#anyway @ all my friends and followers hi have you see the witcher yet

[dapandapod]

Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing. 

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

~

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

~

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

~

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

~

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

~

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

~

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

~

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

~

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

~

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

~

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

~

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

~

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

~

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

~

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

~

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

~

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook. 

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

~

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

~

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

~

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

#the witcher #geraskier #emotional hurt comfort #dapanda writes #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #slow build #geralt is learning how to be a friend #jaskier is very much unseen by all his important people #winter at kaer morhen #the witcher season 2 fix it #ish #i have a lot of feelings about being unseen in a group #being told you talk too much #jaskier deserves so much more than shitty friends #yennefer #lambert is a prick #eskel #yarpen #ciri

[a-thirst-for-dunmer]

My favorite things about all my Skyrim followers:

KAIDAN

-wicked ass armor and weapon with fucking tigers on it

-realistic cursing in life or death situations

-literally the most realistic male dialogue ever with his corny ass innuendos. ‘This monument, does it remind you of me, love? Just kidding.’

-so goated in battle. Mans can kill a dragon so easy and i don’t need to do anything but look pretty

-ACCENT.

CARYALIND

-his hair is so fluffy. I bet it smells like roses and vanilla bean, what’s your secret bb

-such a sweetheart all the time. No wonder he can’t be Thalmor, he has too much heart for it

-fucking backstory. It’s very Zuko without villain redemption arc, and the fact that he still worries about the LDB thinking worse of him for being Thalmor royalty is just *chef’s kiss*

-ACE REP. I really fucking love how he can dress like a hoe, flirt like a hoe, and look so hot but have no interest in sex. Mmm that’s my jam that’s what I like.

-boob window

-Kaidan interactions! Proving that Altmer can be kind and sweet and not lighting-shooting British assholes

INIGO

-the backstories for everyone are so damn tearjerking but this guy?? Don’t even get me started on this mans scars I will cry

-literally autism. Says everything on his mind. Sir you are me

-blue. And a cat. What else??

-Lucien and him have a bromance that hits so good

-suplexes Nazeem with only his vibes

-sings original songs, where’s his soundcloud

KHASH

-okay first off i was writing a character just like her for the daughter of my LDB and Revyn. Never knew about her but this is Leeta come to life and i crave it

-pottymouth

-Kaidan Big Bro protection dialogue

-so happy when she kills things

-literally exactly what I expected a baby Argonian to sound like. So cute. So grumpy

-her outfit is just on point. If i hadn’t transitioned i would be cottagecore peasant dress woman with cats

LUCIEN

-like Cary, he is just sweet himbo no brain

-kid in a candy shop vibes. He is amazed by the wonders of this world

-the nerdiest mans you know, would probably never shut up about shit with Auryen but i haven’t gotten that far yet

-bottom energy

-AUTISM once again

-also sings!! Can sing ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’ parody!!

AURI

-she is the Moment

-eats people and only meat. Wanna see someone react to ThatVeganTeacher with her as a vtuber model oml

-bullies Lucien (affectionately)

-cool pod

-looks like she could kill you and could actually kill you

-slams ALL haters and unworthy into the ground with her dialogue. Faendal ily but you don’t deserve her

RUMARIN

-a sweetheart himbo

-very Skilled with magic, specifically bound weapons. As someone who uses conjuration as their main line of magic, because dremora and bound bow go brr, I LOVE THAT

-not really good at speaking poorly of anyone tbh

-like lucien, he’s optimistic and fun to be around

-very…earthy. Jank. Grungy. Not what you’d expect from an Altmer, to be living as an adventurer mercenary, and i like that for him

-eats in bed, brain too empty to clean for long periods of time

-polyamorous pansexual King

-says Z like zed, which makes linguistics in Skyrim lore interesting

NEBARRA

-literally me

-sarcasm to the max

-name means ‘foreigner’ or ‘scorned’ or something transgender. anyway, king nihilist shit

-only wants the good wines

-also, the Accent, very good very sass

-Shakespearean insults for days

-also regular insults

-just…insults

-mystery and striking fear into the hearts of all

TALIESIN

-i thought no one could top Revyn in vibes of what Elder Scrolls character i would kin but then ✨he✨ came along

-no idea why Altmer are Brits but with him, i can vibe with it he sounds so good

-giggles evilly in fights

-s a s s

-pansexual!! We are putting queer in the game! (Even tho all vanilla spouses are, in the most Basic sense, bisexuals)

-the spice he can add with Cary as a protector/snarky best friend. I Need their backstory

-afraid of dogs, cat person

-just an absolute bitch to the Dragonborn but like in a way my gay friends are to me

-eyeliner on fleek

HONORABLE MENTIONS FOR SKEEVER AND CROC

-silly voice go brrr

#tes #skyrim #skyrim custom followers

[pod-together]

Pod-Together Day 9 Reveals 2023

In the Shadows of Kings (I dream of a crown) [text, audio] (One Piece (Anime & Manga))

written by stereden, performed by Aibhilin

Summary: Buggy knows, from the very moment he meets them, that Gol D Roger will be the King of the Pirates one day, that he will reach that island at the end of the world no matter how much the world tries to stop him.

Buggy knows, from the very moment he meets them, that the King has already chosen his Heir, that Shanks with his Will and his smiles already wears his crown.

(A straw-hat doesn’t look like a crown, and yet.)

Buggy knows, from the very moment he meets them, that he will follow this King to Hell and back. Knows, from the very moment he meets them, that he will follow this Heir even further.

Five werewolf attributes and one werewolf survival strategy that Gerard and Pete discovered through empirical research on Warped Tour (Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy)

written by Trojie, performed by dapatty

Summary: a.k.a "maybe the real lycanthropy was the friends we made along the way"

Your emotions are mine (Teen Wolf (TV))

written by HadrianPeverellBlack, performed by Rambling_Company

Summary: Soulmates can feel each other emotions.

Death with Dignity [text, audio] (Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager)

written by Thebiwife, performed by SweetPollyOliver

Summary: Having lost her father at a young age, Deanna Troi struggles to make sense of many things; her feelings, her abilities (or lack thereof), and how to cope with that void in her life.

Our Energy Signature Means Skullduggery (Our Flag Means Death (TV))

written by secretsofluftnarp, edited by pandamug and tipsy

Summary: UFO enthusiast and Star Trek fan Stede Bonnet unintentionally travels into the future, and ends up aboard the space pirate vessel Kuinian's Revenge.

Just Zelda, Just Link (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom)

written by Zartophski, performed by horchata

Summary: Before the Upheaval, Zelda hides a small gift for Link and never tells him where to look.

After the Upheaval, Link finds it anyway.

question and answer (その着せ替え人形は恋をする | Sono Bisque Doll wa Koi wo Suru | My Dress-Up Darling (Anime))

created by alstroemeria_thoughts and asthewavesdo

Summary: Gojou makes it onto reddit, and uses it to ask questions for Marin.

rational and level-headed (Dimension 20 (Web Series))

written by travvymybeloved, performed by Poluche

Summary: Cody was well-known for his normal and grounded reactions to things. He told himself that frequently. He was good at handling things with grace and poise and wasn’t notorious at all for blowing his shit at the slightest provocation. That was why he was handling being faced with the realization of a lifetime in a rational and level-headed manner.

“You’re sitting in your bathtub and eating an ice cream sandwich because you’re sad but don’t have a tub of ice cream?”

“I mean, yeah.”

Playing for Keeps (Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types)

written by LenaLawlipop, performed by Chantress

Summary: "Wait, you know her?" Eskel asked, finally. The woman in question walked up to the door to see what the commotion was about. Geralt couldn't help but grin at the shock on her face, and he tried to hide it behind his hand, but the moment she caught sight of him as well, she burst into delighted giggles and he couldn't hold back a snort himself. Eskel whirled around to look at him. "Wait, you know her too?"

"I was about to tell you when you made a detour for this street, but then we heard Lambert, and..." He shrugged, unable to contain his amusement. "I believe we might know the same person in this town."

"Wait, you two know her?!" Lambert cried. "What are you even doing here?!"

In which three Wolves share an unexpected Midsummer celebration with a young woman of their mutual acquaintance.

something new (Welcome to Night Vale)

written by Koschei_B, performed by roseszain

Summary: Fun with holidays and a few moments of contentment

Stones of the Body: Reunion (rose quartz) (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

created by BardicRaven and RisalSoran

#podfic #fanfic #one piece #bandom #my chemical romance #fall out boy #teen wolf #star trek the next generation #star trek voyager #star trek #our flag means death #legend of zelda breath of the wild #legend of zelda tears of the kingdom #my dress up darling #sono bisque doll wa koi wo suru #dimension 20 #the witcher #welcome to night vale intro segments #star trek deep space nine

[kuwdora]

Latest things meme... (Two posts in one day? Wonders never cease. Enjoy the ADHD flavor rambling below.)

Anyway, thank you always for the tag @kiriele!

Last song:

I have to again preface that most of my music consumption is for vid-related purposes these days.

I came across this hilarious meme that gave me my latest vid idea. It’s a photo of Paris Hilton picking out some ice cream treats, and overlaid on the treats are one Cassian Andor from Star Wars and John Silver from Black Sails. The captain reads “Actually, can I have five more of these [can’t escape the narrative] bitches?” And the OP writes “finally figured out why these two makes me so feral.”

I saw that and I felt like my third eye opened. Like. 🤯 Because there is a perfect thematic vid there showcasing these two’s specific struggles. Especially in the context of resisting an encroaching empire and and and... they really got sucked into the narrative and can't! fucking get out!! And then they end up believing in the cause (in their own ways) and ah ah ah...ahhhhh..

Okay that context being given, I went and spent all 5 minutes going “I need a song. I need a song for these two. Two sources, two voices? Maybe, maybe not. Male vocalist? Raging against the authority is punk, but I love mash-ups and pitting parallels and contrasts of with multiple musical sources. Wait, I already had a DJ artist who made this other mash-up I loved am going to use for a vid…surely he has something that could be… interesting or great for Cassian Andor and John Silver. Surely??”

Friends. Friends. Even those of you who don't know or care about vidding, this is just a sort of beautiful mini-nirvana moment when you discover the perfect song (especially so quickly).

BEHOLD. My Cassian Andor and John Silver vidsong that I may or may not make but you hear it first:

I can see the whole vid unfolding before my eyes. Frantically trying to download Black Sails and searching my 3 hard drives to make sure I had in fact nabbed Andor earlier for a different vid idea. Yet…I have so many other vid things in my queue and only so much hard drive space and brainRAM.

Currently watching:

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. I want to like it more than I do. I like elements of the characters, (La’An and Chapel are extremely compelling, Ethan Peck is bringing a great human cheekiness to his portrayal of Spock, Pike remains a great Space Dad) but there’s still something that’s not gelling fully with me. Which is sad because I am so on board with the more episodic angle again and some of the classic themes and motifs from TOS but it’s just…idk, I think I need a whole post to think aloud on it.

Currently reading:

Ahsoka by EK Johnston, Baptism of Fire by Andrzej Sapkowski. Almost done with Spin State by Chris Moriarty.

Currently obsessed with: Oh, I’m burbling with obsession…

In my reading I’m still losing my mind over how much I love Baptism of Fire. Milva sucker punching a peasant. Regis’ entrance to the narrative. ZOLTAN, sloppy drunk. Geralt dreaming of Ciri…Ciri dreaming of Geralt. 😭

Ahsoka learning how to pretend to be a Normal Twice-Orphaned Teenager. How do people interact outside wartime situations and executing battle strategy?? Honey… (I need to go look for some post-O66 Ahoska fic novels…)

ALSO!!! @dragneto has also infected me witcher fic idea that’s got me foaming at the mouth. I want to tackle the idea but I’m also dying to finish my WIP chapter first before I can play. I’m so obsessed with this ridiculously horny and sad idea.

I also have 4 vid ideas I’m chewing on like a rabid gremlin and it is definitely to the point of obsession. Mad that I won’t be able to follow through in the short or medium term…too much on the brain, lack of focus, stress from life stuff, other WIPs eating away at me.

Two Witcher ones vid ideas: my Phil vid…she’s so bad, I love her. Sexy song, lots of bad. And I am revisiting an old pan-canon humor/thirst/thematic vid about Geralt… Which is more about how the characters see him.

Then I got my Star Wars Rebels idea which I’m having technical problems that’s keeping me from starting.

…And then this Andor/Black Sails thing…

tagging @deerna and @danegen and @shetiger and @simuran and @whatkindofnameisvolta ...and anyone else who wants to go.

#tag game #latest things meme #the vidding process #kuwdora's random witcher stuff #textpost #vidspiration

[untaintedtea]

I should have written this earlier when Witcher Netflix was more fresh in my mind (I haven't done a proper rewatch yet) but I still wanted to write a post about some thoughts I had (that I actually remember lol) and stuff I want in the next season. It's like 99% about Geralt/Yen/Ciri bc I have three brain cells and they're dedicated to them.

The spoiler-free stuff: I definitely loved it! There's some scenes in the book that I would have loved to have seen on screen that I'll mention later, but I really liked it for the most part. My main issue is the pacing, but I understand them trying to fit so much into only 8 episodes -- I hope next season will have at least 10 or even 12 eps to fully flesh out the storylines. There were times where I wondered how easy it was to follow if you didn't know the books, and it seems that it's kinda been mixed? But all-in-all people are loving it, there's lots of memes and new content, and I'm happy about that.

Yennefer's backstory and Anya Chalotra were the highlights for me, and I loved Tissaia as well. By "I haven't done a proper rewatch" I mean that I've only rewatched the first ep (Renfri ❤️) and the parts with Geralt/Yennefer lmao. I'll prob watch it all again later on. Now to the spoilery stuff (includes some refs to the books):

Some specific stuff I liked:

Geralt finally being able to sleep in the Last Wish episode and then him saying in the next ep that before he met Yen, "nights were restless" so she/the thought of her helps him sleep now? lol

Yen touching Geralt's face after he tells her she's important to him as if she can't believe she's important to someone right then and needs to make sure he's real or that she's not dreaming 😭

Téa and Véa and how they actually talked instead of not really communicating well themselves in the books

Yen's elven blood being emphasized and it being a thing that allows her to be naturally inclined towards magic…idek I'm just into that lmao

Geralt "hm"-ing all the time was excellent and is, unfortunately, v relatable

I wasn't gonna say this but since I posted about his casting on my blog previously…I'm still not a fan of Henry but I cannot deny his knowledge and dedication to Geralt and the Witcher lore, and I think he portrayed Geralt very well to the point where I don’t think I imagine anyone else playing the role now? I really mean this bc before I refused to reblog/tweet anything with him in it bc I’m petty LMAO

This is obvious but Toss a Coin to Your Witcher is the song of the year and Her Sweet Kiss is also good. @ netflix soundtrack WHEN

Some stuff I have issues with:

Istredd getting an expanded storyline is fine with me (and will probably set up better angst) but I wish he didn't do the thing Geralt does in Thanedd where he thinks about things Yen likes…I guess that's minor by itself, but Geralt thinking about the house in Thanedd is so important and I hope at least they keep that for the future. Also making the imaginary sorcerers Yennefer conjured up clap like in Thanedd is like…ok I'll allow it but Thanedd better be Extra Good bc I remember reading the part where they're in bed again when I wanted to make myself upset lmao

I wish we got the line when Geralt first called Yennefer "Yen" because "nobody's ever called me that. Say it again" is SO POWERFUL and I think that would have helped set up Geralt/Yen better in the series. Anya did describe the relationship as "animalistic and full of lust" and honestly that's fair but I also want people to understand why tf I'm smiling when we watch them fuck after the last wish instead of being like "ok but where did this come from" lmao. Yeah they’re horny af but pls!!!

