#jaskier tries it one (1) time with vesemir

[hidden-misthios]

Something in the Orange (part 1)

Pairing: Lambert x female!sorceress!reader

Word count: 3 230

Summary: When Geralt of Rivia disappears, Jaskier has no choice but to ask his best friend for help. Although struggling with her own issues, Y/N agrees and they join Vesemir and the others in Kaer Morhen. The search might be difficult but not as difficult as the certain redheaded witcher who keeps challenging her. 

A/n: Just like my last Lambert fic, this one is going to be a mix of games, books and show. Excuse any grammar errors you find.

Find me.

Those were the only words Y/N heard in her dreams for last eight nights. She didn’t even see a person who kept repeating them and it was tiring.

A dark fortress surrounded by a veil of rain and brief flashes of thunder. Not a place she ever visited but Y/N had a feeling she knew the place like a palm of her own hand. As soon as she approached old wooden doors and opened them, the melody of the organ started playing in the distance, filling her ears. No matter how much she wandered around the castle, she could never find the person playing them nor the instrument itself. At some point, she would give up, but each time, the music would become louder and faster. Then, she would suddenly remember why she came here in the first place. She was looking for someone! But as soon as she tried to remember who it was, the world around her started to spin, making Y/N feel like she’s going to fall. She would close her eyes, trying to focus but nothing helped.

And then she would wake up.

In her bed at her own house, in middle of Novigrad.

She didn’t have time or energy to interpret her own dreams. As an oneiromancer, Y/N’s job was to read the future and past using the dreams of others. Her own had to wait for now.

                                                            ***

Corrine Tilly, Y/N’s mentor, was furious again. Y/N was late for fourth time this week and those dreams were the reason why. Y/N didn’t share them with Corrine yet but she owned her mentor explanation. That is, if Corrine doesn’t fire her.

“You know, if you don’t want to work for me anymore, you’re free to go. This is getting ridiculous.” Corrine said, crossing arms on her chests. Y/N closed the doors behind her and approached the brown-haired woman. Corrine was young sorceress who built quite a reputation for interpreting other people's dreams. Her customers were usually wealthy residents of Novigrad but every now and then someone from outside of city walls would show up and ask for her help.

Corrine lived off this money for seven years now and she could afford an apprentice. Y/N was quite lucky to learn from Corrine. She learned how to control the dreams better. Which, for some people proved harder, especially if they weren’t truthful at first.

“I’m sorry Corrine, I really am.” Y/N started. “But it’s not my fault.”

“No?” Corrine raised her eyebrows and starts slowly pacing around the customer room. This was the biggest room of the house and it was fully decorated to look and feel like a bedroom. There was a spacious bed full of pillows, big carpet, lots of candles and clary sage incense for customers to fall asleep easier.

“I-I…” Y/N tried to sort out her thoughts “I have dreams.” she said, fully aware that everyone else would find these words absurd but she knew her mentor. Corrine knew very well what those words meant.

“What kind?” woman asked in serious tone, sitting down on her chair and crossing her legs. That was her spot whenever she would interview the customer and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like one at the moment.

“Recurring.”

“For how long?”

“Eight nights.” Y/N answers.

“And you’re telling me this now?” Corrine asks. Y/N could swear she heard disappointment in her mentor’s voice.

“I didn’t want to bother you. I knew our schedule was full this week-”

“Y/N, you’re not just someone I’d squeeze into schedule. If you have any kind of problem, not just dream related…you can always count on me.” Corrine’s face softened.

Y/N was about to say something when the doorbell rang and they both turned to the doors. No one was supposed to arrive until noon. It was too early.

“I’m sorry, but we are not taking in any new customers right now-” Corrine stood up.

“Good thing I’m not new, then.” Jaskier’s head popped up through the door.

“Viscount. Come in.” Corrine smiles at the bard. Although Jaskier said he doesn’t care about his viscount title, Corrine was still addressing him as one.

Jaskier approaches her with a wide smile, theatrically leans down and kisses Corrine’s hand. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes but still smiled a bit. She had to admit, her best friend knew his way around women.

“It’s nice to see you again, dear Corrine.” Jaskier speaks and then finally turns to Y/N.

“What brings you here?” Y/N asks. Usually, they would meet at Rosemary and Thyme, the cabaret that Jaskier himself owned. Before Y/N found Corrine, she worked there to help him out and in return Jaskier gave her a roof over her head.

“We need to talk.” Jaskier says completely serious this time. Corrine took that as her hint.

“I’m going out. If you need me, I’ll be at Triss’ place.” she says, throwing the dark blue cloak around her shoulders. They said their goodbyes and as soon as sorceress left, Jaskier moved closer to Y/N.

“Look at this.” he hands Y/N folded piece of paper. Y/N opens it. It was a letter, obviously written in distress or hurry.

Bard,

In light of recent events, I have no choice but to ask for your help. I cannot discuss the details in this letter but I assure you, if you still care about the White Wolf, you’re going to want to join us as soon as possible.

He’s missing.

P.S. Oh, and bring a sorceress along. I am aware you know quite a few.

V

Y/N looks back to Jaskier. This sounded odd. Jaskier took the letter back, looking at it like it might tell him more if he asked nicely.

“Who sent this?” Y/N asks. She figured that the White Wolf was Jaskier’s friend Geralt of Rivia, the witcher she had only seen once. But the V on the bottom of the page wasn’t giving any clues.

“It’s probably Vesemir, Geralt’s mentor.” Jaskier said, folding the letter.

“Why does the witcher need your help? What are you going to do? Sing them your latest hits until they figure out where Geralt is?” Y/N asks, raising her eyebrows. Jaskier give her an annoyed look.

“Very funny. Also no, because I happen to be very good at tracking-”

“Jaskier, you got lost on your way from Oxenfurt to Novigrad.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to complain, but Y/N wasn’t having it. “It’s a 15-minute-long horse ride.”

“It was early morning; I was still half asleep.”

“Forget I said anything.” Y/N realizes she should drop it. She turned around and started preparing incense for their first customer that day.

“Are you coming with me?” Jaskier asked.

Y/N turns around to face him again. “To Kaer Morhen? Jaskier, you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You are a sorceress and Vesemir said I should bring one.” Jaskier shrugged. Y/N gave him a look.

“He didn’t mention me specifically. I’m sure Felicia Cori would love to help you out.” Y/N said. Felicia was practically Geralt’s fan from the moment she heard about him in Aretuza, academy for young ladies who were practising magic. She lived couples of streets further and was a good friend of Corrine.

“But I’m not asking her, I’m asking you, Y/N.” Jaskier said, slowly losing his patience.

“How on earth is my skill of any use to you or them? We don’t even know what happen to your friend!” Y/N says, crossing arms on her chests.

“You could form a dream for Vesemir and see where Geralt is.” Jaskier suggested.

“You know that those don’t always work for missing persons.”

“I know but can you just once believe my judgment?” he asks. Y/N raised her eyebrows. She believed his judgment lots of times and it usually meant nothing but trouble. This sounded like one as well.

“Absolutely not. Jaskier, I’m not horse riding for a week for no reason. I have no clues, no ideas how to handle this. And also, how am I supposed to leave Corrine? She’s already pissed at me for being late-”

“Let me handle everything. And we are not horse riding.” Jaskier says proudly.

“No?” Y/N asks, tilting her head a little.

“I’ll show you.”

                                                           ***

And there they were, the next day, at Rosemary and Thyme’s attic. There was only one candle burning and the air was filled with dust, smell of old books and costumes. Y/N had to jump over a couple of old suitcases before they finally stopped walking.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, dusting herself off.

Jaskier didn’t answer but started looking through the old bags on the floor. Y/N crossed arms on her chests, waiting for the bard’s explanation.

“Ah, here it is!” he finally said. Y/N looked at his hands. He was holding a crystal. Not just any crystal. That was a power crystal and it was used specifically for portals.

Y/N gaped. “Jaskier, how did you get that?” she asked cautiously. Jaskier started moved further into the dark attic, Y/N following him.

“Turns out doing favours for sorceresses has its perks.” he answered merrily.

“Do you even know how it works?” Y/N raised eyebrows.

“Of course! I’ve been to Kaer Morhen on multiple occasions thanks to this portal right there.”

“Fine. Turn it on, then.” Y/N says, her voice suddenly soft. Ironically, she didn’t like portals. Traveling through them was quick but Y/N preferred other methods. Unfortunately for her, this was the only magical way to get into Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier cleaned the crystal with his sleeve and then moved closer to the wooden wall. There, Y/N saw a shelf with nothing but small steel stand in the middle of it. Jaskier slowly approached and placed the crystal on the stand. Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, suddenly worried.

“We need to revive it. It’s dead.” Y/N realized.

