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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

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It's been awhile, Geralt x Jaskier enthusiasts, but here is your newest installment of...

Otherwise known as...

Things that sound like Geraskier fic writers made them up, but that are, in fact, book canon.

This time with commentary on the original Polish wording from @cherrypoison1889! Thanks, Cherry!

Today we're talking about dopplers, otherwise known as shape shifters, also called vexlings in the world of The Witcher. Dopplers are often used to expose the fact that Dandelion is a vulnerability for Geralt, that he loves him.

There are quite a few Geraskier fics that play with this trope. (I will give you a rec or two at the end of the post.)

It makes sense! Plus, the show used a doppler, (more on that later) so the concept is right there!

But does the concept of using a doppler to reveal Geralt's true feelings for Jaskier just exist in the fevered imagination of Geraskier fic writers?? Is this pure fanon? Or canon?

Well, you may have guessed (since I didn't write all this out for my health!)...

It is canon.

In The Witcher book, Sword of Destiny, we meet a doppler called Dudu, who turns into Dandelion (Jaskier) to protect himself from Geralt. He even has a few choice words to say about what he sees in Geralt's thoughts.

Want the details? Of course you do, you've read this far, why not?

When Geralt meets Dudu in this story, the doppler is in the form of a halfling called Dainty Biberveldt. Dudu has bonked Dainty on the head, stolen his shit, taken his form, and is running around Novigrad making business deals with his ill gotten gains.

Dainty wants his shit back from the doppler, but does not want to turn Dudu over to the city guards because Dainty is a decent person who knows that they will murder the doppler in an absolutely horrific way that I will not describe to you. Novigrad is rife with violent bigotry towards non humans, and dopplers in particular have been slaughtered to near extinction. They've been subject to genocide, basically, just because they creep people out. (I could write a thesis just on the way this short story handles themes of racism)

But anywho. That's how we get Geralt's involvement. Geralt is pitching in to get Dudu under control so they don't have to involve bigoted law enforcement. (We stan Dainty ACAB Biberveldt in this house)

This particular scene opens when Geralt has pursued the doppler into a crowded marketplace and has finally cornered him in a tent. Dandelion is elsewhere in the market, being a slut, so he is nowhere to be seen. When Geralt corners Dudu, they are alone, and the doppler panics. He can't get away. So, he decides to be crafty.

First, he turns into Geralt as a way to protect himself. The book describes Dudu changing into Geralt, down to the last detail. Now there are two identical witchers in the tent. Then Dudu speaks.

"Don't come any closer," the second witcher said huskily and smiled. "Don't come any nearer, Geralt. I won't let you lay your hands on me."

So now he looks just like Geralt and has his husky voice. Perhaps he is hoping Geralt will not be able to harm someone who looks like himself. Perhaps he just wants to be equal to him physically.

Either way, Geralt's self esteem is too low for the first one to work. Here is how Geralt responds to an exact copy of himself.

"What a hideous smile I have," thought Geralt, reaching for his sword. "What a hideous face I have. And how hideously I squint? So is that what I look like? Damn."

So, Geralt reaches for his sword immediately, and the only reaction he has for himself is disgust.

Here is where I asked Cherry for her thoughts. Is Geralt as mean to himself in the original Polish? Hideous is pretty strong a word! Here is what she said:

Cherrypoison1889: Geralt is indeed very harsh on himself, when he sees the doppler transform into him. In Polish, he uses the word "paskudne" to describe himself, which is literally hideous. However, he also calls his face "gęba" which is a more vulgar word for face, which in Polish is "Twarz". So he's even harsher on himself, I'd say.

Oh noooo. But just when you think Geralt's low self esteem is going to be a strategic advantage, it betrays him. Why? Because when Dudu says, you can't defeat me, because I am you and I know everything you know...

"I am you," the doppler repeated. "you will not gain an advantage over me. You cannot defeat me, because I am you!"

That is where Geralt starts to lose ground. Why? Because Geralt of Rivia says, no, you can't really copy me! Because you are a good person, and I'm a bad bad bad man. I kill people. I'm a killer. You cannot relate. You cannot even begin to understand the mind of a bad evil killer man like me.

"No," the witcher countered, "you are not. And do you know why? Because you're a poor, little, good-natured doppler. A doppler who, after all, could have killed Biberveldt and buried his body in the undergrowth, by so doing gaining total safety and utter certainty that he would not be unmasked, ever, by anybody....But you didn't kill him...Because you're a poor, little, good-natured doppler, whose close friends call him Dudu...you only know how to copy what is good in us, because you don't understand the bad in us."

Geralt isn't saying this to be strategic. He truly believes it! He knows Dudu has seen his thoughts! Listen to what he says next...

"you aren't capable of defying me, because I am what you are unable of copying (sic). You are absolutely aware of this, Dudu. Because you took over my thoughts for a moment."

So, Geralt is like, you saw what a mess it was in there. You know what a killer I am. You may as well give up now.

I thought 'took over my thoughts' was a little bit of an awkward phrasing, it almost implies thought control, when I feel like the context is thought reading, so I asked Cherry about that. She said:

Cherrypoison1889: As for the "taking thoughts over" bit, it is the same in Polish, I am afraid. the word Sapko uses is "przejąć" which means exactly that, although I assume that the "take over" in English was meant to be understood as "acquiring" although I can't be sure of that. It sure does sound a touch awkward.

But back to the story, Tellico (Dudu) has now been inside Geralt's head. So he knows that's absolute bullshit, even if Geralt doesn't. He has seen what is in Geralt's heart, which prompts him to take another shape.

Tellico straightened up abruptly. His face's features, still those of the Witcher, blurred and spread out, and his white hair curled and began to darken.

"You're right, Geralt," he said indistinctly, because his lips had begun to change shape. "I took over your thoughts. Only briefly, but it was sufficient. Do you know what I'm going to do now?"

Do you? Do you dear reader, know what he's going to do now? I'm going to let you make a guess.

The leather witcher jacket took on a glossy, cornflower blue colour. The doppler smiled, straightened his plum bonnet with its egret's feather, and tightened the strap of the lute slung over his shoulder, the lute which had been a sword a moment ago.

Well, if you've read the books up to this point, we all know who's form he has taken. Cornflower blue, egret's feather, lute....smart doppler.

"I'll tell you what I"m going to do, Witcher," he said, with the rippling laughter characteristic of Dandelion. "I'll go on my way, squeeze my way into the crowd and change quietly into any old body, even a beggar. Because I prefer being a beggar in Novigrad to being a doppler in the wilds."

He then has a powerful monologue about being subject to extermination and genocide. About hunger and fear and freezing to death. He makes a very touching plea to Geralt, asking the Witcher why he is denied the right of survival, granted to everyone else, just because he is a doppler. It is about a page and half long and I HIGHLY recommend people read Sword of Destiny, because this is good shit. He says he will stay in Novigrad.

"As a resident of Novigrad, I'll trade, weave wicker baskets, beg or steal; as one of you I'll do what one of you usually does...."

The Witcher said nothing.

Now, Dudu, in Dandelion's shape, having seen Geralt's thoughts, takes his gamble. And boy does he have guts. He tells Geralt about himself, about his supposed bad bad heart.

"Yes, as I said," Tellico continued calmly. "I'm going. And you, Geralt, will not even try to stop me. Because I, Geralt, knew your thoughts for a moment. Including the ones you don't want to admit to, the ones you even hide from yourself. Because to stop me you'd have to kill me. And the thought of killing me in cold blood fills you with disgust doesn't it?

The Witcher said nothing.

Tellico adjusted the strap of his lute again, turned away and walked towards the exit. He walked confidently, but Geralt saw him hunch his neck and shoulders in expectation of the whistle of a sword blade. He put his sword in his scabbard. The doppler stopped in mid-step and looked around.

"Farewell", Geralt, he said. "Thank you."

"Farewell, Dudu," the Witcher replied. "Good luck."

Dudu wins that one, quite handily.

The doppler turned away and headed towards the crowded bazaar, with Dandelion's sprightly, cheerful, swinging gait. Like Dandelion, he swung his left arm vigorously, and just like Dandelion he grinned at the wenches as he passed them.

As he walks away, Dudu even plays the lute and sings "exactly like Dandelion". Then he shouts back advice for Geralt to pass on to the bard.

"Pass that on to Dandelion, if you remember," he called. "And tell him that Winter is a lousy title. The ballad should be called The Eternal Fire. Farewell, Witcher."

Dudu has seen Geralt's thoughts EVEN THE ONES HE WILL NOT ADMIT TO EVEN THE ONES HE HIDES FROM HIMSELF, and his next choice was to turn into Dandelion.

Now, do I think that the author meant to imply that Geralt is trying to hide his love of Dandelion? No. Slim chance of that. However, it isn't like it's a secret that Geralt hates killing creatures who do no harm or who cannot fight back. So there is still something a bit fuzzy to me about the thoughts that Geralt hides from himself.

It is ripe territory for a Geralt x Dandelion enjoyer to exploit, cultivate, and use for their fics and headcanons.

I asked Cherry for her thoughts about this, about what Geralt's hidden thoughts are having read the original Polish, and she said this:

Cherrypoison1889:

I feel like Dudu used Geralt's self-loathing against him, in a way. As in, if Geralt were to kill Dudu-as-Dandy, he would admit to himself that he is a ruthless, horrible person, who kills "intelligent" beings, despite what he claims, which would also make him a hypocrite. And we know Geralt is a big softie, so he wouldn't do it anyway. I think changing into Dandy was an additional precaution, just an extra measure in case Dudu turned out to be wrong.

I really liked this story, I don't remember reading it back when I read the books (it was ages ago, so I might be wrong anyway). It's really funny, and Geralt is babbie. Darling boy, he just bought himself a new jacket and it got ruined in the frenzy...

Babbie Geralt, that's our darling.

It is sad that Geralt has so much self loathing that it didn't help Dudu to look like him, but it is very sweet that Dandelion is such a point of vulnerability for Geralt, and that Dudu had his number.

Dudu wins this round soundly. The story isn't over. I won't spoil it in case you guys want to read it. But it has a great ending. It is definitely one of my favorites.

I will just never get over how easily he gets the upper hand on Geralt here. Geralt of Rivia, legendary monster hunter, defeated by little Dudu because of his low self worth, his mushy heart, his solidarity with non humans, and his love of a slutty bard.

Now, recommendations.

The Doppler Effect, by @a-kind-of-merry-war This is the first doppler fic I read in the fandom and it has alll the delicious emotional drama, pining, and sexiness that you want from a fic like this. It is excellent.

Images of You, by @pherryt This one is a delightful 'continuation' of what happens in Sword of Destiny. After Dudu learns about Geralt's feelings, he essentially matchmakes Geralt and Dandelion eventually receiving a sexy thank-you of his own.

