe that I should be liberated from the tyranny of the 21 inch waist. A hardworking mage requires adequate carbohydrates to maintain one's powers, and as a result, I will require a tankard of the finest Rivian Kriek and one each of your freshest pies. No cats, Dragan, I'll notice."

Dragan bowed slightly. "Very good, ma'am," and headed for the kitchen.

The thugs had, fortunately, been either too cowardly to follow her into the more upmarket part of town, or perhaps had been intercepted by guards while she sprinted through the textile markets. A few merchants had tried to wave her (realistically, him) down and she huffed "not... today... thanks" and kept sprinting. If she made it home fast enough, he might not have stolen everything not nailed down.

"Why am I dying, Dragan? I haven't eaten in 24 hours. I should be ready to tip an entire banquet table down my waiting gullet. I want a refund."

Dragan prickled. "Ma'am, I provided specifically your every request. I - "

Jaskier waved dismissively. "I'm joking, Dragan, keep your pants on. Oh gods - " clutching at his spasming stomach - "I want a refund on this miserable, useless body. Except for the boobs. They're quite good. Ooooof."

The dwarf clutched his notepad. "Errr... coffee?"

Yennefer approached her shop with some trepidation. He wouldn't have trashed it - not his style - but he absolutely would leave a bottle of something dangerous open,

#jaskier #yennefer #body swap #wip #aaaaaaaaaarrrrrghhhh #writing? I'd rather shovel shit with my tongue

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advena87 · 4 years

Note

For ask thingy if you do it: 48~

Thank you for your ask but let's break some rules here.

I'm in the mood today to answer all the questions and I'm going to do it, because who will stop me? Instead of sending asks, I will tag here people that I would like to also answer all questions. If you want, of course. I will be glad if you do this and tag me, so that I can read your answers.

I tag @1orweth @2jesterprince4 @the-fox-the-wytch96 @witcher-not-quitter @evilwitchershitpost @inkprintedfox @corrupted-nightshade @just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard @long-lost-idiot @all-my-queens @rozovvy @punchsomeoneforme-willyou

and anyone who sees it and would like to do it. Don't forget to tag me so I can read your answers! :)

So let's go!

Skellige isles or the continent?

Skellige, although I think the isles are a little overrated. But I love Skellige because of the views and the musical theme.

Velen or Toussaint?

Velen is depressing. Has many interesting quests but this location really depresses me so I choose Toussaint .

Novigrad or Beauclair?

Difficult choice. Novigrad is, however, more ... realistic. It's easier for me to believe that this city is real. Beauclair is too fairy-tale.

Sleeping at Corvo Bianco or meditating under a tree?

Meditation under a tree has its charms, but I love Corvo Bianco. But let's face it, I usually meditate wherever I stand because it saves time.

Inns or Brothels?

Inns. When it comes to brothels, I only go there to play gwent :D

Caves or Ruins?

Ruins. I don't like caves. It's dark there and I will always get lost somewhere. Ruins are at least pretty.

High or low difficulty?

Low, because I like to invade the middle of the mess and swing the sword blindly. I don’t plan fights and I don’t bother with preparations, so I would die on high difficulty every 5 minutes.

Going back to old save: yay or nay?

Nay.

Mods: yay or nay?

I would say yay, but I don't know shit about mods and I don't know how to install them so I'll say nay. But I would love to play with mods someday.

Mini-map or no mini-map?

Mini-map, Mini-map is good because my level of terrain orientation is zero. I’m a total noob.

Roach or Fast travel?

I love Roach with all my heart, but I travel fast.

Roads or Boats?

Roads.

Specters or Relics?

Relics are interesting, Specters are irritating.

Beasts or Hybrids?

Hybrids are interesting, Beasts are boring.

Necrophages or Vampires?

Necrophages are disgusting, Vampires are cool.

Orgroids or Elementa?

Orgroids are stupid, Elementa are dignified.

Dracanoids or Cursed Ones?

Dracanoids are awesome, Cursed Ones are creepy.

The Caretaker or the Crones?

"If I'm to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all." But Crones were disturbing, while when I saw Caretaker I just shit myself.

