#eskel just smiles watching jaskier doing his best play kill

[ficsforfundota]

Ghost Stories With Lambert Day 2 Campfire Prompt - Witcher Summer Camp

"Alright kids, off to the campfire." Geralt yelled to his red team. At Camp Wolf it was customary to do a big campfire each night to bring the two teams together to talk about the activities and how the next day was planned out. The older campers came running to go sit down at the large campfire. As they sat down the younger group, the blue team or as they were fondly refereed to as the pups by the older kids.

Jaskier and Lambert were sitting with their little group and watched as the older kids came and sat. Eskel and Geralt sat with them and Yennefer soon arrived with supplies to make smores. The kids exclaimed in excitement seeing the sticks being handed out. Jaskier began to strum his guitar and the kids started to sing the camp anthem.

"Camp Wolf Camp Wolf A summer camp for all the best! We sing, we play, and best of all we don't complain! Camp Wolf Camp Wolf Our Home away from Home!"

Jaskier continued to strum while the older kids helped the younger ones get their marshmallows roasted. Ciri sat on Geralt's lap happily watching the fire overtake her marshmallow. Geralt kissed her blonde hair and bounced her on his knee. He had been nervous becoming her guardian being only 22 at the time and her being five. They were now 23 and 6 but in all accounts they were doing well. He was just happy he could bring her along and let her enjoy the summer camp experience. She began to eat the chocolates that was supposed to go on her smore while Geralt roasted her sweet.

Jaskier winked to Geralt who blushed a bit, ever since they began to date they were inseparable when they could manage but they both knew their first duties were to the campers. Jaskier continued to strum his guitar while the kids enjoyed their sweets. Yennefer being head counselor stood up. "Alright kids, I think tonight is ghost story night." Ciri snuggled deeper into Geralt's arms nervous about the ghost stories, but she knew her big brother/father would protect her. Jaskier sat beside them holding her small hand, his guitar waiting beside him if he needed to add any extra suspense. Yennefer grinned. "Alright who's first?"

Lambert stood up with a smile. "I'll go first."

"Good, scare them at the start then the rest of the stories won't seem so bad." Eskel joked with a grin as the campers continued to munch on smores and the chocolate. A few older kids tossed marshmallows back and forth.

Lambert looked over the campers with a smile. "Five hundred years ago this exact spot was where they killed a witch." He grinned as some of the younger campers eyes grew wide. Ciri sat back into Geralt's arms, her grip on Jaskier's hand tight. He chuckled patting her leg softly.

"Why'd they burn the witch?" One of the older campers asked with big eyes.

"She cursed a town, their crops all began to die. The pigs and cows went mad, they were dangerous and wild. The well dried up, people got sick." Lambert replied. "She decimated the town, people grew ill and children died from starvation."

"Why'd she curse them? No ones just a meanie." Ciri piped up. Geralt chuckled rubbing her cheek.  

Lambert looked her sweet face over, her blonde hair had been braided back by Jaskier that morning. "Well Ciri, you're right. No one's just mean to be mean. However, she was to be married to the mayors son. This witch was fair and beautiful, and no one knew of her powers until one day she walked in on the mayors son and her best friend. They had been together for a long time, their arranged marriage meant nothing to the mayors son but the witch had loved him so. She cursed the town to ensure he never became mayor. So they could never be happy like she wasn't."

Ciri frowned a bit. "That's sad." She whispered.

Geralt nuzzled her a bit while they continued to listen to Lambert's story. "How is this a ghost story?" One of the older boys asked.

"I was getting to that." Lambert replied giving him a look. The kids quieted down and tossed a marshmallow towards another camper.  Lambert smirked a bit watching the younger ones faces. "It's said that if you listen in the dead of night you will hear her screams as she was burnt by the fires. She continues to seek out those who she believes wrong her. Any girl who looks like her best friend, any boy who looks like her past lover. She will seek them out, she will show up in your dreams. Lead you out into the woods in a sleep walking state and finish you off in hopes of healing her wounded heart. The anger within her soul when she died kept her tethered to this realm. She seeks revenge and she continues to hunt for those who wronged her to finally be released from the grounds."

As he grew quiet and the kids all looked up at him with big eyes a scream was heard in the distance. Geralt looked around and realized that Yennefer had stepped away. The kids were all howling in terror about a witch coming to get them. Ciri clung to his chest while she held Jaskier's hand so tightly her nails dug in.

Yennefer came back around in the chaos and sat down while she watched the kids. "What did her enemies look like? Which ones of us are safe!" They yelped in panic.

Jaskier grinned a bit seeing even the skeptical older kids looking wide eyed in panic. Lambert chuckled a bit. "That's the thing kid, the story doesn't tell us what they looked like, it's lost in history. She could be looking for anyone, they could look just like you. Their eyes and hair are a complete mystery. All we know is she is searching, and continues to search for anyone who looks like those who wronged her. You can sometimes even see her frame in the fire as it rages."

The kids were horrified by the idea, Ciri snuggled deeper into Geralt. "I think the kids are going to be up all night."

Eskel only nodded with a chuckle while they talked and the kids stuck close to their friends. "This is why we have the buddy system to use the bathroom at night." Yennefer smirked. "A few years ago we had a camper go out on his own and he never came back. We heard the screams of the witch that very night."

The kids clung closer to one another.

"Geralt." Ciri's little voice whispered as she snuggled deeper into his neck. "Can I sleep in your tent tonight?"

"Yes of course Ciri." Geralt smirked kissing her forehead. "Anything you need."

She sighed in relief.

"Well it's getting late, I think we better get off to bed everyone." Yennefer called. The kids were wide eyed, no other stories, no more songs. Just the thought of a witch roaming their camp ground.

"How about one song." Jaskier said standing up as he strummed a nice tune, the kids calmed a bit at the sound of the guitar strings. "You kids know we are here to protect you, from witches and ghosts and the likes." Jaskier mentioned to calm the kids some more. "Hell Geralt is strong enough he could probably punch a bear. It's why us five are your counselors. Team Red or Team Blue we are all Camp Wolf."

The kids eased hearing their newest and favorite camp counselor promise their safety, and they all agreed their white haired counselor was strong enough he probably could wrestle a bear no problem. "Now off to bed you kids, we have a busy day tomorrow. Bright and early. Remember the buddy system." Yennefer clapped. The kids went running, in pairs or groups of three to four back to their cabins. Geralt carried Ciri off to his tent to let her sleep with him that night to protect her from the evil witch. He chuckled as she fell asleep in his arms.

Lambert smirked fist bumping Yennefer as they put the fire out, the embers sparkling about in the night air. "I think that will keep them all in their cabins at night."

"Should." She smirked. "If not I can just go scream in the woods."

He chuckled as they headed to their tents, the kids promising to protect one another by the fire side witch.

@witchersummercamp day prompt fill 

#Lambert #jaskier/geralt #witcher ciri #ghost stories #camp fire #witchersummercamp

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 3/5 - AO3 - Previous

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen… only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None?? Maybe… I’ll add them later if I remember any.

________

They hadn’t found a solution that night. Geralt hadn’t been willing to talk about it, so Jaskier had reluctantly let it go. They had time to figure everything out. It’s not like they had to have fake sex every evening, and they’d already said they were worn out from the road. It didn’t stop Jaskier’s mind from running faster than Roach in a field full of dandelions. Geralt had eventually pulled Jaskier to his chest and started rubbing soothing circles into Jaskier’s side.

After that Jaskier was out like a light.

Which was totally unfair.

They’d woken up wrapped in each other’s arms, legs tangled and honestly in his sleep hazed mind Jaskier hadn’t been able to figure out which limb belonged to which body. It had all been rather nice, until Jaskier remembered Geralt was now his fake boyfriend not his real one and he pulled away from Geralt in a start.

He’d ended up falling out of the bed and almost giving himself a concussion. He was a fucking nightmare.

“Bard,” Vesemir barked just as he was finishing his breakfast, “meet me in the library. You have work to do. Geralt, there’s some tiles coming loose on the roof above the armoury.”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier just stared, wide eyed after Vesemir. “Wait what?”

“Chores, Jask.”

“Yes yes, but… why am I? I’m a guest!” he whined rather pathetically.

“We don’t have guests in Kaer Morhen. You’re family, you have to work.”

“Oh cock!” he grumbled, there went his relaxing winter.

__________________

It turned out he really shouldn’t have worried about having to fake his relationship with Geralt. They barely saw each other during the day. Geralt was stuck on the more physical tasks whereas Jaskier spent his days scribbling on potion bottles and ingredient jars, or helping Vesemir organise the vast library, a job he would have finished sooner if he didn’t keep getting distracted by the books. He’d never seen half of them, not even whilst at Oxenfurt.

Two more witchers arrived after Jaskier’s first week at Kaer Morhen, Lambert and Eskel. They travelled up the mountain path together and arrived just in time for dinner that evening. Thankfully, like Geralt and Jaskier, they’d been too tired to really say anything the first night.

The second night, however, was a different story altogether. Lambert, as it turned out, was a little shit. Jaskier, under any other circumstances would have adored him, but his questions about their relationship were driving him up the wall.

“So, you finally tamed the famed White Wolf,” Lambert snorted, taking a long gulp of white gull.

“Ah yes, well. It would seem that way wouldn’t it,” Jaskier said smoothly, not entirely a lie either which he was proud of.

“So when did he confess?” Lambert probed. Jaskier cooed over how he’d been in love with Geralt since Posada, love at first sight being all very poetic and exactly the sort of story Geralt expected from him. Geralt mumbled something about the Djinn and how Jaskier almost dying had opened his eyes. Jaskier wanted to laugh at that, but he kept his cool. The only thing he remembered was how Geralt had fallen into Yennefer’s arms and broken his heart.

“I found Jaskier in Oxenfurt in the spring,” Geralt explained, again not a lie. Jaskier was amazed by their combined ability to spin the truth. Jaskier remembered it fondly. Normally he had to track Geralt down so he’d been surprised to see Geralt on his doorstep come spring. “Missed him all winter, didn’t want to spend anymore time apart.”

“And the fool quite literally swept me off my feet,” Jaskier giggled, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder. He wanted to hold his hand under the table but… well…he had no excuse.

“I couldn’t wait to kiss him,” Geralt admitted, a stupidly fond smile on his face that Jaskier couldn’t help but return. He licked his lips and his eyes flicked down in a silent question. They’d spoken about kissing in front of the other witchers but this would be the first time.

Geralt’s smile widened, a rare occurrence that left Jaskier’s heart somersaulting in his chest. He swallowed and then leaned in to press his lips against Geralt’s. It was only a peck on the lips, appropriate for company, but Jaskier still felt dizzy. Gods, he was so in love. It was just not fair.

Geralt bumped his nose against Jaskier’s as they pulled apart and Jaskier could feel himself blushing furiously. How was Geralt so good at this?

“About time the idiot got his head out of his arse,” Eskel laughed, shooting both Geralt and Jaskier a fond smile, and raising his drink.

Jaskier choked, ale spraying all over the table. Some went down his throat the wrong way and he started to cough and splutter. He was wheezing for breath by the time he’d finished and his throat was sore. Geralt’s hand rested on his back, and Lambert and Eskel were looking at him like he was about to keel over.

“Fine,” he rasped “I’m fine, just… “ he coughed again.

What the fuck had Eskel meant? Geralt finally getting his head out of his arse? Come to think of it, Vesemir hadn’t been entirely surprised by Jaskier’s presence either. None of them were, and he knew Geralt had told his family about him.

So what exactly had his grumpy best friend been telling the witchers of Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier started thinking over the last couple of decades spent at Geralt’s side. The witcher barely admitted they were friends, going so far as to argue with Jaskier that they weren’t. At first that had stung but now Jaskier was starting to wonder if he’d read it wrong. Geralt wasn’t one for words or emotions, Jaskier knew that, but he would have thought that even Geralt would know that Jaskier needed to hear some kind of confession.

But Geralt’s love language was not words, and it never had been.

Geralt showed he cared in different ways. At first it was not riding away and abandoning Jaskier, despite his protests that Jaskier was just trouble, then Geralt would put away coin to save up for treats on the road. Treats that he didn’t indulge in himself, but sweet buns, healing potions that wouldn’t kill Jaskier, a spare bedroll, better shoes, warmer clothes. Piece by piece Geralt had made sure that Jaskier was well equipped for the road.

In turn, Jaskier paid for their rooms at the inn, helped to wash Geralt’s hair, which was honestly a gross job and Jaskier deserved a lot more thanks for it. Monster guts stuck to hair like a burr in a sheep’s wool. He played ballads and told epic stories of Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, all around the Continent until the Butcher of Blaviken was but a distant memory. A cautionary tale told to children before bed but nothing based in truth. No one, outside of Blaviken, even remembered that it had been Geralt at all. That was also Jaskier’s doing, morphing the tales of the Butcher of Blaviken into a monster of its very own, far apart from witchers; a demon that the White Wolf had banished.

But that wasn’t Jaskier’s love language. That was just… helping out a friend. He was a bard, a poet, a romantic. If he truly thought he’d had a chance with his best friend then he would have adorned Geralt in pet names, flowers, sonnets. No one would have any doubt about who Jaskier truly loved, who his heart belonged to, and he’d foolishly expected to be wooed in quite the same way.

Fuck.

A fool.

An utter fool.

All he needed was a hat with bells and a tambourine.

“Oh fuck,” he finally muttered aloud.

“Jask?” Geralt’s voice cut through his turmoil and he blinked until he was back in the now familiar dining room at Kaer Morhen.

Four sets of golden eyes were watching him.

“I need a moment,” he stammered and then, like the coward he was… he fled.

_____________

He paced around the room until the sound of his footsteps started to annoy him, the never-ending echoing thud reverberating around the room. He threw himself on the bed, inhaling Geralt's scent. It usually helped to ground him but today was different. It just confused him. He felt completely off-balanced. Did Geralt actually want him?

As more than a friend?

It completely changed the last two decades of his life. The wasted opportunities he’d had if hadn’t been such a coward.

Fuck!

Why couldn’t he have just said something?

Why didn’t Geralt?

But what if he was reading the whole thing wrong? What if this was just false hope? That thought burned through him, making his heart ache. He felt like he’d been thrown into a fire, flames blazing around him, a slow torturous death as his love seared through his soul.

He sobbed helplessly and held a pillow to his chest. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. He’d flown too close to the fucking sun and now he was falling, wings melted and falling apart, his tears glistening in the very rays that had been his end.

“Jaskier?”

“Go away,” he grumbled. He couldn’t face Geralt, not now. It was too soon and too overwhelming.

“I’m sorry, Jask.”

Jaskier threw his pillow at the door and Geralt ducked out of the way. He heard the door close and he went back to feeling sorry for himself, praying to all the gods he’d feel better after a good cry. He was pathetic. And yet again, Geralt had found him bawling his eyes out.

“Fuck!” He yelled, not even caring anymore who could hear him. Fucking witchers and their fancy mutations and enhanced hearing. It wasn’t fucking fair.

And the whole ‘only significant others’ rule was completely bullshit.

“Fucking shit balls,” Jaskier screamed into his pillow. “Cock,” he mumbled rather lamely.

It would have all been quite fun if he wasn’t quite so in love with Geralt. If they’d been just friends he would have enjoyed the easy flirtations, his personality was practically made for it. He was so fucking angry with himself for not being able to do this, even Geralt was putting on a better show. He sniffed and wiped the snot from his nose.

“Oh get a grip, Jask,” he muttered, grimacing as he looked at his hands. “Gods, I’m a wreck.”

“You’re not a wreck,” he heard Geralt say.

He sat up, slightly dizzy from moving too quickly, and glanced around the room. It was empty. Was he hearing voices now?

“Geralt?”

“I’m outside.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier stared at the door, longing to open it but something held him back. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw Geralt right now. Either yell at him or snog him senseless.

He wasn’t really sure if Geralt wanted either of those things.

So he crawled off the end of the bed and knelt in front of the door, pressing his forehead to the wood. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m normally better company, or at least I try to be… for you?” he whispered, knowing Geralt could hear him.

Geralt hummed and Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, tears still running down his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to cause a fuss.

“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” he sighed, his fingers scraping at his scalp.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt grunted. “I know it can’t be easy, pretending to love me, but…”

Jaskier had scrambled to his feet and pulled the door open before Geralt could finish that sentence. The fucking bastard thought it was all so hard because he was unlovable! Jaskier’s misery turned to anger in the blink of an eye. Geralt fell backwards through the door, his head landing at Jaskier’s feet and he blinked up at him in surprise.

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence, Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier hissed.

“But…”

“You are my best friend in the whole wide world and I love you, so don’t you dare start spouting some nonsense about how no one could love you. You horse’s arse!”

“Jask,”

“Now get in here, you and I are going to pretend to have sex.” Jaskier’s words surprised him, they were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“What?!”

“We’ll tell the others that I was just being dramatic, I’m a bard after all,” Jaskier explained with a wave of his hand. He needed to stop moping and get into his role, plus if there was a chance that Geralt did love him back, which he was really beginning to suspect he did… then… well… what better way to find out?

#the witcher #geraskier #kaer morhen #fake dating #wolfie’s witcher writing

[write-ur-wrongs]

Mother, Mother pt.2

A/N: Finally ready to post part 2 of my dad!Geralt fic!!! Part 2 is loosely based on this prompt Another request with baby!👀🥰 Reader has a newborn and geralt is just watching them thinking about how much have changed and how reader turned his life around...🍪 so I really want to thank that anon for their prompt and their patience! I definitely took some liberties with this story and worry the plot got lost along the way(?) but I really hope you like it nonetheless! Full disclosure I haven’t proof-read this piece so forgive the many typos!!

__________________________________________________________

“I said, no,” Geralt repeated himself slowly and with great authority, “thank you.”

The village healer looked at the witcher with eyes wide in disbelief, unable to accept that there was anything a witcher wouldn’t do for coin. Especially this witcher – the White Wolf – or so they used to call him. He used to be a force to be reckoned with on the continent, but now it seemed there was rarely a job he’d be willing to take.

“No? B-but who will help us!” they shouted desperately, “you can’t just leave this village to fend for itself! The creature will kill us all, Witcher!”

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath before repeating himself yet again. “Please understand, I can’t help you, but I know people who can. Eskel is highly qualified and will be here by the next full moon. He will help you; I assure you.”

“But you’re here now,” the healer said, still shaking his head, “you could resolve this by nightfall! Why should these people wait a week for peace?”

