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#jaskier match up request
milady-bugg · 2 years
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Jaskier is the King of Unconventional Weapons. And it all starts with a little Lordling that takes offense to Jaskier turning him down when propositioned. He, and his corrupt nob-friends, have Jaskier abducted. At first, the Lordling tried to blackmail Jaskier into being his concubine. When the Bard refuses him yet again, he decides if he can’t have the Bard; no one will.
Geralt gets word from one of Jaskier’s informants (great. Now the Bard fancies himself a Spy of all things. Geralt decides to leave him to it, it seems to keep him out of trouble… for the most part) only a few days later. Naturally, Geralt is infuriated; that is His Bard. So, off he goes on a rescue mission.
The malicious Lordling tells Jaskier he is to Hang in one moon cycle, unless he accepts the Lordling’s proposal. Jaskier refuses. Again. The Lordling lets him have a “last request” and all Jask asks for is a pair of Tuning Forks; that he might compose one last song. His final request if fulfilled to his Exact specifications, and now Jaskier has two new Tuning Forks (other than the one he already wears). And these aren’t little ol’ forks either. No, these are large enough he can fit his middle finger between the prongs (Exactly as he asked) and they are at Least one hand-span long. Jaskier spends Days, nay Weeks, calmly filing them down against the stone walls of his cell. By the time they come to retrieve him for his execution, he’s Ready. Using his new “blades” (think Wolverine’s Claws, but Tuning Forks) He cuts a bloody swath thru the corrupt little Nob-ends that fancy themselves as prison guards, and guts the malicious little Lordling too (Unsurprisingly, the townspeople are thankful. The little asshat had been stealing from them using “taxes” since he inherited the title). Geralt rides into town, only to find his “delicate” Bard being hailed as a Hero to the townsfolk. And it doesn’t stop there.
Of course Jaskier keeps his new Tuning Forks, he’s even named them; Guts and Gloria. (He thinks he’s sooo clever). He crafts a collection of hip pouches using pretty silks bought to match each one of his doublets so he can keep “his babies” close at hand. And if the “delicate” silver-steel chain he uses to belt the pouches to his side doubles as a garroting wire, well, who’s gonna notice? Whenever someone (usually guardsmen at the banquets he plays at) finds his weaponized Tuning Forks all it takes his a charming little grin and a flutter of his lashes. “They’re used for fine tuning, my good sir!” And they’ll get handed right back to him with an amused eye roll.
And then Jaskier crafts his rings. Heavy, gaudy, things. The gemstones May only be colored bits of glass, but the settings they sit in are certainly real metals. And if he just so happened to file them to sharp points, it just makes the look of them more Dramatic, darling. But the moment Jaskier throws a punch, or a back-handed slap? How do you like his brass knuckles? And the little “Dramatic” settings can suddenly rip up a man’s face like a werewolf’s claws.
He even starts to collect Roach’s old horse shoes and files the curve of them as well. Nifty little Death Shoes, they are. Throwing one of those suckers can cleave a man’s head in two. And if Geralt picks up the habit (for monster hunting) that stays between him and the Bard. Jaskier had to Invent an entire game just to have an excuse to carry the horse shoes on his person, but it Worked! Besides, Shoe Throwing has become a Beloved Game to Kaher Morhen. Strength, Agility, And Accuracy? Hell yeah!
He is Armed and Dangerous, even if you’ll find no “weapons” on his person. Geralt isn’t sure whether he’s impressed or turned on (the answer is Always Both). The other Witchers are maybe a little afraid of the Feral little Bard that follows the White Wolf…
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thewitcheress2389 · 2 years
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Hi there 🙋🏻‍♀️. I just saw your touch starved fic and it literally melted my heart. If you feel like it, I'd like to request one with Netflix Geralt where the reader is a fierce warrior who's too stubborn to admit she's sick, until she faints one day. He takes care of her and doesn't let her get out of bed until she's recovered. I was thinking your 219 and 230 prompts. Thank you 💐
Thank you!🥰 Sure thing!
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Stubborn as a Mule
It’s rather hard for you to accept help from others, especially when you’re sick.
#219 "I won't let you do this alone."
#230 "You're overworking yourself... Please take a break."
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You were a warrior. A fierce one at that. One that both man and monster feared alike. However, you weren’t a witcher. You didn’t carry two swords on your back, didn’t pity yourself with villager’s contracts, and you went through no mutations.
Just one badass woman.
However, you’ve learned from experience that it’s important to have something made of silver on you. So, you carried a steel sword on your waist and a silver dagger to match. This was just something you learned from your witcher companion.
Geralt of Rivia.
You met the witcher by accident at a tavern. Sometimes but not always, you do hunt a monster for coin. He overheard that you were going to hunt a wyvern, practically told you not to be an idiot, and came with you.
Let’s be honest, he wanted a share of the profit.
But anyway, that’s where he learned of your stubbornness. Not only that, but he started to realize that your companionship was nearly as bothersome as Jaskier’s. Still, there was some softness in his heart (that he would never admit), and he wasn’t about to let a woman get hurt because of your lack of knowledge.
That’s why he stuck around, much to your annoyance.
No matter the irritation between the two of you, there was still some sort of friendship that was there. Perhaps it was mutual respect for strong warriors, but who knows. This is why he gave you some tips on how to fight monsters. While you acted like you didn’t want the help, he saw you practicing from time to time.
But then you fell ill, Geralt could sense it. 
He was then introduced to a more stubborn version of you than ever before.
You guys were stopping to rest for the evening, and Geralt was giving his beloved Roach some much needed grooming. The witcher didn’t need to look over his shoulder to hear the sword of your blade slicing nothing. However, he could also hear your ragged breath, and smell the extensive amount of sweat on your body.
Even he knew this had to stop.
“Y/N, you need to stop.” Geralt said without turning around. He heard your blade stop moving as you panted to catch your breath.
“Just...Just mind your horse.” You growled back, stumbling a little as a wave of dizziness overcame you. Geralt sighed at your retort but did as you said. Roach shook her head, causing her mane to fly about and make her witcher step back.
It was as if she was telling him to help you, no matter what.
“I get it. I get it, Roach.” He said while patting the mare’s neck and looking over in your direction. You looked worse than you sounded, pale and shaky. But you were more stubborn than a mule when it came to accepting any form of help.
Still, he had to try.
Marching over to you, he quickly moved to grab at the hilt of your sword, preventing you from doing a downward strike. Slowly, your eyes moved to glare at him. Geralt met your annoyed stare with his icy amber eyes.
"You're overworking yourself... Please take a break." Geralt said to you as you ripped your sword out of his grip.
“I’m fine.” You forced yourself to say after regaining your footing.
“You’re sick.” Geralt retorted, watching as you went back to training. 
“No. I’m not. Just...mind your own business.” You said, not being able to come up with a better excuse.
“You being sick is my business.” He brought up again, watching you intently with his cat-like eyes. You shot him another glare, but your irritation just added more stress to your already weakened body.
You felt very light-headed.
“I’m...not...sick...” Your voice trailed off as your body finally gave in to its state. Luckily, Geralt was quick to catch you as your sword clanged loudly on the ground.
“Stubborn as always...” Geralt said with a shake of his head as he took your small body into his arms and moved to place you on one of the bedrolls. Now unconscious, you were a lot easier to tend to. The witcher was able to get some water from a nearby stream to help cool your fever.
He was no doctor, but he figured he was doing something right.
As night began to fall, Geralt was cooking some small game over a fire, waiting for you to wake up. It didn’t take long for his sensitive ears to pick up your movements. Looking up, he saw you slowly sitting up and removing the wet rag from your head.
“Okay...maybe I’m sick...” You admitted with a sigh, causing Geralt to smile a bit.
“That’s better.” He praised you, causing you to pout slightly. He then moves over to offer you a bit of food, which you hesitantly accepted.
“You know, sometimes it’s easier to accept help than to deal with things by yourself.” Geralt told you, and you sighed, looking past him and at the fire.
“I guess I’m just used to handling things on my own.” You told him quietly, but then he just smiled before nodding in understanding. He’s been there, having to do things on his own. As much as he acted like he enjoyed it, it was all an act.
The witcher did get lonely sometimes.
So, he was finally glad that you opened up to him a little bit instead of shutting him out. It was a start, but Geralt was determined to crack past that wall of yours, even if he knows he would act just like you if the roles were reversed.
But as he was thinking, he saw you moving to get up.
"I won't let you do this alone." Geralt said sternly, grabbing onto your shoulders to practically push you onto the bedroll. You huffed in annoyance, but you couldn’t hide the trace of a smile that was on your lips.
“Thanks...” You whispered it more to yourself, but Geralt still heard it. As you laid back down on the bed, Geralt reapplied the wet rag to your forehead to calm the fever.
Again, you were only human, meaning you weren’t going to recover as fast as he would.
But the witcher didn’t care if he had to wait days here with you as you healed. He was going to be your nurse, taking care of you, until you were all better and ready to butt heads with him some more.
Geralt could only hope that this brings you a little closer to him.
When you finally did recover, he was shocked to find that Roach was looking tidier than ever. Someone brushed her mane, tail, and even gave her a little bath.
“I was bored...and I couldn’t stand seeing your horse so dirty.” You told him one morning as you threw his things at him. You woke up healthy, no longer sick, and way before him.
The way you worded this seemed like it was an insult at him, but Geralt looked past your stubborn and fierce facade to see the truth.
This was your way of thanking him for being by your side.
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kueble · 1 year
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Congratulations!!! How exciting!!!
Has anyone sent in Teardrops on my Guitar? For geraskier?
(also if you were looking for smutty asks specifically then feel free to ignore this 😂😂 I realize that's a hard one to smuttify)
Thank you Comfy! I went with angst to fluff, so I hope you like that.
Teen. Warnings: None. 1,600 Words.
Geraskier
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Jaskier didn't mean to start avoiding his best friend, but once you start pulling back little by little, it just happens. Gone were the days in college where they were attached at the hip, Jaskier cheer-leading on the sidelines while Geralt played football. Hell, they even shared a dorm room junior and senior year. They had carried that momentum right into a shitty two bedroom apartment the day after graduation. They were some of the best years of Jaskier's life.
It had been so amazing that he came close to confessing his feels, almost on a daily basis. But no, Geralt met Yennefer at a work event and they struck it off like a match on fire. She is a fierce woman, a fiery ball of energy and sass, and there's no way Jaskier could compete with that. He doesn't hate her for loving Geralt, though. It's hard not to.
Trust him, he's tried.
Hell, Jaskier was best man in the wedding, playing his part with a fake smile on his face. Nothing could keep him from making sure Geralt was happy, not even giving him away. Two years later, he's stuck in a lonely studio apartment and hardly bothers to text the man he's been in love with for ages. It hurts, but he can't bear to see Geralt's secret smile directed at anyone but him. It's selfish, but he hurts so much that he cries himself to sleep some nights.
All this yearning and depression has done wonders for his musical career, though. He's in talks with an indie label and hopes to get something signed soon. The local crowds adore him, and it's not hard to plaster a smile on his face and put on a show. The audience never realizes the smile doesn't reach his eyes. It's just another part to play, one he's perfect at.
So here he is, sitting on a stool in the corner of a packed bar on New Year's Eve, singing his heart out. He tries to stick to the upbeat, positive songs, but his fans know him better than that. He finishes August, every ounce of heartbreak he has clinging to his words, and he hopes the next request is for something more cheerful.
But then someone shouts out "Teardrops!" and she looks so pleased with herself that he can't help transitioning into the first verse.
“He looks at me, I fake a smile so he won't see that I want and I'm needing everything that we should be. I'll bet she's beautiful, that girl he talks about, and she's got everything that I have to live without,” he croons out, and the bar starts swaying along with his guitar. It’s so easy to fall into the song, to let his mouth and fingers move on muscle memory. He still feels every bit as sad as the night he wrote it, but these people will never know who it’s about. His heart is safer that way.
The girl who requested the song is belting it out, and for a moment he feels like he's on top of the world. No matter what a disaster his personal life is, he gets to hop on stage and entertain people who love him for him, and they can't take that away from him. He could probably survive on just this, may have to actually.
But as he scans the crowd, he almost drops his guitar. Bright purple eyes stare back at him, and Yennefer raises her cocktail glass in greeting. He can feel his cheeks heating up, but he keeps singing. He tries to avoid her gaze, but it's like watching a car crash, he can't pull away. The start of the last verse falls past his lips, and he knows that she knows exactly who it's about. "'Cause he's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar. The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart."
He finishes the song and mumbles something about needing a break and a beer before making a beeline towards Yennefer. Once he gets there, he isn't quite sure what to say. She's standing at a high top table, all stunning and glamorous, and he is pretty sure he hasn't washed these jeans in over a week. Thankfully she hands him a glass of water before breaking the silence.
"You look truly awful," she says, and Jaskier just snorts.
"And you look like your age is finally catching up with you. What are you doing alone on New Year's Eve? Don't you and Geralt usually do that fancy big band dinner downtown?" he asks, priding himself on not tripping over his insults. He doesn't mean any of them, but the playful taunts are how they work. She shakes her head and takes a long sip of her drink.
"I'm fucking my secretary, and we're getting a divorce. It's completely amicable, but I figured I owed it to you to let you know. He's been moping around the house these past few months, you know. Completely pathetic. A grown man shouldn't pine so much," Yen says with a twinkle in her eye.
"P-pine?" he manages to choke out, and she just rolls her gorgeous eyes at him.
"Neither of you are very subtle, you know," she says, shaking her head. "Geralt and I never should have been more than friends, and I know that now. But you still have your chance, so don't waste it. He misses you, and for some stupid reason I want you both to be happy. So don't waste tonight, Jaskier."