Botchlings or spotted Wights?

Spotted Wights.

Godlings or Trolls?

Godlings

Sirens or Harpies?

Sirens are badass.

Killing or sparing?

Sparing.

Dijkstra or Roche?

I really like Dijkstra and I even think he was right. But Roche is my Bro. It was one of the hardest choices for me, but I couldn't betray Roche. It is impossible. I can only betray Roche to Iorveth.

Vesemir or Crach an Craite?

It may be an unpopular opinion, but I'm not a fan of Vesemir, I don't really like him. So Crach an Craite, he is cool dude and good bro.

Eskel or Lambert?

Eskel is a sweetheart and I love him, but Lambert is my favorite witcher and one of my favorite characters in general.

Keira or Philippa?

I really loved Philippa in The Witcher 2, I think she was one of the best characters there, but in The Witcher 3 they ruined her. So Keira, Keira's a cool gal.

Cerys or Hjalmar?

Hjalmar is ok, but Cerys is awesome.

Syanna or Anarietta?

Syanna is more interesting. Don't get me wrong, I think she did wrong, but she is more complex than Anarietta.

Yen or Triss?

Yennefer is my queen. I used to dislike Triss very much. Now I don't think so bad about her anymore, but I always choose Yen without hesitation.

Ciri or Geralt?

Geralt. I'm not a Ciri fan.

Regis or Dettlaff?

Regis. Always Regis.

Olgierd von Everec or Gaunter O’Dimm?

Olgierd. I mean, he's a dick, but I pity him after all. And with Gaunter, you never know, he lives because others suffer.

Olgierd von Everec or Iris von Everec?

Iris. Duh.

Shani or Dandelion?

I don't really like book Dandelion or game Dandelion (but I'm truly, madly, deeply in love with Netflix Dandelion/Jaskier!), but I can't imagine any witcher story without him. We can do without Shani, but not without Dandelion.

Johnny or Sarah?

Johnny

Sorceresses or Witchers?

Witchers

Druids or the local holy man?

Druids

Food or Swallow?

Food is enough, I'm not a wimp, it's just a scratch.

Decoctions or Potions?

I have never drunk any decoction in my entire Witcher career. So Potions.

Hunting for diagrams or finding them per chance?

Depends on my mood. Usually it's per chance, but sometimes I will go to find them all at once and then spend all the coins on making them and try them on for an hour, unable to decide which one I look best at. You know, my witcher must be stylish.

Saving coin or spending coin?

Saving to spend.

Looting or buying?

Looting to sell --> Selling to save --> Saving to buy.

Upsetting the guards or following the rules?

I'd love to upset them if they weren't such pain in the ass when they are upset.

Igni or Axii?

Igni

Yrden or Aard?

Aard

Signs or blade oils?

Signs

Crossbow or fists?

Crossbow.

Settling down or staying on the path?

Settling down is nice but I like to be on the path.

Gwent Cards or Swords?

Both. I’m a collecting bitch.

Beard or no beard?

What about the stubble?

“Puss Peepers” or “Mutant”?

Puss Peepers is cute but ridiculous. I will stay with Mutant.

