#either way my only true geralt is game geralt so i never actually cared about any other version oops

[pillage-and-lute]

(For next time you’re looking for prompts) I really like your writing, and when I thought of this I wondered what you’d do with it: Geralt and Jaskier are together, but agree to pretend not to be for their next stop. Maybe one of them wants to win an old bet, or Jaskier’s not 100% sure his betrothal to a local noble has been officially dissolved, whatever, (not homophobia), fluff and high jinx ensue. Anyway I hope something unexpectedly nice happens to you today.

Hi Dahliavandare! Thanks for the blessing in my inbox  🥰

This ran away from me, tons of backstory about Jaskier’s family. Just, way too much.

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“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “I have an errand we need to run, and I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

Geralt hummed noncommittally. They were resting at their camp outside of Hagge and the warm summer air and the feeling of Jaskier curled against him had lulled him into a warm, fuzzy stupor.

“You see,” Jaskier continued, fiddling with the buttons at his cuffs. “I’m a noble, and you know that of course.” He laughed awkwardly. “And I’ve been lucky enough to pawn most of those responsibilities off onto my much savvier sister, but there are certain niceties that landed families observe that--”

“Spit it out,” Geralt grumbled, although not bad naturedly. 

“I’m betrothed,” Jaskier said. “And we need to go to Gwendeith to break it off.”

Geralt turned to look at his beloved. “You’re engaged?”

“Betrothed!” Jaskier yelped, then saw Geralt’s expression. “Oh, dear heart, there’s a slight difference in meaning, especially to nobles. Engaged implies an intent to marry--”

“And betrothed doesn’t?”

“Well, sort of, but I’ve been betrothed practically since I was born, engaged would imply I’m sort of planning the wedding. It’s a contract, a social contract. My family and my betrothed’s are pretty minor nobles, so really it’s just a way of saying ‘maybe someday our kids could marry’. It isn’t the hard and fast marriage it might be if I were, say, a prince.”

“Then why do it?” Geralt asked. Most of the time he was happy to understand as little of the lives of the gentry as possible, but Jaskier was important.

“Honestly,” Jaskier sighed. “I think Papa arranged it because he cared for me, Mama too.”

“It takes away your choice,” Geralt began.

“It doesn’t. A betrothal like mine and... Iliana, that’s her name, only met her twice, it’s sort of social insurance. Especially for her, but for me as well. Nobles are supposed to marry, so, if at some point neither of us had found love we could marry one another. For Iliana there’s the security of having a husband, although from what I’ve heard she can handle herself fine, and for me its assurance of heirs if that sort of thing concerned me, and companionship for us both.”

It sounded...mostly sort of logical to Geralt.

“But I love you,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone because I love you and, someday, whenever you get over you allergy to the concept of commitment, I’m going to put a ring on you.”

Geralt hummed gruffly but said nothing. There was a slim golden band hidden away in his bags and he be damned if Jaskier got to propose first.

“I will. Anyway, I need to tell Iliana. I’m sure she won’t mind. I met her once when I was seven and again when I was nineteen.”

“Nineteen, when?” Geralt asked. Most of Jaskier’s nineteenth year had been spent at Geralt’s side. Most of every year after that too.

“Just before I met you. I had travelled east to meet her originally, and was going back west when we met.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Illiana? Oh, well, she told me that she was fine leaving the betrothal in place because it’s standard, but that she doesn’t care for men in that way so she’d never give me heirs and would have my balls nailed above her door if I ever told her she had to.”

“Sounds like she’d get along with Yen.”

“I fear they’d take over the world,” Jaskier said. “Anyway, I told her no worries since, honestly, heirs just aren’t important to me. Then we agreed that when either of us found love we’d break the betrothal and that would be that.”

“Hmmm.”

“No, Geralt, tell me what that means. Is that a ‘okay, let’s go to Gwendeith’ hum? A ‘I’m angry that you’re betrothed’ hum?”

Geralt shifted to poke the fire. “It’s a ‘I think there’s more you need to tell me’ hum.”

“Ah,” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. We have to go in person because a letter would be rude, but also...we have to pretend not to be together, while we’re in Gwedeith.”

“Why?”

“It’s politics, dear heart. It would be shaming to Iliana, socially. Personally, I don’t think she’d care, but it’s a courtesy thing.”

“I don’t do a lot of lovey stuff anyway,” Geralt said. 

“You think you don’t,” Jaskier said. He began to unroll their bedroll.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned to him, smiling indulgently and gilded in the firelight. “Our lives have molded around one another, my love. When I stand beside you your hand goes to my back or my shoulder. You order dinner for me because you know just what food I like. When I’m tired you don’t have to ask what’s wrong, you just lift me onto Roach behind you.”

Geralt hadn’t even realized he did, but he knew it was true. Jaskier leaned over and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s slightly furrowed brow.

“When my boots are wearing thin you buy me new ones before I even notice. When I’m cold you give me your cloak. If I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder you’d rather sit like that all night than disturb me.”

Geralt shrugged awkwardly. “You buy me beeswax,” he said. It seemed a fair retort. Jaskier bought him beeswax to put in his ears when cities or sometimes monsters were too loud for Geralt’s senses. “You only buy light scents, even though I know you like bolder perfumes.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, taking one of Geralt’s large, scarred hands. “We love eachother very much, and it’s obvious to people who care to look.”

“That could be dangerous,” Geralt began, his head spiralling towards worry for Jaskier’s safety, but Jaskier cut him off.

“No, dear heart. It’s obvious to those who care to look. The sort of people who would hurt me for loving you, well, most of them think you can’t love, so they don’t look for love, and they don’t see.” 

Geralt sat back. People saw what they expected to see, it was true. 

“We’ll travel to Gwendeith,” he said. “And unbetroth you.”

Jaskier kissed him and his lips tasted like the jerky they’d eaten for supper.

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

The trip to Gwendeith was long. It was at the very edge of any map, past Posada to the east, tucked into the Blue mountains.  They traveled along the Dyfne river, taking the occasional contract but making good time. This far from anything, there were few people to be troubled by monsters. 

They stopped in Posada one night, eating dinner in the corner of a familiar tavern. This time, however, Jaskier was much better received and the bread ended up on the table rather than down his trousers.

Past Posada, and almost to the end of the Dyfne river, Geralt asked, “Why did your parents pick Iliana? How did they know of her?” Lettenhove was entirely the other side of the continent, a tiny island off the coast of Poviss with two villages and a couple flocks of sheep. 

Geralt only knew of it from Jaskier’s descriptions, which were mostly stories of the ice cold sea and rocky cliffs. He tended toward calling it ‘idyllic’ and ‘picturesque’ altough occassionally ‘the arse end of the world’ and ‘colder than an ice giant’s ballsack.’ The first time Geralt had taken Jaskier to Kaer Morhen he’d feared for his bard’s safety in the cold of the mountains, but Jaskier hadn’t even blinked an eye, merely bundling up in a hugely wooly cloak and mittens. 

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said. “Long story, but Papa was in Temeria, see, since nothing ever happens in Lettenhove, because we have more people than sheep, he get’s sent on diplomatic missions a lot. He’s good at it, and he can be spared. He loves it too, even though he’s sort of retired he still does them. Takes Ma, calls the trips his little “sunshine vacations”. 

“You get your personality from your father, then?” Geralt asked. Jaskier didn’t talk about his family much, and Geralt got the sense that, rather than this being because they were horrible, Jaskier simply missed them too much. 

“Definitely. Ma’s lovely, and brilliant with just everything to do with her hands, but she’s not good with people. I got her looks, though.”

“I should thank her, then,” Geralt said, smiling. 

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, she’s the reason for the long lives, too, fantastic story.”

“Finish the one about your father and Gwendeith first.”

“Right, so Papa was in Temeria, and so was Iliana’s father, sort of the mayor of Gwendeith, as I understand, although not back then. He’d gotten robbed, though, and Papa had won a horse and quite a lot of gold in a card game. It might have been Gwent, I can’t remember. If you ever meet Papa you should ask him. Anyway, he gave the extra horse and gold to Iliana’s father.”

“So your betrothal was a debt?”

“Goodness, no. This was years before I was born, Papa hadn’t even met Ma yet. No, they struck up a friendship, because when Iliana’s father got home he had a mage send a message to Papa to thank him and they struck up a friendship.”

“Sending messages by mage? That’s expensive for a penpal.”

“Ah well, that actually ties in to the story about Ma. Ma’s got magic, just a little, she’s a hedge witch of a sort. The issue is, hedge witches mostly use plants, and Ma couldn’t grow grass, so she mostly works with wood. Anyway, she has a friend, her very best friend, is a mage. They grew up together, and my Auntie Szarlotta sent my Papa’s first few messages back to Iliana’s father.”

Geralt smiled atop Roach. Jaskier’s storytelling pace was as familiar as Roach’s saddle, and it was calming in a way. 

“So, Auntie was sending Papa’s message when Ma came in to visit. That’s how she met Papa, because she’d only just moved to Lettenhove. Auntie says it was love at first sight, but Papa insists that Ma turned up her nose and ignored him for months.”

“Which one is it?”

“Knowing Ma, probably both. She’s a little like you, so the second she realized she liked Papa she ignored him so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Geralt huffed good-naturedly.

“Anyway, Auntie Szarlotta agreed to send Papa’s messages for free, and she even included a way for Iliana’s father to send them back, so long as he wrote his response on the back of the same paper. She always timed it though, so that Ma was over when Papa was there. And I guess the rest is history.”

“Except the immortality.”

“Right, well, Ma got really sick when she was pregnant with my sister, I was little so I barely remember but Papa was so worried, and Ma looked really pale. Well, Auntie got really worried, freaked out a little, and she found all these old spells to try to make Ma well again. I remeber the light, she was working in a room of the old lighthouse and I could see the light of her spells from my window. Anyway, eventually she tries some on Ma, but they don’t work, and she just keeps trying.”

Geralt had an image of a frantic sorceress being watched by a young Jaskier through a crack in a door. 

“But I suppose some of those old spells need a little time to work because nothing at all worked and then they all sort of worked at once. There was this big, bright light and then Ma was well, and she and Papa haven’t aged a day since then.”

Geralt glanced at his lover, who looked the same at fifty as he had at twenty. “And you don’t age? What about your sister?”

“Ksenia hasn’t aged either. She looks like Papa, just so you know, grey eyes, blonde hair. She’s got two kids, now, but I haven’t met them.”

“Do the kids age?”

“Right now they’re very young,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t stop aging until nineteen or twenty, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

“How do you know she has kids?”

“Oh, well, Auntie Szarlotta sends letters to me, but we travel and it’s hard to send them right to me, so I just pick them up at Oxenfurt.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. He needed to go to Lettenhove. Jaskier had met his sort-of-family, he should meet Jaskier’s. 

“I’d love to go see them...” Jaskier said, wistfully. 

“Who?”

“My niece and nephew, they’re almost two and three years old now.”

Geralt picked Jaskier up by the collar of his doublet and placed him onto the back of Roach. 

“We’ll spend the winter in Lettenhove this year,” he said as Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist.

“Really?”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt needed to ask Jaskier’s father for his hand in marriage, anyway.

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

They made it to Gwendeith just after mid summer, riding into the little town at noon. Despite the season, the little mountain valley was shaded and cool. Jaskier shivered slightly and Geralt had to resist the urge to pull his cloak from his pack. From that point forth, they weren’t supposed to be in love.

Fuck.

They had to request a meeting with the mayor, which didn’t surprise Geralt. In a town such as this, logging and mining were the main industries. Trading for food to last over the winter began early and was of the utmost importance. That left Geralt and Jaskier, unfortunately, sitting with a man who introduced himself as Sir Boris.

Apparently he was a retired knight who acted as a sort of captain of the guard, except there wasn’t much of a guard. His wife Lady Olenka joined them and the two of them talked about their grandchildren until Geralt could feel his eyes rolling back in his head. 

At any other time, Jaskier would have placed one gentle hand on his wrist, which would have fortified Geralt, but they couldn’t. 

“But you’re here for Iliana,” Sir Boris was saying. “Dreadfully sorry you can’t see her today, I’m afraid there’s been an issue with the lumber trade to sort out. You’ll just have to have my darling Lenka and I as company until that’s done.”

He sent a huge wink to his wife, a slim, elegant woman, who chuckled and playfully hit him on the shoulder, to which Sir Boris pretended to be wounded before throwing back his head and laughing hugely. Everything the old knight did was huge, he was a large man with a round, red face and large belly and a laugh that could shake walls. 

“It’s no trouble,” Jaskier said. “I’m sure preparing for winter is a year round project here.”

“Oh of course,” Lady Olenka said. “But once it’s here we can all relax, and spend time with family.” She leaned forward as if imparting a delightful secret and said in a stage-whisper, “Boris has been our town’s Father Winter for the last four years.”

Jaskier made impressed ‘ooh’ noises and Geralt tried to at least look like he understood that. 

Boris laughed again. “It’s this lot,” he said, slapping his round stomach. “Better than some old geezer with a pillow down his shirt, eh?”

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

“And you must make a lovely Mother Winter, Lady Olenka,” Jaskier said politely.

She smiled, lines crinkling around her eyes as if drawing a road map. “It’s not as important as Father Winter, of course, but I rather pride myself that I plan a very good Midwinter festival.” Geralt got the sense that behind the modesty she was quite proud, and, he suspected, with good reason.

“But, you must tell me,” she said, modestly changing the subject. “Is there to be a missus Pankratz, now that you’ve come to see Lady Iliana?”

“I am a man in love,” Jaskier said. “And I am hopeful that an engagement will come soon, yes.”

“Oh dearie that’s just lovely,” Lady Olenka said, patting Jaskier’s cheek. “And you’re such a nice boy too, little young looking to be betrothed to our Lady Iliana anyway, although she’s a very dear woman.”

“We just love her,” Sir Boris said. “She’s a great mayor, not keen on marriage, but nobody minds, she just seems to have adopted the whole town as family.”

Lady Olenka patted her husband’s broad shoulder. “It was smart of you not to bring your love here, though. There’s some nobles here from Lyria, that’s who she’s been trading with, and I think they’d like any excuse to disparage here.” She lowered her voice again. “You know how those lot are about having women in charge.”

“I can’t relate,” Sir Boris laughed. “Lenka’s the ruler in our house.” That got a laugh because it had to, and because Sir Boris’s laugh was surprisingly infectious. 

“Good on you bringing a bodyguard too,” he said once the laughter had abated. He slapped Geralt companionably on the back, which was like being hit by a friendly battering ram. “Witcher too, don’t get many up here, but I bet you’re the safest man in a hundred miles.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you know?” Lady Olenka said. “Lord Julian here is a bard as well, he goes by Jaskier and sings all about witchers.”

“Really?” Sir Boris said, looking at Jaskier. “Blimey, imagine that. Good on you, finding a niche in the market.”

Geralt’s ears were beginning to ache. Friendly though Sir Boris might be, he didn’t seem to have a volume level below ‘deafening’. He was tired and overwrought and he just wanted to cuddle up with Jaskier in a bed. It wasn’t even suppertime, though.

They sat through another hour of hearing about Boris and Olenka’s eighteen grandchildren. 

“And three great-grandchildren,” Boris added proudly.

Geralt was thankful Jaskier could carry the conversation. He longed for a kiss, though. Now that he knew he couldn’t have one, his lips fairly ached for one.

Supper was a large affair, with one of Boris and Olenka’s children’s family over for dinner as well. Geralt was seated across from Jaskier between two small children who, apparently, needed to be separated at dinertimes to prevent bickering. They contented themselves instead by asking Geralt every question they could think of, often making him wrack his brain for child appropriate answers.

It wasn’t just witchering questions, either. He answered such questions as “Why is the sky blue?” (Because it’s Melitele’s favorite color). Immediately before answering “How big are dragon scales?” (The small ones are like pebbles and the big ones are like shields.)

Jaskier smiled at him over his bowl of stew, eyes sparkling. Geralt loved children, and Jaskier loved seeing them adore Geralt.

“So, Lord Julian,” Boris and Olenka’s daughter began. “Your lady love, tell us about her?” She smiled Lady Olenka’s warm smile and Jaskier did a good show of seeming bashful. 

“My love is unlike any other,” he began. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, I’m a poet, and so must wax poetic.”

“Wouldn’t settle for anything less, lad!” Boris bellowed cheefully.

“My darling has fair hair, like moonlight,” Jaskier said, and the table oohed appreciatively. Geralt felt his ears get hot.

“And eyes like summer,” the bard continued. “I could get lost in them. No eyes could compare.” Geralt kicked him under the table, but Olenka was sighing sympathetically.

“But of course,” Jaskier said slyly, my heart is best held by my love’s lips.”

Boris chuckled knowingly. “I’ll bet it is, my boy,” he said, winking. Olenka slapped his arm, but she was smiling. Geralt felt hot.

“I’m afraid, however that my lover is quite modest, and won’t appreciate me extolling too many virtues,” Jaskier finished. “So I must finish with, I love them very much, and it is for them alone that my heart beats.”

Therewith leaving every person at the table (those above the age of twelve, at least) with misty eyes, Jaskier helped Lady Olenka clean up supper. Geralt helped put the dishes away.

After dinner they were led back to the mayor’s house. “I’m afraid the negotiations don’t seem to be finished,” Lady Olenka said. “I had hoped they would be quick, but it seems not. If the issue wasn’t resolved today, I wouldn’t bet on them being resolved too early tomorrow, either. You two don’t have pressing business elsewhere?”

“No, my lady,” Jaskier said, although if they lingered too long they wouldn’t make it to Lettenhove for the winter, as it was, it would be close.

“I’m sure she’ll be able to see you soon,” the lady said. “Here’s your room, and Master Witcher, your room is just at the far end of the hall.”

She said goodnight and Geralt hoped she couldn’t see the slump of his shoulders.

Separate rooms.

Jaskier smiled ruefully at him and they parted for the night. Geralt’s bed was large and comfortable, with clean linens and feather pillows, but he barely got a wink of sleep.

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

The next morning found Jaskier and Geralt breakfasting in the tavern, owned, apparently, by another of Boris and Olenka’s grown children.

“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier whispered over a plate of sausage and eggs.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Jaskier said. “Want my last piece of bacon? I’m stuffed.”

Geralt took it gratefully, slipping Jaskier his fried slice as a trade. No matter how Jaskier protested that he was stuffed, he always had room for a fried slice.”

“Terrible woman,” said a nasal voice at the next table. “Just impossible to do business with.”

“I agree, overemotional, you know how they get,” agreed another voice. Jaskier made eye contact with Geralt. The accent was Lyrian.

“Not even married,” said the first speaker. “What a disgrace. If my daughter got to her age without children I’d just die of shame.”

Geralt pitied his daughter.

“Oh of course,” said the second man. “Attractive, though, for an old maid.”

The first man snickered cruelly. “Thinking a little wooing might soften her up?”

“It always does, women like that, they’re just angry because they haven’t found a man.”

“Won’t your wife mind?”

“Are you going to tell her?” Both men laughed unpleasantly.

A serving girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, came around the tables, presumably one of Sir Boris’ many granddaughters. She took their plates onto a tray and smiled when Jaskier slipped a few coins onto the tray as a tip.

At the next table  one of the Lyrian’s snapped their fingers impatiently. The girl rolled her eyes. Geralt was pleased to see that, although she served him professionally, as she walked away she ‘accidentally’ tread on his foot.

“What pathetic pieces of shit, the pair of them,” Jaskier said as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt agreed. Then he looked around quickly and pulled Jaskier into an alleyway, urging the bard deeper into the shadows. 

“What? Geralt di-”

Geralt smushed his lips gracelessly to Jaskier’s, crowding him up against the wall. Jaskier’s hair between his fingers was so familiar and comforting, as was the little sigh Jaskier let out.

