#and geralt was actually remembering all this after she died or something

[marchtothefuckingsea]

Bitter Water - Geralt of Rivia

My Masterlist.

I usually don’t do this kind of thing, but this was heavily, heavily inspired by some songs, so I included them as they’re used if you want to listen. If not, that’s fine too! They’re not needed at all the get the jist of the story. 

Geralt x fem!Dandelion (Jaskier still exists, it’s mostly just a placeholder name that I thought fit her really well. she’s a bard too!) 

Bittersweet fluff. 

Word count: 5.6k 

Warnings: None. This is my first time writing in something other than first person, so excuse any mistakes. 

Summary: It’s the utterly stupid song that makes Geralt realize that he’s in love with the bard. Undeniable, irrevocably, helplessly in love with her.

He watched the fire dance in her eyes as she stared at it, while a light smile graced her lips from something the male bard to her right had said; most likely a jab at the witcher sat across from them. His own lips curled up in a barely noticeable smile.

The close trio had spent the last week traveling in search of another beast, and had finally caught up to it and defeated it the day before. They had been paid with a bag of coin for their efforts and-though they had more than enough to rent a room or two in a tavern- the witcher and, most especially, the female bard had insisted upon sleeping outside while the weather was still nice, much to Jaskier's disapproval.

 And, like always, Geralt would give her the world if she asked. Not that she ever did; she was a simple person. She didn't judge harshly, and she wasn't loud or obnoxious like her fellow bard. In fact, she was quite quiet, only speaking what was needed most of the time. She only came out of her shell during times like these, and when she sung. Gods, was she beautiful when she sung.

He immediately shook his head at that thought, as if shaking away a fly. The witcher turned his head back to the two bards, who had fallen quiet, now whispering to each other, Jaskier with a wide grin on his face, and Dandelion with the beginnings of one on her own, both looking at him.

"What?" He grunted, glaring at them half-heartedly. 

"Nothing. Just having a good old chat." Jaskier piped up, unable to wipe the grin off of his face.

The witcher snorted. "I'm going to bed." 

"Bed? You mean like the one I- I mean we- could have been sleeping on if you two weren't being fools?" Jaskier had suddenly included Dandelion  in on his jeers. She rolled her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. 

"Where's your adventurous spirit, poet?" She mocked him back just as teasingly. Geralt just grunted again, leaving the two to have at it. He sunk into his sleeping bag a sigh, listening to the bards joke with each other. After a while they quieted down and, with his elevated hearing, he heard the crunch of leaves beneath her quiet footsteps. His lips quirked up in a small smile; she had learned well, unlike the other bard. Had he the normal hearing of a human, he would not have heard her at all. Feigning sleep, he listened as she slid into her sleeping back with a contented sigh, sidling up closer to him. 

"Geralt?" Her voice was quiet, not wanting to wake Jaskier who had already passed out several feet away. His snoring broke through the background noise of the last remaining crickets and cicadas of the warm season. 

He considered pretending to be asleep, but he couldn't. “Yes?” He asked back just as quietly. Something about the moment felt intimate, and he couldn’t bear to be the one to ruin it. 

“I- I thought you were asleep. Sorry-” She began to apologize, but he cut her off. 

“What were you about to say?” 

“I was going to ask you if..ugh it was stupid. Forget it.” The moment had been ruined.

-

“Geralt, I have to talk to you. It’s important.” Dandelion had crept up behind the witcher, surprisingly unbeknownst to him. Had he not traveled with her for over a year now, he would have took her tone for being serious, but her voice was just a few octaves higher than it would have been if she was actually, in fact, serious. He wondered why he knew that, and cleared his throat, clearing the thought away with it. The witcher was suddenly aware of another pair of footsteps; they were relatively quiet, but still clumsy and uncoordinated. 

“No you don’t.” He grunted, returning to sharpening his hunting knife. 

“No, I do.” She insisted impatiently. “I told you, it’s important.” Her voice grew louder as the clumsy footsteps grew closer, and he could tell she was trying to cover up the other bard’s footsteps with her voice. 

“Is it about Jaskier trying to be quiet and sneak up on me once you have me occupied?” He retorted sourly. 

“It’s- what are you even talking about?” Her voice wavered for a split second, giving him all the confirmation he needed. 

“The gods only know what he has in that bucket of his. It smells sour.” He frowned, scrunching his nose up at the faint smell. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She took two steps back, unable to contain her nervous laughter. He couldn’t help the smug grin that crept onto his face. 

“Oh come on!” Jaskier exclaimed, dropping his pail onto the ground and making himself known. “What a killjoy!” 

Geralt’s nose really scrunched up then, the fowl smell becoming stronger. “What is that?” 

“Mud.”

“From where??” 

“The swamp where the zombies were.”

“That would explain the rotten corpse smell.” Geralt stood, towering over his companions, who were now backing up quickly, before he could retaliate. 

How he ended up with two annoying bards was entirely unknown to him. 

- 

The next night, the witcher leaned back against a tree, distancing himself from the fire that the two bards huddled close to. His muscles ached from fighting the rest of the zombies that had managed to evade them earlier in the day. Another day, another job well-or not so well- done. 

A soldier, a poet, a king

Dandelion  strummed her guitar quietly, experimentally, glancing over to the seemingly sleeping witcher. Jaskier sat across from her, clearing his throat as he began to tap softly on the body of his lute, creating a soft drumming sound. The witcher listened quietly, feigning sleep as he rested his sore body. Iris had fought too, but she was far from tired.

“There will come a soldier, who carries a mighty sword.” She sang softly. “He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” 

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord. He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Jaskier joined in for the chorus, but not playing his own instrument the way it was meant to be played. He still tapped on the side of it, and Dandelion began to tap her heel against the log she was seated on in time with the rhythm. 

Geralt, who had actually been drifting off to sleep, tensed in surprise. He had never heard the self-proclaimed bard sing before. He had heard her hum tunes before, and even that was music to his ears. Her soft voice carried to his ears easily.

“There will come a poet, whose weapon is his word.” He cracked his golden eyes open, and he found his gaze meeting hers. “He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” She smiled gently, her face illuminated warmly by the fire. His heart seized in his chest unfamiliarly. Had he been bitten? 

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lord. He will slay you with his tongue. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Jaskier, at that moment, had been completely forgotten by the two of them, their eyes locked on each other. It was strangely intimate.

“There will come a king, whose brow is laid in thorn. Smeared with oil like David’s boy. Oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” He watched her soft lips form the words of the familiar song he had heard sung by a number of different voices before. But her voice easily eclipsed the others; it was magic. 

“He will tear your city down. Oh lei, oh lai, oh….” She trailed off, ending the tune with a last strum of her guitar that lingered in the air. She did not break her gaze from his, staring back at him with just as much intensity. 

He didn’t want it to end. 

-

Several nights later, after another job well done, the witcher sat in a tavern, watching his two companions sing. Jaskier played his lute, which had a higher pitch and produced a distinct timbre than Dandelion’s own stringed instrument that resembled a guitar. Not her energy nor her instrument matched the bard’s, but they played together well anyway. She strummed out the last, deep note to the tune, before Jaskier tilted his head towards hers, and a smile graced her face as she nodded, agreeing with whatever he had said. Jaskier strummed out a note that sounded vaguely familiar, and when Iris joined in with her guitar, Geralt groaned at the realization. Not this song again.

 Toss a Coin To Your Witcher (Female voice)

He listened with an indifferent frown as they played the intro, stretching it out longer than they usually did. He noted that Dandelion looked nervous; That was unusual. 

“When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song.” His jaw dropped against the brim of his mug as Dandelion began to sing the song, in that sweet voice of hers. Every muscle in his body tensed in surprise, and he gripped the handle of the beer mug until his hand ached and his knuckles were a deathly white. 

“From when the white wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves they did revel.” Her voice was hesitant and tinged with anxiety that was only noticeable to the witcher that sat quietly against the wall, almost in a trance. “They came after me, with masterful deceit, broke down my lute, and they kicked in my teeth. And while the devil’s horns minced our tender meat, and so cried the witcher, he can’t be beat.” He smiled, noticing that the female bard had changed up the song, filling it in with the correct word that he remembered her and Jaskier arguing over constantly weeks ago as the bard had worked on the song. 

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty.” Jaskier’s voice joined hers at the chorus, giving Geralt the smallest bit of control to rip himself out of the trance she had put him under. 

“At the edge of the world, fight the mighty hoard that bashes and breaks you, and brings you to mourn.” She wavered slightly when Jaskier trailed off, shoving the spotlight back onto her. Geralt could tell she was nervous, and he recalled her admitting that, although she was a self-proclaimed bard, she rarely sang in front of people. Though Jaskier had encouraged her since she had joined them in their travels, and she had grown comfortable singing around the fire with the witcher and the other bard. 

“He thrust every elf far back on the shelf. High up in the mountains from whence it came. He wiped out your pest, got kicked in his chest. He’s a friend of humanity, so give him the rest.” Her tone was defiant as her eyes swept over every person in the room in the same glare that several of them had given Geralt when they had entered the tavern. 

He wondered if any of the others in the room were affected by her voice like he was. 

“That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed. Defeated the villain, now pour him some ale.”

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o’ valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty. Toss a coin to your witcher, a friend of humanity.” Her voice filled the tavern, the anxiety that had tinged it at the very beginning of the song dissipating as she grew more confident. She continued the chorus on her own this time-in that sweet, entrancing voice of hers- and Geralt felt realization hit him like a brick wall. 

Geralt had never felt helpless, had never felt so uninhibited, in his entire life. But now that it was there, he couldn’t shake the feeling. He was frozen in place during her song, but as soon as she drew out the last note breathlessly-with a smile on her face that made the witcher breathless, too-he stood abruptly, leaving the room and ignoring her quizzical glance that he felt on his back. As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to be alone. He needed to gather himself and his thoughts, his emotions that he had absolutely no control over like he had thought. He was painfully aware, now, that he had lost the ability of control ever since he had met her. 

He was in love with her.

He was utterly, irrevocably, helplessly in love with her. 

-

“Fuck.” He breathed out. He sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he breathed in deep breaths in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. He had danced around his feelings for a while now; months, perhaps even longer. Ever since that night that he had heard her sing, she must have put a spell on him. After that, her normal voice even sounded sweeter to his ears. 

Geralt was the last person that would believe in fate. But maybe, he thought, maybe she was his fate. He cursed himself under his breath again for thinking like a damned fool. 

-

Dandelion watched as Geralt stood up and abruptly left the room, confused. She ignored Jaskier calling her back for another tune, walking after the white-haired witcher before suddenly stopping in the hallway, uncertain. What right did she have to go after him like that? He wasn’t hers to worry about. She needed to get that into her head.

With a sigh, she turned back to the tavern, Jaskier’s lute traveling to every corner of the room as he started the next song without her. She sat at the bar, ordering a mug of ale. The bartender opened her mouth as if to make a comment, then shut it, sliding the drink across the counter to the bard. She gulped down a third of it in one go, only parting from the glass for air. 

She struggled with her emotions, tears welling up in her eyes, then anger taking over. Anger at herself for even allowing herself to develop feelings towards the obvious lone wolf.

 “ I guess they call him the white wolf for good reason.” She muttered to herself with a bitter laugh, downing the rest of her drink with a forlorn feeling settling in her gut as the alcohol began to work its magic. She ordered another glass, running her hands through her hair in frustration before Jaskier sidled up in the seat beside her. 

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, sensing her distress. 

“Yes, yes I do.” She slurred, her face tearstained and her voice strained. 

“Is this about Geralt?” Jaskier was straightforward with his question. He could see the chemistry between the bard and the witcher, even though the two of them were completely oblivious-or in denial. Any fool could see it.

“Wha? ‘Course not.” The bard stumbled over her words, spinning on her stool to face him and nearly falling off in the process. He steadied her by her biceps, letting go when she jerked away from him. 

“I think it is.” He insisted as she turned back to the bar, slumping over the counter and resting her head in her arms. 

“No, ‘s just about me being an idiot.” She mumbled.

“Look, why don’t we just get you to bed. I’m sure you’ll feel better i-” He tried to tug her off of the stool, scrambling back in surprise when she spun around to face him, narrowing her eyes at him.

“No.” 

“I’m not leaving you here, you’re going to end up doing something stupid.” 

“I’m not going.” She said stubbornly.

“I’ll get Geralt.” Jaskier threatened. 

“I don’t care. Go get the big oaf. He’s probably busy with some other woman anyway.” Dandelion muttered, disappointment clear in her voice. She turned back to the bartender, ordering another drink. Jaskier left the room in a hurry.

-

It felt like minutes later-maybe hours, he wasn’t sure at this point-that he heard a knock at his door. He almost thought he was imagining it, until the knocking came again, louder this time, and more urgent. He cursed under his breath, crossing the room and opening the door.

“Fuck off bard.” At the sight of Jaskier, he slammed the door shut. Jaskier shoved his foot in the door though, hissing in pain at the strength of the door slam and glaring at the witcher. 

“What do you want?” He growled. 

“It’s Dandelion .” Geralt's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her name and he silently cursed himself. 

“What about her?” He asked flatly, leaving the door hang open and walking back into the room. Jaskier took this as an invitation, quickly following him. 

“She’s drunk.”

“And? How is that my problem?” 

“I- I don’t know, it just is. I don’t want to deal with her! She won’t listen to me!” Jaskier pleaded. 

“She’s an adult, she can take care of herself, Jaskier.” 

“You know what happened last time she got drunk and we left her there.” He deadpanned. Geralt did; she had gotten herself into a nasty fight, earning a black eye and a busted lip. 

He huffed in frustration, pushing past the bard. “Fine.”

-

Dandelion  saw the witcher approach out of the corner of her eye as she chugged down her second mug of ale. She slumped over the bar with a groan, hiding her head in her arms.

"Dandelion." Geralt grunted, taking residence on the bar stool to her right where Jaskier had been not half an hour before.

"Geralt." She greeted him, her voice muffled by her arms. She didn't want him to see her tear-stained face. 

"You're drunk." He said plainly.

"'s that obvious?"

"More than. Come on." Grabbing her by her shoulders, he hauled her out of her seat despite her muttered protests. 

"No, I'm not done." She protested, pulling against his grip. He just shook his head, towing her out into the hallway. 

"Don't make me stay with Jaskier, he snores." She complained, slouched over his arm that supported her by her shoulders. He froze, realizing she didn't have a room. Looking down at her, he saw he'd head slumped forward, nearly passed out. He towed her over to Jaskier's room-right across the hallway from his-and began pounding insistently on the door.

"Go away!" The bard shouted. "She's all yours!" He could hear the grin in the bard's voice, and he scowled. 

"Fuck." He grunted, hauling her across the hall to his room and clumsily kicking the door closed behind him. Dumping her rather unceremoniously onto the mattress, he immediately fetched his water canteen. By this time, the female bard had curled into a ball on one side of his bed, fast asleep. He sighed, debating if he should wake her or not, until she made the decision for him. She raised her head tiredly, blinking at him with glassy eyes. 

"Here." He thrusted the canteen to her, and she took it, looking confused until she tilted it back and the cool water ran down her throat. She pulled back with a cough, gagging.

"You drank too fast." 

"Someone cares?" She teased boldly, her throat still scratchy. The alcohol in her system gave her a new kind of bravery.

He grunted in response and she frowned. She had wanted a better reaction than that. 

"Why'd you come back to the bar?" She asked.

He groaned in annoyance, pulling up a chair beside the bed and settling into it as she waited impatiently. "For you." 

"Like I'd believe that." She snorted. "No pretty ladies?" 

"What?" 

"I said, no pretty women?? No one catch your eye?" 

"Nope." He replied shortly. 

"Come *onnn. You can tell me."

"Jaskier told me you were drunk, so I came to get you." 

"I don't believe it, I can see it in your eyes." She insisted, leaning forward and dramatically locking eyes with him. "You're so smitten. But for who…" She trailed off, raising her eyebrows, encouraging him to spill his guts to her.

And spill them he did.

"You. Alright? Happy?" Geralt bit out, his tone sounding sharper than he had intended. 

"Me?" She looked taken aback.

"Give it some time, alright? I just need to reign it in. I know you don't-" She leaned forward the rest of the way, cutting him off with an impulsive, forceful kiss. Her lips tasted of the strong ale she had gotten drunk off of earlier. 

"What if I don't want you to reign it in?" She asked quietly.