"I'll try," he mumbles, still not sure of what is happening to him.
"He's staying home tonight. Alone. Don't fuck it up," Yennefer informs him before tossing back the rest of her drink. She leaves him there, sauntering over to the bar and wrapping an arm around a pretty woman with chestnut hair. They look good together, and Jaskier truly wishes her the best.
He'd run right out the door, but he can't skip out on a gig. He's on contract until 11:30 when the house DJ will take over for the countdown. Checking his watch, he vows to make the last hour count. He's met with drunken applause when he jumps back on stage and snags his guitar with renewed energy. A man in the crowd winks at him, and Jaskier doesn't miss a beat, just blows him a kiss before rolling right into Blank Space.
Everyone goes wild, and he plays his heart out for the rest of his set.
He normally sticks around after a gig, just soaking up the praise from the crowd and enjoying the free drinks, but tonight he packs up his equipment as quickly as possible and races to his car. Geralt's house is fifteen minutes away, and he just might get there before midnight. For some silly reason, telling him before the year ends seems important. It's possible he breaks a few speed limits getting there, but he pulls into Geralt's driveway with five minutes to spare.
He knocks on the door like a man possessed, pounding at it until Geralt swings it up and scowls at him. "What the fuck - Jaskier?" he shouts before fading into a whisper. He looks shocked, and Jaskier knows he should say something to calm him down. He sure as hell should apologize for avoiding him these past few months, but time is short and he has to put all his faith in what Yen told him. Because this has to work, it simply has to or he'll surely die.
"I've been in love with you since senior year," he blurts out, and Geralt just blinks at him, so Jaskier keeps talking. "I mean, everyone kinda knew? Except you I guess. But I've been so fucking ridiculous about it, pathetic according to what Yennefer told me tonight. I just…thought maybe you wanted to know? And now I realized that I'm rambling, but you know how I get when I'm nervous, and if you could please either tell me you love me to or tell me to fuck off, I would really appreciate it."
"Yen? That sneaky witch," Geralt says, smiling so hard his eyes crinkle up in the corners. "I love you too, Jask."
And then there's noise in the background, cheering from the TV and the neighborhood kids shooting off firecrackers, but all Jaskier can do is stare at Geralt. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, and he's sure Geralt can hear it over the sounds of the celebrations. But Geralt stares right back at him, his gaze dipping down to linger on Jaskier's mouth before coming back up again.
"Kiss me, you fool," Jaskier says softly, and then Geralt's mouth is on his. It's chaste, just a press of lips, like he's unsure about it, and Jaskier can't let that happen. He deepens the kiss, hands coming up to clutch at Geralt's arms, holding him close as he licks into his mouth. He tastes like stout and cheese nips, and it should be weird but it's fucking perfect, because it's him.
It's the best New Year's Eve he's ever had, and as Geralt yanks him over the threshold and into the house, he knows the year is only going to get better and better.
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hanzajesthanza · 1 year
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what does dandelion (jaskier) look like in the books?
(jaskier (buttercup) also translated as dandelion, marigold, larkspur, and lovage...)
this post is a third installment in my "witcher character descriptions in the books" series.
physical appearance
physical build
Bounds of Reason, Pt. III: Beside him, a slim man with a fanciful little plum hat pulled down over his eyes, adorned with a silver buckle and a long, twitching heron’s feather, was reclining, gently plucking the strings of a lute.
Eternal Flame, Pt. I: A slim man in a little plum hat with a white feather jumped aside like a scalded cat, and the flowerpot crashed onto the ground just in front of him, shattering into pieces.
Something More, Pt. VIII: He looked down. A slim man in a cherry jerkin and a little hat with an egret’s feather was jumping up and down and waving his arms on an abandoned cart loaded with cages which had been shoved off the highway.
dandelion is slimly built.
a good start to this post would be to remember that n*tflix is only one in a line of adaptations, and it's not the first where jaskier's appearance has not matched that of the books - from an interview in 2001 where sapkowski answered questions from fans, one fan explained all the reasons for why he did not agree with the hexer's casting for jaskier. in his opinion, zbigniew zamachowski was, quote...
Kaszycki Nestor: Next - troubadour, Jaskier - he is pretty, young, popular with women, he is athletic (jumping on the roof in "Blood of Elves" and entering through the window to find Geralt and Shani). And unfortunately Mr. Zamachowski, in my humble opinion, does not have all these features. I know that the film does not have to be a true reflection of the book, but please, have some limits! The stories are really of the best quality, I wish you further successes and I hope that the film will be released soon, staying true to what you really wrote.
sapkowski, of course, replied that it was not his fault because the adaptations are not his to meddle in:
AS: All comments - especially requests - are directed at the wrong address. After all, like all vain artists I consider my work the only creative material. Sapkowski answers the questions of the active users of "Sapkowski Zone" (2001)
the fan is, of course, referring to this scene, which, to his credit, is indicative of a degree of dandelion's athleticism, likely gained over the years from escaping out bedroom windows of his various fiancees when their husbands arrived home:
Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: He slipped unseen into the garret, clambered out by the window vent, slid down by way of the gutter onto the roof of the library, and – nearly breaking his leg – jumped across onto the roof of the dissecting theatre. From there he got into the garden adjacent to the wall. Amidst the dense gooseberry bushes he found a hole which he himself had made bigger when a student. Beyond the hole lay the town of Oxenfurt. (...) He merged into the crowd, then quickly sneaked down the backstreets, dodging like a hare chased by hounds. (...) He climbed the ladder to the thatch and leaped onto the roof (...) Gripping the moss-covered roof tiles, he finally arrived at the window of the attic he was aiming for. An oil lamp was burning inside the little room. Perched precariously on the guttering, Dandelion knocked on the lead frames (...)
it's also worth mentioning that dandelion is able to pick up and swing around essi "little eye", who is like a sister to him. she is described as a young woman, not older than eighteen, and very slim.
A Little Sacrifice, Pt. III: "Ech, Puppet." Dandelion seized the girl around the waist, picked her up and spun her around so that her dress billowed around her.
although he does, i won't mention the part where dandelion picks up yennefer because it's spoilers for the very end of the saga and it's insinuated that he had help in doing so... but also for context, yennefer is "short, even in high heels" (the last wish) and "willowy, slender" (a shard of ice) so she, like essi, also likely doesn't weigh too much.
i'll also mention that dandelion sometimes exercises good judgement in quickly dodging or leaping aside when he needs to, but is not prone to bouts of athleticism or agility. he just seems... pretty average.
if you want more specifics, just think of a poet who spends half of his time writing, half of his time in brothels, half of his time in restaurants, and half of his time starving alongside an equally starving witcher. and none of his time at the gym :)
hair and eyes
Eternal Flame, Pt. IV: Tellico straightened up abruptly. His face’s features, still those of the Witcher, blurred and spread out, and his white hair curled and began to darken.
Note: The context for this scene is that Tellico (otherwise known as Dudu), a doppler (also known as mimic - a shapeshifting creature), has taken Geralt's form but is now taking Dandelion's, so the description here is of comparing Geralt's features to Dandelion's. White is the absence of color, so changing it to any color at all would have "darkened" it... though this passage was misleading before Season of Storms (which explicitly calls Dandelion blond) was published in 2013, and led many to believe Dandelion has dark hair.
however, he is also stated to have fair hair on his chin in the story following eternal flame, a little sacrifice:
A Little Sacrifice, Pt. III: The troubadour looked down at the ground and scratched his chin, which was covered in light, soft stubble (jasnym, miękkim zarostem). Drouhard, mouth gaping, moved closer.
i've also seen this translated as "peach fuzz".
and in the mentioned season of storms, he's blond:
Season of Storms, Ch. 4: (...) A dandy in a fanciful hat with an egret feather stuck into it, with shoulder-length blond hair curled with irons.
it's also mentioned in the original saga that his hair is long and curly:
Baptism of Fire, Ch. 2: As for Dandelion the dandy, he had already been mistaken a few times for an elf or half-elf, especially since he had started wearing his hair to his shoulders and occasionally used curling irons.
dandelion has shoulder-length hair blonde hair, which he often curls with irons.
Bounds of Reason, Pt. III: A pair of cheerful cornflower-blue (modre) eyes shone from under the bonnet, now shoved back on his head.
dandelion has blue eyes.
age
Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: "I know you’re almost forty, look almost thirty, think you’re just over twenty and act as though you’re barely ten."
Tower of the Swallow, Ch. 3: "You, Dandelion, are still not forty. Writing was drummed into you in the temple-cliff school with a cane in the butt when you were eight. Even if we assume that you have written rhymes ever since, you’ve served your mistress poetry no longer than thirty years."
dandelion is in his mid-to-late 30s during the saga and "looks" to be in his late 20s or early 30s.
and yes, he was at least in his 20s when he met geralt. here's why:
he is already a famous poet during the time in which he first met geralt in edge of the world:
Edge of the World, Pt. I: “Eh, famous witcher? Haven't you wondered why?” “I have, famous poet. And I know why.”
he only became famous after studying for four years, then did a fifth year teaching, and had to gain fame over at least "several" more years of travelling:
Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: (...) considering he had studied there [at Oxenfurt] for four years, then had lectured for a year in the Faculty of Trouvereship and Poetry. The post of lecturer had been offered to him when he had passed his final exams with full marks, to the astonishment of professors with whom he had earned the reputation of lazybones, rake and idiot during his studies. Then, when, after several years of roaming around the country with his lute, his fame as a minstrel had spread far and wide, the Academy had taken great pains to have him visit and give guest lectures.
and he only "seriously" began poetry when he was nineteen:
Tower of the Swallow, Ch. 3: "(...) But I don’t have to assume, because you yourself have frequently said that you started seriously rhyming and composing melodies when you were nineteen, inspired by the love of Countess de Stael. That makes one less than twenty years of service, Dandelion."
though it's worth noting that shani, a medical student at oxenfurt, is seventeen years old and in her third year, and it's also referenced in other areas of the series that novices at aretuza also begin their schooling around 14 years of age, if dandelion began his schooling at oxenfurt when he was 14, the comment about him seriously beginning poetry at 19 would make no sense because he would have already graduated by then. so perhaps there are different starting ages for girls and boys?
it can be estimated that dandelion started his education at the academy of oxenfurt when he was 18-20 years of age, due to the specific reference that he seriously became involved with lady poetry when he was 19 years old.
i'll say 18, and adding 4 years to this, he would have been 22 when he graduated, and 23 as a lecturer. now let's say "several" is around 3 to 5 years of travelling. he would have been in his mid-to-late 20s by the time he became famous, and in his late 20s by the time he met geralt. (and if you indeed want to have him enrolled in oxenfurt at 14, he would still be in his mid-20s by the time he meets geralt).
"that doesn't make sense because of the amount of time that passed between the short stories and the saga—" and i'm telling you, it doesn't need to. i may write a longer post about dandelion as a litmus test for geralt's character development throughout the series at some time, but the fact of the matter is that sapkowski likely just forgot about dandelion's age being a plausible thing, because it mattered so little in relation to the actually important parts of his character.
clothing
buckle up, buttercup! i've decided to chronologically structure this section of the post because dandelion features a myriad of outfits throughout the saga and he's described as wearing something different almost every time we see him; however, there are also some steadfast articles of clothing of his, which i'll make note of at the end. but these are all the times in which i can remember his outfit being mentioned.
edge of the world, pt. i
They climbed onto the cart. The witcher stretched out comfortably on the straw. Dandelion, evidently afraid of getting his elegant green jerkin (kubrak) dirty, sat on the plank. Nettly clucked his tongue at the horses and the vehicle clattered along the beam-reinforced dyke.
the last wish, pt. vii
“That's all. And now…” Dandelion pulled himself up, brushed his jerkin, adjusted his collar and fancy—if dirty—jabot (żabot). “…perhaps, gentlemen, you'd like to tell me the name of the best tavern in town and where it can be found.”
the voice of reason, pt. 5
A peal of laughter and the strumming of a lute resounded in the corridor and there, on the threshold of the library, stood Dandelion in a lilac jerkin with lace cuffs, his hat askew. The troubadour bowed exaggeratedly at the sight of Nenneke, the heron feather pinned to his hat sweeping the floor.
season of storms, ch. 4
Geralt didn’t know who he [the person who had intervened] was. But he knew perfectly well who the noble-looking man’s companion was. A dandy in a fanciful hat with an egret feather stuck into it, with shoulder-length blond hair curled with irons. Wearing a doublet the colour of red wine and a shirt with a lace ruffle. Along with his ever-present lute and with that ever-present insolent smile on his lips.
bounds of reason, pt. viii
Dandelion tried to trip Gar (, but ineffectively; Gar clung to the bard’s rainbow-hued jerkin (tęczowy kubrak) and thumped him between the eyes with his fist. Yarpen Zigrin, leaping from behind, tripped Dandelion, hitting him behind his knees with the haft of a hatchet.
eternal flame, pt. i, pt. iv
‘You don’t keep up with the fashion,’ the bard grimaced, brushing a chicken feather from his gleaming, cornflower-blue kaftan (chabrowego kaftana) with puffed sleeves and a serrated collar. ‘Oh, I’m glad we’ve met (...)’
‘Phew,’ sighed the bard, springing up, ‘I’ve got it. It’s fine, Geralt, we can go now. Admittedly my cloak with the marten collar is still there, but too bad, let it be my grievance. Knowing her she won’t throw the cloak down.
‘Dudu,’ he said to Dandelion’s strangely deformed cordovan boots sticking out of the rolled-up kilim. ‘Copy Biberveldt, and quickly.’