Them, by @gilligangoodfellow I feel like dopplers and Dudu in particular is so ripe for exploration in fic. So it is wonderful to see a fic like this. It's a short character study of Dudu as gender fluid, with the doppler coming out to Zoltan. Seriously, try it.

Alright, thanks for reading, folks!

For more Geralt and Dandelion "I can't believe it's not fanon..."stay tuned. I am organizing a master post with all of the posts I've done. So keep your eyes out. (in the mean time, most of them seem to show up in the tag, just not all of them)

And lastly, THANK YOU CHERRY! I love having a partner to do these posts with!!

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher books #i can't believe it's not fanon #canon or fanon

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aramblingjay · 11 months

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After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last Geraskier, touch-starved, bed sharing (2K)

They meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

ao3

The first winter he returns to Kaer Morhen, Geralt is asked to describe Jaskier.

“We hear you’ve started traveling with a companion,” Eskel says over dinner. Lambert and Coën go a little too still in the corner to not be listening, and even Vesemir subtly turns his head in their direction—everyone’s been wondering, evidently, and Eskel has been chosen as the best person to pose the question.

“Yes,” he agrees, taking another bite of whatever it is Lambert has decided to pass off as dinner. Some kind of meat, perhaps? It powders in his mouth like chalk.

To his credit, Eskel doesn’t ask who the companion is. “What are they like?” he asks instead, and Geralt doesn’t miss the they. It protects him implicitly the way Eskel always has, assuming nothing, allowing him to reveal exactly as much or as little as he wants, and Geralt is reminded all over again why he’s never been able to deny Eskel anything.

Including this, so he tries to find the right words. It was never his strength, even back when he still had red hair and brown eyes and knew of Witchers only as a fiction told to scare disobedient kids, but it’s even harder now.

“He’s—”

The first description which comes to mind is loud, but that isn’t quite right. Jaskier is loud only in the sense that Geralt is always aware of his presence, a whisper of citrus and jasmine beside him. And he hums incessantly, sometimes accompanied by the twang of his lute, sometimes not—but it isn’t the kind of overbearing, obtrusive singing that loud would suggest. Jaskier’s music is just there, a constant background, as familiar to him now as the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves in the wind.

He’s a bard, Geralt considers saying, but that doesn’t capture the essence of Jaskier, almost suggests he’s nothing without a tune on his lips.

He’s brave. Certainly, he’s the first human Geralt’s met that has never, not once, smelled like fear around him, even when Geralt’s eyes are inky black and he’s more monster than man. But Geralt doesn’t know if that’s bravery or foolhardy, and besides, true bravery is to run toward that which you fear. To not feel the fear at all—that’s something else entirely.

He’s different. True. Not nearly enough to explain.

“He’s kind,” Geralt says finally, and it feels right. There is no kindness to be found here at Kaer Morhen—even Eskel, for all his protectiveness, is not kind. No Witchers are, no Witchers are allowed to be. But Jaskier is the opposite of a Witcher, vivacious like no one Geralt has ever known before, impulsive and free-spirited and wholly kind.

Eskel’s eyes go strangely soft. “Oh, Wolf,” he murmurs, so low only a Witcher could hear.

Geralt looks away. “Anyway, I doubt I will see him again come spring.”

It’s not a lie. Jaskier has undoubtedly moved on to pastures new, wintering in Oxenfurt or Lettenhove or some other place that Witchers wouldn’t set foot, somewhere bright and lively to keep the chill at bay. The chance that their paths will randomly cross again once Geralt comes down the trail in a few months’ time is slim, and he doesn’t expect Jaskier to wait for him either. Jaskier is kind, but not infinitely so, and surely spending another year on the Path beside a Witcher who grunts more than speaks is the last thing he wants.

It’s not a lie, but the words taste bitter on his tongue anyway.

They do meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

Geralt dismounts Roach outside The Wolf’s Snout, a grimy-looking inn with a half-broken fence surrounding it, five days’ trek from the bottom of the trail. It is further than he usually travels before stopping—the Kaedweni innkeepers closer to Kaer Morhen are more used to Witchers popping in than those this far out.

(But Jaskier mentioned this inn to him last year, so. Here he is)

He has yet to meet Jaskier in the same inn twice, but somehow they always find each other in one establishment or another on the outskirts of Kaedwen. Geralt no longer doubts whether their paths will cross, the question is only when.

Though he knows Jaskier tends to winter close to the coast, he does not ask how or why Jaskier ends up in Kaedwen every spring. Such a gift is too precious to jeopardize, either by his clumsy questioning or his even clumsier acknowledgment.

Geralt steps inside the inn to a raucous dining area, every available table surrounded by men with red cheeks and loud voices, clearly well on the ale. A good bard would make a pretty coin or two here, he thinks idly, and wonders if that’s why Jaskier mentioned it.

The innkeeper is a short, wiry woman with sharp eyes that rake him from top to bottom as he approaches her.

“Room for the night?” he asks, careful to speak just loud enough to be heard over the din. The innkeeper will know, of course, but nobody else seems to have clocked that he’s a Witcher, and the longer he keeps it that way the smoother his stay will be.

“I won’t be having any trouble here tonight,” she says, but her voice isn’t hostile.

“I won’t give you any.”

A corner of her mouth lifts. “And payment up front. How many nights you staying?”

Several coppers lighter, Geralt ends up in a rather spacious room at the very end of the hall, complete with a bed large enough for two (or one broad Witcher), a second small bed pushed up against a window, a fireplace, and a round tub. The main bed even comes with a feather-padded blanket for warmth. Compared to his usual accommodations, it’s a veritable palace.

He scowls, and dumps his saddlebags in a corner. All this luxury is largely wasted on him, and does little to fill the hollow in his chest that has only grown with every step away from Kaer Morhen.

There’s not much to do here besides take in the finery and rest, so he casts Igni to light a fire and settles into the bed rather quickly. Some dinner would be nice, perhaps, but everything smelled a little too salted and seasoned downstairs—normally he can stomach just about anything, but several months of pampering over winter have narrowed his palette considerably, and it’ll take at least a few weeks time to remember how not to give a fuck again.

Sleep finds him almost immediately after that. It should be one of the most comfortable nights he’s had outside the keep in recent memory, but the emptiness of the room aches in his chest like a physical, tangible thing.

He wakes to citrus and jasmine and a voice he would know anywhere.

“She told me you were in—ah, Geralt. Here you are. Lovely to see you again after a long winter.” Jaskier steps further into the room until he’s fully illuminated by the firelight. He looks good, Geralt surmises, well-fed and looked-after. “Don’t mind me. Coin is short and this room is entirely paid for, so I’ll be here for the night.”

It’s phrased as a statement but intended as a question.

Geralt just grunts his assent and drifts back to sleep smiling.

They fall into the familiar routine just as they have every year before. It’s comfortable, safe, easy.

Geralt kills monsters and Jaskier sings about it.

Jaskier sleeps with fine ladies (and more than one fine lord), and Geralt scares away their angry spouses with a well-placed intimidating look.

Geralt keeps them safe, and Jaskier keeps them fed, the coin he earns from one night of performing usually triple what Geralt could even hope to earn from a single contract.

Jaskier smiles at him and worries after him and touches him with a care no one’s taken since he was a boy, and Geralt tries to understand what it all means.

The ache in his chest is an old, forgotten thing.

Their seventh spring, he once again stops at The Wolf’s Snout.

(He’s never waited in the same inn twice before, until now, but he refuses to consider what that might mean)

This time, he’s awake. Waiting up, one could call it, though the very idea is preposterous—Witchers don’t have anyone worth waiting up for, and the chance to sleep in a bed is a precious commodity on the Path. No one is coming home to a Witcher.

But then there’s a lyrical knock at the door—two taps, and then a faster three, the beat of a song he doesn’t know—and Jaskier is there. Framed in the doorway, dressed from head to toe in bright blue and green that should irritate his eyes but doesn’t, not in the slightest, only makes something loosen in his chest that’s been taut for too long.

Jaskier is there. Here. With him, again, for the seventh spring in a row, despite it all.

“You’re awake,” Jaskier says, and his voice is missing some of its usual brightness, its usual whimsical nonchalance, but it’s so good to hear all the same.

“Hmm.”

And Jaskier shouldn’t be able to read what that means, just like he shouldn’t be here in a beaten-down inn along the forgotten backwater of Kaedwen about to step into a room already occupied by a Witcher, but Jaskier is brave and different and kind and entirely incapable of ever doing what he should.

So of course, Jaskier only says, “Yeah, me too,” like he hears the words Geralt doesn’t even know how to form in the privacy of his own mind, and steps over the threshold.

It feels significant, somehow. A bigger step than across a single plank of wood.

He stays silent, watching as Jaskier drops his bags in a heap by the door and undresses down to his smalls in the half-darkness.

There’s only one bed in this room. Geralt asked for a room and the innkeeper offered this one and he didn’t spend more than a second thinking about it before accepting. Witchers can’t be picky, and Jaskier has slept on the floor many a time—they both have, on cold and dirty forest floors far more uncomfortable than anything this inn could offer.

But.

“What are we doing here, Geralt?” Jaskier asks softly, hovering by the edge of the bed but making no move to come closer.

Geralt doesn’t have an answer. But he shifts just slightly on the bed, an invitation—and Jaskier lies down in the open space next to him, no trace of fear anywhere in his scent even now—and for the first time since the mutagens burned away every part of the boy he used to be, Geralt wants.

The next year, Jaskier doesn’t come.

Geralt waits at The Wolf’s Snout for a fortnight, until he can’t delay going back on the Path any longer, and then another day just to be totally, completely sure.

Jaskier never comes.

He packs up his things, never considers leaving behind the human-safe potions or the lute strings or the too-small doublet even though they add weight to Roach’s pack—just shoves it all into the bottom of his satchel along with his emotions and his hopes and the weird sense of betrayal he has no right to feel, and walks the Path.

Alone, as he was meant to.

The ache is back, a monster under his skin. He feels cold and tired and empty, but a Witcher isn’t made to break, so he puts one foot in front of the other in front of the other until it’s winter again.

He collapses into Eskel’s arms the moment he’s back in the keep, grateful to still have one person who hasn’t left, and his eyes burn.

If he could cry—he can’t, so it doesn’t matter. But if he could, he would probably drown.

It’s foolishness, to go back to the same inn. It’s foolishness, and Geralt is not a fool, but he can’t help himself.

Just to be sure. Just to be absolutely certain Jaskier has left this life, left him, and then he’ll walk the Path and never ever return here again.

But he opens the door to his preferred room, an extra three coppers per night now but worth it just for the memory of having slept beside Jaskier in this bed, and it isn’t empty.

Jaskier is there.