They pulled apart and Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “That’ll tide me over for a while,” he whispered. Jaskier smiled.

“Are you master Julian?”

The pair sprang apart, looking in alarm at the red headed boy at the far end of the alley. 

“Yes...?” Jaskier said.

“Only, Pa said to come find you, and he said you’d be with a big man dressed all in black.”

“And you found us here?” Jaskier asked.

“Didn’t know you’d be here, did I?” Said the boy, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s the shortcut through to the tavern, but then, I figured he’s the only big man in black around.”

Geralt inclined his head, feeling his ears go hot.

“Lady Iliana has time to see you now,” the boy continued, oblivious to the awkwardness. 

“By all means...lead the way,” said Jaskier.

They were led out of the alley and back to the mayor’s house by the messenger boy.

“Out of curiosity,” Jaskier asked. “Is your grandad Sir Boris?” 

“Yeah, that’s him,” said the lad. “He made me a toy sword for my tenth birthday too.” He pointed proudly to the wooden sword tied at his hip with some string.

“It makes you look a proper hero,” Jaskier said. Then he pulled out his coin purse. “A copper for bringing us the message and...another to not tell anyone what you saw.”

The boy looked between the two of them shrewdly.

“Not even my best friend? I tell Mikhail everything.”

“Not until Geralt and I have left.”

“Three coppers total,” the boy said promptly. Jaskier handed them over good naturedly and the boy flashed a gap toothed grin before taking off.

Geralt and Jaskier shrugged at each other, before finding their way to the main room of the mayor’s house. A broad shouldered woman of about fifty poked her head out of a door.

“Julian?”

Geralt and Jaskier went inside.

“You look well,” Iliana said, sitting behind a large desk and gesturing to a couple chairs. “You havent’ aged a day.”

“And you look as lovely as I remember,” Jaskier said.

“Flirt. Come to ask me for heirs?”

Jaskier shuddered. “No, my lady. I remember your threat well. I think you know why I’m here.”

The two Lyrians barged through the door. 

“Did I ask you to enter?” Iliana said, coldly. Geralt felt an unusual curl of fear set up in his stomach, she was a distinctly fearsome woman.

“Well,” said the first Lyrian.

“You were so beautiful, I couldn’t wait on seeing you again,” said the second, slimily.

“Oh I say!,” Iliana said, standing. She placed her hand over her chest in a delicately offended way, which was ill suited to her. “You sir are too bold, and in front of my betrothed too!”

The Lyrians looked, panicked, at the people sat in the chairs. As Geralt was seated in the chair nearest the door, and therefore nearest them, they came to the wrong conclusion. The blood drained from both their faces.

“What an insult!” Iliana continued. “You should be ashamed! What a lack of diplomacy!” 

Beside Geralt, Jaskier snickered. She was laying it on a little thick. 

“Why,” she continued. “I ought to write to your king! I’ve never been so insulted. And I’m sure my beloved will want to sort out this insult too.” She fluttered her lashes at Geralt. 

Geralt nearly jumped out of his seat, but thankfully his brain caught up. He stood, growling a little theatrically and placed one hand on the hilt of his steel sword.

“Our apologies my lady,” the first man said hurriedly.

“Our mistake, we’ll just--” they dissappeared out the door.

“What a fearsome couple,” Geralt heard whispered as the door swung shut.

Iliana sighed satisfactedly and kicked her feet up on her desk. “It seems I should thank you,” she said. “That is going to make negotiations much easier.”

“I’m sure you always get good deals,” Jaskier said.

“Yes. I get the deals I want.”

“You know why I’m here,” Jaskier said.

“Yes.”

“Do you agree?”

“To disolve the betrothal? Of course. Never found a lover for myself so I never bothered but, well, I just don’t do romance.”

“Some people don’t,” Geralt said, thinking of Eskel.”

“Indeed,” Iliana said, smiling warmly at him. “Not all of us have a soulmate to sing us songs.” She laughed at their surprised faces. 

“Oh you fooled them, and you may have fooled Boris and Olenka, but I’ve heard your songs, Julian. It’s written right into everything you do.”

She began rummaging in one of the drawers in the desk. “I don’t mind, of course. So few people know we’re actually betrothed...there it is.” She pulled out an old piece of paper. “I’ll just rip it up if that’s fine by you. You’ll have to do the same to yours of course.”

“We’re going to Lettenhove this winter,” Jaskier said. “I’ll do it as soon as I find it.”

Iliana smiled again. “Father always did say that your dad had a horrible filing system.”

“He filed all his papers on the floor, yes, although I imagine my sister is neater.”

Iliana tore the paper in half without ceremony and placed the contract in the waste paper bin. “Lettenhove is very far away, Julian, will you get there in time?”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. 

“I don’t know,” Geralt said.

“No matter,” said Iliana. She began writing something on a new sheet of paper. “Our logging teams float lumber all down the Dyfne and Pontar rivers. Show this to the dockmaster at the tip of the Dyfne and our riverboat captains can get you to Novigrad.” 

She pulled out another sheet of paper. “Once you’re in Novigrad, show this to the harbormaster and he’ll get you to Lettenhove.” She looked at their shocked faces and smiled. “Our lumber is the best, and it’s used in everything, including ships. I’m willing to cash in a favor in order to get rid of a useless betrothal.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jaskier said bowing deeply. “I’ll have my Aunt Szarlotta send a message once our betrothal is fully extant.”

Iliana stood and shook his hand. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Our fathers were penpals,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps we should keep up the tradition?” 

The mayor inclined her head. “I’d like that. I may be too busy to write often.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I can only pick up messages when I pass through Oxenfurt, but I like to make friends with powerful people.” 

The two of them shared a smile.

“Not to rush you out my door,” Iliana said. “But I do have a lot to do, winter comes early up here, and I know it does as well in Lettenhove. even with my help, you two should leave soon.”

Geralt and Jaskier left that afternoon, just after a hearty meal at the tavern.

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

Across the continent and some weeks later, Jaskier and Geralt stepped onto the docks in Novigrad.

“I don’t think Roach liked the river boats,” Jaskier said as Geralt led her off. Roach whinnied and shook her mane emphatically.

“Sorry, girl,” Geralt said. “You’ll have another long boat journey, and this time I doubt we’ll stop so you can run about on land.”

“Nah,” Jaskier said, as they walked toward a tavern for supper. “Boats from Novigrad to Lettenhove stop around the coast on the way, she’ll get plenty of exercise. It’s something to do with the currents.”

He petted Roach’s muzzle softly as they stabled her at the inn beside the tavern and Geralt felt his heart go out to his bard. Jaskier cared so much for Roach. Geralt thought again of the gold band in his pack.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

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

Slightly more than a month later, after a slow, coastal boat journey, and then another between Inis Porhoest and Lettenhove, Geralt, Jaskier, and their faithful horse, stepped off the final boat.

“Welcome home, Master Julian,” said a fisherman on the dock.

“Does everyone here know you?” Geralt asked.

“Pretty much, there’s only about three hundred people here.”

News spread fast among three hundred people and Jaskier and Geralt were greeted enthusiastically at the door to the very small castle. A blonde woman who could only be Ksenia, Jaskier’s sister, flung her arms around him, and withing a moment Geralt was being gathered into the hug by a slightly older looking couple.

“Julek,” said the blonde man, pulling back. “My boy, you’re home, and you brought this stunning man, wow, what a looker.” 

“Papa, don’t be embarrassing,” Jaskier said. Geralt flushed clear to the roots of his hair. Apparently when Jaskier said he had his father’s personality he meant all of his father’s personality.

They had dinner as a family, including Jaskier’s niece and nephew, Cecylia and Prot. They had questions for Geralt, and he was grateful for the practice he’d had in Gwendeith. It was an enjoyable meal over all, and afterward Jaskier was distracted by his Aunt Szarlotta while Geralt slipped away to ask Mr. Pankratz a very important question.

The two of them returned to the main hall to see Jaskier pretending to be a dragon, while Cecylia and Prot bravely fought him with butterknives, but he straightened up when he saw the look on Geralt’s face.

Geralt took his hand and Jaskier squeezed it three times, it was their code, asking if Geralt needed to go somewhere that wasn’t so hard on his senses. Geralt smiled and shook his head, swallowing nervously around the lump in his throat.

He got down on one knee and pulled out the gold band. “I’m...I’m not good with words.” Geralt swallowed again, wishing he could borrow Jaskier’s eloquence for five minutes or so. “Marry me?”

The words were barely out from his mouth before Jaskier was tackling him to the ground, pressing kisses all over his face.

“Oh Geralt!” he said. “Wait--”

Jaskier looked up at his mother, who smiled and was handed a paper by his Aunt Szarlotta. Mrs. Pankratz ripped the betrothal contract in half.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, laughing. “I will marry you!”

Then they kissed on the chilly stone floor.

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

Dear Lady Iliana, Mayor of Gwendeith

The former contract has been voided. 

Szarlotta of Lettenhove

P.S. Geralt and Jaskier are engaged and send their love.

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

Holy Cow. 5603 words. I...I don’t even know what to say. I hope you like it.

#the witcher #geraskier #reverse fake dating #fluff #geralt #jaskier #ask box answers

[itsclydebitches]

PFFFF The newest Witcher trailes LITERALLY throws shade! They have the 'Geralt, but you've been such lone wofl so long, what change' and deadass show JASKIER before later shoving Geralt saying 'Yennefer' like a cheap 'no homo!' excuse. I can't. xD Whoever edited it knows what's on. xD

I feel so conflicted about the Jaskier-Geralt relationship in the show because on the one hand, yeah, they're definitely leaning into this non-romance in a way that can get uncomfortable for some, how shall I put this... jaded viewers lol. We know they'll never be canon. No matter what else we might say about Netflix's inability to accurately adapt the books, Geralt/Yennefer has always and will always be endgame, so getting intimacy between Geralt and Jaskier in these particular ways (flirty jokes, bath scene, argument staged like a breakup), while not explicitly queerbaiting, can make viewers feel... icky about it all. Especially for any show-only fans who might not know that Geralt/Yennefer is endgame. Many viewers, particularly American viewers, approach shows as malleable forms of entertainment that can provide them with the representation they crave, provided the fanbase is vocal enough about wanting it. And the more talk that surfaces about major, crucial changes to the plot that reinterpret huge swaths of the books' purpose and intent, the more it can feel like they might just change Geralt's love life too! Even though they (obviously) won't. And frankly shouldn't given that this is supposed to be a faithful adaptation.

Yet on the flipside, the Netflix versions of Jaskier and Geralt don't feel intimate to me at all. Their hostile introduction, Geralt outright punching him, the continued performance of 'I'm a big strong manly man who can't admit that he cares about others,' reducing decades of their bonding to a surprising, throwaway line, that argument when Geralt blames Jaskier for all his problems... it's terrible and I've never liked this dynamic for them (even as I, somewhat hypocritically, play with it in fic). So I'm like, you're intimate enough that fans are starting to side-eye the creators' intentions and yet simultaneously not intimate in any of the ways you should be if you were actually faithful adaptations of the book. And these problems, I believe, go hand-in-hand. By ignoring the actual friendship of the books, Netflix has been forced to "prove" that they care for one another by falling back on tired buddy tropes that, historically, fans have used as evidence for a potential romantic relationship. By not writing Geralt and Jaskier as having the open, witty, philosophical, caring-but-also-taking-no-shit relationship they had in the books, Netflix has fallen back on a dynamic that isn't doing their show any favors. Fans either hate it, or love it to the point where they expect something of the show that the show can never deliver.

So it's a mess! And that mess hasn't done Yennefer any favors either. I'm really not in a position to be defending that pairing - I've never hid that I'm not a Geralt/Yen fan - but whatever the books did that made others love their relationship... I don't think Netflix is capitalizing on that either. In that other ask I brought up how in the games their relationship seems to revolve entirely around Ciri and sex. If they're not talking about their daughter (or if Yen isn't being cruel) their relationship is just about how horny they are for each other, which... isn't really a relationship to me. Or at least, not the deep, "We belong together forever, we're basically soulmates" relationship that the franchise is going for. Same with Netflix. I never liked the foundation of their relationship being an ambiguous wish that tethered them irrevocably and a quickie in the rubble as a replacement for actually getting to know one another... but Netflix takes those aspects and emphasizes them to a disappointing degree.

"You spent a lifetime alone. What changed?"

"Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yet when it comes time for the trailer to show us what this deep, insightful relationship is that changed a man after an entire lifetime of wandering alone... it's just sex. That's literally all Netflix is able to show us because that's the only meaningful interactions Geralt and Yen have had together. Here's a clip of them falling into bed together and Geralt, without any of that emotional work shown to the viewer, professes that he loves Yennefer the way she's always wanted to be loved.

Here's a clip of the joke we got where Jaskier is gaping over them having sex on the floor post-Yen nearly killing the lot of them.

I'm like... what out of any of this is meant to be appealing to me? Besides the fact that they're both hot as hell? (The casting does make my little bi heart happy lol.) For me, Geralt and Yen are a classic case of a story insisting they're meant for each other because That's Just How Stories Work, without doing any of the actual, you know, work to show us why they like each other, or how they got there, or why these superficial things (the sex is great!) trump the huge hurdles they should be working through. The games might have their flaws, but god bless 'em for letting the characters point out, "Hey... how do we even know this love is real and not just a byproduct of the djinn's wish?"

Geralt and Jaskier, as established, absolutely have their problems in the show, but I can understand why so many fans ship them over Geralt/Yen. And no, though bigotry can play a part, we also can't demonize the entirety of its popularity with, "You just hate women/are racist/creepily obsessed with queer men/whatever the latest accusation is." Rather, the popularity exists because, whatever their faults, it feels like they actually have a relationship in the show. We see them developing together in a way we simply don't get with Yennefer/Geralt and because that development isn't largely reduced to sex scenes—the narrative trying to pass every bonding moment off as True Love, with True Love equaling physical attraction—it comes across (at least to me) as more realistic and believable, especially given Geralt's character, someone who is emotionally closed off. If Vesemir (I think it's Vesemir) asked what changed and we deliberately cut to that moment of Jaskier leaving after Geralt drove him away... I'd more easily believe that yeah, this relationship is causing Geralt to rethink things in a way he hasn't for an entire lifetime. We've seen them travel together, become (begrudging) comrades, defend one another, do favors for each other, tease each other, have a major fight that they'll inevitably make up from, Jaskier is presented as Geralt's first friend, and none of this is tied to a questionable wish, or passed off as the totality of Geralt's development.

The fact that Netflix would include those lines, cut to a legitimately heart-wrenching moment between Geralt and Jaskier, but when it comes times to show his relationship with Yennefer, the most powerful moments are her without him (smashing the mirror, undergoing her transformation, stepping out in her new body for the first time, etc.) and their moments together are just sex—one of which is used partially for comedy—well... that just illustrates the problem for me. What relationship? The one that supposedly exists simply because the story says it's there? I don't think I'll ever be a Geralt/Yen shipper, but I'm perfectly capable of separating my personal preferences from subpar writing choices. Netflix is far into the latter. The way that they're adapting the story is, imo, hurting both fans of the book material and fans who are on the fence about book material. Because so few of these changes are working well, we've lost all the good the books contained and are now stuck with so much new bad. Basically, "No one liked that."

Except, of course, for the Geralt/Jaskier shippers riding the coattails of those tropes... though many will likely be disappointed and hurt by the series' end when they're not made canonical, with others growing frustrated with how the fandom has turned on them simply for liking what they were given. It's really turning into a lose-lose for everyone involved.

#witcher #twn #twn critical

[witcherwrite]

Disaster Dads Chapter 2

You can read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091329/chapters/53300131

PAVLOV’S DOG

Watching Ciri practice always filled Geralt with fond memories. Of him training with Eskel in this very courtyard when they were younger and the school of Kaer Morhen was at its height.

The three remaining witchers of Kaer Morhen had spent their morning doing their own drills at their master’s insistence. ‘Trained witchers can always take value in practice, especially when someone needs to watch them.’ But now the three of them lounged watching Ciri stumble over another movement with her practice sword .

Geralt was watching her attentively, giving instruction while the two behind him would either give encouragement or jeer. Lambert contributing mostly to the latter. Ciri let out a groan  when she failed to complete the pirouette again.

“It’s alright Ciri, try again.” she shot him a bitter look and he gave her an amused smile in turn. She readjusted her grip on the sword and went through the motions once more.

“How long did it take the both of you to get that move down?” Geralt asked, watching Ciri’s feet and how she spun her sword.

Eskel hummed, opening his eyes and sitting upright to answer. “Think it took us; what. Two? Three days to get down?”

Geralt nodded humming, “That’s what I remember. What about you Lambert?”

“‘bout the same.” The youngest witcher spent his time cleaning his swords on a bench.

Geralt hummed again and was about to ask another question when a curse sounded through the yard. Geralt’s head whipped around in Ciri’s direction watching as she stumbled again and  shouted.

“Shit!”

Fury built in Geralt’s chest, making his shoulders rise. He’d never curse in front of Ciri. Made sure he was out of earshot if he did and there was no way Eskel or Vesemir would ever dream of cursing near her.

She stumbled again loudly screaming “Goddammit!”

Geralt’s head snapped around glaring at Lambert with ice in his eyes.

Eskel’s mouth was wide in a big crooked grin as Lambert sat pale and still. Eyes meeting Geralt’s and pleading.

“Fuck!” she cried behind them and Geralt’s lips pulled back into a snarl.

“You taught them to her. Now teach her not to say them.”

Lambert shot from his seat, dropping his blades and rushing across the courtyard to talk to Ciri.

Geralt stared, silently fuming as Lambert was trying and failing to press upon her that those words were taboo and where reserved for particular moments. The youngest witcher became even more flustered as Ciri argued that he used them without reservation, so clearly they weren’t so taboo.

Lambert’s gaze flickered over Ciri’s head, focusing on Geralt’s absolutely livid expression. Also catching Eskel smiling so wide that the scars on his face threatened to split.

Lambert argued with her some more only to walk back to them defeated. Geralt stood there, arms crossed and baring down on him.

“Look I’m sorry, but she’s learned them and their’s no unlearning that shit so-”

“Fuck!”

Lambert turned his head to Ciri’s curse. Leaving a perfect opportunity for the White Wolf to clap him on the back of the head.

“Ow! The hell?!”

“You’ll make her stop saying them, or every time I hear her curse I’ll thump you.” he said between gritted teeth.

Lambert’s face twisted in annoyance “That’ll be more trouble for you than me, honestly.”

“Son of a bitch!”

Geralt’s hand hit the back of his head so hard that he could feel his brain rattle in his skull.

“I’ll make it worth my time.” Geralt said walking away. Likely to give Ciri a far more convincing reason as to why she wasn’t allowed to curse.

“Lambert, you’re screwed.” Eskel said, amusement plain in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up Eskel.” he said rubbing the back of his head.

“See!” Ciri cried “he says it all the time!”

If looks could kill Lambert would have been dead three times over already.

After a strict talk from Vesemir and a few from Geralt. Ciri had slowed down significantly in her cursing, though every once and a while one would slip. Then Geralt, true to his word, had heard it uttered would appear like a goddamn Foglet in the night to slap him across the back of the head.

He’d even done it while Lambert was sleeping once, from Ciri cursing after losing a game of Gwent. After a few weeks, he had begun to fear that he may have a lifetime of this. Listening to Ciri talk 24/7, living in terror as to whether or not she’d curse. He’d maybe only get thumped once or twice a week now, but it was frequent enough that Lambert feared Ciri might catch on.

At the moment he was too tired to particularly care about anything. He’d spent the entire night chasing harpies around Kaer Morhen trying to get rid of the last of the nests before winter came through. Though Geralt had been subjected to a similar pain involving Drowners by the lake’s edge. It had been a small consolidation prize as Eskel was the one forced to make breakfast that morning.