“Hm.” He growled, lowly, biting down on his cheek to keep himself from giving into his rage and his pride. He wasn’t just living for himself anymore, not just living for the coin or by the witcher’s code; he had a family now.

He knew the world wouldn’t be easy to convince regarding his change in career path. Hell, it had taken most of your pregnancy to convince his brothers at Kaer Morhen of his plans. When he first told them you were pregnant, and it was his, they laughed heartily while sharing quick looks of concern between one another; fearing you’d strayed and were trying to play poor Geralt for a fool.

Yet that reaction was nothing compared to the one they gave him when Geralt admitted that his days of being a witcher were over. He’d be a consultant now. He’d travel the continent only when he heard of monsters through Jaskier’s letters, and once he reached these villages, he’d take stock and refer the case to one of his brothers, who’d pay him a modest commission for the referral. Geralt never took contracts he deemed to be too dangerous (which, so it happened, was most of them). The rule was if he wouldn’t readily bring Cirilla along to help, it was too dangerous for him alone.

Once, he let pride take precedence and he accepted a contract he knew was dangerous. It felt good to be back in the saddle, both literally and figuratively. He and Roach took to the forest like birds on a breeze, and his sword was just an extension of himself as he wielded it fiercely and with grace.

While he did conquer the beast in the end, it did put up quite a fight, and everything he thought made the fight worth it was washed away the instant he limped into your home and saw the look on his pregnant wife’s face and heard the cries of his beloved child surprise. To this day, he still feels the panicked sound of Ciri’s fearful shriek and your horrified sob weigh heavily in the pit of his stomach.

He felt this very weight now as he considered this desperate healer’s words. Yes, he’d handled this type of monster many times before, but it wasn’t worth it.

“Listen to me, this type of creature is only a threat during a full moon,” Geralt said, “just educate your people, spread the word, you’re in a position of authority here – use it.”

The healer sighed deeply before muttering to themselves in frustration. They pulled their cloak tighter around their body and made a scene of grabbing the coin-filled sac from the table. Geralt rolled eyes his at the paranoid healer before gesturing for them to head outside.

“Fine, leave! But if you leave now and anyone dies, their blood will be on your hands!” shouted the healer, as Geralt tended to Roach.

Geralt rolled his eyes before mounting Roach, urging her onto the trail.

This isn’t my fight, he thought, and their people will be fine.

You were having a wonderful morning. Wren slept through the night for the first time in who-knows how long, and Ciri was relaxing as she entered her fifth day without a magical episode; those lessons with her aunt Yennefer were definitely paying off.

Now you were savouring the gentle afternoon breeze, resting your knees in the cool earth of the garden as the sun warmed you from above. You loved harvesting produce and tending to the flowers; this year was especially bountiful thanks to a rainy spring and temperate summer. As you picked tomatoes off the vine, you smiled softly at the sound of Ciri celebrating a successful hit on her target across the yard.

Meanwhile, Wren played happily in the dirt at your side. She’s been sitting up on her own now which was such a thrill. Such a small change, but it granted you freedoms you didn’t know you’d been missing.

“Mama, snek!” Wren squealed, proudly holding an earthworm up at you. You laughed in relief upon seeing what she was holding up – for half a second you thought she’d managed to snag an actual snake.

“Wow my girl,” you cooed, “what a find!”

At the sound of your praise, Wren smiled up at you brightly and closed her little fingers around the earthworm with pride.

“Careful now, love! Don’t harm it,” you said, gently prying open her stubby fingers and releasing the worm back into the soil, “these little guys play an important role in the health of our garden.”

“You know she doesn’t understand you, right mom?” Ciri said a little breathlessly after stabbing her sword into the earth.

“I don’t think we can say that with certainty, Ciri. She is a witcher’s daughter after all, we are in for a lifetime of surprises I’d say.” You replied with a small shake of your head. Ciri rolled her eyes at you before making off towards the house at a run.

“Cirilla,” you warned, “don’t leave your sword in the yard! And wipe it down before you take it in – I don’t want dirt tracked in again.”

“Mom!” she groaned, stomping back to get her sword. “Witchers don’t need to do these ridiculous chores…” she said under her breath.

“They don’t get warm meals or comfortable beds either!” you replied in a sing-song, knowing it would drive Ciri crazy – you hated when she grumbled at you. Ciri had great respect for her father but would sometimes treat you like you were nothing more than a headmistress at school. Having spent time with witchers and sorceresses alike, scolding didn’t command respect; at least when you played it light it got her attention.

“Yeah – I know! I’ve lived those lives!” Ciri shouted, storming back towards the house, sword in hand.

Fuck. You forgot she was there when Cintra fell. How could you forget?! She was alone and, on the run, and oh gods if Geralt had been here and heard this he’d –

“Ciri, wait, I’m so sorry. I’m –”

“Sounds like someone could use some help.”

You stopped cold at the sound of the strangers’ voice. It ran through you like mead – ice cold but left a strange burning sensation in its place. Ciri also stopped in her tracks, dropping her hand from the door but keeping a firm grip on the helm of her sword. Ciri cast a quick glance at the stranger standing on the edge of your property before settling her nervous eyes on you.

You did your best to evoke confidence before turning to see this stranger for yourself.

It was Visenna.

Again, you did your best to seem confident as you addressed your eldest. “Ciri,” you said, not taking your eyes off the druid, “take Wren into the house, quickly!”  

“Mom?”

“Cirilla please, take her and go into the house,” you said, impressed at your ability to keep your voice level. “And take your sword with you,” you added, turning to give her what you hopped was a look that encouraged her to stay calm and be careful.

Ciri said nothing but scooped her sister up and onto her hip with one arm while keeping her sword steadily by her side.

Once you heard the door close, you cast a quick glance to make sure your girls were safe before turning your attention back to the woman standing at the gate.

“Why are you here, Visenna?” you asked, holding your head high despite the fact your heart was pounding in your ears.

“Oh child,” her words dripped with condescension, “I never expected my son to write me back, but I had hoped he’d share the contents of my letter with his wife.”

“He told me about the letter,” you said, giving her a tight close-lipped smile, “in fact he told me all about you. So, I’m going to ask you again, why are you here?”

“If you know about the letter, then you know why I’m here.”  

“Could you be so cold as to have you forgotten your history with your son? The way you left him to be tested on like a rat? You have no right to be here.” Your voice cracked as you finished your last sentence, and Visenna tilted her head at your sign of weakness.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, dear. You weren’t there -”

“Neither were you!” you spat; with a harshness you didn’t think you had in you.

“Hm.” Visenna crossed her arms and watched you closely through narrowed eyes. You hated that she reminded you of Geralt as she seized you up – the had the same mannerisms, the same affinity for the non-verbal. Geralt could never know.

The druid’s scrutinizing glare made you squirm, and when you broke eye contact with her for a moment of reprieve, she moved to open your gate. For the briefest moment, your panic left you paralyzed as you watched the woman begin a confident stride towards the house.

“Stop!”

You whipped your head around as you heard Ciri come bursting out of the front door. She was wielding her sword up in front of her with one hand while the other hugged Wren onto her side.

“Do not come any closer, I am warning you!” she shrieked, her light eyes wild as her mousey hair blew behind her.

“Ciri-” you tried, holding one hand out to calm her.

“No!” she yelled, keeping her eyes and her sword fixed on Visenna, who was now standing stock-still at the gate.

“Stop trying to tame her, dear,” Visenna interjected. “Let the lion cub roar.”

At the sound of her old nickname, you took in a sharp breath and felt your heart drop to your stomach. It felt like the world stopped turning as Ciri reacted to the trigger.

Cirilla could handle discussions about her old life in small doses and only on her terms. Whenever the dreams came to her, it would take you hours to calm her down. More often than not, the episodes left you and Geralt drained and deeply concerned. Yennefer was really the only person Ciri responded to, and while her methods and lessons have helped, sometimes the pain brought on by the memories was simply too great.

Now, as the four of you stood in your garden, you could feel the earth begin to vibrate beneath your feet. Ciri’s jaw was clenched tight and her nostrils were flared. She slowly knelt down and placed Wren onto the ground before standing tall once again.

“Do not call me that.” She seethed, voice dripping with magic.

“Come now, child,” Visenna replied, seemingly unaware of the storm brewing, “I am your grandmother. I can help you; teach you.”

“You are not my grandmother!” Ciri shrieked, pushing a violent wind towards the druid which forced her to take a step back. “Get out of here! Leave!”

“I – I don’t mean any disrespect, Ciri. The Lioness was –”

“Ciri, no, wait –”

Everything happened so quickly. You felt the burning rush of Ciri’s magic roar past you and tried desperately to keep your eyes open so you could see Wren. Though your eyes stung against the harsh blast Ciri was emitting, you saw Wren crying soundlessly behind her sister, her chubby hands reaching out towards you in desperation. You tried to step towards her but an invisible force pushed you to the ground. You pulled yourself up on one elbow and tried to reach towards your baby without luck. Everything was burning and it took all of your strength to stay alert.

Meanwhile, Ciri’s blast of magic shot at Visenna like a bolt of lightening. Out of the tip of her sword and from her outstretched hand came a bright blue flame surrounded by pulses of violent wind. The destructive blast uprooted the gate and surrounding fence, throwing them back into the forest beyond. Burning shrapnel and earth flew towards her at breakneck speed, but the druid reacted quickly, pulling a portal with the help of an amulet and escaped the blast.

The garden in the path of Ciri’s blow burned harshly – leaving nothing behind but ash; except for the pocket where you lay. You tried to call out to Ciri to calm her down but there was no air for you to draw from. You let the force of her magic hold you down for a moment, trying to recuperate your strength, and when you looked up again you saw Wren taking a few wobbly steps toward her sister.

Holy fuck, you thought. These were her first steps.

You watched with wide eyes as Wren took step after step towards her sister, whose magic raged on. You were so drained by the weight of Ciri’s magic that you were convinced your eyes were deceiving you.

You watched in disbelief as Wren took step after step towards Ciri. The moment her little hand reached her sisters leg, the spell broke and Chaos released its hold on Cirilla. Drained from the exertion, she lost consciousness and started to collapse in on herself, her sword falling from her hand and onto the ground with a dull thud.

You scrambled to your feet and raced to Ciri, dropping to your knees once you reached her to catch her in her fall. You smoothed the ashen strands out of her face and rocked her gently from side to side, breathing shakily through your silent tears. You didn’t know when you started to cry, but when Wren waddled her way to you and nestled onto Ciri’s lap to press her face into the crook of your neck, you were sure you’d be crying forever.

“What the fuck,” Geralt growled upon seeing the destruction as he rode up to the house from the trail. In a growing panic, he urged Roach into a canter. When they got to where the gate should have been, he dismounted and ran towards the house at a sprint, his heart pounding in his ears. When he saw you sobbing on the ground with an unconscious Ciri and weeping Wren, he lost all control.

“Y/N! Y/N what happened?! Who did this?” he shouted, panic rising. When he spotted Ciri’s sword on the ground, Geralt fell to his knees beside you and quickly scanned you all for any sign of injury. You were weeping, holding tightly to Ciri, who was unconscious, and Wren, you

“Y/N please talk to me,” he said more harshly than he meant it, while brushing wild strands of hair out of your face gruffly.

“Ciri, she um –” you choked, working to slow your breathing, “she lost control of her magic…”

“Yeah, I can see that, love.” He said with an incredulous laugh, his eyes scanning your ruined garden with disbelief. “What the fuck happened to make her so upset? Did – did she have a nightmare? Did you, hm, say something to her?”

“Geralt – no,” you said quickly, the tears you managed to calm coming back with a vengeance.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I just…” Geralt regretted the insinuation that this might have been your fault but he’d only ever seen Ciri’s magic be this destructive when she was afraid or hurt. He was at a loss.

You shook your head and turned in his arms to look back at him, readjusting Ciri and Wren in your arms to free an arm which you placed onto Geralt’s chest. You held his eyes and took a steadying breath, unsure of how he’d react.

“We – we were in the garden just, just like always and,” you cast a quick glance down at your daughters before bringing your eyes back up to Geralt’s, both to ground yourself and to hopefully remind him of their proximity in order to temper his reaction, “and Visenna appeared at the gate.”

He gasped sharply at your words, and his body around you. You brought your hand up to his face and tried to calm him. His cat-like eyes were wild and unfocused – he looked like a frightened child and it broke your heart to see him like this. Wren seemed to sense this too, as she scrambled up and reached towards her father’s hair.

Wren’s light tugs managed to pull Geralt out of his shock momentarily and his eyes seemed to come back into focus. Seeing this change, you gently redirected his attention back to you.

“Visenna came for Wren… T-to take her or, or to raise her or something? She mentioned the letter…” Geralt clenched his jaw at the reminder.

You hadn’t motioned the letter in months. Geralt wasn’t at all ready to welcome his mother back into his life, and he definitely didn’t want her anywhere near his family.

“What did she do to Ciri? I swear I’ll –” he seethed.

“No, no, Geralt,” you interrupted gently, moving your hand back to his chest, “she didn’t get the chance. I don’t know what she was going to do, but Ciri came out with her sword,” you stopped short to look down at her with pride, “to protect us.”

“She did?” Geralt let out another incredulous breath, shaking his head at his child surprise.

“Yeah, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Her magic, it destroyed everything in its path but somehow, she was sheltering me from the blast. Visenna escaped through a portal, I- I think? But Ciri was… unstoppable.”

“Y/N, if Ciri was able to harness Chaos like this at her will, to protect you; this could mean –”

“Oh no, love, I’m sorry I’m not telling this right. She came out of the house with her sword to protect us but she lost control when Visenna called her the Lion Cub.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Oh, I know,” you agreed emphatically before adding, “and then she called herself Ciri’s grandmother…”

“Fuck!”

“Right,” you sighed, shaking your head as a shudder ran through you.

“Da-ee,” Wren said suddenly, pushing her little hands into her father’s face, causing a shocked laugh to escape his lips. Geralt’s face softened in a way he reserved for his youngest daughter and the sight of it was enough to pull you out of whatever was left of your panic.

“Oh, gods!” you exclaimed, “Geralt you won’t believe this.”

“Hm?” he hummed, not taking his eyes off Wren; he was completely enthralled by his baby.

“She took her first steps – and, gods it was incredible Geralt – when she touched Ciri, it pulled her out of the trance!” You gushed breathlessly.

“She did? That’s my girl!” he beamed, earning a proud giggle from the toddler. “Fuck I hate that I missed this, you’re just full of surprises aren’t you, goose?” he said, peppering light kisses across Wren’s little face.

“I know, love.” You said softly, leaning into his arms once more. “I’m so relieved to have you home.”

“Come on, Y/N, let’s get our girls into the house.” Geralt said as handed Wren off to you before picking Ciri up gently as he stood. You took his outstretched hand rose to your feet along-side him. “I’m not leaving you again, I promise.”

“Geralt, you say that every time.” You tease lightly, holding the front door open for him.

 “No, I mean it this time Y/N, really.” He said quietly, as he laid Ciri down in her room. “I can’t keep doing this. When I’m gone, all I do is think of you and the girls…” he trailed off when he noticed Wren had fallen asleep on the couch. You smiled tenderly as you watched him cradle her into his strong arms.

“My love, you know you’d go crazy if you stayed here with us all the time.” You said as you smoothed his hair out of his face.

“I’d go crazy if anything ever happened to you.” he whispered.

“Hey now… we’re fine,” you tired to reassure him, “today was an anomaly. I doubt Visenna would try that stunt again. Ciri will be fine, she just needs to rest, and tomorrow we can send word out to Yen for support. We – “you paused to take a steadying breath, “we can’t let fear rule our lives, Geralt.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, setting Wren down into her bed before wrapping his arms around your frame, “now when did you get to be so wise?”

“A certain witcher taught me a few things,” you said, a small smirk playing on your lips, “always preaching something or other but sometimes the lessons stick.”

“Is that so?” he growled, a fighting back a smirk of his own.”

“Hmm,” you teased, kissing him deeply.

#geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #Dad!Geralt #the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #Cirilla of Cintra #cirilla fiona elen riannon #witcher cirilla #fanfiction requests #fanfiction #fanfic

[thearvariblues]

And They Were Roommates - Chapter 1

Slimmer Than Yennefer’s Waist

***

“I just wish he just fucking did it already, you know?” Lambert muttered, leaning against the bar counter.

“Yeah, I know,” Eskel nodded, wiping another glass dry. “He’s like a lovesick puppy.”

“And you don’t have to live with him,” Lambert groaned as he watched Geralt “help” Jaskier pack his things on the tiny stage at the back of the bar. The help consisted of Geralt doing all the work while Jaskier just stood there and watched, smiling like an idiot.

“Yes, every fucking day I see them like this, I thank all the gods I know for that,” Eskel agreed.

“Hey, Geralt!” Lambert yelled. “Aren’t you fucker supposed to be helping us close the bar? Or are you too busy playing a roadie?”

Geralt lifted his middle finger, not even looking up from Jaskier’s things.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Lambert snorted.

“By the way, aren’t you supposed to be helping, too? Because it seems to me like I am doing all the work here.”

“I’m giving you moral support or something, jeez,” Lambert sighed, rolling his eyes.

“And that prevents you from doing anything else, or…?”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever. Whose bright idea it was to close almost right after Jaskier’s gig ends, anyway?”

“You mean whose bright idea it was to plan a gig that ends at midnight,” Eskel replied. “Although there were so many people here tonight that I’m starting to think Jaskier’s really good. Probably.”

“If you have any doubts about that, don’t mention them to Geralt. He’ll gladly explain to you that Jaskier is the best thing that happened to rock music since fucking Queen.”

Eskel paused.

“Doesn’t Geralt only listen to death metal? Power, if he’s feeling particularly soft.”

“Yeah, I said rock, not metal,” Lambert chuckled. “Besides, Jaskier loves Queen.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, it’s absolutely disgusting.”

“That he loves Queen?”

“No, I mean what Geralt’s doing.”

“Well… Yeah,” Eskel chuckled, but then he suddenly paused, blinking. “Uh-oh. I think he told him something.”

“What?!” Lambert turned back to the stage, his ginger curls whipping around his head.

Jaskier was just standing there, utterly baffled, staring at Geralt with his mouth wide open. Geralt, meanwhile, was red as a beetroot, clearly trying to come up with something to say and failing.