His hair is longer. He’s dressed in deep maroon, and there are bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, and he smells like he hasn’t showered since he left wherever he’s been for so long—and he’s the most beautiful thing Geralt has ever seen.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’ll be welcome. Like Geralt hasn’t spent the last year withering away at the prospect of never seeing him again.

“Jaskier.” He can’t find any other words. He can’t think of any that matter more than this, saying a name he thought he’d have to bury in the deepest corner of his mind forever, lest the mere memory of it reduce him to dust.

“Sorry I wasn’t here last year. It’s a long story involving—”

“Come here,” Geralt whispers, cutting him off. His voice breaks, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Jaskier standing on the other side of the room. “Please.” Witchers don’t beg but he isn’t a Witcher in this moment, just a man, old and weary and aching. “Please.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier is front of him in a flash. “Darling, I’m right here. I’m right here, I promise.”

That familiar hand reaches out and rests on his chest—he feels it, the slightest pressure when those long fingers brush against his tunic, the searing warmth of Jaskier’s skin on his own even with two layers of cotton in between.

Citrus and jasmine, the jackrabbit beat of Jaskier’s heart, and that soft, gentle warmth—Geralt closes his eyes and comes home.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #*fic #*writing #apparently the trailer inspired me and now i’m doing a bunch of geraskier writing?

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

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if you have time i would love to see what you do with prompt number #5 “i can’t believe i married you” with geraskier please!! i feel like geralt would say this when jaskier is being silly and ridiculous but also jaskier would use it when geralt gives him only one good morning kiss instead of two lol. but only if you have time!!!! 💖✨💖✨

Jaskier is still half-asleep as he shuffles to the fridge, his eyes bleary and unfocused after a late night of composing. Hoping for a few slices of last night’s leftover pizza, he opens the fridge, only to let out a little shriek of surprise when he finds a pair of bulbous eyes staring back at him.

“Geralt!” he yelps. “What the fresh fuck is in our fridge?”

His witcher appears in the doorway, already dressed and ready for the day. “A drowner head.”

“Right, good,” Jaskier says. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck is it in our fridge?”

“It didn’t fit in the freezer.”

“Geralt!”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “Its brains are useful for potions. I’m going to harvest them later.”

“Not in our kitchen, you’re not.”

“Would you prefer the bedroom?”

“Geralt, I swear to Melitele, if you get drowner brains on the duvet—” Seeing the grin on Geralt’s face, Jaskier breaks off, scowling. “I cannot believe I married you.”

“Hm. Jask, we’re not married.”

Ah, right. They’ve been together so long, Jaskier forgets that sometimes. Their friends and family are always complaining that they act like an old married couple anyway. “And if you keep putting drowner heads in the fridge, we won’t be!”

Geralt comes to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. “Go take a shower and I’ll make coffee and deal with the drowner.”

“You’ll make the coffee before you touch drowner brains, right? Avoid cross-contamination?”

“Drowner brains are good for you. Protein.”

Jaskier huffs and turns on his heel to leave the kitchen. “I want a divorce.”

“Again, not married.”

Jaskier starts up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Then we should get married just so I can divorce you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” Jaskier makes it to the top of the stairs, then pauses, registering what they just said, and turns around. “Geralt?”

From downstairs, there’s the rumble of Geralt’s answering hum. “Hm?”

“Did we just get engaged?”

“I think that’s traditionally what comes before marriage and divorce.”

Jaskier hurries back down the stairs so fast that he nearly trips over his own two feet. He finds Geralt standing right where he left him in front of the fridge. “Do you really want to get married?”

Geralt looks at him like he’s started singing in gnomish. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Jaskier lets out an exasperated laugh. “Geralt, my love, this is one of those things where I’m going to need an unequivocal yes or no from you.”

Geralt leans against the front of the fridge, frowning slightly. “I never thought you wanted to get married.”

“What?” Jaskier is bewildered. “When did I say that?”

“Back when you were dating Vespula.”

“Geralt, I was twenty-two when I dated Vespula! That was nearly a decade ago! Of course I didn’t want to get married.” Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. “I never thought you wanted to get married. All that witchers walk alone bullshit.”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “I think that ship has sailed by now, Jask. I think it sailed about five minutes after we met.”

“Well yes, probably,” Jaskier says. “So, Geralt, will you marry me?”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through just so you can divorce me over drowner brains.”

“Darling, you should know by now that it’s going to take more than drowner brains to get rid of me. I told you when we first moved in together and I’ll tell you now, you’re stuck with me.”

“Romantic.”

“You know you love it.”

Geralt’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of Jaskier’s nose. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The few times Jaskier has pictured proposing to Geralt, he’s imagined grand gestures: singing a love song in front of a crowded stadium of fans, holding a sign as he jumped out a plane, a moonlight boat ride and a four-string quartet. But standing with Geralt in the kitchen, still in his boxers with a drowner’s head in their fridge, somehow feels more right than any of those fantasies.

They just hold each other for a moment before Jaskier pulls away. “Want to go get breakfast to celebrate?”

Geralt’s eyes are soft with fondness as he watches him. “Did you propose just for an excuse to go get pancakes and mimosas?”

“Like I need an excuse to get pancakes and mimosas.” Jaskier is smiling stupidly. “Let me go get showered. I can be ready in twenty minutes.”

“See you in an hour.”

“Har.” Jaskier turns and hurries up the steps. In the bathroom, he draws back the shower curtain, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his shriek at what he finds inside. “Geralt!”

“What?” Geralt calls from downstairs.

“What the fuck is in our shower?”

“Oh,” Geralt says. “That’s the rest of the drowner.”

“Excellent. Just so you know, I’ve changed my mind about that divorce!”

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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shanastoryteller · 2 years

Note

happy pride!! geraskier? 🏳️‍🌈

Yennefer doesn't think anything of the silver ring on Geralt's left hand. He's a witcher, for fuck's sake.

She keeps not thinking of it until she stumbles on him at a pub, which wouldn't be too strange except there's a semi-talented bard belting out a tune, jaunty and uplifting enough that the whole place is rowdy with it.

"I didn't know you liked music," she says, sliding into the chair next to him with a goblet full of mead.

He doesn't seem surprised at her presence, but he never does. He almost smiles at her, the closest he gets when they're still clothed. "I don't really have a choice."

She's still trying to puzzle that out when the bard careens towards their table and plops himself in Geralt's lap, continuing to play and sing from his new position.

Yennefer freezes, waiting for Geralt to shove him aside or start yelling or even draw his sword. Instead he smirks, pointedly turning his head away to drink his beer. The bard goes so far to lean back into his chest, his head falling over Geralt's shoulder and singing directly into his ear.

The volume can't be comfortable if nothing else, but Geralt doesn't so much as flinch. Neither do the other patrons, laughing and shouting and no one screaming obscenities' or going green at the sight of a witcher.

For a moment, Yennefer almost thinks that she's not speaking to Geralt at all, but she dismisses the thought just as quickly. Her magic would sense if he were a doppler or under a glamour.

The bard only stands once he's finished, bowing to all the clapping patrons and accepting several beers when he refuses an encore - or a second encore, based on what several people are yelling.

People eventually dissipate and the bard drops into the seat next to Geralt. "Who's the pretty lady?" he asks, taking Geralt's beer instead of any of the full ones littering the table.

"She could eat you," he says but the bard just laughs.

She notices a familiar silver ring on his left finger and her eyes drop to Geralt's hand. They're identical.

"Sorry that he's so rude," the bard says, holding out his hand. "I'm Jaskier. You're gorgeous."

She doesn't take his hand, instead slowly moving her gaze between them. "How do you two know each other?"

Geralt sighs. "Don't-"

"Carnally," he says, "physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, metaphysically-"

"Do you even know what that means?" Geralt asks.

"Alchemically," Jaskier continues, "holistically-"

"I'm going to divorce you," he says, which at least answers that question.

Jaskier shrugs. "You can try. How did you two meet?"

Yennefer stills. She's not pleased with being the other women, but she's not about to get in the middle of anyone's marital business, even Geralt's, so she'll just agree with with whatever lie Geralt tells.

"She put a curse on me and now we sleep together," he says.

Jaskier looks her over, but less like a jealous lover and how she's used to men looking at her. "Nice."

He holds his hand up for a hand five which Geralt ignores. Jaskier pouts.

A very pretty barmaid comes over, holding a cup of the same mead Yennefer is drinking. "Hello, Jaskier," she says shyly, the lines around her eyes taking nothing away from the lush curves of breast and thigh. "You have such a lovely voice. I'd love to hear more of it, later, if you're free."

Jaskier looks to Geralt with a raised eyebrow. Geralt shrugs.

"No time like the present, my lady," he says, bouncing to his feet. He takes the mead in one hand and settles the other on her hip, leading her toward the stairs.

Yennefer stares. "You're just going to let him do that?"

He shrugs again. "You can sleep with him too if you want. He's the one that taught me the thing with my tongue that you like so much."

Interesting, but not currently her focus. "Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

How the hell is a witcher married? To a bard, of all people?

"You didn't ask," he answers, and then says nothing else.

Okay, just for that she is going to sleep with his husband.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #kourasmenos #witcher

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flowercrown-bard · 1 year

Note

ahhhh Accidentally admitting that the other is really pretty, leading to both of them getting very flustered with Geraskier 🥰

Jaskier was not, nor would he ever be, jealous of a horse. Because that would be quite ridiculous, right? Silly, really. And no one in their right mind would ever attribute either of those things to him.

He was a very serious man. Definitely.

So no. He was not jealous of Roach. Even if Geralt had spent a good portion of the past hour doting on her, talking softly to her, brushing her down and sneaking her treats. All while he had been ignoring Jaskier's attempts at conversation. Granted, those attempts had included ranting about Valdo Marx, going off about the merrits of certain rhyme schemes and planning his outfit for the next ball he wanted to attend.

So maybe those hadn't been the most engaging topics for Geralt. Still. He could have at least given Jaskier one of those exasperated yet fond looks that Jaskier had grown so fond of. If he was being honest, those looks were the main reason why he talked endlessly about topics he knew were of no interest to Geralt.

But today Geralt had the audacity to ignore Jaskier completely in favour of Roach.

"You're the best," Geralt told Roach, as he combed her mane with his fingers. "Loyal and brave."

Jaskier's eyelid twitched.

"And now your coat is all clean again too. Your the prettiest horse in all the Continent again -"

"Yes, yes, we all get it!" Jaskier threw his hands up. "She's the perfect companion for you. Just as loyal and brave and pretty as you are. No need to rub it under my nose that she's a better companion than me."

Geralt looked at him, stunned. He stopped patting Roach and turned fully towards him.

"What?"

"Oh, come on. You've been going on about how great she is. Clearly, you're trying to tell me -"

"You think I'm pretty?" Geralt asked quietly and oh. Ohhh no. Oh fuck.