"You're drunk." He muttered, pushing her away. His heart was about to beat out of his chest.

"That doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about." She argued, but she didn't press it. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples and groaning as her head began to pound. "I'll take the couch." She mumbled to no one in particular, staggering around the dividing wall. He listened as she flopped onto the couch, and as she shifted around. He listened until her breathing evened out before daring to move from the chair. Quietly getting into the bed, he laid there, feeling as if he had just ruined everything.

-

Dandelion  was gone from the room entirely before he awoke. He found her in the dining area of the tavern, at a table in the corner by herself with a forlorn look on her face. He ignored the way his heart clenched painfully in his chest, walking by the table and grunting out a "We're leaving" as he passed, not trusting his voice. Jaskier waited outside by Roach. Iris nodded, looking up to see the witcher was already out the door. She sighed uncomfortably, almost considering staying behind.

Finally pushing that thought away, she left her payment on the table and followed in Geralt's footsteps out the door, finding him loading their things onto Roach. He barely spared her a glance, afraid of his eyes revealing too much.

It was after that night at the tavern, that Geralt had absolutely no clue how to approach her; especially after what he had admitted to. They set out on the road again, and she was oddly quiet as she fell into step beside Jaskier, only nodding along to what he said, and occasionally responding shortly when he prompted her to. 

"What's going on?" Jaskier asked her, hesitant to touch on the subject, but his nosy nature allowed him to leave it no longer. 

"Nothing." She muttered. 

"Come on, I'm your friend, your fellow poet! You can tell me."

"It's nothing, okay?" She didn't mean to snap at the bard, who now wore the expression of a kicked puppy. "I'm sorry I just- I'm sorry." She mumbled, falling even further behind him; an indication that the conversation was over. The bard sighed.

Dandelion trailed behind the witcher and the bard, feeling nauseous and her head pounding in a painful hangover. Her body ached when she realized they would be traveling a long way that day. With her head hung and eyes trained on the ground, she barely realized when they had stopped, almost colliding with Jaskier. She raised her head, squeezing her eyes shut when her head pounded from the sudden light. 

"We're stopping here." She frowned. They were supposed to make it to the next village by nightfall, and they still had plenty of daylight left. But she didn't question the witcher's decision, nodding slightly in response. She was just grateful for the chance to rest, her aching body desperate to lie down.

She unloaded her sleeping bag from Roach, flinching when her fingers brushed Geralt's as he tried to help her. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second, and she saw no hostility. With a sudden bout of bravery, she laid her sleeping bag beside his as she always did, before volunteering to fetch wood and kindling for their fire. Jaskier stepped in, volunteering instead and immediately setting off before anyone had the chance to argue. Now left alone with the witcher, she stood awkwardly, shuffling her feet away from him.

"Wait." He said, making her raise her head at the emotion in his voice. She swallowed thickly.

"Did you mean it?" She asked quietly. "Because I- I did."

The female bard found her feet rooted to the ground as the witcher stepped closer to her, giving her every opportunity to step away and decline his advance. But she did not. He carefully reached to cup her face, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone before leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss. She immediately kissed back, only pulling away eventually for air. 

"I meant it." He told her, his voice low and sincere. "I've never meant anything more in my entire life." 

-

Bitter Water

The witcher and his bard watched from their table as Jaskier danced and sang his tune, trailing the final note out before leading into another song. Geralt couldn’t help but to roll his eyes as he recognized the song from the first note now. Thanks to Dandelion, the entire, foolish song now held a place in his cold heart. He watched a small smile grace her features as Jaskier played out the tune, humming along. The song held a dear place in her heart, too; it had been the first time she had ever sung in front of people she didn’t even know. 

“When the humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song.” The witcher listened as she hummed along quietly, the smile on his face growing ever present. 

“From when the white wolf fought a silver tongued devil, his army of elves, at his hooves they did revel.” The witcher found himself humming along quietly, and his eyes met the female bard’s, her smile breaking out into a grin. 

“They came after me, with masterful deceit. Broke down my lute and, they kicked in my teeth. While the devil’s horns, minced our tender meat. And so cried the witcher, he can’t be bleat.” Geralt grinned back at her now, remembering the time she had first sung the song, and how she had changed the lyric up. It was a fond memory between the two of them.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o valley of plenty, o’ valley of plenty.” Geralt cleared his throat, dipping his head down to his mug. 

“You know,” He started. “This song has grown on me.” 

Dandelion smiled. “It has, has it?” 

The witcher nodded fondly. “It’s when I realized I love you.” The words that had been impossible for him to say before, tumbled out of his mouth easily now, as they did the past several months of their courtship. She reached across the table, taking his larger hand in hers and tenderly tracing the lines of his palm. He sighed, relaxing at the now familiar feeling. He had found himself relaxing more in the past few months than ever before in his life.

Their intimate moment was interrupted, however, by the obnoxious bard who came bounding up to them like a loyal dog, a grin on his face. “Dandelion! Join me!”

The female bard hesitated, before she smiled at him, nodding. “Sure. I’ll be right there!” She matched his enthusiasm, before turning back to the witcher at her side with a much wider smile on her face, her eyes gleaming. 

She left her guitar, and stood beside Jaskier now. “May I?” She asked him, gesturing to his lute. He gave her a slightly confused look before nodding. Strumming the instrument experimentally, she began the tune, a nervous lump in her throat. 

“Oh-oh-oh. Oh-oh-oh.” Her voice wavered, and she stopped, stretching the tune out to allow her to collect herself. 

“Oh fair and flighty love. My aerolite above, the only dove I see.” She sang, referencing his pet name for her and making his heart skip a beat in his chest. 

“Could you love me more, if by the sun and moon I swore, that I would never flee?” Her eyes quickly met his before she closed them, unable to meet his gaze without her voice wavering. She had put the song together weeks now; everything she felt. Each line referencing something he had said to her, doubts he had expressed, doubts she felt, and things left unsaid. 

“Well I still taste you on my lips, lovely bitter water.” In his trance, he remembered the time she had gotten injured on a job. He remembered when she drank down the healing potion, and how she had grimaced, saying it tasted like bitter water. He had kissed her then, nodding and agreeing. 

“The terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue. And I know I shouldn’t love you. I know I shouldn’t love you.” Her eyes finally opened, meeting his in an intimate stare. At that moment, they were the only two in the room. “I know I shouldn’t love you; But I do.” 

“I feel it in my soul, I feel the empty hole. The cup that can’t be filled. I feel it in my blood, in the fire and the flood.” She closed her eyes again, melting into the song. “The beast that can’t be killed.” 

“Even now, you mark my steps. Lovely, bitter water. Oh the days of our delights, are poison in my veins.” She turned away from him, beginning to pace as she became one with the song, her body unconsciously swaying to the tune. The witcher, his back leaning against the wall, sat, once again entranced by her voice. She never failed to leave him breathless; in more ways than one. 

“I know I shouldn’t love you. I know…” She trailed off, strumming the other bard’s lute and turning back to the witcher, a sad smile on her face. 

“I am not a fool entire. No, I know what is coming.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’ll bury me beneath the trees I climbed when I was a child.” He remembered their first argument, while he had been digging the healing potion out his bag. 

-

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He had growled, his sharp golden eyes snapping up to meet hers. 

“But I didn’t! I saved your ass!” She retorted, sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed in the tavern, even though the action caused her to grimace.

“I don’t care! I don’t want to have to bury you!” He burst out, unable to contain it anymore. “I love you, don’t you get that? I can’t lose you!” His voice wavered.

She immediately softened, a guilty frown forming on her face. “I’m sorry.” She apologized quietly. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“No, it’s my fault. You shouldn’t even be traveling with me.” Her eyes widened.

“Geralt, don’t even go there.” She said softly, sternly. He refused to meet her gaze, his eyes glued to the leather bag even though he wasn’t searching anymore. Gripping the hide in his fist, he sucked in a shaky breath. “Geralt.” He looked back up at her, eyes filled with pain. 

“You don’t understand, it’s a curse. My entire life is a curse, and it spreads to those around me.” His voice was flat, but the bard could hear the strain behind it. 

“Don’t say that.” She leaned forward to embrace him, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply. “Don’t you ever say that.” She repeated fiercely. 

He sucked in another breath, composing himself before pulling away from her and handing her the potion. She scrunched her nose up at it as she uncorked it, but downed it in one gulp anyway. 

“It tastes like bitter water.” She grimaced. The witcher suddenly captured her in a kiss, swiping his tongue across her lips before pulling away and nodding. 

“I agree.”

-

“I know I shouldn’t love you.” He was pulled out of the memory when her eyes met his once again, a bittersweet feeling spreading through him until it faded entirely, leaving nothing but love in its wake. He had never felt so…so- He couldn’t explain it. He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“I know I shouldn’t love you.” She strummed the lute, swaying to the song. He was just as entranced by her as the day he realized he was so helplessly in love.  The pause was unbearable as she drew it out, maintaining eye contact with the witcher she loved so dearly. 

“But I do.”

#wouldn't it be funny if there was a plot twist #and geralt was actually remembering all this after she died or something #haha #hahahaha #ha #ha... #LOOK I WOULDN'T BE THE CEO OF HURT/COMFORT IF I WASN'T A SICK PERSON OKAY #i had to post this like right now i couldn't wait sorry #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #dandelion #geralt x dandelion #fem!dandelion #jaskier #jaskier is third wheeling with is own book counterpart #i wish they would have kept the name dandelion #jaskier x reader #geralt the witcher #x reader #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fluff #the witcher x reader #oh hellos #their music fits geralt SO FUCKING GOOD #geralt of rivia fanfic #henry cavill #i'm so in love with this fic

[moonchild-in-blue]

Okay, so I'm finally caught up with The Witcher 3 and as expected, most of the discourse here is about our favourite bard Jaskier and his hot lover. And while I LOVE him and Radovid, I really wanna see more discussion about the rest of show. So here's some of my favourite points/moments/whatever before vol. 2 comes out:

Yennefer genuinely trying to make amends with everyone, and becoming a better person. Her letters to Geralt?? Love them.

Ciri being not very great at magic - very refreshing to see a Chosen One™ teenage girl actually struggling and being clumsy and imperfect, and seeing her abilities improve realistically. Very tired of seeing the "trains for one week and instantly becomes a master at magic/whatever skill" trope.

On that same note, I really love that she gets to be a badass fighter, dirty and scruffy, but also still enjoys her pretty dresses and other traditionally feminine things. Girls are both, one doesn't excuse the other, and I just find that very neat.

Domestic Geralt and Yen. The dinners, the anniversary celebration, co-parenting Ciri. Hella cute 🥺

VERY interesting to see Nilfgaard seeking yet another truce with Francesca and the elves. Literally one of my favourite plot points of season 2 - Nilfgaard are the supposed "evil" ones, and yet so far are the only ones actively helping out the elves, even if with an agenda.

Emhyr burning his portraits and Pavetta's, erasing his past as Dunny. I'm very interested to see how the father dynamic parallels between him, Geralt and Ciri will play out.

Cahir, my skrunkly boy. ✨Him✨ Is he evil? Is he kinda okay? Is he actually disgusted with himself for murdering his elf boyfriend, and thus securing his position in the Nilfgaardian court, knowing that he's simply sinking deeper into Emhyr's grasp as merely a pawn, or is he just a cold-blooded army blorbo, and truly believes that the White Flame is the answer? Who knows!

Fringilla?? Living her best life as a free woman, dancing and drinking the trauma away? We love to see. Her hair looked AMAZING in the tavern scene. But please, someone give her something to do, girlie was NOT made for the streets.

Yarpen (his that his name?) is such a sweetheart, I love him 🥺

RIP Fern and her husband (am bad at names), and all that Library of Alexandria worth of knowledge and literature.

Love love love the gay uncle/rebel teenager relationship between Jaskier and Ciri. They're so funny together. Them spying on Geralt and Yen?? Fabulous.

YEN FINALLY BECAME A MOTHER. Listen, I almost teared up when Tissaia said that because, ugh. I love their friendship. And Tissaia is one of the very few people who really knows Yennefer, and how much having a child meant for her. And now she is, and she gets to be a parent with Geralt. And she's so awesome. I love that she, unlike Triss, isn't always kind and gentle with Ciri. She knows how much Ciri is struggling for control, she gets it. And she allows herself to be vulnerable and truthful with her - something that even Geralt struggles to do at times [with Ciri].

Geralt learning that his mother has died, and genuinely crying, less because of her passing, but more because he never understood why she abandoned him, and how much that hurt. Especially now that he's a father himself, and knows what true love and care and fear for a child means. Because he could never, ever hurt or endanger Ciri the way Visenna hurt him. Because there's always another way, it has to be. Someone correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this like the first time we see him cry? I don't remember if he actually shed any tears after Sodden, or when Roach died. Crazy to think he's been alive for so many decades, and yet still carries so much hurt and saddens towards his mother.

Jaskier having a crush is so cute hahaha. But also, I love the way he talks about his love for Geralt. Because sure, he's a slut (affectionately), and sure, him and Radovid? Their chemistry and connection is off the charts. But Geralt? His love for Geralt is so genuine, it runs so much deeper than people realise. It's unfair to say it's purely platonic or romantic or whatever because how can you even label a love that profound? "Family goat", AS IF BURN BUTCHER BURN ISN'T THE MOST HEART-WRENCHING, ANSTY BREAKUP SONG EVER, like okay, we all know how you really feel about Mr. Grumpy Pants. Honestly, big thank you Joey Batey, he really brings that romantic artist energy to life.

Philippa and Djikstra being in a bdsm relationship was NOT on my bingo cards. We love a dominatrix witch.

Tissaia's hair. She looks superb.

In comparison, someone please give my girl Triss some hair conditioner. Why did they let her walk around like that like, bestie, define your curls, please I'm begging you.

Vengefortz being the Big Bad - I did have a suspicion but didn't really want to believe it. What he did to those girls was atrocious and messed up, I was legitimately horrified. But also, bravo, whatever his purpose is, he pulled it off quite well.

Istred with that hair and eyeliner. Weirdly hot. Kinda wanted to see more of him.

Jaskier x Valdo Marx beef was EVERYTHING. I cackled when his trope appeared on the boat like fucking glee club. Their song on the conclave was extremely annoying tho, I did not love the constant replay of scenes.

GERALT SAID I LOVE YOU. Geralt said I love you. To Yennefer. Out loud. In public nonetheless. Gasping, clutching my pearls, screaming, crying, throwing up. I love them so much.

Yennefer serving looks 24/7 like the total boss babe she is.

Also, side note but, have you noticed that this season (so far) has had much less ~spicy~ scenes, or just generally less hyper-sexualised content, especially when it came to Yen/Geralt? Even the others, all of the sex scenes felt a lot more "plot relevant", and less "fan-servicey" than in previous seasons, which I for one really appreciate. I feel like before, especially s1, every other scene was an opportunity to show Yen's boobs or Geralt shirtless. Now it feels more, respectful? reigned in? Not that there's anything wrong with it - I'll never say no to a nice titty shot of Henry Cavill - but it can definitely take away the focus from the story, which is a shame because the plot is so rich and there's so much happening.

#i'm very excited for vol 2 #also i'm aware that the show is very different from the source material so let's not get into that #the witcher #the witcher spoilers #the witcher season 3 #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #cirilla of cintra

[essskel]

Hi, always a pleasure to read your analysis on the witcher' characters but I have a feeling you may going a little too far in the over interpretation of things. I don't think there is any inversion or mirroring in the characters design Sapkowski created. He just…create them (and a lot of them), and he had a lot of fun doing so (and he is very good at it) and then he just trow them away or keep them in the story but they are sometimes damaged because the plot needed it, specially in the second part of the saga.

And that's why I disagree a little bit on this shema. Dandelion is absolutly the "pillar of support that Geralt has" as you beautiffuly said but he appears to me like this since the first book and short stories and there is no really character evolution on this point. And how you interpret that Sapko make him stay in Toussaint instead of helping Geralt and the rest of the Hansa for the final and decisive act? (except that Sapko loves more than anything else than bringing his characters where you didn't expect them to be). And he has regrets, I disagree. On that beach of the lake, in the fog, he saw the members of the Hansa which (my interpretation) symbolize his guilt to not have been with them in this decisive time when they died.

And it lead us to Triss who is seing Coral in the meantime. Dandelion see the Hansa, Triss see Coral. Same guilt, but here it bring Triss to Sodden where she performed so pourly and where she thought maybe Coral died instead of her. Are Dandelion think that Cahir, Milva, Angoulème died instead if him?