“Oh, no, don’t you dare,” Lambert muttered. “Don’t you dare back off now, I won’t spend the next two years listening to your lovesick bullshit!”

“You don’t even know what he told him,” Eskel remarked.

“Don’t care,” Lambert shrugged. “Oh. Oh, yes. Can you see that? Jaskier’s coming closer!”

“Oh, fuck, it’s happening,” Eskel gasped, leaning against the counter next to Lambert. “It really is happening.”

“No no no, Geralt, don’t you fucking dare run away, you moron.”

“Yes, Jaskier, stop him, that’s a good boy.”

“Of course he was gonna stop him, that queer bard has been madly in love with him for years.”

“Are you allowed to say queer?”

“Jaskier calls himself that!”

“Fair point.”

“Besides, I am… Oh, god. It really is happening!”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it.”

That was the moment when Jaskier and Geralt’s lips finally met in a careful, almost shy kiss.

“Yes!” Lambert yelled, jumping up and down. “Fucking finally, you hare-brained dickheads!”

Geralt pulled Jaskier closer with one arm, using his other hand to give Lambert another middle finger.

“You gotta admit they’re kind of sweet, though,” Eskel chuckled when Jaskier jumped up, wrapping both his legs around Geralt’s waist.

Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. But if I ever start being sappy like this, just promise you’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh, Lambert,” Eskel sighed. “With pleasure.”

*

Precisely six months later, Lambert was sitting on his couch, staring at Geralt in utter disbelief.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re gonna move out?!”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” Geralt sighed, taking another sip of his beer. “But we knew this roommate situation wasn’t gonna last forever, didn’t we?”

“Oh, fuck of. We’ve been living together for how long? Since your divorce. That was what, four years ago?”

“Five.”

“Even better,” Lambert snorted. “Not forever, my ass!”

“Look, Lamb, I can give you… three rents. So you have time to find another roommate or… a cheaper apartment to live in, I don’t know.”

“You know where you can shove your fucking three rents, don’t you?” Lambert growled. “Am I really that insufferable a roommate, Geralt?”

“No. Well, you’re very… yourself,” Geralt smiled.

“Thanks a lot, mate, really appreciate it.”

“Lambert. It’s not you. I just… I just want to live with my boyfriend, really.”

“Yeah, and I get it, but I…” Lambert sighed. “I fucking love this apartment, I really do, and now I’m gonna have to give it up. I could never afford a place like this on my own.”

“You just need to find another roommate, Lamb.”

“Hate to break it to you, honey, but chances that I find another person willing to put up with my bullshit are slimmer than Yennefer’s waist.”

“You know, you could just say you’re gonna miss me,” Geralt smiled.

Lambert sighed again, but then he raised to his feet and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“I am gonna miss you, Geralt,” he said, placing the glasses on the table with a soft clink. “Wanna get utterly wasted one more time?”

“With you? Always,” Geralt nodded, finishing his beer.

*

Geralt’s task to speak with Lambert was a walk in the park in comparison to what Jaskier had to go through.

“So… You want me to move out, basically,” his roommate said.

“I didn’t say that, dear heart,” Jaskier sighed, pouring them another glass of wine. “You’re more than welcome to stay, it’s just…”

“It’s just that I’d have to live here with you and your boyfriend. No, thanks.” He ran his fingers through his long black hair. “It’s fine, really. I’m sure I can find a place to stay.”

“Geralt’s not gonna move in immediately, of course. I was thinking… perhaps next month?” Jaskier shrugged. “I can even help you with the apartment hunting, if you want.”

“That’s sweet of you, Jaskier, but there’s no need. I’m sure I can do it on my own,” he said, adjusting his long skirt to cover his feet. “Damn, it’s fucking cold today, isn’t it?”

“Just put on some socks.”

“You know I hate socks.”

“Fine, freeze to death, then, if you want. Just… Listen, I want to help. To compensate for kicking you out!”

His roommate smirked.

“You just wanna ease your conscience, that’s all, babe. Stop it, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna be fine. I’m just gonna miss my friend, that’s all.”

“Oh, honey, but you can still see me whenever you want!” Jaskier said quickly. “Just stop by for a glass of wine, or we can meet at Geralt’s bar!”

“You mean Geralt and those other two’s bar.”

“Eskel and Lambert. Geralt’s adoptive brothers.”

“Yeah, those two. The scarred one and the asshole one.”

“You could meet them if you wanted, you see.”

“No, thanks. Knowing Geralt is probably enough, I don’t need to meet his family, too.”

“Well, you’re gonna meet them at the wedding whether you want it or not, so–”

“What fucking wedding are you talking about? Jaskier! Did he propose and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Relax. I meant a… potential future wedding I absolutely haven’t already planned every detail of.”

“Jesus, you’re incredible, Jaskier,” his roommate laughed. “Hey, I have a question. Couldn’t you like… you move in with Geralt and leave this apartment to me so all I’d have to do would be to find another roommate?”

“I wish,” Jaskier muttered, licking his lips. “But I told you Geralt lives with his brother Lambert, remember? And he insisted on leaving that apartment to him.”

“Lucky bastard. Think I could convince him to let me move in with him?”

Jaskier blinked, mouth falling open.

“Aiden!” he gasped. “That’s a fucking brilliant idea!”

Aiden groaned finishing his wine in a single one gulp.

“Oh, well. Looks like I’m gonna meet one of Geralt’s brothers, after all. Lucky me. Just remind me, Lambert is…”

“The asshole one.”

“Fucking great,” Aiden said, lifting the hand holding his glass. “In that case, more wine, please. I don’t want to face that idea sober.”

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #lambden #lambert x aiden #and they were roommates #idiots in love #mutual pining #friends to lovers #slow burn #multichapter #my fics

[jaskiersvalley]

Immortals

A @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo fill. Special shout out to @chubbykatsudon for bouncing ideas around.

Prompt: Meet Ugly Title (optional): Immortals Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc):  Geralt/Jaskier Rating:  M (for (not permanent) murder) Content Warnings: Murder attempts of immortal friends for the sake of entertainment. Summary: Sometimes living forever is just boring. There’s nothing to do except literally kill time.

Being an immortal was boring. The middle ages had been especially dull and Vesemir had encouraged them to play knights in shining armour. It had been fun at the time but, on reflection, it was probably just Vesemir trying to get his idiots out of his hair for a bit. Then humanity seemed to decide it had had enough of stagnating and began to invent things. Fun things. Like the toaster. Lambert picked up on of the first models and took it home with glee, presenting it to Eskel.

“New bath water heater,” he said.

All too trusting and happy, Eskel took it, deciding that taking a bath was exactly what he needed to do to relax. From the armchair Vesemir watched him go with a soft sigh and turned back to his knitting. Not half an hour later the lights in the house started flickering and there was a noise from the bathroom while Lambert cackled. As the fuses blew in the house, Vesemir gave Lambert a flat, unamused stare and continued to knit in the dark. Thankfully, Geralt was as dutiful as ever and turned the lights back on while Eskel emerged from the bathroom looking a little frazzled.

“Spicy water,” he announced and shook his head, spraying water from his hair in all directions. While Lambert cackled, Vesemir tutted.

It went on like that, new inventions and new ways to kill each other. Or rather, not kill each other because they just never died. Not even a stilling of the heart and no breathing, only to dramatically come back to life. That would have been fun at least. Alas, they just endured whatever time threw at them with as much or as little grace as they had.

It was rare to find someone like them but rumour had it that there was another. And he was having a grand old time with the modern phenomenon of global fame. Jaskier was irritating(ly pretty) if anyone asked Geralt. But nobody really wanted or needed his opinion so he stayed quiet. Another immortal friend was always a nice idea so they went to his concerts, listened to his music and reached out to get to know him. Their first meeting was looming, they’d been exchanging messages, chatting but not actually met in the flesh. Still, they all wanted to make a good impression so there was a lot of preparation going on to look their best.

“What’s that?” Geralt asked as Lambert and Eskel were leaning over a new contraption.

“It’s a new tanning device,” Eskel declared, pushing the microwave towards him. “You’re so pale, we figured you’d want to look a little more healthy when meeting Jaskier.”

Lambert’s smile held nothing but cheerful malice. “I accidentally broke it a bit. What you have to do is plug it in, put your head in the machine and push with a fork on the latch. Set the timer to how long you want to be in there toasting for.”

Suspicious but not knowing any better, Geralt did as told. Behind him the other two were snickering, probably because it was such a stupid machine. All it did was hum and whirr noisily while forcing Geralt into a strange position, bent over the kitchen counter with his head in the opening. Once the machine dinged, he pulled out and looked at the other two.

“Well?” There was no change and Geralt grumbled. “Useless machine. At least it hums more in tune that Jaskier.”

With that, he wandered off, feeling quite warm but otherwise no different to usual.

“At least he looked like an idiot,” Eskel sighed. “That will have to be consolation enough.”

For a first meeting, they had grand plans. It had been a while since they pranked Vesemir so the idea was slowly blossoming. To make sure Jaskier was the kind of person they’d want to maintain a friendship with (no matter how pretty he was), they decided to rope him into it too. It was a very simple plan involving some nuts, a revolving door and an umbrella. As long as Jaskier brought the umbrella and played along, they were going to be golden.

The big meeting was approaching. Vesemir had asked his idiots to be on best behaviour and extracted false promises from them. They were to meet in a bar with private booths, able to get to know each other in a neutral but not public setting. After all, wherever Jaskier went, he got mobbed by fans.

As they walked into the booth, Lambert grinned at the sight of the umbrella. This was going to be perfect. Filing in, they sat on the semi-circle of the bench. Geralt got ushered in next to Jaskier followed quickly by Lambert and Eskel. It left Vesemir on Jaskier’s other side which was just fine. Perfect even for the greatest prank. There was a bowl of peanuts on the table and, as introductions were being made (with Geralt being impressively lacking on the verboseness, too struck down by how much better Jaskier looked in real life), Vesemir munched away on a couple.

All chatter came to a sudden stop and Eskel swung his legs off Lambert’s lap when Vesemir choked on a peanut. That wasn’t part of the plan. The coughing wouldn’t stop and then the hand waving started so Jaskier thumped him on the back to no avail. Rather dramatically, Vesemir tried to get up and collapsed.

Lambert brayed with laughter. “How fucking undignified.”

They waited for Vesemir to pick himself up. Or even move. The longer he was on the floor unmoving, the more awkward the silence got.

“Get up old man,” Lambert huffed.

Eskel tried to be a bit more gentle. “Vesemir?”

There was no response. Eskel made a move to get up but Jaskier beat him to it, crouching by Vesemir. A hand on his pulse then a listen to his chest. Slowly, Jaskier looked up at the three.

“He’s dead.”

“He can’t be,” Geralt replied hoarsely. “We don’t die.”

“No pulse. No breathing. No response.” Jaskier gave Vesemir an experimental poke in the cheek. “Seems pretty dead to me.”

Eskel’s quiet “oh shit” was the start of the panicked rushing to Vesemir’s side and trying to rouse him. There were three very panicked adopted sons around him while Jaskier took a step back and watched.

“This can’t be!” Lambert’s protests were weak. “He can’t be dead.”

His eyes were tearing up a little as Eskel pulled Vesemir up and cradled the limp body against his chest. “Please wake up?”

Jaskier couldn’t help but think they were like children. However, Geralt sat back and he peered at Vesemir’s face.

“Um. Do the dead smile?”

That was all it took and Vesemir burst out into a roaring laugh doubled over. Each time he looked up, he started laughing again and Jaskier snickered along too.

“What?” Geralt looked dumbfounded.

It was Eskel who pursed his lips and looked between Jaskier and Vesemir. “I think we’ve been had. And we have a traitor in our midst.”

In two short steps Geralt had Jaskier pinned against the wall. “You two faced scoundrel. I bite my thumb at you!”

Delighted, Jaskier just grinned as Geralt carried on. “Damn you. Go out with me.”

Lambert wolf-whistled as Jaskier leaned in to kiss Geralt into silence.

“Welcome to the family.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #immortals au #sugar and spice bingo #tldr: being an immortal is boring

[xdandelionxbloomx]

a lion sleeps (not in a jungle, but in a crib)

1.7k of softness, They Were Roommates! AU, general audiences - also on AO3

Ciri was crying. 

Ciri was crying and Geralt didn’t know what to do. 

Ciri was crying and Geralt didn’t know what to do and it was killing him. 

He’d tried everything - changing her diaper, giving her that ratty little lion cub stuffy, he’d even tried to feed her but she hadn’t wanted it. 

Geralt was very near the end of his rope. 

Jaskier arrived home to the mess - Geralt absolutely frazzled and close to tears himself, Ciri wailing on his lap as he sat slumped on the couch. 

His roommate’s eyes went soft in that way Geralt had come to hate for how it made all his organs do strange things in his chest. 

“Oh, Geralt. Come on.” Jaskier picked his way across the apartment, avoiding some of Ciri’s toys - being a sudden single father hadn’t been easy on Geralt and he was doing his best alright? 

Jaskier, with his guitar case still slung over his back, gently scooped Ciri out of his hands. He lifted her and Ciri momentarily stopped crying at the sight of him, reaching a pudgy little hand out to touch his cheek. She reeled it back after only a second, though, and turned it to a tiny fist that smacked with considerable force against Jaskier’s jaw. He barely even showed his grimace, still smiling at her as he cooed. 

“Someone’s grumpy.” Jaskier murmured, and Geralt had a violent flashback to a few months prior - to when he’d gotten absolutely smashed and Jaskier had come to wake him up the day after, all soft and haloed by sunlight, hair gone gold. 

Geralt lifted a hand to drag it down his face. 

“I don’t know what she wants.” He rumbled, exhausted. 

Jaskier shot him a small smile, something sad buried in it - he’d worn it before, an expression linked to things Geralt didn’t fully know. 

He had never asked, never wanted that sadness to be so overwhelming that Jaskier couldn’t bear it. 

“Sometimes we just need to cry, my dear.” Jaskier said, easily, and shifted Ciri to one arm, offering his freed hand up. 

Geralt took it, letting him pull him to his feet and grabbing the lion stuffed animal as an afterthought. 

Together they walked to Geralt’s bedroom where Ciri’s crib was set up across the room from his bed. It had been painstakingly made by hand by Eskel, who would have adopted Ciri if Geralt hadn’t been first in line as her godfather. 

“It helps, however-” Jaskier spoke again as he let go of Geralt’s hand - Geralt giving a small jolt as he realized they’d held hands all the way into the bedroom. “To have music. Always.” Jaskier half said it to Ciri alone as he lowered her into the crib. Geralt watched how she squirmed, fighting him until she could stand in the crib, teary eyes peering over the edge as her hands curled around the railing. 

Jaskier walked over to the bed and perched himself on the edge, ignoring her as she wailed even louder, making Geralt flinch. 

“Come.” Jaskier said, over the crying, patting the space beside him. Geralt reluctantly joined him, sitting down beside his roommate on his bed, hands clenched around the lion cub white knuckle, one the verge of tears again himself. 

Jaskier, the calmest of the three of them bless the man, simply brought his guitar case around to take the instrument out, plucking a few strings and tuning by ear. As if he even really needed to. 

He looked up, meeting Ciri’s eyes over the edge of the crib. “Sweetheart.” Jaskier kept repeating it until she sucked in a ragged breath, wailing quieted to sniffles as Jaskier plucked out a soft melody that made the knot between Geralt’s shoulders slowly start to loosen. 

Geralt breathed. 

Jaskier began to sing in the quiet, his voice a bit higher and softer than usual. 

“Meow-meow meow-meow meow meow…” It was a soft thing and Geralt blinked. He turned his gaze down to the lion cub in his hands and then back to Jaskier in surprise. Blue met his own hazel and they smiled softly, even though Jaskier’s mouth was occupied. 

“I am just a kitten, hardly fit my mittens…” Jaskier’s gaze drifted back to Ciri, who was now firmly focused on the two of them, crying dying out into little snuffles, her nose stopped up from her fit. A little gurgle as she swayed where she was standing. 

“Much too small, I figure-” Jaskier tipped his head at her, a lock of chestnut hair falling into his face. Geralt’s fingers itched to reach out and brush it away. He watched Jaskier’s profile in the dim yellow light of the lamp he’d left on - Geralt knew it wasn’t exactly platonic to want to touch his fingers to the curve of Jaskier’s nose, to trace  it down to the bow of his lips. 

“One day I'll be bigger, one day I'll be a great big kitty cat - Use open windows to go from flat to flat…” 

Ciri’s hands slipped from the railing and she landed on her rear with a soft thump. She sniffed and blinked bleary eyes at Jaskier. After a long moment Geralt stood to cross the room. He brushed his fingers over the top of her head gently, feeling the wispy blonde strands soft under his work worn hands. He didn’t think these hands were the ones she deserved, but they were the ones she had and so Geralt had to be good. For her. He moved to place the lion cub stuffy in her small - so small - arms, watching her immediately bring it close and latch her mouth onto the ear. She chewed on it, looking at Jaskier all the while, barely even sparing him a glance. 

“I am just a kitten, hardly fit my mittens… Much too small, I figure.” Jaskier sang and Geralt turned to watch him, the way he swayed back and forth on the bed and watched Ciri right back. 

It was a lot like peace. 

Geralt wanted to bottle this moment - like the little ships frozen meticulously in time, waves suspended in motion. He wanted to be able to look at this any time he wanted. He wanted to be able to - 

“One day I'll be bigger, one day I’ll be all grown up and strong - But ‘til then I'll just purr and sing along.” Jaskier cooed and Geralt turned his gaze back to Ciri, who had laid back on her back, watching him drowsily through the bars of the crib. The lion was tucked close to her chest and Geralt’s heart ached. 

He loved her. 

He loved her probably more than anything else in the world. 

It was not something Geralt had ever anticipated. 

Then again, he’d never anticipated Jaskier either. 

Geralt turned to make his way back to the bed, settling himself down beside Jaskier, watching talented fingers slow dance over the strings, plucking the sweet melody long after Jaskier had stopped singing, humming instead. 

Geralt dropped his head down to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

He could feel Jaskier tense, heard the twang of a string, surprised fingers slipping. Geralt didn’t bother to say anything for a few moments and Jaskier’s fingers resumed the same soft melody. 

Geralt closed his eyes. 

“It’s funny. I think she likes you better than me.” He whispered, at last. A soft shudder beneath his cheek told him that Jaskier had laughed one of those quiet ones, lips pulled into a crooked smile. 