Jaskier felt himself flush.

"Uh... Well, I mean..." He stammered and trailed off into an awkward smile. "Nevermind." Abrubtly, he turned away and pretended to be very busy tuning his lute. "Just. Continue doting on her. Don't let me distract you. Just - ignore me."

He glanced at Geralt, mostly to see if his brilliant and subtle deflection had worked and - oh.

There it was. That look of fond exasperation.

Jaskier's heart skipped a beat. He watched with bated breath as a shy smile spread over Geralt's lips. Ever so reluctantly, Geralt turned his attention back to Roach.

As he picked up where he had left off and patted her on the neck, he said just loud enough that Jaskier could hear, "You know Roach, you and Jaskier really are the best companions I could ask for. You're both so loyal, brave and pretty."

#Thank you for the prompt!#Geraskier #Roach #Jaskier #Geralt #Sorry I might be slightly tipsy #So yeah idk how many mistakes there are in this #Or if it makes any sense #Also I wrote 5his on my phone so there's that too #My writing #Witcher

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bambirex · 11 months

Note

geraskier, and the art of repairing cracks with gold?

Warnings: none

Jaskier was warm against his side.

It was a feeling that Geralt has known well, yet never experienced in such quantity. During their years of traveling together, they often ended up sharing a bed, and if those beds were a little narrow, they had to sleep close to each other. In those moments, Geralt felt the warmth of Jaskier's body against his.

But not like this, not tucked under his arm like he was now, his cheek resting against Geralt's chest. It was allowed now, to hold Jaskier close, to show him that he cared with his touch.

It was all Jaskier has wanted since decades, and Geralt has never dared giving it to him. Not until he's lost him, not until he's chased Jaskier away with his cruel words. They've parted, and then reunited, but nothing was the same. Something fundamental has broken between them: the trust, the familiarity, the understanding, all gone, all because Geralt couldn't appreciate what he had.

But he was different now; he's learned, he's grown, and he was fully ready to fix what was broken.

"This is nice," Jaskier commented against his chest softly. One hand sneaked around Geralt's waist, a light, familiar touch, giving Geralt hope that he wasn't the only one who believed they could return to how they once were.

"Never would have thought you to be a cuddler."

"I missed you," Geralt said earnestly. Taking care of Ciri has opened him up more and taught him to express his feelings. It was still not easy, and he still wasn't completely ready to say what he really felt, but he was willing to take the first steps. If being kind and honest with Jaskier meant he wouldn't lose him again, Geralt was more than ready to change.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier. I know I've said it before, but I really am. You deserve much better."

He felt Jaskier momentarily tense next to him. Geralt soothed a hand down his back. To calm Jaskier or himself, he wasn't sure.

"Do you think we can be alright again?"

Jaskier didn't reply for a while. He traced a finger over Geralt's chest, drawing a small pattern onto his skin. Geralt closed his eyes, his own hand resting on the small of Jaskier's back.

"I think we need to work on it," Jaskier replied after a while. He peered up at Geralt, his lashes fluttering softly. Geralt swallowed.

"Mostly you, to be honest. I can't be your doormat forever, Geralt. I'm tired. If you don't want me, I won't come crawling back and beg for your affection."

"You don't have to," Geralt promised. He brushed a stray piece of hair out of Jaskier's face, tucking it behind his ear. He felt the tension seep out of his body when Jaskier relaxed into his touch.

"I will do better, I promise."

Jaskier hummed. He hid his face in the crook of Geralt's neck, and Geralt could feel his smile against his skin.

"I think you've already started," Jaskier whispered. Geralt kissed the top of his head in response.

It won't be easy, Geralt knew that. There was a lot to repair, a lot to atone for. But as he felt the warmth and softness of Jaskier's body against his, the way his hair tickled his chin, and most of all how he accepted the new ways of affection that Geralt offered him, Geralt started to believe that maybe things weren't broken, just cracked.

And he was ready to fill in those cracks, at last.

#geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #my fic #request

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rebrandedbard · 1 month

Note

hey srry if this question makes you uncomfy or anything, but what are your thoughts on geraskefer and the other ships between the three?

Oh it isn't uncomfortable at all! In fact, this is a perfect example of polite interest and ask etiquette. You're asking about a subject I've blogged about and shown interest in, and in a very polite manner. I'm over-explaining this so as to comfort you and encourage future asks, my dear good nonny.

Since TWN season 2, I've loved geraskefer. Season two shifted all their dynamics in very interesting ways. I will elaborate:

Yennskier

That scene in the pub and later in the boat between Jaskier and Yennefer converted me. I LOVED their vibe in season 2, and what little we had in season 3 with them was delightful. I love them having this banter-heavy dialogue, this playful "I tooootally find you annoying" best bitchy friends attitude (exaggerated, of course, for fun in fandom). They really do have each other's best interests at heart. They care. And to have them be together without the involvement of Geralt is very nice, even if he is a large part of why they would come together in any circumstance. But seeing the trust between them grow and to see how they need and rely on one another is so compelling. Drinking buddies <3 and I need them to kiss.

Yenralt

Canon and a power couple. Divorced parents trying to get back together. A good contrast. The tension of knowing your love may be influenced by magic has a kind of tragedy. However, I need them to interact more outside of sex and talking about the wish. The opening of season 3 where we saw them as a family made me actually like them as a couple. I need them to be friends before I can ship them, and season 3 went a LONG way to making that happen. They've slowed down enough to actually get to know one another, and I look forward to seeing more of it.

Geraskier

The OG. The OTP. The reason like 99% of you are likely on this blog. Besties with romantic tension. The bants. The sass. The friendship and deep understanding at the core of who they are and how they interact. The ride or die. The tragedy of having it all thrown in your face and made insignificant in a moment of weakness. The desperation to repair what was once taken for granted. The choice to put in the work to repair what was lost. The honesty that comes with it. The fact that I am a gay (technically bi, like 85% men 15% women-ish whatever I'm gay I don't do math). These are what I find so compelling about the two.

Geraskefer

All of the above with a healthy dose of tension, confusion, pining, despair, and an ending in which finally, just this once, everyone gets exactly what they want, and it's okay to have it. The healing. The appreciation for one another. All the fear gone and all the love spoken. The bisexual dream. Jaskier is the glue. And I want them to FIGHT over him before they all get together. THE ship that makes me actually think polyamory would be THE best conclusion. They're already family regardless and I will cling to that. It's a main FOUR. Those three are equals in this unit.

I hope that answers things for you! In conclusion, I love all the variations. Generally speaking, I rank them by favorite as geraskier, geraskefer, yennskier, yenralt. The more Jaskier in the relationship, the better.

#my asks

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smolalienbee · 2 years

Text

s1 geraskier // When the bard first joins him on the path, Geralt doesn’t think he’ll remain by his side long. Jaskier, though, repeatedly proves him wrong.

The first night they spend together, Geralt half expects the bard to try and jump his bones. He doesn’t, though, apparently too occupied composing his next song.

“How about -” he strums the lute, making a series of noises that Geralt doesn’t think he’ll ever get accustomed to.

They sit by a fire together. Two bedrolls nearby, next to one another, and that, also, is a new sight. The bard was quick to claim a spot right next to Geralt, all while muttering something about needing to keep warm at night. Geralt didn’t protest it.

“No, that’s not quite right, is it - I should try -”

“Bard,” Geralt grunts.

Finally, the bard looks at him. His eyes widen when he notices the food that Geralt is holding out towards him.

“You haven’t eaten since we left Posada,” Geralt says simply.

And it’s not so much that Geralt is worried about him. It’s more so that he doesn’t want to have a dead body on his hands and, for some reason, the bard refuses to leave.

“Oh. Oh, how lovely. Thank you.”

He will. It’s just a matter of time before he does, Geralt thinks.

Their first fight happens when the bard stubbornly refuses to let Geralt cross through Blaviken. He learns quick, apparently, because after that first punch, not only does he not bring up the tales of a butcher, but also his scent fills with both concern and rage whenever someone else does.

Now, he stands stubbornly in front of Roach, arms crossed as he looks up at Geralt.

“No, no, no, Geralt, you don’t really want to go there, do you?”

“It’s the quickest route.”

“And it is also Blaviken! We can go around, why are you in such a rush all of a sudden?”

“I’m going,” Geralt growls at him, already steering Roach to step around him. “You can stay behind if you so choose, bard.”

This will be it, Geralt thinks. No more of lute melodies or irritating songs. Just blessed silence that he now so dreads.

“Oh for Melitele’s sake.”

To Geralt’s surprise, there’s a heavy sigh from behind and then footsteps follow. The bard rushes after him.

“Geralt, slow down! I’m coming. I’m coming! Gods, you can be so stubborn sometimes. Did you truly believe I was going to let you go there alone?”

“Hm.”

Geralt doesn’t say that he did.

The first time the bard sings Toss A Coin in front of an audience, Geralt sits in the back and fears the worst.

They have just arrived in this town and most of the people gathered at the tavern seem blissfully unaware of a witcher’s presence. The bard has gone through his usual repertoire of jaunty tunes and Geralt hasn’t been expecting him to get to this one - in fact, he’s certain the reason the bard hadn’t brought it up before is because he knew Geralt would protest it.

Now, though, it’s too late. The bard sings of elves and devils, a nicely colorized version of what had happened in Posada.

It doesn’t go well.

But rather than blame Geralt for it, the bard is furious with the crowd around him. Even if Geralt hadn’t believed the bard’s words, his posture, his scent, they all give it away. The way he puts himself in front of Geralt when they leave, as though trying to shield him from the townsfolk.

“Absurd, this is simply absurd,” the bard huffs and puffs once they’re outside. “They know nothing! How can they claim that - gods, they don’t even know you, if they had known the things you’ve done for them -”

“Bard.”

“No, no, don’t give me that, don’t tell me this is fine, it is very much not!”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Well, I think I’ve been around you enough to be able to guess, my dear friend.”

Friend.

It’s the first time the bard has called him his friend.

After a particularly bad hunt, Geralt stumbles into their room still high on potions, black veins running through his face and all senses heightened, painfully so.

The moment he opens the door, the bard begins to ramble, except he cuts himself off as soon as he looks up and his eyes land on Geralt.

The bard blinks, slowly, and the movement of his body rings loudly in Geralt’s ears. He tries not to read too much into the bard’s expression or the way his heart skips a beat as he continues to stare. Instead, Geralt continues forward on unsteady legs until his knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle underneath him. He sways, but to his surprise there’s a hand on his shoulder that steadies him

“Alright, big guy, slowly,” the bard says, his voice barely a murmur. As though he knows how loud everything is, how overwhelming. As though he listened when Geralt had told him about the potions, about their effects.