#witcher #witcher3 #make me choose #tag meme

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zarafey · 4 years

Text

Go the fuck to sleep

Ok so i have a headcannon that Jaskier sleeps like a stone but has trouble falling asleep (bc i also have a headcanon that he has adhd) and i actually just wanted to write a few sentences but then i just... wrote more.

~~~

For all that Jaskier was loud and energetic, never out of words, he slept like a stone.

Geralt himself on the other hand, doesn’t remember the last time he had a full night of deep, uninterrupted sleep. Not even after the whole genie debacle, although he must admit that it was the first time, he felt more than just slightly rested.

It’s another side effect of the mutations in his body and his general lifestyle. His enhanced senses might have saved his life more than a few times, when sleeping in woods full of monsters it is generally appreciated when you wake up before said monsters can kill you, but it also means that he wakes if a deer steps on a twig or a bird stops on a twig high above his head, damn he more than once woke up because a breeze was just strong enough to rustle a few leaves.

Taverns weren’t any better either, creaky stairs, clumsy footsteps of the last patrons, the crackling of fire… Kaer Morhen seemed to be the only place not waking him every hour or so, mostly because all the other Witchers have the exact same problem so they all did what they could to keep the noises down.

He did however have no problem to fall asleep, maybe because he is, more often than not, slightly sleep deprived, maybe because falling asleep fast gives him more time to rest. Traveling with Jaskier made him appreciate those precious minutes even more.

Once he was asleep there was no problem anymore, he rarely moved or made a sound, his breathing so slow and quiet that Geralt sometimes focused to hear his heartbeat, to check if he still was alive, at the beginning of their companionship. Which also means that Jaskier was the perfect sleeping companion, only waking Geralt when he had too much ale the evening before, which was surprisingly rare considering Jaskier in total. In fact, he often forgot to drink anything at all.

The “once he fell asleep” was more of a problem. He tossed and turned very few minutes, rolled his shoulders, taped a rhythm on his leg, breathed unevenly and loud, switching between breathing through his nose and mouth, he hummed, clicked, whistled… and Geralt couldn’t sleep because of it. Only on rare occasions did he fall asleep faster, Geralt still hadn’t cracked the code to what exactly helped him sleep faster in those locations, he found that he slept worse, too much chatter from somewhere. Normally it took around one to two hours until the Bard finally stilled, which made the times he fell asleep in about 15 minutes even more surprising.

They have been traveling together for a few weeks now again, Jaskier searching him out at least every year to spend some time with the Witcher, which meant that Geralt was sleeping less again. This in addition to the fact that he pulled some all-nighters in the last week, made him, as Jaskier let him know, “even more grumpy, I didn’t even think that there could be more grumpiness than you usually have!”. It should have been clear by that, that sooner or later there had to be a confrontation. It just happened to be this exact night in the woods, especially quiet woods one might add.

Geralt lost time with how long he already waited until the Bard fell asleep, but it seemed longer than usual, Jaskier apparently feeling especially restless, moving more than on other nights, even starting to bite his nails and lips and scratching lightly at his face and arms, a habits he rarely showed in the presence of others, although Geralt seemed to sometimes be an exception to that rule. And on any other night Geralt might have wondered what was going on with his Bard, might have even started to worry a little, but he was just so exhausted from the hunt, it was a harder fight than Geralt expected, more Drowners than the villagers told him, and the woods were nicely quiet and if he could just fall asleep he might even get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, so he snapped.

“Dammit Jaskier, can you just go the fuck to sleep and be quiet for once in your life!”

And Jaskier stopped in his movement. Even stopped breathing. Although he didn’t stop sporadically tensing his arms, tensed even more often than before. He also didn’t stop biting down in his lip and very quickly Geralt could smell the faint smell of blood. To be quite honest he also swallowed very audibly a few times and as he finally ran out of air his breathing came in shallow stutters and as Geralt looked a bit closer he could see him twitch with how hard he was trying not to move. Geralt sighed, this was definitely not the quiet he wanted.

“I can’t”, Jaskier murmured, sounding hoarse, as if he had a lump in his throat, “I fucking can’t.”

His voice did get louder, which just made it even more obvious that he was on the verge on tears.