Triss is incredibly frustrating to read, I so agree with you, specially after Thanned. The reader always feel this incredible gap between what she could do and be and what she actually is and do. This gap accuentuates the feeling of her doing nothing but actually that"s not completly true. Aside of what she did for Ciri, Sapko uses her as the "agent" of Yen and Geralt complicated reunion. Her participation in the northern kingdom counter coup at Thanned, if it has succed would have put Vilgefortz and Nilfgaard out of the picture and it would have been an incredible service to Ciri, Geralt and Yen..but it would have reinforce Philippa ambition which..is not good. At the end of the coup, as wouded and without magic, she drags a dying Geralt trhough half Thanned until she bumps into Tissaia. Which is weird for a character who is mostly remember for her weakness and cowardice. Tissaia actually told her that everyone has already flee. Actually she is the only character of the saga who save Geralt life and Yen life (when she drags an incoucious Yen out of the angry crowd in Rivia before they triggered the storm), that's a kind of paradox! Still, the megascope scene in TotS with Yen and Philippa is such a climax that it seems to be the photography of her character but, is it? She is doing nothing to help them since the formation of the lodge until this scene, but actually, she tried some things in the background after that, looking for Yen in Skelligue, going to Ellander to perform some ritual/transe to locate them etc…. I mean, only Fringilla is doing something positive (and also negative), even Rita who everyone seems to love is doing absolutly nothing. So, yeah, don't you think you are going a little but too far with Triss. I mean she deserves all the criticisms when it's needed but god knows that she deserves it but she is also doing good things even if yes, most of the time nothing comes from it, specially for a character who the self awaressness of her own weakness strike me in the saga and that since the beginning and seems so uncommon for a mage, she is not Yennefer, but who is like Yennefer? does it make her so awfull?

Could have wrote more, but I will stop annoying you with my wall of text :). Thank you again for your thoughtfull insights. I love them! Even If sometimes I

Thanks for reaching out! These are great questions and a compelling summary of Triss' more valiant moments, but I say this without malice, I don’t think you’ve changed my mind.

I’m gonna try to keep this concise and stick to bullet points, but we’ll see how I do:

Link to original post for those wondering

I’ve been known to reach before, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to compare two characters who are introduced as the hero and heroine’s best friends. That’s the function of their characters that I was comparing, not Triss as a mage and Dandelion as a Bard, but how Triss acted as Yennefer’s best friend of old, versus how Dandelion acted as Geralt’s.

--I’m not saying Triss is a cold-cut villain at all, she’s hardly even the worst of the lodge, but when you put her directly against Dandelion, it’s hard to make excuses for her treatment of Yen.

--They are periodically paired against each other in the text, and often these pairings are contrasts when analyzed (hell, they’re both named after flowers). I don’t think Sapkowski wrote the books as a puzzle, or that he wrote Triss and Dandelion simply to be opposites, he was having fun and telling a story, but he also wasn’t shooting blind, his use of symbolism, wordplay, cross-literary reference, trope subversion, and character mirroring/inversion are in play and worth discussing.

--It’s not strange to say that Yen and Geralt mirror each other in an overarching sense, so why not apply the same framework to their closest companions?

This is not a complete list, also I wrote this in class so a little unorganized:

--Triss’ backstory is of sodden, she’s a heroic, traumatized, and frightened survivor who’s going to do everything she can to not face death again, Dandelion’s backstory is idyllic, privileged, and a bit (a lot) indulgent, he’s walking towards death not knowing how poorly it will treat him or what he will lose, Triss is running from death knowing exactly what it feels like.

--(In Blood of Elves) Dandelion is pushed by Rience to give up Geralt and Ciri but stays loyal, Triss is pushed by Phillippa to turn on Yen and Ciri and does so for long enough to do damage.

--Yen comes to Dandelion’s rescue in Blood of Elves when he’s captured by Rience and his motives are overtaken with Geralt and Ciri’s safety, Triss is called to Geralt’s aid a few pages later and - yes, she’s helpful to Ciri 100% - but her obsession with Geralt is obnoxiously centered. (This is early in the story, they’re more similar in Blood of Elves, but it only makes their respective trajectories more stark)

--Triss flees a scene of chaos and danger at Thanned to take Geralt to Brokolin, but chooses to leave him there and go back on the run, Dandelion gives up his comfortable life to risk his ass entering Brokolin for Geralt, and then swears truthfully to stay with him.

--Dandelion uses Yen as a muse for his ballads, but never pursues her romantically, Triss….does all of that

--On a wider scale, Triss spends a lot of her energy searching for Yen because she’s lost her in every sense, Geralt literally cannot lose Dandelion and he does try lol.

--(Jumping to Lady of the Lake bc I can’t get into everything to do with Triss’ arc with the lodge vs Dandy’s with the hansa) Triss and Dandelion accompany their friends on their funeral march, Triss has come crawling back from a literal minor villain arc and the near complete loss of Yen’s trust for her, Dandelion accompanies Geralt as a shared mourner for the hansa and a closer and more complex friend that he’s ever been.

--Then, as I was focussing on earlier, Triss watches the funeral knowing damn well that she made the tragedy far more painful than Yen deserved, Dandelion watches knowing that he did all he could (that to me is why it’s a tragedy, this violence and this loss was truly inevitable)

--Additionally, I respect your interpretation, but to me, I’ve never thought that Dandelion regretted not going to Stygga. Twice, he very lucidly insists that he doesn’t want to go in LOTL and why. He knows they’re riding into a deadly fight and he knows that he’d be useless in this stage, he knows he’s better off in Toussaint. I don’t think he wants or is very willing to die either, he regrets and mourns that the hansa is gone, but I never got the feeling that he later wanted to go with them, he lives to tell their story and make their sacrifices long-lived and respected, and I can’t imagine that he’d want to do anything else with their loss.

From a more structural standpoint, Sapkowski had already revealed through flashforward and text excerpts of Dandelion’s later writing that he survives the saga. We as readers know this, which makes his sudden departure sinister because now the plot-armor guy is gone - anything can happen.

Dandelion could have gone to Stygga and either survived unbelievably in a way that broke the reader’s immersion, or died instantly and been absent in Geralt’s final days when he needed companionship and support. Dandelion’s refusal to ride for Stygga is a momentary (and well-earned) break in his loyalty that allows for his critical role as Geralt (and Yen, and the hansa’s) eulogist.

To finish, character analysis is nearly always going to be opinionated and reflective of personal readings. Triss and Dandelion are probably my favorite characters, and I look more deeply and speak more passionately about their narrative functions and relationship to each other because of this. I personally have observed patterns of inversion, and I was given an ending where they’re standing next to each other at a funeral, yet spent the saga impacting and guiding the dead in vastly different ways, so that’s what I had to say about it.

I know that you and everyone else are going to have their own readings of this story, I like that, it’s fun, I don’t mind being disagreed with, and I’d find it strange if I wasn’t. However, I really believe that in this case, I wasn’t tin-hatting any more than I usually do, and if I’m being honest I felt for a bit that you were speaking down to me, which was rough. I love to talk about these characters and what you think about them, but please also know that I do value the text, and that I post meta and analysis primarily because I enjoy it. That's all it is at the end of the day, I'm a forest scientist having fun with a fantasy saga.

Hope that answers your questions and clears up some of the vagueness of my original post! Thanks again!

#woof long post #ask #anonymous #double shot #witcher meta

[evilwickedme]

Have you ever felt motivated to write something out of spite? I’ve been getting irritated with some fandom stuff and boy is it motivating for me lol

Lmao yeah a whole bunch of my PUBLISHED fic was written out of spite let alone the half finished projects sitting in my drafts

Okay so firstly my first even long fic Of Three Times Lily Evans Changed Her Mind About James Potter (yeah it's a long name usually I just refer to it as OTT). That fic was written out of frustration with my favorite fic at time (The Life and Times) remaining incomplete - it updated once before I started tenth grade and then literally never finished (she posted what she had written but essentially went from being in the middle of an arc to the end of the whole fic and we didn't even get to see jily getting together I will never not be upset about this @thelordofthecats can confirm this). I also included some personal frustrations in there, notably at the omnipresence of wolfstar in the marauders fandom which I did not and do not ship.

Then there's my first ever spideypool fic, Changes. This was all the way back in 2015, when I had just started reading marvel comics. I really enjoyed the spideypool ship but this was before they even had a team up comic - and while Deadpool clearly had a crush on Spidey, peter couldn't STAND wade and actually quit the uncanny avengers over him. So I was like... Okay here's these two extremely different people. Most of the spideypool fic I've read has peter "fix" wade. What if it was the other way around? What if being in a relationship made Peter worse? So that's what that fic is about. (I think was also partially inspired by @ask-spiderpool 's earlier arcs, I believe, but I don't remember exactly when I stumbled across that comic and I do know I was directly inspired by Uncanny Avengers #1)

A bunch of my Witcher fic was written in response to common geraskier tropes, but I'd have to list like four fics here so just trust me on this one, I did a lot of exploration of their power dynamics here. Also, putting it on the record, I think Geralt's more interesting if he's written as a sub.

Then there's the huge fic I haven't shut up about since September, you know, before and after fic? hang on 'til the chaos is through? So yeah that was written because I kept reading fics where just the act of Tim joining the family early made it so Jason didn't die, and to me that seemed just... Wrong. Jason didn't die because he didn't have a Tim to care about, he loved both Bruce and Alfred. He died because he felt angry and betrayed and more specifically because once he found out that there was somebody else he could love, he wanted so desperately to find her and eventually to save her. It's not that I don't like the fics where that did happen - it's just that I wanted to write one where it specifically didn't. I also don't like when fics about Jason rejoining the batfamily have him learn a lesson about how killing is wrong, nor do I like fics where the Pit makes him insane or whatever. UTRH!Jason is reasonable and calculated and has a very comprehensive and logical life philosophy which I enjoy reading and writing about, even if it's not my personal philosophy. So yeah, that's one of the reasons I wrote that fic (also because I am unhinged about Jason Todd but we knew that).

And FINALLY, we have Under the Pink Hood. I am fully aware that this is maybe my most self indulgent fic ever, but by God am I upset this fic flopped. I am so frustrated with both the source material and honestly the fandom's treatment of Gwen Stacy (the original one). It was when @stackthedeck said that if they bring her back again she should at least pull a Jason Todd that I ended up writing Under the Pink Hood, combining both my blorbos into a fic I'm genuinely so proud of.

Honestly I think some of my best writing has come out of spite and frustration. Fanfic as a whole often is just a production of frustration with the source material, and then if you also have frustration with the fandom or even just one creator then that's double the frustration and a great motivator to write. If you haven't tried your hand at it yet - definitely do it, it's a great outlet and I bet you'll produce some great works!

#gail speaks #this my fic #ask #anonymous #I won't tag the fandoms but go read under the pink hood I promise I'm not just hyping it up I rly do think it's great

[falcqns]

hi Ava how many dr’s do you have and which one do you visit most often? How many scripts are you currently working on?

too many, too many and too many

jk actual info under the cut lmao

i have a lot of drs! i don't try to limit myself to what i can shift to because the multiverse is real and i deserve to explore it and all the different experiences out there! i wont mention all of them, but here are some of them and the names next to them are my love interests!

Mission Impossible - August Walker

Harry Potter #1 - @andrew-6781

The Orville - Henry Cavill

Marvel #1 - Bucky Barnes

Marvel #2 - Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans x Scarjo daughter - Florence Pugh

Youtuber - Andrew Siwicki

Sebastian Stan x Rachel McAdams daughter - Tom Holland

Fame - Chris Evans

Caregiver/Little - Chris Evans

ATJ - Aaron Taylor Johnson

Defending Jacob - Andy Barber

Princess - Loki Laufey-Odinson

Uncle - no love interest, just a reality where i get to spend more time with my uncle who passed away suddenly when i was 15 and never got to say goodbye to

Dance Moms - still undecided, i go to that dr to just be a teen, dance, and have lizzie as my mom <3

Chris Evans Youngest Sister - Jaeden Martell

New Girl - Nick Miller (and sorta Winston, its a lil complicated atm)

as for the ones i shift to regularly, i kind of rotate if that makes sense? i only ever shift to one twice in a row if theres something specific i want to do/say to someone, and i decide which to shift to based on what i need in that moment! if i need to hear my uncles voice, i go to my uncle dr. if i need to dance to release my emotions, i do that. they all serve purposes in my life, and their purposes are all different. but here's the ones i shift to a lot:

Fame

Dance Moms

Chris Evans x Scarjo

CG/L

Marvel #1 and #2

Harry Potter

Sebastian Stan x Rachel McAdams

Youngest Evans Sister

Defending Jacob

ATJ

and i am working on a bunch of scripts! here they are:

Anthony Mackie x Chris Evans daughter - Louis Partridge

Murdoch Mysteries - John Brackenreid

Little Women - Amy March

Kims Convenience

Harry Potter #2 - Lorenzo Berkshire

Stripper/Teen Mom - Anthony Mackie

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - undecided, using it mainly as an extension of my marvel dr

Drawing With Light - Seb (not seb stan) - its a book that i adore and Seb will look and sound like timothee chalamet (thought he was british at the time of deciding to make this)

ik this wasn't mentioned, but here's some dr's that i have stopped shifting to and some reasons as to why

my first ever harry potter dr - forgot to script out fred's death (reading him die in the books caused me severe trauma to the point that i scribbled it out in the book and skip over it in the movie and it slipped my mind) and he died right in front of me after i remembered. if i had remembered two seconds earlier i could have saved him.

The Witcher - Geralt hurt me and in an attempt to hurt him back i ruined his friendship w jaskier, and vesemir and the others including ciri disowned him and i dont have it in myself to return (i was doing horrible mentally and i lashed out in a moment of hurt)

birth father dr - i should have listened to my mom when she told me what kind of person he was.

the orville actor dr - got too close to adrianne and scott (they were married and i played their daughter, my mom and i werent in a good place at the time so we were like a family) and then the divorce came out of nowhere and i was in the middle with both of them fighting using me as a communication vessel. couldnt escape it, i lived w adrianne at the time and worked with both of them. it was effecting me mentally and i stopped.

Steggy daughter dr - you don't want margaret carter as a mother. just don't do it.

i hope this helped!! <3

#ava's anons #ava's a shifter #shifting consciousness #shiftingblr #reality shifting #shifting realities #shifting #reality shift #shifting community #desired reality

[apomaro-mellow]

Catch Your Death snippet

Death showed itself the moment a life was brought into the world. It was odd, seeing a strange figure hovering over people. When Jaskier first realized what it was, it frightened him, to be able to see such things. But in a way, it was a relief. Whenever he saw the specter, he prepared himself for the goodbyes. Jaskier couldn't tell what exactly would do the person in. But typically whenever the shadow hovered, the person had no longer than a year.

That's what they did. Hovered, floated by, stood in the corner. If their charge was on the move, so were they, always following just a few paces behind. Never too far once that person's destiny was set and they were on the path.

So imagine his surprise when, one fair day, sitting in the town square, preparing for a performance to the milling folk, he saw someone's death. But they were not following behind. Rather, they were in front, walking away at a brisk pace.

Death came in many forms and this one was a beauty with violet eyes. Her body was wrapped in a cloak of shadows. The one following her, her supposed mortal soul appointed to her, was a man of white hair and gold eyes. Somehow he looked equally ethereal. But he was definitely human. His steps had weight, while hers barely touched the ground.

He was giving chase as if he could actually see her. Sometimes people did physically move toward their Deaths but that was typically at the very end, when Death finally wrapped their arms around in their signature embrace. This man...he was a man on the mission.

Jaskier was so taken aback, he didn't realize he was just standing there, instrument at the ready, mouth completely agape.

He tripped over himself running after the man. He smelled a song.

That was how he met Geralt and Yennefer.

"He's a weak little puppy snot who won't leave me alone", Yennfer said when both Jaskier and Geralt pinned her down.

She across from them. Jaskier had ordered three drinks, forgetting himself for a moment, but then remembered their server couldn't see Yennefer. They put the drink down with nothing more than a strange look though. Geralt being here and talking to her made her seem all the more solid.

"But people don't just SEE their Deaths. They never see them coming", Jaskier said to Yennefer and then turned to the enigmatic man beside him. "How can you?"

