#godling!jaskier

[dandelion-and-the-wolf]

“You’re no more a monster than I am, though we would both be debatable in the eyes of humans. What are you, a Godling?” Geralt surveyed the small being in front of him with a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

Godlings were harmless. Mischievous? Certainly. But they would hurt a man no more than a child would. He couldn’t kill an innocent creature for pulling a few pranks and being different. Which means that this little excursion was a complete waste of time, energy and food, and he would see not a single coin for his trouble.

The Godling blinked up at him with, hm, what was that? Fear? Wonder? Guilt..?

“Yes mister, a Godling is what I am. Please don’t be angry with me!”

The Godling shuffled its tiny feet in the dirt, looking down at them as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing in all of the lands.

Geralt’s eyes fell closed, an exasperated “hm” vibrating deep in his chest. 

“What did you do?”

“I took them chickens, I did, but I didn’t mean no harm by it, mister, I promise!” The Godling looked up at Geralt with its unnervingly big eyes, it’s bottom lip beginning to tremble slightly.

“It’s just, I needed the people to put up a notice! Needed the ‘elp of someone such as yerself!”

Geralt dropped his pack to the floor, rubbing his temples.

“Go on.”

“Well, see, I got lost out here all on me own,”

“And you’re how many years old? 500?”

“563, actually! But that don’t make no difference. Still lost, still alone.”

“This won’t take long, will it? I’m on my way to meet someone.”

“Oh! Who is it?!”

“He’s a... hm.” Geralt shifted his weight slightly, taking his turn now to find a sudden great interest in his boots. He scuffed at the dirt with a toe.

“A friend?” the Godling gave Geralt a mischievous look, “Witcher’s don’t ‘ave friends!”

“Yes, that’s what I keep telling him.”

“He sounds very persistent! I think we would get along swimmingly!” The Godling began skipping off in front of Roach, singing an ancient tune to itself without a single care in the world.

To no one at all, Geralt said, “You know, I think you’re right.”

#dandelion writes #a tiny offering #just to prove i'm still alive #i tried to make it longer but it felt complete #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #gerlion #pick your poison #the witcher netflix #the witcher books #the witcher games #the continent is your oyster #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #my writing #mine #godling #do i tag godling?? #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion

[katwriteswitcherthings]

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Two - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv: giving gifts

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Two

Jaskier had never felt like this before. Following after a Witcher had been the best decision of his life. It had been five years and every day he felt he learned something new about Geralt. The compassion he showed to Filavandrel's elves was only the beginning. Since then, Jaskier had witnessed Geralt taking 'contracts' on a pair of godlings, a succubus, and a handful of trolls. Every time, without fail, he convinced the 'monster' to leave the area without harming them. The godlings had just been causing mischief, the succubus was very careful with her meals, and the trolls just needed to move further into the mountains away from people. Geralt had even helped them find a suitable cave to move into.

He was, without a doubt, the most compassionate person Jaskier had ever met.

Which is why Jaskier was here, agonizing over the small bracelet in his hands. A small silver scale sat in the middle, a little smaller than the size of his palm, with thin silver wire holding it in place in an elaborate design. It was open on the back, to be able to be cuff onto Geralt's wrist, and a small bright blue gem set directly in the middle of the scale.

It was beautiful. It was powerful; Jaskier could feel it even now, a small spot of his attention drawn directly onto the bracelet. And his Mother will absolutely murder him when she finds out he's done this. Doubly so when she finds out he's given this to a Witcher, of all creatures. But he couldn't help it, honestly, and she should know better by now how impulsive he is. For once, he's actually taking things slow!!! She should be proud of him!

...He might not even give it to Geralt. Not yet, at least. Maybe he should wait another year or two...

Maybe he could stand the uncertainty of not knowing if Geralt was okay for another year... Of having to hunt him down over the vastness that is the Continent. Yeah. Of course.

Which is why, the moment Jaskier spotted Geralt walking up the road into Ard Carraigh, he knew that it could not wait. He was in the middle of a set with a decent enough crowd that meant he could not stop playing and fling himself into his Witcher's arms. More's the shame because he actually looked clean at this moment. Finally, about half an hour later, he finished his set.

"I'll be at the Hen Evall tonight and tomorrow, if you wish to hear more of my amazing tales!" He called out to the crowd, getting a hearty cheer back from the small crowd. 

With a smile and a flourishing bow, he picked up his hat and lute case from the ground and approached the Witcher, who was hiding off to the side of a building, petting Roach gently as he kept his sharp golden gaze roaming on alert. 

"I do hope you haven't gotten a room yet." Jaskier said as he fell into step beside Geralt, leading him deeper into the city towards the inn.

"Hm..." Geralt just hummed and let Jaskier lead them to the inn. Jaskier, of course, nervous beyond measure, chattered away the entire time about nothing and everything that came to his mind.

Jaskier escorted his Witcher up to his rented room after he settled Roachie in at the stables, and immediately set about straightening up his belongings. It was his worst habit, tossing clothing anywhere and everywhere when he settled into a place for more than a day or two.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Jaskier exclaimed, schooling his voice into something casual instead of nervous. He dug into his satchel and pulled out the bracelet, sending a small prayer up to whatever goddesses that look out for bards and Witchers, turning around with a charming smile fixed into place as Geralt gave him a questioning look. "I found this at Oxenfurt for you."

"What is it?" Geralt asked, taking the cuff from him with no hesitation. A chill went up his spine as Geralt gently examined it. It looked delicate in his hands, even more so than it did in Jaskier's, and he suddenly worried that Geralt wouldn't like it.

"The woman who sold it to me said it was a good luck charm, to keep people from stealing from you." Jaskier explained with a wave, downplaying it. If there was anything Jaskier was great at, it was redirecting. "After that mess with the bandits last year, I thought you needed some better luck."

