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bardcore-jaskier · 1 year

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♡ Jaskier rant/vent ♡

Hiya, here is a long ass rant/vent about my Netflix Witcher frustrations with how the show-runners are treating Jaskier's character. Because even though I love the books and games, I couldn't give a rat's ass about the changes Lauren made to the witcher plot. Because if it were to be adapted into a show following the source material word for word, page for page, it wouldn't be worth watching because I already know the damn story. It's refreshing to see these changes, new ideas etc. But ofc, I do still have a bone to pick with them.

The venting part:

Ok, so you know how in my bio it says that this is a Jaskier centric blog and that Jaskier deserves to be loved? Yeah, that's because I'm salty AF, the saltiest motherfucker on Earth right now. Because the way Netflix or...mostly Lauren treat Jaskier as a character on this show is atrocious! A beloved fan favorite they intend to milk but know not how, using him instead as nothing other than comedic relief and the occasional tool to move the plot in a certain direction.

They're stingy with his character development, with his screen time, with complexity. When we see him in pain it is later dismissed, as if it never happened. Where are his bruises and burns from Rience's torture? He was bleeding from his mouth, he had probably taken a few punches to his face. And Rience held his flame to Jaskier's fingers for at least five seconds, the heat of which compares to a lit match, nobody could walk away from something like that without second degree burns that would take many weeks to heal. And in Jaskier's case? Walking around with an exposed wound like that, touching things all the time, crawling across a dirty floor under the table when the witchers were fighting Voleth Mier? He realistically should have had a serious infection by now.

Also, tell me I am not the only one who noticed this, and I ask myself this quite often: Why OH WHY does it seem like the ONLY people who enjoy Jaskier's company, his presence, him in general, are the audiences he performs for and the elves? Everybody else seems to either shit on him the moment they see him or keep him around because he's loyal and amusing.

Idk about you, but I don't take kindly to the fact that the only character to treat Jaskier with respect and dignity in season 2 was Yennefer. Although THANK FUCK for Yennefer, I fucking LOVE her so much! But yeah.....

Like sure thing, Geralt evidently trusts Jaskier a lot, he is obviously fond of him, but to be honest I haven't seen enough of that fondness on screen to get the impression that their friendship is just like their bromance in the books. In season 1 they only show us scenes of Geralt barely putting up with Jaskier, ignoring him, insulting his singing (which is basically Jaskier's core, his life, his everything, it's what he lives and breathes for), barely admitting to their friendship out loud and then blaming Jaskier for everything that went wrong in his life! Like dude, I know Jaskier isn't exactly a pure and innocent cinnamon roll, I'm aware that he is a slutty little trouble magnet who can sometimes talk too much, but he is also a good friend! Even with whatever little screen time he gets, he is every inch the good friend that Dandelion is in the books!

In season 1 it's very clear that he cares, he asked Geralt if he's ok, he said "Talk to me", he tried to help Geralt deal with Borch's fake death, he offered Geralt an opportunity to go on a vacation, because he gives a fucking damn about him. Even in Cintra, when he asked Geralt for a favor, aka guard him, he made a comment about rubbing chamomile on his body, aka most likely massaging Geralt's sore arse muscles after a hunt.

But Geralt? Just the bare fucking minimum, saving Jaskier's life a few times, a few fond smiles here and there, otherwise looking rather uninterested in Jaskier's life. A brick wall that barely says anything nice to him. Or well, looks like talking to him in general is a chore.

And season 2? Whoooo boy! Jaskier still cares! Though he has to pry basic human decency out of Geralt in that jail cell at Oxenfurt:

- "We don't have time, we need to go"

- "Are you sure? Because the last time we saw eachother, you basically told me to fuck off, remember? And you left me on a mountain!"

- "Jaskier.."

- "Don't fucking Jaskier me, I'm talking to you, this is how this works!"

Jaskier still makes do with Geralt's pathetic arse "I need your help" and leaves EVERYTHING in his life behind to be there for Geralt. He left his Sandpiper smuggling business, he didn't even get to pack a bag, trailing after Geralt like a loyal dog, still wearing the shirt he was tortured in, with his dried blood on it, because Geralt needed his friend.

Thankfully Geralt seems to be doing better by Jaskier in the second season, but not nearly enough to be enough! I mean, Geralt came for Jaskier only when he needed something from him, didn't apologize to him until Jaskier hinted at the problem (Via discussing Yennefer's betrayal, she's been pushed into a corner, she's desperate, it's why people do stupid things and SAY stupid things). And Geralt's apology was shit, because he didn't offer it until Jaskier had accidentally guilt tripped him into it. And Jaskier? Yeah, no, he might have forgiven his friend for the Mountain, but he is still human, he's still got feelings and knew he deserved an apology. However, right there and then it clearly wasn't the right time, whatnot with Geralt's apology being too simple and nonchalant, not nearly serious and earnest enough to undo the hurt that had given birth to Burn Butcher Burn. Not to mention the dwarves being within earshot and the dangerous mission ahead. Which is why I understand why Jaskier brushed off Geralt's pathetic attempt at making amends with a joke.

When I was watching the Rare Species episode of season 1, the expression on Jaskier's face after getting shouted at by his best friend honestly broke my fucking heart. So when season 2 aired, I started binging it with high hopes of getting to see Geralt apologizing, them becoming friends again, Geralt being a better friend to Jaskier while also being badass as shit with his child surprise, battling monsters etc. But I did not expect it to fall so flat and I did not expect for LITERALLY EVERYONE to treat Jaskier like absolute dog shit. INCLUDING THE SHOW RUNNERS!

Geralt was basically using Jaskier for his loyalty, the dwarves found Jaskier's presence as the most annoying thing ever, Ciri literally fucking ignored him in all of their scenes together, the show-runners fucking forgot that Jaskier was tortured and filmed every scene with Joey in it as if Rience never happened, then for some dumb reason Lambert fucking had to be more of a prick than necessary, effectively alienating Jaskier with one single word, when that man had done nothing to deserve it!

FUCK!!!

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unapologetic-ciri-shipper · 2 months

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"Roche/Ciri: I am perfectly fine with that. If I have ideas, I will write a snippet. Something nice and fluffy. Maybe I'll start at the battle of Kaer Morhen and how they saved each other's butts? 🤔 I am really bad at writing Roche and tw3 doesn't deliver much dialogue with him imho, so it will take a while since my muse will kiss me. So help me out then and give me a characterization of Roche, please. Some background you gave Roche, maybe?"

Do you think I'm so stupid as to believe that your words are definitely not a joke to be ridiculed? Well, who would even write about a disgusting ship of good things? This ship of the fandom is either dead or broken up, so as not to interfere with the best canons.

Do you have a new account again?! Isn't it boring doing that?

I believe you are so fucking dense not to read between the lines, Marina - I even said it literally in your quote but I say it more clearly as for Lambert talking to drunken dense Geralt in really slow words:

I can't write Roche in a way I would find enjoyable, you would find enjoyable. So I don't write him - why should I write something I don't enjoy, you would probably not enjoy because of a lack of quality- or what do you want to read:

a threesome with Roche/Ciri/Morvran a nilfgaardian lovestory - I would start very sweet with Morvran falling in love with Roche and then Emhyr approaching Morvran for a marriage with Ciri. Ciri of course agrees to two handsome men and while she had an eye on Morvran already, she is not blind about Roche and falls in love with him too.

or one with Roche/Ciri/Ves a smutty, sexy threesome in Temerias tent, where Ciri was wounded, falls in love with both Roche and Ves. I could write this as erotica but I don't see more i that couple.

Or a Toussaint's style fary tale about Roche, Ciri and magic horses and a curse?

These are storys I would write if my muse is kissing me. Stories I would read

Ves is also one character that doesn't talk to me, so I don't write Ves as well. Same goes with Triss. Surprise - people have preferences.

You failed to answer my question: give me your headcanon about Roche, other than loving and caring - normal human decency are the base line. So how was his childhood, does he have a favorite color, food etc? Something that is not given by the games? Now I don't wanna know - time is up. You can't tell me that you waste your time in thinking about how other people's personal preferences are silent mockery towards you instead of thinking about a decent backstory of your beloved character. Give us a fucking break and stop spamming our inboxes about your personal "The Fandom - Blood and WHINE" and be fucking productive!

So hush - dream about Roche and Ciri elsewhere.

#anon ask #the witcher #it's about whining again and Roche

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

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All Hands On Deck

Prompt: learning something new

Pairing: pre-Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: M

Warnings: none, just the author's questionable understanding of Gwent

Summary: Trying to make a connection with his new friend and muse—and also trying to get into his pants—Jaskier asks Geralt to teach him about the only thing the witcher seems to care about, besides Roach and blessed silence: Gwent.

My first ficlet for @whataboutthebard Thanks so much to @handwrittenhello for trying to teach me about the rules of Gwent, even though I don't think I was much better of a student than Jaskier. You can read this below or here on AO3!

***

In the few short weeks since Jaskier first clapped eyes on Geralt of Rivia and thought to himself, “I’m going to climb that man like a mountain, so help me Melitele,” he’s learned three vital things about his surly new friend: the witcher likes horses, blessed silence, and Gwent, not necessarily in that order.

For a man who claims to be an outcast from society, utterly loathed by those he’s committed his life to protecting, he seems to find someone with whom to play Gwent in nearly every town where they stop. Jaskier once wandered away while a bereaved husband was weeping to Geralt about his recently-devoured wife, only to return to find Geralt trouncing the man at Gwent.

(In Jaskier’s humble opinion, soundly defeating men whose wives were recently carried off by griffins may be one of the reasons that witchers are so poorly thought of. Geralt just grunted at him when he made that suggestion.)

But the point is that Jaskier and Geralt little in common and Jaskier is desperate to make a connection with the witcher before the summer comes to an end and they part ways so Geralt can make it back to wherever he spends the winter and Jaskier can return to Lettenhove. Preferably a carnal connection, but Jaskier isn’t picky. He just wants Geralt to think fondly enough of him that he won’t run in the other direction when Jaskier tries to track him down in the spring. Jaskier isn’t done with his newest muse yet; there are so many songs to sing about Geralt, so many stories to tell.

Plus, Jaskier wants to fuck him. He really wants to fuck him.

Jaskier is a master of seduction—his favorite whore back in Oxenfurt told him so—and he knows from vast experience that the best way to make a connection with someone is to find a common interest. A favorite poet, a shared love of Est Est, a fondness for daffodils. The problem is that Geralt has no interest in poetry or daffodils and he once referred to Est Est as “overpriced horse piss.” So it seems that Jaskier will have to be the one to seek out common ground with the witcher.

Two of Geralt’s interests have been summarily ruled out—Jaskier’s one and only attempt to bond with Roach ended with him getting kicked in the bollocks, an experience he’s not eager to repeat, and he doesn’t go in for blessed silence.

That leaves Gwent.

The problem is that Jaskier has never had any interest in playing Gwent. His grandfather, the Earl de Lettenhove, loves it, as does his mother, but Jaskier has always found it an inscrutable game. He prefers games that he can play while tipsy and only partially clothed, while Gwent seems to be a game that requires one’s full attention. Jaskier has never been one to devote his full attention to anything unless it comes with a magnificent ass and/or a lot of coin.

Geralt certainly has the former and, if he’d just let Jaskier spread word of his good deeds Continent-wide, he may someday have the latter.

But, at the end of the day, there’s nothing Jaskier wouldn’t do for the chance to end up in between Geralt’s well-muscled thighs, so one night, as they’re sitting by their campfire somewhere in southern Temeria, he asks, “Why don’t you teach me how to play Gwent?”

Geralt, who has been busy cleaning his armor—despite the fact that Jaskier has advised him several times that the best thing he could do to his tattered, filthy armor is set it aflame and go buy a new set—looks up with a raised eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s a beautiful night, our bellies are full of rabbit stew, and I can think of no finer way to spend an evening sitting by the fire, playing cards.” And then hopefully getting railed into next week afterwards, though that seems impolitic to add.

“Hm.” Geralt eyes him dubiously. “You ever played before?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ve always thought of it as an old man’s game. My grandfather loves it.”

Geralt’s nostrils flare, though it’s impossible to tell if it’s in annoyance or amusement. “I’m probably older than your grandfather.”

“Like I said.” Jaskier smiles sweetly. “An old man’s game.”

Geralt snorts and shakes his head.

Realizing that comparing Geralt to his grandfather may not be the best tactic to take if he wants to put either of them in a randy mood, Jaskier hastens to add, “But I’m sure I’ll pick it up quickly. I’ve always been a fast study.”

“Since when?”

Jaskier scowls at the witcher, who smirks back at him infuriatingly. “Just get out your dice, witcher.”

“Gwent is a card game. No dice.”

“And see? This is why I need you to teach me! I’m hopeless.”

“That’s for sure,” Geralt grumbles, but he still gets up to go fetch a deck of cards from his saddlebag. When he settles back down across from Jaskier, he says, “I’d ask what you know about Gwent, but I’m going to guess the answer is not a damn thing.”