“I can’t fucking sleep and I am so tired and I cannot. Go. To sleep.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher fic #the ending is pretty apprupt bc my aunt shoved me out of my zone and i've been trying to go back for half an hour now #so yeah jaskier has adhd and he has 2 very regular hyperfications #one is music and the other one is geralt

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mootmuse · 4 years

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So, I was suddenly overcome with book!Jaskier feels and wanted to ramble about him. Here it is!

First of all he’s horrible to women, in a really blatant way that from my particular corner of my particular culture (the US) comes off actually feeling old fashioned. (I bet y’all were expecting me to start out with something positive, weren’t you. XD Welp.) It isn’t that men who treat women the way he does no longer exist in the corner of society I live in, but most of them - especially fictional characters you’re supposed to like - are aware that they have to try to get away with it. Not saying that’s better, just that it’s different, and makes Dandelion’s behavior come off as all the more blatant and shocking for it. Dandelion doesn’t try to ‘get away’ with the way he acts toward women because he has no need to hide it; both he/many of the characters and the narrative seems to see blatantly shitty (often at least a little disturbing) treatment of women as unremarkable and expected.

Gathering up enough examples of this to thoroughly prove that the narrative itself feels in on it is more than I’m up to, but have one brief example from Last Wish:

Dandelion chuckled loudly and rested his head against the bookshelf, on the leather-bound volumes.

“Millet and mosquitoes! That reminds me of our first expedition together to the edge of the world,” he said. “Do you remember? We met at the fete in Gulet and you persuaded me--”

“You persuaded me! You had to flee from Gulet as fast as your horse could carry you because the girl you’d knocked up under the musicians’ podium had four sturdy brothers. They were looking for you all over town, threatening to geld you and cover you in pitch and sawdust. That’s why you hung on to me then.”

and then they carry on with their reminiscing without commenting on Dandelion getting a woman pregnant and leaving her. That’s how they met. That’s an absolutely horrible thing to do to a person and it’s treated like a funny little memory.

I do love Dandelion. Jaskier. Whoever he is. Believe it or not, I do. I’m getting to it.

I’ve seen a gifset where Joey Batey says they decided, in Netflix!Witcher, to reinterpret that misogynistic quality as Jaskier falling in love with everyone he meets, genuinely falling in love with them and genuinely liking them, because characters who do what Dandelion does (Dandelion=book!Jaskier, Jaskier=show!Jaskier, for clarity) are tired, character-wise, and uninteresting to watch. This is the only reasoning for changing that character trait that I could have actively approved of (and for the record, I approve of it quite a lot). I don’t like Dandelion’s lack of respect for women, but I’m not going to pretend it isn’t there just because I like him. In fact, that’s why I didn’t want to like him. I have a memory of realizing mid-scene, with some dismay, that he was my favorite character; he has flaws that step a bit too far into what reads to me as real life problems for me to have expected myself to gravitate to him.

The scene, I think, where I fell in love with the character was set just outside Brokilon forest, a piece of land its dryad inhabitants defended so violently that even the toughest of the humans who lived nearby were terrified to go close to it. But Dandelion knew his friend had been injured very badly; he knew Geralt was in that forest being treated by those dryads, and he had a plan. He was led to the no-man’s land that no human dared approach and was left alone to cross it, and as he walked he got more and more frightened. He knew the dryads were there - he walked past bodies of other humans who’d been as dumb as he was being right then and he was genuinely convinced that he was going to die. And he kept going. He sang a song that he’d translated into an ancient language himself just for the dryads, still mostly convinced that it wasn’t going to work and that he was absolutely going to die, and he kept doing it and he saw it through, just because he was worried about his friend and wanted to be there for him.

This isn’t an isolated incident; earlier, in the first book, Dandelion is the one we see visit Geralt while he’s recovering from a different injury, having had to actively work out where Geralt would go and track him down to do it. He is the only person (at least in the earlier books that I paid more attention to) who we see make the attempt - much more difficult with the slow, unreliable long distance communication and dangerous, snail-slow travel inherent in the setting - to locate and travel to a recovering Geralt in this way.