EDIT: note that the polish word kaftan does not refer to the same garment as it does in english, the long robe-like garment, but rather something like an elongated kubrak, (jerkin), reaching below the waist but coming up to above one's knee, long-sleeved or sleeveless. this was specified by @karanfile 💖 thank you!!
a little sacrifice, pt. ii
They had already sold Geralt’s gold signet for food, and an alexandrite brooch the troubadour had once been given as a souvenir by one of his numerous paramours. Things were tight. But no, the Witcher was not angry with Dandelion.
something more, pt. viii
A slim man in a cherry jerkin and a little hat with an egret’s feather was jumping up and down and waving his arms on an abandoned cart loaded with cages which had been shoved off the highway.
blood of elves ch. 1
He got to his feet, fastened his belt and pulled on his jerkin, all the while looking at the nobleman standing at the threshold.
baptism of fire ch. 2
Dandelion dogged Zoltan's company. He wore a quilted jacket he had acquired from the dwarves, and he had replaced his crumpled feathered hat for a marten fur cap that made him look like a scoundrel. In his wide brass studded belt, he had planted a knife he'd been given as a gift, giving him the look of a true rogue. The knife had a bad habit of pricking him in the groin every time he bent forward. Fortunately, he soon lost the roguish dagger and didn't have another to replace it with.
it's worth mentioning that this outfit is likely what he wears for the next month during his travels with geralt through to tower of the swallow / early october.
baptism of fire ch. 5
dandelion is injured in an escape and has to have his head bandaged.
Geralt took off his jacket and tore off a sleeve. The tip of the arrow had scratched Dandelion’s ear, leaving a cut that reached to his temple.
‘I will give you a few stitches,’ Regis said, still not paying any attention to the witcher or his sword. ‘Be brave, Dandelion.’ Dandelion was brave. ‘I’m finished,’ Regis finished his treatment. ‘Between now and the wedding, as they say, you’ll heal. A wound is perfect for a poet, Dandelion. You will walk as a war hero with a big bandage on his head and the heart of the girls who look at you will melt like wax. Yes, truly a poetic wound. (...)’
baptism of fire ch. 7
Behind Regis and Geralt rode Dandelion on Pegasus with his head bandaged like a war hero. Along the way the poet had composed a heroic song, in which military rhymes and melodies resonated and was reminiscent of their recent adventures.
we don't hear anything about his bandage in tower of the swallow so i assume it healed over the course of the month of september
tower of the swallow ch. 3, 5, 7
in september 1267, dandelion has a leather tube of manuscripts which was the first draft of half a century of poetry.
‘From these notes’ – Dandelion showed them a tube filled with papers – ‘my life’s work will be created. Memoirs under the title Fifty Years of Poetry.’
Dandelion pressed the tube with the manuscripts to his chest. He had not separated from it recently, even for a moment. You could tell that he was struggling with his thoughts. And the thoughts were winning.
‘And just in time!’ Dandelion shouted, coming up together with Angouleme and a small group of pilgrims, lute in one hand and his trusty tube in the other. ‘And not a second too soon. You have a sense of drama, Geralt. You ought to write works for the theatre!’
he loses it in anna henrietta's closet sometime in april 1268 when he cheated on the duchess with baroness nique.
‘Dandelion!’ Geralt had only just noticed what he should have noticed much earlier. ‘Your priceless tube! Your centuries of poetry! The messenger didn’t have them. They were left in Toussaint!’ ‘They were.’ The bard nodded indifferently. ‘In Little Weasel’s wardrobe, under a pile of dresses, knickers and corsets. And may they lie there forever.’
lady of the lake ch. 3
The man who greeted them was Dandelion, coiffured and arrayed like a prince.
lady of the lake ch. 4
He found Dandelion in the knights’ hall. The poet was wearing a crimson beret, as big as a loaf of sourdough rye bread, and a matching doublet richly embroidered with golden thread. He was sitting on a curule seat with his lute in his lap and reacting with careless nods to the compliments of the ladies and courtiers surrounding him.
lady of the lake ch. 11
‘You are free to go, Viscount.’ ‘And my property?’ yelled Dandelion. ‘Eh? You can keep my chattels, copses, forests and castles, but give me back, sod the lot of you, my lute, my horse Pegasus, a hundred and forty talars and eighty halers, my raccoon (szopami) -lined cloak, my ring—’
A ducal messenger caught up with them almost at the very border of Toussaint, from where one could already see Gorgon Mountain. He was pulling behind him a saddled Pegasus and was carrying Dandelion’s lute, cloak and ring. He ignored the question about the one hundred and forty talars and eighty halers. He listened stony-faced to the bard’s request to give the duchess a kiss.
his hat
up until baptism of fire ch. 2 / mid-august of 1267, dandelion wears a plum hat with an egret or heron's feather, a sight which is iconic:
Geralt knew this little hat (kapelusik) and this feather, which were famed from the Buina to the Yaruga, known in manor houses, fortresses, inns, taverns and brothels. Particularly the brothels. ‘Dandelion!’
it's called a "bonnet" in the official english translations, but this is somewhat misleading as it is called "kapelusik" in polish, translating to "little hat" because it's just the diminutive of hat (kapelusz), likely indicating that it's a hat that is not a wide-brimmed hat.
"bonnet" is not completely out of line with the character, because it likely refers to a tudor bonnet (as opposed to, like, a milkmaid's bonnet), and at this point is just a feature of the translation. as you can read above dandelion also wore a large beret in toussaint, which is essentially what a tudor bonnet is without the brim.
in season of storms, it's clarified as to what shape and material dandelion's hat is made of, as geralt compares the hat of frans torquil, a constable of gors velen, to dandelion's:
The constable took off his hat and brushed needles and seeds from it. His headgear was of identical cut to Dandelion’s, only made of poorer quality felt. And instead of an egret’s feather it was decorated with a pheasant’s tail feather.
we can infer from this that dandelion's hat is made of a high-quality felt, and is like a hunter's cap (i've had this reference saved for a while)
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though make note that his hat has an egret or a heron's feather:
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his lute
dandelion received his lute as an apology from the elf toruviel who broke his previous one. her lute was a work of elven craftsmanship.
Edge of the World, Pt. VIII: “By the gods, Geralt.” Dandelion stopped playing, hugged the lute and touched it with his cheek. “This wood sings on its own! These strings are alive! What wonderful tonality! (...)” (...) laughed Dandilion, carefully turning the delicately engraved lute pegs.
Time of Contempt, Ch. 5: He removed a lute from the saddle’s pommel. It was a unique, magnificent instrument with a slender neck. This was a present from a she-elf, he recalled, stroking the inlaid wood. It might end up returning to the Elder Folk . . . Unless the dryads leave it by my dead body . . .
his horse
he has a horse during the events of the short stories, but during the massacre of cintra and the flight from the jaruga, this horse is stolen:
Something More, Pt. VIII: ‘What are you doing here, Dandelion? How did you get here?’ ‘What am I doing?’ the bard yelled. ‘You want to know? I’m fleeing like everybody else, I was bumping along on that cart all day! Some whoreson stole my horse in the night! Geralt, I beg you, get me out of this hell! (...)’
in blood of elves, he's gotten a new bay gelding, and in time of contempt and baptism of fire it's revealed this horse is named pegasus.
Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: Dandelion smacked his lips at his bay gelding and rode on, making his way through the crowds roaming the streets.
Time of Contempt, Ch. 5: The ravine was sombre and damp, and the wet clay and carpet of rotten leaves lying on it muffled the thudding of his dark bay gelding’s hooves. He’d called the horse ‘Pegasus’. Pegasus walked slowly, head hanging down. He was one of those rare specimens of horse who could never care less.
Baptism of Fire, Ch. 5: She [Milva] first recovered Pegasus. The poet’s gelding was ignoring the kicks to the ribs and the cries of the peasant who was riding him. He would not gallop and walked among a birch grove sluggishly, lazy and slow. The peasant was left far behind the rest of the horse thieves. When he heard and saw Milva approaching from behind, he jumped off the horse (...) Milva (...) jumped into the saddle, ringing the lute strings strapped to the saddle. Familiar with the horse, she was able to force the gelding to a gallop. Or rather a sluggish run, which Pegasus considered a gallop.
tl;dr
his physical appearance: blonde, long-haired, curls hair with irons. blue-eyed. slim. looks to be in his late 20s, though he is mid-30s. ever-present insolent smile.
his usual outfits: jerkins and doublets in a vertiable rainbow of colors, including rainbow! his "basics" or undergarments worn underneath include shirts with lace cuffs and ruffles. he also has some jewelry and fur-lined cloaks.
his outfits change during the travels with geralt in august - september of 1267, and during his stay in toussaint in october 1267 - april 1268. see baptism of fire, lady of the lake sections for more.
his hat: plum hat with egret or heron's feather. see section. he doesn't have it after mid-august of 1267.
his lute: elvish. see section.
his horse: a lazy dark bay gelding named 'pegasus'.
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Text
I'm better off
Summary: Jaskier ambushes you so he can play match-maker This is a little follow-up after Wolves and Voices, a Witcher x Bridgerton crossover au Warnings: none? Pairings: platonic!Jaskier x reader; Geralt x Jaskier; implied Benedict Bridgerton x reader Square Filled: Age Gap A/N: @thewitcherbingo
“Which one was it?”
Jaskier sidles into the room, ambushing you as you are digging into the remains of yesterday’s dinner. You were surprised there was actually any left, the wolves can devour anything and still go begging for more.
Maybe it was because Lambert was on a hunt across the country.
“What?”
“Which brother caught your attention?”
He leans on the back of the chair opposite you and studies your face, waiting for a muscle to twitch and give you away.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Jaskier holds up a hand to stop you from speaking further, not that you’d wish to elaborate, “Wait, stop, I think I can guess.”
Jaskier had been present when Geralt had requested a debriefing of last night’s hunt from you and Ciri, the four of you crammed onto the two sofas in Jaskier’s reception office. Jaskier wanted gossip whilst Geralt wanted facts; it was a difficult balance that in the end tipped in the witcher’s favour.
He goes to the counter where you’d left the teapot brewing and pours himself a cup.
“So you said you only spoke with the viscount at the start and then you went back to ask follow-up questions,” he continues, and you nod, not allowing him to find any discrepancies, “and then there was another brother, Benedict Bridgerton. So it only gives us two choices, unless the third eldest brother was also there and you didn’t say anything about him.”
“Jaskier-”
“No,” he ignores your attempt to distract him, “I don’t think he would’ve been there. He would have said something that would need to have been mentioned. They all have to have a say, those Bridgertons.”
Jaskier rolls his eyes and you wonder how he had chanced to become acquaintances with these people. It was a well-known secret that Jaskier held a title, but very few knew which one. You doubted even Geralt knew, and yet he still employed the man when he clearly had other means of income (besides the occasional coin thrown in his direction when he busked or played at the pub round the corner).
“How do you even know these people?” you voice your thoughts when Jaskier pauses for breath in his monologue.
“Ah,” he sighs and runs his hand through his hair, “I used to run in the same circles as their father before he passed. Knowing a man such as the late viscount means you have to know his children.”
“The same circles - what do you mean?”
“You know, the same social circles. When I was at university, he was several years above but agreed to tutor me and we found common ground. Also, one cannot envy a man who finds such a loving wife as quickly as he did.”
You want to gag. Marriage? No, thank you. You were pretty sure there wasn’t anything in the witcher codex that prohibited marriage, this wasn’t a nunnery, but surely it would be in your best interest not to form such serious attachments and risk putting them in danger.
You could be a wife and a witcher, you supposed. But any man who supported this lifestyle would be mad to take you as a spouse, let alone a lover.
“Anyway,” Jaskier backtracks, a twinkle in his eyes, “I think it’s Mister Benedict who caught your eye.”
You knew this was coming. “No,” you scoff, your contempt sounding surprisingly authentic, “no one caught my eye. Jaskier what makes you think I care for any of them?”
“Well, I had the pleasure of meeting the Viscount yesterday morning, and he seemed to me to be a bit highly strung. Not your type.”
“How do you know what my type is?” you exclaim around a mouthful, ready to defend against any supposition he may have the gall to make.
Jaskier gives you a soft look, “I just do, my dear.”
You huff, wanting more of an explanation but not wanting to push the subject any further into unfamiliar territory.
Silence falls as you finish your plate and Jaskier sips his tea, waiting.
“He’s probably much too old for me anyway,” you frown, hating the direction this conversation was going but unable to control yourself.
“Oh, my dear, I think this age gap you’re imagining is much smaller than you think. It would be much worse if you were interested in me or Geralt.”
Your cheeks flame at this and there is nothing you can do to control it, except hide your face in your hands. You had carried a torch for Jaskier when you had first started working here, his confidence and disposition incredibly alluring. All it took to snuff that flame was the knowledge of his infatuation for your boss.
“What about me?” Geralt wanders into the kitchen, notices your nearly empty plate and sighs. Goes to find his own food.
“Just saying how ancient you are, Geralt,” you poke your tongue out.
“Uh, no,” Jaskier accuses, pointing his finger at you. “Someone caught our little witcher’s eye yesterday.”
You scoff, not wanting to involve any one else. You give him a pointed look from the side of your eye, a warning. You know he knows you know his secret, not that he tries very hard to keep it that way, you think. Geralt is just very oblivious to his flirtations. Acutely oblivious. Dense.
Geralt hums and you doubt it is a contemplative one. If he didn’t have a mouthful of sandwich, he’d probably warn you not to let it distract you or something like that.
Instead, he says, “Have you seen Cirilla?”
“No,” says Jaskier.
“No, why?” you say at the same time.
Geralt sighs minutely, “I have an errand for her.”
“Could I do it?” Anything to get out of the house, let Jaskier forget about his matchmaking schemes.
Geralt waves you away. “No, sorry, kid. I need her specific skill set.”