Tbh I just want more Angst...like in the Bounds of Reason ep, the "you left" thing and Geralt asking for forgiveness was so short and would have been better if they just…expanded on it a little more…idek this is where I really wished they had an extra episode or two just to elaborate :/

The lack of baby dragon is so sad tbh. I liked that they did without Yen getting her titties exposed and threatened with rape obviously but the baby dragon running over to Yen tho!!

Ciri is my sweet child whom I love dearly and I understand her storyline but I wasn't super into her parts in a way? It makes sense since she's running and hiding and I felt her panic and loneliness and all that, but I think this could have only been fixed if they did Brokilon like in the books. I guess they'd have to cut down on Calanthe maybe?

As for the "Who is Yennefer?" ending:

I know many book readers weren't super satisfied with this, since ofc this is the famous "you're something more" scene, but I think it's fine within the context of the show because of the way Brokilon was handled (obviously I would have liked to see Geralt + Ciri interactions so we could have gotten “something more” though). It also sets up a connection between Yen + Ciri early on -- not really a strong one, but a connection nonetheless. And ofc it makes sense to people who don't know the books, and this is an adaptation after all.

I wish it wasn't as abrupt though? The fact that Ciri's first words to Geralt were about Yennefer is kind of a weird, but I guess that Ciri's vision was so vivid she couldn't help it maybe? And her mentioning Yennefer after Geralt talked about being linked by destiny enforces that it's all three of them linked.

I think this ending line allows for flashbacks via communication? Like if Geralt were to tell Ciri about Yen (and Yen telling Ciri about Geralt), they could elaborate on the relationship between Geralt/Yennefer that way and maybe have a flashback episode or at least a few scenes. I don’t really imagine Geralt saying too much about Yen but still?

So that takes us to things I want in the next season (not exhaustive; I need to do a BoE re-read):

The Dear Friend letter!!

And obviously before that, Triss staying at Kaer Morhen for a while…I wouldn't mind if they completely wrote out any attraction she had to Geralt ofc, but Ciri being sure that Triss is "not Geralt's woman" is also good

Imagine Ciri reading Yennefer's mind and accidentally seeing her thoughts about Geralt…not that she'd even need to though, as long as Yen tells Ciri that Geralt's hands are very gentle is enough lmao. But I'd love the "what is there between you and Geralt" line! In general, I really want Yen/Geralt to be like, the most obvious thing to the audience lol.

Yen telling Ciri that she's lucky bc Ciri knows that Geralt will come back for her and Yen isn't sure that Geralt would do the same for her 😭

Since they're doing the story with Nivellen, I'm hoping for other short stories to be adapted too. My favourite is A Shard of Ice, and I read that it's Henry's favourite too so I'm optimistic about it being included somehow. And since Istredd has a bigger role, it could work? ALSO WE NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW ABOUT THE UNICORN. PLEASE

Flashbacks to Belleteyn (is having another orgy scene ok. pls say yes) and the Geralt seeing that the 14th name on the hill wasn't Yennefer. He wanted to die again ahhhhhhh

Yarpen asking Geralt "is [Ciri] yours?"

More Jaskier songs about Geralt/Yen…even just one pls

And more angst bc like. There's so much come on lmao hurt the audience

A lot of Yennefer + Ciri. Just a Lot of it.

#untaintedtext #sorry this is long bc i can't keep things short lmao #the witcher #the witcher spoilers #tagging bc i'm lonely bc i creep instead of interacting LMAO #it's long tho i don't expect ppl to read it haha #but it's still time for Sam's Opinion #anyway @ all my friends and followers hi have you see the witcher yet

[pillage-and-lute]

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

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

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

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

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

“No, you just--hmmm.”

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

“You smell like...hmm.”

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

“Not friends.”

“You smell like a barn. Anyway-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

“You didn’t buy the ring.”

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

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

Jaskier shrugged. “It was made of iron.”

“And?”

“Human’s can’t wear iron, Geralt.”

“Then why did the man sell it?” 

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

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

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

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

---

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

“Your freckles,” Geralt said.

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

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

“They’re...shining?”

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

Shimmer?

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

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

---

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

“Nnhgh,” Jaskier said.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Milk can’t get people drunk.”

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

“Can it?”

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

Jaskier shook his head and it seemed to exhaust him.

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

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

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

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

Jaskier blinked slowly, eyes dimming further.

Geralt shook him, desperation taking over.

“Jaskier what heals a fairy?”

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

Poetry. 

Fuck.

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

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

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, brow wrinkling slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

Jaskier sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt huffed a little sheepishly.

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

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

“It worked, didn’t it.”

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

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

“I wish you would kiss me again.”

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

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

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

[drowningbydegrees]

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Read on AO3

He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.

“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.

Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.

Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.

Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.

Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.

“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”

“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”

Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.

“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”

Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”

“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”

“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.

“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.

Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.

He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”

If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.

“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.

“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.

“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.

Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”

“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”

For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”

There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”

Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.

“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”

Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”

“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”

That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”

Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”

Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”

“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.

That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.

“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”

The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.

“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”

#geralt of rivia #Jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher #my fic #They're both dumb and I love them #They may not have been remotely related to what I meant to write this month #But hey I posted stuff three days in a row and it's not even Nano month yet

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Interviews - Henry Cavill x wife/actress reader

Summary: You and Henry have been married for a couple years now, and when you’re both part of the Witcher cast, fun interviews are to be had.

Warning: nothing but a good time, btw I’ve never written anything like this so I hope it’s good enough that I might feel motivated to write more

-Readers Witcher character is loosely based off my Geralt fic from here (just a little self promotion), but in this case you play a full vampire in this Witcher universe

The days have been long and grueling, filming hours upon hours of stunts and regular acting had taken its toll. Not to mention the countless times in hair and make up paired with costume changes and traveling to film on certain locations.

To say being apart of Netflix’s The Witcher was full of tiring days and some accidental bruises would be a huge understatement. But none of that mattered, nor did you bother to complain when through the thick and thin of it all did you have Henry with you along the way. And your favorite big slobbery bear, Kal whenever he was allowed on set.

Fortunately for you in the beginning of all the craziness, the casting and writers had wanted you specifically for the part of Y/C/N in the new series before Henry even auditioned for the role of Geralt, that was soon given to him after you accepted your fresh role of vampiric heroine.

It was ironically strange in a good way, you had watched your dork of a husband play the Witcher: Wild Hunt a few times before, eventually learning of what Geralt of Rivia was, who Y/C/N was in the story, who Yennefer and Ciri were, Tris and even Jaskier.

Who would have thought that you’d finally get to snag a role side by side with Henry in quite literally one of the most fantastic shows you’ve ever heard of. You didn’t even need to see the show yet to know how well it was most likely to be reviewed. Being a key character in the grand storyline was enough to convince you of how amazing it would most certainly turn out in the finished product.

And after all was said and done, you couldn’t believe how well loved and popular the show truly became in the following months after shooting and its eventual release onto Netflix. The after parties and cast celebrations truly made you blessedly grateful for pulling through to the vary end.

Then again you had your mans Henry by your side every step of the way. He was your rock and you were most definitely his. You know life on set would have been far less entertaining and dreadfully long if not for the lovely company of your dear Witcher, Henry. And so far after the fact, you and a good portion of the cast have been placed in random interviews for the majority of the day.

Reason being, The Witcher has at long last finally premiered and as per usual the people and media live for those cast interviews that always reveal some interesting events. So far this morning you’ve done some interviews with Anya that have gone perfectly fine since the two of you seem to click so well.

Also it helps ease the anxiety of your fellow newer cast mates to the world of continuous interviews with an experienced veteran actor like yourself, who’s gone round the ring more times then you can count. Though you can’t help but wonder how Henry’s doing, considering you’ve been separated since the sessions began at 10am, you’ve had lunch and now it’s about 1 in the afternoon with more hours to go.

Luckily for you, you’ve just been informed of another interview with the man of the hour himself. Saying your goodbyes and well wishes to your fellow cast mates, you stand and follow the guide into the advised place. Aka some really nice hotel room that’s been done up real nice for efficient interviewing, complete with the Witcher insignia on a large background poster and three chairs that happen to look rather comfy.

The camera and sound people nod in acknowledgment as you walk in, you nod back no doubt making their day with your friendliness and adorable smile that quite literally lights up a room. Soon you spot the bubbly yet nervous interviewee who instantly welcomes you into her space like you’re an old friend.

You sit, a bit confused as to where your partner happens to be at the moment, the interviewer, Lauren makes small talk before a door opens and her big bright doe eyes go wide in nervous excitement. A telling smile upon her face as she shifts in her chair before looking back to you again with a happy grin.

Henry says a quick hello to the behind the scenes crew before waving to Lauren, you smirk while watching him get comfortable next to you, “Well, well, well. Get lost on your way up, you know they have guides for a reason.” You tease as he chuckles at your humorous jab, relieved to see you again after a couple hours apart.

“Traffic.” He quips with a shrug.

“Uh huh.” You mutter with a shake of your head before drawing your attention back to Laura, “Can’t take him anywhere I swear, he does this all the time.”

She laughs as Henry pretends to gasp at your teasing, you chuckle along with them before she finally collects herself, “Well, welcome back to London. It’s fantastic to have you both in town once again, and your big beautiful faces all over Leicester Square.”

You both laugh, “Right.” Says Henry, “I guess we do look pretty cool.”

“Hell yeah, I mean where else can I see myself with a giant sword on a building? And anyways look at this beautiful mug,” You say gently squeezing Henry’s cheeks in your hand, “he’s literally killing it out there.” They laugh as you give Hen another playful squeeze before letting go and setting your arm against the chairs cushioned armrest. 

“Alight let’s start.” She says enthusiastically before glancing down at her cards then back up to you and Henry. Then into one of the two the cameras, “Hi I’m Lauren from Entertainment Weekly and today we’re here with the two stars of Netflix’s The Witcher.” She says enthusiastically while giving a nod to you two, indicating that the camera is now focused on you both, “Henry Cavill and Y/N Cavill.”

You both smile in acknowledgment as Henry gives a slight nod, “How you doing?”

“I’m great,” She beams, “So, I’ll get right into it, what do you like most about the story? What really drew you into the script that made you say, yes this is going to be awesome?”

Slapping a hand against Henry’s muscular leg, you hum, “I’ll let Hen take this one he’s a real expert on the linguistics of the whole show.”

“Thanks Y/N/N.” Replies Henry, bemused that you’re making him take the first question.

You nod to him knowingly with a smirk, “Of course.” Knowing how much he loves to talk about the show and also because you’d rather have him use his energy to talk about it then do that yourself. Priorities, right, though in your defense it’s been a long day.

“Well I absolutely love the games and the books themselves are phenomenal works of literature.” He explains, his face glowing with that usual glimmer of excitement in his eyes, “The story and the world of the Witcher is just so rich and full of potential that when I signed on for the show, I immediately knew it would be amazing, no doubt.”

You lean into the arm of you chair, “And of course I was there so that’s always a bonus.”

“That too.” He smiles adorably, “That too of course.”

Lauren smiles, “Great. So, what was it like working together, how was it having your characters interact with one another?”

You smile, setting a hand against Henry’s forearm, “This guy right here.” You deadpan before waving him off dramatically, “So annoying, my god he whined all the time and he was such a drama queen dear lord so ugh....” You start cackling before you can even finish the sentence causing Henry to loose it as well and with that the interviewer.

Shaking your head you rest your hand against his shoulder, “I joke, he was a gem to work with as usual...I mean I feel incredibly blessed to be able to act alongside my husband for months and months every single day. It’s a rarity in this line of work and I’m grateful to have shared this experience...and I guess more so this whole adventure with him as well.”

The interviewer aww’s as Henry tilts his head to lean into your hand that’s still resting atop his shoulder before pulling away just as quickly, the intimate sentiment not going unnoticed by you or Lauren who looks to be enjoying your loving yet calm energy with one another. “That’s so sweet, what about you Henry?”

“Oh yes absolutely,” Agrees Henry to your recent statement, “not only did I have her by my side through it all but the dynamic of our characters interacting together was so fun to shoot. I think the audience will really be able to see their relationship grow on screen into something strong and beautiful like in the books.”

Slow clapping you give him a curt nod of approval, “Well said.”

Lauren smirks, “Seems like it. Well, I was able to catch the premier yesterday and I gotta say...it was fantastic! I couldn’t believe how diffident the two of you looked from how you are now.” She gushes enthusiastically.

The corners of Henry’s lips curl into a proud smile for the fellow crew of the Witcher’s, “Oh that’s great then, honestly we gotta give all the props to the costume and makeup team, they’re so talented and know how to make us look like real badasses.” He adds.

You nod in agreement before grinning at a positive memory of your first interaction with Henry as Geralt, “Oh for sure, I remember during the early stages of production when our characters met each other for the first time, before this we came to set together but went separate ways to shoot our own stuff in the meantime so I never got a real look at him.” You recall with a bright smile as Henry watches your every move, beaming just the same.

“It was so funny, I was in the tent with Freya Allen, the wonderful girl who plays Ciri, and then suddenly her eyes got all big and nervous and I was like, that’s not me right? Something weird didn’t just happen with my costume? And then I turned around to find this man, wig on, face a mess, and his eyes looked so fearsome and different...it was a bit startling.” You say with a chuckle, “I clearly wasn’t expecting to see Geralt right then and there. He just looked so unlike Henry.”

“Yeah, I was almost hurt.” Laughs Henry, “She had to like squint and make sure it was me.”

Rolling your eyes, you shrug, “He had some real creepy looking colored contacts, yunno?”

Henry fake scoffs, “You’re one to talk, I mean when I first say her, Y/N’s eyes were red and she had fake blood spattered all over her face and shirt. Oh, and not to mention those fangs they put on your teeth...we probably traumatized poor Freya that day.”