Eskel sucked at breakfast, he’d somehow managed to overcook and undercook the oats all at the same time. Lambert glowered into his mash, watching as Ciri was equally unimpressed, poking her spoon into it. Both of them making a disgusted face when it squished and crunched in one  stab. Ciri still tried eating some of it only to drop half of the goop into her lap.

“Shit.”

Lambert’s entire body seized preemptively. Making Ciri jump across from him. He waited, and Ciri stared at him like he’d gone properly mad. He waited a moment more, peering around the hall. Geralt was nowhere in sight, could he be so lucky? Eskel had come to sit at the table,  looking at the both of them curiously.

“Geralt’s still out.” Lambert cut him a glare. Not believing Geralt’s lifelong friend for a single fucking moment. But then another tense minute passed and there was a small amount of hope that had formed in his chest. Ciri had cursed, and Geralt had somehow, by the grace of some deity. Hadn’t heard her.

He released a slow breath. Joy slowly spreading through him, not even horribly cooked oats could dull his joy. He turned back to his bowl, still scanning as he leaned his head down for a mouthful.

Out of nowhere, a hand came down on the back of his head, smashing his face into his oats.

He shot out of his seat with a howl. “GOD FUCKING DAMNNIT!”

Eskel was wheezing from how hard he was laughing and Geralt looked equally amused as he sat next to Ciri on the bench across from him. Lambert wiped crunchy yet squishy oats out of his face, debating whether or not to throttle Geralt in front of Ciri.

“How in the fuck do you walk so quietly?” Geralt glowered at him as he also ate an equally unappetizing breakfast.

“I don’t curse so much, to begin with, and I actually paid attention when Vesemir taught witchers how to walk silently.”

Lambert was about to retort but paused when he saw Eskel and Geralt suddenly sit straighter. Without warning, he was thumped yet again. His head was reeling as he turned around to see Vesemir’s annoyed expression.

“Must you be so loud and vulgar? It’s unbecoming of a Wolf School Witcher to curse as if he was a sailor.”

Lambert rubbed the back of his head listening to Eskel and Geralt chuckle behind him.

“Sorry, Uncle Vesemir.”

“Lambert, give it back!”

He chuckled as he watched Ciri try and reach for the tome that she had been reading in the great hall.

“Vesemir wants me to finish the chapter on forktails before dinner!”

“Well, then you’ll just have to get this back from me before then!”

Ciri leaped and Lambert jerked his arm up as he walked away and out of the main hall.

“You’re a jerk!” She shouted.

Lambert nodded still holding the tome above him.

“That I am. What are you going to do about it?”

He swerved from a well-aimed punch to the balls, cackling at her near miss. “Gonna have to be more clever than that!”

She stopped following him and just stared. Lambert looked back a smug smile on his face. Watching her face grow red from anger.

“What’s the matter? Run out of fucking ideas?”

Suddenly her anger dissipated and was replaced with a matching smug smile.

“What? Gonna throw things at me now? Or you gonna go get a ladder?”

She shook her head “No, I’m just going to say,” she drew a large breath “FUCK!”

Her curse echoed through the large hall and rattled Lambert’s bones and brain. Already smacking around in his skull.

She smiled sweetly at his pale face. “May I have my book back please?”

He handed her back the tome, leaning close and whispering “You’re a bitch.”

“You’re the one who taught me.” She said holding the book close. Her grin widening was the only warning he got before five fingers and a palm met the back of his head.

Geralt was deadly silent as a witcher creeping about, but how he managed to be so quiet while running like a bat out of hell would remain one of Kaer Morhen’s many mysteries. He groaned rubbing the back of his head as Ciri happily walked back to a table to resume reading.

“You know she only curses now just so that you’ll hit me right?”

Geralt grunted, nodded his head “Yes, and every time you deserve it.”

“I did not!” Geralt’s piercing gaze made him shrink. “Really? Why did she curse this time?”

“That’s not really important!”

“Hm.” Geralt brushed past him a small smile on his face.

Ciri barely cursed any longer. In fact, the only time she cursed now was to make Geralt attack Lambert for teasing her. Even though Geralt was aware of this development it didn’t bother him enough to quit the punishment, much to Lambert’s annoyance.

Ciri was barely a factor in the thought process any longer. The act becoming second nature for Geralt to half-heartedly strike and for Lambert to brace. A few odd times Lambert would manage to dodge or block but that only turned it into a game for Geralt to torture him. Though both agreed to bring the practice to an end after a brief stint to gather supplies in a nearby village.

He and Lambert were in the town’s marketplace, haggling with a merchant over the prices of his items. They really needed to grab a few small contracts while they were down here for coin, but Geralt was always in a rush to return to Ciri as soon as possible. Lambert doubted he even slept the nights when Vesemir forced him to leave the keep every blue moon for contract work.

Lambert had begun to tune out Geralt’s debate with the merchant over hardened leather and became aware of a family out for the day as well. Two of the children were getting into an argument, the eldest picking on the youngest about something. The two children were getting louder and Geralt remained blissfully unaware, completely focused on making the price drop just a little more. The youngest began to throw a fit for the parent’s attention and for them to intervene. After being ignored for a moment more the child, very suddenly and loudly, cursed.

Then, without prompting and in mid-bargain with the merchant. Geralt thumped him. Lambert hadn’t reacted until he brought his head back up to see the merchant’s bewildered face. His brain caught up with him finally. Did Geralt just?

Lambert cast the white-haired witcher a glare who was staring at his hand in absolute befuddlement. Equally confused as to what the hell just happened.

“If the prices mean that much to ye. I suppose I can drop it further.” the merchant said uneasily.

Lambert had to choke back a laugh as Geralt nodded dumbly back to the merchant. In a confused daze, he paid for the items and didn’t say anything until they were away from the merchant square.

Lambert just stared at Geralt, a smile plastered on his face the whole walk.

After a beat more of silence the White Wolf finally spoke. “I think Ciri has improved all she’s going to. No need to keep punishing you for it.” he said carefully. His stoic face did nothing to hide his embarrassment, face slowly turning red.

“Is that code for ‘my daughter has trained me so well that I no longer have control of my own hands’?”

Geralt didn’t even bother glaring at him. Merely shook his head and mumbled “Fuck.”

Lambert thumped him.

#kaer morhen #the witcher #dad geralt #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher lambert #lambert #witcher eskel #eskel #vesemir #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #child ciri

[kumeko]

Prompt: Geralt/Yennefer & Ciri family fluff

A/N: For @caiabresebun, for @thewitchersecretsanta. Ok. Um. I was going for family fluff, and my sister was watching a lot of Hallmark movies, and thus this monstrous thing came to be with a bit less family fluff than I was planning. I’M SORRY. (I am hoping to add to this later, but uh...)

…

…

…

…

There was something relaxing about the gym. Standing in the center of the boxing ring, his gloves strapped tightly to his fists, Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The whole place had a musty, stagnant smell, the kind of scent that came from being a third-rate gym with third-rate equipment. Places like this were a dime a dozen in the city, entrances tucked away in alleys and after a flight of stairs.

 It was a miracle, honestly, that the place hadn’t closed down yet. It was a pretty small place, barely able to fit in a dozen or two at a time. There was a better Goodlife center around the corner, with proper instructors and amenities. If he was being charitable, he knew he wasn’t the best trainer—he could be hard where others were soft, firm where others bent.

 If it weren’t for the cheap rates, they’d have been in the red years ago. As it was, Geralt didn’t want to question their finances too much. After all, it was only the goodwill of the owner that let him rent the apartment right above the gym. In a city as expensive as New York, he doubted he’d anywhere else as affordable. Especially considering his…uneven employment.

 “Geralt!” A girl called out as she pulled open the door, a bell ringing a few seconds after to belatedly announce her arrival. “I’m home!”

And even if he could find a place to stay, he doubted he’d find one big enough to fit him and his adopted daughter. Geralt opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder as Ciri walked in the room. At thirteen, she was gangly and awkward, all long limbs and flyaway hair. He had maybe a year or two before she grew into her body, and then just mere months before her mind finally caught up and he’d have to deal with whatever teenage tantrums she tossed his way.

 “Good,” Geralt grunted, watching as she plopped her backpack on one of the benches. “You’re late.”

 “Not really!” Ciri protested, pointing at the clock. “It’s only 4:15.”

 “And you normally come back at 4.” Geralt glared at the door, waiting for her irritating babysitter to walk in. When the door remained stubbornly closed, he barked, “Jaskier.”

 “Yeah! Sorry about that.” Jaskier poked his head in through the door and smiled sheepishly. As usual, his brown hair looked like a mouse’s nest, he reeked of cheap perfume, and his clothes looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be punk or rock. Which, to be fair, was exactly how his band sounded like—a confused mishmash of two different sounds.

 For some reason, the ladies loved it.

 Geralt sometimes feared for the future. “What happened?” he asked, already knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

 “Nothing, nothing!” Jaskier waved the question away with a goofy smile, chuckling in the way he did when he was hiding something. “Just got some ice-cream—”

 “It’s December,” Geralt pointed out flatly.

 “—and took the long way home.” Jaskier winked at Ciri. “Just a little mutual complaining, right?”

 Ciri stared at him for a long minute, then turned to Geralt. “Who’s Yennefer?”

 Geralt stiffened. He hadn’t heard that name in years. He hadn’t expected to hear that name ever again. Immediately, he glared at Jaskier. “You.”

 Jaskier wilted. “You weren’t supposed to ask!” he hissed.

 Ciri snorted, already sounding like a teenager. Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she asked, “Oh, I should just let him stay grumpy forever?”

 “Grumpy?” Geralt clenched his jaw. Part of him wanted to know just what Jaskier said. Another, bigger part of him knew it was his usual brand of nonsense, a mixture of lies, rumours, and a tiny drop of truth. Whatever it was, it was better not to know. Actually, that was almost always the solution when it came to Jaskier.

 “I didn’t say you were grumpy,” Jaskier refuted quickly, scratching his cheek. “More like—”

 “Heartbroken?” Ciri guessed, a sly glint in her eyes and maybe Geralt should start preparing himself now for her teenage years.

 “Yes—no!” Jaskier’s jaw dropped. “Ciri, are you trying to get me killed?”

 “I’m not heartbroken,” Geralt stated, moving past Jaskier’s betrayal for now.

 “He said it’s why you’re grumpy all the time,” Ciri challenged, ignoring Jaskier’s yelps and cries as she revealed their entire conversation. “You miss her.”

 “I don’t miss her.” Geralt smiled wryly at the thought. How could he miss someone who was never there? “It was years ago, Ciri.”

 “It’s been years since my…” Ciri trailed off, her skin paling.

 She didn’t have to finish; he knew what she was about to say.  Crossing the boxing ring, he leaned against the ropes and smiled gently at her. He was never certain of what exactly possessed her grandmother to leave her in his care—knowing the woman, she probably hadn’t wanted to either—but he was glad she did.

 He couldn’t say just how much his life had changed now that Ciri was in it, only that it was for the better. “That’s a different thing,” he replied softly. “Your grandparents loved you very much.”

 She smiled back hesitantly. It had taken her a while to get comfortable enough to talk about her grandparents. They had been practically her parents, raising her since birth. “Yeah.” For a moment, he thought that was the end of that, but she pressed, “And Yennefer?”

 Geralt sighed, running a hand through his hair. Now that it was out, he might as well get it over with. “It was a short thing, just before you came. She wasn’t interested in anything more.”

 Ciri frowned. “That’s it?”

 “That’s it,” he confirmed, shrugging. What else could he tell a child? The connection he’d felt with Yennefer had all been in his head; she’d made it clear enough when she left.

 “Oh.” She sounded disappointed as she picked up her backpack. “I’ll finish my homework.”

 He knew she really meant she wanted to process it all, and he waved her off. “Sure.”

 “And I’ll make my way out—” Jaskier added casually, slinking his way to the door.

 “Jaskier. Ring. Now,” Geralt ordered, his teeth bared as he glared at him.

 -x-

 Yennefer was never certain of what exactly possessed her to join her current company. Well, no, she knew exactly why—her ‘mother’ Trisha worked for their rivals and that was more than a good enough reason to join. Perhaps that was petty, but then again, Yennefer never claimed to be otherwise.

 Pettiness was sometimes the only way you dealt with a woman like Trisha. It was almost impossible to get under her skin. Even all of her years in law school, backstabbing and clawing to the top of her class hadn’t taught Yennefer the right way to twist the knife in her mother’s heart.

 For now, she’d have to make do as the corporate lawyer for a rival business, filing lawsuit after lawsuit and fighting her mother in court.

 “Hey, Yennefer!” Her fellow lawyer, Triss, smiled brightly at her, waving as she entered the hotel lobby. “You’re here early.”

 “Or you’re here late,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. This was precisely what she hated about her workplace. Tech companies as a whole reeked of that sugary ‘we’re all in this together’ attitude, no doubt fostered by their shareholders to trick employees into working free overtime. And the fools ate it up, staying in their offices well past closing because of paltry things like buffet bars and gaming rooms.

 The near-sighted idiots had no idea how much they were being used. It was bad enough the peons were cheerful morons; she didn’t need her fellow lawyers buying into it too.

 Either feigning ignorance or in need of some hearing aids, Triss breezed past her comment like it hadn’t happened. “I didn’t take you for the holiday type.”

 “I’m not,” Yennefer replied flatly. “What gave it away, my black outfit or my black makeup?”

 “Well, that’s true. It’s not very Christmas-y. Or Holiday-y.” She smiled brightly, as though that had been an actual question and not a sarcastic quip. Now Yennefer was certain Triss was faking it. “Or—actually, what do you celebrate?”

 “Nothing.” Yennefer glanced at the champagne in her hands. The second she’d entered the hotel’s ballroom for her company’s ‘Holiday’ party (and oh, they like to say it was ‘Holiday’, even though all of the decorations were so obviously ‘Christmas’. And yet, just like everything else, the fools just ate it all up.), Yennefer had grabbed a glass from a passing waiter. And then another.

 She actually wasn’t certain how many she’d drank so far, but clearly it wasn’t enough if she was still conscious for this conversation.

 “Seems like you celebrate Halloween,” Trisha replied smartly, the closest she’d come to baring her claws so far.

 “And you are a suck up,” Yennefer retorted, already tired of the conversation. “What do you want?”

 “Nothing.” Triss’s smile dropped a notch. Around them, various employees drifted about as they chatted, everyone from the top CEOs to the lower management mingling. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Make some small talk.”

 “We see each other every day.” Yennefer glanced around for another waiter. Her drink was almost empty, and she needed another.

 “And you don’t talk about yourself then.” Triss sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t know why I thought it’d be different now.”

 “Me neither.” With a careless wave, Yennefer pivoted and headed to another waiter. Triss sputtered something unintelligible and she hoped it was a curse. It’d make her far more interesting and out of all of the lawyers in her company, she was by far the most attractive.

 A little fire would actually make it interesting to have a fling with her.

 Plucking two glasses from the waiter, Yennefer looked over the rim as she drank, taking in the other employees. It was a small miracle Isetradd had left the company before their holiday party; despite everything that had happened between them, he’d probably make a pass. Depending on how drunk she got, she’d probably say yes. If there was one useful thing about the time of the year, it was that it made it all the easier for her to find some mindless entertainment, to slip in and out of beds without anyone caring.

 Caring.

 For a moment, she thought of a certain silver-haired man and she bit her lip. It had been years. More than that, it had been another petty attack on her mother—sleeping with Tissaia’s temporary bodyguard, was a scandal in the making. Even if only to Tissaia’s eyes.

 She hadn’t expected him to get attached.

 She hadn’t expected herself to be tempted.

 Shaking herself out her thoughts, Yennefer gulped her remaining champagne and headed to the open bar. It had been years; she didn’t understand why he lingered in her thoughts, but this sentimental feeling was a hindrance.

 “Whisky,” she ordered, slipping onto one of the bar stools. “On the rocks.”

 Yennefer was not nearly drunk enough to deal with this tonight.

 -x-

 Geralt could not for the life of him explain exactly how he’d ended up walking through downtown New York with Jaskier in the evening. It was mid-December. It was really cold. It was a weekday.

 “Why am I here?” he asked aloud, glaring at his shorter companion.

 Jaskier grinned, patting him on the back. “Look, I brought up some painful memories, right? Well, what better way to fix that than by helping you make some new, better ones?”

 “That’s a stupid reason.” Geralt turned around. Ciri was definitely not doing her homework right now, probably ordering takeout, and most likely needed his watchful eye.

 “Wait, wait, wait, it’s not!” Jaskier quickly jumped in front of him, pressing his hands on his chest in an extremely futile attempt to get him to stop. They both knew exactly how much Geralt outclassed him in strength, just like they both knew the only reason Geralt had stopped was because he wanted to. “It’s a really good reason.”

 “How?” Geralt knew he’d regret asking this, just like he regretted asking Jaskier anything, really. Somehow, the guy had a silver tongue and a penchant for getting what he wanted, and either Geralt lost time listening to him or ended up agreeing to something he definitely didn’t want.

 Jaskier’s smile grew wider as he gently turned Geralt around and continued to steer him down the street. “Look, you’re still hung up on her—don’t lie to me. I told you she was bad news, you didn’t listen, and this is where it got you. Even Ciri’s worried. You don’t want her to worry, right? You want to show her you’re fine, right?”

 “…is she really that worried?” Geralt muttered, unable to refute it. He wasn’t ‘hung up’ on Yennefer, but he couldn’t deny that he still felt bound to her somehow.

 Jaskier perked up and nodded quickly. “I mean, she wants you to be happy, and you’re kinda mopey and grumpy,” Geralt glared and he hastily amended, “not that it’s a bad thing, we love that part of your, but…you know…it’d be good to know that’s just because you’re you, and not because of some bi—”

 “Where are we going?” Geralt asked, interrupting before Jaskier could go on yet another rant.

 “Every club.” Jaskier gestured at the brightly lit street ahead of them.

 “Every club?” Geralt repeated slowly, not liking the sound of it.

 “Every single one. You’re going home drunk, with someone, or hopefully a combo of the two.” Jaskier pumped his fist, looking determined for once in his life. Why that energy never transferred to his actual work, Geralt never knew.

 “I’m going home tired,” he grumbled, but followed anyway.

 As usual, Jaskier knew every party in town. He had always been the more social one between them, with all the good and bad it came with. For every three people he flirted with, a fourth and fifth were ready to pummel him to death. Deservedly so, Geralt was certain, but if they wanted to kill Jaskier, they’d have to do it out of his sight at least. He needed plausible deniability for when Ciri asked.

 And as expected, Geralt felt very tired by the time they’d hit the fifth one. The parties were as different as can be, from well-dressed elites sipping cocktails to raves better suited for university students, but either way, mostly filled with boring, annoying people that he would rather never see again. Every time Jaskier sensed his patience had hit its limit, he’d drag Geralt off to the next party.

 “How are there so many parties?” Geralt muttered as they entered some ostentatious hotel. The décor was meant to replicate grandeur but felt over-the-top and tacky to him.

 “Christmas!” Jaskier explained, still as cheerful as though it were their first party, and not the nth one. “Every company’s cramming them in this week which is perfect for gate crashers like us.”

 Geralt raised a brow. “Don’t they have security or id?”

 Jaskier shrugged as he led him into the ballroom. “Probably. Now, come on. We’ve been at it all night, and you’re barely buzzed.”

 “You keep dragging us out before I can drink,” Geralt pointed out.

 “No worries here—open bar.” Jaskier grinned, all teeth. “Perfect place to drown your sorrows.”

 “I don’t have any,” he retorted immediately.

 Jaskier shrugged it off. “Sure, sure. You go drink in joy then, and I’m going to take a look at who’s here. See you in ten!”