“How? I’m no medic nor-”

“Move.” Y/N tells him and Jaskier obeys. Y/N takes the crystal in her hands and clears her mind. Using a simple, yet powerful spell, Y/N starts off the crystal. Its core started glowing and she places it back on the stand. Loud sound of wind filled their ears. The wall in front of them vanished and dark twirling circle appeared instead.

The portal was open.

“Let’s go.”

 The welcoming party is not really welcoming, Y/N thought as soon as she saw the unfamiliar faces. Jaskier didn’t seem like he was bothered by it. They walked across the long hall and approached the table occupied by two armed men who didn’t exactly smile at their presence.

“Eskel, Coen. Nice to see you again.” he slightly lowered his head.

“Who’s this, bard?” the taller one, Eskel, Y/N presumed, asks as he crossed his arms on chests. He looked like he wasn’t happy to see newcomers. Or oldcomers. Or anyone at this point.

“Ah, yes, right, manners. This is Y/N. Very powerful sorceress. Vesemir told me to bring one. So, I did.” Jaskier explained.

“Pleasure.” Y/N said, trying to sound more delighted than she truly was.

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Eskel said.

“What is that supposed-”

“Enough.” a deep voice echoed through the hall. “Jaskier. Sorceress. Please join me.”

Y/N and Jaskier both turned around towards the exit. There, was an older man standing, his face scarred and old but still Y/N felt like his presence required utter respect.

That must be Vesemir, Y/N realized.

Jaskier and Y/N both joined him. Jaskier briefly introduced them and Y/N nodded at the old witcher. Vesemir then led them down the hall without word. They walked for a while in silence, passing by several closed doors, until they finally reached the right one.

Vesemir opened the door and let them into the big round room with high celling. There, in the middle of it, stood one large table. The walls were filled with books, bottles and various herbs. Old chandelier in the middle of room was the only source of light.

They approached the table and Vesemir unfolded three papers in front of them.

“This is all we got.” he said, suddenly sounding tired.

Jaskier took the first paper and stood next to Y/N. There, in the middle of the page, were three words written in black ink.

“That could be Elder speech. Really old one.” Y/N said. She learned basics at the academy, but these writings were definitely old. She wasn’t even sure if she saw them in their school books.

“Do you know what does it say?” Jaskier asks quietly.

“I’m not sure. Let me see.” Y/N says, taking the letter from Jaskier’s hands.

“It’s not in any of our books. I tried everything but couldn’t make a sense of it. The last letter that arrived is the only one that’s written in Common.” Vesemir said, handling the smallest piece of paper to Y/N. She frowned.

This one was indeed written in Common speech but this time ink was dark red. Y/N sincerely hoped it wasn't blood.

“Wolf got taken. “She read the first sentence and then noticed another one on bottom of the page. “Will pay for his sins.”

Their Common is not perfect. Who could this be? Elves?

Y/N noticed how Jaskier’s jaw clenched. She never saw him this quiet and serious.

Vesemir then hands her the last paper. This one had a drawing. It was a simple one, but Y/N immediately figured what it was - an open palm of hand, with drops of blood on each finger. In the middle of the palm was a much bigger drop of blood, shaped like a tear.

“When did you get these?” Y/N asks, looking at all those letters in her hands.

Vesemir opened his mouth to answer but the loud squealing of door hinges interrupted him. The door opened and stranger walked in. With wolf medallion hanging around his neck and long red curls framing his face, he walked towards them.

“Stop wasting time, Vesemir.” he looked at his mentor, completely ignoring Jaskier and Y/N.

Y/N raised her eyebrows slightly.

Would it kill them to show some politeness?

“Lambert, this is Y/N. She’s going to help us decode these letters. And you’re going-”

“We should be out there looking for him! Not wasting time with these stupid letters.” he raises his voice. Vesemir gave him look of complete disapproval.

“You don’t get to decide what is a waste of time or isn’t. Now, show Y/N the library and get her whatever will be needed.”

For a second, Y/N thought Lambert would just storm out but then he finally looked at Y/N.

“Follow me, witch.” he muttered quietly, the anger still present in his tone.

Y/N squinted her eyes. “Sorceress.” she corrected him. Lambert just stared at her, his eyes also squinting. Jaskier, still standing on Y/N’s right side, stepped forward and cleaned his throat.

“Term ‘witch’ is mostly used by those who call themselves witch hunters, you know, it’s usually a derogatory term-”

“I know. Now, follow me.” Lambert interrupted him, still not looking away from Y/N. Y/N didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing her in discomfort so she stepped forward and joined him.

“Find me if you need anything.” she told Jaskier before leaving, giving him a comforting look.

Jaskier nodded, but she could see concern in his eyes.

Finally, she turns to red headed witcher and joins him down the hall. They walked in silence, Lambert clearly keeping his distance. Unfortunately for Y/N, the library was located at the other end of the Kaer Morhen and their awkward, silent walk took a while.

“Does your library have any books of First elves?” she asks when they finally made it. Lambert sat on top of the table and shrugged.

“Do I look like librarian? I have idea. I haven’t been in this part of castle for 5 years. You’re on your own, witch.”

Y/N approached the table so quickly she even surprised herself. Lifting her hand, with a small orb of red light in it, she pushes it towards his face. Lambert face was stone cold, no fear.

“Call me witch one more time, I dare you.” she hissed. She lowered the orb a little. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Don’t challenge me if you can’t keep up, sweetheart.” he suddenly grins. Y/N was about to protest but then she feels a soft pressure just above the bellybutton. She lowers her eyes and sees short but sharp blade, resting on her corset.

Y/N frowns.

“Seems like you’re forgetting why I’m here, witcher.” she warns him, ignoring the blade. Lambert raises his eyebrows a little then finally drops the blade. Y/N still stepped aside just in case.

“To decode some stupid letters, which are-”

“Yes, yes, waste of time. Now let me work if you don’t plan on helping me.” she says and walks away towards the shelves.

She heard Lambert mummering something but this time she decides to ignore him, switching focus on those old books in front of her. It was clear that someone organized them alphabetically long time ago but every now and then she would find some who obviously wouldn’t fit into that order. There was lots of books about herbs, survival skills and potion making but those weren’t helping at all. So, she moved to another bookshelf. There, Y/N found some historical books about Continent.

Beatrix of Kovir.

The Elder Blood.

The Conjunction of the Spheres.

And then, Y/N saw it. The old, yellow copy of Elder Speech Dictionary. She grabbed the book and started flipping pages. Few minutes passed by and…

Nothing.

All the symbols, words and phrases were something she was already familiar with. She sighed and put the book back in its place. She knew this wouldn’t be easy. Y/N took another look at those letters. That hand symbol bothered her. She felt like she saw it somewhere.

*Few hours later*

It was dark outside when Y/N finally looked through the library window. Some time ago, Jaskier showed up with a glass of wine and dinner which Y/N barely tasted. She couldn’t eat until she figured out the hand symbol. Lambert was long gone, with no explanation or excuse, but Y/N certainly didn’t mind.

Just some time after midnight, the doors of the library opened again.

“You’re still here?” Vesemir asked, entering the room and then closing the doors behind him.

“I can’t sleep until I figure this out.” Y/N answered, flipping through the Book of Urban Myths. Truth is, she was not looking forward to her dreams. She knew she would have to relive that dream all over again.

Vesemir chuckled, but it sounded miserable. “I appreciate the optimism but I’m afraid the books won’t do much of help.”

Y/N stopped flipping through the book and looked at Vesemir.

“You’re right. We should try my method.”

“Which is?” he raises eyebrows.

“Jaskier didn’t tell you? I’m oneiromancer.” Y/N said, closing the book in her hands.

Vesemir thought about it for a second and then slowly nodded. “We should give your method a chance then.” he said, crossing arms on his chests.” But not with me since I haven’t seen Geralt for a while now and therefor won’t be much of use to you. You should do it with the one who last saw him.”

“And who was that?” Y/N asks, glad he agreed with her.

“Lambert.”

#something in the orange #witcher #witcher fic #lambert #lambert x reader #lambert x y/n #lambert fic #lambert the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #lambert imagine #jaskier #coen #eskel #vesemir #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fic #witcher fics #fic

[flowercrown-bard]

I love the marriage AU so much <3 Mutual pining and dumbassery, it's the best! May I ask did you make any plans/ideas what exactly everyone "gets" out of the marriage? Like the political boons each side gets from it? If it works out well for the witchers, then maybe a few years down the line Jaskier might set up Kaer Morhen real nice and have diplomats come in and set up marriage arrangements for Eskel and Lambert as well. Or just generally treaties with other countries :3

Thank you so much dear <3 that seriously means a lot to me! I am happy to confess that I have not planned a single thing. I only wanted to write a very specific scene and the arranged marriage was just a convenient setting. I do have thoughts about a reason for why they have married but it's pretty much exactly what @imjusthereforthecatpictures wrote in their incredible Eskel/Jaskier arranged marriage au "The Best of It" and they put it much better than I ever could (this is me unsubtly telling everyone to read that fic. It's already one of my new favourites) you know, i really wanted to take a break from writing for at least a week or two, but I have zero impulse control, so here's a little prequel Part 1 / part 2  / part 3  / part 4 / part 5  / part 6

Not a choice

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Lambert gaped at Vesemir.