"Witchers are always close to death", Geralt answered, prompting an eye roll from Yennefer. "But I, in particular, have seen her face close to mine so many times..." His eyes grew soft and Jaskier got excited at what he was witnessing. "Now she is all I see."

"You're...in love with your own Death. That's! ...Stars above that's so poetic, it's so sad, it's romantic, it's heart-wrenching, it's...it's...song material."

"It's pathetic, is what it is", Yennefer said. "And I can't get assigned to another soul until he dies."

"Well, I mean, he's chasing you. Doesn't that essentially mean he's chasing death?" Jaskier had never seen this happen before so he was curious. "If he catches you, won't he just die?"

"There is an order to everything. He is to die how he is supposed to die."

Jaskier looked her up and down. He had never directly talked to someone's Death before so he was a little out of his depth. But he had always thought they'd have good poker faces. Something about Yennefer's body language though...it was telling.

"What I'm interested in is how you can see me, bard", she pointed her eyes at him.

Jaskier shrugged, uninterested. "It's just something that's always been a part of me."

"And you have no inclination to solve that mystery?"

"I'm the storyteller, not the subject."

"Can you see your own death then?", Geralt spoke up.

Jaskier looked around the room. "Sometimes I think it's mine. But it's always someone else's. I've never seen my own."

"You seem the type to run into your own death regularly", Yennefer scorned.

"Enough about me, tell me your whole story. I never stop until I get a song~", he grinned.

#the witcher #yenralt #jaskier #personal #apo writes #fanfiction

[flowercrown-bard]

Oh, what’s in a name?

summary: Geralt accidentally calls Jaskier by the wrong name and Jaskier finds out that maybe that's a compliment

pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

word count: 3k

AO3

warnings: none

„Can you hand me the whetstone, Roach?”

Jaskier, already mid-motion to turn and ready to do what Geralt had asked him to, froze. Slowly, and with the biggest grin he could fit on his lips, he turned back to face Geralt again.

“What did you just say?” He could barely contain the laughter in his voice. Raising an eyebrow, he exchanged a look with Roach – well, he tried to exchange a look with Roach, but as usual, she didn’t cooperate – and let out a tiny snort.

Geralt’s brows furrowed in confusion and he gave a small grunt, before saying, “The whetstone.”

Jaskier blinked, his mouth already half-open to tease Geralt about growing old enough to forget the name of his dearest travel companion, but then he stopped himself. He squinted at Geralt, trying to find any hint on his face that he had even realised that he had called Jaskier by the wrong name, but he found none.

For a moment, he contemplated being offended by being mistaken with a horse, but then Roach trotted over to Geralt and nibbled at his hair, making the witcher look up with the softest smile as he petted her neck.

The sight of Geralt so relaxed and free with his smile, made something warm and fuzzy grow in Jaskier’s chest.

He decided not to say anything. At least for now.

--

Jaskier’s plans to tease Geralt about the name-thing later failed spectacularly. Not because Jaskier didn’t dare tease Geralt, of course, but because all of his attempts to subtly tease him didn’t work, and Jaskier was too proud of his finesse with words to take a more direct approach to his teasing.

He tried singing songs in which he exchanged Geralt’s name or moniker with something else, which only earned him an amused hum.

“Is calling me the White Wolf not enough anymore?” Geralt asked when Jaskier had finished his little ditty. “I thought you needed one moniker for me for memorability.”

Jaskier huffed and nearly opened his mouth to tell Geralt plainly why he had gone with the wrong moniker, but then he blinked.

“You listened to me while I told you about that?”

Geralt shrugged and turned to tend to Roach. Jaskier was nearly fully convinced that he only did it to have an excuse to avoid eye-contact.

“It’s nice talking to someone who talks back.”

Jaskier snorted. “My friend, I’d say out of the two of us, I’m the one who’s doing most of the talking.”

Geralt didn’t reply, proving Jaskier’s point.

--

Oh, but Jaskier had been wrong. He didn’t realise just how wrong he had been about Geralt’s penchant for taciturnity, until they had to spend more than a couple of days in town.

Had Jaskier thought Geralt didn’t like talking all that much before, he was now fully taken aback by just how little Geralt actually said. Jaskier would have thought that a town with many people – most of which were even somewhat friendly towards Geralt – would get Geralt to relax, but it only served to make him clam up and become more quiet.

That is, he was quiet, save for when he talked to Jaskier.

In comparison to how he treated everyone else, he was downright chatty with him.

After that discovery, Jaskier made a point of talking more about things that Geralt seemed to like talking about. He let him explain the importance of cleaning his swords so often, lest they rust from his touch. He let him talk for hours on end about how to take care of horses. Once Jaskier got him to open up about his family, Geralt almost didn’t stop talking about his brothers, recounting how he and Eskel had once caught a giant bumblebee or reminiscing about how Lambert had tried to set fire to the instructors’ beds when he had been a trainee.

Watching Geralt talk like that was an experience. Every word that he entrusted with Jaskier made his heart flutter and every small smile Geralt gave him as he talked, took his breath away.

“I think you’d really like them, Roach,” Geralt said to conclude his story about his brothers.

Jaskier’s lips twitched upwards, but just like the first time it had happened, Geralt didn’t seem to realise what he had just said.

Jaskier’s grin turned into a soft smile and he leaned a little against Geralt, letting their shoulders touch gently.

“If they are anything like you, I’m sure I’ll like them.”

--

A couple of weeks later, Jaskier had to admit to himself that he had been wrong once again. He really needed to be careful not to make being wrong into a habit. He had always prided himself in being intelligent – after all, he was a master of the seven liberal arts and years ago, he had made the most intelligent decision of befriending one Geralt of Rivia – and being wrong about things just wasn’t something he liked doing.

But when it came to Geralt, there were always new things to learn, new facets of him to discover. And that wasn’t something Jaskier minded. In fact, every time he learned something new about Geralt – every time Geralt trusted him with new information about himself – Jaskier’s chest felt like it was expanding with that happy little flutter inside.

It was enlightening to learn that Geralt rarely ever cooked with spices, not because they were too expensive, but because his senses were sharp enough to not need much of them.

It was interesting to find out that Geralt liked making up the witcher-code on the spot, whenever someone asked him to do something that he didn’t want to do.

It was endearing finding out that Geralt had named all of his horses Roach.

But it was utterly shocking, when after weeks of having gone their separate ways, Jaskier finally tracked down Geralt to find him talking to Roach.

He froze to his spot and listened enraptured as Geralt spoke to his horse as others did to their friends. As Geralt did to Jaskier.

No. No, that wasn’t it at all. Geralt wasn’t speaking to Roach as he did to Jaskier.

He spoke to Jaskier as he did to Roach.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide at the realisation. How long had Geralt been alone before Jaskier had attached himself to his side, with only Roach as company?

Jaskier thought back to all the times Geralt had looked insecure when speaking with Jaskier when they had first started travelling together, as if he didn’t know how to talk to people. As if he didn’t have much experience doing so outside of negotiating contracts or the winters that he spent with his family.

Thinking of it, Jaskier realised that he probably was the only friend besides Roach that Geralt had.

Jaskier swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and continued walking to Geralt, announcing his presence with a cheerful, “My friend! I missed you!”

Geralt whirled around to him, an unreadable expression on his face, and Jaskier’s chest twisted uncomfortably, unsure if he had maybe been a bit too enthusiastic, but then Geralt’s eyes softened and he gave Jaskier the smallest but most beautiful of smiles.

That evening, as they sat beside the crackling fire and Jaskier plucked a soft melody on his lute as background noise, Geralt talked to him again, telling him with only minimal prompting about the contracts he had completed while Jaskier had been away playing at court.

When the fire died down and Jaskier got too tired to stay awake any longer, Geralt softly nudged him towards his bedroll.

“We can continue this talk tomorrow,” Geralt said, a little hesitantly, as if he still wasn’t entirely sure if his voice was welcome.

“I’d love to.” Jaskier pulled his blanket up to his chin and smiled when Geralt’s shoulders lost the little tension that had taken hold of them with his last words. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Roach.”

Jaskier pulled the blanket a little higher to hide his smile. The last thing he thought, before sleep embraced him, was that it really wasn’t that bad being called by Roach’s name.

--

Now, Jaskier and Roach had never gotten along too well. He had tried to braid her mane despite Geralt warning him that she didn’t like people touching her and she had tried to bite his fingers off.

Sometimes, when Jaskier got peckish, he stole the apple slices Geralt would buy for Roach. Other times, Roach would swat at Jaskier with her tail as if he was an irritating fly, while he was in the middle of composing a song.

Safe to say, they barely did much more than tolerate each other’s presence for Geralt’s sake.

Now though, with Jaskier’s newfound knowledge about how important the mare was to Geralt, Jaskier saw her in a different light.

Oh, sure, she was still cantankerous and stubborn, but she was also Geralt’s oldest companion and friend on the Path.

So Jaskier made a point of always putting some coin aside to buy her treats whenever they got into town and composing odes to her beauty. He wasn’t sure if Roach appreciated the latter, but there was no doubt she liked the treats he got her.

It didn’t take long, until she allowed him to pet her soft muzzle and shortly after, she started following Jaskier around or approaching him happily when he came back after having split from Geralt for a while.

At first, Geralt watched this new display of affection between them warily, but all too soon, Jaskier caught him smiling when Roach nibbled at Jaskier’s hair or Jaskier went out of his way to brush her down.

One time, while Geralt had thought Jaskier was too deep in thought composing to hear him, he had whispered to Roach how happy he was that the two of them got along.

--

“Remember when I said you would like my brothers?” Geralt said one morning, completely out of the blue, while watching Jaskier try to catch the falling red leaves from the air.

Distracted, Jaskier missed the leaf just by a hair’s breadth. It landed on his head instead. Seemingly without thinking, Geralt brushed it off Jaskier’s head, lingering just a little too long to be a casual touch.

“Y-yeah,” Jaskier said, his heart jumping to his throat. “Of course I remember you talking about Eskel and Lambert.”

Something lit up in Geralt’s eyes. “You remember their names?”

“Naturally,” Jaskier said softly. “They are important to you.”

Geralt remained quiet for a little while, just staring at Jaskier with an unreadable expression. “They are,” he said finally. Geralt’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. “I was wondering…if maybe you would like to meet them?”

Jaskier’s brows shot up. “Are they near?”

Geralt shook his head and turned away, clearly pretending to check over Roach’s saddle.

“You could meet them if you came with me to Kaer Morhen.”

For once, Jaskier was at a loss of words. He must have stayed silent for so long that Geralt began worrying, for he turned back to him with a frown.

Before he could take his words back, Jaskier surged forward and slung his arms around him.

“I would love to come with you.”

--

On their way up the mountain, Jaskier needled Geralt with questions about the keep, but Geralt refused to give as much as a hint of what Jaskier had to expect from a winter with the wolves.

Jaskier considered pouting, but the twinkle in Geralt’s eyes made it impossible to even pretend to be mad at him. Not when it was clear that Geralt was going back to his taciturn ways to have the keep be a surprise for Jaskier.

And a surprise it was.

When the walls of Kaer Morhen came into view, towering over them, Jaskier lost all ability to speak. His eyes raked over the massive doors, the towers that stretched high into the sky and every part of the courtyard that he just itched to explore.

A soft noise beside him made him turn towards Geralt again. His breath caught in his throat when he met Geralt’s gaze, soft and holding more fondness than Geralt had ever allowed himself to show Jaskier while they were out there on the continent.

--

Geralt hadn’t lied when he had said that Jaskier would get along with his family. It didn’t take more than one night of drinking together, for Jaskier to decide that the other wolf witchers were his friends now too.

Eskel showed him his poetry collection and his eyes lit up when Jaskier promised to discuss every poem in it with Eskel.

Vesemir was happy to have someone who listened to him with enthusiasm when he talked about monsters and fighting techniques for once.

Lambert was a little harder to get to warm up to Jaskier, but after Jaskier had beaten Geralt in a round of gwent – granted, he had cheated shamelessly, but a victory was a victory – Lambert had barked out a laugh and ruffled Jaskier’s hair, proclaiming that he should come to Kaer Morhen more often.

--

It was mid-winter when the inevitable happened again. Jaskier had started to look forward to it, but he hadn’t realised just what it would mean if Geralt slipped up again while at Kaer Morhen.

Lambert, Geralt and Jaskier were just shovelling snow near the stables, when it happened. Well, maybe calling it ‘shovelling snow’ was a bit generous. That certainly was what they were supposed to do, but after Lambert had thrown the snow to the side with enough enthusiasm to –maybe? – accidentally hit Jaskier with it instead, it had turned into a full blown snow fight, in which Jaskier constantly shifted sides from ganging up on Lambert with Geralt and throwing his arms around Geralt in a hug to keep him in place while Lambert put snow down Geralt’s shirt.

“Stop it,” Geralt laughed and wriggled in his grip, enough to be playful, but coming nowhere close to using even half of his full strength. “Let go, or I’ll throw you into a pile of snow, Roach!”

“I’d like to see you try.” Jaskier smirked and tightened his hold. “Lambert, now!”

But Lambert was frozen mid-motion of grabbing more snow. He stared at Geralt with the biggest shit eating grin on his face.

“Roach?” He asked with a snort. “Did you just call him Roach?”

In Jaskier’s arms, Geralt stiffened. “I-“

He broke off, throwing a quick glance at Jaskier over his shoulder, before looking away again. Yet, it had been enough for Jaskier to see the look that he had come to understand as blind panic on Geralt’s face.

Before Jaskier could ask him what was wrong, Geralt shrugged him off, easily freeing himself from the hold he had so happily endured before.

“Geralt-“

But Geralt didn’t even falter in his steps. He all but fled into the stables.

Jaskier exchanged a quick look with Lambert who shrugged as if he didn’t care, but followed Geralt’s flight with his eyes and a hint of worry in his expression.

Jaskier didn’t hesitate any longer and ran after Geralt.

Geralt must have heard him enter the stables and hid, for when Jaskier’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, Geralt was nowhere to be found.

Jaskier’s steps slowed and he rubbed his fingers together nervously.

“Geralt?” He asked uncertainly. The only reply he got was the huffing from the horses.

Jaskier’s heart sank, but he set his brow in determination. In two strides, he walked over to the box with Roach, who blew a breath of hot air into his face in greeting.

“Hello there, Roach,” Jaskier began, loud enough that there was no mistaking that he fully intended Geralt to hear him, even though he knew it was unnecessary to raise his voice since Geralt would have been able to hear him even if he had whispered. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, my dear lady. Did you know that Geralt sometimes calls me by your name?”

Roach huffed and Jaskier began stroking the white stripe on her face.

“Yes, I know,” he continued, “But I swear he doesn’t mean it as an insult to you. I for one am actually rather flattered. I’ve been called by the wrong name before, and usually it’s something that makes me feel like the other person doesn’t think I’m worth having my name remembered. Or as if they don’t respect me enough to learn it. But it’s different with Geralt.” His voice softened. “If he calls me by the name of someone who means so much to him, then that is the highest honour I can imagine. You have no idea how happy it makes me that he trusts and likes me enough to talk to me like he does to his other most faithful friend. And can I tell you a secret, dear Roach?” He got up on his tiptoes to get closer to her ear as he stage-whispered, “Geralt is really important to me too. And I really want him to know that I mean it when I say that he’s my best friend, whether he calls me by your name or mine.”

Behind him, straw rustled and the tapping of steps announced that Geralt was coming closer. Not only that, but the fact that Jaskier could hear Geralt approach, meant that Geralt put effort into not startling him. Jaskier hid his smile in Roach’s neck. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Geralt approach slowly, as if he was unsure about every step he took.

Finally, he reached them, standing on Roach’s other side. Jaskier heard him take in a deep breath and he already readied himself to listen to Geralt talk to Roach as he had just done, but then Geralt rounded Roach and came to stand before Jaskier instead.

In his eyes, fear and fondness fought a battle, that fondness won when Jaskier reached out a hand to softly brush it against Geralt’s. With a sigh that expanded Geralt’s entire chest, Geralt intertwined their fingers.

“I-thank you,” Geralt said, looking down at their joined hands. “For understanding. For not being angry at me. I – you are important to me too. More important than anyone outside of Kaer Morhen ever was.” He lifted his head again, giving Jaskier an intense look that sent shivers up his spine. With more meaning, affection and trust than anyone had ever spoken Jaskier’s name with, Geralt said, “You are the most important person to me, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes stung and he let out a small choked noise. Without thinking, he tugged Geralt closer and flung his free arm around his shoulders, holding him as tightly as he could and burying his head in Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s hand that wasn’t holding Jaskier’s still, came up to cradle the back of his head and Geralt’s cheek pressed against the top of his head.