“Oh shit you’re right!” You exclaim with a snort of concealed laughter, “God I completely forgot about how I looked...now since I think about it, I did that a lot too. I would just walk up to people and be completely oblivious as to what kind of nightmare I looked like, honestly I might have scared one of our producers a couple of times.” You add with a half nervous laugh, it’s true, you did scare some of the crew unintentionally. Most of the time.

Lauren lightly chuckles, “That sounds like you were quite the sight to see then.” She says before glancing back down at her notes, “Alright I have’ta ask, is there anything that you two took home with you from set?”

“Besides Henry every night,” He holds back a laugh while covering his mouth as you nonchalantly continue, “Uh, yes actually I got to take home Y/C/N’s wolf ring that I loved so much and just thought was the coolist thing ever and....uh, I might have stolen some socks too.”

“So that’s why after filming the amount of socks of yours I had to fold increased?” Wonders Henry with a surprised snort of realization.

Turning your head to give him a “no shit” kinda look, you look back at Lauren, pointing your thumb at Henry, “Master sleuth right here, but hey, he folds my laundry.”

“Aw that’s great.” Adds Lauren with a smile before turning her attention to Henry, “What about you Henry? Take anything from set?”

“More then Y/N did actually...”

“He just about took the whole makeup trailer most nights, I swear.”

Henry chuckles, “That. Is true.” He agrees with a nod, “Interesting enough, at home I’ve got Geralt’s armor hung up in our living room and a multitude of other nicknacks that I’ve collected during filming.” He adds, glancing over to you, “So uh, yeah, we were fairly lucky to be able to snag what we could.”

Lauren smiles, absentmindedly shuffling her cards, “That’s awesome to have such special memorabilia, you guys really are fortunate.” She adds before reading off from another card, “Alright you two, care to play a game called guess the image? Witcher style.”

Your face perks up at this, you’re a sucker for interview games and Henry knows it, “Are you reading my mind or something, I have been waiting all day for someone to ask about playing a game.” You gush rather enthusiastically. 

He smiles at your adorableness and how excited you’ve just become, Lauren grins, happy that her suggestion has been so well received, “Okay so how it works is, I’ll show you an image on my iPad and then you have to guess who or what I’m showing you.”

“Oh, cool I’ve heard of this,” You reply, turning to Henry with a smirk, “Loser has to clean Kal’s yard poop for a week.”

Rolling his gorgeous blue eyes he chuckles, “You’re on.”

“Alright, the stakes are high, you two ready?” Beams Lauren, holding her iPad to her chest as she awaits an answer.

“Yes, I’m ready to kick his ass.” You quip, leaning an arm against your chair while Henry does about the same, though he does his best to contain his laughter.

“Okay, first image.” She holds up the device to show some sort of weird golden thing, it’s shiny and hard, worst part is that you’re not entirely sure what the hell it could be.

Sensing your confusion Henry nudges your shoulder, though you ignore it before he smartly answers, “Oh, is that...Renfri’s brooch?” Little shit knows exactly what that is, of course he does.

Lauren claps, “Correct.” Zooming out of the image to show the full picture of the golden brooch, “Right on, that’s one point for Mr. Cavill.”

You scoff playfully, “Beginners luck.” While Henry side eyes you with a humorous grin upon his plush lips, he nudges your arm, “I’m going to really enjoy not cleaning up Kal’s grass turds for awhile.” He mutters lightheartedly, though you know deep down he’s being serious, no way is he going to win this, you think. You won’t have it, hopefully the next few pictures aren’t as difficult, Kal duty is not fun by any means.

“Shut up.” You grumble with a dismissive wave of your hand, though just teasing of course.

“Okay next image.” This time the blurred photo looks much more familiar, soon it clicks as to what the obscured blurriness actually is, yes!

“Got it! Anya’s er I guess Yennefer’s dress from the fight at Sodden.” Lauren giggles, zooming the image out to reveal Yennefer in her tasseled blue and purple dress from the battle at Sodden Hill. “I’m amazing I know.” You boast at Henry with a casual little bow in your seat.

“It’s the second question.” He deadpans, eyes crinkling in amusement as you shake your head at him.

“Pffff get outta here.” You mutter back, gently pushing his arm off of your chairs armrest and setting yours in its place while he gives you a fake shocked expression.

In turn you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips, so instead of saying some sassy remark that would no doubt get a reaction out of him, you turn your attention back over to Lauren who’s looking over her notes again.

“Fantastic,” She says, glancing back up at you and Henry, “you’re both tied with one point each. Alright, anyone know what this is?” She asks showing something red and fuzzy, a bit of dirty skin showing from one corner but with The Witcher this bloody image could literally be anything.

The both of you squint, puzzled as to what this could be, “Y/N you got any ideas.” Wonders Henry, brows furrowed as his face contorts into deep concentrated thought.

Raising a brow, you hum, “If I knew I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair point.” He chuckles.

Lauren smiles, “Any guesses?”

 After a few concentrated moments, Henry shrugs in defeat,  “I’m stumped.” He admits as you study the image harder, mind racing to put the pieces together as to what the hell you’re looking at.

“No, I think I might know this....erm is it...me?” You wonder, voice raising in question, hoping to be correct about this or face the teasing of Henry.

Lauren quickly zooms out of the obscured image, “It is!” She says excitedly, revealing the picture of you from your characters debut in episode 2 where you save a girl from a werewolf, your mouth is covered in blood and so is most of your costumes chest area and left arm from the struggle. Not to mention the make-up teams fun 20 minutes of throwing fake sticky blood all over you to get the right look for the taxing scene.

You grimace a bit, “Oh god that was quite the day on set,” You recall with a half smile, “I was doing stunts all day covered in that red syrupy dye, I think it took a week to get out of my skin.”

Henry suddenly snorts with laughter, “Right! That reminds me, I thought Kal had gotten cut or something, it was just Y/N who had hugged him not realizing she still had some fake blood on her arm.”

“Jeez that’s right, I felt so bad, but I couldn’t stop laughing once we realized it was just me.”

Lauren grins, excited to hear some hidden information about little things that happens behind the scenes, “Oh wow that must have been a sight, alright Henry, Y/N’s taken the lead with a two to one score.” She says as you playfully nudge his strong shoulder. “Second to last image, what is this?”

Without missing a single beat Henry replies, “Jaskier.”

Squinting at the image you lean closer to the iPad, “How the hell do you see Jaskier?”

Smiling the interviewer zooms out to reveal the bards full outfit from the banquet scene, though he’s in the background of a fight between Geralt and some Cintran knights. “Right on!” She exclaims as you lean back into your seat dumbfounded, shoulder flush against Henry’s as he clutches your arm and squeezes it affectionately.

Ignoring his silent show of victory you shrug, “And they say he’s just another pretty face,” Earning a laugh from Lauren and some of the crew as you smirk at the camera, face them shifting to apologetic, “also I’m so sorry Joey you beautiful bastard apparently I’m blind. Uh, we don’t have to dwell on it, Lauren whatcha got?”

“You guys are both tied with two points each, last chance to win.” She replies before glancing down at her iPad, “Alright, what is this?” She asks, her iPad showing that of fuzzy bright colors, with a small corner smear of dull white that clearly wouldn’t make much sense to the untrained eye.

Smirking you glance at a puzzled Henry before sitting up in your seat, feeling rather good about yourself, “Would that happen to be, Hen in Stregobor’s illusion?” You answer with, though sounding a bit as a question considering you aren’t entirely confident as to what image this is.

Lauren’s brows raise in surprise, “Henry, looks like we have a winner. Y/N you are correct.” She beams, enlarging the image to reveal Geralt’s side profile as he talks to the old wizard while the background stays colorful and shrouded in various arrays of sunlight..

Shaking your fist victoriously in the air you give a couple enthusiastic whoop whoops while Henry simply takes it like a champ, “Have fun cleaning up Karl’s monster turds, cause this lucky lady doesn’t have to.” You boast as Henry and the crew laugh.

“Well that was something,” Beams Lauren, “I’m so glad to have chatted for a bit about your guys’ amazing new series, and maybe ended a relationship in the process.” She says jokingly as both you and Henry chuckle.

Patting his thigh affectionately, you smirk, “He’s a tough old bear, but yeah, it was awesome having you talk to us.”

“Yes, take care now.” Adds Henry while the interviewer Lauren stands, saying her goodbyes as she goes to exit the room.

The camera crew take a small break to adjust things and whatnot as you and Henry wait patiently for the next interviewer. He turns, an adorable smile pulling at his lips while you pretend to ignore his fiery gaze. “Well that went pretty well, minus the fact that I’m on Kal poop duty for a week...but uh...” He leans in close to you now, “I missed you all morning.”

Breaking out into a smile you raise a brow, “Boring without me huh?”

“Always.”

You casually shrug, “I figured as much. Don’t worry, we have a hotel all to ourselves tonight.” Your brows wiggle suggestively causing your blue eyed lover to shake his head with amusement.

“Say it louder next time.” He jokes.

Side eyeing the oblivious crew you begin to speak a couple octaves louder, “Henry I can’t wait to fu..” Suddenly his hand presses against your mouth before you’re able to call any attention to yourself. He gives you a warning look before slowly pulling his hand from your mouth.

You grin mischievously, “I wasn’t gonna say that...”

“Sure Y/N,” He mutters in your ear as a new interviewer walks into the room and finds their chair, “and I’m wasn’t going to make you scream tonight.”

Your brows raise in surprise and admittedly slight arousal at his choice of wording in this room of all places. Eyeing him up, face still showing surprise, you finally break out into a satisfied smirk. “You know what? I think you should consider changing your offer.”

He thinks deeply for a moment, though you know he’s only pretending to get you riled up, “Hrmm...maybe, possibly, should I? Should we? You are my co-star after all, that wouldn’t be very professional now would it Y/N?” He states with a shit eating grin, all done while the crew and interviewer get ready, minding their business and completely unaware to yourself and Henry’s teasing.

Scoffing playfully you lightly swat his arm, “We are way past being professional.”

He chuckles, looking from you to the rest of the room, “Oh, they have no idea.”

#the witcher x reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill

[samstree]

how about 'void' for the word prompts??

Creatures of the Night (3)

Geralt goes to the coast alone after Jaskier marries Valdo. He can't escape the past. Or rather, Jaskier can't escape him.

(endgame geraskier, background valdo/jaskier, angst, eventual infidelity, implied depression)

AO3 | Previous: [1] [2]

The coast smells of fish and seaweed.

It’s not unpleasant if one admires it from a distance, like watching a sunset from the grassy cliff or dipping toes into the water a little. The coast is mild and vast, the calmest part of the continent.

Geralt embraces the sea, letting the scent of candles and jasmine fade from his nostrils. It’s been too long, months already. Too long for him to cling to that scent and that night. He needs it gone from memory.

He fails.

The smell of fish and seaweed and blood is everywhere when Geralt emerges from the waves, a sea serpent’s head in hand and an apology by his lips. The villagers sigh in silent acceptance. They knew the fishermen were beyond saving anyway. Still, he ignores the gash on his arm and grieves with them for a moment.

He forgets, just for a moment.

Dripping a bloody trail up the shore, Geralt nods to each family member of the lost men. By the end of the line, he meets brown eyes and golden hair, a lopsided hat and a fur-lined cloak.

Valdo Marx.

Geralt drops the head, his arm tingling with blood loss.

“You are a hard man to find, White Wolf.”

The cold wind ruffles Valdo’s hair, tangling up his fashionable curls. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that Geralt doesn’t like. Yes, bards can be just as dangerous; Geralt has learned a long time ago.

“And what brings you to me?” he asks, meeting the other’s man’s gaze.

“I believe you already know.”

Geralt nearly wavers.

“Do I?”

“You left early that night. At the handfasting.” Valdo paces around Geralt, who’s only realizing the other bard stands a tad taller than him albeit having a much slenderer build.

“It was a long party.”

“You were bored by the most important party of your best friend’s life?”

Bards. Must they speak in circles all the time?

“What are you saying, Marx?”

Valdo’s footsteps halt in place, the danger in his eyes burning anew. “I know what you said to him.”

In his long life, Geralt rarely feels shame so heavy. He breaks eye contact with the other man, fists clenching before settling by his sides. Perhaps this is where he loses Jaskier completely. Running away to the coast isn’t enough. This is where he needs to promise to never see Jaskier again and let him live a peaceful life with his husband. Geralt opens his mouth to make the promise, except—

“I know what you said to Julian on the mountain, how you broke his heart. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces.” The bard clenches his jaw, breathing deep. “The state he was in, I swore to myself that I would never live to see it happen again. Seeing him hurt once is enough, and yet…”

“What?” The implication makes Geralt’s stomach sink. “Is Jaskier alri—”

“You don’t get to ask me if he’s alright.” Valdo steps into Geralt’s space. Somehow, a troubadour almost makes a witcher cower under his fury. “You drove him away, and then you dared to come back. You behave like he’s a puppy to summon at your whim and then kick out once you tire of his bark.”

“I don’t—”

“You said something to him that night. Essi told me so, and Julian hasn’t been the same since. He deflected my questions and defended you, but one can only guess. Was wishing for destiny to take him off your hands not enough? Did you have to come all the way back to his side just to drive in the knife?”

“No, of cour—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, witcher! What did you say to him that night?”

“Nothing!” Geralt bites out the words. A lie. “I didn’t say anything.”

No wonder Jaskier wants to protect this man. Geralt can see it now, the devotion of Valdo Marx, archnemesis of Jaskier the bard for twenty years. And yet, Valdo was the one to offer him a shoulder to cry on when he was shunned by Geralt, a supposed friend for twenty years.

“Forgive me if I find it hard to believe. Historically, you shouldn’t be trusted when it comes to Julian’s heart.” Valdo’s heat is dying down into disgruntled acceptance.

“Just tell me if Jaskier is alright.”

Geralt is so close to begging.

He just might. For Jaskier. Again.

“You want to know? What, do you care?” Valdo scoffs. “No, he is not! He went down the same path soon after. If anything, it’s only worse now. Last time he cried and cursed, tried to drown himself in wine. But at least there was something. But for the past months…he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak. There’s nothing when I look at him. Nothing. Only a void.”

The waves rumble in the distance, lapping at the shore. The coast can’t erase the anguish poisoning Geralt’s every thought either. Not when he’s inadvertently hurt Jaskier.

His love hurt Jaskier.

“If it wasn’t you, perhaps…” Valdo says reluctantly, watching a seabird pass by. “It wasn’t easy to convince him to come, even though he always dreamed about the coast back when we were young, romanticized it in so many songs like a fool. But when I heard you were here, I had to come and find you, and leaving him alone in this state wasn’t an option.”

Geralt wants to flee like the coward he is, but the hope fluttering in his stomach is a powerful thing. “He is here?”