 He tried to catch Eskel’s eye, but his brother was stubbornly looking at the honeycake in front of him. Of course, Vesemir had made them the stupidly delicious cake for a reason. He had probably thought it would be easier to convince them to agree to this fucking scheme that would ruin their lives. 

Lambert shoved Geralt, who was sitting next to him, making him look up. 

“He’s kidding,” he repeated, a hint of hysterics in his voice. “The old man found his humour in his old age.”

“The old man is right here,” Vesemir’s said sternly, but almost instantly, his expression morphed into tiredness. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “And I’m not kidding. I’m sorry.” Lambert blanched. He could count the times his old teacher had apologised for anything on one hand. When Voltaire hadn’t made it through the trials. When Eskel had returned from the Path with scars so severe that it had taken him two months to look at his brothers without turning his scarred side away. When he had sent Geralt through the second rounds of trials, as Geralt had admitted to him once. And now. Now, as he was telling him that he was bartering one of them away, just so they could have guaranteed work and protection from some poncy noble who had never cared about them anyway. 

He waited for Vesemir to go back on his word, tell them that it wasn’t necessary after all, that they would find a different way to deal with the rising violence against their kind, but Vesemir only averted his eyes. 

Lambert’s stomach churned. If Vesemir was this set on the marriage agreement, then things must be worse than he had thought. His mind went to Coen, who had returned from the Path with scars that hadn’t come from a hunt but from a town turning against him. He thought about the horse he’d had to abandon because the stablemaster had fucking lied and claimed that Lambert was trying to steal it, which had ended with pitchforks and torches being grabbed to run him off. 

He thought about Aiden, who was out on the Path right now, always recklessly claiming that he wouldn’t get hurt. Fuck, but what if he did? What if one day, Aiden didn’t return to him, because some fucking humans took him away from Lambert? And what would Lambert do, if he knew that could be averted, if only he agreed to this insane plan. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see his brothers tense and exchange looks. They must have had similar thoughts as him. They all had friends and brothers out there. 

If they wanted to keep their loved ones safe, then they had no choice.

“Which one of us is it then?” Eskel asked, though all of them knew the answer already. 

It couldn’t be one of the Vipers, Griffins or Cats. As much as they belonged to Kaer Morhen as any Wolf, it was the Wolves themselves, who were the face of the alliance. Not least because Geralt, the famed White Wolf, made for an impressive figure head. Humans loved these sorts of symbols, even if Geralt himself was neither leader nor ever attempted to become such a thing. Not that any of the witchers would have listened to them. If anything, they had made fun of Geralt mercilessly, when they had first heard that people thought him in any way important in some made-up hierarchy. Eskel, with his scars and broad shoulders would scare any possible spouse off, despite being the gentlest of them all. No human would give him a chance for long enough to get to actually know them. And after having witnessed how much Eskel had hidden himself away even from his closest family, neither of them was willing to subject Eskel to going through that again. Lambert, well. No one in their right mind would think of offering Lambert up for marriage. Even if he didn’t have a tendency to be a right bastard - one of his best qualities, if you asked him - he would fight anyone tooth and nail who tried to separate him and Aiden. Besides, in a way, them being together was what had convinced the other Wolves to give the Cats a chance. Without them, the Schools would have never banded together and become what they were now: A unity of Witchers that worked together and protected each other - another thing that had seemed preposterous when Lambert had been a boy, but that had become a necessity, when rumours of another pogrom had made their way to the Keep. 

Another sigh from Vesemir shook Lambert out of his musings.

“I’m sorry,” Vesemir repeated again. His gaze found Geralt, who returned the look unflinching, though Lambert could see his hands clenched into fists. “They asked for you.”

Geralt closed his eyes, taking a handful of steadying breaths. When spoke, for the first time since Vesemir had gathered the three of them together to discuss this, there was a light tremor in his voice, “Who is it? Who’s the one who’ll have to marry me?”

Vesemir reached into the pockets at the inside of his jacket and produced a letter. He handed it to Lambert, who passed it on to Geralt. 

When Geralt unfolded it, the first thing that caught Lambert’s eye was the sketch of a man with fair features and a shy grin. He was pretty, Lambert supposed, if one liked dainty men who looked like they had never even considered picking up a sword. 

He was about to make a teasing remark, when he noticed the way Geralt was looking at the picture. There was a crease between his brows, but to Lambert’s surprise, it wasn’t one of disapproval but with worry. Lambert’s mind ran through what Geralt had said before. ‘Who’s the one who’ll have to marry me?’ From the looks of it, Geralt was quickly coming to the realisation that maybe being married wasn’t the worst fate imaginable. Not for him at least. Apparently, Geralt was someone who liked dainty men. 

Lambert just hoped that Geralt’s betrothed wasn’t someone who had fallen for the bullshit people liked to spread about witchers. Lambert scanned the letter for more information about the lordling, who would invade their home, but all he found was his name. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and next to that, a line written in a different hand - maybe the Viscount himself had added the explanation, that he preferred his betrothed to call him by a different name: 

Jaskier

---

tag list (please tell me if you would like to be added or removed from this): @spookylostboy @justablobfish @karolincki  @flosimo @rebrandedbard @hollowxo @silvertonguelover @inanoldhousewrites @yaskefer @emotional-support-fandom @fandoms-princess @kore888 @fen-thenobling @geraskier-thots @strippiluolamies @sharinalein @slumberingcorpse @elle-ja-bell @bellathecatastrophe @hockles @ban-aard 

#alright that's enough procrastination for today #thank you <3 #arranged marriage au #geraskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #geralt #witcher #the witcher #my writing #fic #fanfic #fic rec #seriously that Jaskel fic has stolen my heart #and it explains the reasons for the marriage so much better than me #this thing i just wrote has nothing original to it #there's no way i could come up with anything that makes more sense than what I #imjusthereforthecatpictures wrote

[hudine]

Well onto part 4 of my still nameless fic. Right now I’m just kinda posting to tumblr as I write.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

They made it into the mountains following hoof prints when they got jumped by a sylvan and a couple of elves. They came too tied up together in a cave.

“This is the part where we escape?” Jaskier asked as he worked on getting his hands free.

“This is the part where we die,” Geralt replied sardonically.

“Filthy humans,” one of the elves said and hit Jaskier.

“Leave him alone! He’s just a bard!” Geralt exclaimed and managed to head but the elf.

“No not the lute!” Jaskier yelled too late as the other elf smashed it. Jaskier was about to yell at them in elder when a familiar elf joined them in the cave and Jaskier groaned.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” He asked lips turned upwards.

“Just a couple humans. We should kill them before they bring others,” the female elf who had hit Jaskier proclaimed.

“They’re not human. Not entirely anyway. Are you blind as well as sick? He’s not only half fae, he’s also a prince. That’s Prince Julek of the Springtime Seelie Court. Considering they just agreed to take us in I don’t think killing one of the Queen’s children will endear us to my aunt any,” the new elf replied, “Hello cousin. You seem to get yourself in some of the most interesting situations.”

“Filavandrel. Well met. I’d give a proper bow but I’m a little tied up at the moment,” Jaskier replied amiably.

“So I see,” Filavandrel said trying not to laugh at the situation. He knew his cousin could get out of that if he really wanted to. “So who’s your friend?”

“Filavandrel, this is Geralt of Rivia, Witcher of the wolf school and childhood friend of mine. Geralt this is Filavandrel the last High King of the Elves. Also my first cousin. He’s he’s fae on his mother’s side which is actually rather common in Elvish royalty. His mother and my mother were sisters.”

“A pleasure to meet you your majesty. I’d also bow but am also a little tied up right now,” Geralt greeted.

Filavandrel let out a snort of laughter. “No you wouldn’t. You’re a Witcher. You’re also one of Vesemir’s pups. I have no doubt he’s taught you that Witchers are neutral and bow to no kings.”

“Yes well, Vesemir no doubt also tried his best to teach the pup manners and he’s trying to be polite,” A new voice spoke up followed by another man who looked a lot more like Filavandrel, only he had eyes that glowed more unnaturally blue and his ears wasn’t quite as pointed.

“Fuck,” Jaskier swore when he saw the second man, “I’m not going back Blaze!”

“Well I guess this answers the question of where you ran off to Jules. Is that Eric you got with you?”