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice got muffled but the low rumble in Geralt’s chest as he hummed in acknowledgement told Jaskier that he could still understand him. “You’re my most important person too. My Geralt.”

“My Jaskier.”

--

Over the years, Geralt slipped up less and less. Jaskier would have been almost disappointed, if he didn’t like the way Geralt called him “my Jaskier”, or “my Buttercup” so much.

Well. Jaskier had been wrong before when it came to Geralt and as it turned out, he continued to have this terrible habit, try as he might to get rid of it. Because, when Jaskier had assumed that Geralt didn’t slip up on his and Roach’s names anymore, he had been dead wrong.

The thing was, after years of having Jaskier at his side, of being close to him and loving him with his entire being, Geralt had gotten so used to talking to Jaskier, that one day, while Jaskier was plucking away idly at his lute and Geralt was brushing down Roach, he heard the most curious thing, that made him smile wider than he had ever smiled before.

“There you go,” Geralt said as he brushed down Roach’s flank and she kept turning her head, trying to get to the treats in Geralt’s pockets. “You’ll get the treats if you’re a good horse and stay still for once, Jaskier.”

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt #jaskier #roach #fic #fanfic #witcher #witcher fic #the witcher #my writing #i posted this a while ago on ao3 and completely forgot if I had posted it here as well #fluff

[princess-elle-on-atack]

Charmcaster Headcanons since everybody completely forgets her real name is Hope

And I have a crush on her since I first watched Ben 10 as a child

I kinda feel like her mom was a "normal human" / an earth human and that's explains why Hex and Her use to leave in a damn expensive house

But this I will explain in future

Well let's name her mom as Joan because I said so and it'll be better to name everyone in this

Spellbinder now is Geralt because his design remember me of Geralt's from The Witcher

Ok so before Addwaitya decides to be a bitch the humans from Ledgerdomain use to leave whenever they want and this is how Joan and Geralt meet each other

They did college together and no one can change my mind

Again this will be important in the future

Joan's parents were rich's

After college, Joan and Geralt get married and she decided to go with him to Ledgerdomain

Then she got pregnant

It was a risk pregnant so she decided that, since she could die during it, she would let something to her baby

That cool house with a big library that it completely not my dream to live in

Sadly, Joan died at childbirth and that would explain why Hope wants to bring her father back to life and not her mother

'Cause she's closest with him because he was the guy who took care of her

And her name has some meaning such as "the hope between their love"

Then Addwaitya started to be a bitch

And Geralt was like one of the heads of the revolution against that fucking turtle

Hope was between 5-8 years old back in time

Y'all know, Geralt died so Hope and Hex could live

And I'm pretty sure they both saw his death

Now we have a double H in need of therapy

But of course they didn't

Now they live in that house in earth

Hex was going crazy behind those magic things and maybe that's why he end up getting obsessed and power hungry with magic

All of this to try to comeback to Ledgerdomain and get his revenge

But at the same time he had to look after an also traumatized child which he wasn't really ready to

And maybe this is where the abuse started

He put in her head that she HAD to help and obey him because they were trying to save her father

But Charmcaster didn't really got it well because she was only a child

Oh of course she was homeschooled so she could learn the basic things and magic

Which is obviously the most important thing tho

Hex told her that names have power and that's why he give her new name Charmcaster

Which he only calls her in public

It was only to try to keep her safe from the crazy turtle

I mean he lost his brother and his sister-in-law he can't lose his niece too

So they get amoral for a real long time

And he was really rough with Hope's education

And social life

She never get around with people with her own age

I feel like she does like romance movies but it's a secret

Oh and she aways wanted to read/watch Harry Potter but Hex never allowed her to do it because "magic doesn't work in this way"

With the time Hex was like do what you gotta do

And here Hope feels the freedom for the first time

Hex wanted her to go to college what she did in a different city but next to Bellwood

This was 'till she decided to be a ruller instead

Hex really got worried when he first knew that she went back to Ledgerdomain

But he was the first person she contacted when she was done with it

And as humans from other dimensions they never celebrate holidays such as Christmas

Which Hope wish they could

Instead she used to watch christmas movies such as a Christmas Prince

She left Ledgerdomain during a week after her father "died again"

And y'all remember that episode with Michael that it's implied that they had sex?

It may be her first time for obvious reasons

She loved him more than he actually loved her

Witch he didn't

Let's be honest she was weakened because she had all that work to see her father dying again by his own choice

Michael saw that the place was full of mana and that she let him beautiful again

He just took advantage of her in this

What can I say? They could be a good couple if they had any kind of chemistry

I'm way sure she is bisexual

I mean it was okay she get mad with Gwen because of the book in the first five times

As a kid I don't think she ever looked at Gwen this way because you know kids

But then... Maybe

I mean it's not just jealousy

I really think she has a crush on Gwen

Fight me

I think of her as a Ruller that she would have a political to bring people to Ledgerdomain and then become their dictator because she thinks it means love

' cause it was the way Hex created her

I can't blame her for being like that

Actually I can't blame nobody in that whole story

They were just victims of the circumstances

I really believe she is a good girl who only needs an oportunity to show it

And someone who believes that she can be better than she is

Conclusion: Hope only suffers, wish I could hug my girl 😭

#ben 10 #ben 10 fandom #Hope #hope #Hex #charmcaster #Charmcaster #ben 10: omniverse #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 hex #ben 10 headcanon

[itismarvelicious]

Now that everyone forgot Peter Parker, I kinda want him to show up at Pepper’s doorstep like « Hi, my name is Peter Parker, I’m here for the babysitting offer » (or through Happy, and Happy would hire him since they both knew May « through Spider-Man », so it would make him trust Peter over the other candidates). And being part of the Stark household would be the only thing left that makes him feel « home », and when he arrives at Pepper’s doorstep, he steps on a carpet saying « home sweet home », which makes a parallel to the previous titles of his movies. « My husband always hated this mat. If it was up to him, we would’ve had our alpaca’s face on it with a line such as « wipe your feet, ya filthy animal ». He actually made it into a real mat, it’s in the garage. So, like Mr Hogan must’ve told you, you’ll be looking after my daughter Morgan, she’s 6. »

« I don’t… have to look after the alpaca too, right? »

« You didn’t read the contract all the way to the end, did you? »

« Ugh… »

« I’m kidding. »

As it turns out, Morgan is the kind of little girl that actively tries to get her nannies to quit by driving them crazy. Because she wants to spend as much time as she can with her mom, time she didn’t get with her dad. But Peter being « family », the bond comes quickly and naturally. So at first, Morgan plays a few tricks on him, like letting Geralt escape, making Peter « look after him » too in the end, or locking him in the lab - but his fingerprints were still recorded in the system, though to no name. It surprises Peter, as much as Morgan. « How did you escape? », she asks, squinting her eyes suspiciously.

« I’m just really smart. »

« So am I. »

« Yeah, I don’t doubt that. Your dad was the smartest man I’ve ever known. »

« You knew my dad? »

« Well, I mean, everyone knew your dad. »

« I don’t. »

« What do you mean? »

Morgan shrugs. « I don’t remember him very much. »

« Oh. » And no one remembers me, Peter thinks. « You know, I lost both of my parents when I was your age. I don’t remember them much either. »

« Who raised you? »

« My aunt and uncle. Actually, they’re the ones who made me remember. They always talked about my parents, told me stories about them, showed me pictures. »

« Daddy used to tell me stories all the time. »

« Great, that’s something - can you remember them? Like, what was your favorite? »

« The Spider-Man one. But I don’t remember much about it either. »

« Oh. I know that one, actually. »

And so he tells him his origin story, that we never got to see in the MCU. And when Morgan is in bed that night, he tells her, « look, I know one thing for sure - your dad has always dreamt about you. » Like he had once told him how much he dreamt of becoming a father. « And he must’ve loved you very much. »

He loved her 3000, after all.

And the next day Pepper gets a bit angry at Peter for telling such things to Morgan, just because « forgetting is part of the grieving process », and she’s heartbroken and shocked by her own words, and she sighs « Look, I don’t want Morgan to forget. She had a bond with Tony I had never seen anywhere else. But after he died, she had nightmares for months - for a year. Seeing how miserable she was might’ve been harder to see than watching my husband die in my own arms. So right now, forgetting might be the only thing that makes her move on. I just want her to be happy. Even if that means she forgets her own father. Tony made sure she’ll remember someday, anyway. In time. »

BARF. « Look, Peter » It made Peter startle - this was the first time she called him by his name again. « We both like you very much. Even Happy does, just don’t tell him I told you. I think Morgan sees you as an older brother, and I’m happy your relationship works that way, I really am. But please, be careful when talking about Tony. I would like to avoid a relapse. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. » She has a little smile. « I have to be honest, I just didn’t think you’d stay that long. No one else has. But she likes you. »

It feels just enough to remotivate Peter, feeling part of a family again. Of this family precisely, a family he always had felt a part of - the only family he has left. And so another night, when Morgan is asleep, Peter sneaks into the lab.

He should’ve been surprised that he has access to the lab without having to display his identity, but he’s too thrilled for that. Going through Tony’s stuff, he finds what he’s looking for - BARF files and tech. They’ve been used badly before - Mysterio, which is the reason for his situation - but he can use them positively again. The way Tony intended. MJ and Ned have no memories of him, but with BARF, Peter’s sure he can bring them back. It’s still there in their brains, it’s just locked.

Maybe he’ll use that opportunity, someday. Not now, but knowing there’s this possibility is enough for Peter to feel lighter. Knowing that his past can be part of his future again. That, and the fact that he feels part of a family again. It’s all the same, but different. It feels like he hasn’t really lost them, because it may not be permanent. It feels like this world is becoming his own again.

Anyway, sorry for going too far. As usual, this is what happens when I’m half asleep after a 4 hour night sleep. (That also means I completely absolve myself of all responsibility for all the inconsistencies).

#Peter Parker #tom holland #pepper Potts #Morgan Stark #Spider-Man #Spider man #pepperony #spiderman #michelle jones #zendaya #mysterio

[lilith-of-rivia]

Monster House

Trigger Warnings: Claustrophobia, mentions of self-hatred, self-degrading voice, panic/anxiety attack, mentions of blood and gore.

Summary: after Geralt lashes out at you and leaves you alone in a house, you have an anxiety attack/panic attack.

Word Count: 1,676

Paring: DAD!GeraltXFemaleMinorDAUGHTERReader

Request: Hello! Could you write one where the reader is Geralt's child surprise. Reader is in her teens and gets in trouble. Geralt is pissed and grounds her. Reader cannot leave the house. The reader has developing claustrophobia so no fresh air for a while eventually gets to her. Reader starts to have an anxiety attack but doesn't dare go outside for a quick breath of fresh air. Geralt comes home and tries to calm her down and stuff. Thank youuu!!! 🥺🥺🥺

@theichabbieclub

Thank you for the request, my dear, so sorry for the wait. Hope you like it?

“Geralt! You’re being unreasonable. I didn’t do anything wrong!!” You yelled. Your hair was a mess around your face. Dirt smeared all over with some blood that thankfully didn’t belong to you.

“Did nothing wrong??” Geralt’s face to you, now eye level. He had to bend down to be eye to eye with you. His eyes searched yours. You could see the anger, fear, and concern on his face. Something you had only ever seen, no one else got to see that.

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing down his tired face. He was attempting to calm himself down, knowing he could sometimes be a bit too harsh with you.

“You deliberately left the house after me. You could’ve gotten killed.”

“-But I didn’t.” He sighed, grabbing your chin in his hand making you look at him.

You did leave the safety of the house, even when he said no. You wanted to come with him. It was only a pack of wolves. Nothing he couldn’t handle and you wanted to help, more than anything. You hated not being able to help him with anything, you could never do anything unless he was by your side. He or Jaskier. It made you feel like a burden.

“You’re right you didn’t. But you could’ve. You’re not to leave this house for three days. You stay in here, read the books Yen gave you. Unless I am by your side you do not step foot past that threshold. Do you understand me?” His voice was deep, stern, mean. You hated it when you got grounded. You sighed deeply, nodding in agreement.

“Good. I’m very disappointed in you Y/N.” He stood again, his back to you. Before you could say anything else he was out the door. You had half a mind to follow him but chose to listen to him. His lingering disappointment still thick in the hot air of the cramped house.

You walked to the corner of the small room, sitting down in the pile of blankets. You grabbed one of the herbal books Yennerfir gave to you and began reading. No matter how many times you reread the same paragraph about mugwort you couldn’t absorb the material. You were getting hotter and hotter, the hot summer sun now at its full peak at noon making the small cabin you were in getting hotter. You grabbed your water canteen and slugged it down. To your disappointment, Geralt had taken his own with him.

“This isn’t a house, it’s a shack. With walls enclosing it around me.” You huffed to yourself. Gathering your hair in your hands you tied it back, hoping it would help. But it did nothing. The room began to feel smaller, tighter. The air getting thicker.

Your mind wandered over Geralt’s words.

“He’s right. I’m such a disappointment. He should’ve left me years ago.” Your hot tears began to stream down your red cheeks. You put your hands on your face, holding it tightly, squeezing it as your eyes shut. You tried to not let these thoughts penetrate your head, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were a burden to Geralt. He constantly had to do things for you. You never did anything for yourself even if you wanted to. No matter how hard you tried you always felt like you were only a burden on him.

Your breathing became ragged and harsh as you cowered into the corner. Your body trembled, the walls around you closing in around you as you watched the floor move up and down like a monster’s mouth.

“If you ever need me; scream my name, I’ll hear you.”

His voice echoed through your head as you moved to the window. You pushed the small glass panel open and sat below it feeling the very soft breeze that came through. Your throat felt like it was closing. Your body shaking more as you cried harder, the thoughts of Geralt not coming back for you.

“GERALT PLEASE COME BACK!!!” Your screams echoed off the walls of the house. Your head in your hands as you cried harder and harder, your throat beginning to hurt.

“Please...please...please...please come back Geralt.” Your head began to get heavy as you laid on the hard floor. The door of the house flew open, but you didn’t have the energy to open your eyes, but you knew it was him. His smell was all too familiar to you. His arms quickly grabbed your limp body pulling you into his chest, his hand quickly grabbed your chin making your face turn to him, your eyes still not opening. You couldn’t.

“Jesus Y/N, your burning up. Did you eat something bad??” His voice was full of panic, it made your heart hurt. All I ever do is cause you pain. Your thoughts were filling your small head, making it harder for you to stop crying.

“The house is eating me.” You crooked out. He quickly lifted you, carrying you quickly out of the house. The fresh air instantly made you take in a breath, your tears subsiding.

You could hear the splash of water as Geralt walked into the river near the cabin. He kneeled into the water, using his hand to cup cold water pouring it over your face.

“Open your mouth.” You did as he asked and drank the cold water from his hand. Your senses slowly started to return, your eyes opened and the bright sun made them burn. You slowly moved them around the running water. You could feel Gerlt’s fingers stroking your hair behind your ears as he completely sat in the water, no regard for his clothes. You locked eyes and gave him a weak smile.

“What happened?” His voice was softer than before, it was deep, comforting. Made you feel safe, even in the unsafe world you lived in.

“I feel like nothing but a burden...you never trust me to do anything on my own. It's like I’m a leach to you…” you couldn’t look at him, closing your eyes feeling the cold water rush into your back.

“You're not a leach, you're my kid. It's my job to protect you.” your eyes snapped back to his own. For years he never referred to you as his kid, or his daughter. At least not out loud. He treated you like his daughter. He was all you ever had when it came to parents, other than Yennefer.

His hand gently combed your hair from your face, sitting you up fully, your legs submerged in the cool rushing water.

“If something happened to you, if you died I wouldn’t be able to live in this world.” The smile that overtook your face made him roll his eyes playfully.

“You love me.” You cooed in a sing-song voice as you pointed your small finger at his face. He grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Of course I do, kid. I didn't have much meaning in life before I found you.” Your smile only grew as the big bad witcher gushed about his kid.

“Could you actually say it?” You asked, lifting your head slightly as he washed the dirt from his arms, you two slowly separating, leaving a foot between your bodies as you sat in the water.

“Say what?”

“That you love me. You've only ever said it once. But I don't think you meant to then.” Geralt eyebrows furrowed together.