He must have.

“Come on, now. Let’s - yeah. Let’s get you sitting.”

And the bard sits with him, not a trace of fear on him, even as Geralt trembles with the aftershocks, more beast than a human.

It’s the first time Geralt dares to believe that Jaskier will stay.

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yeraskier · 1 year

Note

5. bringing them their favourite hot drink in bed for geraskier please 💖

“Geralt.”

The lump underneath the navy blue comforter doesn’t move.

“Geralt, come on,” Jaskier whines softly, “talk to me, please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I beg the differ.”

“Go away, Jaskier.”

Jaskier sighs, “fine, I’ll go. I guess I’ll just have to take this hot chocolate elsewhere.”

A head pokes out from beneath the covers— just a little, just enough for Geralt to confirm that there is indeed hot chocolate in Jaskier’s hand.

“Is there mint in that?”

Jaskier nods, and holds back on a grimace. There are plenty of things in this world that go well together, and mint and chocolate are not on that list. Still, he indulges Geralt’s absolutely horrific taste in beverages, and never forgets to add the mint. Gods, the things you do for love.

“With extra mini marshmallows on top,” he informs his lover.

Geralt perks up even further at this. Slowly but surely, he lets the covers fall further down his body as he sits up.

He’d glaring as he takes the mug (it’s light pink with the words WORLD’S BEST ASS printed on it— also in pink but hotter, with glitter on it) from Jaskier’s hands, like he’s damning both the musician and his sweet tooth straight to hell.

That spiteful look eases after the first sip, and has slipped right off by the fifth. Jaskier frowns at the fact that he didn’t blow on it first, but reframed from the lecture on tongue burns in favor of discussing the actual issue at hand.

“Do you want to talk about it now?”

And the glare is back.

“No.”

“Geralt,” he says pointedly.

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

Geralt’s mouth thins as his eyes narrow at his lover, before he lets out a rather dramatic huff. “Fine.”

Jaskier grins. Yeah, that works like a charm every time.

“I didn’t mean to… do that last night.”

“Do you mean the part where you told me you loved me or the part where you looked absolutely mortified, and then ran off?”

Geralt’s still glaring, but it’s directed at his mug. “Both.”

Jaskier’s brows furrow as he pops his lips, propping his elbow on his lap, and his chin in his hand. Perplexing but most definitely intriguing.

“I mean, I meant it when I said it,” he continues, “I do love you.”

“I know.”

“But it wasn’t how I wanted to say it and—” Geralt pauses to give Jaskier a wary side eye, “wait, what? What do you mean you know?”

“I mean what I said, and what I said is I know.”

“How could you know?”

“How could I not know?”

“Because I never said it.”

Jaskier smiles warmly at this, “you don’t need to say ‘I love you’ to let someone know that you love them. You show me everyday, how could I not know?”

“But—”

“All the late nights you’ve stayed awake helping me work on a song, all the times you came over to comfort me during rainstorms because you know they scare me, all the times you stayed by my side while I was sick— which was a lot because I’m always sick.” Geralt chuckles at this, and so does Jaskier. “Every text wishing me a good day, every reassuring touch when you know I’m stressed, every random detail you’ll remember about me no matter how long ago you learned it, every smile, every hug, every kiss, everything.”

A single tear rolls down Geralt’s cheek, and Jaskier wants to wipe it away, but instead, he takes his lover’s free hand into his own.

“Every single thing you do tells me how much you love me. I know the laundromat might not have been the most romantic setting to you, but it wouldn’t have mattered when or where you decided to say it, because I already knew.” Jaskier says to him, squeezing the hand in between his. “You’ve already told me many, many times before.”

Geralt’s lower lip is trembling slightly now, cheeks reddening with heat.

“And I love you, too, if that wasn’t already clear.”

Geralt’s lips are on his barely a second after the words are spoken, and Jaskier clutches onto him for dear life.

His lover’s kiss tastes of chocolate and mint, tel flavors that aren’t meant to go well together. But then again, to many, Jaskier and Geralt weren’t supposed to go well together either.

And yet, here they are.

#no editing we die like renfri #totally forgot about that hot chocolate for a second #my bad …. ha ha……. sorta got carried away sorry sorry #not my best but in my defense i’m lowkey half asleep #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #my writing

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the-not-so-silent-back-up · 4 months

Text

The Love We Choose

Geraskier ModernAU

a big THANK YOU @cherrychapsticksteve for helping me out figuring some stuff out

Summary: Geralt is a Firefighter, but more important he is a single Dad to 4 y/o Ciri. Regularly they go to a cute little Coffeeshop where Jaskier works. And little Ciri is on a mission to help her Dad to find somebody to love.

Chapter - 1 -

Geralt is waiting outside the Kindergarten to pick up his daughter, there are a few other parents who are talking. But Geralt only knows one of them really so he just waits in silence. He has been alone with Ciri for a few months now, but it's still a weird feeling to come home and see Yennefer's desk empty.

They have loved each other, they really did but he is bound to his hometown and she needed to be flexible and be able to go on Business trips all the time. Geralt believed that after Ciris' birth things would be different, and things were different for a year at best. But then everything went back to the same old routine. Yennefer was in New York or London or Berlin and Geralt sat at home, the only thing that was truly different, Geralt wasn't alone, no there was Ciri, his daughter, his whole world that he needed to protect.

When Ciri was old enough to go to the Kindergarten Yennefer and Geralt figured out that they needed to go separate ways. Yennefer loves her Job to much, she really was the unpaid intern that made it to the top of this really big Marketing firm. And she isn't a family person, she tried to be one for Ciri, but she was afraid that she will regret that and will blame Ciri for it in the future, and her daughter didn't deserve this.

So now when Yennefer is in town, the three spend time together as a little family. It wasn't the family Geralt hoped for, but it's real. And some parents might not believe it but they are all really good with this. In the time they spend with Ciri they are really happy, and the phone calls Ciri has with her mother weekly are really good for their relationship.

Geralt came to the conclusion that having a family that is really happy and working is much better than to force a family together to fit the image everyone has.

Roach is pulling on the leash, Ciri has to be in sight. This Dog really loved this Child, and she would do anything to protect her. She once growled at a pigeon because it scared Ciri.

"Daddy, Daddy did you know that hedgehogs eat slugs?"

"No ,I didn't know that, where did you learn this from?" Geralt picked the little backpack up and took Ciris tiny hand.

"Miss McHall read a book about hedgehogs and there was a list of what they eat. And then in the garden Benni searched for a slug to try it himself, but he didn't find one."

"Hmm" Geralt didn't know how to reply to that.

"Daaaad is today a hot chocolate day?"

"sadly not sweetheart, I forgot my wallet at work but tomorrow is a hot chocolate day I promise"

"Oh Daddy, you really forget everything when I don't remind you" Ciri shakes her head a bit "But this time I wanna try the strawberry pie for real this time"

"I think Benni wanted to impress the girls," Ciri said at the dinner table "with the slug". What a strange topic at dinner. Geralt frowns in surprise.

"He always does those stupid things and then he runs up to the other girls and shows what he did. When Dara and I were spies we saw that."

Geralt carefully listens to his daughter.

"I mean finding a slug isn't impressive, and eating one is kinda mean because what will the hedgehog eat ? What you do is impressive Dad, you save people and teach other people how to save people."

"Thank you darling" Being a Father and a Firefighter isn't always the best mix but everytime Ciri says things like that it makes Geralt so proud.

"Uhm Dad, did you see that woman again, the one you went on a pizza date with?"

"Hmm no, she called me this morning and told me that I am nice but she has some family trouble and needs to focus on her family."

"Oh okay"

Yeah Geralt had a few dates every now and then. Yeah Ciri is his whole world, but he still is a Human and he misses the Romance in his life. The truth is Geralt hasn't the best dating game. He doesn't know what to talk about, when he doesn't talk about Ciri or his work or his Dog. He doesn't mention his daughter on the first dates, and when they actually reach a second or third date and Geralt tells them he is a single dad, most people refuse to see him again, it's just a big commitment for them. But also some of them just saw the big strong firefighter with all the muscles and not the man behind them and that's when Geralt says this isn't working out.

Ciri lays awake in bed, she could hear the TV from the living room. For sure her dad is lonely, but all this adult stuff is so confusing. In Kindergarten everything is easier, like you ask someone if you wanna be friends, then they ask you what you like to play and what's your favorite animal and then you are friends. And one day you draw a picture just for them and you are best friends. But adults don't work like that.

"My Dad needs my help to find someone to watch those silly romantic movies." Ciri whispers to herself. And she already has someone in mind and she has a plan, sort of.

The next day Geralt brought Roach back home before he went to pick up Ciri, and he checked for his wallet three times. He waited as usual in front of the kindergarten. Ciri is running right up at him, in her beautiful green dress. This morning they had an argument because Ciri wanted to wear her favorite dress so badly and Geralt was afraid that she would mess it up in the Kindergarten, but as Ciri promised it's all fine and she looks like the little princess she is to Geralt.

"Hot Chocolate Day!" Ciri is chanting as she is running to her Dad.

"Yes Sweetheart today I am fully prepared for the Coffeeshop."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

The Coffeeshop is near the Park where Ciri's favorite playground is. That's how they discovered it. Geralt pushed Ciri on the swing when a heavy rain surprised them. Geralt covered his daughter under his jacket and ran in the next building he found. The sweet little Coffeeshop at the Park. Geralt liked it because it wasn't that big and not many people fit in there and Ciri loved it because it's near her favorite playground and because they have so many beautiful cups and mugs.

They arrived at the Coffeeshop and because they already became regulars so they got greeted nicely. At first Geralt didn’t like it that strangers knew Ciri’s name, but he got used to it and the staff here is really nice.

A young tall man came up to their table and Ciri jumps up and ran towards him

"Jaskier! Look that’s my favorite dress”

“Oh hi Ciri it’s really beautiful, you look like a princess”

Geralt watches the scene with eagle eyes, but he knows Jaskier is no harm for his little girl, he is usually their waiter when they are in the Coffeeshop.

Jaskier lets Ciri twirl around herself, so the pretty green dress starts flying.

“My Daddy says that too.” Ciri stops spinning.

“Your Daddy says what ?” Jaskier seems to be confused with that statement.

“This morning my Daddy also said that I look like a princess. And when I am a princess my Dad must be a king right?”

“Then lead me to your king, princess Ciri.”

Jaskier could clearly see Geralt sitting at their favorite spot at the window, but he likes to play along with Ciri’s little games.

“Your Majesty I present to you, your daughter princess Ciri” Jaskier takes a bow in front of Geralt and Ciri tries to stay in character but could resist a little laugh.

“I have been sent directly from the kitchen to ask what the King and his daughter would like to eat and drink today.”