Geralt grumbled a bit before speaking up, “It’s Geralt not Eric. Hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. Vesemir made you change your name before you could leave the keep. I don’t know why Witcher’s insist on changing their names before going off on the path the first time. While yes it is true that names have power, knowing one’s true name isn’t some sort of spell to compel people into doing things. I swear humans come up with some of the strangest rumours about my species.”

“They don’t all change their names. Although I suspect that old wives tale has a lot to do with why. I personally prefer to think of it like the old Shobogan tradition dating back to before they where fae, you change your name as a promise to who you are and/or want to be now because you have outgrown your old name,” Jaskier explained.

“Is that why you’ve been insisting on going by Jaskier?” Geralt asked, genuinely curious. “Who are the Shobogan anyway?”

“Yes, the other reason doesn’t matter since my cover has been blown. Shobogan is the name of our subspecies within the fae… lot of people just refer to us as royal fae but once the fae was a huge federation spanning many spheres with lots of different races. It’s why I’m considered fae even though I’m technically only half, it’s because I’m a citizen in the ruminants of that federation. Or species like that sylvan we tracked up here, or dryads for example are also considered fae. The elves first thought the humans where a subspecies of fae because they look a lot like the shobogan. Main difference between the two being our second heart and eyes.”

“You’re telling this Witcher our secrets!” The sylvan shouted, incensed.

“I didn’t go through the trail of the grasses, nor the tail of dreams. Never needed to. I did go through the rest. I’m technically also a Witcher,”Jaskier said as he broke out of the ropes binding them.

“Yes, very dramatic brother. We all know you worked your hands free ages ago and could break free at any time,” Blaze stated, rolling his eyes.

“Yes well. Had to find the best time for melodrama. I wouldn’t be me otherwise.”

“Yes well now I’ve found you that saves me a trip to Kaer Morhen to look for you,” Blaze stated.

“I’ve not had the courage to go there yet,” Jaskier confessed.

Blaze continued as if he said nothing, “Now the question is where is Valdo? He’s obviously not with you.”

“Who?” Geralt asked.

“Valdo Marx. My nephew. Sister’s youngest, the same age as me,” Jaskier clarified.

“And those two have been practically inseparable since he arrived back in our realm after the sacking. Have you seen him? He’s about this high.” Blaze held his hand up to indicate how high. “doesn’t actually look like he’s related because he’s got his father’s dark complexion and thick curly black hair which he wore short last I saw him, and has a thing on his face he thinks is a beard and moustache but really can’t grow one properly yet.”

“No, not seen anyone like that,” Geralt answered.

“I got no idea where Valdo ran off to. I didn’t even know he was missing, besides even if I did know I’m not going to tell you,” Jaskier added, “one of us needs to get out of court at least.”

“I’m not dragging you back to mother. I’m way too busy. Finally talked Filavandrel into bringing his people to our lands. Better to loose pride than be dead.”

“We’re resorting to stealing grain laced with iron from the humans. It seems we really need to move sooner rather than later if they’ve resorted to sending a Witcher up here. It won’t be long before they come looking themselves and probably in large numbers. We’re starving and sick. That’s not a fight we can win. The question is if we can get everyone out by then,” Filavandrel speculated.

“It will take a while to move so many,” Jaskier acknowledged, “Geralt… yes I have heard about the whole Blaviken incident. No I don’t believe you wholesale slaughtered anyone without reason. I know you. That’s not who you are. You don’t have to talk about it. I only bring it up because I have an idea but it does lean into that reputation a bit.”

“What?” Geralt asked, just knowing he was probably going to regret asking.

“Well you know how I can convince people of just about anything if I sing about it?”

“The frost trolls still ask if you are ever going to come back and preform for them after you got us all up the mountain that way,” Geralt replied ruefully.

“What if I make a song that makes people think you got rid of all the elves around here. By the time anyone thinks to look they’ll be long gone.”

“Sure, if you get people to start paying what they owe me while your at it,” Geralt agrees with obvious sarcasm.

“You know you just guaranteed it will make it across the continent and be sung in taverns for the next hundred years, right? You don’t tempt fate like that. She loves irony,” Blaze stated more than asked.

“You’ll need a new lute. I have one laying around doing nothing that belonged to my mother. Got to add to that irony after all,” Filavandrel added.

@xxx|}::::::::::::::::::::> <::::::::::::::::::::{|xxx@

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #fae!jaskier #wip #fanfiction #still need to name this

[artistsfuneral]

horror game witcher au?👀👀

@jjkshi okk okkk you two asked! So:

p. 1 bc it's late, more tmrw

Jaskier, Valdo, Priscilla and Essi are university students at the end of their studies and they're not 100% sure if they can stay close to each other once they've graduated (bc jobs and adult life and shit) so they all decided to spend a few weeks this summer together in Jaskier's parent's second/third vacation home in the mountains. (You see where this is going?)

They start their trip right after Essi's done with her last exams, so the story begins in the middle of the night when they stop qt this creepy looking gas station/convenience store to fill up the car and get an extra container of gas or two, just to be sure.

The only person awake at this time is this gray-haired old man that looks at them like one might look at a sewer rat. Big Yikes vibes. It doesn't help that he's super hostile while they're just trying to buy their stuff and maybe go for a friendly conversation. No. He keeps saying that they shouldn't be out there at night, that the roads are too dangerous for a "group of kids like them" and they need to head back to the last town. Yeah, no way. While Priscilla and Jaskier silently decided to just ignore the old guy, Essi and Valdo aren't amused in the slightest. Valdo even starts arguing with the old guy, accidentally letting it slip that Jaskier is a Pankratz family member, which results in the guy focusing his death glare at Jaskier who tries to dissolve the situation, saying that they don't want any trouble and will stay close to the house at all times (ha-ha as if)

Old guy is still pissed at them for some reason, but he can't exactly force them to go back, so he warns them once again not to go out at night, since the animals up in the mountains are a lot more dangerous and feral than Jaskier and his friends might have seen on tv (this is the real world , kids >:[ ) and he does convince all of them to at least buy a pocket knife and to never forget it, which they reluctantly agree on

They're back in the car, Valdo's driving uphill and through the pitch black forest while they all agree on how weird and kinda predatory-like scary the old dude was (and yes it's Vesemir)

#the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #jaskier #valdo marx #priscilla #witcher #geraskier

[islenthatur]

So first time doing one of these, thanks @dreamofbecoming

Rules: post the top 5 works you’re most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular), your top 4 current WIPs that you’re excited to release in the new year, your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year, your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number 1 favorite line you’ve written this year!

Top 5 works:

1. Mark of a Lark - this is one of the first things I began to write for this fandom properly. I had others and OS’s but Mark of a Lark was my first proper foray into Geraskier. 2. Cygnet - this one was written under my other Penname, a twi/witcher fic... it bugged my brain so it was written! 3. A Leshen's Roar - Looki, okay.. this started off as a little tumblr ficlet and people were keen so i wrote this... who doesn’t love Leshen!Jaskier 4. Mark of a Lullaby - So this... who doesn’t love a haunting song. 5. Wylfen Herte- something different, Witcher!Jaskier... tried to go with mysterious and mystical but ended up with this.

Top 4 current wips:

1.     Mark of a Viper need to be finished, gah but writers block and so many other rabid plot bunnies are attacking me.

2.     Mark of a Witcher is in the works, I’ve written and re-written the first chapter so many times as to how it’ll go. Will it be like Mark of a Lark where Jaskier gifts his Witchers things or will it be a Witcher who gifts Jaskier a token of thanks? Who knows!?

3.     Unknown Title: I have a gift exchange that needs to be written but Gerskier is taking over my life.

4.     To be Titled: Thanks to @bamf-jaskier I have a Angst filled Witcher!Jask in blood origins. Same concept, where Jaskier gets sent back in time via singing the song of the Seven, the power to recreate them backfiring and instead of Fjall its Jaskier who turns except he’s more controlled and such. The Seven trains him after everything and the power Jaskier needs to be sent back is gone… he lives forwards, never aging and always longing for Geralt.

Top 3 biggest improvements:

1.     Honestly I don’t really have 3, just the one where I actually got stories out in over a year.

Top 2 resolutions:

1.     *shakes self* FINISH YOUR FICS!

2.     DON’T WRITE MOREEEE!

Top 1 favourite line:

I have way too many… but I guess this can count as one: Vesemir’s Chapter in Mark of a Lark -  "Tell me, Julian, what would it be then? I have heard your songs sung far and wide, and have seen them change the minds of many a being. You may be cursed to be a human, but you still walk the Path, you face the stonings and the prejudices of man, yet you continue on." The old man explained. "I know the type of man you are, a good one, a brave one. You took what happened to you with a grace that would break any other man on the spot."