 Without waiting for a response, he firmly pushed Geralt toward the back and then disappeared. Geralt clicked his teeth but made his way forward. As usual, people stopped and stared at him, though they tried to do it as politely as possible. With his heavy build and long white hair, he knew he was an unusual sight for many.

 “Oh? Look who it is.”

 But not for all. He froze at the familiar sultry voice. Seated at the bar, sipping whisky, was Yennefer. As usual, she looked stunning, her black cocktail dress clinging to her like a second skin. The light flush on her neck and cheeks gave away how drunk she was, though her eyes were as intelligent as ever.

 “Yennefer,” he muttered, reluctantly approaching her. It was only now, only here, that he could privately admit what Jaskier and Ciri had said:

 He was hung up on her.

 He had always been too slow, too simple for the city, and so when he’d gotten caught up in the whirlwind that was Yennefer, he hadn’t realized that what was true for him hadn’t been true for her. That his feelings were only one-sided.

 That to her it was just a game.

 Even this meeting was just another game.

 Yennefer patted the seat next to her. “You should sit.”

 It was like nothing had happened. Steeling himself, he shook his head and stood. “I’ll have a Moscow Mule.”

 The bartender nodded, already pulling out a glass.

 Yennefer wrinkled her nose. “Vodka. Again. You never change, do you?”

 “I try not to,” he muttered, unable to stop himself. She’d always been good at drawing him into a conversation.

 “Still at the…” Yennefer paused, her nose scrunching as she tried to think of the word. “handy-man things?”

 She was definitely drunk. He tried not to care. “Yes.”

 “One-word answers—I told you to fix that.” Yennefer took another sip of her drink. Lifting the glass, she admired the light filtering through the dark brown liquid. “You haven’t learned to talk—business isn’t going to expand that way, you know.”

 “It doesn’t need to.” Geralt shrugged as he got his glass. The ice clinked as he drank. “I’m good.”

 Yennefer snorted. “You mean barely making it.”

 “Everyone’s barely making it, compared to you,” he growled. She always had a way of getting under his skin. “There are other things.”

 “And what do you know of those ‘other’ things?” Yennefer laughed, her red lips curving into a contemptuous smirk. “You’ve hidden in your shell for years.”

 She wasn’t wrong. He’d lived that way for years. Geralt stared at his reflection in his drink. “Not anymore.”

 She raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “So you have changed.”

 “Yeah. And you haven’t.” He was already tired of the conversation. Picking up his glass, he turned to go when a delicate hand wrapped around his tie. He stared at her perfectly manicured nails before she yanked hard, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to hers. “Yennefer,” he breathed, unable to pull back.

 “Why are you still so goddamn attractive?” Yennefer mused. This close, he could smell the alcohol on her breath, and below it the faint scent of her flowery perfume.

 “I…”

 “It’s unfair,” she murmured, so close now her lips brushed his as she spoke. Suddenly, she slumped on his chest and Geralt froze.

 “Huh?” Panicked, he grabbed her shoulders, lifting her head. Her slow breathing, slightly parted lips, and closed eyes explained everything: she was fast asleep.

 “Had a feeling,” sighed the bartender. “She’d drank too much.”

 Geralt looked at him, panicked. “Where should I put her?”

 He shrugged. “You could ask for a room here, if there’s any still available. Either way, when the party’s over, she has to go.”

 Her shoulders were still too small and fragile, and he held her carefully as he quickly scanned the room. If anyone else here knew or cared about her, they didn’t act like it. Almost no one looked at him, too focused on their conversations.

 “Still no friends,” he muttered. “And I’m the one avoiding people?”

 -x-

 Yennefer woke to a pounding head and a parched mouth. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so hammered last night; it was a company party, after all. She had to keep some decorum.

 Yennefer frowned. Company party. Drinking.

 Just when had she gotten home? How? Actually, now that she thought about it, her bed felt oddly hard and the smell…

 Husky, a bit wild, and—

 She knew that smell.

 Yennefer opened her eyes, staring at the vaguely familiar ceiling. It had been years since she’d slept here and suddenly last night came rushing to her. Geralt had been at the bar. Geralt of all people. Quickly, she patted herself, checking that her clothes were still on. Even though she’d made the stupid mistake of going home with him, she certainly hadn’t made the stupider mistake of sleeping with him.

 There was enough complication in her life without adding him back to the mix. Sitting up, she rubbed her head. As usual, the big lug had deposited her on his bed, no doubt sleeping on the couch or something instead.

 “You’re awake!” Yennefer snapped her head to the door, where a young blonde girl eyed her curiously. The girl bounced on her feet slightly. “You’re Yennefer, right?”

 She raised a brow. This was Geralt’s place, right? “And you’re?”

 “Ciri.” The girl grinned before spinning around. “Geralt! She’s awake!”

 Yennefer groaned and lay back down. Either he was married, widowed, or adopting rugrats all over the place. Either way, she wasn’t ready for any of this. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could pretend nothing happened.

 Yeah.  That’s what she’d do.

 “Yennefer?”

 She grumpily opened her eyes and saw him at the door.

 Well, at least she’d gotten one thing right yesterday. Damn, he’d aged well.

#geralt #the witcher #yennefer #jaskier #gennefer #yenralt #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #fanfic #WHAT IS THE SHIP NAME GUYS #come on the other one is just single one to remember #and i don't know what to tag for this aside from everything #geralt x yennefer #anyways #i laugh at how I post this before i post my other witcher fic

[gayregis]

Do you like Regis' design in tw3 ? Have any actor headcanons who could play him in twn ?

omg no i hate him 😭😭 im so glad you asked though

here’s a quick rundown of the specific things i hate about regis’s design by cdpr:

the biggest issues to me are the following: ( and @ everyone reading... don’t try and excuse any of these with “but he was recovering from regeneration / healing / he was tired / stressed / upset” because cdpr could have just written a better plotline then):

he doesn’t smile very much in b&w. like... very much at all. and in the books, every time he is mentioned, he smiles with pursed lips, as is his custom. he kind of has this air of being amused by geralt in bof, smiling with pursed lips and then proceeds to be a true friend to him in tos and lotl, smiling with teeth on occassion. i consider this to be part of his character design because for characters like dandelion and regis, their smile is just an essential part of their visual description as a character.

the hairline..... i hate this count olaf pennywise motherfucker. cdpr tries to make their main characters look insanely different from every npc and that, to me, is not good character design. they should design for how the character is described and how the character feels, what visual elements do they think embodies the character. 

regis should not stand out. the entire point of him is that he looks just like a regular normal human guy. for this reason, the claws and teeth annoy me (not to mention regis is described as having just regular fangs and not all pointed teeth, not to even breach the topic of his having all pointed teeth the same shape/length would be difficult for animals to live with, look at the skulls of mammalian apex predators and you will find variation in their teeth).

where is his apron. it’s almost akin to twn removing jaskier’s plum bonnet with an egret/heron feather. it not only symbolizes his profession as a surgeon, but also his domestic qualities and general approachableness. it makes him look kinder, imo. he may heal you or he may bake you bread... either works

where is his cloak. a nice black cape i think is ESSENTIAL for a powerful vampire to have.

he wears some fancy and expensive-looking items. doctors in medieval times were not treated like they are today, regis is not living on a $150,000K+ annual salary, and nor do i think he wants to... he is a humble and sincere man, he spends 1/3 of his year living in the wildnerness. he wouldn’t care so much about fancy clothes unless the occassion called for it, like in beauclair, and then he would wear a nice fancy black velvet jacket that makes him look like a vampire. i think just giving him a simple black coat would suffice, maybe a linen shirt instead of a highly embroidered and decorated one. one key element about regis is that even though he tends to lecture, he never intends to make others feel inferior to him, i feel his outfit in b&w represents someone who is formal and would use their status to demean others... 

fingerless gloves. i like the fingerless gloves but they are incredibly impractical for a medic to wear... i think just no gloves would suffice (in bof, regis asks geralt to hurriedly pour a solution over his hands so he can perform surgery immediately, i feel that having to take off your gloves would waste valuable time.

regis should look kind, humble, run-of-the-mill skinny guy chilling in a cemetery at midnight, approachable, yet also a little ... off? it’s in the way he smiles maybe, hiding something... 

also (god im so negative, anon i sincerely apologize because you came here just asking questions and im like NO >:( I HAVE HATE IN MY HEART, i want to reiterate that i really appreciate this question because i love talking about the subject of character designs, the books vs the games, and regis as well) but also, i do hate twn, and i hope they skip him entirely or bastardize him so hard that there will be no resemblance and that no one in the fandom will ever care about him, because his character in the books has so much nuance and twn could never. 

i don’t really... have fancasts... because i don’t watch very many movies or tv shows... (also because i don’t think live action is the way to adapt the witcher!! we need a 2D animated series in a very beautiful unique style that becomes a cult classic!!!!) but as a joke one time i proposed jeff goldblum bc of the way he speaks and acts and also since he’s tall, skinny, and salt-n-pepper-y, and i had a good laugh, and then i started to consider and was like hm ok actually yeah sure why not. but i don’t really know him as an individual, and i think he did some shit, or was involved in a scandal, as all actors in hollywood do... 

tbh im not horribly picky when it comes to casting because i feel like acting and writing is more important than casting. but they should you know also fit the description of the character. im still kinda bitter about jaskier and yennefer’s hair in twn, and twn also requiring cavill to beef up for the role of geralt even though geralt in the books literally starves nightly... ok lol... but yeah as long as the actor is some middle aged skinny (tall, thats my headcanon) guy with salt and pepper/greying hair, preferably a long haircut, no beard but maybe stubbly, and has dark eyes and kind of a pretty face, a little bit angular but not sharp features, and sincere kindness in the eyes, then i’m good i don’t really care much about casts... just act good please....

#regis #tw3 #the witcher netflix #anon #ask

[royal-shinigami]

Dark Secrets (4/?)

The Witcher and Game of Thrones Crossover

 Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Witcher Reader x Ellaria Sand

 Warnings: Some Language, Fighting, Blood

 Word Count: 1.8K

 You stood off to the side as Joffrey and Margaery said their vows to each other. Cerci gave you more feminine clothes the night before much to your dismay. She insisted you would look more approachable. Having to resist taking your sword and beheading her for that you took it and gave a monotone thanks as Cerci walked out the room. You felt odd in the corset like leather armor top, long black pants, leather boots, and your hooded cloak and sword on your back. It felt different from the normal armor you wear. As you stood there barley listening to the ceremony you looked over to where the prince and his paramour sat. They both looked bored and willing to leave. You thought both looked breathtaking even though you would not admit it out loud.

 Suddenly being brought out of your thoughts due to the loud clapping and everyone standing. The newly married couple walked out of the iron throne room with the Lannister family then you follow behind. While walking out you looked over to Oberyn and Ellaria. Oberyn smirked and winked at you while Ellaria looked you up and down not bothering to hide that she was checking you out.

 You were dismissed from walking near the king and queen after following them around their reception saying they will need you later for a surprise. You did not pay much mind even though the last surprise you got at a highborn wedding was the law of surprise no thanks to you brother. Continuing walking there was entertainment and tables full of food scattered everywhere.

 As you walked you came across women from the brothel you were at days ago nearly or completely naked twisting their bodies like acrobats. It did not phase you as you saw Oberyn and Ellaria watching the women.

 “Glad to have finally found you,” you heard from behind you.

 You turned and what you saw made your eyes widen.

 Jaskier stood there a big smile on his face carrying his lute.

 “How are you here?” you asked.

 “Long story so I decided to visit the brothel while you and Geralt were hunting the Striga. The women were amazing,” you cut him off, “Get to the fucking point.”

 “I feel asleep exhausted in the middle of the night then woke up in this place somehow. Geralt’s probably pissed since you are missing as well.” He explained.

 “Yeah and the only way we will most likely get back is if Geralt decides to speak with Yennefer.” You said with disgust not wanting to think of the sorceress.

 “Don’t tell me your part of the entertainment?” knowing Jaskier wouldn’t pass the opportunity of being paid to sing his songs about you and Geralt.

 “Yes I am actually (Y/N) they love my singing.” Jaskier said.

 “They must be tone deaf then,” you smirked hearing the bard gasp, “You need a nap!” he said defensively.

 Jaskier looked behind you seeing two people staring at you and him curiously.

 “Do you know them (Y/N)?”

 You looked over your shoulder knowing who he is talking about then back at him.

 “Yes, I have got along with them. They are amongst the very few sane people in this place.”

 Seeing a grin show up on Jaskier’s face you knew what was coming.

 “Don’t Jaskier,” you growled warning him even though it didn’t do much, “I will make you hunt another Djinn when we get back if you do.”

 “What was that can’t hear you!” he said as he made his way toward Oberyn and Ellaria.

 Sighing you follow him.

 “Hello, I am Jaskier and a friend of (Y/N)”

 “Nice meeting you I’m Prince Oberyn and this is Ellaria my paramour.”

 “Paramour interesting so is (Y/N) part of that as well since she seems to actually take a liking to someone well two someone’s.” With a questioning look on the bard’s face while knowingly embarrassing you.

 “I would not mind having her around for more than friendly company,” Ellaria said walking over and caressing your cheek as she speaks.

 “Yes, it would be exciting to have her around more,” Oberyn replied looking over at your face that started to heat up from the sudden attention.

  Jaskier was biting his lip to keep from laughing never seeing you in this state. He knew you and Geralt had emotions but not to the extent of wanting to be with someone. Geralt may have been with Yennefer but that was not actual feelings he was under a spell while you are not. It made him happy you were falling for people that actually seemed to care but also didn’t care you were a Witcher.

 “Would you like to be with us flower?” Oberyn asked hoping the answer would be yes.

 You went to answer but you were quickly interrupted by Tywin walking up to all of you.

 “It is time for the reception to start if you would follow me (Y/N) you will be standing behind where the king and queen sit.” Tywin explains as he walks off.

 You sigh and look at Oberyn and Ellaria, “I will answer later,” then turning around and following Tywin.

 Jaskier looked at the lovers, “If it’s any help she doesn’t really like the company of anyone but does take an interest in you both that I have never seen before.”

 Ellaria gives a smile as she looks at Jaskier, “Good to know,” she then walks off with the prince.

 You walked up the platform that held a long table with plenty of chairs for the Lannister family. A canopy sat over blocking out the sun and the table has food and wine sitting on top. You made your way over to where Joffrey and Margaery sat and stood there not bothering to interact. Joffrey noticed you behind him and gave you a look that seemed suspicious like he was planning something. Being a Witcher it was easy to tell how unstable this kid was considering his mother seems to be rid of emotions as well.

 The king’s fool was juggling fruit and after a few seconds dropped the fruit on the ground. Joffrey stood up and pointed to the fool.

 “A golden dragon to anyone that can knock my fool’s hat off!” he yelled as fruit was thrown at the poor man as he ran off while most people were laughing.

 You looked over and see Tywin and Cerci talking to Oberyn and Ellaria. As they continued to talk the smile on Ellaria’s face disappeared after Cerci said something to her. Oberyn did not seem pleased about it either considering he stopped eating the berries next to him to stare at her. Feeling your own anger rising and need to kill the former queen and her father for having no empathy for anyone. Oberyn did start to speak back and the more he spoke the less Cerci and Tywin opened their mouths which calmed you down a bit.

 Joffrey stood again and yelled, “Everyone silence! Clear the floor! There has been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My lords,” The giant lion head of to the side opened it’s mouth, “My ladies,” A red and gold carpet rolled out and men as short as Tyrion riding fake animals or people ran out one by one as Joffrey called out names.

 They started to fight like children act like they were doing some sort of play. It was honestly ridiculous, and it seemed to piss off Tyrion and the red head sitting next to him. It did not go well with most in the crowd either.

 After Joffrey spoke to his uncle making fun of him talking about how he could not fight. Tyrion telling him to fight to show what a true king he actually was and making a fool out of him which was pretty entertaining.

 Joffrey ignored him soon after and then turned to you and smirked then back at the crowd, “We do have something else for all of you today! My new appointed knight (Y/N) is going to be fighting some of my best men. Her fighting skills surpassing the hound’s so it should not be hard,” turning to you, “Otherwise they will be cleaning up your blood and guts off the ground.”

 You glared at the boy but did not argue as you walked off the platform and stood in front of the table. Eight knights walked out with four on each side. You looked over at the crowd while taking out your sword seeing a lot of them not wanting to deal with this anymore and then there was Oberyn. if looks could kill you thought then the royal family would feel like they are in hell being killed repeatedly. Turning back to the Lannister’s the word begin was yelled and the soldiers ran toward you.

 With you heightened senses the first one that came close trying to knock you over but you grabbed his arm and flung him toward two of the other men knocking them down. You swiftly turned while swinging your sword sensing one behind you and sliced his head off. Stepping back as another ran toward you and then kicked him in the back of his knees and plunged the sword in the back of his head bringing the sword up and splitting it in two. Turning to the left and one was there with another you ducked as their swords came at you and sliced their stomachs open disemboweling them. You continued taking out the rest not taking much time at all killing them.

 Once it was over you were caked in blood and surrounded by bodies. Pulling out a cloth and cleaning your sword and putting it back in the hilt and looking at the royal family with a murderous look.

 Everyone around you was shocked at your capabilities as a woman who could easily kill multiple men at once. Oberyn and Ellaria being shocked as well but also intrigued with your skills making them want you more.

 “Anything else?” you said with sarcasm toward the king.

 You walked off to the side not wanting to be next to him. Everything was getting cleaned up then a giant pie was rolled in and cut open then pigeons flew out of it. All of a sudden you heard choking and looked over seeing Joffrey holding his neck and seeing blood start to pour from his eyes, nose, and mouth as his face turned purple. He fell to the ground in front of the pie as Cerci ran toward him crying and screaming. Joffrey then pointed at Tyrion as he stopped bleeding as if saying he killed him.

 This is turning out to be a really confusing and fucked up day.

#oberyn x reader x ellaria #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #crossover fanfiction #witcher reader insert

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

For the Two Part Drabble game, how about 15 - Someone is jealous/hurt, and 19 - “What? No, I never said that…” for Geralt and Jaskier? You write them very well. :)

"What? Geralt!" The bard stamped his foot. "I never said that!" Absolutely infuriated at how determined Geralt was to misunderstand him, he would have hit the witcher if it would have helped.

Nonplussed, Geralt looked up at the stars from his bedroll. "Actually, if I recall, that's exactly what you said," he reproved his friend mildly. "You said, did you not, that it was 'fit for a witcher and not much else's?"

"Fine, that's what I said but not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean? Or is this meant to be another of those conversations where you intend to tell me my utter stupidity means I can't understand? Or that my soul lacks poetry, and thus, I can't understand?"

"Geralt," Jaskier said softly, feeling guilty. "I... I suppose I have said all those things, haven't I? And you've stood by me in spite of it. I'm sorry."

"Hmm," Geralt had heard apologies before. No one ever really meant them. "It's in your nature," he said by way of granting forgiveness. Not that he had. He was still deeply hurt.

"It's a stupid turn of phrase. One I won't use again. And I suppose I should stop acting like you're less than just because you haven't gone to Oxenfurt. I'm sure I'll slip up, but you're usually quite capable of calling me on it. I shan't expect you to stop now."

"You don't listen when I do," Geralt told him guardedly. He had never once had the upper hand in one of these arguments before and he had no intention of letting himself lose the advantage.

"I have been remiss," Jaskier said softly, watching the witcher's eyes widen in surprise. The way his lips parted slightly, shock painting his features in the firelight. "You are one of my truest friends and I often forget how easy it is to hurt the ones you love."

"I'm a witcher, Jaskier, you'll find I'm not easy to hurt."