And later on in the series, when things get grim and Geralt gets very grim himself, and insists things are so dangerous and dark that he has to go on solo and is willing to drive his friends away to do it, Dandelion refuses to leave him. He isn’t the only one who refuses to leave Geralt alone, but he is the only one who insists on it with absolutely no way to physically defend himself. Dandelion, whenever he travels with Geralt and Geralt’s Friends, is surrounded by people who can kill as easily as they breathe, and he never picks up a weapon himself. He’s so unused to battle that he’s glanced by an arrow and loses his shit, freaks out - and still stays. He’s seen the ugly realities of war and he’s seen slaughter, he knows the horror of violence, and he not only continues to put himself near a man who makes his living through violence because that man needs his support, but he never becomes numb to it. Let’s see an example of that in Baptism of Fire (warning for brief mention of gore and some vomit):

Next to him, Dandelion hauled himself up, throwing off the corpse with a mutilated throat which was weighing down on him. The poet’s face was the color of quicklime.

Milva came closer, pulling an arrow from a dead man as she approached.

“Thank you,” the Witcher said. “Dandelion, say thank you. This is Maria Barring, or Milva. It’s thanks to her we’re alive.”

Milva yanked an arrow from another of the dead bodies and examined the bloody arrowhead. Dandelion mumbled incoherently, bent over in a courtly - but somewhat quavering - bow, then dropped to his knees and vomited.

“Who’s that?” the archer asked, wiping the arrowhead on some wet leaves and replacing it in her quiver. “A comrade of yours, Witcher?”

“Yes. His name’s Dandelion. He’s a poet.”

“A poet,” Milva watched the troubadour wracked by attacks of dry retching and then looked up. “That I can understand. But I don’t quite understand why he’s puking here, instead of writing rhymes in a quiet spot somewhere.”

This part of Dandelion matters a lot to me. The part of him that can be exposed to that level of violence sort of repeatedly, can be near it as a matter of course, because in that kind of world traveling with that kind of person is going to get you up close and personal with some really horrific shit even if the war doesn’t, and yet he never changes himself into someone who will respond to violence with violence, he never becomes okay with being face to face with it.

That’s one of the big differences I’ve noticed between Dandelion and Jaskier, at least when it comes to how fandom interacts with Jaskier because honestly I haven’t watched the show, I'm pretty much just here for fandom shit. Netflix!Witcher fandom is pretty great. Anyway, the difference: there are a lot of fics where Jaskier learns a bit about fighting. Which makes sense, it’s the practical thing to do when you’re traveling with a man who often gets into very violent situations. But that being a tendency in fic about netflix!Witcher does indicate to me that the show likely doesn’t put as much emphasis as the books do on the idea of Jaskier as a man who is so different from the fighty-badass types who are usually the focus in stories like this - the idea of The Most Badass Witcher’s companion being a man who’s not just untrained in combat, but averse to it right down to his soul.

That’s not a negative, not a positive. It’s intended as a neutral observation, just a thing I’ve noticed and been thinking about. I feel both versions of the character, books and adaptation, are true to the heart of him, and I find it fun to look at them both. They have similarities, they have differences. Dandelion is an interesting character because he has qualities that mean a lot to me, that confident nonviolence, that deep loyalty that drives him to be brave in ways the more physically capable people around him might not even recognize as bravery. He believes in beauty and love and the equality of all people, not just humans - and then he turns around and treats the nearest cute girl like an object that exists solely for his entertainment, and so doesn’t get close to living up to some of those lovely beliefs and ideals he’s got. I want to see him grow from that - of course, that’s not a need the book series recognizes, but there’s some potential, at least, for growth there that could make fandom interaction with Dandelion particularly compelling. Fandom activity does tend to gravitate toward the things which we want to fix.

tl;dr dandelion is a character who exists and I love him. Also, AU where Jaskier and Dandelion meet, initially really get on until Jaskier starts to notice the particular difference between the way they treat their lovers/women in general, this is sort of the last straw on top of his already existing jealousy over the easy affection Dandelion gets from book!Geralt-