Geralt is a little lost for words, normally these silly games stay between Ciri and Jaskier, but now he is dragged into it like a theater play and he hasn’t learned his lines. Geralt tries his best to play along because he knows how much it means to his little girl if he does.

“May he bring us hot chocolate and strawberry pie for the princess and mint tea and cheesecake for me the King.”

Ciri giggles again.

“I like Jaskier he always so funny and nice to us”

“Yeah that is true”

Geralt stares out of the window, and he just enjoys the quiet coffeeshop. It wasn’t actually quiet but it wasn’t stressful like his day at the fire station. There was a fire near in the forest this morning, just because some stupid assholes had Barbeque last night and didn’t end their fire properly.

He turns around and on the table are the ordered pies and his tea but no hot chocolate is there and Ciri is gone too.

Panic runs through Geralt's veins, where is she? He was just looking away for a second. But then he saw her holding on to Jaskier’s hand as they picked a cup for her hot chocolate. How could he forget that she always picks a new beautiful cup to drink her hot chocolate from. She walked back to her Dad and sat next to him on the bench.

“I picked a cup with stars and the moon on it”

Jaskier walks over to their table and places Ciris cup right next to her pie.

“I saw there was smoke in the forest, was there a fire?”

At first Geralt is confused because he never told Jaskier that he is a Firefighter, but then he remembered that Ciri talks a lot with Jaskier if he has the time.

“Yeah there was a fire, but gladly it was near the forest not directly in there.” Jaskier looks relieved.

“Some people made a barbeque there and the remaining hot ashe lit the dry grass on fire”

Geralt could see the disbelief in Jaskier’s face, he really couldn’t hide his emotions.

“I hope you and your crew are okay”

“We are good, it was just another fire because of careless people”

He didn’t wanna say drunk people in front of Ciri, but the look on Jaskier’s face showed him that he did understand what he meant with “careless”.

“Ciri, your Dad is truly a hero, he and his crew saved the forest”

Ciri grinned and cheered “yes they are all heroes, my Dad, uncle Eskel, uncle Lambert and Vesemir”

New customers enter the place and Jaskier has to leave Geralt and Ciri. They eat and drink and Ciri told stories from the Kindergarten and from her best friend Dara. Even more people entered the coffeeshop as they left. They waved Goodbye to Jaskier and left the busy place. With Ciri’s tiny hand in his own he was so happy he had a daughter like her and this little coffeeshop they could call their special place.

#personal #jaskier #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #witcher #the witcher netflix #modern au #Alina writes #ciri #kinda a coffeeshop AU

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viking-raider · 10 months

Note

So, we can all agree that it’s pretty much canon after season 3 that Jaskier is in love with Geralt, right?

I mean the conversation in the carriage where he pauses and goes “…people I love.” His sidelong look when Geralt refers to his torture at the hands of Rience to Codringer and Fen before adjusting his face and then shrugging it off even as Geralt glances at him. His over exaggerated refusal of how Geralt’s the family goat and totally platonic! Even though he’s doing all he can to help him like you would someone you’re in love with. The not answering Radovid verbally when he asks if Geralt is aware how lucky he is to have him…

I think we can all put it to bed on whether or not it’s canon, Jaskier is absolutely in love with Geralt and this Radovid romance is what he’s using as a distraction because he believes Geralt will never love him.

What IS interesting and something I’m immensely pleased about is that Henry has spent this past first half of the season being so open to Jaskier and his affections. It absolutely has to be on purpose and not just what was written. The nuance of their interaction has been things you can’t completely write as actionable thing. Like, that conversation in the hall could have been delivered flatly and Henry chose to deliver it longingly, the gently touching him on the battlefield could have been a comrade complimenting another and instead Henry gave Jaskier such soft eyes and loving expression, the reliance on him in the forest and willingness to hear him out without jumping to conclusions on betrayal could have been sterner and instead was full of affection and familiarity…I love that Henry and Joey allowed for that intimacy and that they’re aware of the fans love of Geraskier and that they’re giving us so much!

Oh, I know Jaskier has the feels for Geralt. From the moment that moment with the bath and "rubbing chamomile on his lovely bottom." and admiring his 'bloated biceps'. It's so much more noticeable in S3 though and I'm living for every moment of it. I'm just so damn sad that the tenderness between Geralt and Jaskier didn't come until Henry's last season. It won't be the same with Liam. nothing against him or anything, but Joey and Henry have that bond and chemistry.

#Geraskier #Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #The Witcher #Witcher #joey batey #Henry Cavill

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

Note

14, geraskier please?

14. A firm handshake, professionally at first, but a second too long

“Well, that was exciting!” Jaskier claps his hands in delight and surveys the wreckage of what was once his estate’s portrait gallery.

Geralt looks in disbelief at the viscount, who is grinning and bouncing on his toes like a child awaiting his Midwinter gifts. Jaskier is worlds away from the hollow-eyed young man who hired Geralt a week ago to free him from the dark magic that had been plaguing his castle for days, the result of a cursed statue gifted to him by a vengeful former lover. Now the statue lies in pieces on the ground, the entity that lived inside it is dead, and the intended target seems to have forgotten the weeks of terror he suffered.

“Exciting,” Geralt deadpans.

“Well, I imagine you do this all the time.”

“No, a cursed statue trying to rip my head off is a new one.”

“Ah, yes.” Jaskier grimaces as his eyes fall to Geralt’s neck, which most likely sports the beginnings of finger-shaped bruises that will fade by morning. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine.” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at him. “But you could have been, since you didn’t stay downstairs like I told you to.”

Jaskier looks entirely unabashed. “I heard a lot of crashing. I had to come see if you were alright!”

Geralt sighs, knowing an argument he has no chance of winning when he sees it. “Just next time a woman you know loathes you sends you a mysterious gift, push it off a cliff into the sea.”

“In my defense, I thought the Countess’ style was more to tell everyone that I’m a dreadful lover, not to send me a murderous statue.” Jaskier pauses. “Her claims about my abilities in bed are pure spiteful fabrication, of course. I’ve gotten nothing but rave reviews from objective parties.”

“Glad to hear it,” Geralt says. He’ll have to go see this Countess, make sure she’s not going to send anyone else a cursed statue. Technically, his contract with Jaskier was over the moment the entity inside the statue died on his sword, but Geralt wants to make sure no more nasty surprises are coming the viscount’s way. It’s the least he can do.

“But thank you, Geralt.” Jaskier looks at Geralt with earnest blue eyes. “I owe you my life.”

“The five hundred crowns we agreed on is more than sufficient.” Geralt probably shouldn’t be surprised that Jaskier is still being so warm towards him, since that seems to be the viscount’s default. But part of him expected Jaskier to withdraw once he no longer needed Geralt to keep him safe.

“I don’t think any amount of coin is sufficient, but it’s a start.” Jaskier holds out his hand to Geralt. “Thank you, my friend.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand in his and shakes. Jaskier’s palm is warm and callused, his fingers long and dexterous. Just the other night, Jaskier told him that he was studying to be a bard before his father died and he became the viscount at seventeen. It’s easy to imagine those long fingers dancing over the strings of an instrument. It’s easy to imagine those fingers in a number of places, a thought that Geralt tries carefully to avoid.

He looks up into Jaskier’s eyes and realizes that he’s been holding his hand for a moment too long. His thumb rests over Jaskier’s pulse point. Quickly, he releases Jaskier’s hand, letting his own drop to his side.

A smile plays over Jaskier’s lips. “You know, it’s late. There’s no need for you to head out tonight. Why don’t you stay one more night? You may actually be able to use the guest room I made up for you, now that you don’t have to stay up all night guarding me from malevolent forces.”

“Thank you.” Geralt doesn’t necessarily think he’d mind staying up all night with Jaskier under more pleasant circumstances, another thought he’s very carefully trying not to have.

“And it looks like rain out there, doesn’t it? Maybe you’ll have to stay for a few more days. As long as you need, of course. I’d hate for lovely Lady Roach to have to get her glorious mane wet. But we can figure that out tomorrow. I think a celebration is in order, don’t you? How do you feel about Everluce?”

“Tastes less cat-pissy than most wines.”

“Oh, good gods. You’ll need to stay at least another couple of days. If the best you can say about Everluce is ‘not cat-pissy,’ then you’ve clearly only been drinking overpriced swill passed off as fine wine by unscrupulous parties. Don’t you worry, my friend, we’ll set it right.”

Geralt lets himself be steered out of the portrait gallery as Jaskier talks his ear off about wine. He can still feel the warmth of Jaskier’s hand in his all the way down to the kitchens.

24 Touches Prompts

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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lambden · 1 year

Text

2.9K words, explicit, geraskier/competence kink, no warnings. originally posted (anonymously) to ao3 here

Something pulls Geralt from his meditation early. He has no clue what it might have been; when he opens his eyes, the forest is pristine. Picturesque, even. He and Jaskier had set up camp along the actual path of the Path. Fearing that the cold mountains would greet them with a blizzard, Geralt had suggested last night that they might seek refuge in a narrow but deep canyon for safety.

Jaskier had pointed out that a blizzard was about as likely to happen as an avalanche, and that if the goddesses decided to bestow the latter disaster upon them, they’d be absolutely fucked between the high rock walls on either side of them.

The petty bickering of last night seems so trivial in the brisk morning air. The thin tarpaulin Geralt strung up over their bedrolls to shield them from snow was fine yesterday. Functional, if ugly. But now, dappled light from above makes the fabric glow, and the sparse patches of new snow beyond their camp sparkle like glitter. Everything looks beautiful in the dawn— or, not dawn, technically, since he slept in.

Geralt strains his senses for threats and finds no distant monsters to flee; he only hears birdsong. He only sees beautiful nature. He inhales deeply, and the sharp scent of spilled blood hits him immediately before Jaskier stumbles back under the tarpaulin.

“Ah, joy, you’re finally up,” says Jaskier cheerfully. There are no obvious wounds on him and no blood visible on his clothing. If Geralt hadn’t been made to spot irregularities, perhaps he would have missed the sweat at Jaskier’s hairline. Melodious and irritating as ever, the man continues, “Can we pack up camp and start moving now? I’m beginning to understand why you always gripe when I sleep in.”

Geralt doesn’t mince words. “What happened?”

“No clue what you mean,” Jaskier sings. He scooches over to come and sit beside Geralt, resting his back against the mossy wall covered in small icicles of frozen dew. Geralt, unconvinced, leans over the bard’s lap to try to get a look at the side he’s hiding, and Jaskier sighs. “Shit. Alright, you— alright! It’s fine, Geralt, really! Just a spot of bother, nothing to write home about.”

Geralt’s glare makes it clear that he isn’t going to repeat his question.