"Not physically, no." Now that the fight was over Jaskier shifted from his seat across the fire and sat next to Geralt. The witcher rolled slightly onto his side, presenting the bard with most of his back. Rather than allow Geralt to shut him out he gently ran a hand from the top of Geralt's spine down to his waist. He used smooth even strokes, and smiled when Geralt rolled onto his stomach to make it easier. Jaskier shifted closer, and used both hands to run the heels of his palms up either side of Geralt's spine and dragged his fingertips back down. "Words cut you far worse than any sword, don't they?"

Geralt tensed, twisting back just enough to glare. "Words can't hurt anyone."

"You know that's not true," Jaskier pressed gently. He worked his hands up to Geralt's shoulders again, finding the same knots he always did, and began to dig into the taut muscles. "Plenty of people live and die by the words of others. Words hold all kinds of power. You know that as well as anyone. My point is, I know it well and yet can be utterly thoughtless when I speak. I will endeavour to hurt you less."

Geralt grunted in discomfort when the bard found an especially sensitive spot and Jaskier backed off of it to massage the surrounding muscle instead.

"Why?" Geralt asked after a while, glad his face was turned into his bedding.

"Why what?"

"Why care about my feelings all of a sudden? Not that witchers have -"

"Feelings?" Jaskier interrupted. "Yes you do. You're the only one who seems to think differently. I haven't met anyone else who thinks they're gone. But to answer your question... It's because I love you. And I find I do a poor job showing it, at times."

Geralt went rigid under his hands. "You willingly spend time with me. Touch me without fear," he swallowed hard. "That's more than I could have ever expected." That's plenty. Jaskier doesn't need to try and speak kindly to him like he's a child.

"About the touching... We... I... I would like to do more than touch your back. If you would allow it. Enjoy it. Actually. I would.... Yes, I would like to do more than follow around behind you. I think I haven't misread the signs. Although you are notoriously difficult to read, so I suppose I could have made a mistake-"

Geralt sat up and put a hand over Jaskier's mouth, overwhelmed by the words and needing them to stop. But he hadn't felt telling the poet to shut up was going to work the way he wanted it to, but his mind was blank of anything kinder. Jaskier stopped speaking and watched him, and Geralt let his hand drop away in embarrassment.

"I...." His voice came out in a hoarse croak and then he nodded, unable to speak. The bard just stared in confusion and so Geralt reached up and cupped his cheek before barely ghosting a kiss over his lips.

Jaskier's heart began to hammer in his chest as he realized what Geralt was trying to tell him. He leaned in carefully, determined for once, to go slow, and kissed Geralt gently. When the witcher melted into him, he knew he'd made the right choice.

(sorry I couldn't put a read more on mobile :( )

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geralt z rivii #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #spidergirlsfic

[beastlywritings]

CH 2

Pairing: Eskel/OC (Lae’elan) AFAB NB (but gender doesn’t come into it until later)

Summary: After having a rough night of ignoring desire, Eskel is convinced to let Lae’elan tag along. She shows she’s worth the pains and adorable to boot. 

Rating for this chapter: PG-13 for sexual innuendo and suggested sexual acts, as well as talk of masturbation TW (this chapter): manipulation, self consciousness about scars and appearance,  eating fish raw, sexual thoughts of another person and feeling icky about it, masturbation mention, cruel self-talk, gratuitous use of italics for thoughts

AN: betaed only for grammar and spelling, but not content. If you wanna gimme some concrit, I’d be grateful; this is my first time posting fic in years and I’m rusty as hell. Hold on to your pants, kids, this whole fic is gonna be a saga. Also I know Lan is a mary-sue. I’m well aware. Deal with it. She’s bits and pieces of me and my ideal self. 

Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Eye ones were custom, swirls were premade. Go visit them! Awesome work. 

Eskel brought himself back to the world an hour before sunrise proper. The urge to just run and avoid the shapeshifter flitted through his mind as he looked across the banked firepit at her sleeping, thankfully humanoid, form. He shook the thought away, running a hand through his hair. No, she’d been nothing but kind and good conversation; she deserved a good-bye at the very least. 

Don’t run from a good thing like Wolf did, he scolded himself. She wanted to stay with him. Why, he had no clue. Surely he wasn’t that good of a conversation partner, he reiterated his thoughts from the night before. 

Leaving the clearing and walking a few paces, Eskel moved behind a bush to relieve himself. He considered how quickly he was adapting to having a campmate that was not one of his brothers. He’d immediately offered to hunt for her, had done his best to entertain her, and now he was not only leaving the clearing to piss, but also hiding himself from her potential gaze to preserve modesty while he had his dick out. It had been shockingly easy. He remembered Geralt complaining at how annoying it had been to get accustomed to camping with Jaskier. 

Don’t get used to it. She’ll leave you soon enough. Her proposal. What was he going to say? She’ll want an answer soon as she wakes, no doubt. What could she possibly want tagging along. Must have some ulterior motive.

But what if she doesn’t? What if she only wants some companionship like she says? What then? Do I want someone trailing along beside me? He made his way back, head more full of questions than when he left. 

Rummaging through the saddlebags slung over a hefty branch to find the jerky he’d stashed, he considered his next move. 

Last night was nice, he conceded, breaking his fast. He watched her for a minute, her breaths even and the rise and fall of her chest calming. I’ll ask what she’s after. Besides, she’s not like Jaskier; can probably hold her own, protect herself. He realized he’d just argued in her favor. Wiping a hand down his face, he wondered if this was how Geralt had felt like in Dol Blathanna all those years ago. 

A rustle, and an uptick in heart rate and breathing. Eskel would get his answers soon enough; Lae’elan was waking. 

She roused with a large yawn, not bothering to cover her mouth with its curling tongue and sharp teeth. Blearily, she noticed Eskel looking at her, arms crossed as he stood leant against a tree. 

“Mornin’ Eskel,” she smiled, rubbing her eyes before shaking her head like a dog. Her long ears made a plap plap plap noise as they bent and slapped against her head. She looked much more alert now. 

“Mmmm there, that’s more like it,” she said, getting to her feet, “So did you think about my offer?” she asked, stretching out her back with arms over her head. Eskel watched her and hummed. 

“And your answer?” she asked, rolling her eyes fondly. 

“What do you want tagging along with a witcher?” She sighed at his question as he eyed her suspiciously. 

“I come out of nature every so often, typically for a single day to get my fill of actual conversation. Normally,” she said, taking a few steps towards him and crossing her own arms, “I’m stuck talking to closed-minded humans about mundane shit and politics,” she winced at the word with obvious distaste, “Normally, I have to hide what I am. Normally, I’m sick of humanity after just a few hours and I fuck back off to wander the woods as a creature. You, Eskel, you’re interesting, I can be myself, and, most of all, you’re kind,” she finished, shrugging. He narrowed his eyes further. 

“Look, I’m not saying I want to stick to you forever like your brother’s bard; I’ll get sick of having hands and human niceties just as I always do,” She wiggled her fingers for emphasis. Eskel couldn’t stop the snort that escaped at that. “I’m just intrigued that I don’t find myself sick of them yet. That hasn’t happened in quite some time,”

“You know travelling with me would be dangerous. I don’t skate around the monsters; I head straight for them. And you’d be expected to pull your weight.” She laughed, tilting her head back. 

“Monsters don’t scare me, witcher. I’m sure I’ve likely killed almost as many as you and without getting paid. And it would be no more dangerous than my normal existence,” she chuckled, coming closer again. She noted that Eskel straightened up a bit. “And like last night, I wouldn’t dream of mooching. You’d be surprised at how much I can do for you. I’m a shite cook, but I can hunt bigger game much easier than you in a quarter of the time, and find roughage on top of that. Could keep you well fed. I can mend and embroider passably if you supply materials. I can keep watch if needs be, act as a nursemaid if you get hurt, and hell, if you wanted a break I could probably either help with big hunts or just outright do your small contracts for you. You can even keep the coin; I’ve no need for it, that’s for sure,” she finished, making sure to leave out the option of being his bedwarmer as well. She didn’t want to push too much after last night. 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Eskel pushed himself off the tree, “Means it most likely is. What’s in it for you?” he jutted his chin out at her. 

“Companionship from the first interesting person I’ve met in years, a little extra adventure…” she said. Eventually the information I’ve been searching for my whole life over, she thought. Ah fuck, she couldn’t help it. “And honestly, there are a few other benefits,” she smirked, eyeing him up and down. She hoped that the flirting covered up the lurch in her heart beat. “What can I say, you’re eye candy, and I don’t deny myself looking at pretty things,” she hummed. His nostrils flared, but not in anger. He was scenting her. She knew herself well enough to know he smelled the faint traces of lust coming off her. She was banking on it. He looked conflicted. Fuck, too far? she questioned herself.

“You keep… What’s so--” he grunted, frustrated with himself, with his difficulty voicing his thoughts. “Fine,” he sighed, “You can come with me, but I warn you, I bump elbows with humans quite often. Towns and cities alike.” He looked her up and down, still trying to figure her out, assessing her. 

“And at those junctures you’ll either be rid of me, or I can keep your horse company in the stable. I make a fine barn cat,” she smiled, approaching the big black warhorse. 

“Wait! He--” Eskel put out a hand to stop her, but she held her own towards Scorpion and he came sedately to her hand to be pet. Eskel was shocked. He barely let stableboys pet him after taking care of him for a few days. Lae’elan chuckled. 

“Another thing about me?” she said, petting down the stallion’s face, “Is that all animals love me.” Scorpion snorted, demanding more nose pets. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Eskel’s head tilt and his brows pull together, confused and bewildered. It was clear he’d been expecting a violent reaction.

“He-- He never-- He hates being pet by strangers. Can’t count how many times he’s bit stableboys,” he muttered. 

“With me, you’ll never be bothered by another wolf pack, bull moose, or rutting elk again,” she hummed, continuing her petting session but looking straight at Eskel. 

“Can you…”

“Talk to them? In a manner of speaking. I more… mentally order and they either acquiesce or get ornery before eventually giving in. Some creatures are more… suggestable,” she sighed, trying to collect thoughts in a sensical manner, “If you mean actually having a conversation.... Most animals communicate with body language. If I have the same body, I can speak their own tongue directly at them, easy. In a humanoid form, less so. I can alter my vocal chords for certain things that have more vocal elements of communication, like that crow last night, and for howling to wolves, and a few others. I sat my ass down and learned the vocal parts of the language fully for those.” Scorpion nipped at her hair and tugged and she laughed brightly. 

“Cheeky!” she hummed, petting him, “I think someone’s ready to go if you are.” She blew a raspberry at the horse and he knocked her with his massive head. She even allowed herself to be moved. 

At that, Eskel began loading up his horse, shaking his head in disbelievement. 

“So,” she began, “Where to?” They’d been on the road, walking in relative silence for a bit. Eskel eyed her paws from where he sat astride Scorpion.

“Nowhere in particular. Next town’s a few days away; check the notice board there,” He glanced down again. She was still very much not human. 

“You’re staring. Don’t worry, I’ll change as soon as I hear anyone coming,” she smiled up at him, “You don’t need to worry about me. No one’s caught me in decades. I’m careful,”

“Hence the stalking me for a day,” he joked, smiling. It wasn’t particularly comforting that she had been caught, period, but he supposed he was careful and had gotten ambushed all the same in the past.

“There’s your sense of humor! Knew you had one!” She kidded. Eskel smiled a tiny bit more at her jabbing back. “But yes, I’d rather not get hunted down and caged for a menagerie or a mage’s whims, so caution is my code.” His small smile made Lae’elan’s even brighter. She couldn’t help it; it was such a cute smile, and a good look on him. 

Eskel was amazed at how well she kept up with him, walking alongside the horse. She never seemed to get out of breath or slow, keeping perfect pace, her paws propelling her along quickly. She was sweating a fair bit, but then again, he was sweating some as well despite not exerting himself.

And she was alert and adept as she led on, too. She’d put a hand on his leg in the stirrup suddenly and he watched as she shifted, the horns and ears melding into a human form, her eyes dulling to a whiskey brown. Her paws turned to normal human feet, the toes peeking out from under the dress when she walked from his perspective. Others would likely see her whole foot, the skirt landing at about ankle height. The sight was discomfiting, though he couldn’t place why exactly. 

“What--”

“People. A cart,” she said, under her breath. He listened, but didn’t hear anything; the place where she’d touched him felt like it was buzzing. He realized it had been the first time she’d touched him. A few seconds and he heard them, the humans on a cart, from around the bend. 

Her hearing is better than mine, he realized, surprised. She was silent, not looking in their direction, only straight ahead. The merchants scowled at him as they passed each other, Eskel steering his single horse closer to the shoulder. He knew they could both hear the slurs and spitting coming from the occupants. He watched her, and saw she didn’t react until they were past, and only then a hardening of the eyes. Once they were a few minutes behind them, and they made no signs of following them, Lae’elan shifted back. Again, watching the change so closely made him uneasy, making his eyes ache as if he’d been staring at a book for hours.

“Try not to watch so much,” she suggested, catching him blink a few times, “Give you a headache if you watch too closely.”

At around noon, Eskel began to pull over into the trees at the side of the road. Dismounting, he asked,

“Don’t suppose those ears of yours hear water?” He couldn’t hear any himself. 

“Mmmm,” she hummed, listening for a second before pointing forward and to the right a bit. “Yep, not much, but there’s a trickle that-a-way,” Eskel looked a bit skeptically in the direction she pointed, and, focusing, he couldn’t hear the breathing or shifting of bandits, and so found no reason to doubt her. After a minute of leading Scorpion into the woods, he began hearing the sounds of water as well. 

They found it was a runoff from uphill, barely trickling down from a recent rain. Eskel was glad they’d filled canteens from the stream Lae’elan had found last night before they’d moved on, and that it wasn’t so hot that they’d drank much at all. The water was gritty with sandy dirt, but clean enough for the horse as he bent his head to drink. Eskel drank a bit, but elected to not waste time trying to refill the little space in his canteen. 

“Have to keep our ears out as we go along,” he grunted, standing. The shapeshifter was sipping, mouth to the water rather than using her hands, when the wind changed. Her head snapped up and a wide smile lit up her face. 

“What’s your opinion on raspberries?”

“Why?”

“You can’t smell ‘em?” she asked. He gave her a blank look. “Damn, alright, wait here. I’m gonna go get us some lunch,” she laughed, skipping off into the trees. 

Eskel laid back in the shade and watched the clouds, waiting. It couldn’t hurt; they were making good time. A few minutes later, he turned to the sound of twigs snapping and reached for his swords before stopping. He was getting to know her pleased giggle quite well, he realized as the shapeshifter broke through the cover of the trees. She was still in her base form, her dress pulled up to the length that would be mid-thigh level on a human to create a pouch. The pocket of fabric was heavy, laden with berries. Her fingers and lips, he noticed with a chuckle, were stained red and purple. He focused on that rather than the fact that he was rather close to seeing too much of her for his comfort. 

“Found some blackberries, too!” she said, sounding pleased as punch, “Here, help yourself! As you can see, I had a few already,” She hummed and plopped down next to him, thankfully obscuring her legs beneath the rest of her dress. 

“Quite a haul,” he noted, smiling as he took a handful of the black berries. Popping a few in his mouth, the tart-sweet taste burst on his tongue. They were warm from the sun. He hummed in enjoyment. 

“Raspberries are my favorite,” she admitted, shovelling a handful of the red fruit into her mouth and grinned, chewing, “Didn’t have breakfast like an idiot, so a roadsnack was overdue.”

“There’s no way you’re gonna eat all of those,” he shook his head, “You’ll make yourself sick,”

“You’d be surprised. Takes a lot to fill me completely. This,” she said, circling a finger around her hoard of fruit, “I can put away no problem.” She hoped he caught the double entendre. “I can eat half a deer in one sitting [i]easy.[/i] Both halves if I haven’t eaten in a day. But I did get a bunch of them for you, too. Wasn’t sure how much you could put away,” she shrugged, popping back another handful of mixed berries. Eskel was careful to take mostly blackberries, and found himself a little embarrassed at the realization he was leaving her favorites for her. 

They finished the berries, to Eskel’s surprise, and he found himself pleasantly more full than he normally would be, but not overfull. He’d eaten quite well in the past day. Maybe she is a good idea, afterall, he mused, looking down at his companion, who smiled up at him, one eye closed to the sun’s glare. Eskel felt his gut clench, pleased. Or maybe not. Taglist: @its--fandom--darling​

#Eskelxoc #Shifterverse #mywriting #the witcher #witcher fanfic #tw3ff #oc fanfic #witcher oc #Let! Es! Fuck! Monsters! #ch 2

[andyet-here-we-are]

Jaskier, Yennefer, and Ciri find out Geralt has never had a birthday party so they go out of their way to have steamers and balloons and game night, all the while Geralt is just emotionally constipated because he doesn't know what the fuck is going on.

(Also can be read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742986 )

"Keep him busy, and don't be here before the evening!" Jaskier says to Yennefer.

"How the hell am I supposed to keep him busy all day?!"

"You're a mage," the bard reasons and pushes her out of the door, "I'm sure you can find a way! Put a spell on him which will make him want to explore aaaall the pretty flowers and trees in nature till evening or something, I don't know! I know I'm the brain of this lovely team, and you all depend on me for every little thing, but even this extremely handsome and intelligent bard can't think of everything all the damn time!"

"... do you even hear yourself?" Yennefer rolls her eyes. "You're not the brain of this group. If anything, I'm not even sure if you have one."

"Rude. Oh wait a second, you didn't deny that I'm extremely-"

"Jaskier."

"Anyway! Less talk, more work. Out out out!"

***

Jaskier ends up making a birthday cake with Ciri. Okay okay, that's a lie, because it's more like Ciri just tells him to stay out of it, so he starts decorating the cottage while Ciri makes the cake –he nails it, thank you very much.- He gives her some ideas about the topping though, so he thinks he deserves some credit anyway.

Hours pass, and right when Jaskier thinks that Yennefer might have put his spell suggestion into practice–not that he is sure that it actually exists- they hear the sound of the key turning the lock, and he can’t help but swear. Because damn it, they were supposed to knock the door to give them some more time! But what they do instead? They step into the cottage like god damn savages.

Jaskier definitely doesn’t panic and nearly falls face-first on the ground while he runs to the basket which was filled with flowers, while Ciri manages to keep her chill.

“Happy birthday!” they cheer, and Geralt can’t fathom what is happening for a moment, even though it's pretty clear.

He is awestruck by the way the cottage is decorated: colorful streamers hanging everywhere, balloons covering the floor, various food dishes, and baked goods waiting for them on the table. Where did they even found streamers?

The Witcher doesn’t even know how to react.

It feels just so strange to him. All of it.

He is familiar with kikimoras, ghouls, basilisks and much more, he knows how to react when he sees one.

He knows what to do then.

But as he stands there while delicate flowers kept thrown over his head by the delicate hands of the most precious ones in his life, he just can’t react.

 

"What do you mean you never had a birthday party?!" he remembers Jaskier asking him nearly two months ago when he accidentally let it slip when his birthday was "...at all?" The bard’s face was coated in sadness.

"We don't have time for a birthday party. And it's irrelevant."

"Irrelevant, he says! YOU are irrelevant! We’re sooo gonna celebrate it!"

“Jaskier, no. We’re not going to do that.”

“Jaskier, yes! Just you wait, my dear Witcher.”

He had forgotten about it.

But apparently, Jaskier hadn’t.

 

Geralt isn’t the only one who is surprised. Because not only Jaskier and Ciri throw flowers over their heads while singing a Happy Birthday song, there is a banner that reads “Happy Birthday, Geralt and Yennefer!”

“It’s not even my birthday.” Yennefer states with a hard to read expression on her face. “I think I get it now.” She then looks at Ciri questioningly. “It was your idea, right?”