“No.” Jaskier whispered right back, shifting to adjust to Geralt’s weight against his side. He crossed his arms over the guitar, finally ceasing his playing and Geralt, with his heart in his throat moved to slide his arm around his waist. 

“No, I may distract her from whatever upset her, but when she’s hungry she turns to you. When she falls, her eyes find you first. Given the choice between the two of us, I’m sure she’d ask you to pick her up.” Jaskier’s voice stayed hushed as he turned his head to press his nose to Geralt’s hair - half fallen out of the hectic bun he’d thrown it up into earlier. 

Geralt wanted to keep this moment forever. 

“I’m trying so hard, Jask, but I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admitted and Jaskier’s shoulder shuddered under  him again, though he heard the laugh this time. 

“Does anyone? Really?” Jaskier asked, and there was a press of lips to his temple. “You’re trying your best and that’s all you can do. Ever.” The shoulder under his cheek lifted and Geralt made a soft noise of complaint, though he lifted his head and opened his eyes. 

Jaskier was-- looking at him. 

Really looking. 

Like he could see right through to Geralt’s heart, where he kept all the things he cared about held tightly, as if he could shelter them from the world by not talking about them. 

Jaskier’s hands blindly leaned the guitar up against the bed like he’d donen it a thousand times - probably had - and one reached after, to brush Geralt’s hair back from his face. He tucked it behind Geralt’s ear in a gesture that shouldn’t feel so intimate and tender, but did. 

Geralt blinked, lowered his gaze to the collar of Jaskier’s shirt - where, as usual, the first three buttons were undone. 

He’d had thoughts about that before, but in that moment all he wanted to do was bury his face against warm skin, breathe in the smell of Jaskier’s honeysuckle perfume. 

“It’ll be alright, Geralt.” Jaskier murmured and, to Geralt’s surprise, he believed him. 

A trembling sigh through his nose and Geralt lifted his gaze to meet Jaskier’s. 

Ciri snored softly, disturbing the quiet, and Geralt smiled, shaking his head. He looked away from Jaskier for a moment, at the far wall above the crib. 

His brows furrowed and a touch between them smoothed out the expression, Geralt’s gaze back on Jaskier, on the way the edges of his hair went gold. 

Geralt didn’t believe in God or Heaven or Hell - but there were moments like these where he wondered if Jaskier were an angel. 

Kindness, goodness, an overwhelming brightness given human form for minds to process. 

Geralt lifted his hand, catching Jaskier’s in his own. 

It was to the soundtrack of Ciri’s soft snoring that Geralt kissed Jaskier for the first time - slow and delicate, trying to hold the moment as one might hold a butterfly-- 

Trying his very best not to break quivering wings, heart poised to fly away, carried by a breeze, lazily drifting towards honeysuckles that it could not resist. 

#geraskier #geraskier fic #my writing #mine #the song is Meow Meow Lullaby by Nada Surf #and I had very many Ciri feelings #please take this as an apology for my absence #something soft

[flowercrown-bard]

Poems for the Poet (2/ 5)

pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

word count: ~2k

read on AO3

previous   /  next

Content warning: self-deprecation, people treating witchers badly, self-loathing, panic attack, insecurity

Mutant, witcher, monster!

No one dared to spit those insults at Eskel openly – not yet. For now, the people of the town contented themselves with shooting him dirty looks, whispering behind his back and turning away when they caught sight of his face.

It was only a matter of time before the whispers would turn into shouts when fear became cruelty.

He had seen it happen often enough to know it was inevitable.

And yet, he had hoped that just this once it could be different. It had been different, when he had met Jaskier. It could be different again.

But these people weren’t Jaskier. They would rather claw Eskel’s eyes out than let him see their smiles or bite off their tongues before they let themselves utter a single kind word to him.

So Eskel kept his head low as he walked through the cobblestone street towards the inn, hoping they would tolerate him, at least for one night, if he didn’t attract too much attention. He ignored the whispers, the stares, the stench of disdain.

He barely flinched when something it him on the shoulder. He had known that sooner or later, stones would fly. He just had hoped it wouldn’t happen that soon.

With a sigh, he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head, making himself seem smaller, like less of a threat as he threw a glance over his shoulder to see if any more stones would be hurled his way.

What he saw instead, made him falter. What had hit him wasn’t a stone. It was a ball wrapped in leather, not dissimilar to the one he used to play with as a child before he had been brought to a place where boys learned how to fight and kill instead of playing.

Eskel crouched down to pick up the ball and take a closer look, but before he could stand back up again, he saw, or rather heard, the one who had thrown it at him.

“You found my ball!” The excited voice of a little girl cut through the disapproving murmurs of the adults like the sun pushing his way through clouds during a thunder storm. “I’m sorry for hitting you, mister.”

“Don’t worry,” Eskel said as softly as he could. “No harm done.”

He held out the toy for the girl who took it with a toothy grin.

“Thank you!”

Something warm and soft spread through Eskel’s chest. It had been too long since anyone had smiled at him, longer yet since he had spoken to a child that wasn’t destined for the cruelty of the trials.

Eskel couldn’t stop himself. For just a moment he forgot himself, too distracted by that soft glimmer of happiness in his chest. One moment of carelessness was all it took.

His lips twitched into a smile.

A snarl. A grimace. A twisting of his face into something hideous and fearsome.

The reaction was almost immediate. The girl blanched and reeled back, before she could even touch the ball.

“You’re the bad man!” She cried. If there had been any passers-by that hadn’t stared at Eskel before, they were now all fixing him with suspicious glares.

Eskel swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat and dropped his smile. Perhaps that had been a mistake too. It was unnatural for people to be able to lose their smiles that quickly. It was inhuman.

“I’m not,” Eskel said soothingly. “I am not going to hurt you.”

“My ma told me that you’re bad!” The girl accused and pointed a finger at him before taking it back quickly and holding her hand against her chest in the same way people protected their hands when they were afraid a feral dog would bite them. “She said to stay away from the man with the ugly scars. She said you will take me away and eat me.”

Eskel flinched.

“I’m not –“

“I think it would be better if you left,” a low voice interrupted him.

When Eskel looked up from where he was still crouched, he saw three men walking towards him with stormy expressions.

Slowly, so as not to startle them, he put the ball to the ground and gave it a small nudge to roll towards the girl. She jumped back as if her toy was suddenly dangerous.

The men’s frowns deepened. Eskel held up his now empty palms in surrender as he stood back up ever so slowly.

One of the man took a threatening step towards him, his fists already raised and Eskel all but fled.

He tried not to listen to the angry and boasting shouts that followed him. It was in vain.

No matter how much he pretended, he wasn’t like his brothers. Geralt might be able to go on after Blaviken, saying that he didn’t need anyone and Lambert might be able to counter every insult with an even more cutting one of his own, but Eskel wasn’t like them. He was desperate and foolish and still clinging to the hope that he could be someone who wouldn’t be scorned and detested.

Another could-have-been. One that gnawed at him like a stray dog gnawed on a bone, tearing off the small bits and pieces that could still be something wanted.

Eskel had no delusions about how the rest of the day would go. He would find no place to sleep here, no hot meal and no contract that would be paid for. The longer he stayed, the bigger got the chances of pitchforks and kitchen knives being directed at him.

But his legs were so tired. It had been too long since he had eaten a healthy amount and ever since he had to give Scorpion away, he wasn’t able to carry his tent with him anymore.

He just wanted to rest. He just wanted to lay down for a while, knowing that he wouldn’t wake to a mob.

But the chances were slim. The best he could do was hide away in a dark alley to rest, hoping that no one would stumble upon him there.

He let himself lean back against the wall of a house, sliding down until he sat on the dirty floor. What more was some dirt, when his shirt already had holes in it? No one would bother to notice anyway, not when they had his face to stare at in fear.

His insides clenched and not purely because of the memory of the child’s laughter turning into cries at his sight.

He was hungry. So painfully hungry.

His jaw twitched as he rummaged through his bag for something edible, knowing full well that there was nothing to find.

Instead, his fingers found something else. Something, he had bought on a whim and quickly shoved to the bottom of his bag. Something he hadn’t been able to get rid of, even as it meant losing precious space in his bags.

Carefully, so as not to tear it, he pulled out the cheap paper, quill and inkwell he had bought months ago. For a long moment he only stared at them, overcome with the painful urge to smash the inkwell against the wall.

He wasn’t a poet, never would be. He was ugly and frightening and no one could even look at him without seeing all the things he couldn’t be written plainly across his face.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

The memory of blue eyes flashed before him. Memories, of a blissful couple of days when it had seemed that maybe he could have, could be, something more. Jaskier had listened to what he had to say about poetry, as if his opinion was no less important than that of any scholar. He had explained the intricacies of word choice to him as if Eskel was worth talking to. As if he wasn’t too oafish, too big and too far removed from everything he could have become.

What had Jaskier told him back then? That poetry was a means to give meaning. That by creating something out of your pain, you refused to let it have power over you.

It wouldn’t work. Eskel knew that. No amount of words could ever distract from the life he hadn’t chosen. But perhaps…perhaps Eskel could make something beautiful.

It was a foolish thought, a desperate dream, but one that lodged itself into his heart, refusing to budge.

Eskel didn’t know how to write beautiful words and craft them into something more. All his knowledge about poetry came from the little he had gathered from reading the old poems. It wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

Before he could stop himself, he dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and put it on the paper. He hesitated, watched as the ink flew onto the paper like blood dripping off a sword and created ugly splotches.

Immediately, Eskel pulled the quill off the paper again.

He stared at that spot, that blemish, that failure.

The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him, crushing him. Though the sun was still up in the sky, his vision became darker, splotchy. Like the ink on the paper. Like bloodstains on his clothes.

He wasn’t good enough. This wouldn’t work. He hadn’t even written a single word yet and already he had ruined this.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of voices, of doubts, of knowing he would fail.

It was no use. His heart sped up and he felt his breathing becoming shallow. He should be able to control this. A witcher shouldn’t let himself succumb to his own mind.

But Eskel couldn’t do it. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t let his mind drift off for mediation, couldn’t fucking breathe.

With the strength of a hundred men, Eskel managed to scrap together some semblance of calm, just long enough for his mind to stop spiralling for a second and to latch on to one thing only.

Poetry.

Eskel clung to it with all his might, forcing himself to think of lines and verses he had memorised until his mouth moved and formed the words. They were barely more than a whisper, but Eskel had spoken them before, time and time again. His body knew the correct intonation, the right way to inhale enough to have his breath last for the entirety of a line.

The words fell from his lips in a soothing rhythm, the familiarity of them battling against the fear and the strain to remember the lines left no room for any other, unkind, thoughts.

It was only when Eskel’s heart had slowed down enough that the sound of its beating didn’t drown out his whispers, that Eskel realised whose poetry he was reciting.

It was Jaskier’s.

Lines about eyes flashing bright like lightning, comparable to a force of nature that disappeared before one had time to marvel at it but leaving a mark in the life of whoever had gotten the chance to see it.

Lightning. That’s what Jaskier described Eskel as and it was the first word that Eskel put down on the paper once his hands had stopped shaking too badly.

He looked at the word for a long time. It felt strangely right. Like it belonged there. Like Eskel had been meant to put it – a part of himself – out there.

His throat bobbed and his brows twitched at the thought, but before he had time to doubt himself any more, he let the quill scratch over the paper once more, leaving words in its wake. A mixture of Jaskier’s words and the rhythm of the ancient elves.

Lightning across lips cuts bright.

A lowly flash, no more. Leaving flesh forever sore.

Scorching like flame. Scowling for fright.

Marring a mangled man, mutilating a mutant more.

Eskel stared at the words. The poem wasn’t long nor was it particularly good. But it was Eskel’s. Eskel had written something, gave meaning to the meaningless with his quill.

His eyes darted to the splotch at the bottom of the paper, right where the last line ended. Another imperfection.

His brows knitted together and his hand moved again.

It might have been childish - Lambert would have definitely made fun of him for it -  but as Eskel drew legs, a head and horns onto the blemish, he found himself almost smiling again.

The almost-smile stayed on his lips, even as he forced himself to stand up once more, carefully putting his writing tools back where they belonged. The paper with his poem he kept in his hand.

He should have just left right away, trying to go unnoticed. That had been his plan as he moved through the alleyways now, but when he passed the notice board at the corner of one street, he paused, staring. A thought formed in his mind, before he even understood why he had stopped.

He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Perhaps a glimmer of bravery or folly. Perhaps a hint of the man he had wanted to became shone through for a split second.

A man who was loved. A man who made beautiful things and didn’t have to hide away in shame what he had created.

And Eskel had created. He had written a poem. He had become, even if only for one moment, what he had always dreamed he could be one day.

With one swift motion, Eskel pinned his poem to the notice board. Not somewhere half-hidden between notes about nosy neighbours or the price of eggs, but right in the middle where anyone who passed by would be able to see it. The words on the page were spidery and nowhere close to artful, but they screamed I am imperfect, but I am here. I exist despite your spite.

Eskel took a step back, just far enough that he wouldn’t be able to reach the board and tear the poem down again in a fit of doubt. Admiring his own work was vain, but for the first time since Eskel could remember, he had something to admire, something to be proud of.

He must have stood there for too long. Around him, people started gathering, noticing him. One man shoved him. Another yelled at him to get away, that there were no contracts here for the likes of him.

Eskel turned and fled, just as the first stone hit him, right where the girl’s ball had met his shoulder before.

With every shout, every insult, every truth, the mob tore down part of the meaning Eskel had been able to find for himself.

He could only hope that they didn’t realise that the new addition to the notice board came from him. He could only hope that no one would tear off the poem, as they tore at Eskel’s heart with their shouts.

He hoped that maybe, however slim the chance was, someone would find his poem and smile.

It was a foolish hope, born out of pain and despair not unlike the poem itself had been, but it was the only thing keeping him warm that night as he huddled beneath a tree, cold and lonely and dreaming of something he had come so close to having.

#jaskel #jaskierxeskel #eskelxjaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fanfic #mulichapter #angst #eskel #jaskier #insecure eskel #my writing #oh would you look at that #the chapter count has gone up again #no one could have foreseen this

[imnotwolverine]

The Wolves Return - Part 4

<Part 3 | Part 5 > 

Summary: Evil is looming and old memories are blooming in the keep of Kaer Morhen. 

Word count: 2005 (7 min read) 

Disclaimer: old and brittle Jaskier, dementia, blood and gore, a melancholic Geralt (but also a touch of fluff stuff) 

Author’s note: Sorry for being MIA my loves! Life’s been crazy busy with long workdays and social events (FINALLY). So writing was kinda pushed on the backburner. Hope you enjoy this one ❤

--

‘Remember that time in Velen, Geralt?’ Jaskier’s voice sounded brittle with age. 

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. His friend no longer talked as much like he used to. With thoughtful blue eyes the bard looked out over the vines that outstretched the autumnal valley of Corvo Bianco. Their shared home for some time now. 

Geralt sighed. 

‘Which time is that? The one when I saved your ass from the Duchess?’

Jaskier squinted, as if thinking. ‘No no. The time..The..’ He started to fling about his hands as if searching for words. ‘The one time I had nearly eloped with the butcher’s daughter, remember that? The one in..’

‘You mean the time you told me you’d be a father?’

‘Yes..’ Jaskier's voice quieted. ‘Oh Geralt!’

‘What’s that, Jaskier?’ 

Jaskier remained silent until yet another of his bloody coughs came up. With a bony hand he raised a kerchief to catch the red stains that had parted from his lungs. 

Geralt gritted his teeth. It was all going so fast all of a sudden. His lifelong friend whom he had travelled up and down the Trail with, would soon be no more. Jaskier’s hair had gone grey years ago. And his once nimble fingers no longer played the songs they used to. Which, for a time, had been pleasant, Geralt had to admit that. 

Looking at the slumped form that was his friend, the Witcher felt his heart crumple with fear. He didn’t like goodbye’s. Never had. But he knew that with the falling leaves and the arrival of winter, the days were growing shorter for his friend, too. 

It felt too soon. 

‘I’m a father.’ Jaskier let the bloodied kerchief fall to his lap. ‘Ha..’ Jaskier’s lips turned into a little smile. ‘She must be nearly grown now.’ 

Geralt tried to smile along. The unsteady motion of his heart was however difficult to contain. Jaskier had been with his daughter for years, but the way he spoke of her made it feel like his friend could no longer remember. Like he couldn’t remember many things now.

 ‘Well, let's hope she’s not as talented at getting herself into trouble as her father was.’

Jaskier sucked in his lips, breathing deeply. His blue eyes had watered up as he watched two swallows duck down from the trees. They remained low, meaning cooler weather or perhaps even a storm would come. 

‘I should’ve been there for her.’ Jaskier said, sitting back up stiffly. 

‘Jaskier..’

‘No Geralt. I mean even you. In fact YOU. You’ve raised a kid. And what type of vivacious, vibrant young woman that has become!’

It made Geralt think. As the day came to an end, the bugs drew out from their sanctuaries, though today they didn’t fly high like usual. Geralt’s eyes followed the swirls and dives of the swallows as they feasted on their bounty. Swallows.. Hmm.. Ciri. Cirilla. Zireael. His little swallow. He wasn’t sure what to say in that moment as his friend slowly pushed himself up from the stone bench they’d been sitting on. With cracking bones Jaskier hoisted himself up by his walking stick. Should he tell Jaskier he had been a good father? Geralt couldn’t know. He had not been there at that time. Not for many years. He had not even met Jaskier’s daughter.

In a swift move Geralt stood up as well, arm reaching out to support Jaskier where he could. And then yes..Ciri. Watching the swallows up above, he thought of his own adoptive daughter. He had not heard of Ciri in some years now, either. Nor had he heard of Yen. 

Looking at Jaskier beside him, he wondered how well he’d do all alone. 

‘Well Jaskier. We both are fathers. And we have tried our best every day.’ 

Jaskier looked up, blue eyes lighting up with curiosity. ‘Me? Goodness Geralt..-’ Jaskier halted as his body started to rack up another bloody cough. The white kerchief was hit with a dark red gob of spit, before it was duly returned to a pocket. 

Geralt watched and silently inhaled the scent. The scent of looming death. As if it would help, he held onto Jaskier a little more tightly. 

Jaskier sighed wearily and tapped at Geralt’s paw, that was just about death gripping his arm. ‘Geralt..Geralt..Promise me one thing Geralt.’ 