“He’s here. And if you indeed didn’t cause him any harm, Geralt of Rivia, I loathe admitting that you might be my last hope. The relationship between you two is something I’ve never understood, but even I can’t deny you’ve known him in a way no one else could.”

Geralt can’t believe the words he’s hearing, words he doesn’t deserve.

“You are asking me to…help?”

“To speak to him. If you still care about him in any way. “Funny I came here not sure whether to strangle you for hurting the man I love or beg you to save him.”

The bard turns to leave, his coat flapping. Geralt pauses for a moment before following.

He needs to fix it. If his confession sent Jaskier into a downward spiral, Geralt needs to fix it somehow. He can stop loving Jaskier. Yes, he can stop so Jaskier can finally be free of him. It’ll only feel like ripping his heart out of his chest. He’d stop, even if it kills him.

“It was never my intention to hurt Jaskier.”

Defending himself in front of Valdo is a moot point, and the mock from the troubadour is an answer enough.

“It’s what he believes too. The idiot is kind and terrible like this,” Valdo sends one last look at Geralt before they begin the ascend, the silent threat looming in his brown gaze. “Try anything like the mountain again, there won’t be anything left of you for the fish to eat.”

And Geralt is wise enough to believe that.

The two miles he walks behind Valdo stretches into infinity, and at the same time, nothing at all.

On top of the cliff, Jaskier’s silhouette stands straight, frozen in place like a statue, or the loneliest painting on earth. Geralt can only see his back, but he can already tell Jaskier is too thin. He doesn’t even stir when Valdo drapes the coat around his shoulders and coaxes him out of the trance.

And then, Jaskier is turning around, cheeks pale and eyes so blue.

Geralt’s world begins and ends at the same time.

~~

Thanks for the prompt my dear! <3 I wonder how many people are team Valdo... Hmm.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

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

#geraskier #geraskier fic #implied depression tw #valdo marx #protective valdo #pining geralt #hurt jaskier #eventual infidelity #cheating #endgame geraskier #requited unrequited love #geralt x jaskier #the coast

[mordoriscalling]

Secret

A fic based on @artistsfuneral fic about Geralt confessing his love to Jaskier in Polish, assuming that Jaskier doesn’t understand the language. Please go read it here and give them love!  

This fic is also available on AO3.

***

At the beginning, it was just a way of venting about his frustrations concerning the bard.

“Musi mieć nierówno pod sufitem.” He must be soft in the head, Geralt says to Roach quietly as he brushes her mane. He glances over his shoulder, looking at Jaskier sitting by the fire and strumming his newly-acquired elven lute. “Nikt o zdrowych zmysłach nie chciałby pisać o mnie pieśni.” Nobody in their right mind would want to write songs about me, the witcher scoffs in an old language which he’s sure the young bard won’t understand. Roach understands of course, in her own way, and snorts in agreement.

Geralt has lived for many years and has learnt many useful skills during that time. Speaking ancient languages is one of them. Witchers have to learn that particular tongue anyway, since the most reliable bestiaries are written in it. Jaskier, being no witcher, won’t know what Geralt’s talking about, so he can complain all about the bard, even to his face to piss him off.

“Marzę tylko o tym, żebyś zamknął się chociaż na chwilę.” The only thing I dream of is you shutting up for just a minute, he tells the bard after Jaskier asks him whether he has any dreams. It ends up in Jaskier sulking and not talking to him for the rest of the day, so Geralt counts it as a win.

“Daj mi spokój!” Leave me be! He growls at Jaskier as he returns injured to their camp after a hunt. The bard wanted to touch him and look at his wound.

“Zejdź mi z oczu, Jaskier.” Get out of my sight, Jaskier, he grits out, annoyed, after he had to safe the bard from a vengeful spouse yet again.

Jaskier never does. Geralt tells him to go away in all the languages he knows but Jaskier persists. He stays by Geralt’s side through thick and thin, for many years, and Geralt doesn’t understand.

“Czego ty ode mnie chcesz?” What do you want from me? he asks as he and the bard drink ale together in some inn. Jaskier holds his gaze for a long moment but doesn’t answer. Two days later, Jaskier helps him bathe after a hunt and hums happily all throughout, as if it actually brings him pleasure to wash monster guts from Geralt’s hair with his delicate fingers. Geralt blurts out, “Nie rozumiem cię.” I don’t understand you.

Jaskier’s hands stop their movement. “You know what,” he says cheerfully, “I don’t understand what you’re saying but one day, I will.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “Zobaczymy.” We’ll see about that.

Few more years pass and Jaskier gives no indication that he’s somehow learnt the “secret” language. Geralt still uses it to rant about the bard (mostly to Roach) but gradually, his irritated words like “Wkurzasz mnie” You annoy me give way to quiet confessions such as “Tęskniłem za tobą.” I missed you.

When Jaskier finds the witcher fishing for a djin, he offers to sing Geralt to sleep. He makes Geralt put his head in his lap and starts crooning a lullaby in Elder, running his hands through the witcher’s hair. Sleeplessness starts overtaking Geralt at last but he fights it, just to look up at Jaskier’s face a little longer - his expression is so open, warm and unafraid. Geralt reaches out to touch Jaskier’s cheek and whispers, “Czym ja sobie na ciebie zasłużyłem?” What have I done to deserve you?

Jaskier only chuckles and sings on. The following day, they go to Rinde and make friends with the infamous sorceress who resides there. Yennefer gifts Geralt with a potion that helps the witcher with his insomnia. On some occasions, he allows himself to ask Jaskier to sing to him anyway.

Geralt and Jaskier continue travelling together and the witcher watches his bard companion grow – his clothes get more distinguished, his verses become more sophisticated and artful. Jaskier holds himself with confidence, a magnetic charisma that draws everyone in, yet he still chooses Geralt’s company and all the discomforts and hardships of the Path. It weighs down on Geralt, how much better Jaskier could be doing away from him, how selfish he is to want this extraordinary man to remain with him.

“Jesteś taki piękny.” You’re so beautiful, Geralt murmurs, gazing at Jaskier cast in the orange glow of the bonfire. His blue eyes reflect the firelight with a myriad of colours and Geralt can’t look away.

Jaskier smiles but says nothing.

When they’re about to separate for winter that year, Geralt can’t hold it in anymore. The bard babbles excitedly, sharing his plans for the upcoming months and teasing Geralt about how the witcher surely won’t miss his constant chatter. Geralt suddenly breaks under the weight of the only secret he’s kept from his friend.

“Gdybyś tylko wiedział, jak bardzo cię kocham.” If only you knew how much I love you, he says under his breath, swallowing hard. His chest aches and his throat burns, and it’s only thanks to his very last shred of self-control that he doesn’t say it again in a language which Jaskier speaks.

Then, there comes Jaskier’s question, “Co ty powiedziałeś?” What did you just say?

Geralt whips around and stares at Jaskier with wide eyes. The bard appears equally shocked. There’s comprehension on his face and Geralt’s blood runs cold. He keeps looking at Jaskier soundlessly, helplessly, fighting for breath as every inhale fills his lungs with fire that makes his eyes prickle.

“Jaskier, I –” he grinds out finally. “I’m... sorry, I –”

“Geralt,” Jaskier cuts in gently, “Don’t.”

He walks up to Geralt, standing so close that their bodies almost touch. Taking the witcher’s face into his hands, he goes on, and Geralt can’t look away from the warm blue of his eyes. “I told you that I’d learn,” he says with a smile so soft, so full of affection that shouldn’t be there, “and I did.”

“Wiedźminie.” Witcher, Jaskier murmurs, “mój wiedźminie.” My witcher.

It shouldn’t mean as much as it does - being called this name in this tongue - yet when Jaskier says it so tenderly, his voice turning the vowels and consonants into some magical sounds, it strikes Geralt to his very core. He chokes and lays his palms on Jaskier nape, clinging desperately as he puts their foreheads together.

Jaskier laughs breathlessly and nudges his nose against Geralt’s. “Ja ciebie też kocham.” I love you too, he whispers huskily, “Całym sercem.” With my whole heart.

It means so much.

Part 2

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #love confessions

[valdomarx]

Anon requested: Person A thinks that a proposal would be a great way to get out of a jam. Person B thinks it is a sincere proposal and accepts. Realizing it wasn't done from a genuine place leads to some upset.

In Jaskier’s defence, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Marry me, Geralt!” he called, jogging over to his witcher, a little out of breath.

Geralt’s face pinched into something cross and Jaskier was sure he was about to be told to fuck entirely off.

“It’s the Belleteyn festival tonight,” he explained quickly. “I might have, erm, sown my seed a little more widely than would be advisable in the town.” Geralt scowled. “And there may have been some, ahem, threats against my person made by the local lord.“ Geralt’s scowl deepened. “But we can smooth it all over if we’re wed tonight. There’s some local custom -- forgiveness of past indiscretions for newly married couples on May Eve.“

Geralt was still glowering but he hadn’t said no yet. Jaskier pulled out his strongest move: He ducked his head, looked up at Geralt from under his lashes, and licked his lips. Geralt’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue almost imperceptibly.

“So marry me? Here. Tonight.”

.

It had been a lovely ceremony, as fake weddings go. There had been music and wine, dancing and merriment, and Geralt even allowed some of the local girls to braid flowers into his hair.

They’d only had enough coin for one ring, a simple silver band, so Jaskier had taken that and he’d given Geralt his father’s signet ring. He’d never have parted with it for anyone else, but it was Geralt. He knew without question he would keep it safe until this ruse was over with.

Perhaps there really was something magical in the air at that time of year, or maybe it was an evening spent at an increasingly raunchy celebration that did it. But after the festivities were over and the townsfolk returned to their homes, Geralt took Jaskier back to their campsite in the woods, laid him down on a bedroll with indescribable tenderness, and fucked him within an inch of his life.

It was everything Jaskier had been quietly fantasising about for years, except more because it was Geralt and even Jaskier’s profoundly vivid imagination couldn’t match the reality of his witcher, every glorious inch of muscle straining and taut, eyes blown wide with lust, taking Jaskier apart and piecing him back together again.

.

The next morning, Jaskier woke slowly, feeling the telling ache of a night well spent. Geralt was already up, packing up camp and loading their bags onto Roach.

“There’s oatmeal in the pot if you want breakfast,” Geralt grunted. “We should get going soon.” He turned back to his work.

Right. Okay. They just... weren’t going to talk about it then. Back to business as usual.

Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Geralt would be as pragmatic about sex as he was about everything else. A way to get some relief, to meet a need. No expectations.

Hell, it had taken Geralt over a decade to admit they were actually friends. Jaskier felt stupid for even hoping for more.

Sleeping together had been a one time deal, it seemed. Too bad.

.

Jaskier realised he was still wearing the ring a few hours later. He should take it off, get rid of it. Maybe sell it at the next town.

He should ask Geralt for his father’s ring back too. But it seemed somehow rude to ask, too needy.

And he... well, he sort of liked catching glimpses of it decorating Geralt’s finger, like a tiny piece of Jaskier was with him wherever he went.

Jaskier found his thumb rubbing over the silver band around his own finger over and over again. It was silly, he knew, but he liked the feel of it. He would keep it for now.

.

After that, things got weird. At lunch, Geralt tried to persuade Jaskier to eat the last of the apples, as if he didn’t know their supply was running low. And at dinner, Geralt hunted and prepared two squirrels for Jaskier instead of the customary one. Jaskier would eat just about anything in a pinch, but charred rodent was not something he felt the need for seconds of.

Everywhere they went, Geralt kept trying to foist food on him. Did he think that Jaskier was weak? That he wasn't able to keep up without extra supplies? Jaskier was, admittedly, not as young as he used to be, but he thought he still measured up pretty well in the fitness department. He didn’t love the implication that he was falling short in some way.

.

At night, Geralt would lay out their bedrolls close together. Close, but never touching. When he laid down, Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath on the back of his neck, and his chest ached with want.

He waited every night for Geralt to sneak an arm around his waist and pull him close, or to lean forward and whisper an invitation in his ear. Jaskier would be on him in a second.

But he never did, and every night Jaskier berated himself again for being so foolish and tried to push the thoughts from his mind. It was hard being so close and yet so far from what he truly wanted, but he wouldn’t force Geralt into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with.

.

After a week of this Jaskier was truly beginning to lose his mind, and it was a relief when they came upon a small town where they could rest for the night. Jaskier could go out, find some company and distract himself from the hopeless longing settled in his bones, even if only for the night.

When he announced his intention to look around the town, Geralt said he would come along too. That wasn’t ideal for Jaskier’s plan of distraction, but he’d make it work. He always enjoyed Geralt’s company anyway.

There wasn't a lot going on in the town, but there was a pretty barmaid in the tavern, a cheerful red-haired lady with exuberant freckles and strong curves. She flashed a smile at Jaskier the moment they walked in.

Perfect. He smiled back, ordered two drinks, and set to flirting outrageously with her. She giggled and teased back, not seeming intimidated by Geralt‘s presence, even though he was growing notably testier as their interactions became more charged.

When she reached over the bar to twirl a finger through Jaskier’s hair, Geralt actually growled.

She backed off and looked at Geralt. “Didn’t mean any harm,” she said. “I’m just being friendly. Unless...” She looked down at their hands on the bar, apparently noting their rings, and then back to Jaskier. “Unless you’re spoken for. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Jaskier said with a laugh, just as Geralt said, “Yes, actually, we’re married.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt. Geralt stared at Jaskier. The barmaid held her hands up in the universal gesture for “none of my business, nothing to see here” and backed away to wipe down a table.

Every muscle in Geralt’s neck was tense and throbbing, and Jaskier had no idea what to say.

“Geralt,” he began, carefully. “is this about the other day? The ceremony? Did you... Did you think that was for real?”

Something pained flashed across Geralt’s face, an expression more raw than any Jaskier had seen on him before. Then he stood, turned, and bolted from the tavern.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, getting to his feet. “Geralt, wait!”

By the time Jaskier was out of the door, Geralt was already disappearing down the dirt road, not turning back.

Ahh, fuck.

.

Jaskier left the girl at the tavern with a hurried apology, pausing only to throw their various possessions into bags and to load up Roach before heading out after Geralt. He knew bugger all about tracking, but he knew the direction Geralt was heading, and after that he relied on Roach’s instincts. She at least seemed confident in what to do.

He caught up to Geralt less than a mile outside of town. He was sat alone in a copse of trees just off the road, staring at the leaves.

He didn’t flee as Jaskier approached, though he didn’t turn to look at him either. “Geralt? I’m sorry. I was thoughtless. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Geralt stood slowly and turned to face him, though he avoided making eye contact. “It was a misunderstanding.” Geralt’s face was carefully blank, a look Jaskier recognised from times he was trying very hard to hide his emotions. “A wrong assumption on my part about the seriousness of the ceremony at Belleteyn.”