“When?”

“A long time ago, you had gotten badly beaten by a group of banshees. Yen found you and brought you back with her. She had no one else to help, so I had to. I was barely eleven yet. It was scary, you were all… bloody, and cold. Your eyes were stuck open- corps like.” Your eyes were looking all over his body, and the earth around you. The story was never easy for you to remember, but you never forgot it.

“I honestly hate that I remember it so much, I remember watching Yen cry as she tried her best to stitch you back up. She just kept begging and pleading with ever god she thought was listening to her. It was horrible.” Geral's hand gently held yours, his finger softly stroking the back of your hand.

“I didn't forget it though. You woke up the next day, and I've never cried harder.” You said with a soft laugh.

“I hugged you, too tight and it hurt you. And I said I was sorry and I was just happy you didn't die. And you asked me why...I didn't know why you asked that stupid question. So I just said because I loved you. And you said it back. But you haven't sense. And honestly, if I'm your kid, you should say it more often. Because only telling me after you die really fucking sucks.” This time he laughed.

“I love you, Y/N. More than any father could ever love his child.” his arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as you held onto him, a smile ear to ear.

“I love you too, fuck face.” he groaned into your hair as he rested his chin on top of your head.

“I'm like this because of you.” You mumbled and he nodded his head, humming softly.

#geralt x oc #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #getalt of rivia #geralt fanfic #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #witcher yennefer #dad geralt #geralt dad #geralt x yn #geralt x you #witcher netflix #netflix #witcher oc #witcher 3

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (2/3)

Jaskier pays the price of his lies. With blood and tears and a few broken hearts.

(4.3k, lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, blood and injury, miscommunication, mutual pining)

Previous | Read on AO3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]. 

Jaskier wakes with a crick in his neck and an aching heart.

He goes through the motion of packing, their morning routine too familiar to distract him from the heavy guilt in his chest. Jaskier wonders if Geralt is actively avoiding him—the way his back is turned at every chance can’t be a coincidence.

The only time he so much as spares a glance is when Jaskier puts the lemon cake in their rations bag, wrapped perfectly and untouched. Geralt stills for a split second, his jaw clenched.

Jaskier wants to brush it off.

Finding an excuse is the first instinct he has, thinking of a lie as to why he didn’t eat something he’s been drooling over for ages, and erase that crestfallen look on Geralt’s face, the one that is breaking his heart.

Because he can’t exactly tell the truth, which is that he’s more likely to be sick if he ate it. Another lie, however, would turn his stomach even more.

Jaskier remains silent.

Even Roach is judging him as they walk out of the stable. Jaskier bears her side eyes and annoyed headbutt without putting up a fight. The mare is too perceptive to miss the tension in the air, and her protectiveness is more than justified. She’s a smart girl. Of course, she knows Jaskier is one making her broody witcher brood even harder.

She tries to bite his doublet again, and it’s Geralt who stops her with a soothing hand down his mane, murmuring confused questions into her ear. Sweet, kind Geralt, who has been rejected by Jaskier so many times for no reason in the past few days, is still trying to defend him.

Jaskier needs to make it right.

“Geralt, look—”

“Master Jaskier!”

Someone in the distance rudely interrupts Jaskier’s nervous attempt. He turns by instinct and watches a boy in lilac doublet jog up to them. He’s so young, no older than twenty, still with that joviality and naïvety in his features. The way his matching doublet and trousers could catch the eyes of any crowd reminds Jaskier of himself in his early years.

“Sweet Melitele, I’m your biggest fan! Oh my…” the boy proclaims, awestruck. “I’ve been following your ballads for years, and now I get to meet you in person!”

Jaskier looks to Geralt and then back at the man.

“Ah, I’m flattered. It’s always nice to meet a fan, but you see—” Jaskier gestures to the horse and the man behind him. “—I’m in a hurry to leave town.”

Besides, he’s in no mood to converse right now. The quicker he can get Geralt alone, the better. With this weight on his chest, Jaskier feels so drained just talking to anyone but his witcher, let alone dealing with an enthusiastic fan.

“Oh but you must listen to my set first!” The boy looks at him expectantly. “I dream of writing a hit song just like Toss a Coin. I could be just as big—”

“I’d love to, but the circumstances won’t allow it.” With the biggest smile plastered on his face, Jaskier dismisses the guy. “I’m sure there’s promise in you, especially now you’ve chosen the correct role model—”

“You can go, Jaskier.”

Jaskier snaps his head to Geralt, confused as to what he just heard.

“We need to leave this morning, my dear. That’s the plan.” Jaskier frowns. “Remember?”

He excuses himself to the young man and drags Geralt away too quickly, too rudely—on another day he’d feel contrite ignoring a fan like this, but today he’s mind is occupied by something much more important.

Once out on the street and alone, Geralt’s befuddled frown deepens. “Why did you—”

“I need to tell you something,” Jaskier interrupts. “Before I say it, I know you will get mad at me, but you have to understand that the past year has been hard on me, Geralt. When you showed up in Oxenfurt out of the blue, I didn’t have enough time to process everything or what it would mean for us to travel together again. That’s why everything is so wrong now and I need to make it right.”

“I know what you want to say.”

The world stops.

All he can see is that pained look on Geralt’s face, the one that’s breaking his heart and making his blood run cold. Of course, he knows, witcher senses and all. As if Jaskier has ever gotten away with lying to Geralt’s face in the past.

“You do?” he breathes, the crack in his voice unmistakable.

Geralt lets out a sigh. He’s not mad. At least, he doesn’t look like he’s angry with Jaskier. “It’s been obvious in the past few days, and I… I do understand.”

“Oh.”

There’s still hope then. Jaskier just needs to come clean and apologize, and, definitely, throw whatever game he’s been playing out the window. They will be fine. The two of them, the bard and the witcher on the path, just like the old days—

“I can leave now,” Geralt starts. “With me gone, you’d be free to stay here for longer. You have so many things to see and so many people to meet. You can go back and talk to the boy. Finally, there’s someone who can wax lyrical with you. It’ll be for the best.”

“What?”

“You don’t need to say it, Jaskier. I can see now that it’s better if we part ways. Let’s not make things more difficult.”

Jaskier stares, gaping like a fish out of water. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, after all this time, after the mountain. Geralt wouldn’t do it.

He wouldn’t.

“You are leaving me here?”

Geralt looks as if he’s stricken. His shoulders tense like every time he wants to appear smaller.

“It’s for the best,” he repeats.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Wait, I thought you understood. I’m sorry, Geralt, for the past few days. I didn’t mean to… I wanted to apologize, so you know I didn’t mean it.”

The smile at the corners of Geralt’s lips is too sad.

“You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to ask it of you to begin with—”

“Ask me what?”

“—Us traveling together again… It was only wishful thinking. There was never a second chance and I never should have gone to find you.”

Jaskier takes a step back, swallowing the lump in his throat. Suddenly the collar of his doublet is too tight and the lute on his back is too heavy. He has to look away from Geralt’s resolute face just to stop the stinging in his eyes.

“You promised…” he mumbles. “You promised not to leave again.”

Geralt falters for a second, his hand resting on Roach’s saddle as if to steady himself. When he answers, his tone is cold, colder than Jaskier can take.

“How can I keep you when everything catches your eye, Jask? You are not made to stay... Not with me. Not after everything that happened.”

Disbelievingly, Jaskier retreats. His hand fists around the strap of his lute case, digging into his palm. “Not made to stay? Seriously?”

“It’s for the—”

“If you tell me it’s for the best one more time, I swear, Geralt…”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt calls out his name without heat like he’s placating an unreasonable child. Jaskier exhales in exasperation.

“Maybe you are right that it was only wishful thinking.” he forces the words out, his heart sinking. “For once it was actually my fault, and you can’t wait to ask for life’s one blessing again.”

“I—”

“Fine. Have at it,” Jaskier hisses. “I don’t care.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Jaskier lands the biggest lie he’s ever told in this mess. He drags his feet to cooperate, to take him away and put some distance between him and the worst disaster that’s ever descended upon his life.

Roach neighs, but the sound is far-away. Jaskier grabs at the doublet at his chest and wonders if the witcher-shaped hole within can ever be filled.

 ~~

Jaskier doesn’t stop.

He walks into the bustling crowd of the market, heedless of cheery townspeople going about their day, and he keeps walking until the noise dies down.

Jaskier stops at the riverbank with nowhere to go, so he sits down on the ground and finally lets the dam break.

Crying does very little to ease the ache, and yet when the tears bring a release for the pent-up pressure in his chest. It’s hard to feel justified in letting the pain be cried away when he’s so aware of his own faults in the once-again ending of their companionship.

After all, Geralt couldn’t wait to throw him aside on top of that mountain when he’d done nothing wrong. What makes him think Geralt will tolerate him when he intentionally fucks things up.

Jaskier gasps for air, but only a whimper chokes out. How pathetic, to regret the most precious second chance destiny has ever granted him.

Now he knows for sure that he doesn’t deserve to cry, to let himself feel even just slightly better in the wake of his destruction.

Jaskier tries to stifle the tears with a hand at his mouth, and breathes. In and out, one breath after another. It’s like trying to contain a storm threatening to wreck through his entire being.

But he manages, after an eternity.

Jaskier sniffles one last time and wipes away the tear tracks. There’s a tremor in his hands but he pays no mind. The lute case is laying carelessly in the grass where he dropped it. He slings it onto his back and realizes that in a frenzy, he’s left everything else he owns in Roach’s saddlebags.

He could laugh at the idea of going back there, tail between his legs, as if being kicked out of Geralt’s life—for good this time—isn’t humiliating enough. His only hope hangs on the possibility that Geralt may have left his packs at the inn so they don’t have to face each other. Why would Geralt want to see him anyway? The witcher should be long gone.

Jaskier doesn’t make it too far when a streak of lilac pops out of nowhere.

“Oh! Here you are, Master Jaskier. You are a hard man to track down.”

The boy still looks too chirpy for Jaskier’s liking, too bright and too carefree. His mood is soured even further.

“Look, I’m not fit for company today.” Jaskier walks right past the young man, heedless of his insistence. “Mister—what is your name? Maybe you’ll catch me at the next festival if fate allows.”

The boy ignores his deflection and stops right in front of Jaskier’s face, which successfully draws his full attention and pisses him off completely. “I said—”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” The kid doesn’t relent. “I thought the witcher is determined to abandon you for the second time. Don’t you think he’ll stick to it this time?”

Strangely, the other man doesn’t look nearly as young up close. His face is youthful for sure, smooth and unblemished, and yet there’s an inexplicable weariness in his blue eyes. Now that Jaskier notices, these blue eyes look eerily similar to his own. With just the eyes, he could be looking into a mirror.

Jaskier wants to squirm.

“Did no one teach you that eavesdropping is rude?” He pauses, startled. “Wait, a second time… You knew—”

“Oh.” The man looks sheepish. “Can’t blame a fan for keeping tabs on you, can we?”

An overly zealous fan is nothing new, but somehow, this one sends a shiver down Jaskier’s spine.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jaskier says, trying to back away. “I need to get back to town. You know, where the inspirations are, so I’ll find it in me to… um, compose more of those pieces you love so much.”

“Oh, don’t kid yourself! You are not going back to him, are you? Twenty years! All the sweat and blood and singing his praises and this is what you get after all this time!”

The guy grabs at Jaskier’s arm, which he shakes off in horror.

“You know nothing about me. Or Geralt.”

“That witcher will never see you!” he exclaims. “I was there when your first ballad swept the continent off its feet, Jaskier. From that moment on, I knew you were special. What appreciation has that mutant shown you? Only insults and scorn.”

“Geralt is not like that, he—”

Jaskier freezes to the spot.

He forces his attention back to the boy’s face. His eyes are still startlingly blue, even more so in anger. There’s not a single trace of age at his temples, and yet…

“My first song was twenty-two years ago,” Jaskier states, something akin to fear creeping into his voice. “What did you say your name was again?”

At those words, the man’s face shifts. It’s like watching someone shed a layer of skin, a façade, and another being emerges. A much more powerful one.

“Does it matter?” When he answers, there's magic in the air, sizzling with power. The blue of his eyes shimmers under the surface, ever so slightly. Jaskier’s heart clenches.

Not human.

Definitely not human.

“We never got to know each other, well,” Jaskier stalls. “I think now it’s not too late.”

He has an inkling that getting away will not be an easy feat. He can hope to distract this… this creature long enough for a chance to run. His hand tightens around the strap nervously, and the man’s eyes follow the movement without a beat.

Shit.

Jaskier turns to run, to take the lute case in his hands as a weapon, but it’s too late. The next thing he knows, the case is thrown against the ground and he’s backed against a tree. The other man’s grip around Jaskier’s wrists is like a vice, securing his hands right above him.

Jaskier wants to scream, but no sound escapes his throat. His body shakes all over, out of control.

“The fae never reveal our name easily,” the creature hisses.

Those blue eyes are too sharp and there’s a scent growing overwhelmingly strong. Fae, as it turns out, smell like newly cut grass and wildflowers, like the forest.

If only Jaskier can live long enough to share the trivia.

And then, with both their hands occupied, the fae presses his forehead to Jaskier. He struggles but to no avail.

The touch is cold and something is slipping into Jaskier’s mind like an icy stream in the spring. It trickles probs at every corner of his memories.

“Oh, even now you are loyal to the witcher. You still believe he’ll save you, little songbird.”

Jaskier’s vision turns fuzzy. His soundless whimpering breaks into breathless gasps, like a wounded animal waiting for a mercy kill. At the back of his mind, he’s achingly aware of Geralt’s absence. His witcher in shining armor won’t come this time, not after all the—

“All the pretty little lies. Every single one of them, born out of love, misguided.”

However true that statement is, Jaskier doesn’t want to hear it. His love for Geralt shouldn’t be spoken with malice. He fights against the fae’s iron hold with everything he can muster.

There’s a crack of bones before the pain hits him, exploding from his wrists all the way down his arms. Jaskier sobs, the edges of his vision darkening, the shock threatening to pull him under. He still can’t make a sound.

“What can we do?” The fae’s voice comes from a distant realm. “How can we have your loyalty as the witcher does? Oh, how fierce you are, songbird. To have your voice at our court… Perhaps, more lies will do. Yes, it was your choice, what your heart desired. A gift from us.”

Jaskier can’t process anything he’s hearing. He’s too tired from the searing pain in his wrists.

“Just a few lies. They’ll be easy to roll off the tongue, and yet, such powerful weapons.” The fae retreats. “A gift of lies. Thank you for the inspiration, Jaskier the bard. We hope you enjoy it as much as we will.”

Without the brute force holding up his body, Jaskier sagas against the tree, his legs unable to support his weight. His lungs burn and his mind turns fuzzy, bereft of the fae’s presence.

Jaskier needs to move, needs to scramble away from this place. But before the sweet relief of freedom even hits him, magic seizes him again and, finally, finally, a world-ending scream explodes from his lungs.

The world goes to black soon after.

 ~~

Jaskier wakes to someone shaking his shoulder, someone gentle.

His body pulses like a bruised nerve. The back of his head feels like it’s been trampled by a whole army and his neck creaks at the barest move. Jaskier’s nose is buried in damp grass and he chokes, which jostles his neck even more.

He groans miserably and tries to touch, only to be stopped by the burning in his wrists. He lets out a hiss.

Right, broken bones. Blue eyes that look the same as his. Fae.

“Careful… Fuck, Jaskier, what happened?”

A gravelly voice comes through the fog.

Geralt.

Oh, Jaskier can sob with relief. He arches his back, slowly propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes are so sore from lying on the ground face down, but the sight of his witcher is unmistakable.

Jaskier wants to call out for his witcher, but a sob is the only thing that gets out. He cradles his hands and finds his right wrist is swollen red and sensitive to the touch, but the left looks more or less the same. Only a throbbing pain tugging at his fingertips.

He reaches to the back of his head with his left hand, where the crick is prickling at his nerves, only to find a gash at his nape and hair caked with blood. He doesn’t remember hitting his head while falling. He doesn’t remember falling at all.

So, one wrist sprained, the other broken, plus a gaping hole in his head. Jaskier can cope.

If he doesn’t die from the embarrassment, that is. He whines pathetically, already exhausted.

“I told you not to move.” Geralt catches Jaskier’s tilting body. Amber gold flows with concern. “What happened to you, Jask?”