Geralt released his grip. 

‘Treat her like you would have me.’

--

Palewhite was Isabella’s face as her finger pointed at the other side of the room. High up above, where the dark wilderness loomed through narrow windows, fluttered a crowd of dark shadows. Crows. Bats. Or something of the like. 

With little thuds the animalistic shadows started bumping into the glass panes, willing the windows to break. 

‘What the..’ Eskel gripped for his sword, and not far behind was Geralt who swivelled around with an awkward stagger, hand gripping for the nearest sword rack where some old swords were hung for decoration. 

‘Speak Isabella.’ Geralt growled beneath his breath. ‘Did you bring these?’ 

‘WHAT? No!’ Isabella started to furiously shake her head, eyes wild. ‘No, no..I..’ She pressed herself into a wall. ‘It wasn’t me I swear!’ 

Eskel squinted his eyes. ‘Transmutation you think?’ Eskel asked, studying the beasts that were now flying larger bouts so they could drive themselves with more force into the windows. 

‘Like fuck..’ Geralt sighed, feet shuffling to find a more comfortable stance. Above them the windows started to groan with the pressure. Dust was falling down. And not long after the inevitable break of one, became the breaking of many. Like crystal rain the windows shattered, shortly followed by a cloud of flapping wings. 

Behind the witchers, Isabella cried louder. ‘Not again!’ She cried. 

‘Again?’ Eskel slashed into the air, trying to keep the bat-like creatures at bay. ‘You best not be --’ He swiped right. ‘telling us you have ANYTHING to do with--’ He caught one with his hand and squeezed it to mush between his thick fingers. ‘this.’ 

On his left, Geralt was slashing with less grace, but more annoyance. Short, jagged motions hit and killed and before long a pile of beady eyed creatures had piled up on the keep’s stone floor. 

Outside the windows a strange voice called, but no more than two of the creatures managed to escape the Witchers’ assault. Flapping furiously they raced until there was nothing left but the carcasses of those that had been slain. 

Eskel tipped one of the leathery black creatures around with his shoe. It was shin-length and beneath all the black blood that was spouting from its innards, it looked like a regular, though slightly too large, bat. 

‘Start talking young lady.’ Geralt snarled. 

Isabella shuffled uneasily, eyes looking for the exits that were too far away to escape to. ‘I …’ She inhaled sharply. ‘There was this man at the inn. I thought he was one of youse. You know. Big ol’ armor, some Witcher-y necklaces on, swords on his back. We drank..and..’ She cleared her throat. ‘spoke of nothing special really. The weather and such.’ 

‘Necklaces? Plural?’ Eskel asked.

‘Yes.’ 

Eskel started to wipe the blood off his sword, frowning. ‘And they looked like Witcher necklaces?’ 

‘I think so. One of them looked like yours.’ 

Eskel shot her a warning glance, to which Isabella scowled even further back up into the wall. 

‘So he’s not one of yours then.’ She mumbled.

‘Did he follow?’ 

‘Of course not. I..I got too drunk. I slept for the whole day after, then the inn keeper warned me about the weather. That I best be on my way. So then I went..and..but..there was nobody. I swear. There was nobody else out.’ Isabella looked at Geralt, who had folded his arms in silent judgement. 

‘I swear! It was raining cats and dogs! I wasn’t followed!’ 

‘Hmm.’ 

Eskel cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to check out what’s going on. You stay here with this one.’ He pointed at Geralt before leaving the hall. 

Geralt clicked his tongue, yellow eyes looking out into the broken windows. ‘You’re not telling us everything little bird.’ 

Isabella looked down at her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t think I was followed..’ She brushed away a tear. ‘My father’s maps weren’t really clear anyway. Got lost and all.’ 

Geralt kept his eyes up and out to the windows, so Isabella continued with another sniffle. 

‘I’m sorry Geralt. I really am.’ 

Finally his gaze lowered. He looked disappointed. 

‘I’ll leave -’ Isabella said, sighing and sniffling. 

‘Did this man have a name?’ 

‘The man? Eh. Something..’ She searched for the words, but they didn’t come. ‘Mm..can’t remember. He was Redanian though. Quite odd so far up North.’ 

‘Redanian.’ 

‘Yea.’

‘The paths are blocked off. And can’t have you knowing any more of our..secret..pathways. Which by the way are NOT on our maps.’ Geralt raised an unamused eyebrow. ‘So we’ll see to this in the morning.’ 

Isabella sighed in quiet relief. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Oh and Isabella. We’d like ALL our maps back.’ 

Isabella blinked up at him, cheeks blushing a deep red. 

‘Now.’ Geralt reached out a hand. 

‘Really see it all, huh?’ 

Geralt stepped in closer, forcing her to flatten herself to the wall. ‘I see..’ He looked deep into her eyes - cornflower blue, just like her father’s. He wanted, in that moment, to teach her a lesson. To perhaps frighten her. But his resolve melted away with the hue of her blush and the rise of her bossom. 

Argh. 

Growling inwardly he turned away, pointing at the table, where she could place the “borrowed” map she was keeping in her skirts. ‘Right there. Just put it there.’ 

It took a long night of waiting before Eskel returned. With blood caking to his rugged clothes, he spoke of a number of monsters that had run rampant around the keep. A short magical imbalance, it seemed. Though Eskel and Geralt both continued to be wary. Not in a long time had unwelcome visitors come ‘round. The last time actually having been the Night Hunt, who had come to look for Ciri. 

Ciri. Geralt wondered where she was right now. If ever she’d return to Kaer Morhen, even if just for a day or so. Was she even alive still? 

Holding guard in the hall, he watched out into the night where stars sparkled like the glass they had swept to a side of the hall. The bat bodies were burning in the fire, all purple and gooey and obviously not quite natural. 

In the corner two of the old cots had been returned to their function of beds. Both Eskel and Isabella were out cold after the eventful night. Geralt, however, did not feel the least bit tired. He could feel something else. Melancholy. Loneliness. Immortality. The ever grinding passing of time. The ticking of the clock on the wall behind him. The washing and waning of the moon in the sky. The drifting by of clouds and birds and before long it was another day, followed by another night. Though hopefully, by that night, the fuss that was Isabella would be gone. He was thinking of blindfolding her. Getting her out through the crypts. But even then it would be a difficult thing to get out. 

With half an eye he looked at the two sleeping forms in the corner. Eskel, though terribly annoyed with the young woman, had hushed Geralt when he had made another attempt of showing her who’s boss. Geralt didn’t know why he did that. Lashing out to Isabella the way he did. Perhaps the lack of grip on the situation had bested him. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of.. 

He felt his eyes water and just like that all the frustration he felt slipped down his cheek in the shape of a tear. Gods he missed Jaskier so much. He’d take it all back. The mischief. The saving the bard’s arse over and over. Even the annoying songs. Yes, even the songs. His stiff lips turned into a melancholic smile. 

‘Treat her like I would you, hmm?’ He sniffled. ‘Fine.’ 

--

Part 5 > 

--

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#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #eskel #geralt x oc #jaskier

[dapandapod]

Lambert the lark

On Ao3 here! 

This one is for @mayastormborn, because singing Lambert and because Lambert looking very much indeed like Paul Bullion with his curly hair and fancy beard. I had fun.

Beware the swearing and actually rather filthy songs that Lambert likes. Oh and a surprise sentimental thing in the middle there.  It was supposed to be a 5+1 but writing is hard so it turned into a 4+1. Please enjoy!

1. The bar

Let it be known Lambert likes to sing. Let it be known that when Lambert is drunk, he sings very loud.

Most patrons of the tavern he favours in the little shit town Mulbrydale, they know.

Most people living close to the tavern know too. And all the horses in the stable behind the tavern.

Yes, it is known that Lambert likes to sing.

The poor bard entertaining for the night is looking rather exasperated, and there is a bet going on in the corner when the bard actually will just march out. Lambert couldn’t care less. Earlier that day he got paid for a job well done, a basilisk tormenting the locals' livestock decapitated and shoved into the eldermans face.

It was glorious.

So it only makes sense to have a glorious finish, beer foam stuck in his mustache and voice roaring louder that the poor blond lad trying to play his lute. How the fuck does the loud drunk ginger know every song?!

It takes another three tries at a ballad until the bard gives up. Or rather, explodes.

“IF YOU ARE SO KEEN ON SINGING WHY DON’T YOU TAKE THE FUCKING STAGE?!” He screams at Lambert.

Money changes hand in the corner, the bard storms out, and Lambert takes the stage.

Let it be known that Lambert loves Fishmongers Daughter and knows all 27 verses.

Let it be known Lambert still did a better job pissdrunk than the actual bard.

2. The bath

Hot springs are the best thing ever. Really, nothing is as good as settling in to one of the stone pools and soaking in the slightly-too-hot water. Best thing those fuckers funding Kaer Morhen back in the days ever did.

Lambert leans back against the stone, his angry orange locks curling even tighter in the steam. In the next pool over sits Jaskier and Eskel, Geralt is still wrestling with his towel by the wall.

“Hot springs are the best thing ever.” Lambert says, voicing his thoughts. If the moan from Jaskier is anything to go by, he agrees.

“Move over.” Geralt mutters after finally being defeated by the towel.

Lambert opens an eye to peer at him, then spreads his arms across the edge of the pool and closes his eyes again.

“Asshole.” Geralt says fondly, then proceeds to climb over Lambert to get down into the pool.

Stark naked.

Lucky Lambert wasn’t looking, because otherwise it wouldn’t have been Geralt calling Lambert names, but Geralt instead declaring what Lambert was seeing.

“Aaaasshoooooleee.” Lambert sings, his voice bouncing around the walls, giving it a rather otherworldly feel.

“Oooh, nice resonance! Do it again!” Jaskier sits up a little straighter.

Lambert smirks and peeks at a glaring Geralt who now is soaking too.

“Aaassshoooooooolee.” Lambert sings again, and Jaskier joins him, harmonizing. It sounds lovely, so they do it again and again, creating a little melody.

“Please.” Geralt huffs, but he is smiling.

“Nah, I rather like it.” Eskel says agreeably, and really, if Geralt dislikes it Lambert has to continue. Those are the rules.

They experiment a bit with tempo, making it canon, Lambert taking a really low note that Jaskier can only barely meet, and oh the discord of that note sounds great too.

“I'm going to steal your job.” Lambert declares to Jaskier, when they dry off. “Im going to get so much fucking coin.”

Jaskier only snorts.

“I would like to see you try.” He says, amused.

Oh, little bard, you just wait.

3. The night

Silence is different in the woods. Especially at night. The way that everything is asleep, even the trees quieter than in the day. The fire crackles merrily anyway, the wood popping and fizzing. Lambert is feeling a little forlorn, he sits close to the fire and stares at the flames, hugging his knees to his chest.

Aiden is half laying on his bedroll next to him, working on a leather braid for his saddlebags.

It is strange, Aiden is right there, but Lambert feels lonely.

Achingly alone, small among the giant trees, old in a world that forever is new.

His mother died long ago. But her voice comes to him, words half forgotten and a melody that reminds him of honey and of sleep. Before he realize it, its leaking out.

He is humming, a deep murmur in his chest. He can see Aiden look up at him from the corner of his eye, but he keeps his eyes on the flame. Idly he drags his chin back and forth on his freckled arm, letting his beard scratch and soothe him. The heat of the flames feels good, his back too cold in contrast.

“What is that song?” Aiden asks quietly, he, too, afraid to disturb the night.

Lambert finally looks over at him, the light dancing on his face, making his hair look like its own fire.

“I don’t really know. My mother sang it to me.” Lambert never speaks of her. But this is Aiden, and the world is sleeping, and he tastes honey.

“Will you sing it for me?” Aiden asks, of course he does. This is why Aiden is here.

The words are old, the language has long since changed. He sings of rolling hills and budding flowers, of rivers feeling lonely and luring travelers into their cold embrace. He wonders if that is how drowners came to be.

Aiden watches him all the while, the braid still in his hands. Lambert watches the fire, sings lowly into the night.

It feels good, singing her song to the darkness. It feels ever better when he stops and peeks through his locks at Aiden.

Aidens face is hard to read, but his actions are not.

“Get over here, wolf.”

With Aidens arms around him, with the taste of honey on his lips, the crackling of fire behind him, Lambert joins the forest in its slumber.

4. The fight

It’s raining, fuck, it’s pouring down. Thunder is rumbling ahead, the raindrops fat and absolutely much wetter than rain has any right to be. They are soaked, the drop bounce off the armor, the weapons get slippery in their grip, their hair sticks to their faces and necks.

Geralt hates it. As they fight the griffin, he grumbles and mutters.

Lambert thinks he is being dramatic, really, it’s just some water. (Though, to be fair, it’s easy to be positive when Geralt is so extremely cranky. If Lambert was alone, he would be just as miserable, if not worse.)

The griffin is very big, and very angry.

It swoops down from the sky, Lambert aims with a crossbow at it’s wings.

“One little griffin were going shopping in town” he sings, clenching one eye closed while aiming. The griffin flies right above him, his talons inches from where his head was just a moment ago. Lambert swirls around untroubled, and aims again.

“But there came a Lambert, and shot it down.” Water is dripping from his eyebrows, eyelashes, running down his cheeks, but it doesn’t matter.

The shot is clean, it hits the target and a loud shriek announces that the griffin felt it too.

“Stop that! You are just pissing it off!” Geralt yells from the other side of the field, ducking from said pissed off griffin. Lambert smirks, shoving his hair out of his face with the crook of his arm, water sloshing everywhere.

It is a small miracle that he still has a grip on the crossbow. They charge the now grounded griffin, splitting up to make things difficult for it.

“ONE LITTLE GRIFFIN IS FEELING FEELING A LITTLE CRANKY!” Lambert sings, or rather howls, swinging his sword in a tight arc, aiming for the griffins flank. From the other side of the beast, Lambert can hear Geralt harumph in annoyance. It’s fun to work with family.

“BUT THERE CAME A LAMBERT AND-” Here Lambert has to pause.

He even takes a step away, scratching at his wet beard thoughtfully. He turns and yells towards a small grove of trees.

“JASKIER?! WHAT THE FUCK RHYMES WITH CRANKY??”

“Lambert come on!” Geralt yells, and yes, alright, fair.

“OH, NEVER MIND! I GOT IT! BUT THERE CAME A LAMBERT, HE GOTTA HELP GERALT, OR AIDEN WON’T GIVE HIM HANKY PANKY!”

“Wow! A true poet!” Geralt yells again over the shriek of the Griffin. “Now come help me fucking kill it!”

+1 The competition

"You really think you are going to win this?” Jasier says, disbelief and amusement clear in his voice.

“I hope you are ready to pay for my new sword, bardling.” Lambert says with a confident grin. Jaskier shrugs, strapping on his lute.

“Your loss. You do remember I am a very famous bard and poet across the continent, and a very sought after professor at Oxenfurt?”

Lambert makes a very charming snorting sounds and waves it away.

“Work hard tonight, and don’t think of trying to cheat!” Lambert tells him, and waves Eskel and Jaskier goodbye.

They agreed that Geralt is too biased towards Jaskier, so Eskel would go with him while preforming and Geralt with Lambert, to make sure none of them is cheating.

As if Lambert would need to cheat.

They walk towards a rather shadylooking bar by the docks, another one of Lamberts favorites. More than one turn around and give a (semi)friendly nod when he enters. The two of them order their drink and settle down.

“Soooo, when are you gonna go about earning those coins?” Geralt asks, sipping on his tankard.

“As soon as the poor lad stops his wailing. Gotta give him a chance, don’t you think?” Lambert smiles, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

There is indeed a poor lad by the elevated area, trying to sing heroic ballads with an accompanying lyre. Talk about reading the crowd wrong.

As soon as the lad is sat in a corner drowning his lack of success in wine, Lambert rises and stretches.

“Alright, time to make good on this bet.” Lambert steps up and begins clapping his hands in a beat. A few patrons see what he is doing and humours him, so he adds the stomping. And proceeds to sing the filthiest song he knows.

Without going into details, it involves what a lady has under her skirt, and how she uses it when she is a lady with mighty needs. To put it nicely. It takes exactly one verse and one chorus before the coins start.

Lambert gives Geralt a victorious smile.

“Alright, how much did you get?” Lambert asks Jaskier. “I hope you won’t have to add too much from your own pocket, swords are rather expensive.”

“132 crowns and 36 ducats.” Jaskier says with a triumphant smile. “The fine ladies at the brothel where quite generous.”

“Where is Eskel?” Geralt asks, looking around.

“Oh, he found a lady with horns and decided to see if they were real.”

“Again? He really has a thing for succubuses, doesn’t he?” Geralt muses.

“Sure seems like it. So, Lambert, how did it go? How much?”

Jaskier won. Lambert blames it on the florence, being slightly less of value than the crown. He lost by three. THREE. Lambert is pissed and Jaskier laughs, but really, he is sweating big time. Lucky he dresses in layers, because fuck that was close. Jaskier declines every challenge there after.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher lambert #witcher aiden #witcher geralt #witcher eskel #jaskier the bard #geraskier #laiden #lambert x aiden #geralt x jaskier #but subtly #because i can #bathing #singing in the shower #swearing #funny #i am super funny #singing #lambert can sing #making bets #stealing the show #dirty songs

[trashbaggage]

okay okay okay

the movie “enchanted”, but witcher-fied (sorry this got away from me a bit)

there’s a stereotypical medieval fantasyland where jaskier julian alfred pankratz is the prince of lettenhovia. he’s got the looks, voice, and affinity for attracting woodland animals of a disney princess. also, the tragic backstory: his parents died in a freak accident when he was young. but don’t worry, his creepy “uncle” stregobor took upon himself the burden of ruling in their stead, until julian grew up and became ready for the throne.