(not that netflix!Geralt doesn’t act like book!Geralt in any particular but he does seem to act more similar to book!Geralt near the middle/end of the series, after his life had been going to shit for years and he felt horrible and became thoroughly unpleasant - the interesting approaches to book vs show Geralt is a tumblr essay of its own, to be made by someone who remembers more of the books than I do, but even when he was acting like a shithead book!Geralt had already long since established that he cared for Dandelion and appreciated him. If I were Jaskier, I’d sure as hell be jealous of that shit.)

-cue climax of the AU after which Dandelion realizes he should start figuring out how to not be shit to women, show!Geralt learns to treat his friends as if he actually values them, everyone learns from one another the end. I can’t write that AU but I sure as hell would read it.

#long post #the witcher #i'm too shy to have a proper conversation about this so i won't be following this post up or whatever #but i somehow spent at least an hour writing it it's 2am and brain is shutting off higher functions #and i figured someone might find this interesting #it's not totally positive about book!jaskier just a warning if you're not up for that kind of thing but i do love him #like brief-ish discussion of misogyny and shit that kind of not totally positive

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designatedloveinterest · 4 years

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Do u have a masterpost tor the body swap thing it seems really cool and I wanna read it in order thank you 💚💚💚 (I’ve only come across what I think are the two most recent parts but I love it so far)

just for you, here’s all fucking 1759 words that I have now (that is not a whinge at you but I am too terrified to start posting chapters on Ao3 in case the muse leaves me)

Yennefer woke up because something was tickling her nose. She slept in the foetal position as she always did, undisguised by a sympathetic body to wrap around, shutting out the cold uncaring world. Having spent her formative years in a stable, she felt no urgent reason to engage with the tickling. Probably just a lonely harvestman, lost on its way to its web - but by the gods, she would certainly need to get up and piss soon.

Jaskier woke up because something was sticking into his ribcage. It was soft and pillowy, but definitely squished uncomfortably against him. He rolled over and found a different something squishing into a different part of his ribcage. His bladder was also starting to complain urgently. The cries that ensued from both parties on waking could be heard across Vengerburg. ~ Familiarity breeds contempt, and hatred is all too frequently a projection of the features in oneself that one despises the most. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that the unlucky recipients of new bodies as mentioned above performed almost identical rituals, in order: 1) poking at their new face, Yennefer scrubbing at her newfound stubble - and crow’s feet - in utter dismay, Jaskier marveling at his resemblance to a baby’s bottom, and; 2) immediately returning to bed to experiment with their unfamiliar genitalia.

~ ARGENTUM IBISCUS DI CERIKAN “Sorted!” gloated Jaskier, spotting his very favourite beauty cream in its distinct rifled coffret. Lightly scented with a silky feel, Argentum Ibiscus di Cerikan was safe for delicate body parts, such as, ahem, eyes. Out of sheer habit he dabbed a tiny amount in the corner of each eye then, clutching the bottle, positioned himself in front of Yen’s full length mirror, legs splayed for a perfect combination of watcher and watched.

Jaskier collapsed to the ground, gurgling incoherently. “Ba” was all he could manage. “Ba. Ba.” He stared at a loop of silk edging the extremely fine carpet he lay on, hands clutched between his legs, heart pounding like a thunderstorm. How did women not just fucking die from this? Very suddenly, Jaskier understood why women who failed to finish before he did beat and kicked him so savagely.

He supposed he should leave. No doubt Yennefer would be VERY angry when she woke up in his less than salubrious inn room, and assuming this situation wasn’t entirely her doing, she would be roaring back towards her own home ready to eviscerate him and his newfound appreciation for the clitoris. Not that he hadn’t appreciated it before, but now he REALLY appreciated it. At least six times, just this morning. But her sheets were so fine, and her bed so soft, and the smell of not only lilacs and gooseberries but also roses, freesias, jasmine, frying eggs, donuts, and even horseshit coming in through the high window was wrapping him in a sensuous haze, and he decided that just a few more minutes of sleep would be fi…..

Yen, however, was very keen to find out which whoreson had stuck her in this ridiculous furbag’s body, even if it was a rather fun body to play with, and so after a relatively muted three orgasms and an efficient nap she attempted to get dressed. Yen was no stranger to suffering for beauty, and even respected the bard’s commitment, but… what the hell was going on with these shoes? These PANTS?? Eventually she managed to cobble together an outfit from the least ridiculous items in Jaskier’s wardrobe - which for a travelling bard was entirely too large - and arrange her new bits in a less uncomfortable manner. Her first port of call would, indeed, be her own home…