 Okay lets tag some @spilledbutter @0dde11eth @penandinkprincess

[oldandkinky]

perspective flip for Eskel in Honey? especially if it's when he finally gets to fuck Jaskier but really whatever

This is filling a bunch of asks, but this is the newest of them and just... very timely.

All prompts I used for this behind the cut.

Stick This Pin Through A Butterfly- Chapter 2

Anonymous asked:

"Hello! First of all, I'm a big fan, you're writting is amazing, this is the first time i ever visit tumbler and is was to comment on your work, so that's how cool it is ;) If your accepting prompts for the honey series, I thought the dynamic between Geralt/ Eskel, and Eskel being jealous of Jask, was very interesting, I thought those relations could be explored further , perhaps Eskel tries to hurt Jask, influence him? or Jaskier tries to make him hurt him? Whatever you can't wait to read more!"

Anonymous asked:

"what about geralt giving eskel blanket permission to use jaskier and noticing all these bruises suddenly appearing? eskel writes it off to geralt as plain rough sex, but secretly he's punishing the omega for taking all of Geralt's attention from him, and telling jaskier its what Geralt's asked him to do"

Anonymous asked:

"So, I just read Honey! Latest installment, and it was exquisite, BUT I was wondering, what if Eskel DID get a night with Jaskier "no questions asked"? I don't think Geralt would allow it, but if it did happen, what would make Geralt do it? what would Eskel do to Jaskier? What would happen after? I'm imagining dark things..."

Anonymous asked:

"rlly love your writing and excited for the new Honey ch :) as far as suggestions go, what if Eskel makes good on his threat to keep Jaskier plugged at all times during his 'lessons'? knotted dildos and figging him periodically to show the omega how 'nice' Geralt is in comparison and how grateful he should be to have such a lenient alpha. maybe Vesemir (a traditionalist at heart) finds an old breeding bench or builds one and suggests Eskel use it as a training aid to help settle/gentle the omega"

Anonymous asked:

"Hi! How are you feeling? I would sugest something like allowing Jask to flee to hunt him down, or giving Jask a weapon so he can try to hurt eskel and then overpower him, or maybe manipulating Jask into having an active role in sex (riding, sucking, asking for it) with the threat of hurting Lamb or Essi. I feel something involving giving Jask a twisted sense of choice, since it has been sripped from it. Whatever you go with I can't wait!!! Hope you enjoy writting it! XOXO (nonny about the slick)"

Anonymous asked:

"I don’t think that Eskel would go into the situation with the intention to kill Jaskier, but as he’s punishing him (and gets progressively more infuriated that Geralt is obsessed with this weak, difficult creature) he decides it would be the perfect opportunity to sever the bond himself."

Anonymous asked:

"For the Eskel/Jaskier thing. 1) sensory deprivation. 2) gentle non-con 3)over-stimulation 4)physiological torture"

chillin-like-villains asked:

"For Eskel punishing Jaskier: spanking him at full strength while talking about finding Essi and doing the same, using axii and ordering him to stay aware before having him confess his “sins” and beg Eskel to do worse to him, drag him into the woods around Kaer Morhen to be fucked by one of the monsters there"

#oldandkinky #the witcher #oldandkinky honey #oldandkinky omegaverse #oldandkinky abuse #oldandkinky non con

[randomperson351]

Sleep easy, little lark - Geraskier

Summary: Jaskier has been travelling with Geralt for many years now, even up to Kaer Morhen some winters when he feels he can make the trip. Geralt always sleeps easily and frequently for the first few weeks, surrounded by his brothers and his bard. It's how he notices that Jaskier hasn't been sleeping, and he's going to find out why.

Or

5 times Geralt notices Jaskier is in a bad way and the 1 time he does something about it.

Note: Just some Kaer Moron fluff and comfort for our favourite bard. Set after The Mountain fight and reunion, Ciri’s there too.

Do not repost or rewrite any of my work. Minors and ageless blogs get blocked.

Masterlist               Request something

1. A sour smell in the wind.

Geralt was stumped. Jaskier had agreed to come to Kaer Morhen again this year so they started the trip up a few days earlier than normal, not only to avoid most of the cold but there were no contracts for Geralt to take along the way.

And the bard was quiet. Not even a faint humming coming from him as he composed into the snow flurry. Geralt had made sure he’d picked up the essentials for the fragile human; fur lined boots, a heavy cloak, leather gloves and woolen scarf. The Pass was just as difficult to navigate now as it was each year, and the bard was falling behind again as Geralt pushed on next to Roach.

He stopped and turned around, taking in Jaskier’s purple complexion and shivers despite the layering. “Come on Jaskier, we’re almost there.”

When he recieved no response other than the chattering of Jaskier’s teeth, Geralt decided the bard was going to freeze unless he started warming up, and fast.

“Come here, Bard.”

The sour spike that scourned the wind almost burnt out the witcher’s nostril hairs. It was as brief as it was intense, and Geralt couldn’t stop the frown even as Jaskier tried to disguise the scent with suggestive comments and a slightly frozen eyebrow wiggle.

Geralt tilted his head as he tried to source the smell, but could find no obvious injuries on the bard other than the cold.

“Well come on Mr ‘Speed is essential’. We don’t have all day.”

And just like that, the conversation that should’ve happened, was wiled away with the wind of The Killer.

~~

The penny dropped after they arrived and were embraced by the wolves.

Ciri jumped on Geralt as soon as he was in sight and Lambert roughly tugged the bard into him, holding the human as close as possible as if he could tell how much the cold was eating away at him. Geralt did just the same with Ciri, and didn’t let her go until Vesemir was threatening him to be on stall cleaning duty for the next week and tugged him close to scent his pup again.

They switched and Ciri buried her head in Jaskier’s neck, securing themselves together much like Geralt knocking his and Lambert’s heads together. They were safe, home for another year.

As it turns out, Eskel arrived a few hours after them, making his appearance known as he always does. There was a rough embrace of arms and hearty shoulder pats with Geralt and Vesemir, a watered down version of the rough welcome for Jaskier (who still couldn’t feel his hands by the way he could barely grip Eskel’s tunic) and a one-armed hug and kiss on the head for Ciri; and if anyone noticed how he lingered a little longer to breath in her scent, they didn’t say anything.

It was the greeting with Lambert that made a lightbulb go off for Geralt. For whatever reason they were always the roughest with each other, and this was no different.

Eskel had taunted Lambert with a crouch and beckoned “come here” to which the fiery witcher slammed into him and they went sprawling across the floor. Whilst the others watched almost contently at the usual display of oddly presented relief at them all being alive, Geralt couldn’t help but pick up on the acrid stench of fear that permeated the air again.

When he turned to look for the source, he found Jaskier with a twisted expression as he watched the two wrestle on the floor; and the wince that came at Lambert landing a blow in Eskel’s stomach.

That was it. The punch. Fuck, Geralt was so stupid sometimes. It was the same phrase followed by the same violence that he used on Jaskier when they had first started on the path together, when Jaskier had complete trust that Geralt wouldn’t hurt him, then sucker punched him so hard he thought he was going to vomit out his intestines.

And then the mountain. More hurt caused by Geralt. Nilfgaard and whatever they managed to do to him there before Geralt reached him.

Fuck! If Jaskier couldn’t feel safe in the one place that was literally designed to be a safe haven for them, then Geralt had fucked up more than he thought.

So no violence for a while. At least no punching while Jaskier was around. Fine, easy as pie. Though looking at how Eskel currently had Lambert in a headlock, maybe it wasn’t going to be quite so easy as Geralt hoped.

2. No singing fills the room. Nothing at all, actually.

They’re a couple of weeks in and thankfully, Eskel and Lambert have toned it down with the bouts of aggression. If Geralt had to watch Jaskier sink into himself anymore whenever Lambert tackled Eskel over the table or Eskel tried putting horse shit in Lambert’s hair again, he was going to lock his brothers out in the snow.

At the minute, Jaskier is sat quietly by the fire in the main sitting room. His lute sits idly beside him as he works and Vesemir keeps a steadying hand in his hair as he reads in his favourite chair.

Geralt is in the library with Ciri. They had been going over what she’d learnt while Geralt was gone but the child grew tired as she got warmer from the fireplace and was now just dozing with her head in Geralt’s lap and his hand in her hair. The Witcher himself was almost to the state of meditation when he heard Vesemir speak, tuning his ears to hear the soft words shared between his leader and bard.

“You’re quiet this year bard, don’t think I’ve heard you play once.” He said as a starting point, trying to encourage him to get talking on his own. It was a weird occurance in itself, usually all they were trying to do was shut him up for five minutes.

Jaskier shocked the older wolf even more when it took him a minute to answer, trying to fight the feeling that his tongue felt too big for his mouth. Vesemir closed his book and gave the pup his full attention, he felt there was more going on here than just a commotion ontop of a mountain.