“It’s not my blood,” tries Jaskier, which does come as a small relief, although it hardly puts Geralt’s panic to rest. “It… I had to piss, alright? So I climbed up out of the canyon, and, you know—” he does some truly reprehensible miming— “I was right in the middle when I heard this awful caterwauling coming from somewhere. I thought it was a dying bobcat or something, but… it was actually a few of them, you know. Shrieking and grunting back and forth.”

A chill runs down Geralt’s spine. He leans in slightly, nostrils flaring as he breathes the blood in once more. He should have clocked the scent for what it was: “Nekkers.”

“Yeah, a whole happy family.” Jaskier, sighing again, finally relents and shows Geralt the spray of blood along his side. True to his word, it isn’t human. It still makes the witcher unhappy. He settles back down into his own seat as his friend continues, “There must have been about eight of them.”

Suddenly the amount of blood seems like far, far too little. Geralt stares, and demands, “How are you not dead?”

“It’s a funny story, actually,” says Jaskier, sounding sheepish, of all things. “I’ve seen you fight those little shits before, so I sort of… I dunno, copied what you do. Minus the swordsmanship, and magic fire, and all that, of course.”

If his eyes were bulging out of his skull before, Geralt is sure he looks positively ridiculous now. He can’t rein in his expression or regulate his emotions, too shocked by Jaskier’s story. “You killed them?”

“What was I supposed to do, give them all names?”

“You killed eight nekkers?”

“It was a little hard to tell from the mangled bodies, but yes, I believe so.” Jaskier awkwardly clears his throat. His pulse races. “Geralt, you’re staring at me like you want to bite my head off.”

The witcher doesn’t blink. “I’ve never even seen you kill a fly.”

“Well, why would I kill a fly,” Jaskier is beginning to sound a little exasperated— then before either of them know it, Geralt is swinging a leg over his lap and straddling his thighs and pressing in close, and Jaskier’s voice rises at least an octave. “I— I have no intention of taking on contracts! It was just a minor inconvenience; I didn’t want to wake you from your meditation! You can be quite a cranky prick sometimes, you know. Are you going to teach me some demented lesson about safety by bashing my head in?”

“No,” he informs Jaskier plainly. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s a little difficult to think while I’ve got a lapful of witcher!”

Geralt reaches between them to untie the complicated drawstrings of Jaskier’s trousers. His fingers only still when he’s got the cords loose from their knots; he glances up to check in, his gaze meeting the bard’s. Jaskier’s pupils are blown wide and dark, and how his heartbeat raced before is nothing compared to now. The silence is live, the air simmering like a place of power, and Geralt’s question goes unspoken but is understood perfectly by both men.

Jaskier nods, a small, overwhelmed motion— his chin tips forward and his head bobs with it, his lovely hair falling in front of his pretty eyes. Geralt gently pushes the errant strands of hair back, and before Jaskier can properly recuperate from that first delicate touch, the witcher inelegantly and bluntly reaches to free the bard’s cock from his pants.

“Holy ploughing mother of cunt,” Jaskier breathes.

“Tell me what happened,” repeats Geralt, “in detail.”

“Right. Yes. The nekkers.” His fist closes around Jaskier’s length just under the thick flushed head; they watch together as liquid wells up at the tip. The broad pad of Geralt’s thumb brushes over the wetness and a new drop of pre-cum rises to take its place immediately.

Sounding more winded than Geralt has ever heard him, Jaskier manages, “They weren’t trying to sneak up on me, actually, so I had an extra minute to prepare. If they got the jump on me I would have been fucked, but as it was I had the time to rifle through Roach’s saddlebags. And, by the way, Roach was massively unhelpful during the fight. Loyal companion, my arse. I suppose I should stop talking about your horse while you’ve got your hand round my cock!”

“Focus,” says Geralt, stroking Jaskier with firmer, slower motions. “How could you have known what to use?”

That question nets him a very unimpressed look, the effect of which is only slightly dampened by Jaskier’s obvious arousal. “I’ve been your local companion for quite a while now,” huffs the bard. “I do actually pay attention, some of the time. And it’s easy enough to tell Grapeshot apart from the other explosives!”

Geralt adjusts his position atop Jaskier’s lap, fist still moving slowly around his prick. “I only had two Grapeshots made,” he mutters. “And I’ve never taught you the recipe.”

“Two was all I needed.” More turned on than he’s ever been in his life, Geralt keeps his gaze pinned to Jaskier as he tells the story— and his hand firmly in place. “You— You kept a trophy from that nekker infestation a few contracts back, and I figured, you know, they follow some kind of h-hierarchy. So I held the nasty thing up right in front of my head, and I shrunk my shoulders down and hunched my back, and… well, I’m not going to do my impression of a monster growling right now, but needless to say they fell for it.”

“Hard to mistake you for a nekker.”

“They aren’t the brightest,” admits Jaskier. His heart beats faster from the compliment regardless; Geralt feels a thick vein pulsing under the soft side of his knuckles. He chases the feeling, dragging his fingers up and down the bard’s length curiously. “It wasn’t a long ruse, anyway— I just had to get them to follow my orders. Once they’d all lined up in a group, it was easy enough to sling the Grapeshots their way; like one of those prize games from a festival, you know? But right as I threw the bombs—”

Geralt’s prick strains against the codpiece in his armour. Unable to hide the raw edge of desperation in his hoarse voice, he demands, “You threw two bombs at once?”

“Yes,” Jaskier mumbles, a bit pink. “What, is that against the rules?”

Instead of offering his immediate response, which is that Geralt is damn lucky he ran into Jaskier before Lambert ever did because if his little brother heard a story like that then he would have married the bard long before the fall of Cintra, Geralt shakes his head dumbly, and gestures with his free hand for Jaskier to continue.

“Well, one of the buggers noticed what I was doing right before the bombs exploded— or maybe he noticed that his newly beloved queen bee was actually a beheaded, reanimated corpse— and, in any case, he wasn’t too happy. While I was shielding my eyes and ears from the explosions he ran right up to me, and tore the trophy out of my hands.” Jaskier mimes this part of the fight, too caught up in his own story to even pay proper attention to Geralt jerking him off. His passion is beyond endearing. “But unfortunately for him, I had my trusty dagger.”

Geralt can’t help it— before he can restrain the sound, he snorts. “The paring knife you use to cut up Roach’s apples?”

“Yes,” huffs Jaskier. “I made do with what I had, alright? Time moves at a normal speed for us humans, you know, even during battle, so I didn’t have a moment to prepare. I just—” he thrusts his hand forward, miming gutting— “in and out, boom, done. Before I knew it, I had stabbed him in the eye. And he let out the most horrible sound, really, I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up!”

“You stabbed it in the eye,” Geralt repeats, dizzy.

“Yes…?”

“Right.” He finally lets go of the bard’s prick, rolling off his thighs. Jaskier watches with hooded, puzzled eyes that quickly widen as Geralt removes the lower half of his armour as quickly as he can. When he reaches back between his legs to shove two blunt, dry fingers into himself, the bard lets out a squeak not unlike a lutestring snapping. Geralt pants, “Tell me again.”

“Tell— tell you— wh-what exactly,” stammers the professional wordsmith. It only gets worse as Geralt takes hold of his prick once more. Jaskier’s cock is hard, standing at attention, and leaking everywhere; Geralt smears the pre-cum over its flushed, angry head. “Gods, fuck, Geralt—”

“Tell me the story again,” Geralt demands. “While I ride you.”

“I’m afraid I won’t last past the inciting incident— oh,” cries Jaskier. Geralt slides down onto him slowly, letting them both feel the tightness, and the lack of proper preparation. Geralt doesn’t care if the stretch is bordering on the edge of pain; he likes the weight inside him. It grounds him. Jaskier’s breath comes in quick, shallow puffs while Geralt inhales and exhales deeply through his nose, the same way he would after taking Killer Whale to dive to the bottom of the ocean. This isn’t too dissimilar from that— except that Killer Whale doesn’t usually make his prick hard as a whetstone.

Geralt sinks down to the very bottom of the sea. Once he’s fully seated on Jaskier’s cock, he can feel the length of it inside his arse, filling him completely. He can even feel Jaskier’s thudding heart under his hands, and echoing through the air, and pulsing deep inside him— almost in the right spot, but not quite.

The witcher places a broad hand on each of Jaskier’s shaking shoulders and uses them as leverage to pull himself up, slowly but firmly gripping onto the cock inside him as he does. Then, right as Jaskier’s cockhead is about to breach him once more, Geralt slides back down in one fluid motion. And rises to do it again. And again.

Jaskier’s grip on his hips is viselike; if Geralt was human, he might bruise. The thought allures him so he encourages the touch, tightening his own grip on the man’s shoulders as he fucks himself on Jaskier’s cock. Every time the bard opens his mouth to undoubtedly let out some irreverent prayer or curse or expression of disbelief, an incomprehensible litany of moans and other dirty sounds escapes him instead. He practically sobs when Geralt adjusts their position, bending his knees on either side of Jaskier so as to ride his cock more efficiently. With each new roll of their hips it seems to strike deeper and deeper inside Geralt. Then one of Jaskier’s hands quests around his backside to press them into a new, closer position, and the new angle has Geralt seeing stars, and suddenly he’s the one making all sorts of embarrassing noises.

“Good, that’s perfect, darling,” Jaskier, though breathless, takes the time to praise him carefully. This almost makes Geralt groan deeper than the pressure inside him. “You’re doing so good for me. Had I known this was my reward coming back from the hunt, I wouldn’t’ve wasted any time with those ugly monsters.”

“How did you know about the— the hierarchies, the family structures— that they follow a chieftain,” pants Geralt, his sweaty hair falling forward in front of his eyes. “You’re not even a witcher.” Jaskier quickly reaches up to brush it back, then holds it in a loose fist, which is, as it turns out, perfect. The hand on his scalp is just enough to ground him, and when Jaskier uses his grip to pull Geralt in closer, he doesn’t resist at all.

“Well,” Jaskier practically purrs against his lips, somehow managing to be smug even as he bounces Geralt on his cock. “It wasn’t that hard.”

Geralt surprises them both by coming all over Jaskier’s abdomen, and as his body tenses the bard follows him over the edge a moment later, arching up into him and filling him with his release. The two eruptions happen in such quick succession that they feed into each other, and it’s all Geralt can do to avoid clinging to Jaskier hard enough to hurt him. Jaskier presses against Geralt with the same fervour, kissing him almost violently; Geralt gives as good as he gets, sinking into the sensation.

When they pull away from each other’s mouths, Jaskier’s lips are bitten red and wet with spit. Geralt moves slightly and feels the odd but familiar heat shift inside him; judging from how Jaskier’s mouth falls open, he feels it too. Even after the aftershocks fade, Geralt doesn’t pull off just yet, enjoying the fullness and closeness. He bends down to kiss Jaskier again, and the bard reciprocates easily and readily.