All right, perhaps that was more than a few minutes of sleep. Jaskier grinned smugly to hear the elegant and proud Yennefer’s stomach gurgling like a summer brook. Well, the only decent thing to do would be to feed her! Jaskier felt very, very sure that Yennefer would be so grateful when she found out he’d maintained her refined diet. He fell out of bed and treated himself to a leisurely hour or so of trying on clothes, occasionally yelling at his stomach to shut up and make way for beauty, and settled on a simple all-black ensemble that he felt really emphasised both tits and arse. Patting himself on the bottom for his good taste, he headed out for breakfast. Lunch. Lekfast. Whatever.

"What're YEE staring at, cont?" Yennefer, who had barely registered the thug's existence, continued as she normally would - eyes straight ahead, nose not at all in the air but somehow looking as if it was. “Hey! Don’t fuckin’ ignore me you puffed-up prick! A’ll ‘ave ye!” Puffed-up pri—? Oh, of course. Yen had somehow managed to get comfortable in this weird huge bear of a body, and none of her womanly wiles would get her out of this – appeal to his mates, cutting but witty remark, setting on fire as a last resort. She made a cautious gesture in the hope of generating some energy, and of course just looked camp. She hoped this body was any good in a fight.

Normally, Jaskier had to muster all the charm he had abundantly at hand to persuade Dragan Smilovic to open The Iron Mountain before noon. Instead, he was slightly miffed to discover a beaming Dragan throwing the doors open to welcome "Lady Yennefer! A honour to my house. The usual?" Curiosity overriding his irritation, he smiled as smugly as he imagined Yen to be and murmured "Of course, Dragan." He swished into the pub and slid into a booth, making sure to really stick his arse out as he did so.

"What... is this, Dragan?" Jaskier had no idea how his face looked, but he felt like it probably resembled this sad assembly of rabbit food masquerading as a meal. The dwarf rattled off a word salad that involved far too little "pork" or "venison" and far too much "emulsion" and "jus" and for fuck's sake "julienne". "Are you trying to kill me? I'll waste away from this." Dragan flinched slightly. "The last time I brought you the house special you threatened to set me on fire." Of course she did. Still, of all the things Dragan could suspect of the sorceress, being occupied by her best frenemy's mind was unlikely to be the first, so Jaskier declined to simply reverse the threat. "Dragan," he reassured the dwarf, "I've given it some thought and I believe that I should be liberated from the tyranny of the 21 inch waist. A hardworking mage requires adequate carbohydrates to maintain one's powers, and as a result, I will require a tankard of the finest Rivian Kriek and one each of your freshest pies. No cats, Dragan, I'll notice." Dragan bowed slightly. "Very good, ma'am," and headed for the kitchen.

Yennefer was pleasantly surprised by how well the furbag's lungs were taking all this running. For a man who clearly appreciated carbohydrates in all forms, Jaskier was much fitter than she'd have expected. Even so, she very slightly wished his inn was located somewhat less downhill from her apartment. The thugs had, fortunately, been either too cowardly to follow her into the more upmarket part of town, or perhaps had been intercepted by guards while she sprinted through the textile markets. A few merchants had tried to wave her (realistically, him) down and she huffed "not... today... thanks" and kept sprinting. If she made it home fast enough, he might not have stolen everything not nailed down.

Jaskier was disgusted, absolutely disgusted with the lack of endurance this body had for fine carbohydrates. Offered the finest sauerkraut, sausages, pies and pierogies, beautiful homebaked dwarven bread smeared with the finest goat's cheese, not to mention the ales, beers and stouts he KNEW Yennefer loved - why, he was practically buying her a gift! even if it was with her own money - it managed to digest half of a pie and a herring in batter and collapsed like a schoolboy in the third round of Gwent. He unlaced the ribbons at his tiny waist and lay down in the booth. "Why am I dying, Dragan? I haven't eaten in 24 hours. I should be ready to tip an entire banquet table down my waiting gullet. I want a refund." Dragan prickled. "Ma'am, I provided specifically your every request. I - " Jaskier waved dismissively. "I'm joking, Dragan, keep your pants on. Oh gods - " clutching at his spasming stomach - "I want a refund on this miserable, useless body. Except for the boobs. They're quite good. Ooooof." The dwarf clutched his notepad. "Errr... coffee?"

#yennefer #jaskier #body swap fic #I think I'm starting to form an actual plot #which is good because I hate pantsing

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