"It reeks of magic." He just grunted back. Jaskier raised his eyebrows in feigned shock. Of course it smelled like magic, he did not say; it smelled like Jaskier's magic. It had taken a lot of effort to imbue it with all the necessary properties.

"Really?" Jaskier asked instead, playing along.

"Probably a scale from a wyvern or a slyzard. Nothing worth claiming it would be good luck." Geralt grumbled out, his inspection of the cuff apparently complete. Jaskier bit his lip, hard, to keep from screeching at the man. How dare he compare that scale to something so commonplace as a wyvern? His eyes darted to the cuff where Geralt was now trying to hand it back, and that... hurt. He blinked a few times, trying to blink back the tears that were now threatening to fall. 

Of course Geralt couldn't be blamed for not wanting it. He didn't even understand what he was rejecting, which was solely Jaskier's fault, he fully realized. But it still hurt.

He heard Geralt sigh loudly before a bare wrist was shoved forward, breaking his staring contest with the floor. Jaskier glanced up hopefully, and saw a small smile tugging at the edges of Geralt's lip.

"Really?" He asked, just to be sure. Geralt nodded and Jaskier smiled, his genuine one, not the performative one. He stepped a little closer to Geralt, and with a smooth motion he slipped the cuff onto Geralt's left wrist.

He felt the magic take hold, wrapping itself around Geralt's being, tying him to Jaskier. It was warm and comforting, and Jaskier felt relief at last. He would always be able to find Geralt, now, and know with certainty that he was okay. The cuff transformed as the magic settled, and Geralt just inspected it again, eyes a little wide but no signs yet of rejecting it. The cuff was now a simple silver band, resting completely comfortably against his wrist.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Jaskier asked, curious if Geralt now recognized what it was.

"Hm..." Geralt just hummed, and played with the band a little before letting it settle. As long as the stubborn man kept it on, Jaskier would always be able to find him, eventually. It would lead him, like a homing beacon. It would also give him some protection against magic, boosting his already high resistance to mind control and the like, and ward against theft. It really was because they had nearly been robbed blind by bandits the year before, or at least that's what inspired Jaskier to create this unique gift.

"I guess it was worth the coin you spent on it, at least." Jaskier couldn't help but beam at his ridiculous Witcher.

#what about the bard #wuv the bard #jaskier #geralt of rivia #non-human!Jaskier #geraskier #pining #the witcher fanfic #my fanfic

[lynn-reads-and-writes]

Fics in the works right now:

Eddie in a coma for 8mos after the shooting fic (outlining stage)

Future Buddie fic where Eddie's been no-contact with his family for 5 years and Ramon is sick

Carlos dating again and TK not handling it well (drafting)

The chaos god!Jaskier fic (drafting stage)

The 2nd chapter of safety net and the next installment of the bio!au (outlining and drafting)

Finishing The Path of Least Resistance

#lynn writes #tarlos #buddie #kontim #geraskier #the witcher #911 lone star #911 #batfam #bio! au #godling!jaskier #godling!au #messy tarlos #letting y'all know whats going on

[ja0netholmes]

Chaos God Jaskier strikes again.

#the witcher netflix #the Witcher #Jaskier #dandelion #chaos god Jaskier #godling!jaskier #godling Jaskier #geraskier #wip #gerlion #dandelion x geralt #jaskier x geralt #jaskalt #my art #lynn draws

[nocturnalknowitall]

Can’t be easy meditating when there are children about.

#Geralt #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #Dandelion #Johnny #Godling #Graskier #The Witcher #The Witcher 3 #The Witcher Netflix #Fanart The Witcher #Fanart #Flower Crown

[elliestormfound]

I think Jaskier would love godlings, just imagine him with Johnny singing silly songs and playing pranks!

#the witcher #jaskier #godlings #witcher #the witcher 3

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

The One Where Jaskier's the Hero (Final Part)

Unlike all the other animals the bard had seen in the manor, these ones were very much alive. Jaskier stared at the creatures in shock as he approached one of the larger cages. It almost looked like a deer, giant and mutated....a fiend if he recalled right. The creature didn't roar or even acknowledge his presence. It only hugged, shifting in it's chains and leaning against the bars. The fiend was covered in scars and bruises.

"What the hell...?" Jaskier's eyes turned towards the another cage where a succubus was leaning against the bars. She looked tired and far too thin to be healthy. He reached out to her but she flinched away, curling up in the corner. Hands covering her face like she expected to be hit. "Hey, hey, it's okay I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier kneeled down. She hissed at him.

"That's what they always say." The succubus bared her teeth. "Right...right before..."

"I'm not-I'd never do that." Jaskier stood up to open the cage but the lock didn't budge. "Shit, it's locked."

"The guards, they have a key." Jaskier looked over for the new voice. "Down here!" Jaskier's eyes fell to a smaller cage where a child was sitting. Well it sounded like a child. It's face was distorted with larger, sunken in black eyes and bluish skin.

"Well hello there little guy-"

"I'm not little!" The child like creature protested. "I'm pretty big for my age you know. Probably be bigger if I actually got food around here."

"What exactly are you?" Jaskier asked as the creatures huffed.

"I thought you lot were supposed to know."

"Lot?"

"You know, witchers. That's why you're here right? To save your witcher friend? I heard the men outside talking about it earlier." The boy said and Jaskier shook his head.

"I'm not-I mean, my friend Geralt is. I'm here to save him." Jaskier said with a smile but the impish child rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, you think you're the first to try?" The boy asked when there succubus spoke up.

"It's no use. Anyone who gets in the way of Dziedzic's collection doesn't last long. Especially witchers." Any hope she might've once had was now gone from her voice.

"Well I'm not a witcher. I know how to think outside of the box." Jaskier grinned when the doors opened and he hid behind the cage of the small boy. Peering out as the two guards he saw earlier came in, one of them laughing as they talked.

"-'m telling you, this bitch just can't fucking stop. Gave me scratches that lasted months."