(basically, stregobitch is like rasputin, and had tricked and slimed his way into the crown’s good graces before, surprise surprise, killing off the king and queen. he left julian alive to take some of the heat off of him with that extra distraction of grieving child. alas, poor little princeling that he can play the benevolent guardian to.)

and things are gr8 for good ol streggy, julian seems more inclined to sing and wander than become bogged down with the responsibility of becoming king. everything’s comin up stregs.

and then, of course, there’s a prophecy about how julian will be his doom or whatev and he needs to get on that shit STAT like he’s never heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy before (to be fair, fantasyland doesn’t have ancient greek tragedies to learn from so rip stregosaurus). but before he can implement his sophisticated plan of julian dying in an “accident”, our dear jules wanders too far and falls down a magic well into the Real World.

and he’s like, sweet, look at all this stuff! this is great and - oh hello, very attractive man with silken white hair and eyes as golden as the dawn light falling gently upon newly blossomed lillies and thighs that can crush his head and his heart, what up. and geralt is very confused and frustrated and oddly and begrudgingly charmed by this loudly dressed and loudly singing idiot accosting him outta nowhere, but his daughter ciri seems to like him so i guess we can keep him for a night but if he pees on the rug he’s out.

cue fun family bonding, musical numbers, shenanigans, all that jazz; julian, now jaskier cuz new world new him babey,, exploring and learning and having the time of his life and trying to get this broody man to open up and show that kindness his scowl can’t quite hide.

aaaaand cut back to streginald throwing a fit that the prince has cleverly evaded his dastardly plans, he has underestimated him it seems, and he can’t just let this massive loose thread keep flappin in the breeze, so he sends yennefer to deal with him.

now, yennefer is streggo my eggo’s daughter in this, and he’s raised her to be his right hand woman, his evil apprentice, the (much smarter) kronk to his yzma, and she’s been promised power once her dad fully claims the throne, so ofc she gets right on tracking that crafty twunk down to kill him. in the process, she comes across roach, julian’s horse and bff talking animal companion, by the magic well, gathering up the fucks to go after her wayward idiot. a struggle ensues, and yen and roach both go through the portal.

so now we got the side plot of these two trying to find jaskier, yen to kill him and roach to huff reproachfully at him for getting into this mess and if anyone is gonna kill him she will for dragging her across realms (she does not like portals, okay, they feel weird) not some uppity witch. so they got their tomfoolery of yen almost killing an unaware jaskier but then roach foiling her plans. she also tries to kidnap ciri as bait for a trap, but she can’t hurt this kid she’s too precious, ow ow ow, why does her chest feel weird?? she’s actually starting to find the boundaries to her thirst for power and it kinda sucks and feels nice at the same time??? 0/10 do not recommend

during this, geralt’s quiet life is being upended by this weird dude and he’s never danced so much in his life and his child is conspiring against him to set him up with this clearly deranged but very nice and pretty man but he’s not staying ciri we have to get him back to .....wherever tf he came from i don’t even like him, what are you talking about,,,

it all comes to a head at the costume ball, where geralt and jaskier are dancing and making eyes at each other until roach bursts in and tries to charades her way into warning her idiot to run motherfucker but she can’t talk in this realm so ugh and geralt horsegirl rivia is just like omg ur best friend is a horse that’s so fucking cool i love you even more.

and then yen bursts in; she’s kinda struggling to fulfill her mission, cuz she’s been watching jaskier and geralt and they just seem like two idiots that couldn’t possibly threaten anything, let alone her father’s power grab. she’s also made frenemies with roach, she’s the only motherfucker who can handle her in this city. so she just tries to scare jaskier into never returning, which works pretty well because she is v v scary, and then stregobonkers comes strolling in like wtf why is this taking you so long just kill him!! and yen is like i’ve kind of grown this pesky con- 🤢 consci- 🤢, wait, just, give me a min,,,, conscience!! yeah, that’s the bitch! anyway, stop telling me what to do dad and stregobego drops a bomb and goes i always knew you had a weakness to you, just like your parents!

and it’s just,,

silent.

what? what do you - my parents?

and it turns out he saw the power she held and wanted it under his control, so he killed her parents (it’s like, his signature move at this point) and groomed her to be his obedient little weapon. and, understandably, yen is pissed off and hurt and goes to lash out at him, but he just smirks and clicks his fingers while muttering under his breath, and everything stops for yen a second time as her mind blanks.

sneaky streg had put in a fail safe, in case she ever got out of line, and the amulet he gave her “for protection and focus, you must never take it off” lights up and puts her under his command and she turns into a sickass dragon that starts tearing up the dance floor, literally, in her rampage to kill jaskier.

geralt and jaskier go oh shit and dodge for their lives and things are looking pretty dire, but then jaskier looks at the suits of armor set up for decoration and goes wait a minute and grabs a sword to toss at geralt and just goes cover me boo and aim for that amulet and if you miss we’ll probably all die so no pressure!! and just sprints out and distracts angry dragon!yen and geralt goes goddamnit jaskier and sneaks around until he can jump at her and do a completely improbable matrix leap to stab at the amulet, and because this is a romcom and i get to choose my coping mechanisms, he makes it and yen is free from streg egghead’s power and she turns to him, still a dragon, and smiles wide with all them sharp sharp teeth and he goes ohhhh shiiiit and tries to run, but jaskier very helpfully trips him up and goes eat up my lady and dragon yen does, with great relish.

in conclusion, everyone lives happily ever after except streggles. geralt gets over his baggage and professes his love for jaskier, jaskier goes i’m not that easy geralt there needs to be wooing! i deserve to be wooed!! before heavily making out with him in the next five seconds. jaskier gives yen his blessing to become queen of lettenhovia, because he never really wanted the job anyway and she deserves it after what she’s been through. she still comes back every sunday for brunch and to teach ciri how to fight (she’s mine now, i’ve adopted her so she needs to learn the fine art of pointy things geralt) and geralt, jaskier, and ciri take holidays to fantasyland and roach is free to roam wherever she wants and becomes an advisor to yen.

the end

(extra dramatic addendum: geralt finally brings jask home to meet his family; vesemir opens the door and geralt goes this is my boyfriend, jas- but vesemir cuts him off with a choked out pRiNcE JuLiAn?! and it turns out vesemir is also actually from fantasyland. he worked for julian’s parents; the prevalence of monsters had been steadily rising, and so they had the idea to create witchers to combat them. kaer morhen was created under their sanction and vesemir was a teacher there, but he became disenfranchised with every boy that didn’t make it through the trials. when the keep was attacked by fanatics against witchers, he smuggled out eskel, lambert, coen, and geralt, and hid them away. he looked at these traumatized kids and went well that won’t do, followed up on some rumors of a new world, had a mage friend alter the boys’ memories, and skedaddled for our world. very shocking reveal, angsty angst-ness as geralt and the others deal with repressed memories and the fact that jaskier’s parents were responsible for it all, y’know, all that good stuff)

#the witcher #i come to you with another weird witcher au #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #ciri #roach #cw: stregobor #jaskier would make a fantastic giselle don’t front #i would write a proper fic of this but it is late and i am tired #so here #some ramblings #witcher ficlet #geraskier

[snowfea]

What about spy!Jaskier and knight!Geralt?

Both working for the same queen, Calanthe, and both loving the little princess so much

Jaskier didn't mean to become a spy, it just... happened. One day he was performing at an inn, twenty years old, and the other he was thirty and had prevented so many attacks on queen Calanthe that he'd stopped counting. Nobody knows he's from Cintra, he's just a bard from Lettenhove. Oh, he's not exactly famous, but one has to make sacrifices when working for Cintra. One of these sacrifices is not being able to shut Valdo Marx's mouth when he says that he's the best bard of the Continent; sure, he might be, but Jaskier is more important than Valdo will ever be.

So Jaskier goes on the road, plays at inns, listens to the farmers and innkeepers talk about bandits and people who don't seem to belong, and then he goes and makes sure that these people aren't a threat. If they are, well. He has ways to alert the crown, and then these people are dealt with. If they aren't menacing and were just victims of farmers’ bigotry, he leaves them alone.

Geralt, on the other hand, very much knows how he became a knight. Did he want to? Don't ask him. No seriously, you'd better not. His job is to protect the crown, Calanthe, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. He's doing it for Pavetta first, and then when she was born, for Ciri.

Geralt doesn't have many friends, except the people that he considers his brothers (in arms, but it's more than just that): Eskel and Lambert, who aren’t knights in Cintra. His trainer, Vesemir, raised them together and made them perfect knights, before sending them off in the world as they were meant to be. Geralt knew how to kill a man before he learned how to shave.

Twice a year is held the Security council; Jaskier, as the queen's best spy, is here. Geralt, as the queen's best knight, is too. The first time they meet, Geralt can't fucking understand how someone like Jaskier can be an efficient spy, until later that night during the banquet. Jaskier is playing - he needed a cover and a bard can't refuse to play for the Queen of Cintra, now can he? and if he isn't seen during a few hours, well, let's just say he's in charming company. It's only because Geralt is watching him closely that he notices how the bard looks over the room, taking in every face, observing people's reactions, that he understands. People are careless around bards, some treat them a simple background noise. Nobody pays attention if the bard is drawing closer, close enough to hear a secret conversation. Geralt is admirative.

Meanwhile Jaskier takes one look at Geralt and thinks, woah. He can see the muscles and the way the knight knowingly looks around him, always making sure that no one is an immediate threat to the queen.

So what they both have in common is that they love Ciri. Ciri, the little princess, who has her mother’s hair and her grandmother’s eyes. Jaskier would do anything for her, and so would Geralt.

So when Nilfgaart attacks, when Jaskier comes back to Cintra because he knew this would happen, he had told them, why had they not listened, why didn’t Calanthe take the threat seriously and his only goal is to save little Ciri, to keep her safe, to protect her from the soldiers, he almost attacks Geralt when he sees him next to Ciri.

There’s a short moment when both of them look at each other, before recognition lights into Geralt’s eyes. “Bard” he says. “Knight” replies Jaskier.

And Ciri cries into Geralt’s shoulder as they ride into the night, leaving behind them Cintra burning, leaving behind them the only home they ever knew.

Except- Geralt brings them to Kaer Morhen. Well, not before accusing Jaskier of treason (“You knew about the attack” “Why yes, I did, but it doesn’t matter now” “Of course it does, because all of this could’ve been prevent-” “Don’t you know, Geralt? I told them, I made sure to tell them, and yet here we are”)

Somewhere along the way Jaskier learns to love Geralt, and it’s not a surprise to him when he realizes he’s in love. Not a surprise, but Jaskier is angry at himself. He had promised himself to never fall in love, because his only duty was to protect Cintra. But now Cintra has fallen, and his loyalty goes to Ciri and Geralt and the weird family they make; surely he can allow himself to be in love. Not that he’ll do anything about it.

Meanwhile Geralt realizes he’s doomed, because the blue-eyed spy is actually a ray of sunshine, despite everything he’s seen and done. He makes Ciri laughs after a nightmare, sings to her about happier times without making the memories bitter, braid flower into her hair. Geralt finds himself liking Jaskier.

Jaskier is taken by Nilfgaard before they reach Kaer Morhen. And Geralt is torn, is fucking torn between saving the man he loves and making sure the princess is safe. In the end, he chooses Ciri. He’s never been more conflicted in his life, and every step away from Jaskier feels like stabbing himself with his own swords.

Ciri knows this. She’s not stupid, and she’s aware of the love the two men came to have for each other. She sees it in the way Geralt puts Jaskier’s bedroll close to the fire, in the way Jaskier cleans Geralt’s armor for him, in the way they bicker and argue but smile when the other isn’t looking. She tells Geralt to go and save Jaskier. It’s a direct order from his queen, she adds with a sad smile, he can’t disobey.

Geralt fucking bolts to go and save Jaskier. Which he does. Spying may not be his thing, but he manages to gather intel and knows where Jaskier is. They don’t know he was Calanthe’s top spy. They just think he’s a bard who helped the young princess to escape.

Jaskier won’t say a thing. Oh, he talks plenty, but never about the princess. Tells his captors about history chapters he learned when he was at Oxenfurt, about how the Viscount of Forestier had an affair with his maid and was very much in love with her, but Nilfgaard never learns a thing about where the lion cub of Cintra is. Jaskier holds to that as he endures their torture.

After Geralt saves him, they continue to go towards Kaer Morhen. Except now Jaskier is on Roach with Ciri, and Geralt walks beside them. He won’t hear any complaint.

They’re together now. Ciri suspects it happened when Geralt saved Jaskier and saw him hurt and yet so defiant, but she can’t know for sure. She does know that now, they sleep close at night – well, Jaskier sleeps next to Geralt while the knight guards the camp, and Jaskier plays with Geralt’s hair when Geralt’s asleep.

Kaer Morhen is not how she expected it to be. It’s… in ruins. There are more knights (and really, she’s sure they’re not knights, she’ll have to dig in the library to find out), and she soon learns their names: Vesemir, who’s like, Geralt’s dad, she assumes; Eskel and Lambert, his brothers. Aiden and Cohen, the first one Lambert’s “best friend” (just like Jaskier is Geralt’s best friend, she thinks, and she sees from Eskel’s grin that he knows what she’s thinking about)

She learns to fight, to fight for her life and for the life of others. But she also learns how to play the lute, and Jaskier makes sure she continues to sing. And together, with Geralt and Jaskier and all the other “knights”, they’re a family. An odd one, but a family.

Geralt and Jaskier learn that you can live for yourself, and decide that what they truly want to do is live for themselves together.

#geraskier #The Witcher #Jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt #Ciri #I apologize for any mistakes #English isn't my first language and it's midnight here #geraskier fic #mine

[jaskierswolf]

Flaming Desires

Summary: In a world where soulmates are connected through their kinks and sexual desires, Geralt and Jaskier decide to try out something new in the bedroom. Luckily for both of them, Geralt is a firefighter.

Rating: E

CW: No sex but lots of sexual content, wax play, dom/sub vibes, general hoey vibes, mentions of sex work.

Part three in this AU, part two written by @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde. Your turn babe 😘

Also shout out to @kuripon for beta-ing

________

Dreams; they were going to be Geralt’s downfall. On the menu this week was wax play, something that hadn’t even realised he was into, but he just couldn’t stop dreaming about it. Jaskier had taken the week off filming for his OnlyFans page, so it wasn’t a video, and yet Geralt couldn’t see an ordinary tea light without getting hard. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem but Jaskier had arranged a date that evening so the two of them were sat in Jaskier’s kitchen with the lights down low, and a tacky christmas candle holder sat in the middle of the table.

And Geralt couldn’t stop watching the flame, the tiny pool of molten wax at the base of the wick. It was ridiculous but he had to sit on his hand to stop himself from reaching for the candle and dipping his fingers into the wax. He’d never had this problem before. He was a firefighter for god’s sake, fire wasn’t sexy.

“Jask?”

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier cocked his head, a coy smile playing on his lips.

“Are the candles a you thing?” Geralt asked, groaning as he tried to ignore his erection and eat his food but it was persistent and he was feeling particularly horny.

His soulmate just chuckled, never breaking eye contact as his lips wrapped around his fork. The bastard then had the audacity to moan softly, licking his lips in a way that was unfairly seductive, and Geralt was about two seconds from clearing the table and having his way with Jaskier right then and there.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jaskier purred in a low voice. “I have plans tonight, and I will not have you ruin them by being a brute.”

“Fuck you.”

“Spoilers,” the musician trilled, winking as he sipped his wine. The liquid stained his lips red which only made him look even more irresistible.

“I regret introducing you to Doctor Who,” Geralt groaned.

“No you don’t, you love me,” Jaskier giggled.

“You never answered the question,” Geralt reminded him gently, “Candles?”

His soulmate hummed, tongue swiping across his lips, as he tilted his head. Long fingers danced along the rim of his wine glass, and his blue eyes twinkled in the candlelight. All in all, Jaskier looked ethereal, something out of a painting, a fairytale. He even had the name to match, Jaskier, Buttercup, Dandelion. Geralt’s beautiful flower; gorgeous and deadly.

And completely insatiable.

“I thought they were a you thing?” Jaskier asked slowly.

Maybe they were, or maybe they’d ended up in some weird kinky loop through the soulbond… which Geralt had finally admitted existed. There was just no way it was some kind of coincidence. When he was feeling intolerably horny, there was Jaskier lying on his bed at the end of work, dressed in the prettiest stockings and Dandelion’s make-up. When he was feeling in the mood for just a good nature documentary and cuddles, Jaskier would turn up at his door with two onesies and a bag of takeout. They were just in sync, almost every day.

Geralt had never had someone in his life that had understood him like this before and it was completely exhilarating-- terrifying, but exhilarating. His brothers teased him about it relentlessly, and they were both careful about telling people how they really met, but Geralt had never been happier.

Even if he was discovering kinks he never knew he had.

Wax play… really?

“Well, fuck.”

Jaskier frowned, scratching absentmindedly at the scruff that was beginning to grow. He preferred to stay clean shaven for Dandelion, but in between videos he got lazy, and Geralt would be the first to admit it was a good look on his boyfriend. “Did you want to?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, probably far too quickly. “Yes,” he repeated more slowly as he felt his cheeks heat up, “but I don’t know how.”

Jaskier’s hand cupped his cheek, fingers caressing his jaw as they fell away. “I’ve done research. Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Well, that’s a lie. You wouldn’t even let me chop the vegetables,” Jaskier teased.

The memory of Jaskier’s cack-handed attempts at prepping the veg made Geralt shudder. The knives had been blunt and Jaskier had narrowly avoided a trip to A&E. “I trust you,” Geralt said again, grinning at his boyfriend, “just not with things that could kill you.”

“Fire kills,” Jaskier reminded him, “or didn’t my insanely pretty firefighter boyfriend forget?”

“I won’t let the house burn down, Jask.”

His soulmate giggled. “Can you imagine that phone call? ‘Hey, Eskel, It’s Geralt. We almost burnt Jaskier’s flat down playing with candles in the bedroom.’” Jaskier’s tone took on a gruff growl as he mimicked Geralt’s voice.

And that was it. Geralt stood up and pulled his soulmate into a kiss before he could protest, the taste of shitty red wine still on his lips. Jaskier moaned into the kiss, his fingers digging into Geralt’s hips and they both stumbled to the bedroom, dinner promptly forgotten.

In Jaskier’s bedroom were a few candles, plain looking, and yet Geralt felt a whole new wave of arousal. They were actually doing this, and Jaskier had apparently prepared. He was pleased to see a small bucket of water in the corner of the room and the fire blanket from the kitchen. There were times that he forgot that Jaskier and Dandelion the sex worker were the same person. Jaskier was a professional, and he took everything they did very seriously… and Geralt fucking loved him for it. He felt safe when they played like this, and it even gave him the confidence to submit to his soulmate. That hadn’t happened very often before Jaskier.

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hand as he pulled him over to the bed, cupping his cheeks as they kissed lazily, neither in any real rush, until Jaskier pulled away. He was smiling softly at Geralt in a way that made his heart flutter, as if there was any doubt how much Geralt loved him.