“That’s not true.” Jaskier sniffs. “I know it’s a card game.”

Geralt’s lips twitch in that infuriating almost-smile of his. “Hm, quick study indeed.”

“Why, Geralt, that was the first time you’ve ever complimented me.”

“Probably the last as well.”

“Don’t be hasty. You haven’t seen me play yet.”

Geralt grunts and begins dealing cards. As he’s explaining the rules, Jaskier tries to listen. He really does. It’s just, Geralt’s hands are distractingly lovely, his nimble fingers deft as they deal the cards. There’s something that’s probably monster innards caked under his fingernails, which Jaskier will have to insist get scrubbed away before any amorous activities commence, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that Jaskier knows those fingers would feel lovely inside him or wrapped around his…

“You probably want to look at your cards,” Geralt says dryly. “So you can come up with a strategy.”

“A strategy.” Jaskier picks up his cards, realizing he didn’t hear a single word Geralt said about the rules. “To… steal all your cards?”

That earns him an unimpressed look, though in his defense, that’s just Geralt’s default expression. “To play your cards and get as many points as possible.”

“Ah, right, good.” Jaskier studies his cards, frowning when recognizes some familiar names. “Geralt, why are there real people on my Gwent cards?”

“Because Gwent is like a battle and those cards are your soldiers.”

“The Redanian court sorceress is one of my soldiers?”

“You shouldn’t have told me that.”

“Well, no thank you.” Jaskier slides his Philippa Eilhart card back to Geralt. “I don’t want her staring at me with her cold, merciless eyes while I play.”

“That’s not how that works,” Geralt says. “Your cards are your cards. And that’s a pretty decent one.”

“I met her at a banquet once when I was sixteen. She threatened to turn me into a canary.”

“Canaries are damn useful to have around sometimes,” Geralt says in a tone that implies that he can’t say the same of Jaskier. “What did you do?”

Jaskier gasps in affront. “What makes you think I did something?”

Geralt arches an eyebrow.

Jaskier rolls his eyes at the ceiling. “I was merely admiring the detailing on her bodice…”

“So her tits?”

“I mean, those were lovely too, but even I’m not enough of an idiot to ogle the court sorceress of Redania.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Yes, I am, but I was really more focused on the beadwork!”

“Play your damn card, idiot.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one you think will be the best strategically. Weren’t you listening when I told you the rules?”

“Of course I was.” Jaskier harrumphs. “Heard every word.” His eyes scan the cards frantically and he picks one at random, slamming it down. “A catapult! Your door has been blown open and your battlements destroyed. What now?”

“That card is best paired with another catapult. It doubles the points.”

“I don’t know if I have another catapult.”

“Then play another card.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever one will get you the most points.”

“I have to say, Geralt, you’re an abysmal teacher.”

“And you’re an abysmal student.”

Jaskier harrumphs again and puts another card down at random. From Geralt’s skeptical raised eyebrow, it was a poor choice. Geralt puts down his own card.

“Is that a wyvern?” Jaskier squints down at the card. “I don’t have a wyvern!”

“You’re playing with the Northern Realms deck. I’m playing with a Monster deck. And it’s a cockatrice, not a wyvern. See the feathers?”

“Oh.” Jaskier leers. “I have to say, Geralt, I didn’t think you’d show your cockatrice so early in the evening.”

Geralt stares at him flatly. “I was trying to go easy on you.”

“Since when do you go easy on me?”

“You’re right. Your turn.”

Jaskier throws down another random card, which Geralt instantly follows up with one of his own. When Jaskier recognizes the face scowling up at him from the card, his eyes go wide.

“Geralt, is that you?”

The closest thing to a genuine smile Jaskier has ever seen on the witcher breaks over his face. “It is.”

“And you have a beard!” Jaskier leans closer. “It’s quite dashing. Why is there a card named after you?”

Geralt shrugs, though it does nothing to hide how proud he is. "There's a Gwent tournament in Novigrad where if you win, you get a card named after you."

Jaskier whistles. "Impressive. Will you let me ride Roach if I ever win?"

"Sure. I'll also let you ride Roach if you ever wrestle a rock troll and win."

“And we have a deal.”

“The card is also high in points,” Geralt says. “You may want to pass for the rest of the round.”

“Ah, well. Good game, I suppose.” Setting aside his cards, Jaskier leans forward, about to delicately suggest another activity to fill the rest of the evening.

“Pick your cards back up,” Geralt says ruffly. “There are still two more rounds.”

“What?”

***

Jaskier doesn’t quite master all the subtleties of Gwent that night. Nor does he get in Geralt’s indecently tight trousers. But several weeks later, he does get to see the look of half-outrage, half-pride on Geralt’s face when Jaskier manages to win a round of Gwent, and that’s almost as good.

***

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

#the witcher #twn #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #what about the bard #wuv the bard

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violette-hue · 1 year

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Hello :) would it be okay if I could have a Witcher and demon slayer matchup and congrats on reaching 500 followers :)

I am a straight 23 year old female who stands at 5’3 and my star sign is Capricorn. I have long black hair and hazel eyes, fashion wise I normally dress in black and other dark colours as black and purple are my favourite colours, I normally wear skinny jeans and combat boots so generally punk style or goth style. On special occasions I dress more girly.

I’m normally shy when talking to people for the first and scared to approach people. When I get to know people, I am more open and hyper around them. I really enjoy testing myself and improving myself as a whole, I also like to take care of other people and make sure they’re doing okay. I normally spend my time watching horror movies, playing video games, reading, listening to music of many genres and studying and I throughly enjoy working out. I love watching anime’s such as JJBA, Demon Slayer, Attack on Titan etc.

Thank you for you time, I hope you have a fantastic day :)

Want a Match? Here’s the post!💕

I match you with Rengoku! With Rengoku, it’s a constant battle of who’s taking care of who. Ultimately, he’ll be a gentleman and let you take care of him. And he also loves you doting on him. He also loves to support you, particularly helping you test yourself. If you’re a demon slayer, he’ll always train with you and try to push you to be better. Honestly, would probably make you an apprentice if you wanted. If you’re a civilian, he’d push you in whatever you’re trying to better yourself at. If it’s studying for something, he’ll go out of his way to learn about that subject and test you on it. He’ll be a great study buddy.

I match you with Jaskier! I can totally see him trying to woo you with songs he’s made. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. Most of the time, they just make you laugh, which he’s totally okay with. He loves seeing you smile, and he loves your hyper energy. It’s a lovely contrast to Geralt. In a modern AU, I can also see him getting into video games with you. His favorite would 100% be Animal Crossing New Horizons. He’d be so proud of his little island. I don’t think he’d be an avid anime watcher, but he will watch them with you. Eventually, he’ll ask you to put one of them on, but he’ll always get the titles and the characters names mixed up. He does not like horror movies at all, but if you’re there, he’ll try to stomach it. He’ll be cuddling into your side and blanket the whole time though.

#thank you!#i hope you enjoy #fandom match ups #match up #matchups #the Witcher #jaskier #Jaskier from the Witcher #demon slayer #Rengoku #Rengoku matchup #flame hashira #hashira

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years

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Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #contemplative writing #vampire! geralt

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violettduchess · 2 years

Text

Finishing The Witcher, Season 2: Some Thoughts

Geralt as a father figure was a treat to watch. Watching as the found family came together was my favorite storyline.

His understandable reaction to what Yennefer did at the end broke my heart but I have hope she will win his trust back.

Anyone doubting the chemistry between Yen and Geralt needs to watch the reunion scene. Both actors are absolutely brilliant in it. Their faces convey so many complicated emotions, despite those awful contacts. There is such longing and relief and want there.

Speaking of....the contacts this season (with the exception of Yennefer) were so distracting.

Favorite monster: that final basilisk. It was gorgeous.

I loved the scenes with Jaskier and Yennefer. Watching them go from total distaste to friendship was so satisfying.

Kaer Morhen was exactly the way I had it in my head. The production design this whole season was on point.

My favorite secondary character is Vesemir, although Fringilla gets an honorable mention.

Best costume is a tie between that purple cloak and Geralt's tight pants. Both are heroes this season.

I love how so often Geralt's reaction to some revelation or news was just "sighs".

The number of "fucks" that flew from Yennefer's mouth also were a delight

"Burn Butcher Burn" is smashing.

I really enjoyed this season. I've played the games and read the books and understand that the TV show is a variation on a theme so I can enjoy it for what it is. I don't understand the anger some people seem consumed with that things aren't exactly like the books or games.

While we are on the subject of anger: ship whoever you want. Ship Geralt and Jaskier, Jaskier and Yennefer, Yennefer and Tissaia, Yennefer and Cahir, Geralt and Yen and Jaskier....whoever you bloody well want to. But be respectful enough to a) not call anyone who does NOT agree with your ship an idiot, b) not throw your anger at the showrunner who is orientating herself on the books, where Geralt and Yennefer are canon and c) be mindful of the tags. Keeping posts with specific content within the correct tags makes fandom a happier place.

Favorite lines:

"Mine." He is fucking brilliant here. So much in his face and that one word.

"Longing. Regret. Hope. Fear."

"I don't care."

"Fire fucker."

"Like father, like daugher."

"It's what eats you alive. Loneliness."

"I'm saving me."

"It flies."

"What witches do best. Making a potion."

#the witcher #the witcher season 2 #netflix the witcher #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier the bard #cirilla of cintra

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slightlycrunchy · 3 years

Text

pre-slash geraskier, angst with happy ending, whump, bodyswap, hc

1800 words

Enjoy!

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

“Dammit Jaskier, did you really have to call her that—“

Geralt stops mid-sentence, hand flying up to his own throat to stop the sound that has come from his mouth. He’s panting slightly, the witch having thrown them through a shoddy excuse for a portal into some endless partition of wilderness.

It looks like Velen. He’s sure it’s Velen.

His fingers crawl up his throat to his face, feeling slight stubble instead of the beard Geralt has grown over their weeks on the Path, which blankets a thinner face than Geralt is accustomed to. He looks down, expecting to see leather armor covering black cloth, the straps that cross his chest to hold his swords at his back, only to see silk; red, and gleaming with gold stitching across his torso.

Jaskier’s favorite.

He curses inwardly, kicks himself mentally for bringing the damn bard along. Of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, of course just as Geralt had finished his business with her and was accepting payment the foppish dandy had to go run his mouth.

“My dear, I thought witches could keep themselves young forever, and well, I think we can all see that maybe you aren’t as powerful as you try to appear—“

The bard had got no further than that. Witches and mages have notoriously short tempers and Jaskier knows this—and yet, here they are.

Thrown away like refuse and trapped in each others’ bodies.

Geralt can feel the snarl on his lips and it feels entirely wrong, the shape of his mouth pulling where usually it would not. He feels small and light, where usually the bulk of his own muscle would weigh him down at every turn, and as he lifts his hand to marvel at the foreign sensations, he gapes at his long and slender fingers.

Geralt has always felt…something about Jaskier’s hands, something he struggles to name. Sometimes he thinks it admiration—for their ability and their elegance. Where Geralt’s are toughened by hard labor and age, Jaskier’s have always been the complete opposite.

Geralt has held them, a time or two, and the almost feminine quality to them is a novelty. He looks at them now, controlling them as he clenches and spreads them, flipping them over to see unblemished skin and pale knuckles. He’s so engrossed for a moment that the rest isn’t noticed immediately.

Silence.

Pure, blessed silence.

It surrounds him, like a cocoon, like thick wool wrapped up to his ears in softness and calm. Geralt has lost his age—he stopped caring decades ago, after all, the information does him no good—but he knows he’s over a century by now, and yet he can’t remember the last time he felt like this. A time when every snap of a twig or breath of the people around him could be heard and analyzed for danger. Hypervigilance. Always, always Geralt is ready. For his next fight, his next job, the next time he must defend himself from the world that dislikes him for no good reason. His time before the trials is blurry at best, forgotten at worst, and he decides right now that this is the most peace he’s ever felt.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Ger-Geralt,” Jaskier gasps as he falls to his knees inside a witcher’s body.

It’s strange hearing his own voice sound so vulnerable, broken, breathy and quiet as he rushes to Jaskier’s side while the bard’s chest—his own chest—rises and falls rapidly. The comfortable silence inside his mind is restless now; Jaskier’s suffering is loud and insistent in an intangible way. It always has been.

“It burns Geralt—“ Jaskier bites out between clenched teeth, canines long and conspicuous. It’s strange seeing his own body like this, housing Jaskier’s soul, his very being. It clenches something in Geralt’s chest that he has not time to name.

“Jaskier, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Had the witch done something else to him? In her anger had she cursed the bard, hurt him in some other way? He can’t smell blood—but then again he wouldn’t be able to now, would he?

Jaskier’s body is heaving, on his knees and doubled over like some wounded thing. Geralt can see tears fall and hit the dirt, nails scrabbling for purchase at Geralt’s borrowed forearm, nearly tearing at the thick fabric of Jaskier’s frivolous doublet.