“Holy hell, Geralt.” Jaskier’s mind reeled. Geralt thought they had really been getting married, and he had been okay with that? “Does that mean... Would you actually want to be married to me?”

“It was stupid,” Geralt gritted out. Anyone else would have thought he was angry, but Jaskier knew him well enough to see he was hurt. “To think it was anything more than a distraction.”

No no no, that wasn’t right at all. Jaskier tried to take Geralt’s chin in his hand but Geralt turned his face forcefully away.

“Is that why you’ve been acting strange?” Jaskier thought back on it: the gifts of food, the aborted attempts at closeness, the feeling Geralt’s eyes on him constantly, checking his well-being.

“I thought...” Geralt wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I thought you wanted things to be normal. Like they always were.”

“If I were married to you for real, I wouldn’t act like everything was normal!” Jaskier exploded. “Damn it, Geralt. I’d kiss you every morning and hold you every night. And I’d tell everyone we met -- everyone -- that I was the luckiest person on the continent, because this is my husband, the one and only Geralt of Rivia, and he’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

Jaskier shut his mouth. Too late, though. Too late to take any of that back.

Geralt’s brow was pinched, though it didn’t quite look like a frown. It almost made him look thoughtful.

Finally he looked at Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Every morning?”

Jaskier felt all the fight leaving his body in one grand sweep. Geralt let him push him to his knees on the ground and allowed Jaskier to flop into his lap. Jaskier brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day for years,” Jaskier confessed.

And then he saw it -- one of Geralt’s oh-so-rare smiles. Not the forced grimace he adopted when he needed to look nonthreatening, or the tolerant lip twitch he’d give Jaskier when he was trying to be funny. No, this was a genuine Geralt smile, more precious than gemstones, the kind that lifted his entire face and reached his eyes.

Geralt threaded a hand into the back of his hair, brought their faces closer, and kissed him. At the touch of their lips every part of him went boneless, held up only by Geralt’s arms and a determination to make as much bodily contact as he possibly could.

His head was spinning by the time they pulled apart for air. Geralt’s eyes were sparkling, and Jaskier could have lost himself in that sight for the rest of his life and considered himself a lucky man.

Geralt leaned their foreheads together. “Will you stay with me?” he asked, very quietly. “Even if all I can offer you is charred squirrel and sleeping beneath the stars?”

“Always,” Jaskier promised, without a shadow of a doubt. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Through the good and the bad, the injuries and the pain, the plenty and the lean times. Through it all, he wanted to be with Geralt.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his and slotted their fingers together. Their rings lay next to each other, the elaborate gold of Jaskier’s crest shining against Geralt’s pale skin and the smooth silver encircling his own finger like an embrace.

It was all startlingly clear. “Marry me, Geralt,” he said, his heart welling over. “For real this time.”

#as usual roach is holding the brain cell #geraskier #the witcher #my writing

[thearvariblues]

So, About The Pockets...

The third and final part of my little “Jaskier is obsessed with pants” series. I’m sorry to say that this part doesn’t really focus on the pants or Jaskiers, uhm... unorthodox fashion research. But it’s there, I promise.

You should definitely read part 1 and part 2 before this one.

Tagging  @lottelorelei, @likecastle, @stinastar and @kalikatze, because you might want to read the last part, too. :D

*

“I’m feeling kind of nervous about meeting Jaskier this spring,” Geralt says to the man who’s walking with him through the streets of Oxenfurt.

“Finally grew some balls and decided to ask the bard to rearrange your insides?” his companion smirks. “I swear, Geralt, if you don’t offer your ass to him, I will have to sacrifice mine.”

“Lambert!” Geralt groans.

“What? Poor boy apparently didn’t fuck a Witcher last year.”

“Because I asked him not to. Well, not to fuck any Wolves, at least.”

“Jealous prick.”

“The worst thing is, he really didn’t! Or so it seems,” Geralt sighs.

“I can see the problem. He’s a fucking idiot.”

Geralt grunts.

“And what are you doing here, anyway? Sticking around just to annoy the shit out of me?”

“Meeting a friend,” Lambert smiles.

“A friend? You?” Geralt blinks, pausing. “Another?!”

“You make it sound like some sort of a miracle. I assure you, I’m fully capable of making friends.”

“Hm,” Geralt nods. “And this friend, he’s a… what? Another Witcher?”

“He’s a… bard.”

“A bard.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Lambert frowns.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe a single word.”

“I don’t believe a single word,” Geralt smirks. “So what’s his name?”

“Aid… Fuck,” Lambert grunts.

“So, Aiden. Now tell me, Lambert, this wouldn’t happen to be the Aiden I helped you avenge last autumn, would it?”

“No. It’s a completely different Aiden.”

“Am I really supposed to believe that you found two friends, both named Aiden, and both willing to put up with your bullshit?”

“In my defense,” Lambert says, grumpily kicking a nearby stone, “I really thought he was dead when I asked you for help. Met him like… a week after you and I parted ways afterwards. Thought I finally managed to turn my brain into mush with all the drinking, but it turned out that Cats really do have nine lives. He lost an eye and tends to mess up his signs a lot, but nobody’s perfect, eh? And hey, turns out that Igni works against pretty much everything.”

“And you didn’t tell me for the whole winter because…”

“Because you’d probably kick me down from the balcony?”

“Damn right I would,” Geralt growls. “So where’s this Aiden of yours?”

“Don’t know. Somewhere here in the city.”

Geralt stops dead in his tracks, gaping at Lambert.

“Here? In Oxenfurt?!” he asks. “With Jaskier?!”

“Well, he needed a safe place to spend the winter, and you know Vesemir isn’t a fan of Cats,” Lambert shrugs. “Come on, it’s a big city. I’m sure they haven’t even met each other. The city’s still standing, after all.”

“You don’t understand. Jaskier–”

Geralt doesn’t even get to finish the sentence when he sees a young man leap from the window of a nearby building and land with a perfect roll that only comes with years and years of practice.

“Melitele’s tits,” he mutters under his breath while making sure his pants are properly fastened. “Nobody’s ever told you it’s impolite not to let a man finish?!”

“Hey, Geralt,” Lambert snorts. “Found your bard.”

Jaskier, hearing his words, turns his head and beams at the Witchers.

“Geralt! Lambert! So nice to see you! Would one of you mind Yrdening the fucking door for me?”

“I swear to Melitele, Jaskier, one day I am going to let you suffer the consequences of your actions,” Geralt smirks, stepping closer to the door and using the sign on them. “How was your winter?”

“Very amusing,” Jaskier smiles just as the doorknob rattles uselessly. “How about yours?”

“Drafty,” Lambert says. “Hey, you didn’t happen to see Aiden, did you?”

“Aiden?” Jaskier repeats, his eyes darting over to the door of a tavern on the other side of the road. “Well, that’s quite a funny story, actually…”

There is a loud crash from within the tavern, followed by a roared: “Cheating Witcher scum!”

The door open and a lean blond man with an eye patch over his right eye runs out, looking around frantically.

“Jaskier!” he yells when he spots the bard. “We need to go. Now!”

“Did you try to Axii your way out of cheating again, kitty?” Lambert smirks, takes a few steps forward and casts an Yrden on the door.

“Lambert!” Aiden yells and throws his arms around Lambert’s neck. “You’re here, puppy!”

“So what did you cast?” Lambert smirks, hugging him tightly.

“Aard. Not that bad.”

“It’s better than the Yrden last week,” Jaskier comments. “The guy really wasn’t happy about having to spend the night in his seat. And there was, of course, the tiny incident with Valdo Marx and Igni two days before that…”

“I’m sure they haven’t even met each other. The city’s still standing, after all. Well, what a fucking miracle,” Geralt snorts, turning to Lambert, only to realize that he is currently kissing Aiden passionately. “Oh, fuck. Jaskier?”

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier smiles.

“They’re not just friends, are they?”

“What gave you the clue?” the bard chuckles.

The shutters on a window of a house Jaskier was running away from crash open and an angry man starts to climb out, even though he can barely fit through.

“Uhm, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news…” Geralt starts, but then Jaskier grabs his hand and he promptly shuts up.

“Yes,” the bard nods. “We’d better fucking run.”

*

Jaskier puffs out his chest and frowns at the fat man in front of him – the man who, as Geralt realizes, was the one climbing out of the window of the house where Geralt met Jaskier about an hour ago, right before their hurried escape to Jaskier’s rooms in the university buildings.

“Are you suggesting, my dear sir,” Jaskier says in his best offended noble voice, “that I, a respectable professor at this university, have, as you said yourself, canoodled with your wife?”

“I saw you. With my own eyes!” the man growls.

“Impossible. I spent my afternoon here, with my dear friend Geralt of Rivia. Is that true, Geralt?”

“Hm,” Geralt nods solemnly, trying not to spit out his wine.

“But this… friend of yours was there, too!” the man tries.

Jaskier gasps for breath and places a hand on his chest dramatically.

“Did you…” he whispers. “Did you just dispute the words of Geralt of Rivia, the mighty White Wolf himself? My dear sir, this man is a Witcher! The legendary savior! Slayer of bruxas…”

“Bruxae,” Geralt murmurs.

“… strigas…”

“Didn’t actually kill the striga.”

“… ghouls…”

“There’s really nothing exciting about those.”

“… and… and nekkers…”

“Every respectable Witcher wants to be known as a slayer of fucking nekkers.”

“And drowners!” Jaskier yells after the man who’s already turned on his heel and left.

“I see you’re running our of monsters again,” Geralt chuckles when Jaskier slams the door shut.

“Oh, shut up,” Jaskier mutters, sits into his armchair and grabs his goblet of wine. “Did I get rid of him or not?”

“You annoyed him into leaving, yes,” Geralt nods. “That, or he realized that Witchers tend to have two very big and sharp swords.”

“And I have three Witchers,” Jaskier smiles just as they both hear Lambert’s high-pitched scream from the next room.

“Sweet Melitele. How much longer is it going to take them?”

“Come on, Geralt. They didn’t see each other for the whole winter.”

“I didn’t see you for the whole winter, and you don’t hear me moaning your name like a cheap whore.”

“Yes, and isn’t that a shame?”

Geralt nearly chokes on his wine.

“What?” he wheezes.

“Nothing, dear,” Jaskier says quickly and gets back to his feet to refill their goblets.

“Hm…” Geralt hums, cocking his head. “Are those new pants?”

“They are. Thank you for noticing.”

“What happened to the tighter ones?”

“An accident,” Jaskier sighs. “I keep saying it, yours are only held together by some sort of dark magic!”

“They aren’t.”

“Fine, is it Quen, then? Are you constantly Quenning your fucking pants?”

“I am definitely not Quenning my pants, no.”

“Then explain how it’s possible that your mighty ass doesn’t rip them in half!”

“I don’t know. I suppose you will have to take a look at them yourself.”

“Geralt, I’ve been looking at your pants ten times a day ever since I met you, I don’t think one more look will change… What are you doing?”

Geralt downs the rest of his wine and stands up.

“I was thinking about a… closer look,” he murmurs. “I mean… for research purposes, of course.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier says, his eyes going wide. “Are you seriously suggesting… what I think you’re suggesting?”

“That there is one Wolf Witcher you haven’t fucked yet, yes.” For someone who’s just a little taller than Jaskier, Geralt is sure good at towering above the bard. “So if you wanted…”

“For research purposes, yes?” Jaskier asks as he wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist. “I should warn you, though. I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be a very thorough research. Probably gonna take at least a year.”

Geralt smirks and brings their lips so close together that they almost – but only almost – touch.

“Works for me,” he murmurs right before Jaskier kisses him.

*

“Did you know Cat Witchers have pockets on their pants?” Jaskier asks much later, when they’re lying side by side in his bed, naked and satisfied.

“Mhm,” Geralt hums because he was just about to fall asleep. “That’s nice.”

“I mean, not for me, they would absolutely ruin my silhouette, obviously,” Jaskier continues. “But for you, they might be quite handy, right?”

“Did you… Did you have to research with Aiden to find out?”

“Well, yes. You see, winter nights tend to get boring,” Jaskier grins. “But fret not, dear heart, you won’t have to spend the rest of your life protecting me from your angry brother. They have quite an open relationship.”

“Bold of you to assume that I would protect you,” Geralt sighs, burying his face in Jaskier’s chest.

“I know you will always protect me, dear,” Jaskier smiles and presses a kiss in Geralt’s hair. “So, about the pockets...”

“Tomorrow. I want to sleep.”

“But you promised I could take a look at your pants.”

“Mhm, I didn’t specify when, though. So shut up and let me sleep.”

“Geralt...” Jaskier whines.

“Jaskier,” Geralt chuckles.

“Ugh, fine. But I like you a lot less now, I hope you’re aware of that.”

“I’ll make it up to you. In the morning. I might even be willing to go with you to that tailor of yours.”

“Really?”

“Really. But first I have to ask Aiden about the… pockets thing…”

Geralt falls asleep, snoring slightly, even though he’s assured Jaskier a million times that Witchers absolutely do not snore.

“Knew you were gonna like that idea,” Jaskier smiles and closes his eyes. “Good night, my dear Wolf.”

“Hmmm…”

*

The next morning, Jaskier grins at the tiny tailor who’s studying Geralt’s pants with interest while the Witcher just stands there with his ass barely covered by his shirt.

“Truly an excellent bottom.”

“I can see that,” the man grins back.

“You are so,” Geralt snarls, “so paying for this, bard.”

“Oh, my dear,” Jaskier laughs. “With pleasure.”

#witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #lambert #aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #witchersexual!jaskier #my fics

[contemplativepancakes]

Following the Thread Transcript

AKA all the "canon" there is of Aiden. Google doc to save for easy reference is here. Providing this is entirely selfish of me, please use it and write some lambden <3

EXT. SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING

GERALT approaches a GUARD standing outside of a door.

GUARD: Don’t like folk wandering around here.

GERALT: Oh yeah? Well, got a beast you need someone to get rid of? I’m here about the notice.

GUARD: Ah, supervisor Lund posted it. Yeah, a beast haunts the outskirts, murdering folk. Got ‘em scared to leave their homes after dark.

GERALT: I’d like to talk to this supervisor.

GUARD: Too bad he don’t receive petitioners.

GERALT: So what’s he do, exactly?

GUARD: Delivery relief on behalf of the city council—flour and groats for the paupers. Meaning, he don’t do it personally. He’s got men for that. He, himself, he, uh. (GESTURES BROADLY)

GERALT: Supervises.

GUARD: Exactly!

GERALT: I aim to hunt down this monster.

GUARD: Best hurry, then. Some other bloke’s already after it.

GERALT: Who took the contract?

GUARD: Didn’t see the man. Was just told some brave fool’d turned up.

GERALT: When’d you find the last victim?

GUARD: Just last night. Hubert, a beggar, but a decent man. I’d let him sleep in the shed from time to time—that one, on the right. Eustace hasn’t come for the corpse yet. It’s lying in there, where I found it.