“Take off your shirt, love,” Jaskier told him, pressing a final kiss to Geralt’s cheek before getting up to fetch the candles. “I ordered a soy candle, it’s meant to be good for beginners. Cooler burn rate, but you will let me know if it hurts too much? We can stop at any time, just say your word,” Jaskier started to ramble, a nervous habit that Geralt found so endearing.

He pulled off his shirt before crossing the room to press his lips to the nape of Jaskier’s neck and his arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s middle. “Stop worrying, Julek.”

“Oh,” Jaskier hummed.

“I trust you,” Geralt reminded him.

“Hmm, I love you,” Jaskier murmured, spinning in Geralt’s arms and capturing his lips in a kiss. “Okay, right, on the bed.”

“Back or front?” Geralt asked, but he already knew the answer. He always seemed to know, but Jaskier liked to verbalise it so Geralt let him, especially as this was a new kind of play for them.

“Front please. Thank you, darling,” Jaskier smiled warmly as he struck a match, the soft golden glow from the flame lighting up his face beautiful, before he lit one of the candles.

Geralt did as he was told, propping himself up on his arms whilst he waited for his soulmate. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, focusing on the soft melody that Jaskier was humming under his breath. There was a tingle of heat itching under his skin, and he was pretty sure his boxers were a mess in his trousers from the way his cock was aching. He had no doubt he was already leaking, but he did his best to stay still, resisting the urge to rut against the mattress. Jaskier would tell him if he were allowed to do so.

“Oh look at you, absolutely perfect, pretty as a picture,” Jaskier cooed.

His cheeks burnt, and he had to bury his face in his arms. Geralt loved the praise, but he was easily overwhelmed by it, in a good way, mostly. He still struggled to believe that Dandelion, his crush for so long, was now his boyfriend - no - his soulmate, that the videos were and always had been practically made for before either of them knew.

Jaskier pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and he hummed, letting his boyfriend know he was okay, and then Jaskier’s fingers were in his hair, scraping against his scalp. The sensation was nearly too much and he moaned, the sound muffled by his arms. Jaskier chuckled as he pulled Geralt’s hair into what felt like a ribbon, and then Geralt felt his boyfriend’s hands run down the length of his spine.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

They’d barely started and already he felt like his entire body was on fire. He felt heady with arousal and his cock was aching to be touched.

“Ready?” Jaskier asked, his voice sounding as wrecked as Geralt felt.

Geralt just grunted, and then, at Jaskier’s stern silence, mumbled a ‘yes’. He shivered as he felt Jaskier’s breath against his skin, gasping as Jaskier swatted his arse. The room was silent apart from the soft singing of his soulmate, and Geralt could do nothing but wait patiently, or rather impatiently.

Until…

“Cock!” Jaskier spluttered, his words swiftly followed by a resounding thud.

“What the fuck?”

He bolted upright, still feeling a little spaced, but he recognised the smell of carpet burning and it was enough to cut through the fog in his mind. Jaskier was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled and the candle had fallen onto the rug, catching on the synthetic fibres.

“Jaskier!” he growled, snapping his boyfriend from his shock.

“Oh- oh fuck!” Jaskier scrambled for the water bucket.

The fire didn’t last long but the mood was killed. They both just stared at each other across the singed rug, until Jaskier cracked a smile and they burst into laughter. Jaskier couldn’t stop apologising in between fits of giggles, pressing his face into Geralt’s neck to hide his embarrassment. Despite the almost torturous week of wet dreams prior, Geralt could only chuckle as he held his boyfriend close.

They would just have to try again another day.

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier pankratz #geralt of rivia #geralt/jaskier #wolfie’s witcher writing

[x-reader-theater]

My Days Are Numbered, but so Are Yours {6}

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia X Male!Disabled!Reader

Summary: Every conversation is easier over a game of Gewnt. 

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Word Count: 1202 words

A/N: Guess what? We’re at chapter 6 and still we have more chapters to go! This story is actually over 13,000 words in length. I want you all to have the ending you deserve, and this is, hopefully, it. If any of you who have seen the show don’t know Gwent, there’s a gwent game that you can buy and play that will hopefully explain everything, but it’s a really fun card game that everyone should check out. Thank you to my editor @mystic-writes​. You are a gem. Thank you so much on your feedback from yesterday. I really appreciate all of you who have re-blogged my work. It means so much. Please like, comment, and reblog, and please send me some asks! It gets lonely in an empty ask box.  Now, without further ado,  My Days Are Numbered, but so Are Yours chapter 6.

Take a Chance for the Nights are Short (Book 1) [1]

Hold me Tight for the Days are Long (Book 2) [2]

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Chapter 6: Of Cards and Conversations

"You up for a round of Gwent?" You shake your deck at Geralt from the kitchen table. It's been years since you've played with anyone, it'll be nice to try again. If Geralt agrees, of course. 

"What?" He asks from Ciri's bedside. While she hadn't been seriously harmed, Triss had ordered a bout of bed rest. 

You shake your cards again. They rattle around in their case. "Come on. A game. That is assuming you have played before." You quirk your eyebrow up at that. Geralt glares at you. 

"Of course I've played," he grumbles out. "But I don't have a deck." 

You set the deck box on the table, turn around in your chair, and reach up with your hand to grab the large box on one of the shelves in your tiny kitchen. You lightly place it on the table and open it up. Three more decks inside. Nilfgaard, Northern Realms, and Scoia'tael. You prefer the monster deck yourself, but you're good with all of them. You've spent many years cultivating your collection. 

Geralt gets up and walks over, picking up the Northern Realms box and opening it, looking through the cards. "You have some rare cards here. Would fetch a pretty penny." 

"What use for money do I have here?" You ask as you start shuffling your deck. "And besides. It wouldn't be as much fun without the cards. You might be able to beat me then," you say with a smirk. 

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Well, we'll have to see about that!" He exclaims, though not too loud. Ciri's still asleep. 

You set up for your game of Gwent, flip a coin, and Geralt goes first. It's interesting to watch him play. All that tactical training by Vessimir must have paid off. 

"You play like Eskel…" You mutter to yourself, placing your hand on your chin. 

You hear Geralt's neck snap up to look at you. "What did you say?" 

You look up at him as you play a card. "I said, you play like Eskel." 

"How- how do you know Eskel?" Geralt asks. 

You lean forward, tilting your cards to your chest as you say, "I'll tell you, if you play a card." He shakes his head at that, shocked, before placing a card down onto the table. "I met him while I was dead. We talked, had a rather adventurous night, one you probably don't need to hear the details of-" Geralt grunts. "-and after running into him a few more times, he brought me to Kaer Morhen. He and Lambert trained me to fight. I may not be as good as a Witcher, but I sure as hell won't be losing another arm to a wyvern." You wave your left arm at him. Or, half of it at least. 

"And you played Gwent with them…" Geralt says. 

You shake your head and play a card, knocking on the table to convey that you pass. "Just with Eskel. Lambert was far too serious." You drop your chin and say in a gravely, mock imitation of Lambert's voice, "'I'm Lambert and I take everything way too seriously. I hate being a Witcher and I kill everything mleh."

Geralt starts laughing as he places a few more cards down, before knocking. "You know, that's a pretty good impression of the man." 

You shrug. "I try my best," you say with a smile. 

Geralt has won the first round, but he had to get rid of most of his cards to do it. You have significantly more cards than him. You take the monster cards on the table and shuffle them up, holding them face down to Geralt. He picks one and it goes back on the table, the rest in the discard. Geralt discards his field and draws a new card. 

"There was one time, when I was traveling with Jaskier," Geralt says, as you place your first card. "I had lost my swords, and Jaskier was determined that a 'Witcher must have swords!'" Geralt plays a card and you watch as his face lights up. You've never seen him look this way, smiling and laughing without care. You feel a pang in your heart as you see this smile. You still love him. You play a card. "So, he went out and bought me a new sword. Zerrikanian Steel. The best you'll find! And at a good price too!'" 

You laugh as he says this. "Is that your Jask impression?" You hate it. 

Geralt chuckles and continues. "Well, when I used it, the first time I blocked a blow, it shattered!" 

You start laughing even harder, and Geralt joins you. Finally, when you catch your breath, you can feel your cheeks are hot and you're looking at Geralt with such joy, all your thoughts of being alone are gone from your mind. 

It's weird talking like this with Geralt again. Laughing and making fun of mutual friends. You haven't talked with Geralt like this in years, and it's like you never left. You've been friends for years, and nothing happened. 

Until Geralt looks at you, sadness in his eyes. "You know, he wrote a song about you." Your smile falters. "After you… died." Even though Geralt's been with you for a few days, and knows you're alive. It's as if he doesn't believe it. "'A ballad for a Silver Jackal.'" 

"I haven't heard it…" You say, though you did get recognized a few times by people in need. Now that you think of it, they may have mentioned a song… 

"It's perfect. Every bit of it," Geralt says, looking down into one of the floorboards like it held the key to one of his deeper, repressed memories. "Beautiful. He wrote it in a day. When we got back to town, he played it." Geralt looks up at you, and for a man who can't feel, he sure does look sad. "I haven't felt emotions in a long, long time. And yet… when I heard that…" Geralt trails off. 

You don't know if he's embarrassed or just glum. Maybe both. 

You clear your throat and point at the board. "Uh. It's your turn," you say simply. 

Geralt nods and plays a card. He places it in the wrong row, and you move it to the right one for him. You play. He plays. You place a card. He does the same. You, him. You, him. 

Your heart's not in the game anymore, but you keep playing it, setting down card after card. Eventually, you both run out of cards. You won. 

It doesn't feel like it. 

"Congrats," Geralt says. 

You don't look up at him as you gather up your cards to put them away. Geralt does the same and silently, you both work in tandem. Geralt puts the card box away and gets up from the table, moving back toward Ciri. 

"Geralt?" You call out to him. 

He stops and looks over his shoulder. "Yes?" 

You stand up. "Did you miss me?" 

He nods. "Yes. I did." He goes and sits back next to Ciri's bedside. 

You slump into your chair, thinking. 

It's going to be a long night.

#Geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x male reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x male reader #geralt of rivia x male!reader #triss #triss merigold #witcher triss #ciri #witcher ciri #cirila #cirilla fiona elen riannon #my work #My writing #geralt of the witchers

[jaskiersvalley]

Every time I see your name pop up in my notifications, my day is instantly better. I just can't even begin to express just how much these little ficlets have been my lifeline lately. I love what you do so much😭😍😍

And every time I see your name pop up in my notifications, my day is instantly better too! I hope you’re doing well and I offer a very stupid AU as a sign of my thanks and love for you!

CW for accidental drug use.

Usually, working in the DA’s office was quite chill. Even the bad days were bearable when working with your family and the opposition had a tendency to be unfairly good looking. Lambert quite enjoyed the verbal sparring in the courts, especially with Aiden and Cahir, it got him riled up and, naturally, Eskel was always willing to help him unwind after a particularly antagonising case. Or, if he wasn’t available, Lambert could always bicker with Geralt unless he was “busy” with Jaskier.

“Lambert. Lambert. LambertLambertLambert!” Eskel was bouncing on his toes by his desk looking rather agitated.

“What?”

“I did something stupid.” That was a concern in itself, Eskel rarely did stupid or wrong. He was the golden child of the DA’s office. While Geralt was the flashy one that got all the publicity, Eskel had just as good a track record but he was quiet and fastidious, avoiding all media as much as he could.

“What did you do?”

Still bouncing, Eskel rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. Then he laughed. It bubbled out of him in a way Lambert had only seen a handful of times. “You know I had a headache?”

It made Lambert wince, he was meant to have gone to get Eskel some painkillers and forgot because he’d bumped into Aiden in the shared kitchen.

“Well, I was working, and then Cahir walked by. We made eye contact.” Okay, Lambert could see why that would cause Eskel to do something silly like drop his pen and then whack his head on the edge of the table as he picked it up. But there was no mark on Eskel’s forehead. “And he was wearing those tight trousers. You know, the woolen ones that are just snug enough to hint at things and also make his arse look amazing.”

Yep, Lambert knew the very ones. He was certain Aiden and Cahir both dressed in distracting clothes when they were due to face off in court against Lambert or Eskel. Their matching little smirks certainly suggested it.

“Well, there were pills on my desk and I thought you’d gotten me stuff for my head. I took them as he walked by.” Lambert’s face was falling. He hadn’t put any pills on Eskel’s desk. “They were evidence Lamb!” Another giggle. “I accidentally took MDMA from a case. Vesemir will kills me.” Laughing really wasn’t the right response but Eskel seemed to find it quite funny so Lambert offered a very questionable smile.

They couldn’t let Vesemir find out. Or even for anyone else to find out. It would certainly get Eskel in trouble, probably even fired. At least he didn’t have any court appearances that day.

“Okay,” Lambert ran a hand through his hair. “Come with me.”

Like an obedient lamb, Eskel followed him to Jaskier’s desk where Lambert loomed and tried to look authoritative.

“We need your room for the afternoon.”

It looked like Jaskier might protest but then his eyes strayed to Eskel who seemed to be humming under his breath and not so subtly dancing along to the song. After watching him for three seconds, Jaskier let out an understanding little “ah” and nodded.

Grabbing keys from his desk, he led them to the room he usually used to talk to the children who were brought in for interviews. The room had soft foam squares over half the floor, some cuddly toys and other comfort items so the children could relax while talking to Jaskier. it was no secret that sometimes, after a more difficult case or an off day, members of the team could take a quiet hour or two in there to gather themselves up. As they were let in, Eskel lit up with a beaming smile.

“This is so awesome! Thank you!”

With a pat to the shoulder, Jaskier pressed the keys into Lambert’s hand. “I’ll bring you a glass of water and check in on you both. Don’t worry, no questions asked.”

“He might not have questions-” a voice drawled from the doorway, “-but I do.”

“Cahir!” Eskel sounded both elated and scared at the same time. “Did you know a baby goat is called a kid?”

“I did.” There was a smirk playing on Cahir’s lips. “I came to ask about the evidence for the Lilith case. It says on the system that you’d checked it out last. But I need it.”

“Uhoh.”

As far as Lambert was concerned, that was the worst thing Eskel could have said. However, Cahir chuckled. “I’ll mark it down as returned. Then it can go missing from evidence. Didn’t want to bust the girl anyway. Seems like a waste to get a record for a wrong place, wrong time, wrong decision kind of thing.” His eyes glinted with mirth. “Just don’t make a habit of taking evidence.”

“Thought they were painkillers.” Eskel actually pouted.

“Of course. I haven’t seen or heard anything. In exchange-” this was what Lambert had been dreading, there was always a price to these, “-you and Lambert can meet me and Aiden for drinks one evening. We’ll even wear our best suits.”

Never before had Lambert seen Eskel jump up and down in excitement, both fists in the air. But there they were. He nodded at Cahir who winked at him.

“It’s a date.”

#lambskel #eskel/lambert #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #lambert #eskel #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #aiden #jaskier #background geraskier #da au #cw: accidental drug use #tldr: eskel takes some evidence and gets a date

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Lost/Found chapter two

chapter one || chapter three || chapter four || chapter five complete fic on ao3

The inn is warm but Jaskier hasn't eaten all day and his body refuses to retain any of the heat. He has the bread tucked away from earlier, but he still feels nauseous so he sits and shivers and pretends not to be hungry when Eskel offers. Still, the Witcher orders more food than one person could hope to eat and Jaskier's stomach turns uncomfortably. He's just being kind, he realizes, but Jaskier's never been shown this much kindness in his life, by a perfect stranger, no less. A stranger who is probably best friends with the man who no longer wants him. Fuck.

He shuts his eyes and rubs his hands on his thighs, trying to hide the chill. He should know better than to try and keep something from a Witcher, but he does it nonetheless. And, of course, it doesn't work.

"You're cold," Eskel says. "I can hear your teeth chattering."

"I'm alright."

"Hm." Eskel pushes himself up from his seat and strides across the room. Jaskier watches after him. He's gone for some time and when he returns he has warm drinks. He slides one across the table and Jaskier takes the mug between his hands, pulling it into him. He's glad for the heat, but still not sure why Eskel is being so kind to him. He doesn't deserve it. He's done nothing his whole life but become a burden.

"I arranged for a bath," Eskel says and Jaskier lifts his head at that, staring across the table questioningly. Under regular circumstances, he would probably jump at the chance to bathe with him. But these aren't regular circumstances and Jaskier doesn't feel like doing much of anything.

"For you," he clarifies. "To warm you up."

"Why?" Jaskier blurts.

"Because someone hurt you badly and no one deserves that kind of pain."

"Oh." Shit, Witcher. But if he can- If Eskel can tell how he feels, that means Geralt could too. The second those words left his mouth, Geralt knew exactly what he'd done and he didn't stop. He didn't take them back and he didn't try to go after him. Jaskier shuts his eyes and tries to force the thoughts out of his head, but they're stuck.

He doesn't realize Eskel has gotten up until a hand rests on his shoulder soft, tentative. He guides Jaskier to his feet and once Jaskier has gathered his things, Eskel takes him upstairs to his room. There's a large bath tucked into the corner next to the fire and he leaves Jaskier alone with it.

Once Eskel has left, Jaskier rids himself of his clothes, piling them neatly on the table beside the bath. He shivers even in front of the fire, but he knows it has nothing to do with the heat. He wants this to be over, to wake up and find out the whole thing was a terrible nightmare and Geralt is still there- But how could he? After he said those things, why does he still want him? He's been broken up with by everyone he's ever been with, so why does this, the end of a non-existent friendship hurt so much more?

He steps into the bath cautiously, testing the water before sinking in completely. It feels good and it's been a long time since he could really enjoy a bath. Most inns with Geralt were in and out with time just enough to eat and sleep and clean the grime from their bodies. Fleetingly, Jaskier wonders why Eskel isn't in a rush to leave. And he wonders again, why he's doing all of this. There's no good reason for a perfect stranger to offer him food and drink and a warm bath.

Going off his limited knowledge of Witchers, he's not in any immediate danger. Not, at least, of anything but being abandoned again when Eskel decides it's time to move on. Which is fine, Jaskier's not attached.