“My head, it’s exploding— It’s too much— How do you…” Jaskier starts and stops and slowly, in horror, the reality washes over Geralt.

While Geralt enjoys his first peace in an era, Jaskier has been dropped into a pit of torture.

Immediately Geralt places slender hands over Jaskier’s ears, attempting to muffle the onslaught of sensation that he must feel. Every sound, every vibration must be pounding at Jaskier’s head, wave after wave of movement, life, the earth shoving its way into Jaskier’s consciousness.

Jaskier’s golden eyes connect with Geralt’s borrowed blue, wide and wet, before he promptly turns and vomits onto the ground.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry, I’m sorry just—hold on.”

He doesn’t know what to do. They’re an unknown distance from the one who caused this—from relief—and yet Jaskier can hardly handle minutes of this. Jaskier chokes and spits, his entire body trembling under Geralt’s palms and the witcher can do nothing but stroke gentle thumbs over wet cheeks. It hurts him when Jaskier rises again, looking with pained eyes at Geralt. He doesn’t speak, Geralt isn’t sure if he really can, yet his eyes plead with Geralt to end it, please I can’t take it.

Geralt doesn’t know how he understands these words without hearing them, but they only drive the stake further into his heart.

Jaskier is suffering, and it’s Geralt’s fault.

He can remember, now especially, how those first weeks had been at Kaer Morhen after the trials were complete. Utter agony and sleepless nights as he withered away with the inability to keep anything down. Sound, feeling, pain overwhelming him constantly until his body could adjust. He remembers the fevers, Vesemir by his bedside with cool cloths and the kindest words he could remember hearing in recent memory.

He thought he would die.

“End it, please I don’t want to do this anymore—“

But he had survived…and somewhere along the way he had forgotten the beginning, the mutagens running through his veins like fire and adding to the never ending harshness of his new life. Now, however, he remembers in startling clarity.

Jaskier won’t survive this.

Geralt brings Jaskier to his smaller chest, forcing one ear against his rabbiting, human heart all while holding his hand closed over the other—acting as a beacon, a point of focus for Jaskier’s hearing that takes in everything around them. It won’t fix anything, but Geralt hopes it will help. Jaskier shivers, his breaths stuttered and sick, gasps taken between chattering teeth. Geralt knows his real body will be fine, it hasn’t stopped being a witcher’s after all, no matter who holds the reins, but Jaskier’s mind…humans were not built for this. They are fragile, temporary things.

Geralt feels panic bubble up within him and it is a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Geralt feels fear, contrary to popular belief, though not for himself. He has felt fear on behalf of others many times, but it is dull, manageable. He can easily breathe through it and tackle the situation at hand, the slow beat of his heart keeping the adrenaline from flooding his veins. But Jaskier’s body is mortal and weak in this regard, and he feels it slam into him, sharp and all encompassing as his stomach lurches when the bard falters beneath his palm, sagging with exhaustion so quickly that Geralt struggles to hold him up. Geralt’s borrowed muscles strain, but they hold; to be honest, Jaskier’s body is stronger than Geralt would have given him credit for.

He tightens his hold on the bard, and a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Jaskier, you’re going to be alright, I want you to listen to my voice.”

Jaskier’s voice has always been calming to Geralt, and so he does the only thing he can think of: he talks.

About what, he doesn’t know; he certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to make a coherent storyline, but he babbles all the same. He speaks of Roach and his contracts, his brothers and his childhood—the good parts that he remembers and his early days on the Path.

All the while he runs hands through white strands, putting a pleasant (he hopes) pressure against Jaskier’s scalp. He remembers Eskel doing this for him in those early days; it helped. He hopes it helps now.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there awkwardly upon the ground, Geralt’s untrained legs falling numb as his knees begin to ache. The time doesn’t matter, only keeping the pain at bay, the war against Jaskier’s fragile mind as it rages and slashes at the door.

Eventually Jaskier’s stamina gives out, and he falls, but only so far. Geralt catches him, and after folding his legs out from beneath him with a grimace, lays his actual body against his borrowed one, Jaskier’s head falling to the side in his unconsciousness. All the while long, slender fingers never stop carding through white strands.

Geralt lets the panic ebb away, having come up with a plan some time ago while holding Jaskier so close they practically felt like one. Jaskier’s bag lays to Geralt’s right, just at arms length and inside he knows the xenovox is cradled between extra pairs of garish clothing. When Geralt had remembered, he had never been so happy that Jaskier tended to keep his things on him rather than tied up with Roach.

Roach. With a sigh Geralt realizes he needs to find her too. Another thing to take care of after the witch.

He won’t forgive her for what she’s done.

With ginger movements so as to not wake the sleeping bard on his lap, he grabs the bag and soon finds what he is looking for. He savors the moment of quiet that has descended in Jaskier’s sleep, letting the panic and fear that tastes bitter on his tongue disappear into a practiced ease.

Yennefer will be annoyed with him, and once Geralt has gotten over what has just happened, he in turn will be annoyed with Jaskier. The bard got them into this mess after all. But as he looks down on Jaskier, his own sleeping form—a shudder going through him at the wrongness of it all—he decides perhaps not.

The bard has gone through enough, after all.

A voice comes over the device, slightly muffled and crackling, “Geralt?”

“Yen.”

“The bard? What are you doing with this, this wasn’t for your use.”

“Yen, it’s Geralt.”

Silence rests between them for a moment, the only sound Geralt hears with his human ears being the rustling of wind through the trees around him. He tries to savor it.

She sighs. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

He smiles.

#the witcher #geraskier #angst #hurt/comfort #my writing #fic

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knifewieldingenby · 4 years

Note

I have a prompt. How about geralt realising that is writer boyfriend is actually the famous Julian pankratz and that jaskier is a name he use for some of his work. I don't know if you can something out of this. Take care of yourself ❤️

Okay so this is definitely not exactly what you asked for (I took some liberties) but I hope you still enjoy it!

Geralt hadn’t meant to snoop through his best friend’s desk. It’s just that he’d let Jaskier borrow one of his favorite pens last night and the junior had forgotten to give it back, and, well...Geralt was maybe a tad bit possessive of his belongings. He didn’t have much growing up, so what little he had, he coveted.

And of course Jaskier’s desk was a trainwreck and a half. Stacks of papers, notebooks, highlighters thrown about, a few glasses of now unidentifiable liquids that made Geralt cringe. He’d tried to be gentle and fast, moving things aside to search for his pen. He didn’t much care for Jaskier’s academic writing, but when the pages started resembling lines of poetry he got curious and careless.

Jaskier is writing again?

Geralt slowed down and picked up one of the pages. Definitely a poem. Months ago Jaskier had burst into their shared room, thrown himself on Geralt’s bed, and declared that he should never write again.

(“I shall never write again!” Jaskier had his arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. Geralt nudged him over so he could stretch his legs out and continued tapping away at his research paper. “Don’t you want to know why, my dear friend?”

“Not particularly.”

“I shall tell you anyway!” Jaskier crawled into a sitting position and threw his hand back over his forehead. “My muse has broken my heart for the last time! Never again shall ink touch paper, not by the hands of this poet.”

“Hmm,” Geralt muttered unhelpfully. He knew Jaskier would be over it in a matter of days, as soon as he found a new muse.)

The problem was, Jaskier didn’t get over it. In the days that followed he became solemn, quiet, and distant in a way Geralt wasn’t used to. He was used to Jaskier hanging around at all times, joining him at practice most weeks, staying up late to watch tv and talk about (e.i. distract him from) his papers. After his announcement he made himself scarce, spent most of his time in the library or the office of the student paper, editing others' works instead of publishing his own.

But this. This was clearly quite new. Geralt felt a burst of happiness for a moment, glad that his best friend was finding his muse again. That is, until he read the first few lines and felt the nagging suspicion that he’d definitely read these words before.

Taking the piece of paper with him, Geralt dug through his trash can until he found the most recent copy of the student newspaper. He normally cut out Jaskier’s pieces and saved them in a binder he kept hidden under his bed, but since the poet stopped writing he’d taken to skimming over the paper and just throwing it out. He turned to the last two pages that displayed student creative writing and his eyes immediately went to the poem on the bottom right page. Starlight. It was clearly a love poem, about a silver-haired beauty who slipped through the poet’s fingers. He’d loved it, but he didn’t want to say so to Jaskier. No point making the boy jealous of some punk named Julian Pankratz.

But now…

It was the same poem. Line for line, word for word; it even sounded like the poet’s style, if a little more melancholy. Before Geralt had time to process his emotions the bedroom door swung open.

“Ah, Geralt, you’re here! Terribly sorry to be a downer but I’m quite tired, can I- what the fuck are you holding?”

Geralt bristled, suddenly defensive. “I was looking for my pen.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier plopped his backpack on his bed and began rummaging around. He finally brandished Geralt’s pen and held it out to him tentatively. Geralt took it and, before he could talk himself out of it, held out the poem. Jaskier’s eyes widened.

“That’s-”

“You’ve been writing again.”

The silence that followed was beyond uncomfortable; Geralt was mad, but did he have any right to be? He hadn’t exactly been very responsive when Jaskier first told him he wasn’t writing anymore, why would he expect the boy to share it with him now?

Because he always did, his stupid, wounded brain supplied.

To his surprise, Jaskier spoke first. “I’m sorry Geralt. I didn’t mean to mislead you-”

“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant to do. I just don’t understand why.”

“Because it hurt.” Jaskier moved to join Geralt where he was leaning against his bed. “I was in pain and I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not? You’ve never hidden it before.”

“Have you been reading these poems?” Jaskier poked the newspaper laying idly on Geralt’s bed.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He’d read every poem written by Julian Pankratz over the last two months, loved every one.

“They’re...they’re about heartbreak. And I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Either Jaskier really wasn’t making sense, or Geralt had taken a beating in practice. Either way, none of it was adding up.

“Why would it be awkward?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sighed, defeated. “Because they’re about you, Geralt.”

Geralt must have been a ridiculous sight, body frozen to the spot and eyes owlishly large. The lights were on, but clearly no one was home upstairs.

“Come on Geralt, silver hair? How many people do you know with silver hair?”

“But- I- I assumed you were embellishing!”

“While that does seem like exactly the thing I’d do, this time I didn’t. This time it was all real. All of it was for you. I can...go, if you need time.”

“No!” Geralt gently grabbed him by the arm as Jaskier made a move to leave the room. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Jaskier laughed, but it sounded painful. “I did. Don’t you remember when I asked you out after your big game a few months ago? You told me you’d rather date a baboon.”

“...Oh my god. I thought you were making a joke!”

Geralt shoved his head in his hands and cursed himself.

“Would your answer have changed if I’d made it more clear how serious I was?” Jaskier’s voice was so soft now, so fragile. Geralt sighed and dropped his hands. They were standing close enough that their hands knocked together, and he couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and thread their fingers together.

“Yes. I would’ve instead told you how long I’ve wanted you. And I would have done this.”

Slowly, he leaned toward Jaskier, giving the man enough time to pull away if he no longer wanted Geralt - and he wouldn’t blame him at all - until their lips met in a soft kiss. It didn’t last long, but it made Geralt’s heart soar all the same.

“God, you’re an idiot,” Jaskier grinned. Geralt rolled his eyes, but this time he couldn’t deny it. He pulled Jaskier against his body and kissed him again, because he wanted to, because he was finally allowed to have this.

And in the back of his head he was figuring out how to get a hold of the last two months worth of newspapers. Julian Pankratz’s poems belonged in his poetry binder.

#my writing #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #malmete

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teamfreehoodies · 3 years

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teamfreehoodies masterlist

The Witcher (TV)

See below the readmore to find links and summaries for all the fics I’ve written to date in this fandom.

and we will be elided by the people that we love most

de-aged!Jaskier, hurt!jaskier, hurt!yennefer, exploration of motherhood, families of choice, panic attacks (jask)

“What did you give me?” he growls, burying his fear beneath a burst of anger. The room around them splinters, making gravity an uncertain principle: vertigo makes him drool and he spits, falling over, digging his fingers into the ground in a futile effort to make everything just stop spinning. “Oh fuck, wha’ ‘id you do t’me?” he slurs out past a suddenly numb tongue. The icy burn has spread out from his throat and chest to take over his whole body, sending lightning strikes of pain zinging up and down his limbs.

“You’ll find out soon enough, I think.”