"You sure Dziedzic is okay with us playing with his pets?"

"He's already distracted. Probably balls deep in that white haired freak about now. Doubt he'll notice if we have a little fun with the furry bitch." Jaskier bristled at the man's comments. He didn't even deserve to talk about Geralt like that. Watching as they put a key in the succubus' cage and dragging the woman out. She screeched in protest but couldn't fight back, the weird collar around her neck glowing a bright yellow when she moved.

"Don't be like that sweetheart!" One of the men jeered as he held began to take his pants off. The two now distracted allowed the bard to snatch the key from the locked cage. Looking back at the fiend Jaskier hesitated for a moment before using it to unlock the creature. It stared for a moment before letting out a shriek as it crawled out.

"-the fuck?" The man undoing his pants barely got out before the fiend's claw buried itself in his chest. Lifting the man up and taking a large bite. The thing must've been starving as it quickly swallowed the other man in one gulp. It sniffed the succubus who flinched away but quickly turned away. Instead storming out the door where screams of terror could be heard as it attacked everyone in it's path.

"Whooo!" Jaskier turned to the boy who was on the edge of his cage. "Me next! Me next!" The bard complied, unlocking the door. Jaskier was surprised by the child hugging him. "Thanks Mr. Bard! If I ever see you again you're always welcome in my cave!"

"It's fine," Jaskier turned to the succubus. "Are you alright?"

"As alright as I can be." She brushed herself off. "But...thank you." She turned to the rest of the Baron's collection and took the keys from Jaskier. "I'll release the rest. You go find your friend."

~~

"They say the actual hunt is the best part of the process." Geralt was half listening to Dziedzic, only focusing on his attempts to get his wrists free. They were slick with blood now but the baron hadn't noticed. Instead he was sat on top Geralt. Pawing at the Witcher's shirt. "But me? I like to break everything I own in."

"Fuck off." Geralt spat at the man but he didn't seem to care. It was only now Geralt noticed his medallion laying on a nearby desk.

"Don't be like that." He began to lean in further when the door to the room they were in opened. The baron stopped to look up at whoever interrupted them. Geralt's eyes lighting up when he saw his bard. Given, Jaskier was covered in blood but upon a closer inspection, it clearly wasn't his.

"How the fuck did you get in here." The man shoved himself off the witcher. "Guards! Guards!" The man called out but wasn't met with any response.

"They're a little busy." Jaskier's eyes stared at Geralt before turning to glare at the baron. A loud, piercing howl could be heard from down the hall. "Not wise to keep wild animals in your home." Jaskier wasn't a fighter but the adrenaline rush from seeing his injured witcher was more than enough to make him dart forward. Burying his dagger in the baron's gut. The man's cry was like that of a squealing pig.

"Fuck!" The man's voice gurgled as the bard took the knife out and buried it the man's chest. Jaskier doing it over and over again until the baron's body was nothing but a bloody, twitching mess. Jaskier was panting as he held the bloody dagger. Only snapping back to reality when he heard his witcher's pained grunts.

Forgetting about the man, Jaskier quickly used the blade to saw at the ropes on Geralt's wrists and legs. The blade was now significantly more dull. It took a few moments before Geralt was free. He coughed as he went to stand up, Jaskier assisting him.

"Ho...how the fuck did you get in here?" Geralt asked as they moved.

"It wasn't easy I can tell you that much." Jaskier stopped as Geralt started to sway. "What's wr-" The witcher immediately threw up on the bard. Gagging and coughing before Geralt loudly moaned.

"Sorry..."

"Oh don't worry, it's your shirt."

"Mmm?" Geralt hummed curiously.

"I'll explain later. Let's get you somewhere safe first." Geralt only nodded as Jaskier escorted him out of the estate past the carnage the fiend was exacting.

"Thanks..." Geralt managed to get out as the bard helped him out the door. Jaskier smiled as they mounted Roache, anything for his best friend.

#the witcher au #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #geralt whump #fanfic #the one where jaskier's the hero #if you're wondering #the kid is a godling

[trekkiepirate]

made up fic title meme (and now I'm going to stop I swear): a playground or a parable

Children tend to dislike Witchers, their parents passing their prejudices down. But Jaskier sees how Geralt is around Godlings, so much like children and yet so ancient and powerful, and he just... dreams. Of a world where Geralt gets to be a father. So when The Child Surprise happens, Jaskier is overjoyed that Geralt will finally get to be a father. Except Geralt’s breaking landspeed records with how fast he is running from this Child of Destiny.

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

#the witcher #geralt #jaskier #I HAVE STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT GODLINGS #AND ABOUT GERALT INTERACTING WITH GODLINGS #SO I'D GIVE MY FEELINGS TO JASKIER AND BOOM FIC

[spielzeugkaiser]

What would Yen and Jask’s baby look like you think?

It's about THIS? That's an interesting ask, because I didn't go into that direction (as far as I thought of this story), but if I did...

... They're not sure who's kid it is? This was surely a threesome, and; neither Yen nor Geralt can, but Jaskier isn't supposed to be able to get kids either. (because if he did, there would be a lot of little godlings jumping around, and that just wouldn't do.) She has curly hair like Geralt remembers he had once, and a shade of brown that looks just like Jaskier, and they really, really don't care.

#geraskier #geraskefer #yennskier #ciri #the witcher #fertility cw #infertility cw #Jaskier: do you need a hand *wiggles eyebrows*

[asweetprologue]

my burden to bear

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Piggyback Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets hurt during a hunt and Geralt has to carry him back to town. Jaskier has mixed feelings about this. ao3

“You’re hurt,” Geralt said. Jaskier groaned from his position on the ground, more at Geralt’s tone than any amount of pain.