When he's finished in the bath, he changes into his last pair of clean clothes, frowning. It may be a long time before he can have them laundered, and he hates washing his own clothes in the river. Not that that ever bothered Geralt. He stops the thought before it can go any further, shoving his dirty clothes into his pack and gathering his things together again. He heads downstairs to find Eskel and let him know he can have his room back, but he finds himself turned back around and marched back upstairs. He's not in any mood to argue about a warm bed, so he keeps quiet.

Eskel sleeps on the floor - "still better than having a root in your back," he says - and gives Jaskier the bed. It's a kind gesture, but the bed feels too big without someone in it with him. The last time he stayed at an inn they had to share and Jaskeir found he slept much better with a warm body pressed against his back. Not that Geralt had realized, nor had Jaskier ever mentioned it. He tucks the blankets around himself now to feel less exposed and shuts his eyes to try and sleep.

He worries too much to relax. Everything that's happened tonight has thrown his entire relationship with Geralt into question. Are Witchers just like that? Do they just share their food and bed with the first person who comes along and isn't terrified of them? He doubts it, but the thought won't allow him any peace.

Eskel is already asleep, breathing steadily beneath him and the sound of his breath is what eventually lulls Jaskier to sleep.

In the morning, Eskel is still there. He's moving around the room when Jaskier rises, readying himself to leave. Jaskier watches him for a moment before Eskel turns his attention on him with a faint smile. He takes a plate from the shelf in front of him and sets it on the edge of the bed.

"Help yourself," he says.

Jaskier inspects the assortment of pastries before picking one off the plate and biting into it tentatively. He still hasn't eaten in a full day and he suspects his stomach won't be pleased to be fed sweets first thing.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" he asks and Eskel doesn't even stop what he's doing.

"You were miserable, I couldn't just leave you on the side of the road. Especially after I almost ran you over."

"Thank you," Jaskier says quietly, considering the roll in his hands.

"Where are you off to from here?"

"I... don't know, actually. I don't have anywhere to be. I could stop in at Cintra, I suppose, I haven't been in a while."

"How do you feel about Redania?"

Jaskier gives him a suspicious look. "That's where I was born, why?"

"Because that's where I'm headed next and it's been a long time since I've had someone to travel with."

Jaskier likes travelling with Eskel and after a couple of weeks, he even relaxes around him. And it's much easier to look forward to the future when you have someone who helps to keep you from thinking about the past. Eskel is never any less warm and thoughtful than he was the first night - at least not with him. Jaskier learns in a hurry that he's not a man to be messed with under any circumstances, and that includes the goat.

She's more stubborn than Roach, which is saying something, but Jaskier loves her despite their first interaction. And the fact that she tries to headbutt him often. She likes fruits though, and Jaskier takes great care to make sure the pieces he feeds her are small enough that she doesn’t choke. He suspects his closeness with the goat is part of the reason Eskel comes to trust him the way he does. Jaskier once saw him threaten a man's life when Lil' Bleater was mistakenly penned with a herd of farm goats and it had been the first time he'd really smiled since leaving that mountaintop - watching a Witcher threaten an aging farmer over a goat. But Eskel loves that damn goat and Jaskier knows something of loyalty to those you love.

He doesn't think so often about Geralt anymore, and when he does it's usually by accident or in a dream. He hates those nights because he wakes up breathless and unable to relax again. Most times, it wakes Eskel up and Jaskier hates that he's already being a nuisance again, even if Eskel assures him that he's not. Jaskier doesn't tell him about the dreams and Eskel doesn't ask. He understands that there are things Jaskier wants to keep to himself and he doesn't press. Though, there are nights when Jaskier finds he would rather talk about it than continue to hold it in.

Somewhere along the way, Jaskier starts performing again. It's not a conscious decision, but it feels right. He needs something to do while Eskel is off killing things, after all. The only thing he refuses is to sing about Geralt. Luckily, those songs are well known enough that other bards play them now and they're not requested nearly as often as they once were.

They're at an inn in Hamm, heading north from visiting Cintra, when it finally happens. Jaskier's struck with the idea for a song and he digs out his notebook from his pack, setting it on the table in front of him. They've been here for two days while Eskel hunts a pack of werewolves that seems to have dispersed within the forest. Jaskier plays at the inn in the evenings and he's killing time until then. The perfect time for inspiration to hit. Only when he opens his notebook, his whole body grows cold. The last thing written was a love song - or, it was supposed to be.

He frowns at the lyrics, scratching out a few lines and re-writing them below. A few of them, he only changes the words, but it still seems wrong. He can't hear it. And so, with a sigh, Jaskier packs up his things and goes outside to sit in the grass and try to work out the tune of the song.

It's cold when the wind blows, but it's better suited to the song than the warmth of the inn and Jaskier shuts his eyes. His fingers move smoothly against the strings of his lute, picking out the tune he'd had in mind before the song had been forgotten. It's what he was working on when Borch first showed up and he wonders bitterly if he had just told the old man to leave right then if things could have been different. Though they could also have been worse if Geralt had come back to find his things stolen and Jaskier still sitting there.

It doesn't matter anymore, he tells himself. But a small voice reminds him that if it really didn't matter, he wouldn't have let himself be sidetracked by this song.

He ignores the voice and carries on, humming along at first until he finds a tune that he likes. His voice shakes the first time he sings it out loud, but it feels better to get it out and as he sings the words for the first time, he's surprised to find how accurate they are.

He stays outside until it gets dark and he needs to go inside and ready himself. There's a woman sitting close to him who keeps looking up and smiling and for the first time, Jaskier considers taking her to bed with him. It's been a long time and he's not as miserable as he used to be, maybe it's time to start. Except three songs in she pipes up and asks him to play the song he was singing earlier and he can feel the blood drain from his face. But he never turns down a request, and maybe it's time for another first as well.

Eskel walks through the doors, bloody and stinking of something awful, just as Jaskier starts. And he catches his eye just for a brief moment, leaning against the door frame to listen. Somehow, with him standing there, it feels harder and Jaskier has to restart the song after catching his breath.

"The fairer sex they often call it, but her love's as unfair as a crook…"

He makes it through the song unscathed, but when he finishes, there's murmuring amongst the guests. A few of them come up to him and start chattering at him and Jaskier smiles politely, but he can't think over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. This was a mistake. He thanks them all, again and again, avoiding questions regarding who the song is about and he manages to slip out of the crowd and up to their room without too much trouble.

He shuts the door and leans against it for a moment, catching his breath. What if Eskel figures it out? He's not stupid and it's widely known that Jaskier used to travel with Geralt, it's right there in the songs. He feels guilty for lying and stupid for thinking Eskel would never figure it out. It's not as though he's said bad things about Geralt, but he hasn't been pleasant about him either and he knows the two Witchers know each other. He's seen Eskel's medallion, they're from the same school.

Jaskier never lies to his friends and this is exactly why. It makes things messy and when your life isn't in danger, there's no reason not to be honest; even Geralt forgave him for the stupid things he did. So why did he lie to Eskel? They hadn't been travelling together at the time, there was no reason for him not to tell him about Geralt. He told him his name was Julian, which he isn't in a habit of doing, but that was to protect himself had things gone badly.

Well, there's nothing for it now; he's going to have to tell Eskel the truth before he figures it out or someone else brings it up. The last thing he wants is to lose another friend over something so trivial.

Jaskier takes his lute and puts it away, gently arranging the contents of its case and sets it against the wall next to the bed. The thought of losing Eskel burns in his chest and he goes over what he's going to say to him, repeating the words over and over in his head until a knock on the door pulls him back to the present. The door pushes open a moment later and Eskel looks in at him.

"Is everything alright? You left in a hurry."

"Fine," Jaskier grins, another lie. "I'm going to turn in early tonight, I'm tired."

"I was thinking the same. We should get an early start." Eskel comes into the room, turning the door and locking it behind him. Jaskier watches as he readies himself for bed, silently begging himself to say something but he can't find the words.

Something clicks then, that he hadn't realized before. Jaskier likes having a travelling companion, he doesn't like being alone and lately, he hasn't wanted to seek out that companionship. And Eskel has been there, so he didn't think anything about it. But it is different, he realizes. He likes having Eskel around, but maybe it's more than that. As he sits quietly on the bed, watching the Witcher undress, he realizes having him around might not be all he wants. And maybe that’s what makes telling him about Geralt so difficult.

He pushes those thoughts firmly out of his head. He doesn't want to make that mistake again.

Because it would be so easy to fall in love with Eskel, but Eskel doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve the love of someone who is still so desperately in love with someone else. Jaskier shuts his eyes and lays back against the pillows. He doesn't want to think about Geralt anymore, but it doesn't stop him and having another Witcher at his side doesn't exactly deter memories.

Eskel is much more open about his, well, everything, but it's hard not to be more open than Geralt. He's softer though - at least when they're alone - than Geralt ever was and he's openly kind to Jaskier even when he doesn't deserve it. They haven't been travelling together long, but Jaskier isn't looking forward to the inevitable separation.

But he shouldn't compare the two. That's not fair to either of them. He settles into the pillows, shutting his eyes even as the candle is blown out. He was going to offer the bed to Eskel tonight and he feels bad for not remembering it earlier, but he'll make it up to him some other way.

It's been quiet for some time and he's not even totally sure Eskel is still awake, when he blurts out, "it's about my friend."

"What is?" Eskel asks simply.

"The song. The one I played tonight, it's about my friend."

"Tell me?" Eskel offers and Jaskier breathes evenly.

"For a long time, I travelled with someone. A man. A friend, I thought. I loved him, but my feelings were never- he didn't feel the same. Which was fine," he adds in a hurry. "That's not his fault, I still loved him. But he apparently had had enough of me. Two nights before I met you, he told me to leave.

"He was-" he stammers, "you would-" His name was Geralt. It's such a simple thing and yet he can't make his voice work.

"Julian," Eskel breathes, "you don't have to tell me more than you're comfortable with."

Jaskier doesn't realize he's crying until Eskel climbs up onto the bed next to him. He runs his thumb over his cheek and Jaskier looks anywhere but at him.

"He found someone else. Just like everyone," he mumbles and Eskel leans up over him.

"What do you mean, like everyone?"

"Everyone always finds someone else. Even him."

"I'm here," Eskel offers, sliding an arm around Jaskier's chest. Neither of them says anything more, but Jaskier curls into the embrace and lets himself fall asleep to the heat of Eskel's body against him and the huff of his breath in his hair.

#jaskier x eskel #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes #lost/found

[eldritcharchive]

6 and or 5 for the cliche tropes prompt? With any of the others if you like? Or any of them, really. They all seem so soft and I would love to read whatever you come up with, no matter the ship.

Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted and/or Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap

Going to go ahead and write Jaskel because h e l l it’d be cute

Witchers didn’t have nightmares. That’s common knowledge; ask any villager or king or bard and they’ll all tell you that witchers were, at best, immune to that sort of fear, or at worst, the cause of every nightmare on the continent through dark magic. In the School of the Wolf, most instructors intoned similar beliefs - witchers don’t feel fear, such a thing is a weakness that will lead to death on the Path. Only Vesemir, later, when Eskel and Geralt and, later, Lambert passed the trials, taught them that a bit of fear was healthy, kept you grounded. But he never covered nightmares.

Eskel definitely had nightmares.

They were different from the vaguely prophetic dreams Geralt suffered through, less vivid, so Eskel never brought them up with his brother. He had enough to deal with between finding Ciri and the end of the world. Eskel could get through this alone.

Of course, that was before a certain bard made his way to Kaer Morhen with Zoltan Chivay.

Jaskier always entered the keep like a loud, colorful storm, slamming doors if it suited him, demanding attention with his presence. It was late, and Eskel was the only one in the main keep, still cleaning off the table of discarded katakan bits when the bard kicked one of the large doors open.

“Eskel!” Jaskier yelled, his melodious voice echoing against the cavernous walls of Kaer Morhen’s main room. Eskel looked up and registered the skip in Jaskier’s step as he picked up the pace, the scent of relief and warmth wafting off of him as got closer. “Vesemir said you might not be around. I’m glad he was incorrect in that regard.”

“Had a katakan corpse to take care of,” Eskel said, smirking when Jaskier blanched at the faint smell of rot. For someone who boasted about his travels with Geralt, Jaskier really wasn’t used to the less exciting parts of the Path. Still, he had a fondness for the bard. When Jaskier was close enough, Eskel yanked him into a tight hug; Jaskier yelped but settled into the embrace quickly, looping his arms around Eskel’s neck. “Missed you,” Eskel murmured as he nosed Jaskier’s hair, reveling in the bards familiar sage and chamomile scent.

“I missed you, too, Eskel,” Jaskier said, his warm breath ghosting against Eskel’s neck in such a way that the witcher shivered a bit involuntarily. Jaskier leaned back against Eskel’s arms and smiled. “Have you eaten yet, dear?”

“Had some stew earlier. I think there’s meat and cheese in the pantry,” Eskel said, nodding towards the kitchen, running his hands down Jaskier’s sides. “You hungry?”

“Gods, yes, Zoltan wouldn’t let us stop for food on the way up here.” Jaskier slipped out of Eskel’s grasp with a grin. “And please, for the love of Melitele, tell me  you have alcohol that was not brewed by Lambert in a tub.”

“Ehhh,” Eskel said, making a waffling gesture with his hand. Jaskier danced around the kitchen gathering meat, cheese, and any fruit he could find while Eskel got them both drinks. He managed to find a nice bottle of vodka Geralt had stashed in his trunk and grabbed the two cleanest mugs from the table. (He’d buy him a better bottle later. Probably.) Jaskier swaggered out of the kitchen with a loaded up plate and fell into step with Eskel. “Yennifer and Triss have the large guest room,” Eskel said, “We’ll have to settle for one of the smaller rooms.”

“As long as it’s not your bunks in the main room,” Jaskier muttered, “and warmer.”

“Wouldn’t bet on warmer.”

They both crowded into the room and Eskel kicked the door shut, leaving the vodka and mugs on the bookcase by the door. Jaskier sat down at a small table at the far wall near the fireplace and started dividing up the food as Eskel pulled out a set of furs and started working on a fire.

“Is that Geralt’s nice vodka?” Jaskier asked.

“Yeah, I’ll owe him one.”

The pair ate and talked about Jaskier’s pub in Novigrad, his friend Priscilla and the higher vampire that attacked her (”Really it was a miracle Geralt even found him out, apparently he had to track formaldehyde? He may have also killed the guy in charge of the mortuary, but to be fair, that guy was torturing the fine young ladies at Crippled Kate’s so I gave Geralt a pass on this one..”). Eskel filled Jaskier in on his more interesting contracts until the two men ran out of light things to talk about.

Jaskier began composing quietly to himself while Eskel reviewed his bestiary on the bed. It wasn’t long before the stress of the past few weeks caught up with Eskel, and he found himself dozing off.

He was strapped to a table - to Sad Albert - and his veins, his skin were on fire, melting but frustratingly whole. The Decoctions of the Grasses poured into into him as tall black figures watched. When he turned, he saw Geralt thrashing around in the distance as they changed out the normal decoctions for the experimental ones. Screams echoed throughout the keep. And then he was one of the dark figures, opening up the veins of Uma, and then faceless children, pumping poison into them with a cool indifference. Over and over again for eternity.

Eskel gasped awake, sitting up and sending his bestiary clattering to the ground. Jaskier jumped a bit, looking at Eskel with wide eyes; the witcher folded in on himself and pressed his hands to his face.

“Eskel? Are you alright?” Jaskier asked, approaching the bed slowly. Eskel shook his head. “Nightmare?”

“Witchers don’t have nightmares,” Eskel mumbled through his hands. Jaskier sighed dramatically and clambered onto the bed behind Eskel; the witcher felt the mattress dip behind him.

“That is the most witcher bullshit I’ve heard since Geralt told me he didn’t need people,” Jaskier murmured. “Scoot down, lay your head in my lap.” Eskel shot Jaskier a look over his shoulder - the bard looked back at him with worry, but the type of seriousness in his eyes that told Eskel that arguing would be useless. He sighed and moved such that his head was nestled in Jaskier’s lap.

Hands were in his hair immediately, Jaskier’s nails scratching over Eskel’s scalp, letting brunette strands slip through his fingers. He didn’t talk, just kept humming the tune he was composing earlier as tension slowly eased out of Eskel. The room was warm, the fire slowly dying, and Eskel felt... safe.

“You know Geralt gets nightmares, too,” Jaskier murmured, slowly messaging over Eskel’s temple, smiling when the witcher’s eyes slipped close.

“‘S different. His are... important. Real.”

“And yours aren’t?”

Eskel opened his eyes and looked up at Jaskier and huffed humorously. “It... was about the Trial of the Grasses. Reliving it. The trial breaks you down so the older witchers can rebuild you with mutagens. We had to... in order to find out where Ciri was. Geralt and I had to administer it,” Eskel looked away from Jaskier as he explained. “It... when we were younger, trying to survive the aftermath of the Trial, I promised Geralt we’d never...” Eskel trailed off.

Jaskier brushed his fingers down Eskel’s cheek, holding him gently. Eskel expected him to judge him, to admonish him for his actions or condemn his weakness. Instead, he felt the sudden drip of tears on his forehead.

“Jask...”

“No, stop,” Jaskier said sternly. “It is... I’m sorry you had to break your promise to Geralt. You must’ve succeeded - Geralt told me he knows where Ciri is.”

“Yeah, the elf is recovering in Vesemir’s room.”

Jaskier nodded, sniffing slightly, trying to stem the tide of tears. “This is really serious, isn’t it?” He asked, voice only cracking a little bit. “Geralt... he never gives me details and I wanted to come see you just in case... And if you’re doing something like that then...”

Eskel reached up and cupped Jaskier’s cheek. “Jaskier, look at me,” he said, and met Jaskier’s eyes, pulling Jaskier down for a soft, chaste kiss. When Jaskier pulls away, Eskel maintains eye contact. “This is going to be a hard road. You can’t be here when Geralt gets back.”

“I know, I just -”

“I’m glad you came,” Eskel said, and Jaskier stared back at him. “Whatever... whatever this is, I’m glad you came.”

“I love you, Eskel,” Jaskier whispered back. “Please promise me you’ll try very hard not to die.”

“I promise to try my hardest.” Eskel pulled Jaskier down and held him against his chest, and used Igni to douse the fire. Safely ensconced under layers of furs, Eskel pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s nape before adding, “I love you, too.”

#OKAY HOLY SHIT #rewrote this THREE TIMES because tumblr kept losing the text #the witcher #jaskel #jaskier x eskel #gideon writes