“Jaskier?” The hand in his fluffy brown hair tightened only the littlest bit to drag the bard out of his own head.

Once he was ready, Jaskier let out a sigh that said more than words could, and Vesemir sat straighter, tension growing in his shoulders at how lost the young boy’s voice sounded compared to how he was used to it. “I simply have nothing to play.” He shrugged, picking at the calluses on his fingers.

Jaskier could feel Vesemir staring at him, trying to piece together a puzzle that he didn’t even know was missing the corner.

“It isn’t just that pup. You’ve barely said a word to anyone since you got here other than pleasantries.”

Jaskier sighed again and looked straight into the fire so he could use the light as an excuse for the sheen across his eyes. “Geralt likes the quiet.”

The mentioned man frowned. He doesn’t understand. When did he ever- oh. The Djinn.

I just want some damn peace!

Geralt thumped his head back and tried to release his frustration without waking the child asleep on his lap. Of course when he actually said something it had to be that.

Fuck.

“That doesn’t mean we want you to be radio silent, bard. The reason we all enjoy you coming here in the winter is because of your talking, the easiness of it. The wolves are often treated and spoke to with fear, and then you came up here and there wasn’t a trace of it. It’s the only time of year where they relax and we do so love to hear your voice, lark. Don’t make us beg for it.”

Jaskier blinked the wetness away and nodded his head, sniffing aggressively when Vesemir patted his head in farewell and retired to bed.

3. The Witcher lost the lark.

It was that damn sitting room again. Geralt was put on dinner duty with Vesemir and Ciri was out ‘training’ with Lambert, which mostly consisted of him teaching her how to hide Eskel’s things without being noticed.

This left said Witcher in the sitting room with Jaskier, relaxing on the sofa behind where the bard was scribbling notes down only to cross them out again, humming indistinct tunes to himself to try and get the sound he yearned for.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ve missed your singing this year bard.”

Jaskier huffed through his nose but didn’t turn to face the scarred Witcher to rise to the bait. “Don’t hear that very often.” He mumbled. Well, as much as you can mumble in a castle full of witchers with enhanced hearing.

“Well you’re hearing it now.”

“I suppose I am, dear Eskel, yes.”

He managed to wait a few more minutes before starting up again. “So why the wait? Usually by now we’d be-”

“Yelling at me to shut up? Yeah, I remember it well.” Jaskier finished for him. When Eskel didn’t continue he knew he was waiting for Jaskier to expand.

The bard turned his head just enough to see the Witcher’s face in the side of his vision, yellow eyes glowing as he stared at him in the dark. “I’ve been informed that my singing has had the odd tendency to run people off. S’pose I didn’t want anyone to run anymore.”

The Witcher frowned and tilted his head as he tried to figure out what the bard was saying. Yes they might berate him for being a bit too loud, but he thought Jaskier knew they were only playing around. Eskel took his feet off the sofa from where he was lounged and sat up, reaching in front of him to grip Jaskier’s shoulder tight enough to get his attention.

“We only kid with you Jaskier, about playing too much. We love to hear you through the castle, it gives us something to focus on other than what happened here.”

Jaskier met his eyes from where they had fallen to the floor and nodded. “I know. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Eskel hadn’t the foggiest. For Geralt, it couldn’t be clearer. The fucking Djinn.

“Did you sing to her before she left?”

“I did actually. Why, what are you implying?”

“I won’t run away, if you want to sing.” Was all Eskel could offer.

Jaskier turned back to his spider’s web of lyrics and picked up his lute, turning back to Eskel. “Want to hear something I’ve been toying with?”

~~

Jaskier’s lute is right there. Right fucking there and he hasn’t so much as looked at it while he and Geralt were in the library after dinner.

The wolves had split off after the stew had been demolished and Geralt sought out Jaskier in the library, hoping to talk to him about this cloud of dullness that had overtaken him since he got here. Although that required words, not a forte of Geralt’s.

They had been sat peacefully for an hour, and Geralt was loosing his mind. Why wasn’t Jaskier humming or singing or talking or moving or anything.

“You can play if you want.” Subtle.

Jaskier turned to face Geralt with a smirk on his face. “Why is it that the one year I tone it down is the one year everyone wants to hear me?”

“It’s not that.” Geralt rushed to deny. “Just makes for good whitenoise to meditate.”

“I don’t think you enjoy it that much.” Jaskier said, turning back around to face the fire. But there was no playfulness in the sentence, only a sort of crushing honesty that came from criticism.

Geralt resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands and scream.

“How’s my singing?”

“Like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

Geralt stood from his chair and walked over to drop himself next to Jaskier on the sofa. The latter raised his eyebrows in question but Geralt just ignored it.

“Sing to me. Please?”

And then Geralt saw a piece of Jaskier that had been missing for the last few weeks, that untamed side of him that knew not of self-preservation or doubt, but only knew the power of his work.

For the next few hours Jaskier played his lute and sang his songs, and the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen released one big breath of relief and settled in to bask in their comfort.

4. Nightmares.

“What are you up to bard?”

Jask spinned almost straight into the redhaired witcher that had been following him for the last five minutes.

“I-I’m thirsty. Was just going to get some water.”

“Horseshit.” The Witcher proclaimed.

The bard was a shit liar. He nearly snapped his neck from retracting so fast from Lambert, he couldn’t look him in the eyes and his fingers rubbed at his wrists.

Lambert knew the feeling of being a deer in headlights. He also knew what caused the feeling. Nightmares. A conciousness that refuses to let itself be forgotten.

Lambert sighed away the remains of his annoyance and softened himself for the bard’s sake. He stepped forward and placed an arm around the skittish human to lead him to the kitchen.

“Come on, little lark. Let’s get a drink.”

~~

“What do you usually do, when you have a nightmare?”

Jaskier had been drawing shapes into the bench while he sipped his drink, keeping his eyes down and not speaking a word.

“I, sleep with Geralt.” He admitted quietly, lifting a hand to cover the back of his neck. “But I know Ciri sleeps in there with him sometimes, when she has nightmares.”

“Let’s go have a look, if she’s there you can sleep in my room.” The witcher told him rather than suggested. Jaskier finally looked up at him and nodded, raising and taking his cup with him.

Upstairs Geralt heard the shuffling about and looked over to check that Ciri was still next to him; the girl tended to get jittery if she woke and found him sleeping, not wanting to disturb his rest. He breathed in relief at seeing her back rising and falling steadily, reaching a hand around to brush the hair that had fallen from her braid away from her face and curving it briefly around her nape as a sense of comfort.

So who else was awake?

The answer soon came when a mop of brown hair peeked through his door and smiled tightly at seeing them cuddled up together, retreating before Geralt could even think of whispering “what’s wrong?”

His bard didn’t get far, he was pulled back by the sound of an indignant squawk, by Lambert, who copied Jaskier by sticking his head around Geralt’s door and muttered in a voice only Geralt could hear, “I’ll take him.”

Geralt nodded his thanks as Lambert closed the door quietly. When he rose the next day at the sign of light and found Jaskier coddled in his brother’s arms, sleeping like a babe, an odd feeling of fondness filled him. That feeling grew when a familiar yellow eye cracked open and winked at him before closing again.

5. He’ll be going down the mountain, when he comes.

For a few weeks, Jaskier seemed okay. Like he was ontrack for getting back to normal. He was whining and complaining about the cold, burying against Geralt for his warmth (he secretly enjoyed the cuddle sessions with Jask and Ciri very much, but would rather use himself as bruxa bait than admit that outloud) and somehow managed to wrestle Eskel into washing his hair for him in the hot springs.

And then the pass closed. And so did Jaskier.

He became jumpy, startled easily and didn’t fall into touches as he normally did. Sometimes it was almost painful for the other Witchers to watch him figure out what to do with himself, walking past the window four times before he chose to pick up his notebook and write something down.

This went on for about a week when Geralt woke up to a churning in his stomach. Something was wrong.

He got out of bed and looked around the keep. Everything seemed the same, everyone was there, but something was missing. Jaskier.

Geralt pelted up to the bard’s room and slammed the door open, almost falling in with how fast he was to try and dispel the growing feeling of dread in his gut.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Eskel appeared behind him, straightening up when he saw the cloak, lute and bard attatched to those things missing. “Where’s the bard?”

Geralt steeled himself before answering. “He’s gone down the mountain.”

“Sorry?”

The wolf jumped into action and spun around, nearly knocking Eskel over as he ran out the room and down the stairs, layering up with his cloak and swords, just incase. The Bard was known to get into all types of trouble. The thought made Geralt’s heart clench.

“What’s going on?” Vesemir demanded, watching as his pups wrapped up as if leaving in the midst of a blizard.