All those years bickering over petty, pointless nothings, when they could have been doing this instead.

“The next time there’s a monster, wake me up,” Geralt finally reproaches, punctuating the order by nipping Jaskier’s lip.

Jaskier nods, sluggish and satiated; then, because it’s Jaskier, he tacks on, “I handled it, though.”

“You got away with it this time, but you could have been in danger.”

“You like that I handled it,” accuses the bard. Geralt kisses the smirk off his face but can’t kiss away that smug edge in his voice. “You like that I can handle myself… and handle you, too.”

“As I recall, I handled you,” Geralt says. Jaskier laughs; it still sounds smug. The witcher hums thoughtfully.

He then rolls them over without warning, and ignores the resulting cry from his bard. He lowers his back onto Jaskier’s bedroll— like hell he’s staining his own bedroll with cum— and hooks his ankles around the man’s back, pushing Jaskier deeper inside. They both groan at that, and Jaskier lowers himself down without hesitation to loom over Geralt. “Shit,” he whines, bottomed out entirely inside the witcher again. “Fuck, how are you hard again?!”

“Takes a lot to tire me out,” grins Geralt. Truth be told, he doesn’t usually want this much— but Jaskier is having an unexpected effect on him. “You said you could handle me.”

“Might be the death of me, but I’ll certainly try,” huffs Jaskier. He holds Geralt up by his thighs and slowly pistons back and forth into him, pushing the load of cum already inside him even deeper. But he pauses as an idea strikes. Divine inspiration, or a gift from the muses; Jaskier talks about the concepts all the time, but Geralt hasn’t seen them really occur before. It is like glancing at the night sky and catching a comet. The man’s entire face lights up, and his tone is new as he says, “You know, I never told you about the one winter we had a pest infestation at Oxenfurt.”

Suddenly, Geralt knows precisely what he means. Trying to sit up, he protests, “You swore to me you won those extra vials of arachas venom in a game of Gwent!”

“I’m shit at Gwent, you should have seen right through that,” Jaskier laughs. He leans down, pressing Geralt back down against the mat and rocking his hips to push his length in deeper. “But the good part is that now I can tell you the whole story. In painstaking detail.”

“Oh,” breathes Geralt, quickly surrendering his anger and spreading his legs. His cock dribbles pre-cum between them. “... Yes, alright. Tell me the tale, Jaskier.”

#geraskier fic #power bottom geralt of rivia #geraskier #my writing #flash fic challenge #i was caught up in Birthday Celebrations and unrelated stresses but ! i'm so excited i finally get to post this!!!

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fangirleaconmigo · 2 years

Text

I Can't Believe It's Not Fanon IV

Otherwise known as...

Witcher facts that sound like Geraskier fic writers made them up, but that are, in fact, book canon.

PART FOUR:

Dandelion is the personification of this tweet:

Every self respecting Geraskier fic portrays Jaskier as being Geralt's biggest fan, ready to hype him to the heavens and ensure that everyone else acts appropriately impressed by Geralt.

One could be forgiven for thinking that fic writers are exaggerating this slightly for effect.

So what is it? Is: Dandelion hypes and defends Geralt like he's his specialist boy canon?

It's canon. You'd better believe it.

Dandelion (Jaskier) loves Geralt.

There is no question about that. Though Dandelion is gregarious and has friends wherever he goes, Geralt is by far the object of his most enthusiastic devotion. There's no one else who even comes close.

His love of Geralt is his superpower. Whenever we see him undertaking difficult actions contrary to his nature (passing up bawdy houses and taverns to warn Geralt that he is being pursued Blood Of Elves p 193-195), or committing dangerous, violent, life threatening actions, even though he is about to piss himself from fear--like when he followed Geralt into Brokilon to check on him, even though he was practically catatonic with terror (Time of Contempt 201-210) or ran into a violent homicidal mob armed only with a broom (The Lady of the Lake p 514 but uh don't look it up for context unless you want a major major spoiler)--it is for Geralt. It is always for Geralt.

If there is one thing Dandelion is gonna do, it's go to bat for Geralt.

He curses and threatens people who harm Geralt, even people could kill him in a heartbeat. When Geralt and Dandelion are held captive by Filavandrel, Dandelion curses Toruviel for kicking Geralt:

"Enough of that! Enough for gods' sake!" Dandelion yelled fretfully, wriggling and tumbling in the ropes. "Why are you bullying him you, you stupid whore?..."

When Geralt pleads with Filavandrel to spare Dandelion, Filavandrel says that he can't, because if he spares Dandelion, the poet will just come back to avenge Geralt. At that point, logic and sense would dictate that Dandelion go along with Geralt's plan and lie. (after all, he's very comfortable with lying) But he can't even lie about that. Instead, Dandelion threatens to level the very mountains they are standing on if they kill Geralt.

"You can be sure of that!" Dandelion burst out, pale as death. "You can be sure, you son-of-a-bitch. Kill me too, because I promise otherwise, I'll set the world against you. You'll see what lice from a fur coat can do! We'll finish you off even if we have to level those mountains of yours to the ground! You can be sure of that!"

"How stupid you are, Dandelion," sighed the witcher.

The Last Wish, pp 190-200

But it isn't just dramatic, life threatening moments. What about that meme? What about just forcing people to treat Geralt like the specialist boy that he is? Well folks, he does that too.

Dandelion hypes Geralt up to aldermen, (like he's Geralt's lawyer or agent), making sure they respect his profession:

"It's a profession," explained Dandelion yet again. "A witcher, do you understand? He kills strigas and spectres. He exterminates all sorts of vermin. Professionally. For money. Do you get it, alderman?" --The Last Wish, page 164

Sure, he's explaining. But he's also making sure the alderman knows he's paying Geralt if he wants him to do anything.

He mocks armed knights when he feels they are taking advantage of Geralt. In The Last Wish, a knight named Falwick tries to trap Geralt in a no win situation, saying he must duel a particular man or he will be hanged, but specifies that if he injures the man, he will be charged with a crime. Dandelion butts in to mock him :

"How logical," said Dandelion with an ape like expression. "I see you've studied the philosophers, Sir Knight."

When Geralt threatens to just kill them all and leave, Falwick appeals to his conscience, throwing Blaviken in his face. Again, Dandelion intervenes, spiky and mocking (because god knows the deadly, mutated witcher can't defend himself). First, he says the man is being hypocritical.

"Your argument is charming, Captain, fascinating even," mocked Dandelion. "You're trying to bait a man ambushed in the forest with humanitarianism, calling on his noble feelings. You're asking him, as I understand, to deign not to spill the blood of the brigands who attacked him. He's to take pity on the thugs because the thugs are poor, have got wives, children, and who knows, maybe even mothers."

Notice he's calling them, these "noble" knights and soldiers, thugs. That is a loaded word usually reserved for Geralt. Then he basically says that all his pussy ass soldiers are gonna run for the hills the minute Geralt moves a muscle anyway. Because his witcher is a stone cold badass.

"...But don't you think, Captain Canmer, that your worrying is premature? Because I look at your lancers and see that their knees are shaking at the very thought of fighting Geralt of Rivia, the witcher who dealt with a striga alone with his bare hands."

Now, notice Dandelion is embellishing Geralt's accomplishment a bit here. Geralt had his swords and used his signs when he fought the striga. Why would he, a professional who comes prepared, fight a striga with his bare hands? But you can never accuse Dandelion of failing to hype up his witcher. But he doesn't stop there.

"There won't be any bloodshed here; nobody will be harmed here -- aside from those who might break their legs running away."

So he will always speak up for Geralt. He will always tell you how impressive Geralt is.

But he goes even further than that! He doesn't just reprimand people who would trick, harm, or take advantage of Geralt. Dandelion doesn't even like people to mildly question Geralt. It's hilarious.

He even reprimands their dear friend Zoltan Chivay, who he absolutely adores (seriously, it's very sweet how much he adores him), when the dwarf (very understandably) questions why Geralt wants a ladle and cauldron to deal with a monster.

"Fetch the ladle and cauldron lid from the wagon."

"What?"

"Don't question his authority, Zoltan," Dandelion chipped in.

Baptism of Fire

--p87

I swear to god I cackled when I read that. Geralt is his very special boy and no one is allowed to talk back to Geralt (except him, of course, he gets to talk back to Geralt all he wants).

There are so many more things I could cite. I have more examples of Dandelion mercilessly mocking people on Geralt's behalf here. I haven't even touched on the songs he writes about Geralt that make him a legend.

You just can't capture everything he does to hype Geralt in one post, but if anyone has other great moments of Dandelion hyping Geralt, feel free to add and I'll rb.

But bottom line, Dandelion admires Geralt. He respects him. He loves him. And even though he's perfectly willing to tell him when he's being an idiot, he won't allow anyone else to do so.

That is his specialest boy, and if you don't cheer and clap for him, an egotistical, slutty, nightmare of a poet will fucking blow your whole building up.

Is it any wonder that I adore this friendship, and adore it as a ship? This famous, beloved, bard with noble blood will (metaphorically) scratch your fucking eyes out if you disrespect his mutant friend, who, though though is admired by many, also undeniably belongs to a marginalized, oppressed class.

This poet, who abhors violence, is useless in combat, and who practically shits himself at the sight of blood, will run screaming into a bloody melee armed with only a broom to defend his witcher. I just. How can I not love this???? He is so dumb for thinking Geralt needs him. But yet. Geralt does need him. You know? And it's beautiful.

----

Ok, so here are the posts for I Can’t Believe It’s Not Fanon that I have written or intend to write.

PART ONE: Jaskier (Dandelion) is kidnapped and Geralt goes absolutely terrifyingly batshit homicidal to rescue him.

PART TWO: Geralt can scent lust

PART THREE: Geralt travels with Jaskier for years but has no idea that he is a viscount. When he does find out, it is in public, from a third party, and yes it is hilarious. (Bonus. Ciri finds out this way as well)

Geralt and Dandelion operate as a domestic unit, pooling their money and making financial decisions together. Also, Dandelion bullies racists and Geralt secretly likes it. (I wrote this one a while ago but I think it belongs here.

A shape shifter reads Geralt’s mind, then turns into Jaskier because he knows that’s the best way to protect himself.

Geralt and Jaskier share beds.

Geralt and Jaskier share clothes.

Geralt may play it cool to his face, but he thinks Jaskier has a gorgeous voice.

Jaskier has a voice so beautiful, it can calm a monster.

Geralt drops everything to protect Jaskier, every time, even in the middle of battles when there are other people around to protect.

They also share a kiss in a few of the translations, but not all. It’s a very “y yo también” situation.

If you have any requests, drop me an ask.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gerlion #the witcher books #i can't believe it's not fanon #canon or fanon

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