To her surprise, Ciri shakes her head and points the bard with her head.

“Let's just pretend it is!” Jaskier says. “I wasn't sure if you ever had a birthday party either, well, maybe you have, I don’t know. But!” he holds up his index finger, “ I’m sure it wasn’t anything as splendid as this since I wasn’t the one who-”

Ciri coughs, and Jaskier immediately corrects “We! I mean we, as in, me and my excellent, one and only dear assistant Ciri, weren’t the ones who organized that party. So I just thought... It seemed unfair that- not that I care or something, but-”

As much as is amusing to see the bard –who normally has his way with words- stumbling over his words- Yennefer prefers him to just shut his mouth at that moment.

So she does the only logical thing and gives him a very brief hug as a silent, but sincere thank you. She can swear that there’s the smallest hint of pink covering his cheeks afterward.

“I promise to you that your real, true-to-its- date birthday will be as good as this one. Happy birthday!” Jaskier says while Ciri is busy with giving Geralt a hug and wishing him a happy birthday.

As if he is saving hugging Geralt for later, Jaskier makes a beeline for his lute after telling them to have a seat. “Or don’t,” he adds “if you prefer to dance. Which I’m sure you will. So, I’ll start with the song I wrote for the confused mage over there.”

Jaskier’s song starts with “Once, lived a mage” which makes Yennefer frown.

"Once? Lived? I'm still here, you arsehole."

And includes lines such as:

"but don't make her upset!

Or else, you will, oooh, so regret

Yennefer of Vengerberg

is here with all the souls she has collected!"

“Only you could manage to warn people about not to make someone upset, and upset the said person the very next moment,” Yennefer rolls his eyes at the bard, who seems pretty proud of how his song turned out.

“What can I say? I'm a man of many talents.”

“Since when talking non-stop and giving people, hell, even monsters a headache count as a talent? For your information, I don't collect souls. What do you take me for? A demon?”

“Oh no honey, how can I? You’re worse than a demon. Demons are much easier to deal with. I’m sure that Geralt agrees with me. Right, Geralt?”

“I’d shut up if I were you, Jaskier.”

“Okay, maybe not so sure anymore. Yeah, of course you would shut up. That’s like, one of your personal traits. Not talking, as if someone made you take a vow of silence.”

“Hmm.”

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No song for me?” Geralt wonders.

"Well, I've written enough songs for you. I thought it was time for a little change."

"Hmm. Fair enough.”

Geralt nods like he was completely expecting that to happen, and even the idea of Geralt thinking Jaskier would stop writing songs about him eventually, breaks Jaskier's heart.

He set his lute aside, and walks behind his chair. "I could travel the whole world to find the gift you deserve, the perfect gift,” he says softly as he leans over the chair, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

“But what you deserve is the world we travel in, its better, flawless version where everything is beautiful, where minacious creatures that you have to deal with don't exist.”

Jaskier is almost sure that Geralt will tell him to shut up, but instead, what he does is putting one hand on his, and listening to him.

 So he keeps talking: “A world where the sun always shines and warms upon your face every morning, where flowers never wilt, and moon always sings its sweet lullaby to you every night.

You say I am the crazy one, yet you must be crazy to think that I'd ever stop composing songs for you and sing them. Of course I wrote a song for you. But the thing is...”

The bard leans in even closer, and the rest is whispered in a tone oh so sweet that honey would be ashamed of letting people call it sweet.

 “-it's only for your ears to hear. And my other, dare I say, gift is, only for your eyes to see. Anything you wish tonight, shall be yours. All yours. Happy birthday, my love."

Geralt can’t help but shiver ever so slightly.

“You know we can still hear you, right? There are children here.” Yennefer remarks a moment later –which Jaskier responds with: “Hush, jelly Witchy, you got your song!”

“I hope you're not referring to me. I'm not a child,” Ciri says with a little smirk. “Let my dads have their moment.”

“Yeah! Let her dads-”

Jaskier starts, but then almost chokes on his own spit in surprise once he realizes what Ciri had just said.

They all, even Geralt, laugh at his reaction.

Their evening goes absolutely perfectly; Jaskier plays his lute and sings the most lively, cheerful songs for them. Sometimes he sings them alone, sometimes Ciri sings along. And sometimes just Ciri sings as he strums his lute, making up notes and melodies on the spot.

They even play games, but then Jaskier gets on Yennefer’s nerves as usual while playing -she nearly starts a cake fight with him, fortunately, Ciri and Geralt prevent it- they eventually stop playing games.

Even though Geralt can’t say that he really understands why they care about his birthday that much –he just got one year older, so what? It’s not worth celebrating- he still appreciates everything they do.

***

“My sun already shines every morning. Actually... He even shines in the darkest nights.”

Geralt says after he covers Jaskier’s naked body with the blanket so he doesn’t get cold.

It has been a hot night, and also very sweet.

“And my little flower,” he whispers sweetly as he watches how Jaskier’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, running his fingers through his silky, and messy hair “he never wilts, no matter how harsh the winter is. No matter how mean and inconsiderate the stupid winter can be towards him sometimes.”

The peaceful expression on his bard’s face as he curls even closer into Geralt’s embrace makes the Witcher smile fondly.

 “And my moon,” he buries his nose in his boyfriend’s hair, breathing in his very unique, familiar and heavenly scent “already sings sweet lullabies to me every day. ”

He then lets out a content sigh, and closes his eyes after brushing his lips against Jaskier’s sweet lips, stealing a soft kiss from them.

Not aware of the now blushing cheeks of his bard.

“Sleep tight, little hummingbird of mine. Thank you for everything."

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #my writing #the witcher fanfiction #stuff I tried to write #sorry for my super late reply again :( #and for my mistakes #since English is not my first language there are probably many of them #also that was supposed to be about mostly Geralt but I couldn't help myself and made them celebrate Yennefer's birthday as well #it just happened *.*

[hamliet]

Girls Don’t Want Boys, Girls Want Monsters: Netflix’s The Witcher Review

Finally, the show we deserve. 

Men get all their superhero power fantasies of kicking villain ass. Finally there’s  a story that has that and includes women’s emotional power fantasies about falling in love with monsters who change. It doesn’t treat either as ridiculous or limited by gender, either, since Geralt falls for a monster too and women get to kick ass as well. 

Essentially, it’s a story about defeating monsters: often through integration with the shadow, sometimes involving love and connection, sometimes violence, but the violence is never glorified. It’s good. 

NB: I’m in the middle of reading the books (in the middle of Blood of Elves so far). I haven’t played the game since video games aren’t really a medium I enjoy. So I’ll make some comparisons since the show covered the two books I’ve read thus far, but please don’t put spoilers for the books below!

Let’s talk my favorite aspect of every story: characters. 

Renfri. 

Her story was somewhat sanitized from the books (it’s a lot more brutal what happened to Renfri) but well adapted. Both versions--the book and show--depict sincere empathy for our deconstructed Snow White. I loved her dialogue with Geralt, in which Geralt praises her for escaping the huntsman her stepmother hired to kill her, and she laughs and says that she didn’t. He let her go, but not before raping and robbing her. The story never directly answers if the prophecy was true or not; Geralt doesn’t believe it, but a lot of things Geralt doubts turn out to be true. Renfri was supposedly attacking animals as a child; however, the person reporting that is highly unlikely to be unbiased (Stregobor) so is this even true? Did Renfri become a killer because she was horribly abused and left with no other option? (That’s the option that I think seems most likely.) 

We can’t know. The Witcher isn’t interested in giving its audience palatable answers. It’s interested in provoking questions. The show gives more answers than do the books, again likely due to the medium, but it still lets these questions linger. 

Renfri’s story is not the first one in the books, but it is the first one the show adapts, and that’s a good decision imo. Her story embodies The Witcher’s themes and questions:

By acting the monster, we make monsters out of others. 

To defeat monsters, you must be a monster. 

What, then, can heal, especially in a world so broken?

Ciri.

Our deconstructed Rapunzel (yes, there are a lot of fairy tale references). As far as her story goes in its adaptation, the addition of Dara was well done. Sadly, no, Dara is not in the books, but his addition gave Ciri an arc beyond merely running in this story. 

That said, Ciri in the books is much younger than she is in the show. Which is okay, because Ciri is somewhat emblematic of the future: there’s a lot unknown about her powers, she needs to be protected from everyone trying to grab her and use her powers for themselves. She is Geralt’s destiny, and she is the future of the world of The Witcher. 

NB: I can’t discuss Ciri without shouting out to the casting director for casting Pavetta: how did they find an actress who looks so much like Ciri’s actress? It’s almost eerie. 

The episode where Geralt finds out about the Law of Surprise and his reaction to Pavetta’s pregnancy is perhaps the only story that I felt was better in the show than in the books (again, this isn’t inherently a quality thing but a medium preference). It added some much-needed hilarity (Geralt’s perfectly-timed “destiny can go f--” *Pavetta vomits* and all he can say is, “fuck”) and gave Geralt an arc. 

Geralt.

Mm. 

I liked how they handled his character and his struggles with what it means to be a Witcher and/or human. His struggles to understand himself are relatable, and fairly well set-up for future exploration. He’s a foil of Ciri, Yennefer, Jaskier, and Cahir so far, and I’m particularly intrigued by the monster theme and the foiling that is already set up thus with all of the above except Jaskier (who is no monster). Geralt was skeptical about saving the striga for her father, but managed to succeed, and I wonder if he will somehow be able to save himself from his own inner fears/monster by being a father. (Basically, I am curious as to how being Ciri’s de factor dad is going to challenge him.)

Jaskier.

Or, Dandelion, as he’s known in the books. The bard adds some much needed levity to the tale, and as @aspoonofsugar​ says, he’s pretty much Donkey from Shrek. But he is used fairly well within the story: he shows Geralt even before Ciri and Yennefer enter his life that he has a purpose beyond being a killing machine. In that sense he’s the foil of Renfri (Renfri accomplishes the same, but through violence) in that Geralt saves him and he clearly thinks highly of the Witcher. Jaskier is in some ways humanity in all its paradoxes and foibles, annoying and stupid, kind and clever, funny and truthful, deceptive and respectful. 

Cahir.

I’m a sucker for ravens as part of an aesthetic, as well as pretty, tormented bad boys. Yes, I know he’s a character I’m sure will arouse much handwringing and puritanical policing a la his other archetype brothers (Loki, Kylo Ren, Snape, etc). I don’t care. I do think the show made him much darker when compared to the books, but I still expect his arc to go in the same direction as the books. He’s a complicated, conflicted, complex character, and I’m not sorry for feeling empathy for him. 

But I am curious about his foiling with Geralt. Both are characters seeking Ciri to fulfill... something, and monstrous in a way (Cahir more for what he does, but there’s a humanity to him as well).

Yennefer.

Finally, my favorite, my baby murder daughter. 

Yennefer’s character was fascinating. I appreciated that she’s allowed to want deeply, her own wants, instead of attaching her wants to be whatever the male character desires. She wants to have children. She wants love. She wants to be beautiful. Her desires are traditionally feminine, and the show doesn’t put this down. And she also kicks ass and takes names, she fails, she’s allowed to be angry, to be mean often, to want to learn and to want to be the best. 

The show doesn’t punish Yennefer for her ambition. Neither do the books. She experiences consequences, both positive and negative, for her every choice. The show reveals her backstory right away, whereas the books don’t, but again that’s a medium thing. I think both do excellently in setting up Yennefer for our empathy. It doesn’t apologize for her or her wants or actions; it lets her arc and the story itself do the talking. 

Yennefer’s not here to be your cautionary tale or your role model. She’s just there to be her and to live. 

That is, to an extent, perhaps the best kind of role model. 

That doesn’t mean the show did everything in Yennefer’s story justice. I wasn’t thrilled with the adaptation of her first meeting with Geralt--the orgy in the background isn’t in the books and is a very bizarre decision given context. While, I loved Tissaia’s character and her foiling with Yennefer: they are too alike to ever get along, I really didn’t understand the point of Tissaia turning the other girls into slugs in episode 2. It was unsettling and not in the books. It was a heavy-handed metaphor not explained until episode 7 (about treating people as expendable slugs) that didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know about how the world and Dark!Hogwarts worked. If anything it made the school seem foolishly cackling-mustache evil instead of the true current of darkness within it: manipulation and utilitarianism. As part of effort to control things, that control itself can lead to chaos. 

I think the rest of the series set this precise dilemma of a precarious balance between self-control and manipulation/utilitarianism quite well, though (it goes hand-in-hand with the theme of a “lesser evil” to quote Renfri’s story). I’m excited to see this explored more. 

Other comments:

When comparing the show to the books as I’ve read so far, I think the show made some smart changes for adapting to a visual medium. For example, Foltest and Adda’s story was adapted as a mystery: what is the monster? Who is the father? Who is the curser? Can the monster be saved? Whereas the book doesn’t do that: you know immediately that the monster is a striga, Foltest is the father, and he wants the striga saved. The answer to who cursed Adda is never clear in the written story either, whereas the show declares it was Ostrit (the book leaves it very much up in the air as to whether it was Ostrit or Adda’s mother). However, the way this particular episode weaves Adda’s story of rebirth with Yennefer’s rebirth was beautifully done. (Foltest is a good dad. We need more good dads in stories; of course, if we had more good dads, we’d have far less stories.) (I’m jesting.) 

The dialogue is at times... well it’s not like it’s The Rise of Skywalker levels of “who wrote this???” but it’s not always stellar. Actually, I’d say the quality tends to swing wildly about between clever (episode 4) and just confusing (episode 5). But in general, I think the dialogue issue is representative of the show’s largest issue: it struggles to know when to trust its audience. When should it give details? When should it trust them? When is it spoonfeeding, and when is it just confusing? It tries to walk a fine line and stumbles a bit. It succeeds, however, with the characters as I mentioned earlier with Yennefer, Geralt, and Ciri. 

My advice for the show going forward (not that they should definitely listen to me) is to forget Game of Thrones. It’s pretty obvious that this show is a passion project made by people who love The Witcher. I really hope they lean into that aspect instead of into the GoT-replacement aspect (because there are definitely aspects of that, particularly in the mood/aesthetic, tone, and gratuitous nudity--which is not exploitative or disturbing, but it also wasn’t necessary, isn’t in the books, and so felt like pandering). 

However, the sheer love for the material still really shines  through. They made me care for the characters, they interested me in the world, and they have me hooked for season 2. The showrunners’ excitement for the story and adoration of its characters is contagious, and I hope the show lets this excitement spread. 

#the witcher #netflix's the witcher #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #cahir #ciri #princess cirilla #hamliet reviews #jaskier #renfri

[itsclydebitches]

Godddddd I'm so upset that I dislike yen this much, doing main quests in skellige and Freyas ppl were doing stuff and she again disrespected other cultures with Geraly being against, "I may be inhumanly beautiful" I know she's meant to be confident but wowww. She's not confident and worried for Ciri she just comes off arrogant and selfish and vain. Like, fuck.

The ultimate mood, anon. My Witcher fandom life would be so much easier if I enjoyed Yen ... but I just do not lol. Remember how I mentioned that things were going to get even worse than her stealing and using a potentially dangerous artifact? Yeeeaah. She also resurrects Ciri's friend to torture him for information, all while destroying another sacred garden to get the power to do it! It's not even a "She's so evil and I love it 😏" situation for me because the game tries so hard to convince us that she's still The Best. Geralt's sexy soulmate, Ciri's adoring mother, the baddest bitch around who gets things done and does it with an effortless confidence... all while ignoring how horrific her actions and attitude are. Oh sure, other characters speak ill of her at times, but considering how much Geralt is written to adore her, no matter what you choose, that's all undermined. I love morally gray/evil characters, but I've never enjoyed them when the text refuses to appropriately acknowledge that side of them. Nothing is more frustrating to me than a story that frames disliking a character as the unambiguously wrong thing to do, especially when the text is piling up reasons to dislike them and, as a result, ignoring or shrugging them off their actions as not that bad. Yen is a rather extreme example of that for me. Despite her attitude, her choices, and other characters outright going, "Why do you like her?" the story as a whole works under the assumption that it's correct to like her anyway because Geralt loves her. And he loves her for... reasons.

They do meet before the wish, but only just. Major "The Last Wish" spoilers in this paragraph, so feel free to skip. Basically, Geralt and Dandelion run into trouble with a djinn, he goes to Yen for help since she's a sorceress (first time meeting her), he instantly falls for her because she's gorgeous and such (there's an elf there who is also madly in love with Yen. Men just... fall for her, instinctually), she heals Dandelion, Geralt agrees to pay her, but Yen has already decided on the payment she wants. She takes control of Geralt's mind and forces him to attack the town to seek revenge on those who have insulted her, resulting in him waking up in prison awaiting execution for "his" crimes. Meanwhile, Yen has gone after the djinn for herself because power/trying to regain her ability to have a kid. Geralt escapes, finds her failing to master the djinn (an attempt which btw has endangered the whole town) and despite what she's done to him, Geralt tries to get Yen to escape with him. She refuses, set on capturing the djinn even though it's obvious she can't. So as a last resort he uses the final wish to bind their fates together, saving Yen from the djinn in the process. Aaaaaand then they have sex.

So yeah, their rocky relationship is one of the main reasons why I can't enjoy Yen. For some their tumultuous history is evidence of realism, for me it's evidence that they're not actually very compatible and they're only together because a) that's the fantasy trope: protagonist men get together with the hot sorceress and b) because the magic is literally ensuring that they can't escape one another. I mean, canonically their fates are tied together by magic and canonically they spend about 20 years swinging between passionate love and fearsome fights... but there's supposedly no connection between these two things? No chance at all that they keep coming together because magic is drawing them rather than because they actually want/should be together? I wrote a meta a while back about the short story where they meet, which includes a present day scene where Geralt is criticized by another character — Nenneke — for running out on Yen. Thing is, he tries to explain that he left because she was "too possessive" and this is... flat out ignored. By both Nenneke and the fandom. There's a strong trend of ignoring Geralt's words in favor of a pro-Yen interpretation of events. He says he left because she was too possessive and she treated him like ____ — he's not allowed to finish the sentence and say what she treated him like because Nenneke interrupts him, saying she doesn't care about his version of events. Major yikes imo! She turns a claim of being possessive into Geralt not being man enough to stick around. The fandom likewise turns this into a case of Geralt getting cold feet and running out because he's a bastard who hates commitment. Likewise, Nenneke and the fandom claim Geralt is trying to get Yen money as a way of appeasing his guilt for leaving, he claims he's doing it simply because he still cares for her — even if he doesn't want to be with her — and knows she needs it. Geralt's words are frequently dismissed, in the same way others characters' opinions of Yen are dismissed. Any mark against her is treated as either a lie, or a convoluted claim that they don't really know her... never mind that an understanding of why she may act this way doesn't excuse the behavior itself. (Plus, the whole "Yen had a horrible upbringing, so of course she struggles being kind" perspective always fell flat to me when so many, including witchers, had horrendous upbringings too. The whole point is this world is a mess and most everyone suffers). It's supposedly true love, yet if someone came up to me and went, "I magically tied my fate to this woman to keep her from getting herself killed and we've spent the last couple decades having what many would term a rocky relationship, to put it kindly. I left once because she was too controlling. She once cheated on me. I likewise hooked up with others during our frequent breakups. A mutual friend used magic to get me to have sex with her — also while my lover and I were broken up — and though I view it as a dumb decision I'm happy to forgive her for, my lover is ready to commit murder because again: possessive. A lot of the time we're only a family because of our daughter. I once thought she'd horrifically betrayed us both. She didn't, but it says something that I was so ready to believe it, huh? Hmm? Permanently separated? Of course not! I love her. We're destined to be together after all :)" I'd be like, "Uh... you sure about that, dude?"