The question comes out soft, more of a whisper to the witcher himself than demanding answers. Jaskier’s lips wobble at the endearment. He needs to tell Geralt everything. Fuck his injured pride. Geralt came for him. This wonderful, beautiful, sweet man came to him after the disaster that is this morning and he’s still trying to help Jaskier.

All because Geralt is safety. He’s safety and home, and Jaskier needs to tell him—

“None of your business, witcher.”

It takes a moment for Jaskier to register what left his lips, the venom that drips from these words so foreign. He’s never aimed at Geralt before. From the looks of it, Geralt is equally startled if the tiny crease by his lips is any indication.

“You hit your head,” Geralt says patiently, hovering close to Jaskier’s face in an attempt to check the wound on his neck. “It’s bad. Here, let me see—”

“Get your filthy hands away from me!”

The words fly out on their own volition. Jaskier flinches, the same time as Geralt takes back his hand as if burned. He closes his mouth with a pop and the feeling of something severely wrong weighs down on his stomach. That’s not what he meant, not at all. The only thing he wants to do is lean into Geralt’s touch and melt into a puddle. Whyever did his mouth betray his heart? Why did he…

Why did he…

…Lie?

His mind focuses on a sing-songy voice.

A gift from us.

A gift of lies.

It’s like a bucket of ice water thrown over Jaskier’s head. He sobers up immediately. The inspiration they took from him. The fae’s gift.

The fae’s curse.

Geralt’s brows are knitted together, amber eyes imbued with hurt. He is still crouched in front of Jaskier, hands fisted at his side and shoulders taut. He’s got the look now, that lost look that only appears when a mob drives him out of town with pitchforks and stones. Jaskier has seen that look one too many times.

And now he's the one causing it.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, shocked, unsure.

Jaskier breathes hard and tastes the bile rising in his throat. Geralt doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to have that hopeless look on his face or to be shunned by the world, by anyone, and least of all, by someone he’s let stay beside him for so many years. By the Gods, Jaskier needs to let Geralt know he’s the kindest person on earth and more human than any human. He’s Jaskier’s friend and protector, his dream, his heart—

“You are a mutant, a freak,” Jaskier feels the words slip out, too late to realize the mistake of opening his mouth. “No better than the monsters you slay.” The magic compels his tongue. He bites down on it but it’s only futile. “You feel nothing and give nothing but death to those around you.”

Jaskier recoils, tasting blood. In front of him, Geralt mirrors his movement. The entire time, the wolf medallion rests against his chest plate, Jaskier’s last hope, sitting still and unresponsive.

And Geralt…

He doesn’t defend himself.

Of course not. Geralt never defends himself against the stoning even when he can easily defeat most humans with his bare hands. There’s a faded scar near his hairline, a solid proof of men’s capacity for prejudice and violence.

Now Jaskier has joined their ranks.

Geralt looks like he’s been suck-punched in the gut, his eyes wide and crestfallen. And yet, wide amber eyes gaze upon Jaskier without accusation, only quiet acceptance. Jaskier shudders with disgust and fear, which must be the reason Geralt is backing away further.

“I’ll leave… If you—” he pauses, before standing up. “I see. This is goodbye, Jaskier.”

Don’t go!

“Get away then!”

Jaskier shakes his head, putting all the force he can muster into biting into his lips, scared of what may come out. His wrists burn but he has to force his mouth shut by pressing his palms over it.

Why can’t Geralt see that something’s wrong? Why can’t he see Jaskier?

See me! Jaskier pleads silently through the tears.

Geralt’s face falters as he spares one last glance at Jaskier.

Look what you’ve done to him, the sing-songy voice returns. This is your choice. You chose to lie, little poet. Be careful what you wish for.

Jaskier crumbles like a puppet with his strings cut. He barely contains the choked-out whimpers. The burning in his lungs is nothing compared to the anguish. He could die at this moment and it would be a sweet release. Hurting Geralt like this, it’s worse than a thousand broken bones and a million cuts on his skin. In the darkest corners of his mind, he wants Geralt to walk away from him. If Jaskier has to spew any more venom towards the man he’s loved for more than half of his life, he’d surely want to walk into the ocean and never come out.

He presses his ears to the grass and remembers the cold wind on the mountain. He was a fool to hope Geralt could come to him then. He is a fool now.

The witcher drags his feet away, one step after another, trampling the soft flora under him, and then—

And then, by some miracle, he stops.

Jaskier watches as his witcher turns around and rushes back to his side, his jaw clenched and eyes determined. His heart bursts with hope, but his fists press against his mouth harder. There’s more blood coating his tongue.

“I can’t,” Geralt states as he kneels next to Jaskier’s curled body. The betrayal in his eyes ebbs away and in its place is something…tortured.

Jaskier shakes his head, or is he trembling again? His vision swims with blood loss. He won’t be able to stay awake for long.

“I can’t leave you here, Jaskier,” he muses to himself, frowning deep. “Shit. You are bleeding again.”

Jaskier scoffs into his fist, almost hysterical.

“You are in shock, and you are about to pass out. I don’t know what happened, but your wrists are a mess. Jaskier…” The name comes out like a prayer. “I heard your wishes. Loud and clear, this time. I know you loathe my presence in your life, but… I have to make sure you’ll get better. Please, forgive me.”

Geralt tries to gently pry Jaskeir’s hands away, but he struggles blindly. Through the haze of his mind, Jaskier’s last thought reminds him to keep his mouth closed.

“Forgive me,” Geralt mutters in anguish, “I can’t let you hurt yourself because of me. Forgive me, just one more time.”

His hand makes the familiar sign of Axii, and everything turns…soft.

The pain is gone, the magical hold on his tongue too. Jaskier loses himself in the mellow sensation of giving up control. The ground disappears under his body and his head lolls against Geralt’s chest.

“I was wrong.” Regret rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest. “I was the curse that befell you. After all the hurt you’ve received by my side, Gods, and I still can’t keep myself away from you. I will not make the mistake of forcing myself into your life again, Jask. Allow me a few days to see you safe, and then... Never again.”

The vow is so wrong, but Jaskeir is powerless to protest. He catches a broken whisper before darkness claims him for the second time on the same day.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. For my heart.”

Jaskier welcomes the oblivion that drags him under, as well as the nightmares that follow.

~~

I'm...sorry. 

One more chapter to go. Hopefully this time I won't have to up the chapter count. Some real communication and comfort are on the way! <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @a-kind-of-merry-war @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #lying spell #cursed jaskier #miscommunication #mutual pining #jaskier fucks up real good in this one #and bears the consequences #geralt x jaskier #again i'm sorry #i meant to end it with geralt walking away #and thought #in this economy? #but somehow this is... worse? #hurt jaskier #jaskier whump #hurt geralt #everytime i hurt geralt's heart i go 🥺🥺

[angelltheninth]

Headcanons for Eda Clawthorne with a Fem!S/o who’s basically Geralt from The Witcher?? Like they first met at hexside where y/n used to be kind & fun-loving(she was in the beast coven), but after graduating from Eda didn’t really see her after a couple of years(after Eda got cursed) . But it wasn’t until that when they were 27 the two met again, only for Eda to see that her old-friend had changed over the years (she was basically more like Geralt in the show/games). She’s a pretty good fighter (like how g fought in the show) and though she’s in her early 40’s she looks like she’s in her mid-20’s. She also uses sign magic the same way g dies and would also teach luz how to fight and sign magic (because luz uses glyphs).

Not ashamed to admit that I'm in love with every version of Geralt. Thanks for the ask Anon!

Eda loves that S/O is just as wild and fun loving as she is

S/O loves to show Eda all the animals she's bonded with in the Beast Coven

When S/O found out about Eda's curse she tried to help since she was in the Beast Coven but Eda wouldn't let her and would just run away when she was in Owl Beast form

The two grew apart quite a bit since they graduated but S/O didn't want to join a coven either

Instead she became one of the Covenless witches who avoided the Emperor's Coven with the help of the animals that she bonded with over the years

When she meets Eda again she's surprised that Eda isn't as wild as she remembered her despite Eda's reputation as the Owl Lady

Eda takes notice how S/O looks quite a bit older than she actually is but says that she likes that they have matching hair now

Eda is also surprised that S/O is much, much more serious now and not nearly as talkative or fun-loving

S/O takes notice of Luz's glyph magic and offers to teach her the sign magic that she likes to use

Luz thinks S/O is really cool and often ask her for fighting lessons and what her work out routine is

S/O always says that its mostly what a life on the road does to you since it can get pretty rough out there and you have to be tough to survive the Boiling Isles on your own

Eda and S/O start an on-again-off-again sort of relationship

S/O likes to visit the Owl House when ever she's in Bonesborough

Luz doesn't get how Eda can stand not seeing S/O more often but Eda says that the relationship just works for them and that its not something Luz should concern herself with

Eda always welcomes S/O with a kiss while Luz and King always ask her to tell stories of her new adventures

#the owl house #the owl house x reader #the owl house eda #eda clawthorne #eda x reader #eda x fem!reader #edalyn clawthorne #eda the owl lady

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided.  The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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

“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. 

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook. 

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.” 

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree. 

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face. 

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase. 

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word. 

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out. 

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant. 

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam. 

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement. 

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming. 

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too. 

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side. 

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn. 

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.” 

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment. 

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll. 

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink. 

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life. 

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating. 

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table. 

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again. 

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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

What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what. 

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List!  @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata  @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast  @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna 

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think. 

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

[asweetprologue]

I know that feel my dude. How about a Geraskier prompt Geralt getting stuck in ice or mud or what have you and Jask has to get him out. Hilarity ensues. <3 i write as im dodging my calc work....

this is so fun! I’m gonna put the response below the cut because I actually can’t, as it turns out, write a drabble that’s less than 1k. we all have our fatal flaws

Geralt was in a hole. 

It didn’t matter why. It had involved a very stealthy drowner, and patch of wet ground, and perhaps some overconfidence on Geralt’s part. Witcher’s didn’t slip. They didn’t trip, or fumble, or fall down. If they did, they died. Simple as that. 

The drowner hadn’t killed him, but in Geralt’s mind it had still won the fight. Though dead, it was up there, and Geralt was down here. The hole he was in was filled up to his lower thighs in water and muck, and the walls were too loose to climb. Anytime he tried to get a handhold, the dirt slid through his fingers like molasses and plopped into the water below. He’d been here for hours, now, most of the night. He was going to die in a hole in Velen, of all placed, up to his neck in cold mud when he finally sat down in the shallow pool. 

At least he wouldn’t die of thirst. His fucking bones felt damp. 

Geralt wished he hadn’t left his bags with Jaskier at the inn. They would have weighed him down, but at least he’d have a damn rope. 

Fuck. Jaskier. He hoped the bard wouldn’t come looking for him. How long before he realized something had happened? Geralt had said he’d be back by nightfall, but sometimes jobs took longer than he thought. Jaskier might not grow suspicious until morning, or even several days. All the better, really, Geralt thought. The chance of Jaskier finding him was slim anyways, and by the time he got here Geralt might already be dead. 

The night passed slowly. Meditation could only do so much to block out his cold, wet surroundings. Finally he realized that it was starting to get lighter out, the first rays of the sun dappling the grayish leaves overhead with faint orange light. 

Two hours later he heard footsteps in the forest, and a moment later, he heard a bitten off curse that was achingly familiar. 

Geralt stumbled to his feet in the pool of water, squinting up at the five foot hole that marked the exit of the pit. “Jaskier?” he called. 

The footsteps stilled, and then broke into a more rapid pace. A moment later, Jaskier’s foppish brown hair and shockingly bright doublet came into focus. He frowned down at Geralt, as if it had been Geralt’s idea to get stuck in a hole. “Geralt,” he said, “this may seem a silly question, but what are you doing down there?” He looked fine, clearly not beset upon by any marsh monsters, much to Geralt’s relief. The entire situation, which had seemed so dire that night, suddenly seemed trivial. And then he remembered how he’d gotten into the hole. 

Feeling his ears tingle with a blush, he said, “I was hunting drowners.”

Jaskier was looking around, his hands doing something Geralt couldn’t see. Rooting through their bags, maybe. Hopefully for a rope. “Well, yes, I was aware of that. When you didn’t come back to the inn I asked the alderman if he’d seen you, and he said no, so I visited the healer, just in case you’d done that thing you do where you collapse on someone’s doorstep and they don’t know or care to fetch me, which you know I don’t care for, but she hadn’t seen you either. So I thought to myself, well, Jaskier, you’ve just got to go and see about it yourself, don’t you? I’ll have you know I’ve been walking around here since near daybreak, and my boots are ruined.” He made a triumphant sound, and Geralt blinked as a rope was flung down, nearly hitting him in the face. Jaskier popped  back into view, pouting at him. “This is a horrible place, you know.”

“Free of drowners though,” Geralt replied. He took the rope in hand, preparing to make the slippery climb back up to relatively dry land. 

“I should hope so,” Jaskier agreed. “None of that answers the question, though, of why exactly you are in a hole.”

Geralt grunted. “The ground is treacherous.” He was not going to admit that he got pushed into a sinkhole by a drowner. Jaskier would probably put it in a song, and then where would the reputation of witchers be?

Jaskier stared at him. There was a beat of silence, and then, “Geralt. Did you fall?”

Geralt glared at the rope warped around his hand and put his full weight on it, knowing that Jaskier was holding the other end. All he had to do was use it to anchor himself as he scaled the muddy wall, and he would be able to cuff Jaskier on the head for his gleefully disbelieving tone. All he had to do was get to the top.

Unfortunately, Jaskier chose that moment to break out into rancorous laughter, and instead of bracing himself for Geralt’s weight, he was jerked forward. Towards the open pit. His laugh cut off on a yelp.

Geralt managed to catch him, but only just. They fell back into the water together, a tangle of limbs and rope and mud. Jaskier’s doublet was instantly soaked, turning the burgundy material an unbecoming brown. Jaskier spluttered out of the water, pushing grit out of his eyes as he spit. Geralt’s hands roamed over his body, checking for injuries. The bard was nearly straddling him, sitting with one of Geralt’s thighs thrust between his own. The witcher let out a breath of relief when he found no sign of hurt, and then his eyes met Jaskier’s. 

Jaskier made a face, full of chagrin. “What was that about treacherous ground?”

Geralt couldn’t help it - he laughed, loud in the still of the morning air. Jaskier stared at him for a moment before he broke out into his own chuckles. It kept building between them until they were nearly rolling with it, Geralt huffing out laughter into Jaskier’s throat as the bard cackled in his ear. It was a nice sound, after hours of sitting in the dark thinking he was going to be left to die at the bottom of this godsforsaken hole. They might still, but at least Jaskier was here. Nothing seemed quite so serious when he was around. 

Jaskier pulled back, still grinning as he looked Geralt in the face. “I can’t believe you fell,” he said again, delight still coloring his tone. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it when Jaskier was grinning at him like that. There was still mud all over him, slicking down his carefully styled hair and covering one of his cheeks like a strange troubadour mask. Geralt raised a hand and wiped some of it away, the negative of his fingers showing in brown streaks across Jaskier’s cheekbone. He liked the look of it, he decided. 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll leave you down here for the drowners,” he said, trying for gruff and knowing that he just barely missed annoyed, landing dangerously close to fond. He stood, pulling Jaskier to his feet as well. “At least you brought the rope down with you.”

Jaskeir smiled broadly at him, and Geralt rolled his eyes even as he smiled back. “Never let it be said that I don’t have my uses,” Jaskier replied. 

“Can’t think of any at the moment,” Geralt said, and was rewarded by Jaskier shoving him down into the muddy water at their feet. It was his second time falling that day, but this time, for some reason, he found he didn’t mind.

~

thank you for the prompt my lovely! it was fun to write. sorry it ended up way closer to tender than funny - it seems I have only one setting lmao

[alittlebitmaybe]

comme un écho

AKA whoops i talked to @yoursummerfrost about orpheus and eurydice and then tripped and fell on this very weird ficlet that is only sort of what i meant it to be. uh oh. (title lifted from “it’s never over (oh orpheus)” by arcade fire because i’m incredibly literal sometimes)

warnings: off-screen major character death

*

The mage had told him to perform the ritual in a field of wildflowers.

“Plenty of life,” she said.

Jaskier had asked, “For what?”

“To feed it,” she said, and did not elaborate.