Yennefer is healing after Sodden, trying to pull her chaos back inside herself. She doesn’t actually have time to chase down wayward bards, much less take care of the child-sized version of one she’s never particularly liked all that well. She really is quite tired of being forced to save this fool.

darling, dearest, don’t you see (voices left inside of me)

follow-up to ‘elided" above: After the events of and we will be elided, Loretta writes Jaskier a letter. How do you forgive the kind of betrayal that’s made to save another life? How do you learn to live with the ways your family has hurt you? How do you heal without betraying yourself?

idk man, read the fic.

the heart electric (beats a half-time measure)

Jaskier drops the torch and the dagger, rushing forward to fall to his knees next to Geralt. The light sputters briefly but holds, and Jaskier curses himself even as he hesitantly reaches out to try and wake Geralt. The leather armour of his shoulder is cold under Jaskier’s palm, and weirdly tacky with something; arachas venom pings in the back of his mind like a warning, and he hastily wipes his palms off on his already ruined doublet, reaching forward to cradle Geralt’s face instead. “Geralt?” he whispers; the horrifying truth of Geralt’s stillness catches in his throat, preventing him from being any louder than that. “Geralt?”

It’s not that he hadn’t thought it possible… but Geralt was a witcher. No one had ever mentioned that witchers could die.

Five Times Jaskier Thought Geralt Was Dead, Plus One Time It Was Reversed

this life that we’ve created (inundated with the fated thought of you)

Gods, but this is very nearly intolerable. He’d been ready to forgive him, even then, waiting for Geralt to take it back, for him to turn around and apologize; and he’d been ready to forgive him two years ago, if only Geralt’s path would cross his again, one year ago, traveling slowly from town to town, chasing whispers of the white wolf in between his bardic circuit. He does not know if his heart can take it again, if Geralt once more decides him too much of a burden to bear traveling with. Injured, now, needing to be saved, he could not have engineered a worse reunion had he written the fates himself.

if you could let me inside your heart (could I be enough?)

Post-coital realizations should never be had alone. AKA Jaskier questions his place between these two powerful, immortal, destined-to-be-together beings, and he finds it hurts to be just… human.

this our winter of love (a gift from one above)

“It’s weird but I don’t think it’s witcher-weird.”

“Oh, it’s witcher-weird, alright.” Lambert interrupted, pulling up something on his phone. It was one of those ‘smart’ phones, paper thin, supposedly able to think for itself; seemed like more trouble than Geralt cared to deal with, but Lambert was half in love with the damned thing. “Look,” he said, thrusting the lit-up rectangle in Geralt’s face.

Geralt had to pull comically far back to actually look at what Lambert wanted him to see. The screen showed a small parcel of people milling about a city center. They were all dressed like either they had walked off of a movie set, or they were genuinely from the 1200s. There was even a bard, holding a lute. A distressingly familiar bard, for all that Geralt hadn’t seen that face in eight hundred years.

i carry your heart (i carry it in)

Witchers don’t have soulmates. That’s been true for as long as Geralt’s been alive, a necessary sacrifice for a life spent on the Path. There’s no place for the attachments that humans define themselves by.

It may not be worth it to Geralt, but love has always been the single most motivating force in the world for Jaskier. Unrequited or not, he’s a bard, and there’s a story to be told. He’ll be the one to tell it.

(Who’s the more tragic figure here? The loved or the unloving?)

Jaskier and Geralt are soulmates, bound by the Red String of Fate. But just because it’s written in the stars doesn’t mean it’s an easy path to tread, and it takes more than a nudge from fate to make a soul-bond work. Between the way Geralt feels about destiny, and the trials and tribulations of the path they have to trudge, it’s going to be one hell of an adventure.

the prairie is vast (the train is quicker) | Into the Jaskierverse, pt. 14

Geralt and Ciri are still trying everything they can to find Jaskier. After… a traumatizing split, they come back together in a new universe entirely. They’re offered a chance to distract themselves from their worry over Jaskier, and the perilous journey they’re on, by helping a female version of their favorite bard steal a wagon, rob a train, and, just maybe, come to terms with a worry that’s been plaguing her.

Featuring; much talk of guns, someone getting shot (on accident), a murder! (on purpose), Jaskier the Horse!Girl, one (1) dissociative episode, one (1) panic attack (though not the same character), and just enough fludd and banter to even it all out.

if i loved you (could you stay?) | QF1

He knows the way to Jaskier’s lodgings, knows by heart how to find the tiny row of cottages reserved for the professors and their families, knows too that Jaskier might not even be there; he’s not heard of anything from the bard in months, not since—

He shakes himself, turning away from the uncomfortable memories. What’s done is done. He only hopes he isn’t too late.

A love confession gone wrong leads Geralt to try and fix his relationship with Jaskier.

Go Get Your Mage | Yennfri promptfic

When Yennefer portals into Blaviken instead of Geralt, a more… mutually beneficial arrangement is made.

fate makes fools of us all (she plays the longest game) | QF2

It’s not that she’d meant to become a witch, but… well.

Sometimes these things just happen.

a willing ear (a hand to hold) | QF3

A little town in the mountains calls for the aid of a witcher, and Geralt and Jaskier take on a contract that’s more than it first appears to be.

Even the divine have friends, strange as it may seem.

breathe with it (bleed with it)

Fringilla was the first. She flexes her hand, feeling again the phantom tendrils of chaos crawling up her veins as her arm had turned to dessicated ash and bone in recompense for her glory. That was what being noticed got you. That was a lesson learned in blood and pain. That was a lesson learned hard and fast and once.

a Fringilla Vigo character study; “There is no such thing as dark or light magic. Nothing in this world is as simple as that.”

#amber writes fic #posting for posterity #this also exists as a page on my comp theme #but now it shall exist as a pinned post on my mobile theme as well #witcher fic #fandom creators make some noise ayyyyy

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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A Great Treasure

(Jaskier just constantly getting kidnapped by dragons and dressed real pretty? Yeah. I’m into it.)

tw: gratuitous, almost My Immortal levels of outfit description because I am A Ho For The Look, dragons being horny, Geralt being soft as fuck but also kinda horny

---

The next dragon that took Jaskier wasn’t nearly as sneaky. Nor was it green. The great, sapphire-blue reptile swooped down above the road in broad daylight and plucked the surprised bard up with its great talons, disappearing over the tops of the trees before Geralt could so much as think to pull his sword. The Witcher heard Jaskier’s startled cry echo out over the forest and urged Roach into a canter. He departed from the beaten path and took off in the same general direction the creature had been headed. “It hasn’t even been three full fucking weeks yet. Fuck.”

Hello, Jaskier! I’m a friend of Etheid’s, the dragon introduced herself. The draconic method of telepathic communication still bothered the bard a little but the blue dragon’s voice seemed more sing-song than Etheid’s had been. Certainly more feminine. Call me Lythos, or Lyth for short.

“Nice to meet you, Lythos,” Jaskier muttered, clenching his eyes shut tightly. “Let’s talk more when we’re on solid ground, yeah?”

Afraid of heights, bardling?

“Just a smidgen of a little bit.”

Worry not, we’re nearly to my tower.

“Another tower?”

Whatever happened to talking on solid ground?

“I’ve been kidnapped by two dragons in one month. I’m curious.”

I doubt this will be the last time you’re kidnapped by a dragon, either. Not until one of my brethren gives up during their turn or loses the bet.

“Their turn? What bet?! What are you talking about?”

I will explain the situation to you more fully when we land. There is much to be discussed. Many things to plan. Many rules to be determined and recorded for the others.

Jaskier sighed, glad he’d left his lute tied to Roach’s saddlebags today, and let himself be carried off to yet another strange adventure. “So you guys are just going to keep swooping in and stealing me away like this because it’s fun?”

Yes. And because Borch said that you and Geralt are kind-hearted and friendly mortals. We dragons don’t meet many such humans in our travels; we’d like to reward you somehow.

“So you’re rewarding me by kidnapping me?”

That’s why we included the second part of the deal, with the elaborately designed outfits. It’s not just because we enjoy collecting treasures from all over the Continent and squirreling them away to play with later; it’s also our form of payment to you. If you’re dressed from head to toe in silk and gold when Geralt rescues you then there’s no time to stop and take those items off before you ‘escape’. You can keep them or sell them; anything you are given by one of us should be considered payment for services rendered.

“And the service that Geralt and I are providing is...entertainment?”

Correct. It would be unfair to use up so much of a Witcher’s time without paying him.

“You’d be surprised how many people do that, actually,” Jaskier griped. “Village after village, turning him away without payment just because he’s a mutant and a freak. It’s horrible!”

Now you understand why my kin are so desperate for something good in the world. The love between you and Geralt is pure and strong, that is the other reason we chose the two of you.

Jaskier blushed. “We’re just a couple of flimsy mortals that happened to bump into each other and get along. Most of the time. It’s a very human thing to do. There are other couples in need of some emotional urging, if you’re looking to orchestrate a romance.”

No, we wish only to further yours. Now, would you care to look through the clothes I’ve gathered? We have at least another day before your Witcher finds us.

“Less than a day if he chooses not to pause for meditation, the fool.”

He will not risk losing you, Lythos sighed happily. I checked in on him earlier; he is meditating and gathering his strength. He has admitted his love for you now and is determined to prove himself. How dreamy.

“That is absolutely precious! Ugh, I love him so much.”

Then let us make you lovely, so that when he arrives he is doubly excited to see you.

“I can’t argue with that logic. Not from such an ancient and wise creature.”

Flattery gets you everywhere, bard, Lythos teased. She huffed out a thin cloud of steam and Jaskier chuckled in return.

“I know.”

---

“Are you kidding me?”

Absolutely not, the dragon shook its snout. Try them on. Unless you don’t like it, of course; I have other options, too.

“No, it’s all very lovely. It’s just...I get to keep them?”

Of course. I don’t want to make you change your clothes in the middle of Geralt’s daring rescue. That would totally ruin the romance!

“I suppose that would be rather odd. Even Geralt might catch on to something like that.” Jaskier held clothes the dragon had preferred in his hands, glancing once more at the suggested shirt. “What exactly is this supposed to be?”

It’s a tunic, of course. What else could it possibly be?

The bard gesticulated towards the dragon, holding the apparent tunic out for inspection as if he was shocked or surprised by Lyth’s choice. “It’s completely sheer!”

Yes, and it will make you look so very delicate, Lythos urged. Just try it on with the pants. Just once. You can change if you don’t like it, like I said. There’s a whole closet of costumery at your disposal, Jaskier.

The bard sighed and pulled the pants on first. They were made of a deep, peacock blue silk and hugged him in all the right places. He turned back and forth, observing their fit in the full-length mirror Lythos had provided. His legs were defined but the material wasn’t overly tight; it hadn’t bunched up near his thighs or ass like silk of this kind usually did. “Were these tailored to fit me?”

Yes, they were.

“How? I’ve only been here for a few hours and you pulled these directly from the armoire!”

Etheid passed along your measurements to the rest of us so that we could better prepare.

“Right, of course. Dragons. Bets. All that fun stuff,” the bard sighed. He tugged the gossamer shirt down over his head and tucked it neatly into the waistband of his high-waisted trousers. Jaskier glanced towards the mirror again and discovered that he looked...he looked amazing.

The shirt had been designed with a low, swooping neckline that revealed both his collarbones and a good portion of his chest. The thin, almost translucent white material left whatever the shirt did cover still almost entirely visible. When he blushed it could be rather obviously traced all the way down to his mid-chest. The giddy bard mussed his hair a little and did his best pouting ‘rescue me’ face; oh yes, that’s the way to do it.

Jaskier looked downright sinful.

“You are absolutely brilliant, Lythos! Geralt is going to lose his mind when he sees me in this ensemble.”

So you’ll wear it?

“This particular outfit is my new favorite. I’ll have to wait until the next dragon shows up before we can turn a profit from this whole bard-napping melodrama venture.”

There is always the jewelry. I can give you a few extra pieces to sell since you love the clothes so much; I have too much of the stuff sitting around and collecting dust anyway.

“Would you like it if I let you choose all my jewelry? I’m afraid I tend to go a bit overboard.”

Yes, yes! The dragon huffed happily, filling the space briefly with a cloud of steam. I have temporary earrings and bracelets and necklaces. I even have anklets if you so desire.

“Goody!” the bard rejoiced. “I love anklets! I never have good enough reason to wear them, though. This will be lovely. Do you mind if I roll the pants up to my knees? Geralt does so love the sight of my bare skin. I think it would drive him absolutely mad if we showed a little ankle for the Witcher.”

Please do whatever you see fit, my friend, Lythos insisted. You must sparkle for your White Wolf. You must look the part of the treasure he seeks to find!

“Ah, so I’m a treasure this time instead of a damsel?”

Hmm, yes. I think that makes it more interesting. What kind of treasure would you like to be?

“Geralt’s,” the bard breathed dreamily. The large, winged reptile rolled her eyes and huffed again.

Duh, that’s the point. I meant like...pirate treasure? A king’s treasure? I’ve never done roleplay before. Mostly just burning down the houses of rude nobles and kidnapping some princesses upon request. I’m not incredibly familiar with human treasure.

“Oh! I could be your hoard!”

You’re brilliant! Of course! This will be so fun. What if you laid in my tail when Geralt arrived? Like I was guarding you?

“Well then how would he get me away without hurting you?”