“I think I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. When they’d come to the woods, they’d been working under the assumption that the creature plaguing the nearby village was nothing more than an overactive godling or maybe a hag. Neither of them had been expecting a leshen, and no amount of staying back from the fight did any good when your opponent could sense your location through the ground. While Geralt was valiantly slaying the beast, Jaskier had been darting away from roots shooting up from the ground and attempting to impale him. They’d not succeeded, but they had managed to send him sprawling as he tripped over an exposed root. He’d feared he was done for when suddenly the writhing plant life had collapsed. Though he was pleased to be still in one piece, his ankle throbbed traitorously where the root had tugged his feet out from under him. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes suspiciously and offered him a hand up. 

Jaskier took it and allowed himself to be pulled to standing, only to stumble as soon as he put weight on his left leg. Geralt caught him as his knees buckled, one hand snapping out to grab him by the elbow. Jaskier’s face lit up, heat spilling over his cheeks in an embarrassed flush. “Ah, shit,” he cursed. 

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, looking down at the offending appendage with a stormy expression. “No Roach.” 

“So true,” Jaskier said morosely. They’d left Geralt’s trusty steed behind for this venture, as the brush was generally too thick for her to navigate. The village was a good mile or two away. Jaskier’s ankle seemed to throb even more intensely at the thought of the walk. “Well, nothing for it I suppose. I’ll manage.” He tried to pull out of Geralt’s grasp, gingerly testing the weight on his ankle. It felt like being stabbed in the tendon with a razor, but he would be alright. He had plenty of experience limping along beside Geralt on the Path. This time it would just be a bit more literal. 

Geralt did not release him, much to Jaskier’s surprise. “You’ll make it worse,” he said, mouth tightening. Jaskier’s pulse, only just having begun to settle down now that the leshen was dead, began to rise again. Angry Geralt he was plenty used to, but angry-at-him Geralt was not something he enjoyed. They both knew that Jaskier was a liability at best on hunts, and he was well aware that he was only ever one misstep from being left behind, at least for the truly adventurous moments. He hadn’t realized it would be an actual misstep that did him in. 

“I can manage, Geralt, I swear,” he protested. “What else am I meant to do? Stay here forever? I’m sure I could make a nice home out of the leshen’s abandoned burrow. House. Whatever.”

“They don’t have those,” Geralt said dismissively. “I could get Roach.”

“Sure. So I can be eaten by the wolves that ran off when you killed the beastie. I’m sure they’ll be eager to finish the fight once the huge man with the swords fucks off. I’ll walk, it’ll be fine, I’ll -”

“I’ll carry you.”

Jaskier blinked, and then blinked again. He must have heard wrong. “Come again?”

Geralt glared at him, as if daring him to offer up a different solution. “I’ll carry you. It’s not that far of a walk, and I still have Thunderbolt in my system. It wouldn’t be hard.”

If Jaskier had thought he was flushed before, it was nothing compared to now. “Ah, well. Um. Are you certain? I suppose - I really can walk, truly -” He took a step backwards, away from the warm hand that still cupped his elbow, only to nearly drop to the ground when a bolt of pain shot up his ankle. Even his knee ached with it. Geralt caught him around the waist, hauling him upright again and, unfortunately, directly into the witcher’s space. Jaskier gasped at the contact more than the near tumble, though he hoped Geralt thought it was just the surprise. 

“I can see that,” Geralt said dryly, their nose barley inches apart. Jaskier swallowed. 

“I take your point. How, uh, how do you want to do this?”

Geralt released him, allowing Jaskier to take a deep, fortifying breath. Leaning all his weight on his good leg, he waited while Geralt turned around and knelt down on the mossy forest floor. Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Put your arms around my shoulders,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier ran a hand along his face, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “This is so infantilizing,” he grumbled, but he leaned over and pressed his chest to Geralt’s back, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders. He was extraordinarily grateful for Geralt’s armor, separating him from the heat of his body. As it was, he still felt like he might spontaneously combust when Geralt’s large hands came up to grip under his thighs and raised him effortlessly into the air. 

Holy fuck. “Melitele,” he said, “do I weigh anything to you?”

“No,” Geralt said with an amused huff. He began to take sure steps through the clearing and back the way they’d come. Jaskier shifted to find a more comfortable position for his arms, and found that he could lift them away entirely without Geralt dropping him an inch. 

“I feel like a toddler,” he groused. 

“Next time watch your step,” Geralt grunted. 

They made their way through the forest slowly, Geralt carefully navigating the underbrush. Jaskier was aware that he was being more delicate with his footwork than he typically was, avoiding any areas that might throw him off balance or land Jaskier with a face full of branches. He was being nice, Jaskier realized, not even getting back at him for the fact that he had to carry Jaskier’s sorry ass through the woods. Always so chivalrous. 

That was Geralt though. Even when he was grumpy and upset and probably worn out from a fight, he was always going out of his way to be kind. He wasn’t always nice, Geralt, but he was almost always kind. It was a miracle, honestly, that he didn’t lose hold of his temper more often than he did. They would bicker, often, and fight, sometimes. But even when he was mad, Geralt was often still considerate, still worried about Jaskier’s safety and comfort. He was always taking absurdly underpaid jobs, even taking payment in a simple meal or a roof over his head sometimes, just because there were people in danger. This village, for example, had scraped together a tiny purse to offer a passing witcher, desperation writ on their faces. Seven people, including two children, had disappeared in the last season. It was a small village, only a little cluster of houses, and such a loss must have been felt deeply. Geralt had looked at the purse, a frown maring his features, and pushed it back into the alderman’s dirty hands. The job had ended up being even more dangerous than he’d assumed, but Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t take payment beyond maybe a warm loaf of bread and some hearty stew from the alderman’s wife. 