“Ah,” you had forgotten Ciri could do this thing where she disappeared and then reappeared in the next room. Or the next street over. Whenever she was on a hunt with you she refrained from using it, preferring to travel by foot or horseback, probably for your own sake. Not that you’d mind, you think. It’s just one more thing she can do that you can’t.
Geralt called it Chaos, an ancient form of energy that can be utilised and shaped to the wielder’s intent. He said it used to be very popular on the Continent several hundred years ago.
Geralt leaves the kitchen, ignorant of your inner turmoil, the ever-revolving self-doubt that you had become very good at ignoring. What can you do that Ciri cannot?
“The social season is only just starting, I’m sure I can procure an invitation from somewhere… pull some strings so we can get you formally acquainted.”
“Jaskier, stop. It’s fine, I’m better off not knowing him.”
Jaskier pouts. You know he is trying to take your mind off Ciri so you lift the corner of your lips slightly, a poor attempt at a show of appreciation of his efforts.
It is very easy to let Jaskier win this battle. Besides, what could go wrong?
“I wouldn’t mind one fancy ball, though. I guess it could be fun.”
He laughs and claps his hands together. Grinning, he collects your plate and places it with his cup by the sink, ready to be washed later at the end of the day. He winks at you as he leaves the room to continue his work.
You know nothing good could come of Jaskier’s meddling, but you’d be damned if you wouldn’t be there for the ride.
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shy-urban-hobbit · 6 months
Text
For day 3 of Whumptober - journal.
(CW canon character death).
Lambert placed the empty box on the bed as he took in the room he hadn't entered in over a year. It used to be their room, but after Aiden....he just hadn't been able to stand sleeping alone in there and had enlisted his brothers help in moving his stuff into the guest room, requesting that they leave anything of Aiden's exactly where it was. This time though, he'd kept his plans for the day to himself and purposely silenced his phone as an extra precaution. One or more of his family would only insist on coming over, or drop by on some flimsy pretence (last time it has been Jaskier asking to borrow a cook book when everyone knew the man could burn water) and whilst it was something he usually loved them for, this was something he needed to do alone.
The sweater hanging off the back of the chair was just as soft as he remembered, although he couldn't decide whether he was relieved or sad that it's owners scent had long faded. The shirts in the wardrobe were still hanging in the very specific order that made no sense to Lambert but Aiden insisted on, as were the t-shirts and trousers. He should probably donate these to somebody at some points but right now it was a small victory getting them packed away in a box to be stored away. Baby steps, that's what the grief counselor had said.
Aiden's bedside table was next. An amalgamation of organised clutter. The second hand paperback he'd been reading, alongside his reading glasses. A strip of the painkillers for the frequent headaches he suffered from (ironically, usually caused by trying to read without his glasses. Something Lambert would tease him about endlessly). The wallet one of the siblings Aiden had still been in touch with had gifted him one Christmas, alongside a bunch of expired bank cards, store cards and receipts that he put to one side to go in the trash.
A familiar book bound in blue leather tucked to the back of the drawer caught his attention. Not a day had gone by where he hadn't seen Aiden scribbling in that. He'd never been precious about keeping it hidden, telling Lambert he was free to look although most of it was probably just lists and doodles. Half joking that if he had any earth shattering secrets, he wouldn't be writing them down considering that one of the first things that got drilled into him when he got involved with Dyn Marv as an angry, confused pre teen was "'Never write anything down that could be used as evidence". Lambert had never taken him up on it before, out of respect for Aiden's privacy even though he'd said it was fine. Now though...who knows? Maybe there was something in here that could provide answers to questions he wasn't even sure why he was still asking.
He flicked it open at a random page. Aiden's hand writing stated back at him in a sparkly green pen. The list made absolutely no sense without any context, a list of foods all beginning with the letter C. The following pages were much the same until he came across a note written in what appeared to be Sharpie of a time and place Lambert knew very well. The time and place of their first official date. Lambert flicked further, Aiden's random notes to himself becoming more frequently interspersed with actual entries. A couple of paragraphs of Aiden gushing like a lovesick teen the morning after he'd first spent the night, even though they'd done nothing more than sleep. A drawing of a coffee cup accompanied only by the words "He remembers my order!!!". An entire page devoted to how nervous Aiden was about meeting Lambert's family. Anecdotes were now accompanied by matching doodles. A roughly drawn penguin alongside a story about a zoo trip that has Lambert smiling at the memory. A sudden return to less frequent entries, back to the original lists and the writing borderline sloppy, reminding Lambert of a period he'd rather forget. The fight and consequent break up that had followed. The tentative influx of entries hinting at when they'd decided to give it another go. Pages full of furniture lists and budgets from when they'd decided to move in together. A childishly drawn sun from when Ciri had gotten hold of it that one time. Instead of getting mad, Aiden had laughed and asked her to sign it, hence the big "C" in crayon in one corner ("A Ciri original. Could be worth a bit someday.").
Lambert felt tears gathering in his eyes. For all Aiden's talk of leaving no evidence, what was this if not evidence of how happy he'd been with Lambert, of their lives together, the life they'd hoped to build written down plain as day?
"Lambert?" Eskel called out as he opened the door to Lambert's house using his spare key, Geralt following close behind flicking on the lights as he headed to the kitchen.
"Lambert, you in?" The larger of the two called out as he made his way upstairs, "Nobody's heard from you all day, we were getting worried. Geralt bought food if you're hungry!"
It was then he noticed the door to Lambert's old bedroom was slightly ajar, "Lambert?" He called softly, slowly swinging the door fully open and flicking the bedside lamp on.
His little brother was sat on the floor by what was once Aiden's side of the bed, tears falling freely as he quietly cried, an open book on the floor in front of him.
"Oh, Lam." Eskel cooed, dropping to his knees and gently pulling him into a hug. A hug which turned even tighter when he caught the words written on the page in Aiden's writing. Something about how he'd accidentally found the ring a week ago and couldn't wait for Lambert to pluck up enough courage to ask.
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How the Witcher Characters would react to Lambert's child surprise
...having a similar temper as him
A/N: I think Lambert and his child surprise would have a very fun dynamic that would entertain the witcher fans. They’d definitely argue a lot and then go off to opposite ends of the camp to sulk like children only to make up a few minutes later and kick some ass. It would make for some amazing banter in my opinion.
Tagged: @lucyinthelibrary @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @sunndust @bloatedandlonly (hmu to be added!)
Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!
Geralt
He’s just surprised anyone can match Lambert’s verbal onslaught
Then again, he’s worried that you’ll hurt Ciri’s feelings, both of you being child surprises in Kaer Morhen
When the two of you do get in a fight, Ciri has to remind him that her grandmother is Calanthe
He doesn’t mind you raging on, he’s used to it from Lambert after all
More amused than insulted
Yennefer
Oh she’s pissed
She’s only just gotten used to Jaskier’s shenanigans, and now you
Nope, she can’t be around someone who expresses their anger so clearly
Avoids you, but will get into verbal arguments with you
The two of you are not good together, or scary together
Ciri
Literally does not care
As said, Calanthe is her grandmother
She’s thankful for some company that doesn’t treat her like a child or tiptoe around her
Great person to argue with (read: great sibling)
Perfect sparring partner
Triss
She’s so pure (at least in the Netflix series…)
Like, you CANNOT be angry at Triss
Only person exempt from your or Lambert’s anger
Which means that people flock her to avoid your anger
She doesn’t mind, enjoys her exclusive treatment
Eskel
He didn’t expect anything else
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
The tree being an angry witcher with a potty mouth
Looks on in amusement, mostly
Bets with Geralt over the outcome of you and Lambert’s arguments
Coen
He’s Lambert’s friend – he didn’t expect anything less
You won’t enrage him past an eyeroll
Will team up with you against Lambert
Also a great help for when Lambert is actually insulted
Vesemir
The first time he meets you he immediately goes
NOT THIS
Too bad, you’re there now
Does not put up with any more versions of Lambert
Finds outlets for you to let off some steam so that he doesn’t have to deal with it
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bambirex · 3 months
Text
2023 writing roundup
I was tagged by @dancingwiththefae, thank you! ❤️
I've written 24 fics this year, mostly Witcher and a few others (I'm not including the request compilations from tumblr)
Had to put some of it under the cut because I have long ass summaries lol
January
The Day Has Come Where I Have Died (Only To Find I've Come Alive) (geraskier, M, 2,785 words)
A familiar place forces Jaskier to relive the most horrifying experience of his life.
February
Me And Mr. Wolf (geraskier, E, 3,861 words)
Geralt looked at him differently, with an emotion in his amber eyes that Jaskier couldn’t quite decipher, but it looked like hunger. And Jaskier tried to signal to him that it was okay to act upon his desires (if they existed at all, of course), but all his attempts were futile. The tension, the lingering glances and touches remained, and Jaskier felt like tearing his own hair out every day.
(...)
All his frustrations oozed onto the piece of paper before him. That was the only way to truly let it all out, by making up an unabashedly horny song using his typical metaphors. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever hear it; this wasn’t the kind of song Jaskier would have ever played in front of a crowd. That was just for him, only he would know who the big bad wolf and the needy bunny of the lyrics were.
Well, Geralt would probably know, too, what with him living his life with the “white wolf” title plastered to him, and the fact he once fondly said that if Jaskier would be an animal, he would definitely be an over-energetic rabbit.
Lucky that Geralt would never find that song.
We Match (geraskier, G, 1,121 words)
Geralt and Jaskier compare their stripes.
March
Butterfly Lounge (geraskier, T, 1495 words)
Geralt has missed out on so much.
The Wonderful In You (trissefer, T, 4,080 words)
Five times Triss told Yennefer she loved her without outright saying it, and the one time Yennefer said it for real.
The River's Just A River (one-sided geraskier, T, 1817 words)
Jaskier needs to tell Geralt something important in order to move on with his life, even though he knows he cannot expect anything in return.
June
Tell It With Your Heart (geraskier, T, 2,504 words)
While Jaskier always says what's on his mind, Geralt works a little differently. That doesn't mean he cannot tell Jaskier how he feels - he just does that without words.
July
Sunshine For The Sunshine (geraskier, yennskier, radskier, Jaskier & Kaer Morhen wolves, Jaskier & Ciri, G, multichap, 2,127 words)
Jaskier being loved, spoiled and taken care of by everyone the way he deserves.
This Evil Romance (So Good I Never Wanna Waste It) (yennskier, E, 4,678 words)
"See something you like, little bird?"
On one hand, definitely. This woman was so incredibly hot, if Jaskier wasn't literally tied into a knot, she would have fallen on her knees to worship her.
On the other hand, judging by her unnaturally perfect looks, the dark lace and the ominous necklace - not to mention the fact she was smirking over a kidnapped girl - she was most definitely a witch. And that was not very good.
--
Jaskier wakes up tied up and disoriented in the company of a very sexy, but probably insane witch, and her first thought, of course, is that she is going to be sacrificed- but the witch has other plans. Really exciting ones.
August
The Heavy Burden That You Can't Bear (past radskier, Radovid/OMC, E, 2,212 words)
He grabbed the oil from the table and coated his fingers with it, cursing the way they shook. The mighty, unapologetic King of Redania. Radovid the Stern. The tyrant. Broken to the point he started breaking everything and everyone around him, punishing the world because punishing himself wasn’t enough anymore. The charming, witty player of a Prince long gone. Now he was just a lonely, angry King who has aged decades in a few years. More pathetic than ever.
The servant gasped as Radovid shoved two fingers inside him without warning. He squirmed as the king prepared him without any finesse, stretching him out quick. He probably didn’t even open him enough before he slicked himself and started pushing inside, if the way his breath hitched in a way that sounded more pained than pleasured was anything to go by.
Radovid grabbed the man’s hips as he buried himself inside. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the body before him engulf him. Tight and warm, silky heat. A quiet moan. Radovid let it all take him back to the memories that haunted his every waking moment.
Takes One To Know One (Breaking Bad, JesseJane, T, 1,117 words)
Jesse needs to tell Jane something important. Jane has some interesting info for him, too.
Good Enough To Eat (geraskier, E, 2,375 words)
“It’s true what they say about wolves,” Jaskier started, his voice much lower than usual- sensual and needy. He only talked like this when he wanted to play their game. Not even just regular sex, but the kind that they have discovered months prior due to a ridiculous, horny song found by accident. A sinful performance they put on for each other.
“That they like to take care of their pack. The big alpha would provide for his family, making sure they’re well-fed…”
Jaskier took one of Geralt’s hands and led it under the blanket and over his stomach. Geralt couldn’t suppress a moan when he felt his fingers dig into soft flesh, yielding like dough beneath his hand.
“Is this what it’s about, huh?” Jaskier huffed out a laugh, his breath hot and moist against the skin of Geralt’s neck. “The wolf wants to feed up the bunny so he would be happy and healthy?”
September
Keep My Heart In Your Gold (geraskier, T, 2,579 words)
Geralt always carries a brooch around with him. Jaskier wants to know why.
A Lesson In Patience (geraskier, E, 1,939 words)
“Fuck me,” he moaned against Geralt’s neck. He pushed his body against Geralt’s, rubbing his hard cock against his groin. “Now.”
Geralt smirked against Jaskier’s skin. He gave his ass a curt spank, making Jaskier let out a delighted gasp.
“Get on the bed, then,” Geralt told him. Jaskier nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste. He threw himself on the bed, opening his legs with a sultry look. Geralt stood at the foot of the bed, raking his eyes over Jaskier’s body, practically already writhing with need.
“What are you waiting for?” He drawled. “Don’t just stand there!”