GERALT: Any eyewitnesses to these attacks?

GUARD: No, just the bodies. Beast appears only at night, chooses isolated victims.

GERALT: Thanks. So long.

Geralt goes to the shed and examines it, finding a puddle of blood that’s not human, and Hubert’s body, which is drained of blood. There’s ekimmara tracks in the shed that Geralt follows along the river’s edge, until they disappear at a dock. Geralt swims across the river and finds the tracks again, leading him to another building. Geralt notes that’s there’s rat corpses outside that have been drained of blood.

INT. DARK HOUSE

There’s the sounds of combat upstairs, blade clashing, an ekimmara screeching, and a whoosh from aard. Geralt rushes up the stairs to see LAMBERT fighting the monster. They kill it together.

GERALT: Greetings, Lambert.

LAMBERT: Damn, it’s good to see you, Wolf.

GERALT: Decide to do some hunting in Novigrad? Far as I remember, you never liked this city.

LAMBERT: Still don’t. Thing is, got a certain matter to take care of.

GERALT: What have you been up to? Any luck on the path?

LAMBERT: A lot, in fact. Quite the takings in Lan Exeter. Was asked to hunt down a giant, who turned out to be a forest troll and some bandits.

GERALT: Bandits?

LAMBERT: (SHRUGS) Came as a package with the troll.

GERALT: The matter you mentioned, anything I can help with?

LAMBERT: Hmm. Maybe. But we’ll talk about that later. Got our reward to collect. I’m kinda in a hurry. Let’s say you’ve earned half, what the hell.

EXT. SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING

Geralt and Lambert approach the guard from earlier.

GUARD: So?

LAMBERT: What do you think? We did what we had to do. Time to pay up.

GUARD: Wait here, I’ll go see the supervisor, get your reward.

LAMBERT: Do that ourselves. No reason you should leave your post.

Geralt gives Lambert a sideways glance.

GUARD: Hmm, can’t argue with that logic. Go on in.

EXT SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING, COURTYARD

Lambert and Geralt approach SUPERVISOR LUND in an outdoor space. There’s three guards milling around.

LAMBERT: We dealt with the monster at the docks. Here for our reward.

LUND: Witchers? Since when do you travel in pairs?

LAMBERT: Lots of dangers for a lone witcher. Bandits, for example.

LUND: I’d advise you to change your tone.

LAMBERT: Where’s Jad Karadin? Talk!

GERALT: Who?

LAMBERT: Trust me, Geralt. This is important. There’s something I gotta know.

LUND: I do not know any Karadin. Take your coin for the before and bugger off before I lose my temper!

LAMBERT: (YELLING) Where’s Jad Karadin? Asking you for the last time!

LUND: Guards, to the dungeon with them!

Lund runs out of the courtyard, and Lambert chases after him, leaving Geralt to fight the three guards.

INT. SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING

Geralt walks inside to find Lund cowering from Lambert.

LAMBERT: This guy’s more trouble than the ekimmara.

LUND: Karadin’s disappeared. I swear! The others, too! I only know of Vienne.

LAMBERT: What about Vienne?

LUND: She drinks at the Seven Cats. There day and night.

LAMBERT: See? You can be helpful.

Lambert unsheathes his sword and stabs Lund in the gut while Geralt watches. Lund collapses to the floor. Lambert turns to look at Geralt in challenge.

GERALT: That was murder. Was that really necessary?

LAMBERT: Yes.

Geralt shakes his head.

LAMBERT (cont.): More guardsmen’ll show soon. Let’s go. Meet me at the Seven Cats. Tell you everything there.

GERALT: The tavern Vienne frequents?

LAMBERT: Yeah. See you later.

EXT. SEVEN CATS INN

Lambert is leaning against a rock when Geralt approaches him.

GERALT: All right. High time you explained some things. Why’d you kill Lund? What’s this all about?

LAMBERT: Want the short version or the long one?

GERALT: Lemme hear the whole thing.

LAMBERT: Had a friend. Aiden was his name.

GERALT: You? Had a friend?

LAMBERT: Oh, hi-fuckin’-larious. I met him soon after I'd accepted a contract to lift the curse from the Ogre of Ellander. Aiden had been hired to kill it. He was a witcher from the school of the cat.

GERALT: Far as I remember, the ogre was killed in the end.

LAMBERT: Yeah, after it gutted my employer, we really didn’t have a choice. I cut a deal with Aiden. We joined forces, split the reward for killing the ogre between us. After that, we worked together a lot. Hands down the best man I’d ever met. I mean, I like you, you know that. Still, no comparison.

GERALT: What happened to him?

LAMBERT: Some time ago, Aiden took on a contract to lift a curse off a duke’s daughter. It was a political mess from the start. Then there was the hatred for the school of the cat to deal with.

GERALT: They worked hard to deserve that hate. Basically hired assassins.

LAMBERT: (SNAPS) Aiden wasn’t like that. (PAUSES, LOOKS AWAY) Anyway, some of the duke’s courtier’s had designs. Weren’t all keen on the curse being lifted from the duke’s first born. So, a band of trained assassins ambushed Aiden, murdered him. Our dear supervisor was one of them.

GERALT: And Jad Karadin?

LAMBERT: The assassins’ leader. And the one to deal the mortal blow.

GERALT: Sorry about your friend.

LAMBERT: Don’t need your sympathy, just your help. (PUSHES OFF ROCK HE WAS LEANING ON TO STRAIGHTEN) We have to talk to Vienne. Must’ve had enough to drink by now. Let’s go.

INT. SEVEN CATS INN

Geralt and Lambert approach VIENNE, a lithe elvish woman wearing a deep cut purple blouse with her dark hair in a braid. She has a drinking glass in front of her where she sits alone at a table.

GERALT: Vienne?

VIENNE: What do you want?

LAMBERT: We wanna see Jad Karadin.

VIENNE: (LAUGHS) Now why would I help you?

GERALT: It’s really important to my friend here.

VIENNE: And what will I get out of it?

LAMBERT: Pay for your beer, for starters. Then we’ll see how valuable your information is.

VIENNE: (CONSIDERS, TAKES DRINK) I was part of Karadin’s band, but… When was that? I don’t know where to find him; I’ve fallen out with the lot.

Geralt sits at her table.

VIENNE (cont.): Besides, he’s no longer chummy with his old mates. Word around town is he’s changed.

Lambert sits down, also, now.

GERALT: Karadin’s changed? What do you mean?

VIENNE: He’s dropped all his old connections, stopped taking on petty killings. He’s hidden himself away in some hole. Must be planning something big.

GERALT: Who else was in Karadin’s band?

VIENNE: Aside from me? Selyse, Hammond, and Lund. But they’ve scattered all over the world. Selyse went to Tretogor, Hammond to Skellige, and Lund—

LAMBERT: Lund’s dead.

VIENNE: (CACKLES) Finally met his match. Well, you’ve only Hammond or Selyse to talk to, then.

GERALT: What about you? What’s your story?

VIENNE: Scoia'tael was decimated, so I joined Karadin. They never treated me as an equal. No. I could hit a sparrow from a hundred paces, but I was never good enough for Karadin. He always preferred that cunt Selyse…

LAMBERT: You have a hand in the murder of the witcher Aiden?

VIENNE: Perhaps. I don’t remember.

GERALT: We need information about Hammond.

VIENNE: Karadin’s right hand man, once. When the band broke up, he went back to Faroe whence he had come. He’s a pirate, now. Even the jarls treat him with respect.

GERALT: This Selyse, where can we find her?

VIENNE: She’s done well for herself. Runs a brothel in tretogor, the kind rich men frequent. Whores suck information out of them, then she sells it.

LAMBERT: Name of this brothel?

VIENNE: The Black Lily. Selyse always did have horrible taste.

GERALT: (TO LAMBERT) Satisfied?

Geralt and Lambert both stand.

LAMBERT: She doesn’t know anything. We need to talk to Hammond and Selyse.

VIENNE: Don’t go looking for Karadin. If he senses you nipping at his heels, he’ll kill you without batting an eye.

LAMBERT: We’ll see. As for you…

OPTION ONE

GERALT: No, Lambert.

LAMBERT: Right, better to leave her like this.

VIENNE: What about my coin?

Geralt and Lambert exit the inn.

VIENNE (cont.): Arseholes.

OPTION TWO

GERALT: Do whatever you think is right, Lambert. Not here to preach morals.

VIENNE: (LAUGHS) “Do what you think is right?” Only one thing worse than cold blooded murder—hypocrisy. Informers, racists, snitches!

VAREN: Vienne, bloody hell. What is it?

VIENNE: They’ve come for me, Varen! I told you someone would, sooner or later!

VAREN: (IN ELDER) Don’t be afraid.

GERALT: Shit.

A fight breaks out in the inn and ends with Vienne dead.

EXT. SEVEN CATS INN—NIGHT

LAMBERT: You’ve gotta help me, Geralt. Best thing will be to split up. You sail to Skellige, try to squeeze something out of Hammond. I’ll go to Tretegor and try to get something out of Selyse.

GERALT: Lambert, let’s talk about this.

LAMBERT: Let’s not. This is one of those situations, serious situations, where you don’t ask unnecessary questions and just help your friend.

GERALT: Where’ll we meet once I’m back?

LAMBERT: At the Nowhere Inn.

GERALT: All right, I’m off. Good luck.

They both nod to each other, and the scene fades to black as Lambert walks away.

EXT. PIRATE’S SETTLEMENT, SKELLIGE

Geralt approaches two men standing guard outside of the settlement he’d been pointed to in order to find Hammond.

GUARD: Whaddya want?

GERALT: I’m looking for Hammond.

GUARD: What for?

GERALT: Business.

GUARD: He prays at the chapel on the hill this time of day. If it’s slaves you’re looking to buy, you’ll have to wait ‘til he’s done.

GERALT: He’s praying? Wouldn’t have thought him a god fearing man.

GUARD: Hmm. Yet it’s not something that would surprise any man who knows him.

GUARD TWO: Another snoop! You know the drill!

A fight breaks out with all of the pirates. After Geralt defeats them, he travels across the island.

EXT. HAMMOND’S SHRINE

Geralt walks into the shrine, and it’s an outdoor space with wide, curved beams driven into the ground that create a circle. Hammond is in the middle of the area in front of a pile of weaponry and shields. Hammond is shirtless and wearing a green tartan kilt with a wide leather belt. His hair is in a ponytail, and a leather strap encircles his left bicep. There’s a brown arm guard on the same arm, and there’s a gold band wrapped around his right bicep. There’s a large war hammer strapped to his back.

HAMMOND: Gods of the sea, I’ve never begrudge ye no gifts. Grant me another victory, so I can make an offering of me loot. (STANDS AND NOTICES GERALT) Fuck, what now?

GERALT: Heard you were in Karadin’s band.

HAMMOND: Fuckin’ say what you want. C’mon, spit it out, you arse lickin’ bastard!

GERALT: I’m looking for Jad Karadin.

HAMMOND: And just who the hell’re you?

GERALT: A friend of a friend. I’m looking for Karasin, thought maybe we could make some sort of deal.

HAMMOND: What, our business rubbing some Novigrad pricks the wrong way? Ploughin’ guild! (TO HIS GUARDS) Come on, what are you waiting for? Kill the fucker!

A fight breaks out and Geralt kills Hammond and his three guards. After, Geralt searches Hammond’s body and retrieves a letter on elegant stationary.

Hammond,

Thought I made it clear during our last face to face talk. I don’t want to keep in touch and I especially don’t want to do any business with you. I’ve no doubt the enterprise you proposed would be profitable. Nevertheless, to speak colloquially, count me out.

There are plenty of other potential buyers in Novigrad: goldsmiths, jewelers, and merchants dealing in luxury goods, for starters.

I don’t want to get involved.

Whatever you decide, I will wish you well in it. Treat this letter as our final farewell.

Karadin

INT. NOWHERE INN

Geralt approaches Lambert. Lambert is sitting at a table scattered with gwent cards and with a tankard in front of him.

LAMBERT: What the hell took you?

GERALT: Pretty likely Karadin lives in Novigrad. And he never severed ties with Hammond. They’re actually in business together.

LAMBERT: Mm. Learned something, too. He trades in, uh, live goods on the sly. Owns a ship called the Pearl of the Coast. Runs between here and Skellige. Changed his name, too, to Roland Treugger, who officially is a respected Novigrad trader and philanthropist. Has a residence in Gildorf.

GERALT: Anything on Selyse?

LAMBERT: Hmm. Well, didn’t have you there to stand up for her.

GERALT: All right, let’s pay Karadin a visit.

EXT. KARADIN’S HOUSE

Lambert and Geralt stand in a stone alleyway, looking at several guards.

LAMBERT: Think I know how to get in. Got a plan.

GERALT: If your plan doesn’t include dealing with an escort of guardsmen, best revise it.

The guards approach Lambert and Geralt.

GERALT (cont.): Calm, now. Let them start it.

GUARD: You’re expected. Come in.

Lambert and Geralt share a glance, and the scene fades to black.

EXT. KARADIN’S BACKYARD

There’s a child in a blue smock, who points at Lambert and Geralt and runs to Karadin. Karadin has yellow slitted eyes, dressed nicely, and there’s a sword at his hip.

KARADIN: Make yourselves at home.

GERALT: (TO LAMBERT) He’s a witcher.

KARADIN: Very true. Let me introduce my wife, Laetitia, and my two little tots. (GESTURES TO A WOMAN AND TWO CHILDREN SITTING IN THE GRASS) You know who I am, and I’ve heard of you. You’ve been asking questions about me. That always draws my attention.

GERALT: What school’d you come out of?

KARADIN: That of the cat. So few of us left.

Lambert sneers.

GERALT: Witchers can’t have children.

KARADIN: But they can have wards. Or take in a woman along with her children, embrace them as their own.

GERALT: I could understand a witcher becoming a hired assassin, but a merchant?

KARADIN: Why ever not? Not one among us doesn’t dream of changing our life. I simply did not stop at dreaming. They say no witcher has ever died in his bed. I aim to be the first.

LAMBERT: Remains to be seen.

GERALT: My friend needs to talk to you.

KARADIN: (TO GUARDS) Lads, take the children and Laetitia and leave us. Our guests wish to speak with me.

His family leaves.

KARADIN (cont.): I’m all ears.

LAMBERT: Talk to him, Geralt. If I do, first word he says to me, I’ll lose it and throttle the fucker.

GERALT: Nice place you got.

KARADIN: As it turned out, I’ve a flair for enterprise. Now I’ve coin enough to provide my family with the finer things in life.

LAMBERT: With some left over for philanthropy.

KARADIN: Miss Marabella’s institute does not scorn small donations. Neither does the city's Widow and Orphan Relief Fund, amongst others.