And as he follows her instructions, surrounded by blooming weeds and swaying grasses, he sees that she was right. As the herbs and other unmentionables in the bowl burn, scorching the wooden sides, the green around him darkens to black. He feels the magic tugging at his energy and resists it. The ruin spreads from his epicenter, cursing the very dirt on which he kneels. A slow but inexorable exchange, and Jaskier thinks it fair. Geralt had watered the earth with his blood and now the earth must give back.

“You’re out of your depth, bard,” the mage had said as he turned to leave, her lips pursed. Was she amused or disapproving? Jaskier didn’t care, nor, he suspected, did she. Her pockets were full, and his own empty.

He hefted the lute higher on his back, clutched at the strap across his chest.

“And yet,” he said.

“He will not come easily,” she said.

“He never did,” Jaskier replied.

The flame in the bowl burns out with a flare of noxious smoke that stings Jaskier’s eyes, makes him cough. The world hums. It’s a tune of his own, as of yet unsung, plucked from his consciousness. It reaches out to him and burrows under his skin. Pulling. He follows it.

Between two gnarled, ancient trees, in the arch of their overlapping branches (Which belongs to which? Where does one stop and the other begin? If one was broken, would the other suffer for it?) the air shimmers.

The tune fades and in its place is a whisper saying, Come.

*

The stairs spiral downward for hours, days. Jaskier’s legs do not ache and he does not hunger, but it is ever so quiet. He takes the lute from his back and plays every song he’s ever composed in Geralt’s honor. Maybe Geralt can hear them. Maybe he will know Jaskier is on his way.

“Get ready, Witcher,” Jaskier says to the darkness. “Gather your underworldly things. You won’t be coming back any time soon. I can promise you that.”

And he says, “I’m sorry that you were alone. I’m sorry that I was too late.”

And he says, when the darkness presses upon him, when it seems the stairs will never end, “I don’t know when I began to love you, but it has been long enough that I don’t know how not to.”

And he says, “I’ve done this for you. You deserve to have a better life. You deserve to live.”

And he takes one more step and trips, for there is no stair where he expected there to be one. He taps the toe of his boot against the ground. It’s solid. He lifts his hand in front of his own face and it is invisible. There is no breeze, no sound, no smells, no light. There’s nothing down here.

In the face of such vastness, Jaskier is insignificant. He is nothing. You are nothing. You are less than a flea clinging to the fur of a great beast. You will be mine. You will become a part of me. You will cease. You will be forgotten.

“Hold on now,” Jaskier says, head whipping around. “Who’s there?”

I am everything that has been. I await everything that is. I anticipate what will be. I am.

“You’re Death,” Jaskier realizes, perhaps belatedly.

There is no such thing. I have no name. I have no need of it.

“That’s okay,” Jaskier says. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who or what you are.” His heart thumps arrhythmically, and sweat drips from his brow. He swipes it off on his sleeve. He is far under water. His lungs fill. He ignores it, swallows. Throws back his shoulders. “I’m here for Geralt of Rivia.”

There is no Geralt of Rivia.

“Bullshit.”

You are insolent.

“I’ve been told.”

You will be mine.

“Perhaps.” Jaskier licks his lips, an unbreakable habit. “But I will live on.”

You will not.

He laughs a little, despite himself, a nervous little giggle that he stifles as quickly as he can, clearing his throat. “On the contrary, I am an artist. I shan’t die as long as my art lives. And art does not die.”

Art? Art is not living. I have no use of it.

“Exactly,” he says. “Yes, precisely. It does not live or die. It simply is. Whatever you—whatever you are, being of, ah, all-ness…or what have you—whatever you are, whatever comprises you, you have none of art. You have no music, no stories, none at all. You will always lack it.”

There is a thoughtful pause.

I desire it.

“I can give it to you. Did you hear? I played my whole way down.”

I heard.

“Did you enjoy it? Three words or less.”

It was pleasing.

Jaskier exhales. “That’s actually a decent review, as these things go. I’m glad. I mean, would you like more? I could write you a song. Got a decent hand at improv, me. Won’t take a moment.”

A song. For me?

“Yes,” Jaskier promises, feeling the weight of it as it passes over his tongue, “a song, only for you. I shall never play it again. Well, um, on one condition.”

You want Geralt of Rivia.

“Oh, you were paying attention. Smart one, you are, Your…um, Majesty.”

I can retrieve him. If I am careful. He is me. I am him.

“Truly, I understand. His loss, for me, was…” Jaskier struggles for adequate words. “Irreconcilable. But you will always have the memory of your song to take his place.”

You sang of him.

“I do. Rather habitually. Every day of my life, in fact.”

Hmm.

“You sound like him already. So, whaddaya say?”

Play for me.

*

He plays, and every note that vibrates out from his lute, every note that leaves his mouth disappears from his mind. It is absorbed from him upon conception. He doesn’t know what the last measure was, nor what the next will be. He does not know what key or time signature his song is in, but he knows it’s a song. And that is all he promised.

It ends, and Jaskier does not notice. Possibly his jaw hangs open stupidly for minutes after it is over. He closes it.

“Was, um, was that…”

Yes. I will give you your reward.

“You will?” Jaskier asks, surprised despite himself.

I will release Geralt of Rivia, for you have given me something in return. And I will regain him, as I will gain you. We will meet again, bard.

“I—How do—”

You will walk forward. You will ascend, and he will follow. Until he emerges above, he is still a part of me. You may not look upon him, as you may not look upon me. You must not look back.

“How will I know he is there?”

He will follow.

“How will I know it is him?”

You must have faith.

“How—” Jaskier chokes now, tears welling up. He is glad no one can see. “Will he be—himself?”

Entirely. Once he emerges.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers.

It is time. Walk forward. In three paces, you shall begin to ascend. Be well, bard.

*

Jaskier climbs. The stairs remember his tread, the shape of his feet. It’s easy.

There are footsteps behind him. Are they Geralt’s? Do they match the way he shifts his weight, the deliberate heel-toe steps that Jaskier has been hearing for decades? He’s not sure.

Jaskier is afraid. More afraid than ever before. There could be anything back there. Anything at all. He must not look.

But he is not forbidden to talk.

“Geralt?” he says, tentatively. “Geralt, is that you?”

A grunt. “It’s me, Jaskier.”

And it is, thank the gods, it is. “Sounds like you,” he says, voice carefully measured, lest he sob in relief.

Silence. Four, five more stairs. They will not end. When will they end?

“How’ve you been, Witcher? It’s good to hear you again, my friend.”

“Where are we?”

“Well, who’s to say,” Jaskier says lightly. “Tell me, what do you last remember?”

“Bleeding out in a forest. I couldn’t get up. I waited to die. I…died. I died, didn’t I, Jaskier?”

Jaskier chooses to take that as rhetorical, and does not answer.

“Anything else?”

“Not until now. Is this a dream?”

“To my knowledge, no, Geralt, it is not. I pray that this is not a dream.”

“Then where—?”

Jaskier picks up his foot, sets it down. One stair at a time. There have been hundreds, there will be more. Is that light above? No, a trick of his eyes. He is still blind.

“Not to worry. We’ll soon be outside. It’s a beautiful day, you know. Big blue sky. Everything in bloom. Your favorite time of the year. We’ll have to do some foraging, stock up for potions. I have your things, of course, but I don’t know the shelf life of your concoctions.”

“A quarter year.”

“Ah, might have to make fresh, then.”

But no, it is growing brighter. Jaskier can see the faint silhouettes of his hands, the edges of the stairs to come. If he were to turn back he might be able to see the gleam of Geralt’s eyes, but he mustn’t.

Why mustn’t he? Oh, yes, the warning. He—can’t look back. He must not—

“Jaskier,” Geralt says again. “I’m dead.”

“You are, Geralt, yes, is that what you would like to hear?” Jaskier says, a little hysterically. “But you won’t be for much longer, if we just keep going.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Where? Where?” His pitch climbs with the staircase. Around and around. Dizzying. So many circles. “Above, Geralt. Back home, of course.”

“Why?”

Jaskier has to stop himself from whirling around. “Good gods, you ask me why? I follow you for decades, I immortalize you in song, and the witcher asks me why.” He draws in a great lungful of air, releases it. “I love you, you great idiot. I have loved you.”

The response comes, so softly, a mere rumble, “I know. That’s why I asked.”

The stairs are made of warped stone. He can see that now. They are well worn, dipping in the centers. It can’t be far. “Please, Geralt, we’re almost there.”

“You haven’t answered me. Why you would do this.”

“I was supposed to let you rot, huh? I was meant to live on as if it was fine? As if nothing was missing?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “You didn’t ask me if I wanted to come back.”

“Of course you did. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” says Geralt.

Jaskier stops, and behind him the second set of footsteps also halts.

“It was peaceful. It was my time.”

“It wasn’t,” Jaskier whispers. “Don’t tell me that.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

There is a touch to the small of his back, a gust of air across the nape of his neck. So familiar. He aches.

“Jaskier.” A strong hand closes around his wrist. He doesn’t look down at it, not even a glance. “The world doesn’t need me anymore.”

“What about the monsters? The wars?”

“There is Yennefer, and Ciri, and Eskel and the rest. There will always be someone.”

With dread creeping through his limbs, Jaskier says, “You’re telling me you don’t want to come back. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He can almost hear the creaking of the intertwined, ancient trees above. It is just a few more steps.

“You can’t tell me that, not when I—”

Arms come around him, and he shuts his eyes. “Jaskier, I would rather have done what I have done and no more, than continue on and overstay my welcome. I would rather have my peace.”

“What if I need you?” Jaskier breathes.

“I am with you.”

“You weren’t.”

Geralt’s hand comes to rest over his heart. It is not cold nor hot through Jaskier’s doublet. It simply isn’t much of anything at all. There, but insubstantial. It trails its way up his jaw, traces over his bottom lip. “You forget,” Geralt says, “that I am in your words. That I will live on. Isn’t that what you said? Art does not die.”

“You heard.”

“I must have.”

“That’s not fair.” Jaskier sniffles, knowing full well he sounds like a child. “I came all this way. I have always followed you. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Whatever you wish.”

“I will sing of you until I can’t any longer, to anyone who will listen, and to many who will not.”

A smile, pressed to his ear. “I can think of no better way to be loved.”

Something nags at Jaskier, and he can’t say what. He is surrounded by a body he knows as well as his own, yet it’s not right. Why?

The body releases him. It says, “Look at me, Jaskier. That’s all you have to do.”

“You’re not Geralt, are you,” he says with trepidation, eyes still squeezed tight. “Are you? Don’t lie.”

“Jaskier.”

He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Grips the lute strap in both hands. Turns.

Silvered hair, sad golden eyes, a sharp nose, wispy around the edges.

“Geralt,” he whispers, reaching out even as the form dissipates. Called back to the bottom of the stairwell.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” it says, and then it is gone.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #how tag??? #anyway orpheus!jaskier and eurydice!geralt deserves to be a real fic #not like whatever the fuck this is #i humbly invite someone to write it and nourish me #my fic

[cherryjuicegf]

from i love you prompts / “Even after all this time?” for yenralt <3

stay the same

thanks for the prompt love!! so um i swear i'm not doing this on purpose but guess what. it fit with a bingo prompt again :D hope you enjoy!! 💜

35. “Even after all this time?”

for @yenraltbingo prompt: date night || 1.1k, T, fluff, modern/reincarnation and part of this au

The lake is unmoving.

A mirror, cradling a hundred shimmering stars on the faintest of its ripples, and the moonlight, pouring over it like a river springing from a full moon, spreading its silver linings gently along the peeble mosaic of the shore.

A beauty, in every sense of the word, even the ones still not praised by the poets.

Geralt would be enchanted by it, he really would.

That is, if he could devoid his eyes of the image of Yennefer surfacing over the water in front of him, wet curls shining in the silver light, the moon rounding her face in a way that makes him think they're not different at all, her and the moon. The ripples waving around her look fitting, the ethereal dress of a goddess.

And yet she's here. And yet she's smiling at him.

Always there. Always her, coming out of the water, always this lake.

For every year they change, the lake remains the same. He thinks, the opposite it also true. Every year, every life, they're the same. Yet the surface mirrors their faces in a way that reveals the years, the lives, the hundreds of deaths and every desperate kiss. The wrinkles under his eyes have yet to show up. But her, oh, she's always young, always the same.

Only it seems to him that, as he gazes at her smile, that the faint laugh lines carved around her mouth and the dimples of her cheeks are now a bit deeper. If he thinks about it, she has been smiling more. Taking everything she can from each life that has given her sorrow and grief, taking the love and the smiles.

The love for once is also the same. Somehow he knows it could never be otherwise.

For him, at least.

Yennefer wrings her hair and sits beside him on the shore, his black shirt, borrowed from another lifetime, sticking on her body, drenched. Peers at him, as if watching him for the first time and thousand all the same. He doesn't turn. He doesn't need to, not yet.

She turns away then, her eyes lying restless on the water, and sighs. "It's like it hasn't been a day." He wants to ignore the sting her words nail on his heart. He can't. "Remember when we came here first. Hundreds and hundreds," she chuckles, a bittersweet thing, "and hundreds of years ago." Silence, a momentary one. Yennefer glances at him with the corner of her eye, then at the black shirt slowly drying on her. A smirk is playing on her lips. "And you're still wearing the same fucking clothes."

Geralt laughs, unable to hold back a single shake of his shoulders, and looks at her, her wide smile reflecting on his heart, blooming inside it. Like that, she looks more beautiful than ever. He wonders if that is actually possible, and tilts his head. "And yet you insist on stealing that one shirt."

A light giggle and Yennefer raises her eyebrows, her wet arm touching his cold with the night breeze. "Black isn't just your colour. And anyway..." Her voice gets lower, foreign with hesitance as she trails off. Geralt frowns. She looks at him, and before he manages to count the stars in the violet of her eyes, she turns away. Shrugs. "It's comforting. Everything changes, everything runs and we grasp on each other to follow behind. It's comforting, wearing that same shirt," she swallows, lowers her eyes, "knowing that I can at least keep something from back then. Knowing that this won't change."

"It won't." Geralt fears his voice is firmer than he intended, sharped, but the moment she turns to him with a familiar glint in her gaze, he knows it's just right, just what she needs to settle. So he shakes his head. "I still–" a deep, shaky breath, "–I love you, Yen."

Only she could manage such a thing as a bitter hope, always, and her smile now indicates just that, the disbelief of warming herself in the pleasure of being loved. How can she not believe? How can she think for even a second that his love has faded? Geralt knows the answer, he knows her, but decides to leave it aside, if it's for forever proving his love to her.

"Oh, Geralt." Yennefer tilts her head and he thinks he hears her heart picking up its pace. She huffs silently. "Even after all this time?"

Sometimes he thinks it would be easier. Maybe it would hurt less, to be able to love less, to go a whole life without it, without laying a single glance to her even if he feels her presence prickling his skin, running through his bones. Maybe he could get used to being alone like he once was.

It would hurt less. Spare him of the fear, the dreadful moment he loses her, every time, the desperate seconds after he finds her again in fear that she won't remember, that it's over, and he goes on running and running through the years searching for something he has already lost.

He stares at her, still. Slowly, as though facing the same fear, he raises his hand and cups her face, his fingers softened from the years of caressing her skin.

It would hurt less. But then, what would be the point of loving her?

A smile. "If time made any sense, we wouldn't be here right now, at this moment." Geralt watches the way her eyes suddenly resemble the surface of the lake, swallowed tears glistening like stars on their surface, and shakes his head. "I loved you then, I love you now and I will love you forever, in any life, any century, any second I spend on this world. And beyond."

Yennefer doesn't speak, not at once. She only stares at him, tears hanging on her lashes as though holding on for dear life, but it's not their time to fall, not yet. His touch is warm, so warm, and she leans into it. The familiar smirk on her lips. "I should have a talk with destiny. I died with a witcher and woke up with a damn poet."

Her voice doesn't manage to fade in the air before Geralt leans and presses their lips together. It's comforting, the kiss. Like a familiar shirt, a centuries old hug, spilling out the longing of a life and more, like the sweetness of the blood that wounds the cracks of cold, unmoving, beloved lips.

It's comforting. At least now, lost in this kiss, these tears, these hands, they can stop running, just for a night.

Just for a night, they can stay the same.

#i'm making this au a thing apparently #the witcher #yenralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt x yennefer #chrysa writes #prompt fill #responses to i love you prompts #yenralt bingo #fic recs #fluff #gingerlambert #reincarnation au #one day i will post on ao3. but not today.