It was wildly unfair that the reputation of witchers remained so heavily tarnished. That Geralt’s reputation still suffered so. It was starting to mend - in the decade since Jaskier had begun traveling with him, the White Wolf ballads had become popular, enough so that many towns they passed through were already ready to throw their crowns and orens at his feet. But the further north they went, the closer to Blaviken, the less people were swayed by his songs. People didn’t always see what Jaskier saw. Not everyone felt the depth of affection swell in their breast at the sight of his silver hair and golden eyes, regardless of how many times Jaskier tried to put it to words. Maybe it wasn’t something he would ever be able to capture. This haunting, aching thing inside him that just loved and loved and loved Geralt of Rivia. 

He wished he could do more, more to alleviate Geralt’s pain and stress. And instead here he was, only putting more weight on his shoulders. Literally. Jaskier rested his forehead against the leather of Geralt’s armor with a sigh. That was the story of his life, though. Try to help, get in the way, get pushed aside. An infallible cycle. 

“Alright?” Geralt asked suddenly. Jaskier blinked back to himself, attempting to shake off the shroud of self pity that had settled over him. 

“Hmm?” he responded, lifting his head from Geralt’s shoulder. “Alright what?”

“I’m asking,” Geralt said. “You’re quiet. That only ever happens if you’re writing a song or you’re dying.” He paused. “It’s only your ankle?”

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, stirring the hairs at the base of Geralt’s neck. The silver strands were pulled back into a short pony, leaving the pale expanse of skin beneath exposed. Jaskier had to tamp down the swift and overpowering urge to tuck his nose into the spot just behind Geralt’s ear, to press his lips to the scar just above the line of his armor, where some monster must have gotten in a lucky hit. Forcing himself to focus, he said, “Just the ankle, I swear. I’m only thinking.”

“So it is a song,” Geralt said darkly. 

“A great ballad about how the White Wolf of Rivia once again saved a humble bard,” he agreed, eagerly latching onto the half lie. “You’ve made a bit of a habit of it.”

Geralt grunted, sounding unamused. Suddenly there was a burst of sunlight across Jaskier’s vision, warm on his face. They stepped out of the forest and onto the small dirt track that led to the village, which Jaskier could just barely see peeking out over the rise of the next hill over. The sky was a sprawling blue tapestry above them, not a cloud in sight. “I don’t like it,” Geralt said, stopping to scan the road briefly. 

Jaskier’s throat felt tight. “Saving me?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative and began walking again, towards the village. 

Jaskier let out a long breath, equal parts annoyed and hurt. “Well no one’s asking you to,” he snapped. “I know it’s, I don’t know, part of your job, but you don’t need to go out of your way.”

Geralt shook his head, nearly hitting Jaskier in the face with his short ponytail. “It’s not a fucking chore, Jaskier. I just don’t - I wish you didn’t need saving.”

“Well, you and me both,” Jaskier said. “I know you think I do it on purpose, but I don’t actually want to get in the way.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gritted out. Truly annoyed now. “Nothing you do could keep me from doing my job.”

“Well obviously you always finish the fight, I wouldn’t imagine you’d just quit on my behalf -”

“I don’t like it,” Geralt interrupted, “because I don’t like this.” He moved one hand to Jaskier’s injured ankle, the touch feather light. Jaskier’s knees tightened automatically to hold himself in place, but it was barely necessary. Geralt was strong enough to hold him in one hand. It made Jaskier feel deeply fragile, but not necessarily in a bad way. More like something precious and delicate. Worthy of being preserved. It made his fingers tingle where they were latched together between Geralt’s collarbones, just at the base of his throat. 

“Oh,” he said, at a loss for words. “I didn’t know that it, um. Well - I’m really fine.”

“I know,” Geralt said, sounding tired and a little amused. “You always are, mostly. I still don’t like it.” He tapped a finger against the heel of Jaskier’s boot, still light, and then put his hand back to support Jaskier’s thigh. “Sometimes I forget that you’re not like witchers.”

Jaskier laughed outright at that. “I can’t imagine how you could lose track of that piece of information. I complain about my bad eyesight and sore feet daily, as you are certainly aware. I’m the same as any other human.”

“You’re really not,” Geralt said, so quiet that it almost seemed to be said to himself. Jaskier stilled at that, startled and somehow warmed by the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” he finally said. They were nearly to the outskirts of the village, where hopefully they would find a warm welcome with the alderman or another grateful peasant. They might be given a place to rest for the night, maybe a few, while Jaskier’s ankle healed. Maybe they would be asked to move along, and Geralt would let him ride on Roach for a few days, and in the evening he would give Jaskier the salve he used for bruises and pulled muscles. Maybe even rub it into his swollen foot himself.  “I’m sorry to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden, Jask,” Geralt said. Then he laughed, a dry rasp that Jaskier never tired of hearing. “Well, alright. Technically you are at the moment. But I don’t mind.” As they reached the first house, he gently set Jaskier on his feet, turning to offer support. Jaskier let him slip a broad arm around his back, Jaskier’s own stretched out across Geralt’s shoulder to grip at the rough leather there. After having Geralt’s face hidden from him on the walk back, the sudden confrontation with golden eyes and square jaw was enough to make Jaskier flustered. Their faces were close now, and it felt almost too intimate, too raw after being unable to see Geralt’s expression during the rest of their conversation. Geralt quirked a small smile at him, a fondness there that Jaskier felt echoed in his own chest. “I don’t like it when you get hurt, but I don’t mind saving you.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile back, even though his heart was racing and he knew his face was flushed from their proximity. “I suppose I’ll have to let you keep doing it then,” he said, only the tiniest bit breathless. 

“Good,” Geralt said, and together they took their first steps into the village. “But for the love of the gods, at least try not to get yourself into trouble.”

Jaskier laughed even as his ankle flared with renewed pain and he spotted a few villagers stepping out of their homes, concern plastered across their faces for the injured bard. So it would be hot stew, he thought giddily, and a warm place by the fire, and Geralt would still probably rub that salve into his ankle. He could be satisfied with that. “Geralt, my dearest, just try and stop me.”