Not that Geralt doesn't make his fair share of mistakes in the relationship — he absolutely does — but I don't think it helps his case that he's immature in other ways and, frankly, that he's a very strong, badass witcher. It's easy to turn the hints we get about their relationship into a simplistic "emotionally naive man can't give the poor woman the commitment she wants" situation. Given Geralt's status as the badass fighter of the tale, it's likewise easy to dismiss his admissions of her being "possessive" and his general discomfort. He's the man. He's the witcher. If he's making any claims about how Yen isn't treating him well, they must be excuses, or exaggerations, because real men, especially physically powerful men, would do something about that — a something that's not sneaking out in the middle of the night. A lot of people read Geralt leaving as the ultimate proof that he's an immature bastard who doesn't deserve her. I read him leaving and think, "What were you trying to get away from? What was going on that made you think you could only leave by sneaking out without a word?" To me, that doesn't read as someone who felt safe, comfortable, and respected enough to do anything but slip away and try to wash his hands of things. And I'm not just pulling this "Geralt is at least somewhat afraid of Yen and isn't comfortable establishing boundaries with her" reading out of my ass. When Yen wants Geralt to kill the golden dragon for her and he refuses, saying he doesn't care anymore, his thoughts are:

He expected the worst: a cascade of flames, flashes of lightning, blows raining down on his face, insults and curses. There was nothing. He saw, with astonishment, only the subtle trembling of her lips. Yennefer turned around slowly. Geralt regretted his words.

And everyone is like, "See! Yen has improved so much. Geralt nearly made her cry, but she's supposed to be the bad guy here?" Meanwhile, I'm going, "Uh... anyone want to unpack why he expects fire, lightning, insults, curses, and blows to his face for telling her no? Why he's astonished that she wouldn't use her magic against him? Anyone think that Yen refraining from attacking Geralt when he refuses to murder on her command is a pretty low bar? No? Just me?"

Geralt and Yen's relationship makes me uncomfortable and a great deal of that discomfort derives from how much of the Witcher fandom shrugs off the fictional warning signs. I mean, I post primarily about RWBY. We watched a man in that show try to sneak away with his kids when his villainous wife planned to use them for a eugenics plan... and the fandom still blames him for that, refusing to admit that he was in an abusive relationship. Because that doesn't happen to men, right? I'm not saying it's the same for Geralt and Yen, simply because they are written to be soulmates. An abusive relationship was, quite obviously, never the authorial intent. However, I am saying that the a "This isn't a healthy relationship" reading is there, it exists as an interpretation, and both the story and fandom's tendency to dismiss it is something that hasn't helped me enjoy Yen's status as an otherwise well written, complex character. Their equality supposedly stems in part because they're both so flawed, yet each time I see a list of Geralt's supposedly equal faults they're... lacking imo. "Geralt bound himself to Yen without her consent." Yeah, to save her from dying from the djinn she was trying to enslave, after she refused to leave, while her actions threatened a whole town. "Geralt ran off without a word." Mmm hmm, anyone care about why? And my personal favorite is a scene you may not have gotten to yet (or may not get depending on your choices), but suffice to say, Yen is supposedly justified in physically attacking Geralt if he dares to challenge her in any way. That's the main takeaway across the fandom: If Yen is pissed off, you must have done something to deserve it which, in the relationship deliberately written to be "stormy," is something that sets all the alarm bells in my head off. Honestly, it kinda makes my skin crawl to go, "Geralt didn't deserve that" and get responses back of, "Yeah he did because he [insert basic human action here]." The Witcher world is hard and cruel, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I personally enjoy seeing an equally messed up relationship presented as something that's enviable in its flaws. "That's actually true love because the magically bound man who often expresses discomfort with his lover, written by a male author with a very iffy perspective on women, says it's true love." Crazy theory here, but... maybe it's not?

Idk, lots of rambling on my end tonight! For me, Geralt/Yen reads as something rather tragic which, in a canon that unironically upholds the relationship, and in a Yen-adoring fandom, doesn't make enjoying her character any easier. I keep coming back to Witcher 3, the comics, the show, even the books going, "Maybe I'll like her this time?" but nope, still trying lol.

#witcher #mymetas

[alistairmoonshine]

What I Realise

TITLE:  What I Realise

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @alistairmoonshine

PROMPT DAY #: Day #5 Realistions

SUMMARY: The five things Jaskier Realises about Geralt and the one thing Geralt realises about Jaskier

WORD COUNT (if applicable): 1015

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: None

RATING: Teen and up maybe?

ADDITIONAL NOTES: @geraskierweek

The first time Jaskier realised something about Geralt was their first meeting. There was this strong, handsome man sitting all alone. When Jaskier had sat across from him; Jaskier had realised this man could change the course of his life for better or worse.

So, Jaskier decided to follow the man no matter where he went. It wasn’t love or anything of the like. No, but it was commitment and need. So, Jaskier realised that day that Geralt would change his life and he was simply okay with this.

~ ~ ~

The second time Jaskier realised something about Geralt was when Geralt had protected him against a monster. It had been a blood hungry ghoul and Jaskier had cowered as Geralt came to his aid. Jaskier had stared into those cold, unfeeling black eyes as he had sliced the ghoul in half and killed him. Jaskier had felt his heartbeat and sutter just for a second.

Anyone else would be terrified of this creature in front of him. Not Jaskier; oh no. Jaskier only felt devotion and love for the cold man. He didn’t care what people said or what people wanted. Geralt wasn’t some unfeeling beast that everyone made him out to be. Geralt could be kind and compassionate when the mood struck.

He did everything he could to protect people and especially Jaskier. This was the day Jaskier realised he had no fear of Geralt even in his most feral form. Jaskier hoped that maybe Geralt realised there was no fear in him either. That would make this whole adventure worth it.

~ ~ ~

The third time Jaskier realised something was when they were at an inn. The road had been so rough and Jaskier ached all over. Normally, Geralt would call first dibs on the bath but he had allowed Jaskier to go. Even though Jaskier made the water smell of roses and chamomile and it made Geralt complain if a headache from the scents. Jaskier realised that Geralt really could be gentle.

That night while Jaskier bathed, Geralt had slowly washed his back with ever so gentle hands. Who knew sword calloused fingers meant to kill could be so gentle? The way those callouses graced over his back. Jaskier knew this man had it in him to easily kill him if that is what he so desired. Yet, here he was washing him as if he was a babe.

Jaskier relaxed against the touch and smiled faintly as Geralt handed back the towel so Jaskier could wash his front end. When he was done, Geralt had stripped and climbed into the bath without a word over the scents and went to washing himself.

Jaskier helped and Geralt allowed him to untangle the knots and mats of his thick silver hair. Jaskier could be gentle right back to Geralt.

Jaskier realised that Geralt actually enjoyed the gentleness…

~ ~~ The fourth thing Jaskier realised about Geralt was his need to provide. When they were in an inn, Geralt gave Jaskier his pick of the beds or side of bed if there was only one. When they were in the woods, Geralt gave Jaskier the extra furs so he did not grow chilly at night.

When Geralt hunted, he would make sure Jaskier would eat the largest portion before Geralt would even take a bite of anything he had caught. When he fished? Well, Jaskier got the bigger fish.

This need for providing really swelled Jaskier’s heart and made him ache for more. That ache was deep rooted and Jaskier yearned to get what little he could from Geralt. Maybe the man was hard and cold, but deep down he actually cared.

When Jaskier was hurt by the djinn? Geralt gave it everything to make sure Jaskier did not die by his own stupidity. He had even bargained with a damned witch to save him.

Jaskier realised Geralt actually really cared and it hit home.

~ ~ ~

The fifth thing Jaskier realised about Geralt was… Jaskier loved him. He loved that feral, cold, and unfeeling man. That man that went to every depth in his mind to protect, provide, and care for Jaskier.

The man who refused to let anyone hurt or talk bad to the bard when he sang. The man who when someone threw food at him; he was the first to stand up and intimidate the person into giving Jaskier what coin said person had on his person.

Though, the true realisation of love was when Geralt had yelled at him. When he had felt his heart break as Geralt told him ‘if life gave me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands’. That was when Jaskier realised that the longing, need, and want within him wasn’t just that for a friend. No, that was the longing and need for a lover.

The need and want to love and be loved by Geralt. Maybe it was too good for it to be true? Geralt didn’t love him and that was plainly obvious.

That realisation hit him so hard as he turned to leave Geralt on that mountain top. The realisation that his love would never be reciprocated and he would just have to live with that.

~ ~ ~

The one time Geralt realised anything was when he heard the bard leave him on the mountain. His heart was aching and he felt weak. Geralt felt betrayed by Yennefer. The love he had so wanted to give her and yet she had thrown it all away.

Geralt realised that maybe his love was not for the right person. That his love needed to be for Jaskier. That all the times he had helped, cared, and protected him wasn’t just because he was his friend. No, he did it because he actually loved and cared for the bard.

When Geralt turned, Jaskier was already gone and golden eyes grew wide. He was losing the one thing he loved. Geralt realised that he lost the one person he actually loved and maybe even loved him back.

That realisation struck a chord deep within his soul and left its mark.

#geraskier week #realisations #ao3 works #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #hurt jaskier #slight break up #geralt is an idiot

[mypoisonedvine]

Can I please request Renfri x Jaskier from the smut prompts list "I'm sorry I keep staring, but you're really the hottest thing I've ever seen in my entire life and I don't know what to do about it." + "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." "Why don't you show me then?" (Bc that would be so HOT! 😈😍🙈)

How did I never think of Renfri x Jaskier before???? Iconic.  I decided to fuck with canon a lil here (I mean, they’re gonna bang so how canon compliant could it be?) so basically the exposition is that Jaskier and Renfri interacted briefly in the past because of being mutual friends with Geralt.  And Renfri is older than him, but not like a ton.  I don’t care that this is not book accurate LEAF ME ALONE

“What are you drinking?” she heard a voice from her side.  She turned to find a young man with wavy brown hair and an eager look in his eyes.  She didn’t even answer, just chuckled condescendingly and turned back to her mug of ale.  “Don’t say you don’t remember me,” he frowned.  She gave him another look and suddenly she did recognize him.

“The bard… from Novigrad,” she remembered.

“Jaskier- but I’m sure you didn’t forget that,” he smiled.  She rolled her eyes.

“Nice bumping into you, but I’m having a very important conversation with this booze,” she dismissed.

“Hey, I’m out on a limb here,” Jaskier protested.  Renfri gave him a stronger look after that.

“Out on a limb?!” she repeated.

“Yeah, I’m trying to buy you a drink,” he explained.  “Did you not notice that?”

“Are you sure you’re old enough?” she scoffed.

Jaskier stepped back.  “Suit yourself, but I didn’t peg you as the type to turn down getting drunk for free.”

She almost let him walk away, but finally relented and grabbed him by the doublet, pulling him back to sit next to her.

“Fine.  But don’t bother me,” she warned.

“No promises,” he smiled as he reached for his coin purse and got the barkeep’s attention.

They got drunk enough that she found a way to tolerate him, and he found a way to forgive her biting comments, and a few drinks after that was enough for them to start laughing with each other over nothing in particular.

But then Jaskier wasn’t laughing anymore, his face a lot more serious and his gaze a lot more… exploratory.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked hesitantly.  He jumped as if awoken from a trance.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but it was just a few more minutes before he was doing it again.

“Hey, quit that!” she protested.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to gawk at you, it’s just…”

“You’re wondering if my dress would fit you?” Renfri suggested mockingly.

“It’s just that you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he continued, “and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

A silent moment passed; a very long one, in fact.  It ended when Renfri looked back to her drink and laughed.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, kid,” she sighed.

“Why don’t you show me then?” Jaskier quipped.  Renfri grabbed him by the collar, intending to scare him off, but he just smiled even wider.

“I’m not the sort of girl you take home to meet your parents, you know,” she growled.

“Not my intentions at all, I promise,” he winked.

She examined his face and she kept trying to toss him down to the floor but it never worked, like all her arm was willing to do was pull him into a bruising kiss- which it promptly did.

He tasted like ale, mostly, with a hint of spearmint and honey behind it all.

 And she didn’t remember exactly when they stumbled into an alley, when they found an inn and got a room for the night, but she definitely remembered the way he kissed down her neck and shoulders as he slid off her blouse.  And she remembered how he knelt before her to pull down her trousers, only to immediately bury his face between her legs.  She was pretty sure she’d never done this standing up, and she realized why: her knees started to quiver and she was afraid to fall.  She was even more afraid to show how good it felt, how quickly he’d made her crave him.

When she couldn’t stand anymore (literally, but also in terms of patience), she shoved him back onto the bed, getting his clothes off just enough so she could run his hands over his chest while she rode him.  He made the cutest sound when she slipped him into her, thankfully it was loud enough to mask her own moan.  

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Jaskier sighed, looking up at her.

“Shut up,” she hissed, moving her hips against his with just a bit more urgency.  His hands reached up to hold her waist but she grabbed them by the wrist and held them back down above his head.  He seemed to like that a lot considering the noise he made.  All the noise she allowed herself was heavy breathing, and even that she wanted to suppress better than she currently was.  Of course, deep down she wanted to moan and scream and beg and call out his name but thankfully she wasn’t that drunk.

He sat up and wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her closer to him.  He left bites and kisses along her collarbones until her head rolled back.

Really, it was all fun and games until he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over, landing on top of her and near-instantly thrusting deeply and firmly.

“Ah,” she moaned, barely loud enough to hear.  He looked down at her intently, and she looked back with determination.  Maybe if she put on her best mean face, he’d stop looking back with (don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it) love in his eyes.  It only made it worse.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she frowned.

“Like what?”

“Like… like this is more important than it is.”

“This is very, very important to me and I have no way of hiding that from you,” he smiled.

“Don’t smile at me like that, either” she continued, but her voice was breathier as she struggled to hide the effect his movements were having on her.  He didn’t say anything but leaned down to kiss her neck, and he took a little of his frustration out on her with needy bites to her shoulder and earlobe.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

“Are you gonna come?” he asked teasingly.

“Not if you keep fucking talking,” she groaned.

He didn’t actually believe that was true, but her impending orgasm just seemed to make her even angrier and it was beautiful but scary (summary of the woman overall, really) so he decided to obey. 

He reached down to rub at her bundle of nerves, and bent down to lick and suck and bite gently at a hardened nipple, and damn it was hard to keep from moaning.

“Jask-” she began, but stopped.  He bit down on her nipple harder- not that hard, of course, but definitely hard enough to get the message across.

“Say it,” he demanded, the skin still between his teeth.

“Jaskier!” she yelped, just as her orgasm overtook her with shaking legs and an arching back and a choked moan.

He pulled her into another kiss, and as he pulled out, she did not care at all for how much she wanted him to stay inside.

And when she kicked him out of bed saying she doesn’t do sleepovers, she really didn’t care that he looked a little hurt and even surprised- why would he be surprised, considering how this all began?

And when she laid awake that night, she really, really hated that she wished she could hold him close and fall asleep with her head on his chest.

#jaskier x renfri #my writing #jaskfri #??? #is that a thing? #renskier

[sorrelchestnut]

from the discard pile: Geralt, Emhyr, Yennefer

This was from what was supposed to be a long plotty story called “Strange Bedfellows,” which I finally admitted I’m not ever actually going to do anything with.  So instead here’s the emotional core I actually cared enough to write, which is essentially the follow-up to Geralt and Emhyr’s conversation at Stygga, which the game kinda... skimmed over.  The context, as much as it needs any, is that they’re in Nilfgaard for Ciri’s wedding, and in the previous scene Geralt and Yennefer saved Emhyr from an assassin at a banquet.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I'm sure I won't be able to stop you," Emhyr said, very dry.

Geralt briefly considered whether or bringing this up while Emhyr was trapped in bed was entirely fair.  Then he decided he didn't give a shit, and asked anyway.  "Why did you change your mind, back at Stygga?"

Emhyr was silent for a long time.  So long, that Geralt gave up on looking politely out of the window and twisted around to face him, curious what emotion had caught hold of his tongue.  Whatever it was, it wasn't visible, not even to Geralt's heightened vision.  His face was pale, but that was just as likely to be the blood loss; his jaw was set, but that could be anything from lingering pain to irritation at Geralt's effrontery.  Geralt was pretty good at reading people, after all these years, but he'd never been able to read Emhyr worth a damn.

"I suppose you'd like me to say that it was your blandishments that swayed me," Emhyr said, after a time.

Geralt snorted.  Figures he'd try a run-around.  "What I'd like is for you to tell me the truth."

"The truth is complicated, witcher.  Surely you've learned that much, if nothing else."

"I learned it years before the crown first touched your father's head," Geralt said evenly.  "That doesn't mean I don't have a right to ask for it."

"No, I suppose not," Emhyr said, glancing wryly at his leg.  "Very well then, if truth you would have of me, then truth you shall receive.  Your speech was not without impact; I won't deny you that.  'If the world is to be saved like that, it would be better for it to perish.'  Yes, I remember the words exactly," he added, to Geralt's no-doubt-surprised expression.  "There is very little I have forgotten about that day, our conversation least of all.  But that wasn't what changed my mind."

"Yennefer," Geralt said softly.  He'd suspected as much for years, but it was Emhyr's very unwillingness to say it aloud that confirmed his pet theory.  "It was Yennefer."

Emhyr's jaw worked, in temper or self-loathing Geralt couldn't tell, but one thing he'd never been was a coward, and after a moment he nodded.  "Yes."

Emhyr wasn't the only one who remembered that day.  Geralt could still hear Yennefer's words as if she spoke right into his ear.  Please, as far as possible, don't harm my daughter.  I wouldn't want to die with the thought that she's crying.

"You couldn't bring yourself to hurt Ciri," Geralt said.  "Could you?  Not even for the fate of the world.  No matter what you said."

"No," Emhyr said.  His voice was harsh.  "I knew it when I saw her, I think, but your lady's words were nonetheless… impactful, on that front.  Perhaps I would have understood sooner, had I thought there was a limit to my barbarity.  For I am of course a monster, far worse than any you were raised to slay, but even I…  I note you show no signs of leaping to convince me otherwise," he added, with something not unlike amusement.

"What, you want me to lie to you now?  You know what you are.  What you've done."

Emhyr nodded far more readily.  "Oh, yes.  And whatever you think me capable of, witcher, I can assure you I've done far worse.  And yet in that moment I knew that this one thing, this final monstrosity in a long line of them, was the one I couldn't bring myself to accomplish."  He shrugged, as if the memory didn't pain him, but Geralt saw faint lines of strain at the corner of his mouth.  "So I didn't."

"Just like that."  Geralt knew he sounded skeptical, but he couldn't quite help himself.  "Fifteen years you spent, working towards this exact end, and then just- never mind?"

"What do you want me to say?"  Emhyr spread his hands.  "I couldn't bring myself to do it; therefore, it couldn't be done.  And if it couldn't be done, then the prophecy that demanded it must have been false."

"Vilgefortz," Geralt said, still bitter all these years later.  "You trusted a prophecy given to you by Vilgefortz."

Emhyr shrugged again.  "He had, until then, been a very useful ally."

"Because he wanted to kill Ciri," Geralt said.  "After impregnating her, aborting the fetus, and taking the blood, as many times as it took to drain her power.  He wanted to make himself into a living god.  That was who you trusted?"

"I don't trust anyone," Emhyr said.  "And he was not the only one to espouse that particular interpretation of Ithlinne's Prophecy.  It was only after Cirilla's disappearance that I was able to lay hands on an older version of the text, one uncorrupted by imperfect translations.  Had I located it earlier, things might have been different."

"Yeah," Geralt said tiredly.  He knew that feeling, all too well.  "Gotta admit: really fucking wish you had."

"On that point, witcher, you and I can readily agree."