Geralt retrieved the bottle of oil from the desk, keeping his eyes on Jaskier all the while. Jaskier pouted and huffed, then reached between his legs and started stroking his cock, unable to go without a bit of pleasure for a few moments. Oh, it will be delicious to break him in and show him it was worth waiting, Geralt thought with a smirk.
October
I Get So Hungry (When You Say You Love Me) (Jaskier/Geralt/Radovid, E, 3,439 words)
"What kind of animal would I be," Radovid drawled, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop himself. Jaskier sent him a strange look.
"Pardon?"
"In this game of yours," Radovid clarified. He tightened his grasp around Jaskier's hips. "What am I?"
Jaskier tilted his head to the side as he inspected his face. His eyes darkened, his tongue poking out to wet his lips.
"A fox," Jaskier concluded. Radovid hummed.
"Elaborate on that."
"Smart, cunning," Jaskier explained, teasing a finger down the side of Radovid's neck. "Crafty. Seemingly a harmless puppy, but you bite hard. Not afraid of a challenge. Leaner and not as tough as a wolf - but still very strong. And you have these sharp features and that reddish tint to your hair, so... a fox. Definitely."
Well, Radovid could make do with that information. It planted a new image in his head - one where that sweet, eager bunny was hunted by not one, but two apex predators at once...
It was as if Jaskier read his mind because he leant in really close to his ear and whispered "why? Would you like to join us?"
Te Engemet, Én Tégedet (Queen, Jimercury, G, 3,846 words)
Freddie suddenly sat up, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “Okay, so I did some research. They have a folk song, it’s really pretty. And I want to sing it for them on Sunday.”
Jim was sure his eyes were practically bulging out of his head, and that just made Freddie giggle again. “In Hungarian?” Jim checked, and Freddie nodded, his cheeks growing flushed with excitement.
“I want to blow their minds, okay? I want them to remember this forever.”
November
Chubskier Drabbles (geraskefer, geraskier, yennskier, radskier, Jaskier & Kaer Morhen wolves, Jaskier/Valdo, Jaskier/Vespula, Jaskier/original characters, Jaskier & Yarpen, E, multichapter WIP, currently 14,763 words)
Just a collection of short stories revoling around chubby Jaskier.
December
New Depths (geraskefer, E, 3,375 words)
Jaskier asks Yennefer to perform a strange spell on him. No one's ready for how much he actually enjoys the results.
Carve It Out (Killing Eve, villaneve, M, 1,413 words)
Eve brings her issues with her to the bedroom. Villanelle knocks some sense into her.
The World Is Yours, If You Seek The Good (geraskefer, M, multichapter WIP, currently 55,807 words)
Used and abused by humans, Jaskier and Yennefer believe they are alone and with no reason to trust anybody. That is, until they meet each other - and then, a couple of other strange misfits.
Maybe Loving Is Sharing (geraskefer, M, multichap, 24,108 words)
The plan is simple: help your best friend get together with the girl of her dreams. What could go wrong?
Well, when everyone is confused and pining but also very oblivious, pretty much everything.
It's A Game We Play (geraskier, yennskier, radskier, T, multichapter WIP, currently 40, 586 words)
Jaskier's daughter is about to marry the love of her life, and she decides she wants both her parents at her wedding. Only problem is that Jaskier has slept with a little too many people in his youth, so the identity of the other parent is a mystery. That does not stop the bride-to-be from inviting three potential daddy candidates and unleashing absolute chaos in the process.
*
Otherwise known as Jaskier's terrible horrible no good past decisions leading to terrible horrible no good outcomes. Also known as the Mamma Mia! AU nobody asked for, but I wrote it anyway.
Those Blue Memories Start Calling (Rush, Launt, T, 1,849 words)
James visits Niki before Christmas.
Every Night He'd Tuck Him Tight (But Never Left The Room) (radskier, geraskier, E, multichapter WIP, currently 6,472 words)
Jaskier finds himself back with Radovid against his will- while he still has strong feelings for him, he finds it hard to trust him again. What's even worse is that the guilt and pain has turned Radovid into a completely different person. A person who's desperate to keep the only good thing in his life, which is Jaskier, himself. Jaskier doesn't want to change his mind about putting his family first, so Radovid needs to find a way to make sure he will be the only one for the bard.
What follows is Radovid's even deeper descend into madness, and Jaskier's forced transformation into the perfect, pliant lover who won't need anybody else.
Tagging @wren-of-the-woods, @sokkas-first-fangirl, @carrottheluvmachine and whoever else wants to do this!
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dancingwiththefae · 1 year
Text
Love Be Brave
day 1 of @jaskierwhumpweek
Ship: Geraskefer (pre-relationship)
Prompt: Surrender
Tags: Graphic torture, angst, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 2.9k
Completed: yes
1/1
Summary: Jaskier is held captive and tortured for information on Geralt and Ciri. Geralt and Yennefer are on their way to rescue him, but not before his resolve finally breaks.
A/N: this probably would have worked for betrayal too but I have a different idea for that
Also on AO3
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He couldn’t remember how long it had been since they brought him here. It couldn’t have been too long. A week maybe? More? He wasn’t sure. But in the never ending dark of the cell, it felt like forever. All the days blurred into one. Funny that, how quickly you lose your sense of time without the sun. He missed the sun. The light. The crisp air of a winter’s morning. It all felt so far away now. The door creaked open and the false light from the lamps crept in. Only to be blocked moments later by a man.
“Morning bard,” he greeted with cheer. It made him feel sick. “You know, I’m feeling generous today so, any requests?”
Jaskier pretended to ponder on the question a moment.
“A nap,” he ventured, “a jug of wine. And to fall into the arms of a beautiful woman.”
The man laughed an ugly laugh.
“Still full of jokes. Save it for Rience. He’s looking forward to your meeting today.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he whispered, staring down at the burns already decorating his skin. His hands were a lost cause. His fingers felt hot and tight, barely functional. The ropes around his wrists had rubbed the skin raw. And under his clothes, a litter of bruises and marks. They quickly learned that beatings got them nowhere. Jaskier had taken a punch from many angry spouses in his time. Now, they mostly did it for fun. They took what mattered most, his music. It would take a miracle for him to play again. Or, magic at least. Except the only magic user available was the one destroying him piece by piece. He hadn't broken. That was the most important thing. Though he was starting to lose sight of why it was so important.
The man hauled him up by his collar and dragged him out of the room. He pulled the bard through an all too familiar corridor and into a dark, empty room save for two chairs. Both were empty. Jaskier was shoved into the one in the centre of the room. He no longer fought back when they tied his hands and feet to it. He wasn't sure he had the strength to anyway. The man left and Jaskier was alone. He knew it wasn't going to be for long. It was the same every time. The door creaked open. Jaskier didn't need to look to know who it was.
“Hello, Jaskier,” Rience spoke in a soft voice, “are you ready to tell me where the witcher and the girl are?”
Jaskier let out a laugh that sounded more like a whimper.
“Where's the fun in that?”
His voice didn't match the confidence of his words. Rience chuckled at the sorry sight he must have made. Calmly he approached, not sparing another glance towards him. He took a seat in front of him, rested his chin in his hand and stared. The stillness of it unnerved him. The way he looked at him, like he was his favourite toy, brought him nothing but dread.
“Shall we get started?” Rience said after a while. Standing, he retrieved a poker from the edge of the room. Conjuring a flame, he ran his palm along it.
“Everytime you refuse to answer a question-” he pointed to hot end of the poker towards him with careless grace “-you will be punished. But I'm sure you know how it goes by now. So, where is the princess?”
The bard kept his mouth shut. In reality he wasn't sure where she was. He had never even met her. But he had a pretty good idea where Geralt would take her if he had her. Considering how desperate Rience and his company seemed for answers, Jaskier could only guess that that was the case. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough. The mage let the silence stretch on for a moment. When it continued too long he struck, pressing the poker against his side. The bard didn't hold back his cry. There was no shame in screaming. The poker was wrenched away with a cruel smile. The bard panted against the searing pain in his side.
“Where does the witcher go when they're not roaming the continent?”
More silence. Rience went for his shoulder this time. Pain lanced through him. More questions. More scars to add to his collection until he was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and praying to any god that would listen for a miracle. His will was only so strong. It was made all the worse by Rience's obvious enjoyment of his pain. The man knew how to cause pain, and he did it well. He took pleasure in it.
“Do you know why I do it this way,” he drawled, stepping in close to run his fingers through his hair in mock tenderness, “why I don’t just pull the answers I seek straight from your head?”
“Enlighten me,” he ground out.
Rience crouched down in front of him until they were face to face. Piercing eyes pinned his. When he spoke it was soft and with a smile.
“Because it’s more fun this way. Magic is too convenient. Yes, I could simply force my way into your mind and find everything I need. But what’s the fun in that? I don’t just want to complete my task. I want to watch you break”
Abruptly, he stood and stalked away, turning on his heel when he reached his usual place.
“Now, shall we try this again?”
It was the same as before. Jaskier held on with all the strength that he had left. Rience's resolve was breaking. After a few more attempts, the mage dropped the poker carelessly to the ground. His face twitched and he struggled to keep composure. He paced back and forth. Jaskier tried his best to keep his breathing even. It was getting harder to recover after his ‘meetings’ with Rience. It wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t at all, he knew. There was a part of him that wanted to give up. To just give them everything they want and pray to the gods that they would let him go. He pushed it down best he could.
Rience stopped. With an inquisitive hum he produced a white light from his hand. He looked back at the bard from over his shoulder. The fire in his eyes filled him with dread.
“Let’s make this more interesting.”
He strode across the room far too quickly. He knew it was futile and yet he still flinched back as if to get away.
Rience placed the palm on his hand on Jaskier’s forehead and suddenly he was struck with overwhelming pain. There was not a part of him it didn’t touch. Struggling against it was futile. It was everywhere. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He grit his teeth until they ached. Rience was going to kill him. He was sure of it. When he thought he couldn’t take it anymore it vanished.
The mage looked down at him with a smug grin as Jaskier tried to get air back into his lungs.
“You’re playing a losing game, bard,” Rience murmured, “I’m going to take what I want anyway.”
Panic began to set in. He couldn’t go through that again. He just couldn’t. But he couldn’t betray Geralt. If what Rience said was true - and he knew deep down that it was - he was going to betray him whether he wanted to or not. When he didn’t respond, the mage held his hand up once again. Tears stung his eyes. Jaskier opened his mouth and told him everything.
Shouting emerged from down the hall. The mage's eyes flitted towards the door. The commotion grew louder. With a huff, the mage stalked towards the door and left the room. With him gone, the adrenaline left Jaskier all at once. Slumping forwards in the chair, he suddenly felt exhausted. The world around him began to blur. He barely registered the pain anymore. His body felt heavy. He didn't want to fight the weight to keep himself up. Rushed footsteps echoed from down the hall, approaching closer. Rience reappeared through the door, heading straight towards him with fury. A ball of flame erupted from his hand. Jaskier didn't have time to panic. This was it. This was the end for him. The gravity of what he had just done settled in as soon as it happened.
The door burst open, startling them both. Geralt stood in the doorway, wild eyed and sword at the ready. The world seemed to stop for a moment as they locked eyes. He watched the witcher's face morph from shock to fury. Sword raised, he readied himself to fight. A portal opened before them and in a flash, Rience was gone. Jaskier stared at the space he had occupied in horror until white hair obscured it.
“Geralt,” he breathed. He couldn't quite believe it. Geralt was here. He had found him. He'd come to rescue him. But he didn't know. Oh gods, he didn't know. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he wept, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
“Yen,” the witcher called, “he's in here.”
He cut through the ropes at his wrist with a knife.
“It's alright,” he soothed, “we're getting you out of here.”
“No, no. Stop,” Jaskier begged, “I- I told them everything. Rience, he knows. He knows where Ciri is. I'm so sorry.”
The witcher paused. His face was unreadable. Jaskier was sure – he was so sure – that Geralt would leave him. He wouldn't save him. Not after what he did. And he wouldn't blame him. Jaskier was an enemy now. He had betrayed his loyalty, his deepest trust. But then the witcher did something he didn't expect. He carried on.
“Doesn't matter. We can deal with it later.”
He bent down to cut through the ropes at his ankles. Jaskier wanted to ask what he was doing but the words wouldn't come. He could only watch, startled, as Geralt freed him. There was more crashing from outside and then Yennefer ran through the door, stopping in shock when she took in the sight in front of her.
“Fuck,” she swore.
“They know where Ciri is,” Geralt explained in a rush, “we have to get out of here.”
He held the bard from under his elbows and pulled him up to stand. Immediately, Jaskier's feet went from under him. The witcher's arms moved to encircle his middle. It was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Yen, open a portal. Now!”
He couldn't find the right way up. Everything was spinning. It was too much effort just to think. To try and move. He didn't want to fight it any more. He was done fighting. Letting himself drop into the weight that was holding him up, he surrendered to the darkness.
The world came back to him slowly. He was aware of aches throughout his body. Duller than they were before. He was covered by scratchy sheets. They brushed against his legs as he shifted. His eyelids felt heavy. He would drift back asleep if not for thirst making itself known. With immense effort he opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dark. Dark enough that he could almost be convinced he was back in his cell, if not for the bed he was currently occupying. A candle flickered alive on a table beside him and he flinched away.
“Sorry, sorry,” he heard a woman whisper. Her voice was familiar. Yennefer's face was illuminated in the candlelight. She moved it away from the bed and for that he was grateful.
“You're awake,” she said, “can I get you anything?”
“Water,” he whispered. Or tried to, at least. It was difficult to talk. She seemed to have understood anyway, and poured some out from a jug for him. With careful hands, she lifted his head enough to drink. She held the glass for him. He drank slowly until it was empty. Yennefer helped him back down and took the glass away.