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geraltxjaskier #witcher #the witcher #fic #fan fiction #writing #witcher fic #>5k #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #s&s #my work #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fluff

[anarchycox]

This isn't much of a prompt so much as a random idea that just popped into my head but vampire jaskier would be adorable and make everyone confused because the vampire hangs out with the white wolf? And doesn't fear for his life? And gerlat just looks at them and says "why would I harm my boyfriend? I love him."

Okay, but look, all the other witches and sorceress on the whole damn continent know that Geralt is an amazing witcher, but not the sharpest knife in the armory when it comes to those close to him. And they all clearly see that Jaskier is a vampire - probably because you know he has written a really popular and clearly about himself song about how wonderful vampires are if you give them a chance.

“Bit weird how Jaskier doesn’t age,” Eskel says to Geralt.

“He says joy for life keeps him young, and like five creams from Toussaint,” Geralt replies.

“He really has an aversion to holy symbols, doesn’t he?” Vesemir points out.

“Well really, what have the gods ever done for people?” Geralt returns.

“He’s really fucking strong, Geralt, in case you haven’t noticed!” Lambert gestures to where Jaskier is carrying rubble like it is a feather.

“Knows how to lift and all that walking he does with me,” Geralt just shrugs and picks up so keep rubble himself.

“Geralt?” Ciri smells scared, “He’s eating a person?”

“No no, we are very clear on this, people who try to kill you are no longer classified as people, and just prey,” Geralt explains and turns her back just like his had been. “See this way, when people ask, we can say honestly, we’ve never seen it.”

“Geralt, he’s a vampire, I’ve seen you kill vampires,” Ciri whispers and is clutching his hand. “Jaskier, is eating people.”

“Jaskier, are you eating people?”

“No, they tried to hurt Ciri, not people, prey, and remember you can honestly say I don’t eat people - drinking is not eating.”

“See, sparrow, all good,” Geralt says cheerfully. “Remember to check their pockets for anything we can sell.”

“Of course my love!” Jaskier calls back. 

“Geralt, I don’t understand, witchers kill monsters.”

“A witcher makes a choice every day about what sort of hunter they are,” Geralt goes and sits on a rock so they can be eye to eye while Jaskier finishes his dinner. “Do I kill godlings?” Ciri shakes her head. “Trolls who have caused no harm?” She shakes her head again. “Do we kill a vampire, who just wants to sing songs and wander by our side, and has agreed to follow very strict rules about whom and whom not he can drink from?” Ciri pauses and shakes her head. “There are a lot of monsters out there Ciri, and my job is to teach you to recognize the difference between monstrous and a monster.” He smooths her hair down. “He loves us, sparrow, we’re safe.” 

“Of course you are, besides I’ve eaten a witcher, you lot just taste awful,” Jaskier says as he comes over, wiping his mouth on a hankerchief. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

Geralt hangs his head a bit. “I almost had her fine with you.”

Ciri thinks about the man who makes her flower crowns, and is teaching her music, and physically jumps in front of her to protect her from anything and everything in the world. She hugs Jaskier and he hugs her back, and Geralt sweeps them both up in an embrace.

A few months later Yen pulls Ciri to the side, “Bit odd, how Jaskier can seem to be in one place and then another isn’t it?”

Ciri just shrugs, “Has had to climb out of a lot of women’s windows, makes you fast and sneaky.”

Geralt grins at her, his arm around Jaskier who is eating a very very rare piece of vension, and wipes the blood off Jaskier’s lips.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ciri

[abeautifulblog]

fic snippet

...from THE VERY DUBCON ONE, despite nothing dubcon going on here, the only thing I’ve written so far that doesn’t require context:

They don't have a plan, per se, beyond “try to talk to it.” Geralt doesn't seem to think that Jaskier is going to be in danger from the godling, but he has his swords and is sticking close to his side anyway as they approach the springs. The witcher is, Jaskier is glad to see, in considerably less distress than he was earlier.

“So what, do we just sit around and wait for it to show up?” Jaskier muses aloud. “Do I strip down and go for a swim? The man did say it had startled him in the middle of his bath.”

Geralt doesn't answer, settling himself as if for meditation on the ledge beside the pool, but his expression has returned to the softer cast it takes on when Jaskier's done something to amuse him.

“Yeah, you're right, probably best not to have my bits dangling out while we're confronting a spirit of mischief, that seems like a good way to get them jinxed off,” Jaskier concedes.

#THE VERY DUBCON ONE #Fic snippet

[mysoulspiralbound]

so, hear me out, (or i guess don't i can't stop you) minor god! jaskier. god of dandelions, buttercups, and songs about monsters.

Part One: God of Buttercups

Often he is simply refered to as child of the golden flowers because his mother is the goddess of flowers. When he's born, she passes on the domain of buttercups to him. It's his most used title and his oldest domain. He grows like a buttercup should. Pretty, soft, delicate and with a heart of gold, yet deadly, wild, and stubborn. Jaskier, he's called, named for the flowers that are his.

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

Part Two: God of Songs of Monsters

He gains his second domain the same way he's lived the rest of his life. With charm and a little too much daring. Music, Jaskier decided, was the mortals' greatest achievement. He loved it to the very core of his existence. He needed it to be a part of the core of his existence. And so he visits the god of music himself and begs for a part of his domain. He'd come looking for whatever sliver of song he could hope to call his own and left with far more than he bargained for. Most genres were spoken for long ago, and some simply remained undistributed because the god of music himself had chosen to keep them. But Jaskier's request had surprised him. It was not what the old god had expected, when the child of flowers asked him for a song of his own. It was an odd request, for sure, for the flower godling had asked for songs of monsters. Not of heroes, no those ballads were long taken, and they seldom spoke the truth. Not, at least, without buried ugliness. But a godling willing to take up a musical mantle, to take it seriously, had charmed him. He allowed Jaskier to take the songs of monsters and spread their honesty. Beautiful, deadly, poisonous. Yes it seemed odd at first to mix flowers and monsters, but he could see it now. It fit.