I could make him give a speech? Woo you away from me with your words?

“Oh, that’s very clever. Very dramatic. I love it!”

We do make a good team, I think.

“Do you have any makeup? This look would be excellent with some eyeliner.”

You are definitely as entertaining and fun as Etheid promised. I’m sure that Aramaris will enjoy you just as much.

“Wait, who’s Aramaris?”

They chose the next lot after me. Then, after Aramaris has their turn, Vertos would like a chance to partake.

“Hold on a minute. There’s a waiting list of dragons who want to kidnap me?”

And see Geralt come running to your aid, yes. It is rather sweet to watch and we are all very bored. We’re going to see who can make you the prettiest and get Geralt the most worked up.

“So this is just a game to you?”

As I said before, it is both a game and a legitimate matchmaking endeavor. Additionally, we’re compensating you for your time and trouble.

“I suppose,” Jaskier agreed. “Plus this outfit is absolutely to die for.”

Yes, and now to the makeup!

---

Geralt was very confused and very tired. He had tracked the dragon through the woods to yet another ancient, dilapidated tower. Jaskier was hidden at the top, no doubt, probably terrified out of his mind. This was the second dragon to capture his idiot bard in a fucking month, though the first time had been extremely unorthodox. Just plain odd, really, considering Geralt’s previous experiences.

Oh well, nothing he could do now except climb the tower and rescue Jaskier.

---

Jaskier was waiting for his Witcher to arrive while reclining within the coil of Lythos’s enormous blue tail His pants were only a half-shade brighter than her scales and the contrast was remarkably artistic (perhaps by design). The bard was barefoot and his pants were rolled up to just below the knee. Lyth had insisted on decking him out in lots of jewelry since Jaskier was to be her supposed hoard. It will be more realistic and believable if you’re dripping with silver and sapphires, bard. He found himself unable to argue with her logic once again.

Jaskier had a handful of thin silver bands around one ankle, a silver cuff around his left wrist, and another bejeweled cuff at the top of his left bicep, beneath the shirt. Lythos had added a thin silver chain around his neck, which fell to just above his chest hair and ended with a teardrop shaped sapphire pendant. Some kind of crushed gemstone powder had been dusted atop his collarbones and into his hair, making him seem to sparkle in the midday sun. He’d added a light, smudged layer of kohl around his eyes to widen and darken them like he had once at court. The dragon had also demanded that he slide several rings of various styles and sizes onto his long, tapered fingers. It will draw his attention to your hands, she explained. You will thank me tonight, I’m sure.

That suggestion had Jaskier blushing brightly and Lythos had nearly snorted fire from laughing so hard at the young man’s reaction.

Here he comes! She announced, bringing Jaskier’s back to the present. His blue eyes fixated on the thick wooden door that led from the chamber where Lythos lay curled and ‘guarding’ him to the bedchamber where he’d stayed the last two nights. Very shortly after her announcement there was a determined grunt, a heavy thud, and the door crashed open to reveal Geralt.

The Witcher was breathing heavily and his nostrils were flared but he wasn’t wearing his armor. He hadn’t been wearing it last time, either, and Jaskier wondered if he was already onto their little charade. “You know I won’t win if we battle,” Geralt admitted, staring across the room at the lounging dragon.

His eyes flickered to Jaskier for a moment, widened when they took in the bard’s appearance, and then returned to staring down the monster.

I don’t intend to fight you, Witcher, Lythos said, projecting her bored words into both of their minds. Jaskier knew that she was faking the cold disinterest but his heart still picked up speed when one of her large claws hooked beneath his chin and raised him into a slightly taller sitting position. Though I suspect that you’ve come to take back my newest treasure and I am loathe to let it go so soon.

The Witcher nodded, unable to form words. He was nervous for the life of his bard but he was also slightly distracted by the way Jaskier was being forced to arch his neck and tilt his head that way. The bard looked so fucking breakable and soft, surrounded by scales and held partially aloft by such a strong and pointed appendage. His eyes were wide and completely focused on the Witcher, his own peril seemingly irrelevant even as he gasped against the scraping claw. Geralt shook his head to clear it and narrowed his eyes even more. “Don’t hurt him.”

It’s my treasure, Lythos hummed dismissively. I will do with the human lad as I please. Go away, Witcher, and leave us to play.

“He’s not a toy,” Geralt growled. He reached for his sword and cursed when his hand swiped through empty air. He knew bringing a weapon up so many flights of stairs was pointless but he still should have kept it on him for safety. Jaskier made a gentle, nervous noise and the Wicher flinched. “Please don’t hurt him!”

You would barter for the human? For his safe return?

“Take me instead,” Geralt offered. He held his hands up in surrender and took a slow step forward. Lythos lowered Jaskier back down to his lazily reclined position and raised her scaly brow. The bard was shocked; he hadn’t been expecting the Witcher to do something so drastic right away. He’d anticipated some kind of argument first.

You would sacrifice yourself for him? Trade yourself to me in order to save him?

“Of course,” the Witcher scoffed. Lythos could hear his slow heartbeat starting to accelerate. “I love him. I’d do anything for him.”

Hmm. Little treasure, what do you think?

“I can’t let him do that for me. He’s a Witcher, I am merely a traveling bard. The world has more need for him than it does for me.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt half-whimpered. A pleading tone bled into his words as he took another step forward, this time towards the bard, “You foolish man. I know you. You’d grow bored here. You’d grow antsy to travel. You’d try to escape and you’d get yourself hurt or killed or...”

I protect what is mine, the dragon interrupted. He will be safe here. I will keep him happy and entertained.

“Please,” the Witcher sighed. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head forward, white hair falling in a curtain around his ridiculously attractive face. “Jaskier was the first good thing Destiny ever did for me. I can’t lose him.”

I have seen into your heart and know these feelings to be true, Lythos intoned. She spoke as if she was making a very difficult decision and not sticking to a vague pre-determined script. You may take the bard and go, but you must hurry. I may change my mind.

Jaskier clambered out from between the coils of her massive tail and allowed Geralt to sweep him up into those strong, stable arms. He clung to the Witcher’s neck and buried his face to hide his smile. Lythos said her final goodbye to the bard alone; I hope my kin treat you fairly. If they do not, let me know, and I shall take care of it. Thank you for the lovely time.

“Thank YOU,” Jaskier mouthed.

And then they began to descend the winding tower staircase.

---

“I hope I never see another dragon again in my life except for maybe Borch,” Geralt panted, urging Roach into a slightly faster canter.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, smiling a little to himself. “Running into another dragon so soon after two nearly identical kidnappings would be very strange.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier #like 2.5k words i think #soft geralt #geraskier ficlet #in league with dragons #protective geralt #the dragons treat jaskier like a paper doll #let's dress up the bard #and mess with the witcher #that'll be fun #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #ooooh boy #in league with dragons pt 2 #we've kidnapped the bard so now what #how many will it take before geralt realizes something is up?#inhuman jaskier

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fluffy-bats-appreciator · 2 years

Note

A, E, I, O, U!

Oooh, and vowels it is!

A: Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

I've always been a huge Veronica-Christine fan, and recently my bud @bruderup has been introducing me to the Curtis-Hsu ship which I'm quite having fun with :D

And imo Vulpes and Anthony are besties, because "dogs together strong". Just kidding XD

E: Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?

Mmmm, people seem to really like my wojak Arcade meme a lot? xD It's such a silly one imo but de gustibus non est disputandum, right?

I: Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

Not yet fortunately! Tho I did leave one fandom because of personal drama, unrelated to the community.

O: Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?

David Guetta ft. Kid Cudi - Memories

It reminds me of Cass in a way, because of her easygoing (and quite careless at times) attitude and the song's about living your best moments, which will then become just memories as time goes on.

But I would lie if I said I didn't think about Boone as well, with how he might attempt to cope with his PTSD and depression ("I just wanna let it go for the night, that would be the best therapy for me", the lyrics of the song).

U: Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Oh boy here we go XD

Vulpes Inculta (I'm so sorry everyone lol) from Fallout: New Vegas. One of the smartest men in the Mojave, his loyalty to his Lord is fascinating and he's definitely not afraid to follow his orders. There's something admirable about how twisted he seems to be with his plans, from Nipton to Camp Searchlight, by finding the specific weak spots in the enemy lines and taking advantage of them. I wish he had a more prominent role in the game itself, but I like what we already see as well lol.

Geralt from The Witcher 3 (btw I'm finishing the main story just now and trying to avoid spoilers ;-;). He's such a charming and empathetic person towards his friends and the ones he cares about. He's so respectful of everyone too and I love his witty humor lol.

Solaire from Dark Souls. The best sunbro that could have ever graced the land of Lordran with his existence, his jolly cooperation and how excited he is about helping you in battle if needed! Too bad we can't have nice things in Dark Souls, right? ;-; Watching him go hollow throughout our journey and finding him completely broken at the end, it just... breaks me every single time (yeah you can save him by doing a special trick, but if it's your first playthrough he's most likely just screwed :( ).

#thank you so much for the ask!!#it was so lovely 💕#arcadegannonenthusist

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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please tell me all about the joust thing!!

asdfghjklkjds Hey pancakes! Okay since this is the second ask on the subject, I’ll give you a preview of the text and a link to the previous ask. The preview is just over 700 words. enjoy!

Geralt happened upon the whole affair by chance on his way to Aedirn for a new contract. He found himself travelling on the border between Rivia and Lyria, in the field between the grand capitals. There stood a post in the center of the field which marked the border between all three countries, and it was before this post that a great dirt patch had been trod. Geralt had noticed it many times on his way through the lands, but he’d never given it much thought. However, this year, the reason was made obvious, for in the center of this patch a bannered fence had been erected for the joust.

Three flags hung high from a lance buried in the center of the post, each waving the banner of their country. Highest waved the flag of Lyria, Aedirn below it, and Rivia’s pride lowest. Geralt asked the lad hanging the flags why the three were not flown at the same height. It seemed an antagonizing sort of display in such a place where gentleman of rank from all three mingled.

“Lyria won the honour at the last joust. Aedirn came second. If you want your flag at top, you’d do well to give it your best at the joust, sir.”

“I’m not in the joust,” Geralt corrected.

“Pardon, sir. It’s the armour. Thought you’d be in the tourney, sir.”

Geralt smiled, partly flattered by the young man’s redundant politeness. “With all these fine peers walking about, I doubt this is the kind of tournament where the low-born would be expected to participate.”

“Aye, you’d be right,” the lad said. “It’s a gentlemanly sport, this one. Lots of gentleman in it, too. We’ve got sons of earls and such mingling with barons and knights. If you’ll not tell aught, I’ll tell you I wouldn’t mind seeing our landlord knocked off the saddle today, even if it costs us the pride of coming first.” He chuckled as he watched the middling flag flap in the wind. “I’d be sore for Aedirn, but I’d have a laugh and buy myself a whole fresh pear pie to celebrate! He’s a nasty bit of work.”

Geralt hummed in amusement. “Aren’t they all,” he agreed.

“Oh no, not all; there’s some I would like to see win, if just for being the mannerly sort. That Pankratz fellow, for instance. Now that’s a right gentleman, even if he is Lyrian. If Aedirn won’t take the win, I’d rather see the Lyrian flag fly for him than have Rivia in the lead, begging your pardon, sir.”

“Did he win the last one?” Geralt asked, indicating towards the highest flag.

The lad squinted up at it with a smile. The gold flag flapped with a sort of grace, backlit by the morning sun. It almost looked cocky, but there was a humbleness in the way it stopped fluttering a moment to let the other flags have their turn.

“Aye. He’s won twice for Lyria now since joining the game. Not in a row, mind you—we bested him once—but last year he took the title back as quickly. I thought the first time was luck. He first came a bit scrawny and we all swore it was the wind what knocked the last rider off his horse, but he’s been training, I’d wager. He’s a slight man, but he’s got form to him what he’d not had before. Fills out the armour now, he does. Looks less borrowed than it did that first day. Looks quite the knight, more than the last year. Must be fencing or whatever the lords do for sport. You should hear the ladies talk by his tent!”

“Is he well admired?”

“There’s an understatement if there ever was one! You watch him work and you’ll soon see what I mean. He’s a favorite, even when he’s not favorite to win.”

And now, watching the man bent low, picking clumps of dirt out of his own horse’s hooves, Geralt felt himself regarding him with a touch of approval. This Lyrian, though obviously high-born, didn’t have his nose in the air. That much could be said. He wasn’t putting on airs as he squatted upon the little stool, far too little for a man of his stature. Besides, a man who took proper care of his horse was a good man in Geralt’s book. He looked once more at the horse, appraising, and it was then he decided who he favored to win. After all, it was a fine horse. For now, the rider was … decorative to his consideration.