“How are you feeling?” she asked him. How was he feeling? He wasn't sure. He hurt, his his limbs felt stiff. His hands were wrapped in bandages and basically useless. The guilt at what he had done ate away at him until there was a hollow in his chest. He was confused as to why he was here. Why Yennefer of all people was tending to him. It was so much all at once.
“Where are we?” he responded instead.
Yennefer chewed her lip. Her lack of response was deafening.
“Not Kaer Morhen,” he continued.
“No.”
Again, the silence stretched out.
“You won't tell me,” he concluded.
Her face screwed up in anguish or pity he couldn't tell.
“I'm sorry, Jaskier.”
“No,” he mumbled, “I understand.”
He really did, as much as it hurt. He had betrayed them. But, boy did it hurt. He had always prided himself on his loyalty. And now they couldn't trust him.
“Hey.” She cupped his cheek and tilted his head to look at her. “When you're healed, we're gonna move to another safe place. We'll stick together. All of us.”
“Why?” He felt tears sting his eyes. “I told him everything.”
“Jaskier, you were tortured. Nobody blames you for giving in.”
Confronted with everything that had happened, he couldn't hold back any more. Tears flowed freely. She held him silently while he wept. Once it had started, there was no stopping. Everything he had pent up since he had been taken by them. All the strength he had used to keep himself together. He let it go. Finally, he let it go. He cried and cried until there was no more left to give. Still, Yennefer held him. Kept him close while his breathing evened out. He pulled away first, wiping the tears from his face. That was when he noticed his sleeves were different to what they were before. He realised he was wearing different clothes and he was relatively clean, all things considering.
“Did you...bathe me?”
“You smelled worse than a sewer,” Yennefer laughed, “but don't worry. We were very gentle.”
Jaskier felt his cheeks flame at that. Any other time and he would have made a comment of fished for compliments. Or even openly expressed how he wished for their hands on him again. Quietly, he wished for it. It had been so long since he had felt a kind touch and he wasn't even conscious for it.
“What about...” He checked down his shirt at the marks Rience had left. They looked old, as if they had happened months ago.
“Do you underestimate my abilities?” she joked. There was an uneasy edge to it.
“And my hands? Are they-” he couldn't finish the sentence. The idea that there was permanent damage was too great to even contemplate. The sorceress sighed a weary sigh.
“They will... take time. But I'm working on it. Can't have a bard without his lute, can we?”
The thought almost made him cry again. He stared down at his bandaged hands. He couldn't do much like this. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to need taken care of. He didn't doubt Yennefer's abilities. Not for a second. He just hoped this was not one thing too many.
“You should try and get some more sleep.”
She pulled away from him and made to leave.
“Don't go.” He didn't mean to sound so desperate. A sudden wave of panic at the thought of being alone took over. He reached out with a bandaged hand to stop her until he remembered how useless they were now. The sorceress sighed and gently coaxed him into the middle of the bed. She lifted the covers and climbed in next to him. The bard didn't hesitate to curl up into her. He was so tired. A kind of tiredness that had settled into his bones. His body ached. If he were in a better frame of mind, he would probably have been embarrassed by his actions He buried his face into her neck. The scent of lilac and gooseberries was strongest here. He breathed deeply and relaxed into it.
He wanted to sleep. His body cried out for it. But when he closed his eyes, he was hit with images of Rience, of that place, of himself giving in. He was too exhausted to cry. Yennefer sensed his unease.
“You want Geralt, too?” she asked.
Jaskier nodded into her shoulder.
“I'll let him know,” she whispered.
A few moments later, the door opened and Geralt appeared a the foot of the bed. Jaskier buried his face back into Yennefer quickly. He didn't want to see if the witcher looked at him with pity. Before Geralt could speak, Yennefer held up a hand to stop him.
“We'll talk in the morning. For now-” she waved her hand towards the other side of the bed “-Jaskier needs us.”
The bed dipped behind him as Geralt cautiously climbed in behind him. He shuffled in further until he was pressed up against the bard's back. Though the witcher was being careful of Jaskier's injuries, the weight against his back settled him. He felt safe between then. Safe in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. He listened to the steady breathing between them, felt the soft rise and fall of their chests against him, and quietly slipped into sleep.
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thesleepy1 · 2 years
Text
The Fighter And The Bard In Training
A/N: @shit-i-say-shit-i-think requested a fic where Eskel brings a mother of two back to the keep. Again, repeating theme we have here. A theme that I am completely ready to embrace because it is so damn soft. I just can’t with the wholesomeness. This fic right here? The one you’re about to read? Pure fluff. You’re welcome. Unbeta’d because we die like my heart after reading fluffy fics. 
Pairings: Eskel x Reader, slight Jaskier x Geralt
Summary: After years together, Eskel finally decides it is time for you and your children to meet his side of the family. You two had only put it off until your youngest was old enough to handle the travel but since arriving at the keep, you didn’t know why you didn’t bring them along sooner. They loved it. 
Or, “Can I please request an Eskel x reader where he brings his lady back to Kaer Mohren with her two kids?”
Word count: 3,047
Warnings: none that I know of
Astry was getting too big to be held in your arms but you had yet to complain. You wanted to cherish these moments for as long as you could because just the week before you had been nursing her. It still did not connect in your head how seven years had passed since you had to breast her. These few moments where she allowed you to carry her were memories that you would hold dear for years to come. 
Your son, Stokrotka, was a different story entirely. The boy would be thirteen by the end of winter and he, unlike his younger sister, always sought out your physical attention. No matter if it had been a long day out running chores for the neighbors or a simple ache in his skin, he turned to you for a hug. You thought he would grow out of it but years passed and yet he returned time and time again. 
Once more, no complaints here. 
As you stood in the front halls of Kaer Morhen, Stokrotka to your left, Astry in your arms, and Eskel to your right; you could not feel more grateful for the family you had built. You and Eskel had been together for years but merely decided to hold off the trip until Astry was older. Now that she was old enough to make the trek up the mountain path, she and Stokrotka could finally meet their Pa’s family. 
Vesemir was the first to greet you. You had only spoken with him through letters, his scratchy quill marks so unlike his voice when he said, “For such a dirty mouth through letters, I thought you would be taller.” ‘
You chuckled at him, already in love with the father of your husband. “Surprisingly enough, I get that one quite a bit.” You gave him a knowing wink, “Though I try to keep it down around the little ones.” 
Vesemir smiled and although he and Eskel were not related by blood, you could see the resemblance in the spark in their eyes. He turned to peer at Stokrotka and Astry, the two unusually quiet. They knew they had nothing to be afraid of in witchers. However, it could be Vesemir’s natural aura which made people want to please him that kept the children silent.
“I’ve heard much about you two through the letters,” he spoke in a tone matching his grin. “This little one must be Stokrotka and the lad, Astry?” 
“I’m Stokrotka and that’s Astry, actually,” Stokrotka’s matter of fact reply broke the tension. Astry erupted into a fit of giggles at Vesemir’s mistake. She wriggled free from your arms, your reflexes the only thing that prevented her from being dropped as her quick feet hit the cobblestone floors. She ran the short distance from Vesemir and bounced up and down as if she had not spent most of the day trekking up a mountain. 
“You raised my Pa, right?” she asked with an infectious smirk. Eskel stood back with you to watch the interaction. A fond expression was on his face as Vesemir nodded and Astry beamed. “That makes you my Grandpa, yeah?” 
“If you’d have me, I'd be happy to take up the job.” 
*****
The next two people who had greeted you were Coen and Lambert. Two men that clearly had never interacted with children. When they first saw Stokrotka and Astry, they had greeted your children politely and returned to their game of gwent. Astry, who had never seen the game before, quickly took to watching their game to try to understand its rules. 
She was seven and still struggled to read so she didn’t get very far. 
Coen took pity on her and tried his best to explain to her the rules. Stokrotka nodded to himself as if making sure that Coen was correct even though the witcher had been alive and playing the game long before he was born. The boy had only ever played with you and Eskel when he woke up from nightmares. The game was a distraction from his thoughts. Eskel always let Stokrotka win and your son had never once beat you in a fair game. You were just too good. And you knew the boy could use a challenge to keep his mind off of things. 
Despite Stokrotka’s nodding approval and Coen’s friendly demeanor, nothing seemed to have stuck with Astry. You saw that she was far too interested in the pictures on the cards then any game mechanics. 
“You know I learned the game after a good pint or two of white gull,” Lambert took a large gulp of his drink just to prove his point. 
“Can I have some?” 
You laughed at Astry’s innocent inquiry but the smile quickly left your face as Lambert shrugged and handed her the tankard. Coen did nothing to stop her. All he did was jokingly request her to save Lambert some. 
Before your daughter could be possibly poisoned by such strong alcohol you snatched the tankard right from her hands. “Alright, I think that’s enough with playing with Uncle Coen and Uncle Lambert.” You set the tankard down far from the edge of the table and turned to stir your children away. Eskel led them away with a stern look to his brothers. You whipped back around and pointed to the two witchers. “Your babysitting privileges are revoked until I feel like you can keep my children safe.” 
“I had white gull when I was your boy’s age and I turned out fine,” Lambert brushed you off nonchalantly. 
“You thinking that just proves her point.”
***** 
Yennefer and Ciri were also wintering at the keep as well. The two were in the courtyard when you and Eskel went off to train. Astry sat on Eskel’s shoulders, her little hands gripped tightly on his hair to steer him one way or the other. Eskel did not seem to mind the stings of pain. His hand merely held onto Astry’s ankles to prevent her from falling. 
Stokrotka had opted to stay in the library as per his fashion. Whether he had hid away in the large hall to read or to practice on his oud without anyone to hear, you weren’t quite sure. Either way, you had allowed him to run from the prospect of running drills without complaint. The boy had different interests than you and his sister and that was alright. 
Ciri was training as well. Only she didn’t play with wooden swords like you and Astry. She held a heavy silver sword in her hand, slashing and tearing through the straw dummies like they had personally offended her. Astry stood to the side, as per your request, and watched in awe. She had seen Eskel train before but Ciri had a very different fighting style. One that had Astry gasping and oohing out loud. 
“I want to try!” Astry exclaimed, watching as Ciri chopped off a dummy’s head in one clean swipe. 
“Perhaps when you’re older,” Yennefer replied with a smile that lacked any condescension. She, unlike Lambert and Coen, had some common sense in her. “I think it's best to start out with those wooden swords. That’s what your father began with.” 
“Really?” Astry was clearly skeptical. She peered up at Eskel as if daring him to lie to her. You chuckled into your hand at the sight, the witcher’s heightened senses hearing without comment. Eskel let go of your hand and kneeled down to Astry’s level.
“Ciri began with training weapons as well,” Eskel explained to his daughter. “But with practice and patience, she managed to hone her skills to be able to use a real sword without harming herself.” Eskel laid a gentle hand on Astry’s shoulder. “If you want to, you’ll get there someday.” 
Astry’s dark eyes lit up like fireworks. She looked at Eskel as if he were the bright sparks of colors himself. “I could be a witcher?!” 
Everyone laughed at her excitement. Astry bounced on the tip of her toes, her smile taking up most of the space on her face. Ciri paused in her training to walk over to Astry. Amusement was evident on the face of Geralt’s daughter. The two silver haired witchers had the same smug smile that you were tempted to wipe off if you had been on the end of it. 
“Yennefer here is teaching me how to be a mage as well.” 
Somehow, Astry’s eyes grew twice as large. 
*****
By nightfall of the third night, the children had explored the whole keep. Some of the rooms were restricted for their safety but they were allowed to peer in to know the reason why. Some of them lacked stable foundations while others had gaping holes in the walls that led straight off the cliff’s edge. Other safer rooms were left with their doors open for the children’s enjoyment. 
On occasion when Ciri had finished her training early, she would join them. Although she had been in the keep much longer, she enjoyed the adventure with your children. You could spot them running through the stone hallway from time to time. Eskel would talk of how he caught them riding down staircases on discarded mattresses. The three of them quickly grew as friends and as partners in crime. 
“I’m going to kill them,” you told Eskel flatly one night as the two of you were getting ready for bed. He poked his head out behind the divider and looked at you with affection. “Don’t give me that look. I really am going to kill those three.” 
“What did the children do now?” 
“They found a way to sneak in Lil’ Bleater and her…special surprises.” 
Eskel stalked closer to you. His chest was bare due to the interruption while he was undressing. Scars littered his tone chests, his muscles rippling with his calm breath. You tried to keep your eyes on his but failed. The sheer size of his torso momentarily made you forget your troubles with the children. 
Eskel coughed in disgust which drew you back to the conversation at hand. “I understand your sudden murderous intent.” Eskel pinched his nose shut, a playful smile at the edge of his cleft lips. “Lil’ Bleater’s surprises are known for their…potency. Perhaps you should venture down to the hot springs.” 
“You have no sympathy for me, do you, Eskel?” 
Eskel kissed you briefly with a teasing smile, “Not an ounce my dear.” 
*****
Besides the children’s antics, there was another stable in Kaer Morhen. Every afternoon Stokrotka would shut the library doors tight and play his oud. No one was allowed in without his explicit permission and even then, he would refuse to play in front of anyone. If questioned, he would merely answer, “It’s not quite finished yet. I still need to practice. Perhaps later.” Later typically meant never with the boy. 
But if one happened to be a witcher and a supportive father, one may or may not be able to catch chords and lyrics while passing the closed library. 
And specifically, who those lyrics address. 
It was not news to you that Stokrotka was a fan of all the famous bards: Drogodar of Cintra, Essi Daven of Cidaris, Le Papillon of Toussaintois, Callonetta of Kovir, and Valdo Marx of Cidaris. You knew far too much of them despite not being a bard yourself. Stokrotka spoke of them whenever someone had gained his trust. 