“Jaskier’s gone down the mountain.” Eskel explained, promptly following Geralt out the door and into the snow.

The seconds felt like hours while the keep waited for them to return. Lambert had to go and chop wood to drain his nervous energy, Vesemir was darning every item of clothing with a suggestion of a hole and Ciri viciously chopped meat, potatoes, vegetables and anything she could get her hands on to stop them from shaking.

An unforgiving wind blew through the halls as the front door burst open, Eskel skidding inside and straight to the sitting room, casting an igni to stoke the already burning fire even more. Geralt followed at a more controlled pace with a covered lump over his shoulder, holding it close and whispering words of comfort. He made it to the room and carefully led the fur covered body, who Vesemir could now see was Jaskier; blue liped with a disturbingly grey pallor onto a pile of furs Eskel had gathered in front of the fire.

The two wolves quickly stripped off and did the same to Jaskier, rolling the bard on his side so that he was sandwiched between their body heat. Lambert had heard the commotion and came in carrying more blankets, covering his brothers with them and sitting down by the bard’s head, covering it with his hands in hopes to rid his lips of the pale blue tinge they had acquired.

The were silent as Jaskier moaned and groaned and shivered in pain. They reminded themselves that this was necessary, he had to warm up and so pressed in closer to try and comfort him as real wolves would. Vesemir kept Ciri out of the room, not wanting her to see the usually boyant lark in such a state, but also to avoid any accidental exposing when the furs jerked from Jaskier’s spasms.

The night continued much in the same way. Jaskier eventually woke all the way and went straight back to sleep again, Lambert left for a few minutes to grab a bowl of stew and shovel it down, soon joined by Eskel who was getting too hot and needed a few minutes.

Which left the wolf and the bard alone. Jaskier snuffled himself awake, looking around blearily before recognising Geralt led in front of him. The Witcher gave him the softest smile he’d ever seen and loosened his arms to let Jaskier stretch, feeling the muscles burn from exertion and warmth.

“Jask?”

“Hmm?” He lifted an eyebrow to encourage the stoic wolf to speak.

“Why did you go down that mountain?”

Jaskier sighed. “To take myself off your hands.”

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.

“Jaskier.” Geralt sounded wounded. “I don’t want you off my hands.”

The lark looked away to hide the tears in his eyes, but couldn’t hide the tears in his voice. “I just felt like you didn’t want me here.”

Geralt reached out and hauled the bard closer to him again, pressing their foreheads together and curling a hand around the other man’s nape for good measure. “I’ll always want you here. I always want you on my hands.” He promised, eyes locked with Jaskier’s.

The man chuckled wetly and wiped his nose. “What a poet.” He jested playfully, a good sign he was feeling better. Geralt used the hand around Jaskier’s neck to scratch at the short hairs there, reveling in the eye fluttering it caused.

“Jaskier.” He called once more.

“Geralt.”

“If you ever get the urge to do something as dangerous or stupid as go down the mountain mid-blizard again, don’t even think of going alone.”

“I was 8% sure it would be fine! Wait-”

“Exactly, and we’ve done things on less than that. So you’re not allowed to do anything without me, got it?”

A cheeky smile rose to the bard’s face. “Yes dear.”

Geralt didn’t comment on the obvious sarcasm but pressed his lips to Jaskier’s forehead. “Good.”

At this point the fire had dwindled making the room more tolerable so Geralt stood to collect their smallclothes and slid back under the furs, both him and Jaskier pulling their respective underwear up.

A soft knock came from the door and Ciri poked her head in with Eskel.

“How’s the bard?” He asked, thinking Jaskier was still napping.

“Fighting fit as always dear Eskel, I thank you for your concern.” Jaskier pressed his head back into the floor so he could smile at the scarred witcher. He shook his head and opened the door further, guiding the young girl in with a hand on her back as she balanced two bowls of soup in her hands.

“I thought you might be hungry?” She suggested.

“Hi little cub.” The bard welcomed her in, sitting up stifly with the help of Geralt who sat up himself.

Eskel and the cub walked in; Ciri passed a bowl to Jaskier which Eskel helped him hold and then gave the other to Geralt, who pulled her in with an unoccupied hand and held her face to his, rubbing their noses together.

He had to release her when Eskel lifted the cub away to rest for the night, leaving the two alone to eat and sleep in peace.

1. Stuck like glue.

The bard never felt unwanted again. Everyday he was surrounded by the wolves.

Lambert chased him around the keep, hiding around doors and secret hideyhoes he didn’t know existed, Ciri showed him all the magic and special abilities she was gaining, Vesemir read with him in the library and taught him how to cheat his pups at Gwent and Eskel showed him some basic sword moves in the courtyard between cooking lessons.

But his time with Geralt, that was his favourite. Mainly because it was either filled with cuddles, his music or some great sex.

With the other witchers having taken Ciri on as their own, Geralt wasn’t worried about them being disturbed and so Jaskier often found himself being whisked off to one of their bedrooms for a few hours before returning slightly bedraggled and reeking of Geralt even after a bath. But of course, he couldn’t smell that and the others were forbidden to tell him.

That didn’t mean there weren’t days when he still felt off, too tired to talk or small to leave the keep. But he was never alone. One of the wolves (usually Lambert since his room was closest) would come and pick him up, all swaddled in furs, and take him to the sitting room in front of the fire. They didn’t expect the bard to talk on these days, didn’t force him to either. Lambert would pull his head to rest on his shoulder while Eskel fed him some porridge and berries for breakfast; Ciri led across Jaskier’s lap as a weighted blanket with her head resting on Geralt’s thigh as the man moulded himself around his lark’s body, resting against the sofa so he was reclined a bit.

No matter how much Vesemir loved his pups dearly, he was still too old to contort himself into a position that fit him into the wolf pile so took a seat on one of the chairs, casting a protective look over the vulnerable pack and guarding to make sure no harm touched them.

These days were always easy. No chores or training or rush to fix something in the keep. Just as much calm and relaxation as possible.

Later when the lark felt better and had moved up to Geralt’s room after a much too big bowl of stew and successful game of Gwent (and some slow, euphoria reaching sex) he cuddled in closer to his witcher’s warm body and sighed contently.

“I’ll always want you on my hands little lark, for as long as you’ll have me.”

And they drifted off to sleep easily, wrapped in each other’s arms.

#randomperson351 #geraskier #the witcher #the witcher 5+1 #angst #the witcher angst #geraskier angst to fluff #geraskier angst #geraskier and kaer moron angst to fluff #soft!geralt #soft!eskel #soft!lambert #soft!vesemir #5+1 #happy ending #geralt x eskel x lambert x jaskier #kaer morhen #geralt x eskel x lambert x ciri #geralt x eskel x vesemir x lambert x jaskier #eskel x lambert x vesemir x ciri

[samstree]

Reverse soulmates

The soulmate trope reversed: you carry the mark of person who will kill you.

An Orpheus and Eurydice AU, cw: MCD (duh)

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3]

Read on AO3

--

“Geralt will walk behind me?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t be able to hear him. Or touch him.”

“No.”

“How would I know he’s there?”

“You won’t.”

Blue eyes meet Geralt, the fear within roaring like a storm.

“If I look back—” Jaskier’s voice breaks.

“He dies, little songbird.”

The burn scar on the inside of Geralt’s wrist burns for the first time in a century, but he knows that it’s not the scar. It’s what’s hidden underneath.

A shape Geralt knows by heart. A single buttercup.

His mark is burning.

His mark is warning him of the end.

--

“You got a mark, wolf.” Vesemir points at the inside of Geralt’s wrist. “You are lucky.”

Geralt frowns, prodding at the yellow flower that appeared on his skin overnight.

“How is it lucky to know who will kill me?”

“Most witchers on the path don’t have the luxury of knowing,” Vesemir says. “They die when they die.”

The long white hair tickles Geralt’s eyes. He thinks he will tie it up when he finally leaves Kaer Morhen next year.

“Then I don’t want to carry it.”

Vesemir smiles with his eyes but not his lips. He does that when he’s amused by something Geralt says.

“Still running away from destiny, boy?”

Geralt frowns harder. He’s not a boy anymore, but Vesemir ignores him. Instead, the older witcher retrieves a small branding iron from the hearth.

“It won’t change anything. Even if you deny it,” Vesemir tells him.

Geralt nods anyway, and the iron presses into his skin.

It’s nothing compared to the trials, and the salve Vesemir applies later is cool and soothing.

--

Geralt meets his buttercup in a dingy tavern in Posada.

The mark is still there.

It’s always there.

Geralt falls, in spite of the mark.

In spite of himself.

--

“And where did this one come from?” Jaskier kisses the scar on Geralt’s wrist. “A dangerous hunt? A heroic rescue? A careless tobacco joint?”

It’s you.

“It’s destiny.”