#tag games #asks #pancakes' tag #side characters are fun #especially when they talk a little bit funny #he's a very polite boy #maybe I'll make him a squire #wip

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 8)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 7

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt seemed to always get involved for a royal favor; no matter how he avoids it, they keep slithering back until he agrees to accept. Though, the sorceress wants you involved in it as well. After the unlucky incident back in the marketplace, the witcher was keen on bringing you back to where you belong; sparking up an argument with the bard as Jaskier could feel that there was something palpable and precious with the odd like care you were receiving from the Butcher of Blaviken. Destiny just knows how to play the game well.

Warnings: Sorceress and Tybalt being touchy feely. (I know you want Geralt being touchy feely as well. You’ll get it soon I promise. HAHAHHA) Jaskier spitting some truths. Geralt being hot and then cold again, you just can’t understand what he wants. *sigh* I can see y’all planning to get a razor and make Geralt bald. XDDDDD

Words: 5.5k+

A/N: DANG. GERALT OF RIVIA. YOU’VE TAKEN THE CURSE OFF ME. I usually lose all my ideas after chapter 5. But, here we are. This will freakin’ take 30 chapters (I said 25 in the last chapter? DID I? OH. AHIHIHIHIHI) and I think I won’t regret it because of how slow paced I am. AHAHHAHAHAA. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING ON THE LAST PART OF THIS CHAPTER? HEEHEE! WHAT ARE YOUR HUNCHES?

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

In the other side of the town where it is all serene and neglected, a red carriage has been waiting in silence for the return of her aide. The sorceress peered out of the tiny partition used as a window to see people outside where her glowing purple eyes can only be seen.

Tybalt sat beside her with a grimace, huffing out breaths full of vexation at the events that has happened which ruined all of his plans for the night with the Duke and some noblemen who wanted their maidens.

"Is he---??" The sorceress trailed off, sounding fascinated as she squinted her glowing, purple eyes out in the open as she saw a child, a bard and a witcher who was carrying a small bleeding woman in his arms. Tybalt grunted his approval, acting so stingy by the change of events, "The witcher we'd been looking for,"

The vampire was heaving deep breaths because of his boiling wrath for the witcher; feeling a sudden need to feed was tempting him to calm down and he would. There were tons of maidens in the castle and he would take one or maybe a pair to satiate his hunger as always.

He rarely does this. Only when he was triggered or frustrated about certain things that kept his anger at bay.

"---Slaughtered all of my men for the sake of saving that little harlot," he continued with a grumble and a tight knot of his brows. The sorceress scoffed to the news that was given, expecting a successful gather of the women who were used as debts to serve the royalty or noblemen. "Even Terrowin?" she questioned with utter interest, raising a brow as she scrutinized the arms that surrounded the witcher who had ruined all of Tybalt's plans, "Even, Terrowin."

"Such a shame. He was one of the best horsemen for the king," Sorceress Ingrith tutted to her disappointment, sighing as the knight's death was nothing but a passing of the winds. Her wavy hair fell on her hips, swaying as she turned her head to watch you leave before loudly closing the partition.

"---But, not better than the witcher," the firm announcement was enough to tell Tybalt that the sorceress considered Geralt's skills as remarkable. She comfortably sat on her carriage and laid her glowing purple eyes on the vampire who had bowed his head as a sign of respect, "---Get me the witcher," she commanded with authority, "---and also the small maiden,"

Tybalt shook his head, a wince forming his features as he tried to get the witcher to accept his favors for years and years end. But, he was too obdurate. Never wanting to get involved by their hierarchy because of certain reasons he won't tell. The event that has happened was just a lucky shot for the vampire as it doesn't happen often, "He won't comply that easily because he has been avoiding us, my lady." Though, his opposition seem to be invalidated as she continued with a strong will to have the witcher walking to the path towards the castle, "---King Viduka must be mirthful for the news ahead," she ignored his statement, "---the prince will be healed soon,"

Sorceress Ingrith languidly blinked at Tybalt who was giving her a tight frown for her commands, "---As long as the witcher will be promising,"

The sorceress tutted for the second time, noting his foul expression that made her cross her legs as a sign that she was stronger and powerful than the latter; like her word is the law. She'd gave him a life back; even better than it ever did and now he wasn't hiding as he did back in his hometown.

Ingrith licked her cherry red lips and could feel the vampire's hunger grow more as she'd swiftly brushed her hair to the side, showing her delectable neck to him as a sign of approval to be used for his satiation again whenever it was full moon, "Use the maiden for him to comply," a sly smirk and a way to give him pleasure was all it took for him to nod in submission, "She...seems important for him to not hesitate and kill my men,"

The sorceress pondered in front of him, seeming to be in deep thought other than the fact that her men has been killed with just one man except for Tybalt because of his abilities. The latter languidly maneuvered till he'd given her no space in their carriage, their warmth embracing each other in a way that could get the devil laughing for their souls. "She...also feels different," Ingrith breathed in a deep breath, feeling Tybalt lean in close to that favorite spot of his on her neck, "What do you mean?" he mumbled against her neck, lightly giving a soft kiss to her sweet spot.

She exhaled a breath of pleasure as she felt his sharp, wet tongue licking a stripe from the line that connects her shoulder till the back of her ears as Tybalt groaned in satisfaction and from her delectable scent, "Her...Her body is an embodiment that makes me feel baffling," Another hitch of her breath. "What are you suggesting, Ingrith?"

"Give her to me when she comes to the castle," she firmly pressed and felt him sucking her soft spot that made her whimper, "---I just need to be sure,"

They hurriedly taken you to a healer and it was the right time because in any more minute you would've lost a lot of blood that can get death defying for a mere human like you. After bandaging you up and with Geralt's persistence that you should be taken home rather than to stay with a healer got you what he wanted. The healer has given herbs to be taken to numb the pain when it hits you like a train.

The princess wasn't doing good as well; mentally. Thinking that it was all her fault that they had to play hide and seek with the kids and happened to hide on a part of the town that had been deserted. Geralt reassured her that it wasn't her fault and she should stop crying because you wouldn't like it that she would be weeping for your selfless integrity; especially that he knew you were there in Cirilla's room last night, comforting the princess.

The witcher was actually impressed that it only took you hours for her anger to die down rather than him and Jaskier who managed to have a block of wood thrown to them as they coax her to stay calm.

Jaskier was sat on the witcher's bed where he has laid you upon; Cirilla was in her room and trying to relax from all the events that has happened. Geralt stood on the wall next to his door; his hefty arms crossed as he was giving the bard a scowl as he continued to pat your sweat-filled face.

The bard's ocean blue eyes gave him a once over, grinning in the process of his continuous soft pats on your temples because of how vicious he appeared to be.

Jaskier puckered his lips and gave a low chuckle; swiftly throwing the towel in the bucket of water. He shifted on his side of the bed and was face front towards the brooding witcher trying to drown in his own shadows. "Oooh, the scary face," the bard gestured with his index finger; drawing a circle far from his face before abruptly rising to his feet and ushering to you whom was resting on Geralt's bed; looking slightly dull from all the blood lost from you, "---Will you do the honors? It seems like you're throwing daggers behind my back as I clean her face with a face towel,"

The witcher grumbled a rough hum, his eyebrows raising as he lifted himself off the wall and languidly passed by Jaskier with a frown etched on his face. To Jaskier's surprise, Geralt dubiously sat on where the bard has been seated and reached out for the towel drenched in the bucket of water; mindlessly squeezing the excess with one hand before turning and actually planning to wipe those cold sweat running down your forehead.

The witcher ceased his actions before the towel even touched your skin. He'd cursed beneath his breath and deeply groaned to himself, scrunching his nose for his peculiar gestures, "You could've said something!" Jaskier crowed as a matter of fact and gave him the stink eye as he was restlessly cussing like a sailor.

He was just taking care of you because of the guilt that it was his fault for bringing you with them at the marketplace. It wasn't because his senses were telling him to do it because it was the natural thing to do.

There he was again, acting strange like he'd been when you've first arrived in their lives; offering to bandage your wounds for you when you could've done it without anyone's help.

Was this destiny fucking with him? He shouldn't have listened to the part where Durriken has spat shit about his destiny like he knew what was about to come.

The old man was probably inebriated when he had the talk with Geralt. Definitely had too much ale.

"You know what, Geralt?" Jaskier suddenly thought out loud, leaning on the wall where Geralt has been as he watched the witcher softly pat your forehead with the towel; like you were some fragile little thing. Though, the bard was sure he hesitated at first because it took him a minute of self meditation before cleaning to your aid, "This rat..." he trailed off as Jaskier had his arms crossed over his lean chest; voice solemn and with regret, "---I was actually frightened to have lost her,"

Geralt hummed in understanding to tell the bard that he was listening. But, his words made the witcher's bushy eyebrows knot together in intrigue; waiting for Jaskier to continue as he continued his gentle gestures; incapable of not studying your relaxed features as you slept.

You were at peace and utmost looking adorable as you slept, he was sure of that.

But, nobody needed to know his opinions about you. It was better kept unsaid because of the bothered feeling inside of him that wanted to swallow him whole; just like his soul, not like he even had one anymore.

The bard continued his comments and watched the witcher give care to another person without any second doubts aside from Cirilla and him. He never said it out loud but he does care for him, Jaskier was sure of it. That was just how he is, he never tells anything. Never wanted people to see through him because it would be a tough flaw. Other witchers grew old with having no emotions because of their brutal trials, but not Geralt. He had everything. The feeling of love, anger, lust, sympathy, joy, fear and a lot more. However, reading his emotions would be as difficult as to climb over that wall he was using for cover.

It takes years and expertise to read him like a book, and the bard knew that for sure.

Jaskier had a small smile written on his face as he honestly blurted out loud, "---But, not as scared as you happened to be,"

The witcher ceased his actions on cleaning your face. Jaskier's words echoing inside his head like a damn bell from a church. He languidly blinked and calmly breathed out of his nose at his accusations towards the witcher's feelings. Another feeling boiling that strange void inside his chest.

"You know that berk?" Jaskier managed to ask; completely unaware of the witcher deeply sighing before him. The bard held his chin as he looked at the ceilings; seeming in deep thought, "---If I remembered correctly, his name was Ty...Tyran---"

The latter evidently exhaled a deep; loud grumble of a name he started to hate since the moment he saw him again. His lips flashing a scowl in a way that says he wanted to burn the guy alive after all he's done, "Tybalt. He's a vampire feeding off the castle,"

Jaskier nodded as he lifted himself off the wall, puckering his lips as he hadn't let the thought process inside his head, "Oh, a vampire." Abrupt pause. Before his eyes grew thoroughly astounded, "---What?! You're not serious?! I thought vampires were much more...uglier and not looking like humans?"

"He's a more higher form of a vampire; much more higher than a Bruxa, Ekimmaras, Alps, or Katakans. A very rare species. It doesn't need blood to survive, but they drown in it preferably in full moon,"

The witcher straightened his back, hovering away from you as a soft, light snore resonated from your lips, putting back the towel inside the pail; thoroughly relaxed unlike when he had you in his arms, bleeding like a waterfall. It was a feeling he had been dreading as he'd already felt that fear before and the witcher didn't like it one bit as the hollow feeling that was knocking on his doorstep agitated him; thus, which leads to vulnerability that he never had after those events before you came along.

"He's the most trusted of the king," Geralt bluntly answered for the bard's question, trying to distract himself from those thoughts that would consume him like a never ending nightmare, "---Other than the sorceress leeching off the castle as well,"

Jaskier wandered across his room like he'd never before; he already did but he was trying to see if there was some new changes. Yet, there was none. Sadly.

"You know the sorceress?" The bard's question consists of shock, hearing Geralt tell him stories about the people in the castle like he'd known them when he never did. However, the way Jaskier said it seemed to be like it had a double-meaning, "---Of course, you do." he chaffed; voice lacing with sheer sarcasm.

Geralt gave him a look, shifting on his bed as he tried to force himself to shift his eyes away from you. It was the only time he could look at your face without you blushing like a virgin, "No, I don't." the witcher uttered; unenthusiastically.

"Well, that's a first!" the bard squeaked and stumbled from the witcher's sword that was leaning on a particular wall; snapping a lackadaisical glaze of his glowing golden eyes towards the bard who was muttering his apologies and actually hopping on one foot because it was heavy and it hurt his pinky toe.

Jaskier continued his hops of protest, ceasing once he'd heard the witcher surprisingly share something other than sparing one word answers to people's questions. He was finally sharing something other than the word 'fuck' or those displeased hums.

"I never wanted to get involved with their pestilential hierarchy," the witcher murmured, staring at the walls to his room. It had the same design as to what Cirilla had; but his was much more doleful. Technically, a room that couldn't give him comfort and warmth as he sleeps.

Geralt knew what happens around the kingdom. He knew how wicked and utter evil the castle can get; no matter how he tried to refuse their favors, he'd heard a lot of gossips about the king and queen, especially their son who happened to be the prince.

They were a family who outgrew the kingdom with fiend, corruption and selfishness. No kingdom has been perfect; though theirs were the worst of everything.