GERALT: Your wife know who you were?

KARADIN: We are thoroughly honest with each other, harbor no secrets. She prays for me each day. You know what? I think it’s working.

LAMBERT: Fucking hell.

GERALT: Relax, Lambert.

KARADIN: I confessed all just before we pledged to marry one another. Began a new life that day, with a clean slate.

GERALT: Remember Aiden? A witcher. Murdered in Ellander. Guessing the killers were paid well.

KARADIN: I remember him as I remember all the others—with the deepest regret. Yet Aiden was different, in a way. Contrary to rumor, we did not set out to kill him. We were forcced to, when he attacked us.

GERALT: What’s your version of this story?

KARADIN: Aiden had accepted a contract to lift a curse from the duke’s daughter. He took the coin, bungled the job, then left once the girl passed on.

LAMBERT: You lie!

KARADIN: We were not to kill him. We were debt collectors. He’d spent the coin already, so we demanded his swords. When he refused, tempers flared. Vienne, positioned as sniper, lost her nerve, hit Aiden square in the eye.

Lambert looks down. Geralt glances over at him.

KARADIN (cont.): Later, she devised her own version of the story. To silence her guilt, I expect.

GERALT: I’ve heard enough.

KARADIN: What now?

OPTION ONE

GERALT: You’ve changed. You have.

KARADIN: Forgiveness. It’s my sole aim now.

LAMBERT: You’re buying this bullshit? Bastard’s lying his ass off!

OPTION TWO

GERALT: You know what, Karadin? Your remorse—it’s feigned. Completely dishonest. You put on a good show, but I just don’t believe you.

LAMBERT: Don’t even know why we bothered with this chat. We came here to kill you.

OPTION THREE

GERALT: Maybe you’ve changed, maybe not. To me and Lambert, it doesn’t matter.

LAMBERT: You killed Aiden. Fuck your new life. I don’t believe in giving second chances.

OPTION ONE

GERALT: Do what you want, Lambert. Your friend, your vengeance.

LAMBERT: Been waiting a long time for this.

KARADIN: (UNSHEATHES SWORD) And I don’t aim to die.

A fight breaks out, ending in Karadin dead.

LAMBERT: Thanks for your help, Geralt.

GERALT: You’re welcome.

LAMBERT: Wanna talk about it?

GERALT: No.

LAMBERT: See you later. Some day.

GERALT: So long, Lambert.

OPTION TWO

GERALT: Leave him. Let’s go.

LAMBERT: What? Are you fuckin’ nuts?

GERALT: Lambert, this is one of those situations where you have to realize you’re pissed as hell, rein it in, and trust your cool headed friend. Let’s go.

LAMBERT: For fuck’s sake, Geralt. Don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive you.

GERALT: I said let’s go. You can always come back.

Lambert storms off.

KARADIN: Thank you.

Geralt sighs and walks away.

EXT. KARADIN’S HOUSE

LAMBERT: Explain yourself.

GERALT: Don’t intend to. Just felt Karadin didn’t deserve to be murdered in cold blood. If you feel otherwise, you can always go back. Without me.

LAMBERT: I feel like beating the shit out of you. See you later. Some day.

GERALT: So long, Lambert.

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #aiden #lambert #lambden #following the thread #reference #contemplative writing

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

oh good god im in tears. thank you thank you thank you so much for taking time to make video of signing for me. wow, i— im not sure what to say. im- you have no idea how much that extra little step means to me. you are a gift to the world. an absolute treasure. i had to think hard about what i would like to see. never really asked from someone, when it comes to stuff like this, before and im worried of asking too much.

our boys are walking through a crowded market place when geralt looks to make sure jaskier is still behind him but out witcher turns around and his bard is just... gone. maybe angst, hurt/comfort, with a soft ending? I love the "Character A and character C must tend to Character B no matter how much it hurts B. A & C must ignore the screaming, the begging, how painful it must be, etc.. because B's life is on the life." trope 😅 and i feel like jaskier being deaf would make it all the more harder. It's a situation I've been in myself before, too.

1) I am so glad that my short little video could make your day. If you ever want some signed encouragement/answers, I’d be happy to record myself! I’m proficient in ASL but not fluent.

2) Writing this is fun and the hurt/comfort element really butters my eggroll.

3) Most of the sounds Jaskier makes in this fic, including the screams, are based on my coworker, who is considered “big D deaf” (with his consent)

tw: blood mention, minor injury, symptoms of panic, spitting the venom out (doesn’t work in real life, but this is fanfic)

---

Geralt hated the sound of screaming. It was shrill and high and it almost always led to something shitty. Whether that shitty thing was a village maiden trying to frame him for her lover’s offense, a child in danger whose parents would find a way to blame him for the incident, or some absolute fool in need of an urgent rescuing, Geralt found that screams were the worst kind of portent. 

They were even worse when they came from his bard. 

Jaskier’s screams were inhuman, partly because Geralt knew he was terrified and partly because the bard had no reference for the sound of ‘normal’ screams. Geralt knew from his witchery experience that people had all kinds of cries. There were high pitched wails of terror and curated yelps of pain; fuck, there were even flirtatious shrieks that came with giggles and squeals tacked on. Jaskier had never learned those. He was working with instinct alone, and instinct had told him to yell his fucking lungs out. 

Jaskier’s high keens were heart-stopping. The sound couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the bard’s bright tenor, but it was twisted and frightened, loud and long and high. It urged Geralt to run even faster, push himself even harder as he flew through the underbrush and between tree trunks to reach his friend in time. 

He hadn’t even heard the monster sneak up on them. He hadn’t seen the creature snatch Jaskier away into the woods; he’d only heard Jaskier’s panicked noises and followed them as quickly as possible. 

When he skidded into view of Jaskier and his captor at last, his heart plummeted into his boots. The bard was laying limp, his eyes closed, his chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths. The Forktail that held him to the ground beneath one massive claw was missing a wing. Apparently it had adapted by hunting what it could find on the ground; this would be a fast fight.

Without missing a beat, Geralt swirled forward in a blur of movement. A few dodges and well-placed slashes later and the monster fell to the ground. Geralt, covered in the Forktail’s sticky blood but otherwise unharmed, collapsed beside his companion and shook Jaskier’s shoulders.

There was no use screaming for him to wake up, Jaskier couldn’t hear him, but Geralt did it anyway. “Come on, Jaskier! Wake up for me, please! Open those pretty blue eyes of yours and fucking look at me, goddamnit!”

Nothing.

The witcher registered the red mark near the bard’s collarbone and tipped into a full-blown panic: it had stung him. He lowered his lips to the over-hot skin and sucked hard, the bile-adjacent flavor of the Forktail’s venom burning beneath the coppery tang of Jaskier’s blood. He spat it out into the grass and leaned down again, pulling the danger out of the bard’s body one breath at a time.

When he couldn’t taste the venom anymore, Geralt wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and gathered Jaskier into his lap. He tucked the bard’s sweat-damp face against the cool skin of his throat and murmured anxiously, “Fuck, Jask, please. Wake up for me, yeah? Don’t die on me yet. You can’t. You’re too... you have too much music to write, still. You can’t die.”

He wasn’t sure what he would do if those blue eyes never opened again. 

But they did. By all of Melitele’s finery, they did. 

Geralt clung tightly to his exhausted companion, pressing their foreheads together tenderly as the younger man’s eyes blinked slowly open. The witcher’s calloused hands formed the signs before he could stop them, eager to reveal the secret that had weighed on him for months. Maybe years. I love you. I love you so much.

Really? Jaskier gaped. He stayed stock-still, his weight shifting like a scared rabbit’s in Geralt’s lap. His usually steady musician’s hands shook as he asked again, Really?

Geralt nodded as tears sprang, impossible and unbidden, to the corners of his golden eyes. Always, Jaskier, always. I will protect you. I love you. I promise.

Not lying?

Never lying. Not to you.

Good.

The witcher pulled him somehow closer and pressed a shower of kisses to the bard’s smiling face. Jaskier giggled and wiped a bit of blood away from the corner of Geralt’s eyebrow. He let the witcher paw at him and check him over for any further harm, his hands comfortably situated in his lap where he signed to no one in particular: Fucking finally.

#deaf jaskier #h/c #hurt/comfort #blood mention #blood tw #injury mention #minor inury #venom removal #like twilight but better #geraskier #geraskier fluff #getting together #caring geralt #injured jaskier #hurt jaskier #geralt has feelings #geralt #jaskier #fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #deaf!jaskier #shout out to josh #bounceacoinoffyouranons #deaf anon

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel [Pt. 6]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Yennefer doesn't like you, and now you know why. Are you going to do something to make her believe that it's not how she thinks like, or are you just going to go with it, because secretly you know that what she just said to you, is in fact, the truth? Geralt is finally beginning to open up to you, but for how long?

Warnings: None

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

"How about this, [Y/N]?" Yennefer stood in front of you, her fingers running through the fabric of a pale, cream coloured silk dress, with dark red borders. If there was one thing that you could bring yourself to commend Yennefer for was her taste— the dress she was looking at was fit for royalty.

Yet, out of spite, and out of the fact that you had been dragged out on early morning, woken up from your sleep to accompany the mage on her quest to get you a nice dress, when she had the power in her to magically do those things pissed you off. And then, there was the fact that you were to be presented, on full display, at a celebration she had organised. You— the vessel— a ruined woman— who was carrying a Witcher's baby, for her.

You had a lot of clothes that you still somehow managed to fit into, as your belly was a little rounder, and one could see the outline of a burgeoning baby bump, if one was to look carefully. But tell that to the Mage, who was right now standing in one of the village shops, looking for a dress for you.

"Um, it's good," you whispered, crossing your arms over your chest— you just wanted to leave.

"Good that you like it. Once my baby grows within you, you're not gonna be able to fit into those shreds anyway," she said, eyeing your plain dress in an almost distaste, and you suppressed the urge to scoff.

"We'll take it, how much for it?" She then turned towards the woman, curling her lips, regarding the older looking woman who smiled wide, excited that she was getting some business as she informed the Mage that it would be ten coins.

Once Yennefer had paid off the woman, she tossed you the dress, and you groaned, catching it midair, and just like that, you began following the woman again, like a lost puppy.

Finally, the two of you were out of the shop, and you felt like you could breathe again. You waited a few seconds, for the way she had brought you here, you assumed she will do the same— open a magic portal, grab your hand and pull you in. When she didn't, you frowned and turned towards her, questioningly, only to find her staring at you, studying you.

"Uh, what?"

"Nothing, love."

There it was; that fake sweetness, once again, ringing at the back of your mind, prompting you that something bad was to come.

"I hope you know that Geralt's never going to look at you the way he looks at me, right?"

You glared at her, your lips parting in surprise but she placed her index finger to your lips before you could even say anything. To her, you were like a little lamb, taking their first steps.

"I don't want you to end up falling in love with a man that doesn't know how to reciprocate those feelings."

You pursed your lips together, your eyes unwavering when Yennefer looked into them. Her fingers still rested on your chin, holding your face. In truth, you felt like a cornered animal.

"Don't worry, Yennefer. I won't. Geralt is.." You thought for a bit, your mind suddenly turning off, and the words that you chose next somehow popped into your mind just randomly— words that you regretted saying almost instantly the minute they escaped your lips, "Used goods."

Her eyebrow shot up in amusement, and her lips curled into a side smirk. Her thumb began to run along the side of your face, your neckline and she smiled, her other hand reaching out and rubbing over your belly lightly, "You're funny. You're very funny. Big words coming out from a woman's mouth, when you practically tossed your body to the Witcher for some coin."

"Yennefer, to be fair—" Your breathing hitched, as you took a sharp breath, and jerked her hand away, taking a step away from her, your hand protectively latching to your tiny bump, as you began stroking over it as though comforting it, "I tossed my body for some coin. You tossed the man you claim to love to fuck another woman. I think we both know how similar the two of us are, in many many ways."

Even the beautiful woman standing in front of you couldn't hide the scowl that formed on her face for a second. She lost it and immediately, turned away, flustered, still scowling, for you could hear her breathe heavy as she began to conjure up the portal, so the two of you could get back.

You felt odd, like a fish thrown out of water amidst the flurry of mages, all around you. You knew many of them, mostly by name— you could see Tissaia de vries— you had only heard about her, and now she was right there, in front of your eyes. The funny part of it all was, that this celebration was for you, or for the baby you were gifting them with, but no one even bothered as to give you another look. It was all Yennefer.

You reached out, your fingers clasping against the glass of sparkling water in front of you on the table, where your plate of exotic freshly cut fruits lay untouched. You pulled it up to your lips, your eyes circling around, mostly in distaste at what you saw around you. Women— which you weren't sure if they were just illusions created by spells, or real, dressed in nothing, their naked bodies on display — walked around.

On one end of the hall, you saw Jaskier. He was surrounded by a flock of richly dressed older looking women, and you rolled your eyes at him, listening to him as he sang the infamous ballad, toss a coin to your Witcher, which suddenly reminded you of the brooding Witcher you knew. You looked around, your eyes scanning through the crowds until you spotted the familiar white hair, standing out from the rest of them.

He was standing in a corner, drinking ale from a silver pitcher, looking as bored as you were, which was ironical as this was technically his celebration too. You stood up, your glass of water still in your hand as you gracefully made your way to him, pushing your way through the naked women, frowning at the casuality of it all. Geralt spotted you making your way towards him so he shifted slightly so he he was now directly looking at you.

"Not enjoying your own celebration? It has naked women." You asked, giving him a ghost of a smile, trying to make small talk with him as you fixed yourself right next to him, leaning against the wall.

He grumbled something under his breath, typical Geralt of Rivia style, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself as you started looking around.

"You don't think I agree with Yennefer on everything?" He suddenly said, his voice low and heavy, that caused your head to turn towards him, "This is a waste of time."

"Well, Witcher—" You smiled, tight lipped, bringing your glass up to your lips as you took a sip, and started looking at Yennefer, who was in the center of the hall, mingling with the guests, and nodded, "If there ever is anything that you and me both can agree upon, it's this. This indeed, is a waste of time. Although—"

You eyed Jaskier; who was now laughing at something one of the women said, however his eyes were fixed on a naked woman standing by the table, her finger stretched as she beckoned towards the bard to join her, "Jaskier seems to be enjoying himself."

Geralt grunted, his gaze following yours until the two of you were watching the bard, and the whore disappear through one of the hallways in the back, and Geralt shook his head.

"Why? Does your friend embarass you?" You smirked, your hand flying to the side of your face, pushing the loose strands of hair behind your ear.

"I thought Jaskier's your friend," Geralt smirked back at you in retaliation, and this time, he didn't even try to hide it.

"Yes, he is but he doesn't embarass me, at all."