Geralt sighed and looked out the window again.  Why is it always towers, he wondered.  Thanedd, Stygga, Tor Gvalch'ca - even Tesham Mutna was a tower, once upon a time.  Just once, it'd be nice to have my world turned upside down in a nice sunny meadow or maybe an orchard.  Just for a change of pace.

Then again, Ciri had left him by the side of the road, and that had been the worst day of his life.  Maybe he should be careful what he wished for.

"May I ask you a question in return?"

Geralt turned back with a quirk of his eyebrow.  "It's not like you to ask permission."

Emhyr gestured wryly to his leg.  "The alternative seems discourteous, considering."

"Not like you to care about that, either."  But it turned out his curiosity was stronger than his desire to get the last word, so he flicked his fingers in absent permission.  "Sure.  Hit me."

And because Emhyr had never held back in his life, he didn't hesitate but immediately said, "Do you ever regret saving me, when Calanthe bid you to strike?"

"No."

Emhyr's pause was fractional, but it was long enough to know that Geralt had actually surprised him.  "That was definite."

"What's the point of regretting something when neither of us really had a choice?  All the shit you did, everything that happened because of that - it happened because it needed to happen.  Don't fool yourself, Duny.  It was all destiny.  Not just the parts that made it into the ballads."

A muscle in Emhyr's jaw flexed - yeah, didn't like that, did he, the thought he wasn't the supreme agent in his own life.  Good.  Let him get a taste of what the rest of the mortals felt.

"And is that the only reason?"

This time Geralt was the one holding silent, struggling with his response.  Not because he didn't know the answer, but because he did, and it might not be the one Emhyr wanted to hear.  And while he liked to tweak the tiger's tail as much as the next guy - okay, way more than the next guy - he had a feeling that if he got this one wrong, he was losing a lot more than just the emperor's forbearance of his usual disrespect.

Well, no other way but through, as Vesemir liked to say.  It wasn't like Emhyr wouldn't be able to tell if he was lying even if he did want to try it.  Might as well be honest and hope for the best.

"Ciri," he said.  "Without you, there never would've been her."

"Not, strictly speaking, true," Emhyr countered swiftly.  Not an unexpected answer, then.  Which wasn't the same as welcome.  "Pavetta was already pregnant.  That was, after all, the nature of your claim."

Geralt made a gesture, wiping away that argument.  "She would have existed, true.  Who knows, maybe she still would have ended up on your throne.  But she wouldn't have been Ciri.  She wouldn't have been the Witcher Girl."

"Are you so certain?" Emhyr inquired.  "As you say, destiny is a powerful thing.  And a river, denied its intended course, will jump its banks and carve a new one through unweathered ground.  How can you be so sure she would not have been promised to you regardless?"

Geralt snorted.  "You think Calanthe would have opened herself up to the Law of Surprise?  After watching you make a claim on her daughter?  No.  And I wouldn't have thought to ask, either - only did because you kept insisting, and that only happens for one reason."

Emhyr made a thoughtful little mhm noise.  "And so, for your intervention, destiny bound us together in that moment in time, so that it might create a savior of a very particular shape.  A witcher girl, a learned sorceress, a killer with a will of steel.  The child of the Elder Blood that would face the White Frost and save us all from extinction."

"Well, that's what the prophecy said, anyway," Geralt said.  "I never gave a shit about any of that.  All I cared about is that for a little while, she was mine."

After a long moment, Emhyr said, "You must hate me very  much."

Geralt didn't pretend to misunderstand.  It would have been easy: he had a lot of reasons to hate the Emperor of Nilfgaard, and every single one of them was earned.  But Geralt had never been one to take the easy path, so instead he said, "You know, back then - before Thanedd, I mean - everyone from Triss to fucking Djikstra was always so eager to tell me that I couldn't hold onto her, that she didn't belong with me.  Even Vesemir.  Even Yen.  But you know what's funny?  I never thought otherwise.  Crossed half the world to find her, but it wasn't because I thought I could keep her.  Only ever wanted to keep her safe."

"Interesting," Emhyr murmured.  His gaze lingered on Geralt's face, missing nothing.  "I was certain you blamed me for taking her away."

"Guess you had to be wrong about something," Geralt muttered, and rubbed a hand over his face.  "No, I always knew she was meant for bigger things.  Okay, so I didn't guess this," and he waved a hand toward the window, meaning the city, the realm, the bloody continent now held in the palm of Ciri's sword-calloused hand.  "But something more than slaughtering drowners at ten crowns a head.  And even if I did - what'd be the point blaming you, anyway?  It was Ciri's choice.  Think I'm going to be mad at her for trying to make the world better?"

"Interesting," Emhyr said again.  It was impossible to read his expression, but that didn't stop Geralt from trying.  "I underestimated you, it seems.  Again.  Not a condition I suffer often, and yet it's become very nearly a habit where you are concerned."

Geralt snorted.  "I wouldn't worry about it.  Doubt you'll have much opportunity in the future."

"Do you think?"  The effort of the conversation seemed to be tiring Emhyr out; even his hawkish gaze was beginning to blur.  "And yet here you sit, witcher.  And here I lie, when by all rights I should be dead.  I'm not so certain that we are done, you and I.  Destiny might have something in store for us yet."

                                         * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Emhyr fell asleep soon after, which Geralt figured was just as well; he needed a little silence in his head.  He didn't want to think about what Emhyr had said.  What was the point?  If he was right, fate would reveal her fickle hand sooner or later; nothing mere mortals could do to hurry it along.  You could go mad, trying to live your life like that.  And in the end it didn't matter - you'd do the right thing, or you wouldn't, and you could never know which was which, not really.  The best you could do was make the choices in front of you, and try not to let yourself regret.

It was about two hours later when he heard someone approaching down the hall.  Geralt roused himself from his light meditation and tracked the footsteps - one set of heels clicking against the marble and one set of soft leather slippers, designed to be nearly inaudible to human ears - until they reached the door.  It opened silently on oiled hinges, followed by the whisper of fabric and displaced air from a bow.

"Thank you, Mererid.  That will be all."

"Of course, my lady."

The door closed once more.  Footsteps tapped closer - quieter now, making an effort.  A gloved hand rested on his shoulder, delicate yet firm.  Geralt inhaled the familiar smell of lilac and gooseberries and relaxed for the first time since he saw light flash on the assassin's blade.

"How is he?" Yennefer asked, keeping her voice low.

"Better.  Sleeping.  He was up for a while earlier, though.  Didn't seem addled-"  Massive understatement.  "Just tired.  Probably good as new in a day or two."  He picked up her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, right where her cuff and glove left a gap.  The steady throb of her pulse under his lips leeched away a little more of the day's poison.  "What about Ciri?"

"Cloistered with Rousarde, Vattier, and about a dozen imperial accountants.  One of Vattier's men managed to track down the account used to make the payment, and they're currently following the thread through a series of shell companies at Central Banking.  Rousarde assures me it's only a matter of time until they find the source of the money."

"Must have a lot of it, whoever they are," Geralt said.  "Killing an emperor can't be cheap."

"If you combined all of the contracts you've ever completed in the entirety of your years on the Path, you might approach the payment that young man would have enjoyed had you not intervened."  Yen laid her palm against his cheek, stroking the hinge of his jaw with her fingers. Her gaze was very warm, though her glove was as cool as ever.  "You did very well, you know.  I didn't get a chance to say as much earlier."

"Wasn't the only one.  Potions wouldn't have done shit if you hadn't held him steady long enough for them to work."

Yen inclined her head in acknowledgement.  "Consider the practice I've had in that arena.  I could almost thank Avall'ach for getting himself cursed."

"Wouldn't if I were you."

"No, probably not the done thing."

They shared an exhausted smile, and then Geralt decided she was still entirely too far away and tugged at her wrist.  She gave him an unamused look, but acceded to his silent plea and stepped over the footstool to climb gracefully into his lap.  He held still, allowing her to arrange their limbs to her satisfaction, and then buried his nose into the silken fall of her hair and inhaled gratefully.

"You should get some sleep," she said, after a few minutes had passed.

Geralt didn't bother responding.

 "I know you must be very tired."

"Ciri said guard," Geralt said, and left the remainder unspoken, too obvious to need words: so I guard.

Yen's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.  "You're going to sit here until Ciri comes to tell you otherwise, aren't you?"

Geralt didn't bother responding to that either.

Her head shifted on his shoulder, and he knew she'd turned to regard the bed, or more precisely its occupant.  "He looks quite peaceful like that, doesn't he?"

Geralt only barely held back a snort, which was sure to wake Emhyr as their quiet voices hadn't.  Not a lot of people laughing around the emperor.  "It's a trick."

"Yes, of course, but it's quite a good one."  She was playing with laces of his doublet, winding the string about her fingers and then unwinding it the opposite direction.  It made a tiny shushing noise, a fractional rasp of fabric against skin, that was oddly soothing. "He was awake earlier, you said?"

"Yeah."

"Did he say anything?"

"Oh, yeah."

He felt her frown against the side of his throat.  "It went that poorly, then?"

"Yeah- well, no.  I guess.  Hard to tell, with him."

"Of that, I am entirely too aware."  Shh, shh, went the laces.  Yen rubbed her thumb thoughtfully against the little v of skin below his collarbone.  Nilfgaardian fashion favored closed collars, but he'd had a rough day.  "What does he want from us, Geralt?  Really."

"You mean, besides saving his life?"

She let out an impatient huff of air.  "Yes, aside from that."

"I think... I think he wants absolution," Geralt said slowly, puzzling it out even as he spoke.  "Or- he wants to want absolution, and he's hoping like hell that's close enough to count."

"But why us?" Yen said, with a plaintive cast Geralt heard only very rarely.  "Surely Ciri-"

Geralt sighed.  "He loves Ciri more than any other person alive," he told her, too tired to be anything but honest.  "And I'm pretty sure he knows he doesn't deserve her."  He tucked her head a little more firmly under his chin.  "Would you be honest, if you were in his shoes?"

There was a brief, sullen silence.  "No," Yen said, finally.  "I don't even like it with you."

That was at least halfway a lie, and anyway, Yen didn't think she deserved him, either.  (She didn't think he knew that, but he wasn't an idiot.  He totally knew.)  Before, he hadn't been in any kind of hurry to disillusion her in case she noticed it went the other way around; these days, he was finally starting to figure out that they just about deserved each other.  Yen wasn't there yet, but that was okay.  They had time.

#fic #discard pile #the witcher #the witcher 3

[lesdemonium]

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 4

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 11500 (total) Chapter: 4/16

Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

read on ao3 - read chapter 1 on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr

Jaskier knew they would eventually have to part. It was the nature of things, for him and Geralt. Geralt had contracts that even Jaskier had to agree were too treacherous for Jaskier to follow, and it was easier for Jaskier to find time to himself, and leave Geralt to his witchering. Geralt didn’t often pick the most populated cities, either, and if Jaskier was to set about changing his reputation, at times he had to place himself in a larger public.

He also had a feeling Geralt sometimes needed a break from Jaskier. As much as Jaskier was loath to admit it, he knew he was often too much for the witcher, and he feared the day Geralt decided to take his leave of the bard completely. It was easier, then, if he gave Geralt a break every now and again.

It became a tradition, then. After a few months of traveling together, Jaskier would find an excuse to leave. When a month or two had passed, they would meet up again, though when they parted for winter, it was for the entire season. Jaskier still spent much of his time with the witcher, and had grown quite adept at tracking him down. The one exception was after the banquet at Cintra; Jaskier did not find Geralt again for almost an entire year. Jaskier had a feeling this was by Geralt’s design. Geralt needed time to mourn, and get his head on straight, and Jaskier could accept that. When they reunited, it was like no time had passed at all, and for that, Jaskier was glad.

This time, though, as they parted, Jaskier could have sworn there was something behind Geralt’s very pointedly stoic face. Often, he imagined with his more cruel sense of humor, it was relief. This time, it was more somber, almost sad. That was a ridiculous thought, though. Geralt was as happy for the time alone as he had ever been, Jaskier was sure of it.

Still, as they parted, Jaskier found himself moving his feet slowly, turning back to watch the witcher’s retreating form over and over and over again. Once, he caught Geralt looking back, too.

It was nothing, though. Jaskier was sure of it. They hadn’t even made a plan to meet up again. Jaskier had simply allowed himself to be fooled by the affection and passion present as they laid together. He had allowed himself to be swept up in the way Geralt listened, not only to his words, but to Jaskier’s reactions, too. His care and attention during that first time wasn’t a fluke; if Jaskier seemed unhappy even slightly , Geralt did not allow Jaskier to brush it off. The inverse was true as well. Geralt acted as if studying Jaskier’s body and reactions for pleasure was his field of study, and he was quickly becoming an expert in it.

It was only sex, though. Nothing else changed. They both found other partners at times, and otherwise they were friends. No matter how many times Jaskier had daydreamed and longed to kiss Geralt without intent, or hold his hand as they walked the path, or use sweet words to convey the depths of his feelings, that wasn’t what they were to each other. Jaskier could handle that. He could love Geralt from afar.

Even with an audience as responsive as the one he had in Ellander, Jaskier was feeling lonely and melancholy. It had only been two weeks without Geralt, and already he was mooning over him like some lovesick maiden. Honestly, to compare what Jaskier was doing to them would be an insult to lovesick maidens everywhere.

He was trying to distract himself, for fear that if he didn’t, he would set about searching for his witcher again. Geralt deserved far more of a break than that, and Jaskier had no interest in embarrassing himself as far as to follow after the witcher as if Jaskier was not his own man. He was approaching thirty, it was time to grow up . Find a distraction.

The woman in the market was beautiful. She clearly had money, what with the delicate blush-colored gown draped across her lovely figure and the jewels around her neck, but that wasn’t what made Jaskier approach. Her smile was kind as she perused a stand selling bright flowers.

“Ah, I see someone as lovely as you chooses to fill her home with beauty,” Jaskier said as he approached the lady. “Might I make a suggestion?” He motioned to a bushel of daffodils. “The yellow would accentuate the rose of your cheeks divinely.”

Her smile was delighted as she held out her hand. Jaskier took it, sweeping himself into perhaps too much of a bow for the occasion, but the woman seemed pleased as he looked up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“I do hope they give you a commission as you do their work for them.” She motioned for another woman, likely her lady in waiting, to take the daffodils, then turned her attention back to Jaskier. “I do, in fact, like to fill my home with beauty. I wonder if I might be able to add you to my collection.”

She was a countess. Charming and spirited and knew exactly what she wanted. Jaskier was pleased to find that he was among those she wanted, and allowed himself to be swept up in her grandeur. He had always been quite fond of pretty things and luxuries. He performed in her court and in the town, spreading word of his witcher and his own skill with his instrument. Soon, he barely had to speak a word before people were delightedly turning their chairs to face him and singing along even to his more complicated songs. At night, he warmed his Countess’s bed.

Jaskier never meant to stay long, but he found he could have loved her, truly.

For weeks, she was content to let Jaskier lead. She was warm and pliant under his touch, and her kisses were sweet and fraught with desire. Rarely did she order him about, though when she did, he couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t corrected her like he did Geralt. The Countess did not notice when Jaskier froze, only to stutter back to life a moment later. The commands were simple, he reminded himself. She didn’t know. If she had any idea Jaskier was unable to refuse, she would never order him about.

She grew bolder, though, as they always did. The Countess thought it was a game they were playing, and thought that Jaskier simply delighted in giving his partner what they wanted. He did, but not like this. Jaskier did not dare tell her. Instead, he swallowed his pride, put on a smile, and convinced himself that he was enjoying their coupling. Maybe, for his countess, the curse could be a gift.

“Stay with me, here, in Ellander. Live in my home and be mine,” the Countess said sweetly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

And that, well. Clever as Jaskier was, that would be a tricky command to avoid, and even tricker to obey to completion. His heart escaped to his throat in dread, and he swallowed around the lump it made.

He put on his best smile, wrapped his arms around the countess, and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“Nothing would make me happier, my muse,” Jaskier murmured back.

Jaskier could have sworn he felt her face heat up. He didn’t have to see her flush, however, to know that her cheeks had grown red.

It wasn’t a hard life. Likely, it was the best sort of life Jaskier could expect. He was free to write and sing his songs, while living in true comfort. He wanted for nothing, he was fed and bathed and had access to a warm bed whenever he wanted. The clothes he wore were beautiful, colorful, the height of fashion. He was comfortable and appeased in every sense of the word.

Jaskier hated it. His songs felt stale and trite, and there was no pleasure for him in performing for the same audiences time and time again. Adventure called to him from outside the city walls, and Jaskier longed to call back.

He thought, not infrequently, of Geralt. Jaskier wondered where he was, what creatures he had recently slain, if Geralt missed Jaskier at all. Perhaps he had finally returned to Cintra, claimed his child surprise. Or, more likely, perhaps he was avoiding the entire southwest portion of the continent, and his destiny along with it. Jaskier hoped he was finding more amiable beds to warm, and plenty of monsters to tell Jaskier about, whenever Jaskier could free himself. It didn't matter if Geralt missed Jaskier. Jaskier missed Geralt enough for both of them.

The countess grew bored of Jaskier. Jasker knew she did. Jaskier did everything within his power to make it so: he sang the same songs, he was less adventurous and excited in bed (which was less intentional than a natural side effect of the countess growing more and more directive), and without new adventures, he had no new stories to tell her. Still, it took months upon months of work for her eye to start to turn.

“I am getting older,” the Countess began, her voice neutral. Jaskier feigned indifference, only turned his head toward her to indicate he was listening, but his body tensed in anticipation. Where this was going, he had no idea. “It’s time for me to start considering the future. Marriage. Children.”

Jaskier faced her fully, his eyebrow raised. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she picked at her fingers. She was sitting up, her back against the wall behind her, and the blanket pooled in her lap, leaving her torso bare. The Countess was a sight, Jaskier had to admit. In another life, she would have made Jaskier an exceedingly happy man.

“I will be entertaining eligible suitors. It would be...unseemly, to have you here,” she said. She sounded regretful, but Jaskier’s heart soared. “It would never have worked between us. I have truly loved my time with you, but I must consider my options, my estate, the legitimacy of my children. You can only offer me love.”

Jaskier was prideful enough that he had to bite back his retort. He was a viscount, hardly an unseemly partner, but he didn’t want to argue against this. The Countess didn’t know, she thought he was only a bard with no titles to his name. It would be best if that was how it remained.

“I understand,” Jaskier said, taking the Countess’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She looked at him, finally, and smiled. It still wasn’t enough, though. He couldn’t go without her word. “So, you want me to...?”

“Leave, Jaskier,” she said, nodding, and gently taking her hand back. “Leave, and remember me fondly.”

Jaskier stood, his body leading the way as his head tried to catch up. He was free to go. Jaskier could find himself anywhere now, and trail after adventure once more. He could find Geralt.

Jaskier packed his bag as he thought of all his “could” options. No longer a prisoner of the Countess’s estate, he could travel the continent again, singing his songs for Geralt and gaining more renown. His return would be triumphant, and he could find himself in another’s bed again, as he was no longer bound to the Countess. At least, until an unintentional command shackled him again. As it would. As it always had, eventually.

It felt as though his brain shuttered off for a moment on that particular thought. It could happen again. Because of the curse, Jaskier could not fall to the bed. The only actions he could take were those that helped him leave this place.  The Countess wasn’t the first person to shackle him, she was just the first to do it unknowingly. All things considered, he had gotten off pretty easily. The people that trapped him wanted to use him for a particular, selfish purpose, but they didn’t seek to harm him or others. What if next time, he wasn’t so lucky?

He could find adventure again. He could find Geralt again. He could pretend that his life was easier than it was, and that he could move freely through the continent, to chase his happiness.

It was time to find Lazuli.

read chapter 5

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