The witcher continued; heedful of the steady heartbeat of yours as you slept on his bed, "---It's their culpability to have a witch in wrath for their wrongdoings," he gruffly shared, a small smile creeping his face as he exhaled a sigh out of his lips; remembering the real reason why the prince was cursed; with jealousy being the actual reason of it all, maybe also a stab to the ego or dignity for the queen of Kaedwen, "--and I have no will to help people drowning in malevolence,"

Jaskier hasn't realized that he was gawking at the Witcher's back for so long as he talked; sauntering to the other side of the room where Geralt was as he weirdly eyed him with a judging look, "That's...the longest I've heard from you. It makes me want to shed a tear,"

"Hmm,"

The witcher's smile instantaneously fell at the ridicule that was sent. He firmly shook his head at the bard and huffed a breath before turning his head to inspect your state; calmly breathing like you had no worries in your life.

His lips straightened into a tight thin line, roughly saying his next words with those careless thoughts slipping out of his mouth and quickly staring back at the bard who was grinning, "The quicker we find a djinn, the faster she returns to her home,"

Jaskier's facial expression molded into disbelief. Exhaling one deep, heavy breath as he had his hands on his hips, eyes fluttering repeatedly from the words that left the witcher's lips like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, "Wait, wait, wait," he scoffed, "Why the sudden hurry, witcher?"

Geralt gave him a look that had hostility shading his eyes, "I thought you wanted me to help her?"

"I do, I do!" Jaskier nodded and uttered as a matter of fact before side-stepping till he was completely face front at the brawny witcher who had his normal grumpy face on show, "---But, I didn't thought you'll be tossing her away that easily,"

Geralt gave him a subtle frown, looking away from the bard as he sighed in tiredness because it seems like he didn't want her to go away as soon as possible; unlike the first day that Y/N appeared like a woman from the swamps; all soiled and dirty like she has been drowned by a Kikimore. "Do you really hear yourself right now? Are you sure you want her to leave?" it was a question he expected from the bard, yet a query he didn't want to hear from another person because it was frustrating him in some ways, "---After seeing you cradling her like a bairn, I suppose not."

The witcher ignored his protests and lowly emitted a groan that vibrated off his chest, his eyes sharp when it landed on Jaskier again. "She needs to leave," he sternly mentioned with emphasis and firmness. Jaskier noticed how the sentence was actually not for him, but actually for the witcher himself. He sounded like he was in need of thorough persisting about the fact that you needed to leave and so, the bard went on with his jabbers, "You don't sound too sure of yourself now, are we?"

Geralt hissed back, his brows in a tight knot; body posture turning rigid as he carried on. "Jaskier, she doesn't belong here. She never will," he gave a dour to his friend, "Have you seen what happened?"

"---and you handled it very well, might I add. Very heroic of you,"

"I can't always be available whenever she gets involved by whatever troubles she may bring,"

Jaskier lifted his eyes off from checking his nails, landing them on the rhadamanthine witcher who had a grim expression on his pleasing features, "Why do you sound scared?" he suddenly spat a question towards the upset trunk of a man. He'd seen how Geralt's nose scrunch in agitation, making the bard step back when the latter began to stand on his feet, towering before him with a nasty looking grimace, "It's because I am not, bard."

Jaskier probably struck a nerve this time because he was looking at him very differently; like he's done with everything; tired of even living.

He tried not to let him see how he swallowed the nervous jitters that stuck inside his throat; trying to confidently straighten his back as to not back down from his irk towards him, trying to stand for his point, "You always have a habit of shooing people away when you're actually already caring for the latter,"

Geralt's mouth twitched in exasperation; his annoyance coming out of his nose in deep breaths as he obviously struck a nerve.

"Jaskier."

Maybe, Jaskier's timing really did suck all the time.

Unaware of the witcher's piqueness and cynicism, the bard couldn't stop his mouth from trying to prove a point. Technically not disturbed that the witcher's nose was flaring in displeasure.

"Oh, alright! Whenever you're in the midst of questioning yourself, you always answer people with violence or brutally hurt their emotions!"

Jaskier didn't mean for it to go there. The bard's facial expression immediately scrunched to regret because of how it sounded out of his mouth. Harsh. Truly, it was better inside his head rather than being said out in the open. The bard couldn't help but flinch when Geralt stepped a cautious foot closer to him; his jaw tense and teeth clenching from complete vexation at what he has been saying. His golden eyes blazing in ire.

"What do you want me to do, bard?" he raved as he was trying to burn him with his death stares, "---What are you fucking implying?"

Jaskier has been avoiding his eyes at all costs, stepping back when the witcher stepped another foot close to scare him off; but the bard never does. He side-stepped to escape from his wrath when he was close to being cornered and opened his arms as he threw another fact that he'd already seen when he was with the witcher and his journeys before:

"Go on. Do your foolish actions by pushing her away or leaving a woman when she's in the right state of mind of being in her vulnerable best!" the truth was said without any pauses nor did the bard inhaled a breath, "---Treat the midget like how you've treated Yennifer and wait for her to leave you as well in the end because of your utterly boorish attitude!"

It was an utter mistake. Jaskier shouldn't have said that out loud because he could see fire burning behind Geralt as he heavily marched to where he was. He didn't intentionally wanted to mention Yennifer and what happened to his relationship with her before; and it was one ounce of patience that was snapped from the witcher himself when Jaskier began to even recall his mistakes in the past like having nightmares and that void inside his chest wasn't enough for his sufferings.

The bard shrieked as he dodged Geralt and slid under his arm; his lean body being an advantage from the wrathful witcher. "It...was a mistake! Although, it's not! I am sorry to have hurt your very much virile ego! You left Yennifer then! Not the other way around---Geralt!" Jaskier shrieked and contemplated whether or not to jump on the bed when he'd seen you laying with your bloody bandages; sequentially raising his arms in surrender and tightly closing his eyes shut for the blow; waiting for another strong punch in the gut for his rotten mouth.

Thanks to Cirilla who has entered the room, Geralt has ceased on choking the bard alive; sensing that the princess was irked by their foolishness as she entered with a frown on her face, "This is why you both must not be in the same room together," she scoffed and dashed her way towards where you were, seeing your bandages with blood made her upset yet again, "---I don't know when you're foolishly sharing banters or actually fighting already!"

The witcher was fiercely glaring at the bard, his cat eyes not helping the image that would certainly give Jaskier nightmares because he'll worry that Geralt would choke him in his sleep. Cirilla promptly sat beside your bed, scanning your wounded body as your eyebrows suddenly twitched together, straining your forehead in disturbance.

The bard continued his relentless, rational reckons while Geralt went on with giving him the stink eye. Your head was hurting with Jaskier's nonstop blabbers which adds more pain to your aching head as you felt a brisk, chilly wind caress your feet till it traveled in every part of your body.

You were breathing heavily. Dry chapped lips quivering like you were trapped outside the brumal night. Your consciousness knowing that your body was also trembling from the chills with a fever that came with the wound.

"Geralt," His child of surprise muttered, entirely alarmed by your noticeable quivers, "---She's shaking,"

Both men instantly snapped their heads from where Cirilla was. Geralt's senses catching your unstable temperature as he roughly spat coherent profanities; shaking his head. "Ugh--fuck,"

Geralt let out a baritone of a snarl which caught everybody's attention as he promenaded to where you rest. Cirilla promptly dragging herself out of your side as the witcher took place; covering your forehead with the back of his palm to check how hot you were.

You've keened before his touch; the witcher's hand so comfortable for you which aids to your shivers and sighing when he'd used his palm to check you better, a rough huff of breath escaping your lips as you've momentarily felt the warmth scurrying away.

The princess was kind enough to help Geralt, squeezing the excess towel out of the cold bucket of water. Her, being the good child she was; volunteering to wipe cold water all over your face. The witcher gave the child some space for her as you shivered like you were being thrown in a bath tub full of ice.

"---And now he cares again, ladies and gents,"

Geralt swiftly turned his head to Jaskier and gave him a scowl; thoroughly pissed off by his nonsense already and Cirilla did as well. Snapping back at the bard with tired pleads, "Jaskier, will you please?"

Soon, silence has engulfed the trio. The bard has already shut his mouth and actually pondered his regret on even uttering out those foolish things to the witcher with no reason. But, he'd given a little bit of positivity in it that maybe he'll actually consider that you weren't just an animal that he wanted to shoo away with no goodbyes.

Cirilla gave a soft sigh as she'd seen your shivering die down a bit; though, if you look closely, there was still some tiny quivering because of the cold wind coming from the opened windows.

She'd wondered out of nowhere, staring at the candle that was lit beside Geralt's bed before a shocking suggestion was said out loud to cease the trembles, "You need to hug her while she sleeps!" the princess excitedly announced like it was the best idea ever; standing in haste and spinning on her heel for effect to give her attention to the witcher who seemed to be staring back at her, unfazed.

"Hugs...aren't my forte,"

She raised a questioning brow at him, remembering how they hug whenever he goes somewhere and comes home safely, "She's having chills!"

Geralt sapped, languidly blinking back in exhaustion as he shook his head in negation, "It'll pass, princess."

Cirilla stubbornly crossed her arms; demanding in a way that sounded like how she was back in her castle, "Hug her!"

The witcher exhaled a long, heavy, perceivable breath. Sometimes, her requests could get to his head and make him want to just utter the deepest blasphemy he could ever say out loud. But, he always fought himself not to and tended to what she wanted as per usual before she throws woods at him again.

Geralt reached his arm out to gently pat on your arm, making your nose scrunch as you rested on his bed; wanting to wake up because of those warm pats on your arm, yet you had no power to as you wanted to continue and rest.

Jaskier and Cirilla stared at the witcher like he'd grown three heads, figuring out what the heck he was even doing. The witcher eyed them back with a look that tells them what was wrong.

"Is that a hug to you, Geralt?!" Cirilla managed to finally commented out loud in disbelief. Geralt shrugged his thick shoulders and cocked his head to the side, still tenderly patting you like he was dusting off some dirt on your clothed arm.

"It's close enough."

The princess of Cintra wanted to protest out loud, even wanting to start a petition about how patting someone on the arm was as close as to giving a warm hug for comfort, but no words were spoken as she massaged her temples like she was close to being stressed out already, "You're just patting her on the arm like an old man!"

Thus, it was Jaskier's time to shine. The bard took his time and started to tread towards where you were; "I can hug her, if you want? No malicious thoughts perceivable through the naked eye---" he was hastily stopped by the witcher who happened to clasp his strong fingers around his lean arms, ceasing him from circling around towards the space on the bed where he could give you a hug while you rest.

The ivory haired witcher gave another one of his snarls; voice grumbling so deep they could mistaken it as a growl, "It's my bed, bard." he lackadaiscally said, stating the obvious and that there was some kind of hindrance that shouldn't be stepped over.

Jaskier subtly gave Cirilla a once over, stopping himself from smirking as he tried to appear salty and just nodded back at the witcher. Leaving him to whatever solutions he had for you to stop from shivering.

Perhaps, finding a Djinn was not the best solution for you. It was a secret avant-garde for the witcher's heart as you started hopping inside that void with all smiles, ignoring the darkness that could possibly consume you as it was the only world he may bring.

Unbalance.

You felt like floating in thin air. Vision all blurry and hazy from an unspecified fog that made you squint your eyes shut as you walked into the sweltering path that had no possibility of reaching an end. It was murky and had no end; like a maze that give you entrance but promises that it has no return. There was voices reverberating like an echo in the deepest caves. Some voices were definitely unfamiliar and also sounding to be in rage while the last echo sounded a lot like Jaskier and Cirilla's laugh that made you snap your head towards where they were coming from.

Another delicate step along the path dusted in twigs, mud and rocks; the scene unexpectedly changed, bringing you to a glorious looking banquet. Scrumptious looking food plated in the most rakish way as strangers sat in front of you; their barbarous laughter and prattles completely opposite of how you were acting in the middle of it all. Thus, you've heard singing all around the place. Your curious self studying the whole setting as you noticed that you weren't in just some hostelry but rather in a huge great hall inside an unknown castle you've never seen before.

Your eyes immediately snapped to where the singing was all happening as you saw a familiar face who was strumming his lute with a smile. You've wanted to giggle at how he appeared to look ecstatic on entertaining everyone in the large room, yet from the moment you've opened your mouth; no voice could ever leave your lips.

One blink was all it needed for the event to change, seeing a silhouette of a man who stood beside you which caught your attention as your vision scanned the man who hurriedly snatched your cup of ale on your hands.

It was Geralt of Rivia and he was surprisingly dressed in something flamboyant that could keep him camouflage amongst the circle of people; though he appeared to be maddened by something as his golden eyes were flaring in hostility.

But, there was an eerie, disturbed feeling deep inside of you as he was smiling back at someone who he was toasting for. You wanted nothing but for him not to drink the liquor on his hands with no particular reason. The next two cups full of ale sat in front of you on the wooden table.