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

Part Three: God of Dandelions

Jaskier acquired his last domain at the age of 18 years. Gods, of course, slowed in aging the longer they were around, but 18 marked him no longer a child. It was a coming of age for him, and he celebrated happily, with buttercups in his hair and songs on his lips. His mother knows she cannot keep him from the world for much longer. Her son was always going to have to travel the world someday, he was old enough now, and she knew he would leave soon. And so the goddess of flowers offers Jaskier a boon. 'The buttercups had served you well', she muses, 'but it is time for you to choose your own flower. A gift for you, my most precious flower.' Jaskier should think about this carefully, should pick something with power. Perhaps something poisonous again, or maybe something healing. Something that the mortals' worship will grant him power for controlling. But Jaskier has never been interested in power, not really. So he doesn't think about it, he simply asks for the flower he knows is supposed to be his. Dandelion is it's name. Fierce and stubborn, so often a weed. But Jaskier knows the mortals make wishes on it, tossing them to the wind like little prayers to no one. He knows it makes a soft sweet tea, he knows that little flower was practically grown to be his.

#the witcher #jaskier #imortal! jaskier #god! jaskier #might add more to this #might not #probably will but don't quote me on that

[lynn-reads-and-writes]

Chaos God!Jaskier pt 3:

More bullet fics bc I’m working on a big bang and I don’t have the energy! Thanks!

pt1 | pt2

Picks up after Geralt descends the mountain following the dragon hunt 

He’s almost immediately arrested by the Cintran army and dragged into Calanthe’s court

She holds a blade to his throat and demands to know where Ciri is

Geralt says he has no idea who or what she’s talking about.

He purposefully avoids Cintra

He had no desire to see his child surprise

Calanthe: “Then explain this!”

Calanthe presents a witcher’s dagger

 Geralt’s dagger

The dagger he gave to-

Jaskier

Someone must have robbed Jaskier or killed him and taken the dagger

Geralt tries to reason with Calanthe but she won’t hear him

She raises her sword to strike him down and the sword shatters

Dark clouds fill the hall and an image of Ciri appears asleep in a darkness

Mouseack recognizes it from illustrations

A primordial vacuum

The lands beyond the edge of the earth

Ciri’s been taken by a god

Geralt is shook (™)

Calanthe demands that the god return her granddaughter

An inhuman voice fills the hall and says they feel no desire to return the princess but all are welcome to try to come and take her

Geralt tells Calanthe he’ll go and retrieve Ciri.

“You believe you can best a god?”

“No, but I have to try.”

#lynn speaks #the witcher #the witcher netflix #geraskier #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #Jaskier #godling au #godling!au #godling!Jaskier #godling jaskier #queen calanthe #ciri #Cirilla of Cintra #dandelion #gerlion #dandelion x geralt

[ja0netholmes]

I’m struggling with a compressed nerve so I haven’t been able to draw a lot. I’ve been working on this drawing of my godling Jaskier. Enjoy.

#jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher netflix #the witcher #chaos god jaskier #godling jaskier #godling au #godling!jaskier #my art #lynn draws

[mollymawkwrites]

My lovely friend @simplymyselff requested Jaskier hitting Geralt with his lute (maybe because he was afraid of him being a ghost) and patching him up because he feels guilty, so this is my attempt at it. Enjoy! CW: minor injury, blood, terminal stupidity from both of the boys.

There is someone in Jaskier’s chambers.

He woke up with a start a minute ago when a crashing noise broke the silence of the late evening. From his bed, he could see the window in the tiny living room of his student lodgings gaping open, the panes gently swaying with the light breeze of the summer night. He’s sure he closed it before going to bed; some drunkards had been belting out sea shanties in the street below and he needed to get some sleep before tomorrow’s exams.

There had been a quick scuffle, and then nothing, but Jaskier can see a large shadow moving in his living room from where he’s pressed against the wall now, his heart beating wildly. The light of the almost full moon bathes the room in an ethereal atmosphere, and the silhouette is moving from one side of his tiny living room to the other, silent. Slowly, it approaches the open door of Jaskier’s bedroom, and all he sees is a flash of white before he grabs the nearest object and swings with all his might towards the tall figure. It might not be of any use against a ghostly apparition, but Julian Alfred Pankratz is not going down without a fight.

There is a splintering of wood, a discordant twang, and a loud and heartfelt “Fuck!” that is definitely not at all ghostly, before Jaskier is thrown against the wall by a strong arm.

The most terrifying man Jaskier has ever met is snarling right to his face, a hand splayed across his chest to keep him still and a blade teasing at his neck. Pale hair form a halo around his head in the moonlight, and a pair of yellow slitted eyes are glaring at Jaskier with rage. Blood is running down the man’s face, dripping down his chin and onto the dark, studded armour cutting quite an impressive figure. It tells a lot about Jaskier that even in the throes of terror, he can’t help but remark how devastatingly handsome the man is.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man growls, and his voice is just as sexy terrifying than the rest of him.

“Who- what- excuse me?” Jaskier sputters, caught off guard by the stupid question. “I live here!”

“Why did you attack me?” The hand against Jaskier’s chest presses harder, and he feels his ribs start to protest against the weight.

“You just broke into my lodgings! I thought you were a ghost!” His voice definitely does not come out in a squeak.

The man’s glare doesn’t abate, but he does release Jaskier and sheathes the wicked-looking knife back into the holster on his hip. Jaskier flinches when he raises a hand, but it is only to prod at the gash on his forehead that is still oozing blood sluggishly. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to make sure! You could- you could have been a thief! You could still be a thief! What are you doing in my chambers?”

“Hm. ‘m a Witcher. There’s a spirit in your flat.”

“You just said ghosts weren’t real,” Jaskier definitely squeaks this time.