Eskel knew of them as well but Stokrotka’s favorite bard must have slipped his mind because he only realized then he knew the man. The way Stokrotka spoke of the bard was a tad idealized but Eskel was not going to stop the boy from having a harmless crush. Stokrotka could sing of cornflower blue eyes, brunette locks, and rugged jaw all he wanted. Eskel was a good father and all good fathers want only happiness for their children. 
Though, at times a little embarrassment never hurt no anyone. 
****** 
Geralt arrived usually late this year. He told the keep he had been caught up in some far off lord’s affair. For a man who complained of not wanting to get involved in human affairs, he tended to gravitate towards them. At the end of the day, all he had to show of them was a bad repudiation to some and a couple new scars. The coin was rarely ever good when stingy lords were involved. 
No matter Geralt’s poor choice in contracts, you and Eskel greeted him with kindness. Eskel with the hug of brothers and you with the embrace of close friends. The children were no longer hesitant about new guests among the keep. If one could make up the mountain trails with a smile on their face then they must be a friend of the wolf witchers. 
Astry gave Geralt a running hug much to the amusement and slight jealousy of the other witchers. She did not see any of the witchers as scary monster hunters. In the span of several weeks, the men had become her uncles. Uncle Geralt was just a late addition. 
“You look just like my Pa,” Astry exclaimed with excitement at the discovery. “You two look just alike. Are you twins?” 
Geralt laughed at Astry’s expression. He thought fondly of how Ciri used to look at him the same way when she was Astry’s age. “We trained at the same time but we aren’t twins,” Geralt explained to the now defeated looking Astry. 
“But you look just like twins, Uncle Geralt.” 
“The pretty boys act just alike,” Lambert exclaimed, “They’re the only two that got tied down by marriage.” 
Eskel approached his younger brother, clenching and relaxing his fists as he did so. “I wouldn’t call it being tied down, Lambert. I like to refer to it as finding someone that can put up with me. Someone that loves me for who I really am.” Eskel smiled at Lambert but it was not one of his brotherly ones. “Have you found someone like that?” 
“I prefer the freedom of prostitutes, personally.”  
“What’s a prostitute?” Astry asked and Stokrotka had taken that as his cue to leave for the library for the night. On any other occasion, Eskel would allow him to sneak off but tonight he had a surprise in store. 
“Something that I will explain to you once you’re older,” Eskel avoided the question, guiding Stokrotka back into the room. “Why don’t you go and meet Uncle Geralt?” Eskel addressed his son. 
“We met in the courtyard. He seems like a very nice man.” Stokrotka tried to push past Eskel but the older witcher was not budging to the boy who played with ouds as opposed to swords. “Please Pa, I did my niceties. May I please go?” 
“Don’t you want to show Uncle Geralt’s husband your new songs?” 
Before Stokrotka even knew who Eskel was citing, the lad was shaking his head in a firm no. Your boy did not like to share his work with anyone, whether that be his own mother or his uncle’s husband. It seemed like truly no one was allowed to hear his songs. 
“You’re a bard?” Geralt asked curiously with an expression that Stokrotka could not read. 
“In training, yes,” Stokrotka stated with his usual practical tone. 
“Why don’t you share your lyrics with me? I may know a thing or two about poetry. I traveled with a bard for decades.” 
Stokrotka looked at Geralt with skepticism. He peered up at the silver haired witcher and both you and Eskel knew what was about to happen. You could practically see Stokrotka’s mouth quiver with his need. “I mean this in the lowest form of offense but I don’t think just any traveling bard is able to compare to the teachings of the greatest bard on the continent. Ma gifted me with a print of Jaskier’s book years ago and his genius is simply unmatched. I know my songs need work just as nothing is truly perfect, however, I prefer to work alone as opposed to in pairs. Thank you for your offer, dear uncle, but I must politely decline.”
Stokrotka turned to address you and Eskel. You knew you hid your laughter poorly but the boy did not comment on your red faces. The others in the room were faring only marginally better. Yennefer had to silently threaten to ban Ciri from the room if she did not at least try to hide her crackle. Stokrotka ignored everyone and spoke in the voice of a begrudging diplomat. “If my parents deem it acceptable I will like to retire to the library where I will hopefully be uninterrupted. Is this arrangement agreeable with everyone?” 
“You’re retiring already?” came a voice from behind Stokrotka. “I would have liked to at least read your song book if you were not ready to perform them. I love seeing the work of budding new artisans.” 
Stokrotka shifted on his heel once more to reiterate his statement to the newcomer but for once, he was rendered speechless. The man in front of Stokrotka was the spitting image of the sketch of the continent's most famous bard, a sketch that Stokrotka kept in his oud case among his most prized possessions. His cornflower blue eyes, brunette locks, and rugged jaw were just as the sketch and tales had told of. They were perhaps more beautiful in person. 
Stokrotka stood with his mouth agape. 
“May I have the honor of seeing your work?” Jaskier asked the boy kindly. 
“Y-yes, of course, Jask—I mean sir. Yes, sir. Wait right here. Let me bring you my book and my oud.” With that Stokrotka rushed off to the library and the hall erupted into howls. The whole room shook with the combined laughter of witchers, mage, and man. Only Jaskier stood without a lively roar.  
“Laugh all you may want but that boy is among the politer of the bards in training that I have met.” Jaskier pulled you and Eskel into a warm embrace. He greeted you and you greeted him properly in turn. Astry wanted in on the affection and he honored her request in kind. Jaskier looked to you and Eskel and said, “You two have raised good children.” You knew he meant every word of it too. 
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Not Anymore
Another Bad Things Happen Bingo! Finally got another one done! The Witcher is giving me lots of inspo, but it’s just a matter of balancing fic motivation with life motivation, and school is getting pretty hard. 
Sorry, Jaskier... You got whumped. 
Reminder! Any requests for BTHB that align with my fandoms, I am happy to take! Just ask me, and I’ll confirm :D 
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Keep reading below for the fic also!!
Prompt: I Deserve This 
Fandom: The Witcher (TV) 
Word Count: 1318 words
All Jaskier could hear was the continuous back and forth bickering, a shouting match in which he couldn’t tell who was winning. He had told his travel companion to leave the ‘very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise’, and by Melitele he was right. Her charms had consumed Geralt to the point he was forgotten, simply a whisper on the wind, a scrap of song that was never used. The bard was of the goofy, loveable sort, and that was only taken with pride. He couldn’t help but speak up as the banter came to an end, finally glad of the silence, for once. The Witcher’s voice boomed throughout the Continent, and Yennefer was equally as fiery in her approach. 
“Ooh, boy…” Jaskier let out a small laugh, facing the Witcher, whose sword smiled for him. By the way in which Geralt positioned himself with a clenched fist, staring out at the land… There was no way this Witcher was even relatively relaxed right now. “What a day… I mean, so much has happened!” The bard sighed, “I can’t believe that it-” If every fibre in Jaskier’s body could’ve been frozen, this was how to do it. His amber eyes flashed with rage, fixated on the poor bard who simply mused at the world, in awe of everything that existed. The stomping of his feet could’ve caused an earthquake if they pounded any harder, and Jaskier stumbled to an upright position, a deer in the headlights, confronted by pure ire. 
“DAMN IT, JASKIER!” The Witcher seethed, his breaths riling in and out of his chest. Jaskier briefly turned back to the mainland below. It was a long fall down, and with his current skittishness and the never-ending intimidation, the bard could easily flinch out of fear and meet an untimely death. He shook but held his ground. This instance of frustrated Geralt would be no different than past iterations, right? “Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's always you, shovelling it?” 
The bard blinked, his frame shaking. What had he done?! To be fair, he did cause the outburst and the entirety of the mix-up with the djinn, but he was healed, and Geralt had found Yennefer, and fallen so intrinsically in- Oh. In love. He caused their meeting. It was all his doing, although he hated to admit it. He saw himself as the side character to the Witcher’s enormous movie, and the one that didn’t get enough recognition, yet, when things went wrong, he was thrown straight into the spotlight. Was that Jaskier’s only use? Causing trouble, and playing the victim, left, right, and centre? “H-Hey-“ He shook his head frantically from side to side, tears threatening to pour, “Geralt, that’s not fair… You know that’s not-“ His voice thinned out by the time he accidentally locked eyes with the Witcher, practically choking the last word out, “Fair.” 
“Hmm,” The word, not even that, the sound, unapologetically rumbled out of his mouth, “The Child Surprise, bard, the djinn,” He tensed up upon releasing that word. The djinn was the event that rocked the Witcher’s world, and this was how he was admitting it. “If life could give me one blessing-” Geralt stomped closer, his breathing steady, yet his index finger said it all. The one blessing was serious. The situation was bringing the Witcher to new levels of aggression that had been hidden within his very core. “It would be to take you off my hands!” Pointing to the bard with bared teeth was his first course of action, then down the mountain. Down the treacherous path to Caingorn and beyond. That was where Jaskier was destined to travel. Away from Geralt, the individual that sent the most emotion through his entire being in all his years of work. It wasn’t the lovers and girls and wine that made him break down, made him succumb to the Continent’s pressure… It was the mighty Witcher, who wasn’t so high and mighty to Jaskier. Not anymore. 
He breathed, feeling like his bones could collapse under the mental pressure alone. He had never felt this fragile in his entire life. The bard stepped forward, purely for the sake of not losing his balance, and Geralt stood his ground. “Fine,” Jaskier uttered, his words a mere whisper on the wind, and most certainly not the melodic kind. “I’ll let the others know.” Each breath felt more painful than the last as if all the burdens and past mistakes were catching up to him. He personally wouldn’t call them burdens, but the way the powerful Witcher loaded it all upon him, one by one… The sheer emphasis that his role, his purpose, was not defined by his craft, not by his achievement, but rather everything that came crashing down onto his shoulders. No ditty would be able to heal the tear that continued to rip his heart to shreds. His eyes flickered up to the Witcher, and he offered something, meaning, a deer in the headlights kind of look, before he huffed and pushed past Geralt, not caring that the latter got shoved around. A shove to the body was nothing compared to the rattling of thoughts, the anxiousness of his mind, the strain on his bones, and the feeling that his teeth would shatter if he gritted them any harder. “See you around, Geralt.”  
Even after all that, Jaskier still had the courage to use his name. 
The Witcher didn’t dare look on to see the bard dawdling off into the distance, hands in his pockets and head bowed, sulking, down the road and away. Instead, he gazed off into the beautiful view ahead, with glowing sunlight and lush grasses. It didn’t feel so beautiful to Geralt, but he ignored the gnawing feeling inside. He did this for a reason. The best possible one, at that. 
Meanwhile, the bard was off, furiously shaking his head and biting his tongue. His boots were never made for running, but he couldn’t help but pick up the pace. Jaskier let screams escape through his gritted teeth, his lute swinging against his back. Hitting him, over and over. A perfect representation of his pain. Smashing into him, constant, heavy, over and over and over till he’d die with the lack of protection, dying knowing that he was of no help to Geralt. That he was a loser, a nuisance, and an unworthy travel companion. 
I deserve this. The thought wouldn’t stop raging. I’m hopeless. I deserve this. Who am I to deserve any good? Geralt was never going to be my friend! 
His breath was weak as the bard raced into a forest, his hair flicking back and forth as he did. His surroundings were dark, and as everything built up, inside and out, he was mere seconds from halting his body, nearly crashing into a tree. 
All the physical pain, all the mental pain! I deserve this. 
Inches away from the bark of the tree, he turned away from it, pulling his lute forward and pressing his back into its surface, feeling it scrape onto, maybe through, his clothes as he skidded down onto the ground. The scratching was nothing in comparison to every torment that currently plagued him. 
I deserve this. 
Jaskier curled his knees up to his chest, buried his head down, and began to sob. A release in some ways, a heaviness in others. His composure had finally cracked, but it was more than that. He was a glass plate, furiously thrown at the wall, collapsing into nothing. Geralt of Rivia was the one who held the plate so tight, only to rage, and throw it all away. 
He was a shattered bard, bursting, and broken on the forest floor. The darkness concealed him. He wouldn’t be found… At least, he’d never be found the same again. 
I. Deserve. This.  
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velvetcloxds · 1 year
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sweet nothings: can I please request modern!music teacher!Jaskier and female (or gn reader) teacher reader decorating their classroom whilst sharing some sweet moments together, please? Thank you so much! ♥️
"Perfect," Jaskier hummed, amused as you plopped down on one of the cloud-like ottomans in the reading corner, paper leaves hanging from ribbon vines, swooning over your head in the shape of a tree.
"Isn't it just?" you mused, looking up almost dreamlike at the perfect little nook he'd helped you create, moments after you'd helped him paint music notes all over his own classroom. There was still evidence of such on your hands, stray streaks of painted hair adding to the perfect day and perfect scene. "Think of all the worlds we'll visit over here."
"Hmm, can I join?" he was kind in pretending you'd deny him, arms already stretched out to beckon him forward, pulling him down onto the rainbow carpet with the sweetest giggle leaving your lips. "Where will we go first?" he mused, pulling you against his chest as your knees stretched against yours.
"Anywhere we want to," you insisted, pulling a random book from the bookshelf next to you, the one Jaskier had painted to look like a little ranger car in a wildlife park, to match the safari theme of your classroom, or course. "Wonderland," you breathed, fingers sauntering over the gold print of the book title.
"Thought we were already there," he picked a stuffed bunny up from beside him, pointedly looking between the two of you, the giggle from your lips earning you a quick kiss to the back of your head before being tackled in an attack of tickles.