"Hm," Geralt brought the pitcher of ale to his lips and took a sip of it, a droplet of ale running down the side of his lips. For some reason, he found himself wanting to smile, but he had trained himself over the years not to.

"Well, I'll let you be. I need some air," you waved off, as you whispered, letting the empty goblet you were drinking water from rest against the table where Geralt was as you pulled yourself away from him, your arms instantly clothing around your upper body. Geralt nodded his head, as he watched you walk off.

If it wasn't for the moon shining right on top of you, you wouldn't have been able to see a damn thing as you stepped out of the structure from the back. It was silent, except for occasional high pitched screaming from somewhere inside the stone structure, and you wondered if it was Jaskier, not that it was your concern.

Crushing the dried leaves underneath your feet, you stepped out until you were standing by the cliff, staring at the village at a distance, looking like glitter scattered over a black canvas, the tiny lights glistening.

You unknowingly took a step backwards, only to turn rigid and almost freeze, when your back hit something sturdy, yet you knew it wasn't a wall, it was strong but it felt soft against your back and you could feel someone's breath on you, signalling you that it was definitely a person.

You almost screamed, when Geralt grabbed a hold of both your arms, in an attempt to steady you to your feet, for you were technically, on a cliff , and one slip of your footing can lead you to tumble all the way down the humongously high mountain.

"It's just me."

You didn't realize how your breath had accelerated, your chest heaving up and down, and it was only the Witcher's voice that finally managed to calm you down a bit. You took a slow step around, turning so you were face to face with him, your bodies almost touching; at least you could feel your tiny bump rub against Geralt's abdomen, but he didn't seem to mind.

"You're not immortal," he murmured, in a husky voice.

You raised your brow, but did not attempt to step away from him. You didn't know what it was— maybe it was the warmth that his body was radiating, that you seemed to find comfort standing so close.

"Do you think there are any monsters on a cliff top?" You asked, looking up at him, wondering how his eyes were so — bright — you could literally see them glowing in the dark, the moonlight falling over his face, highlighting his features.

"Not all monsters are dangerous, some people are too."

"Touche," you smiled, still looking up at him, until there was silence, and Geralt cleared his throat, stepping away as whatever the moment was, finally ended.

Geralt kept standing by the edge of the cliff, his back now turned towards you, giving you a clear view of his sword as you lowered yourself against a rock, both your hands resting on your lap. After a few seconds of silence, the Witcher finally turned, his eyes meeting yours as he turned, but only for a brief second until he had walked up to where you were, and he was looking down at you. Almost silently, as though he had asked you to shift, you scooted slightly to your right, and the Witcher sat down too, his side brushing against yours.

"How are you?" He asked, in a low voice, the gentleness in his voice urging you to draw your lips into a smile as your fingers began toying with each other.

"I'm okay. I needed to get out. All that, I can't tolerate it. Makes me want to throw up. Not because of the baby but—"

"Hm, she can be a little too much at times," Geralt interceded, almost immediately, and you nodded, engulfed by the famous Witcher silence once again. Involuntarily, your hands flew up to the side of your arms as you began rubbing them, staring at the sky above you until you felt an urge to look at him.

"Geralt?"

He turned towards you, regarding you with a bit of glimmer in his already bright irises.

"Where would you go? I mean, where would Yennefer take the my baby.. your baby after the birth?"

He frowned a little, parting his lips slightly, letting his head tilt to one side, as his hand flew up to his temple, his index scratching it briefly, until he relaxed once again.

"Well, Yen, she would be staying here. You can stay too. If you want to be close to the baby. I'm sure Yen would appreciate the help."

"No, I guess I'd go back to my own life, take care of my shack back in the village. I'll maybe get a job at the tavern, will bring in some coin—" You drawled, staring at a distance when Yennefer suddenly walked up to where the two of you were, her dark eyes fixed on the two of you.

"Geralt, my love. There are people that would like to meet you. Am I interrupting something?" Yennefer was almost glaring at you, and Geralt cleared his throat, rather loudly, as he stepped up from the rock he was sitting next to you, and walked up to her, taking her hand in his.

"No, I thought something was wrong. Just wanted to make sure—" Geralt turned towards you, "— that everything was fine. Cliffs can be .. dangerous at night."

You pursed your lips, your eyes falling to their entwined hands, and when you looked back up again, you saw the sorceress regard you with a tiny smirk egging against her lips.

"Yes, Witcher, everything's fine, I don't need you following me around like I will need help all the time," Bitterness laced your words, and you swear you saw a look of hurt flash in his eyes just for a second before the usual broody look took over and he regarded you once more before the two of them turned around and started walking away.

Well done, [Y/N]. You frowned as you kept watching them walk away, Geralt's arm wrapped around Yennefer's waist, her head resting against his bicep.

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[julek]

five times jaskier does nice things for roach, and one time she returns the favor.

(or, jaskier spends a ridiculous amount of time and money on a horse).

*

“i told you not to touch roach,” geralt says when he hears his mare stomping her feet on the ground, displeased. she’s tethered to a tree near their fire and geralt, now busy brewing some potions, had finished brushing her a few minutes ago.

jaskier curses himself mentally, still not used to geralt and his witcher hearing, capable of listening to a bird’s cry three towns away. reluctantly, he draws his hand away from the horse, grinning innocently in geralt’s direction.

“i was just saying goodnight!” he says, sitting down cross-legged on his bedroll, “first impressions are very important, you know. wouldn’t want her to think i was being impolite on purpose, not when we are this”—he pinches his fingers together—“close to being best friends.”

geralt looks up at him, unimpressed. “she doesn’t like you.”

behind them, roach snorts in agreement, and jaskier splutters in indignance.

*

the forest is quiet.

no birds chirping, no predators lurking around, no sound. ideal work conditions, in geralt’s opinion. he’s crouched down next to a fallen tree, waiting for the drowners to take his bait.

suddenly, the swamp’s stillness is breached by soft singing and feet stepping on branches. rolling his eyes, geralt stands up as quietly as possible and walks over to jaskier, who’s busy picking flowers from a nearby meadow.

“i told you to stay with roach,” he says in greeting, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

jaskier yelps and turns around to face him, clutching his heart and letting the flowers fall to the ground.

“gods, geralt! warn a guy, would you? i thought you were one of those, um… what do you call them? swimmers.”  

“drowners.”

“my words exactly,” he says, gathering some long stems. “i was waiting with roach, mind you, but i got bored. so i looked around and thought hey! roach looks awfully dull without some pretty flowers weaved in her mane, so here i am.”

geralt lifts his eyebrows, abandoning all hope for a peaceful, quick hunt.

“she’ll trample you to death before she lets you touch her,” he deadpans.

jaskier tsks, already making his way back to their camp with his fresh selection of flowers.

geralt waits for the inevitable.

“fucking ow!” he hears, and feels a smile tugging at his lips. “that doublet was new! that is not how one reacts to gifts, you vicious horse. did that witcher teach you nothing about manners?”

he did, actually. he’s glad she’s putting them to use.

*

“fuck, i’m cold.”

they’re in the outskirts of blaviken, and much to jaskier’s chagrin, they’re making camp in the forest. winter’s near, and as much as he would have liked to sleep in a warm bed, he would have turned it down anyway. he’d seen the look on geralt’s face as they approached the town, and that had been enough of a reason to follow him into the forest.

jaskier is pacing around the fire, his woolen cloak snug around his shoulders, doing little to protect him from the biting wind. geralt had gone deeper into the forest to hunt something for their dinner and hadn’t yet returned.

he looks over his shoulder at roach, who’s laying down on the ground, her legs tucked under her body. geralt had slung a blanket over her back, and she’d been dozing off for the last half hour, seemingly unfazed by the cold.

he knows it’s a bad decision, and he’ll probably be kicked and yelled at, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. his fingers are frozen and he can’t feel his ears, and he’s sure he’ll drop dead any minute now from hypothermia, so why not?

“hi, beautiful,” he whispers, crouching down next to roach, watching her reaction. “do you mind if i sit next to you? you see, it’s horribly cold,” he sits down, carefully as not to startle her, “and it’s something my brothers and i used to do, you know? huddling for warmth.”

if roach notices him laying against her side, she doesn’t show it. he gently places his head on top of her spine, and drapes himself in his cloak.

“you’re incredibly warm, did you know that? had i known that before, i would have cuddled you sooner.”

he’s so warm and comfortable he almost doesn’t notice geralt coming back. he hears his footfalls but decides to ignore them, too cozy to move, but roach has other plans. all of a sudden, she stands up, leaving him on the floor, confused.

“wha—roach!” he exclaims, picking himself off the ground. “we were doing fine! what happened?”

geralt smirks as he starts to skin the rabbit. “maybe that will teach you not to bother her.”

“but you don’t understand, i—we were happily laying side by side just a minute ago!” jaskier says, sitting in front of the fire. “you startled her.”

geralt snorts. “i did?”

jaskier rolls his eyes and looks at roach, who’s laying down again, unperturbed. “traitor,” he whispers.

*

spices, curated meats, oils, and baked goods are all geralt can smell, meaning this particular market isn’t too big and they’ll be out on the road soon. that, if he can get jaskier to hurry and get whatever he so desperately needs.

“oh, that stone is beautiful,” the bard says to a bald salesman, keen on selling him a new ring. “alas, it’s much too expensive for me.”

he gives the salesman a sheepish smile and moves on to the next stall.

“i just need one more thing, dear witcher, and we can be on our way,” he says, grinning.

geralt arches a brow, but says nothing. better not to distract him, he’s learned.

“hello, madam!” he chirps, looking at the goods displayed on her counter, “if you would be so kind, i’d like a full bag of sugar cubes.”

huh. that’s not what geralt had been expecting. cherries, maybe, or a honeycake, not sugar cubes.

jaskier pays the woman and kindly thanks her, then ties the small bag to his belt. “well, i’m done. are we leaving?”

geralt nods.

they make their way to the side of the road, where roach is nibbling on the outgrown grass. he takes the herbs he’d purchased and places them inside roach’s saddlebag, while jaskier resumes his daily chattering.

“you’re looking quite dashing today, my lady,” he says, gently stroking the mare’s neck.

geralt expects roach to hastily brush jaskier’s hand aside, but much to his surprise, she doesn’t, snorting happily instead. he looks at them for a second, dumbfounded.

“geralt? are we going, then?”

“hmm.”

*

summer is kind enough to let a gentle breeze filter through the trees, giving jaskier a breath of clean air.

he’s got his breeches rolled up to his knees, and his doublet is nowhere to be seen. they’d been traveling nonstop for two long, humid days, the burning sun above them, and jaskier had been too tired to even sing, lazily strumming his lute as he walked next to geralt. then, in the middle of a pointless rant about how the world would be better off without the sun and its infernal heat, jaskier spotted a stream.

grabbing roach’s brush from geralt’s saddlebags, jaskier takes her reins and gently leads her into the stream. she complies, braying lightly as she feels the water on her legs.

“i know, girl,” jaskier says, gathering water on his cupped hands and letting it pour on her head, minding her ears, “it’s too hot out, even for you.”

he looks over to geralt, who’s got his back to them, scrubbing mud from his boots.

“you know,” he murmurs, smoothly brushing her mane, scratching behind her ears, “he doesn’t think we’re friends, you and i.” she snorts in response, and he chuckles. “he still thinks you don’t like me.”

she moves forward, and jaskier’s about to move out of the way to let her walk out of the stream when she bumps her head affectionately against his chest.

“oh,” he whispers, overcome with emotion. “as you know, i’ve become quite the expert at reading geralt’s hums and silences, but this is uncharted territory. animal behavior is foreign to me.”

she swishes her tail, and jaskier huffs out a laugh.

“i’ll give it my own meaning, then,” he says, pressing his nose against her snout. “i love you too.”

*

the tavern is packed to the brim, overflowing with hearty patrons who served as a great audience, generously rewarding jaskier with applause and tankards of ale with his name written on them.

“thank you, my good men and women, for listening to my tales!” he exclaims, hopping off the stool he’d been using as a makeshift stage.

he heads to the bar, picking up two of the mugs and moving toward the corner where geralt’s sitting, half-hidden under the shadows.

“help yourself, witcher,” he says, smiling brightly. “the crowd was kind to us tonight.”

to you, geralt thinks but doesn’t say. instead, he takes a swig of ale. “so i’ve seen.”

jaskier beams at him, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted with sweat. he downs half his glass, sitting back on his chair, sighing contentedly.  

they spend the evening in comfortable silence, jaskier casually making remarks about the town or the last contract, taking small bites out of a piece of bread. after a while, geralt stands up.

“i’ll go check on roach.”

“oh, good!” jaskier says, standing next to him. “i forgot my quill in her saddlebags, i’ll go with you.”

geralt hums, and they walk past the people at the tavern. they reach the half-lit stables at the back, where roach chews on some straw in her stall.

“hey, sweetheart,” jaskier greets, stroking her snout. geralt starts brushing her down, and jaskier looks into her saddlebags for his forgotten quill. a long time ago, geralt had given up on trying to split their belongings into different bags, realizing the your side, my side logic meant nothing to jaskier.

after all, they shared everything. coin, wine, food. beds, sometimes, waking up with their legs entwined, jaskier’s head on geralt’s shoulder, embraced in what they both tried to pass off as the natural seeking of warmth on cold nights, nothing else.

jaskier leans against a pillar, watching geralt take care of his horse. they’d been traveling together for so long, yet it still amazes jaskier to see geralt move around roach. how his gaze softens, and a small smile stretches across his lips, only for roach to see. how he murmurs sweet nothings, rubbing that spot on her jaw he knows she likes.

“okay,” geralt says, “go to sleep, now. we’re leaving at dawn.”

roach bumps her head against geralt’s chest, lovingly, and he gives her a smile.

“goodnight, darling,” jaskier says, sneaking a sugar cube into her mouth. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

when he turns back, geralt’s looking at them with a fond expression, a small smile on his lips. he moves toward jaskier, his eyes soft.

“you’re spoiling her”, he says, amused. this close, jaskier can see geralt’s got a little bit of mud on his chin, and he wants to wipe it off.

“she’s a good horse,” jaskier tells him, feeling roach’s eyes on him. “she deserves nice things.”

“hmm.” geralt closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly.

jaskier moves forward, licking his thumb, and gently wipes geralt’s chin. he opens his eyes, watching jaskier.

“there,” jaskier whispers, his thumb now stroking geralt’s cheek.

suddenly, he feels roach nudge him forward with her snout, and he stumbles onwards, clutching geralt’s shirt for balance. they’re close, geralt’s breath on jaskier’s cheek, his hands on the bard’s waist.

“she’s a clever horse, too,” geralt says, pressing the tip of his nose against jaskier’s, rubbing softly.

“she is,” jaskier murmurs against geralt’s lips.

roach nickers softly in agreement.

#mywriting #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #roach deserves soft things