“Not a ghost. A godling.”

“... a what?”

“A godling. A mischievous spirit, like a lutin. Harmless, though it can play some mean tricks. I was trying to bargain with her to leave the city when she bolted and slipped in your flat. I followed her, but she must have hidden somewhere.”

“Oh gods,” Jaskier moans. “Am I going to be haunted? I really don’t need that, I’m in the middle of my end of term exams…”

“No, she slipped away when you… distracted me. It’s unlikely she’ll be back. I just hope she’ll follow my advice, or she might meet people who are less inclined to let her find a nice forest or swamp to settle.”

“Oh. Well, you shouldn’t break into people’s homes in the middle of the night. Unless it’s really important, I guess.” Jaskier looks down at his hand still clutching his makeshift weapon, and lets out a wail that has the Witcher taking a step back in startled concern. “My lute! I broke my lute!”

The wrecked instrument is nothing more than a pile of kindling, strings and pieces of the body still hanging sadly from the neck.

“I hum… I think I should leave you to it,” the Witcher is looking increasingly uncomfortable as Jaskier falls to his knees and cradles the broken instrument to his chest.

Jaskier raises his head and narrows his eyes at him. “You’re hurt.”

“Yeah. You threw a fucking lute at me.”

“Don’t remind me. You need to tend to that wound. You’re bleeding all over my rug.”

“It’s a head wound. It always bleeds a lot.”

“Well, I’m not gonna risk you fainting from blood loss because I attacked you. Though I had a good reason to.”

“I’m okay. It’ll stop eventually.”

“This is nowhere near reassuring.” Jaskier declares cheerfully as he rises from the floor, broken lute forgotten. “Let me help with it, at least. As an apology.”

The Witcher makes a face like he wants to say no, but Jaskier is already lighting the candles on his desk and unearthing the poorly equipped medical kit he never uses himself, except for pain relief medicine after drinking too much wine.

“Come on, sit down, let me give that a look,” Jaskier ushers his patient towards the bed, and the Witcher looks utterly confused and out of place but complies, sitting with his hands on his lap and his hunched shoulders failing to make him look smaller than he is.

Silence falls upon them as Jaskier cleans the wound with unpracticed but careful movements, and he becomes increasingly aware of the level of closeness their position demands. Jaskier is standing between the Witcher’s open legs, one hand cradling the man’s head while the other dabs a wet cloth over his bloody hairline. The student finds himself blushing furiously, thankful that the other man is oblivious to his current predicament, staring right ahead of himself, which happens to be the open collar of Jaskier’s light nightgown.

“I’m sorry,” the Witcher says as Jaskier turns to trade the bloodied cloth for the little jar of balm he uses when he cuts himself with snapping lute strings. He looks back at the Witcher in surprise, but the man keeps his gaze down as he answers Jaskier’s silent question. “For your lute. I’m sorry it’s broken. I can pay for a new one.”

A wave of fondness for the weird man leaves Jaskier rather breathless. He hides it behind a dismissive hand gesture. “It’s okay, really. I got it in a game of Gwent last year. At least it wasn’t my lucky lute, and it never made a great sound anyway.”

“How many lutes do you own?” The Witcher asks with an arched eyebrow, raising his head to meet Jaskier’s eyes for the first time since he sat down, which causes the student to smear balm all across the man’s forehead.

“Let me think… there’s the one I use for classes, the fancy one for formal events, the one I take for gigs in taverns… my first lute, which is also my lucky lute… that’s four. Five, if you count the one I’m still mourning.”

“Why the fuck do you need so many lutes.”

“So I don’t find myself without one when I use them as weapons against thick-headed Witchers,” Jaskier deadpans. “Can you imagine a bard without an instrument? That’d be utterly ridiculous. Why the fuck do you need two swords?”

“Some monsters require silver. Others require steel.”

“Hm,” Jaskier hums thoughtfully as he applies the last of the balm to the already healing gash. “Well, yes, I guess that makes sense.”

He steps away to clean his hands in the little basin he keeps on the vanity in his bedroom, and immediately misses the warmth the man radiates. When he turns back, drying his hands on his own nightgown, he finds the Witcher standing in the middle of the room, looking unsure as to what to do now. Jaskier wishes he had an excuse to keep the man from leaving.

“Well, my friend, I think you’ll survive this terrible wound,” he says instead, stepping closer and patting the man’s breastplate awkwardly.

The Witcher hums, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and he raises his own hand to trap Jaskier’s against his chest. “What would I have done without you. My hero.” His voice drips with sarcasm, but it has Jaskier’s heart beating wildly beneath his ribcage. After a slightly too long silence, the Witcher steps away, back into the living room where the window is still letting in the warm summer breeze. “Maybe… I mean, we could…” The man pauses, a frustrated crease to his brow as he tries to find the right words. “I might come back. To check on you. Make sure the godling hasn’t come back to… haunt you.” He finishes with uncertainty, then curses under his breath. Once again, fondness seizes Jaskier’s heart, and he smiles softly in the darkness of his living room.

“I would love that.”

The man’s shoulders sag with relief, and he turns towards the window, swinging a leg over the ledge. It’s all very romantic, Jaskier thinks. Like one of those books Priscilla likes to say are terribly cliché. He quite likes it, though. “Wait!” He calls before the man jumps from his window. The Witcher turns to look at him, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon, and Jaskier finds himself breathless for the second… no, third time in the evening. “What’s your name?”

“Geralt,” the man offers after a second.

“Well,” Jaskier scrambles for something to say, trying to stretch the surreal moment as much as possible. “Use the door next time, Geralt.”

This has Geralt smiling for real this time. It’s more of a smirk, to be honest. But it suits him nonetheless. “I will,” he says, and jumps, disappearing from Jaskier’s life as quickly as he stumbled into it.

#prompt fill #fic writing #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #my writing #the witcher fanfiction