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robinrites · 1 year
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Safe
Whumptober Prompts for Day 21 and 24 :)
Prompts: Famous Last Words, Coughing Up Blood, “You’re Safe Now”, “Take Me Instead”, Fight, Flight, Or Freeze, Blood Covered Hands, “I Don’t Want to Do This Anymore”, Catatonic
Part Six of Toss a Coin To... last part here!
CW: torture, forced to beg, stabbing, infection (last two are not graphic but felt like adding just in case!)
The next time the two guards pay Jaskier a visit, they break two more fingers. His index and middle finger on his left hand now match his right. Once they run out of fingers, they’re going to break his wrists. Not that they’ve told him as much, but he can put the pieces together just fine on his own. A chill runs down his spine, reminding him of yet another downside of his new cell. He wants to rub his hands together to generate warmth, but the thought of accidentally jostling his injured fingers keeps him still. His threadbare clothes do little to keep out the cold, maybe if I beg hard enough when they come back they’ll give me a blanket. He tries to not judge himself too much for thinking that way, but shame still fills his body. 
As if the guards were reading his mind, his cell door opens. Jaskier eyes the torch in Kariah’s hands longingly, and he briefly thinks about lunging for it. Common sense wins in the end, the temporary warmth of the fire wouldn’t be worth the pain it would result in, plus Jaskier doubt’s his chains would let him reach the far side of the cell. Casine approaches him, to hang him back up by his wrists, but words spill out of Jaskier’s mouth before he can stop himself. 
“Wait!” He throws his battered hands up in front of himself, “I know you’re about to torture me and there’s little I can do to stop it but can I- can I please have a blanket for after? It’s just so damn cold in here and you can’t really torture someone who’s dead can you?”
Casine stops in his tracks and looks at Kariah, “What would you do for a blanket?” 
“Anything.” His eyes widen at the implication, “Well, not anything! Please don’t-” 
“Psh, you think so lowly of us that we’d stoop to that level?” Kariah sneers, then gestures for Casine to go to his side. He whispers something inaudible, which garners a grin from the other man, who quickly exits the room. “I think I know how you can pay us for a blanket.” Minutes pass in silence until Casine returns. Jaskier’s stomach drops when he sees what he is holding. 
“Is that my-” 
“Lute? Yes, now I’ve heard you were once the greatest Bard on the Continent. Put on a good show and we’ll see about that blanket.” Jaskier looks down at his broken fingers and shaking hands, then back up at his captors. “Yes, I’m aware of your fingers, gods I’m the one who did it.” Kariah sneers, then he nods at Casine, who gives the lute to Jaskier. Jaskier takes it in shaky hands, tears pricking up in the corner of his eyes from the pain it causes his fingers to hold it. “Go on then, give us a show.” 
Jaskier takes in a deep breath before attempting to wrap his hand around the neck of the lute. He quickly forces his injured fingers down, which results in him crying out in pain, but at least he’s got the first part down. Thankfully, for strumming he can use his thumb, though it’s a lot more tedious and less convenient to only use one finger as opposed to three. 
“Any requests?” He tries to put on his showman voice, but the only voice that comes out is meek and afraid. 
“I’ve always liked ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher.” Casine says, smiling to himself like he’s said the most clever thing. 
“Oh, erm, any other ones?” 
“No, I agree, let’s hear it.” 
Jaskier painstakingly plays through the first verse and chorus of his song and by the time he’s finished, his hands burn. He hasn’t played since before his capture, nor has he ever played with injured hands. Jaskier wants more than anything to cry, from pain and embarrassment. Screaming has ruined his voice to the point that so many of his notes came out flat or off key. He looks up from his lute only to see Casine and Kariah looking at him expectantly, they want him to play the rest of it. 
“Please, my hands hurt so much-” 
“Then I guess you don’t want that blanket, do you?” Kariah taunts before nodding at the lute. 
Somehow, he finds the strength to keep playing. He only knows it's over when he feels his lute yanked from his hands. Casine quickly takes the lute away, then leaves the cell-hopefully to get Jaskier his blanket. Kariah grabs Jaskier by the chin, his sickening smile sending a chill down Jaskier’s spine. 
“You played well Little Bard, almost makes me regret breaking those fingers of yours.” He stands to go, only pausing at the door to add, “Almost.” 
Some time later, the door to his cell opens and a blanket is thrown in. Jaskier is about to get up to grab it when he sees some food and a cup of water are also placed on the ground. Pushing down any dignity he might have left, Jaskier crawls towards the blanket and food, worried that if he stands he’ll fall over, but if he’s too slow it’ll be taken from him. A stale bread roll and apple sit on the floor next to a half-filled cup of dusty water. He quickly snatches it up and drags it back to his corner, all while taking extra care not to spill any water. 
The apple is bruised and Jaskier has to rip off some of the bread due to mold, but he happily eats everything he’s given. He tries to pace himself with the water, but his thirst takes over and he finishes it far too quickly. Jaskier reaches for the blanket only to realize it’s far from a warm blanket. The material is rough, scratchy and is way too small to completely cover his body, even if he curls up really small. Still, it’s better than being exposed to the elements and it does bring some warmth to his body. Jaskier makes a mental note to thank his captors for their kindness when they return. 
Geralt hears a scream come from further down the trail, and on instinct races towards it. He jumps off Roach and into the bushes, allowing himself to fully take in the situation before jumping in. He sees a woman, a young child and a horse cornered by a group of about five bandits. 
“No!” The woman screams, holding onto the boy--presumably her son--’s hand for dear life. “You can’t take him! I won’t let you! Take me instead!” 
One of the bandits rushes towards the woman and grabs her, throwing off her balance so she loses her grip on her son. 
“Mummy!” The boy cries, and Geralt quickly decides he’s heard enough. He leaps from the bushes and quickly makes his presence known to the bandits. 
“Leave the woman and the boy alone.” He threatens, his sword drawn and ready. 
“Or what?” One of the bandits sneers, “I’m not scared of you.” 
“I’ve heard that one quite a bit, believe it or not.” Geralt makes quick work of the bandits, dispatching the ones who are grabbing the woman and boy first, to get them out of harm’s way
Geralt plunges his sword into the final bandit, then kneels to wipe his blade off in the grass. A cough rises up in his throat, and when he pulls his hand away he sees blood. Should probably take a potion for that, he makes a mental note as he stands back up, quickly wiping his mouth to remove any evidence of blood. He looks at the cowering travelers he just saved and tries his best to give a comforting smile. 
“You’re safe now.” He turns to go, only to have the woman grab his hand. 
“Please, Mister Witcher, Sir,” She takes his hand in both of hers, “Is there anything my family and I could do to repay you? I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t happened along this path at the same time as us-” Geralt gently pulls his hand from her grasp. 
“That really won’t be necessary.” He reassures her while trying to hide his eagerness to get back to Roach. Ever since he and Jaskier…parted ways, he’s been trying to work on being gentle with humans, but it hasn’t always been easy. Somehow a small coin purse makes its way into his hand anyway. 
“Please.” The lady smiles, patting the coin purse in his hand, before turning to rejoin her family. 
“Mummy, was that the White Wolf?” The little boy asks. 
“Oh, I don’t know about that my dear, probably just some kind soul.” She smiles, glancing back at Geralt. 
“Excuse me Mister!” The little boy tears his hand from his mother’s and races towards Geralt, “Are you the White Wolf?” 
“That's one name people have for me.” Geralt nervously looks at the mother, before looking back at the boy. “I take it you’ve heard of me?” 
The boy nods, “Just the other day some people in town were looking for you!” He smiles, “They put up posters and everything!” 
Geralt’s smile drops, “What did the posters say?” 
“Somethin’ about finding your bard! One time I lost my lucky penny, but no one ever put up a sign saying they found it.” The boy frowns, then smiles again before running back to his mother. “Nice meeting you Mister Witcher!” 
The mother smiles at Geralt one more time as if apologizing for her son, then helps him get back on their horse. Geralt watches them until they’re out of his line of sight, just in case any other bandits try to attack, before returning to Roach. Another cough reminds Geralt of his injury, one he assumes he got from his fight with the bandits. He quickly digs through his pack, then pulls out a healing potion and drinks it. 
“You heard what they said about Jaskier didn’t you?” Roach neighs in response. “That’s what I thought. How about we go check this poster out for ourselves, hm?” 
The next time Kariah and Casine visit Jaskier, the first thing that comes to his mind is if he’ll see his lute again. Maybe one day they’ll just break it in front of me, he thinks numbly as he is dragged off the floor and hung up by his wrists again. He stares at the wall in front of him, his mind devoid of any thoughts other than, gods this hurts. Jaskier’s far from being a medic, but he has a sinking suspicion that his shoulders are dislocated. Either that, or he’s lost more muscle from being imprisoned than he’d thought possible. 
A slap across his face brings him back to the present, but all he can do is blankly stare at his captors. What’s the point? We all know I don’t know what they want to know. Gods that was good, I should do more poetry. But isn’t all music poetry- Another slap interrupts his thoughts. 
“Are we boring you Little Bard?” Kariah taunts, Jaskier’s nose only wrinkles, I hate that nickname. “Maybe this will help liven things up.” 
A sharp shooting pain radiates from Jaskier’s stomach, a quick glance down shows a knife sticking out of his abdomen. Jaskier can only whimper in pain. The knife being pulled out hurts twice as much as being stabbed, and suddenly he finds himself on the floor again. His shirt is removed, the cold bites at his skin and gives him goosebumps, as a fabric bandage is quickly placed over his injury. He finds himself pressing a hand on the fabric, only to pull it away bloody. 
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” He mumbles before passing out. 
The next time he wakes up, someone is changing his bandages. “I can’t believe those idiots almost killed the one good hostage we’ve managed to secure. Will he survive this?” The voice seems distant. 
“He’ll make it.” The second voice is right in front of him, the healer. “We’re lucky it hasn’t gotten infected. His fingers on the other hand-” 
“Tch, he doesn’t need fingers to live.” Jaskier wants to open his mouth to protest, but his lips feel heavy and he can’t seem to get his mouth to work. The healer gently opens his mouth and pours some kind of elixir inside, resulting in a warm feeling burning its way to his stomach. 
“That’ll help make sure it doesn’t get infected.” The healer stands up as Jaskier watches them quickly exit the cell, followed by the other voice. Jaskier goes to blink, but instead finds himself falling back into a dreamless sleep.
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Hej! I'm so glad you're doing this again ❣️The Witcher themed match-up, with a male character. Here's a little about me: I'm 164cm tall, curly redhead, an introvert, satcastic. I'm a melancholic, people first think I'm pretty grim & intimidating. But I have a biiig heart. I tend to light up like a match and 'march to war'. I'm into art, archery & wandering the globe. Thanks in advance! 💕
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Jaskier makes it his personal mission to make you laugh at his jokes!
You’re a friend of Geralt and he meets you when they crash at your little cottage after a hunting down a nest of vampires. From the moment, he lays eyes on you, he’s captivated. Already during the first night, he tries to capture your attention by making cheesy poems about your flaming-red hair. He’s not intimated by the annoyed glances you send him – no, he sees them as a challenge. His personal challenge to make you laugh.
A few days pass and eventually he is successful. You warm up to him quickly and Jaskier is surprised how easily you wrapped him around your finger. He falls in love with the way you’re interested in so many different things – he appreciates your love for the arts, is stunned by your skills when it comes to archery, he loves how passionate you are about social issues and can’t take his eyes off you when you talk to Geralt about your past adventures. You’re someone he never expected to meet and yet when a week has passed, he can’t imagine a time before you.
You’re careful when it comes to Jaskier but can’t deny the attraction between the two of you. He’s loud and extroverted and shamelessly himself and it scares you a little. However, he manages to sneak into your heart and ones he’s accomplished that, you can’t bring yourself to kick him out.
When Geralt and Jaskier are leaving, you decide to follow them. Only for one mission, you tell yourself, not yet knowing that ‘one mission’ would turn into ‘forever’. Even though you can probably kick Jaskiers ass in everything, he makes you feel safe and protected. You can be yourself around him, he never fails to make you laugh after a long day. He complements you so beautifully and gives you a little peace and quiet in this violent world.
Before you know it, it’s you and him (well, and Geralt) against the rest of the world.
***
A/N: I hope you’re happy with this! Thank you for sending in the request, love <3
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smuggsy · 3 years
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Some Kitty, Pat & Cap CHRISTMAS HEADERS I made for anyone who wants to use them! Please like or reblog if you do (:
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writerdream22 · 3 years
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Hey!! Congratulations on 500 followers! Can I request a 🌻 for The Witcher, please? I am a female Hufflepuff who’s got autism and anxiety. I am straight (possibly demisexual). I am quite shy and I find it very hard to trust people, but once I get to know you, I’m warm and friendly, though I do have a quick temper, so be careful. I like photography, baking, reading FanFiction, cute animals, buying gifts for people, warm hugs, sunsets, chocolate, and 1960s/1970s music. I am a hopeless romantic too
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✨ writerdream22's 500 followers celebration ✨
Hi! Thank you for participating to the milestone event! I sincerely hope that you like the character that I've chosen!
I ship you with... Jaskier!
I think that the two of you would get along 100%, honestly! Here are a few scenarios that I thought of:
Even though Jaskier is the sweetest person ever, you sometimes get angry and over time both you and him would learn to deal with each other's character
He would love baking with you, and he would always try to make new recipes or look for some on the internet
You and Jaskier would listen to 1960s/1970s music all the time, and he would go as far as writing a song (or more than one) just for you
Just as you love giving warm hugs, Jaskier would gladly accept them
Jaskier would enjoy reading fan-fictions with you, sometimes even trying to write something himself (with your help of course!)
Whenever you’re feeling down, Jaskier would bring you outside to watch the sunset while also organizing the most romantic picnic ever
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