"For your imperishable, spectacular prosperity that runs in the castle," the witcher took a swig until it was empty as he gently lowered the cup with a soft thud. You've noticed the hesitance he held when it appeared to be like he didn't want to grab onto the second one; yet he still did as he gave you a once over with a strange, tender gaze that you weren't accustomed with.

You couldn't move, nor could get your fingers twitching as your head was the only thing motile. That eerie feeling molding into something greater; fear for what was about to come. Geralt grabbed onto the second cup of ale without blinking an eye, his smile falling for one second; only for you to see as he deeply stared onto the cup on his hands, "May...you have strength and faith for your majesty. For the fraudulent happiness you've always envisaged,"

Everybody was staring at the witcher who was giving wishes and you couldn't look at anywhere but Geralt who'd scoffed before chugging down the second round of ale. He'd subtly shook his head from whatever he was thinking, a forced smile lifting his lips that seemed phony.

"Your highness," he lifted the last cup for everybody else to see, giving a toothy grin as his smile consists of mischief and dread that only you could muster, "---and this...is for your son's shitless death to the fore,"

FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! Y’ALL ARE PROBABLY HATING GERALT RIGHT NOW. AHONHONHON. PATIENCE, BB’S. PATIENCE.

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007

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gayregis · 3 years

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netflix witcher and netflix witcher fans really showcase the absolute Audacity of americans using foreign (in this case polish) words they don't understand and cannot pronounce right at all for absolutely no fucking reason like what was the point?? what was the point of butchering my language haven't yall had enough???

really agreed. sorry if this sounds like kind of off-topic or a tangent, but i swear i’ll loop it back around to your point eventually — i was discussing about jaskier’s name in the server earlier with @nightimefairy and the decision from lauren to keep it in polish in the [obv. american but important for content] netflix adaptation.

to an english-only speaker, the word “jaskier” doesn’t sound really different than any other name in the witcher, it does not translate the meaning that it’s the name of a flower.

jaskier/dandelion’s name being obvious to the audience as being the name of a flower is important, because it helps define his character if only by name. i remember when i first learned of the character, i really was like, that’s a strange name, no one is called dandelion from birth, and why would someone be called after a flower. of course months later when i read the tower of the swallow (or perhaps minutes later when i read the wiki, because i wanted spoilers ahaha) it was a mystery that was solved for me. but if he hadn’t been named his translated name — dandelion — i would have totally had missed this and not understood at all that his name is the name of a flower and not like, a “normal” name that one would totally give to the child they bore. but overall, this name of a flower suggests to the reader that buttercup/dandelion isn’t his real name, making them wonder what it, and thus his other identity, could possibly be. and we all know that artist-types tend to have a stage or a pen name under which they perform or publish, so dandelion having this name cements for the reader that he is such an artsy-type.

then of course, a buttercup or a dandelion being a small yellow flower makes it not an especially masculine name, and additionally these flowers are largely considered weeds... that’s two things we can tell about the character right off the bat. and since they are yellow flowers with golden petals, we can understand another thing about him — he’s blonde, it’s a fitting nickname due to his hair color. and of course, blondes carry with them many different literary and modern media tropes.

additionally, the name not being translated in english adaptations prevents it from carrying any other linguistic cleverness or connotations — for example a similar-sounding word for the original polish jaskier, “jaskrawy,” meaning vivid/vibrant/brilliant, or similar-sounding words for the english translation dandelion, “dandy,” a historical term for an effeminate or foppish man (think “yankee doodle dandy,” who ‘stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni’... i.e. basically ‘did something foolish and called it fashion’) and/or an colloquial expression to indicate pleasure or happiness (“oh well, that’s just fine and dandy!”, sort of like “swell!”)

although it’s not a perfect 1:1 translation, as a dandelion is not the same flower as a jaskier (buttercup), the name carries a very fitting connotation with it for the character, which can be used to understand him (and of course he is not the only one, for example, milva being named after a red kite, regis meaning king)

however, when you don’t translate “jaskier,” and leave his name as-is, this leaves the english-only speaking audience completely missing everything i just talked about. you won’t understand a thing about his character by knowing that his name is jaskier, because english-only speakers don’t know what a “jaskier” is, and they also don’t have the vocabulary in polish to understand the connotations in that language ...

and this is the entire point of translations. to translate meaning from one language to another — often imperfect, as is the nature of language, but necessary when trying to bridge gaps of understanding.

and when you deliberately don’t translate, you get english-only speakers thinking that they know how to pronounce words in polish because their favorite british boys on screen said a polish word aloud a few times. and you get anglicizations of words that don’t make any sense at all — for example... “jas” or “jask” as a nickname, when that’s not how polish language functions (to my knowledge) and there are specific conventions for making pet names or nicknames in the languages (with diminuatives?) (to my knowledge).

to me, it demonstrates, from both the american creators and the audience, the white american perspective that other cultures and languages are easy to understand and take from, as long as you think that you are being respectful (not that you ARE being respectful, only that you determine yourself to have good intentions). the approach lacks any actual respect, carefulness and preciseness, and most importantly actually talking or reaching out to people of that culture & language, so you are not just trying to do something yourself that you don’t know shit about, but that you can learn from others (and make friends along the way hopefully).

but as you said — what was the point?

in my opinion a lot of the point of including untranslated polish words in the netflix adaptation was part of the marketing towards the polish audience (and perhaps books audience?) that they attempted, with relatively little success. lauren proclaiming on twitter that she’s loved these books and read them dozens of times, the youtube videos with the actors reading scenes from the books with sound effects edited in (to me, reminiscent of the polish audiobooks, but the polish audiobooks have better quality), the games with the actors trying to guess what witcher-relevant polish words mean in english.

when in reality, it’s obvious they didn’t really care (or at least, the people making the top decisions) didn’t really care about making a books-faithful adaptation (this isn’t even attempting to touch the topic of making an adaptation that respects the origin culture of the witcher).

of course from the trailers (and casting... re: cavill and batey, who don’t look like their characters’ book equivalents) everyone could tell that this wasn’t an “adaptation of the books” like they sometimes advertised it. but if they were able to show, hey, we didn’t change this one name of this one character to english, hey, we have read the books, look, we are literally reading them on camera! ... then they might get some more polish books fans to give the series a watch, meaning more people to buy into a netflix trial which then all too easily leads into a subscription because people forgot to cancel or enjoyed the convinience of netflix and ‘hey what’s $10 anyways,’ which leads to money for them, which is how they gauge their success. they don’t give two shits about respecting anything, because that doesn’t give them any money.

i do find it amusing though, because they’re like “we have the amazing minds so much better than sapkowski to improve on the witcher and we’re truly just visionaries who are taking the books into an inspired direction and it’s not an adaptation, it’s so much more” while also being like “we respect the books so much and we worked with sapkowski and we really wanted to be faithful to the books and this is an adaptation where we really thought about the canon material” like just choose a marketing ploy and run with it, you’re going to tire yourself out running between both camps. though it does look to me like finally in season 2 the mask will be off because they’re adding so many new OCs and plotlines they really won’t be able to pretend they cared about the books at all (e.g. geralt throwing axes from trees)

#last comment is not intended to suggest i respect sapkowski im just saying this is what they say #ask #anon #the witcher netflix

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mikkeneko · 3 years

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Got tagged by @ushauz to do Ten Favorite Characters. This post will probably take me a couple sessions to put together, so expect lateness.

As always I am stuck on the scope of the question. Ten favorite! What does that even mean. Ten I thought were the most interesting? The most enjoyable? Characters from comfort series I read a lot, or only read once but really stuck with me? Through the years? Recently? I guess I can just pick the first ten who come to mind.

1. Ista dy Chalion from the Curse of Chalion/Paladin of Souls books. People like to talk a lot about how there should be more middle-aged matron action/adventure/fantasy heroes, well, here’s one. We meet her, at the start of the books, in a very bad place -- she had a stint as a Chosen One god-avatar in her teenage years which absolutely wrecked her life, and she never recovers from it. (Although even in the midst of her Noble Tragedy, she never loses sight of the fact that her nobility does afford her a certain amount of privilege that other women will never have.)

Over the course of the second book she is finally able to move on and recover from it. She starts the book as a crushingly depressed/nervous wreck of a powerless widow, and ends it as a demon-eating sorceress-paladin of a bastard god, with a sexy illegitimate trophy twink on her arm to boot. (I very much doubt that she and Illvin would ever be able to marry, all things considered, but one of the important things she learned -- as a woman whose entire social life had formerly revolved around chastity and propriety -- was to stop letting that bother her.) And she does it all without ever letting you forget that she is a highborn noble lady.

2. Wei Wuxian from The Untamed. Given how much of my mental real estate he’s taking up recently, I surrendered to the inevitable and gave him a spot on the list. I outlined a lot of the reasons I like him so much in this post, but aside from all of that there’s the fact that good (or at least good-hearted) characters who use ‘dark’ powers are magnetically appealing to me.

3, 4, 5. I almost feel like Fai Fluorite (from Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles) Anders (from Dragon Age) and Caleb Widogast (from Critical Role) should all have to share a spot on my list given that they all follow the basic formula of being the Traumatized Cat-Loving Magic Man. It’s not quite that simple -- they all have pretty distinct stories that go in different directions -- but I sort of feel like... I spent 369,149 words explaining why I love Anders, I don’t think I can do it again but tiny.

6. Homura Akemi from Puella Magi Madoka Magica gets a spot on this list, I think, and a spot in my heart. I don’t talk much about the series because I don’t have a lot of original things to say, but I was just reminded of this show recently and how good it was and how good she was -- my brilliant, brave, determinator of a girl with a love as vast as the ocean. And sure, maybe she was willing to burn down the world for the sake of that love, but I sort of feel like that puts her in good company on this list.

7. I’ll go ahead and put Geralt of Rivia (from The Witcher, games and Netflix) on here; I dunno if he’d still make the list 10 years down the line, but I’ve spent a lot of time in 2019-2020 mooning over how great he is, so might as well. He’s not as firmly dead center My Type as some of the others, but he certainly fits the criteria of Unfairly Attractive, Extremely Traumatized, Surprisingly Sassy, and Tragically Good-Hearted. The good-heartedness is key! He could be as pretty and traumatized and witty as he likes but if he were fundamentally an asshole, I would not care about him.

8. Ciaphas Cain (of Warhammer 40k.) In a landscape of published fiction where heroic action characters all tend to follow very similar beats, the debonair, devious and cowardly Ciaphas Cain stands out in a way that really wormed its way into my heart. His books do tend to be a little formulaic, but sometimes that’s just what you need. And the best part about reading the entire series in one go is getting a sense of the shape of the man behind his constant façade of self-deprecation and realizing that as much as he demurs being the brave and kind hero that his misleading reputation paints him as, he is actually pretty damn heroic on his own measures -- he cares about people, even the people under his command who he properly should be thinking of as disposable pawns, he’s way more tolerant of (non-hostile) xenos than 99% of his countrymen, he moves time and time again to block harm and do good in a way that goes beyond his pretty flimsy excuses of ‘well I had to do it to maintain my reputation.’

The main reason he’s so convinced that he’s not a real hero is that he’s been raised in a (lbr, openly fascist) empire so steeped in propaganda of glory and sacrifice that is literally impossible to live up to (since the number one tenet is dying gloriously for the Emperor.) He led an entire caravan of people from the heart of bombed-out, occupied territory in a refugee march that ended up liberating the entire damn planet, he did that, and while he would never have survived without a healthy dose of luck it was still his leadership and skill that took full advantage of that luck. The Imperium of Man, frankly, doesn’t deserve Ciaphas Cain.

9. Raoden and Kaladin (of Elantris and The Stormlight Archives) both share a slot as Brandon Sanderson protagonists who occupy pretty much the same narrative role: they have lost everything, been socially and physically rejected pretty much down to the dust, tossed into a role of waiting for death to come for them in a variety of cruel forms; and instead of giving in to despair they both say no. they both say, I do not accept this for me, and I will not accept this for them either, and they both gather fellow outcasts around them and build themselves a kingdom out of mud and scraps. Yeah, it’s a trope he uses a lot, but it’s a trope I like. (And, come to think of it, a category that Wei Wuxian and Ciaphas Cain both fall under as well. Hm.)

10. Skywise (of Elfquest.) Honestly, at this late date I doubt I could muster an essay explaining why he is the Best Elf. All I can tell you was that this series was super duper important to me when I was a teen, and he was my favorite character from that series. He loved to explore, he loved new knowledge and the sky and the stars, and he loved his friends and family a whole lot.

That’s that! Hmm, who to tag? @cygnahime, @cerusee, @araglas1989, @drowningbydegrees , @jaggedcliffs, @fairandfatalasfair, @fledgling-witch, @overthinkingfeathers, if you have not already done it and are interested!

#kaladin stormblessed #ista dy chalion #long post #wei wuxian #homura akemi #caleb widogast #geralt of rivia #skywise #raoden #ciaphas cain #fai fluorite #hi yeah I still love anders #mikke meta

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