Jaskier chuckles against Geralt’s skin, his lips moving up in a languid rhythm.

“Feeling poetic tonight, witcher? I thought it was my job.”

The warmth of Jaskier’s skin is so nice. Geralt relaxes under deft hands on his equally naked body, drawing out all kinds of happy sounds from him.

“My, my.” Jaskier kisses the corner of his mouth. “The White Wolf, at my mercy.”

“Hmm.”

“Have I told you how much I love the way you lay bare before me? A witcher with his guard down, his throat exposed.”

Geralt threads his fingers in brown hair as Jaskier sucks a bruise right over his pulse point.

“You can end me if you want, Jask—” The moan is cut off by a shudder.

“And you trust me not to?”

Cornflower blue meets Geralt in earnest. He can look into Jaskier’s eyes all day and never get bored.

“I trust you with my life.”

The smile Jaskier gives him is blinding.

It must be worth it.

--

In a way, Geralt has always known he trusts Jaskier a little bit more.

He just never expected it to be tested like this.

“You go,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s ear. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“You promise?”

The tears on Jaskier’s face are breaking Geralt’s heart. He wipes them away carefully.

“I promise,” he adds, “and you promise to trust I’m there?”

Jaskier hesitates.

--

It’s dark.

It’s so dark, but Geralt sees Jaskier right in front of him.

“I’m behind you,” he says, knowing Jaskier can’t hear him.

Geralt follows, his footsteps silent and his presence masked.

They’ve been walking for what could be hours, or years. His medallion never ceases to hum faintly at the magic. It’s dark magic too, vile, the kind that messes with your mind.

For a moment, Geralt feels coldness washing over him, like he’s being dropped into an ice lake. Like the world has abandoned him.

Like he’s alone.

Geralt knows he’s not, with his lover so solid in his vision.

But Jaskier doesn’t.

It makes sense that Jaskier is the one who crumbles. He kneels on the floor, shaking. A wounded noise escapes his throat.

“I’m here.”

Geralt tries to touch but all that slips through his fingers is cold air.

He watches powerlessly as Jaskier whimpers in pain, picks himself up, and carries on.

It gets more difficult after that.

Jaskier cries, wails, and curses. He hugs himself tight for one moment and shudders with rage the next. In the end, he quiets down. There’s no sign of distress except for the soft sniffles, the shivers that wrack his body, and the heavy slump of his shoulders.

Geralt’s name is by Jaskier’s lips, soft and reverent like prayer.

Jaskier is grieving already.

“I’m right here.”

The light is near. Geralt can sense it shimmering at the end of the road.

They are close, but Jaskier won’t make it. Or at least, what’s left of him will never be the same. Geralt’s buttercup should be full of life, but he’s now filled with despair. Now he’s broken.

And it’s ripping Geralt’s heart in half.

There’s no way to ease Jaskier’s pain, not when he can’t hear Geralt’s calling, not when there’s no reassurance to be offered, except—

The mark burns anew.

“Jaskier,” Geralt pleads. Somehow, this time his voice feels different, no longer muffled by magic. “Jaskier, turn around.”

They stop in tandem. The light illuminates Jaskier’s frame, making it so hard to see.

Slowly, excruciatingly, Jaskier turns back. A sob breaks out in relief.

“I’m here, you see?”

Geralt smiles, but he never gets to see it returned.

Pity, Jaskier’s smile is the most beautiful sight there is.

Darkness engulfs Geralt, but he feels no regret.

Not when he can make sure Jaskier is loved. Not when Jaskier knows he’s trusted until the end.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #reverse trope #orpheus and eurydice au #orpheus!jaskier #eurydice!geralt #soulmate #cw: mcd #cw: major character death #sorry it took me so long #i write very slowly #also help i'm running out of ways to write geralt being utterly in love

[vagrantblvrd]

The one where Eskel thinks Lil Bleater is a normal goat, right? All tiny and cute and horrible little menace who absolutely owns his heart. Sweetest little face and cheerful little bleat and the most adorable thing anyone’s ever seen.

But in reality she’s an eldritch horror or something immensely powerful and unknowable that somehow ended up in the form of said tiny, adorable menace of a goat?

He’s the only one who doesn’t realize this fact, even when she’s saved his life on hunts in the past.

“...what do you mean he doesn’t know?”

And that’s Jaskier, who just assumed Eskel’s known Lil Bleater is the mortal form of some horror from beyond time and space or whatever that’s become fond of her Witcher friend.

Because he’s heard the stories about Lil Bleater from Geralt and the others okay. Eskel himself told Jaskier about this one hunt where Eskel was knocked unconscious and dragged down into some dark, dank lair of whatever he was hunting and when he woke up Lil Bleater was standing on his chest bleating her little head off.

(Also, the mangled remains of whatever caught Eskel off-guard were stomped into the mud and much, bits of bone and torn flesh glinting in the gloom, and surely it must have been a trick of the mind that Lil Bleater’s eyes seemed to glow red, because head injury you know?)

Geralt and the others give Jaskier this pitying look they’ve tried, okay. So many times in so many ways and Eskel just thinks they’re joking? Like ha-ha, good one, right Eskel? :DDDDDDDDDDD

Eskel’s had Lil Bleater for years by the time Jaskier shows up on the scene, decades even, and hasn’t seemed to notice she looks the way she did when he found her.

And Jaskier, okay.

He’s like oh.

Because, okay, because.

Jaskier’s known Geralt for two decades now and no one’s said anything about him not aging either, so.

(Oh, sure, they have plenty to say about Jaskier pining for Geralt like you wouldn’t believe for the longest time, but the whole not aged a day in over twenty years thing? Nothing.)

Anyway, Jaskier decides this can only mean that he and Lil Bleater should become allies, which they do of course to everyone’s regret forever.

Incidentally, the first major Incident to take place after Jaskier and Lil Bleater join forces is about the time Eskel realizes wait, wait, what do you mean Lil Bleater isn’t a normal goat?

Like.

Jaskier and Lil Bleater are utter menaces on their own, but when the two of them work together it’s something to behold and on at least one (1) occasion was mistaken for the end of the world.

(Geralt and Eskel might have would have been more inclined to clear up that little misunderstanding if it hadn’t been for thing with the kidnapping and torture and other heinous acts, and really, the baddies got what was coming to them, so you know.)

Most of the time when they team up Geralt and Eskel are just off to the side drinking and staring off into nothing as something catches fire/explodes to the sounds aggressive lute playing and bleating/various goat noises.

Vesemir’s in his chair reading because he wants no part of this nonsense and Ciri’s totally not holding Lil Bleater in her lap with Jaskier next to her.

Yennefer is either the one pouring drinks or taking notes/offering advice depending on her mood at the time.

Also, almost always, the dulcet tones of Lambert swearing angrily can also be heard because you know he probably did something to provoke them if he hasn’t teamed up with them and then been caught on fire because he still did something to provoke them into it, so yes.)

#witcher nonsense #the witcher #lil bleater #eskel is just like #what do you mean she just unhinged her jaws and swallowed that bandit whole? #she's a tiny adorable goat geralt #they don't do that #really #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[darkverrmin]

1, 4, 6, 11, 14, 15, 17, 27, 33, 36, 42, 45, 46, 47, 50 .For the kiss prompt with Geraskier ... umm ... is this too many? lol I'm sorry, I tried so hard not to put down every number, this is what my restraint got me. Please pick whichever one (or more than one if I'm lucky XD) that makes your muse sing <3

Your ask really made me smile 😆❤️ I chose (1) and (14)!

1. Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

14. A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.

****

Jaskier paced nervously around the room, glancing out of the window every couple of minutes.

It’s been almost four months since he and Geralt last seen each other, and Jaskier had missed him so badly. Jaskier missed Geralt every year, when they parted for the winter.

But this year it was a bit different.

After confessing their feelings for each other, he and Geralt had barely two weeks of sharing breathless giggles between kisses and holding each other, before they had to part ways. Geralt was almost about to join Jaskier on his trip to visit his parents (Jaskier’s father fell ill at that time), when Jaskier insisted on Geralt going to visit his own family. Jaskier knew how much Geralt wanted to see his brothers and Vesemir. 

And although he knew he’d miss him terribly, four months was a small price to pay for his Witcher’s happiness. 

And there he was. Pacing around the room he rented at the inn Geralt and he agreed to meet at when spring comes.

Just as Jaskier managed to sit down and try to focus on writing his latest song, a familiar voice coming from the outside caught his ear.

Lambert.

Jaskier rushed to the window, gazing down at the street outside. His breath hitched in his throat. 

Standing beside the stables, there they were. Lambert was talking heatedly to Eskel about something, waving his hands in the air. Geralt was loading his bags off of Roach, glancing at his younger brother with an amused smile.

Jaskier’s heart started hammering in his chest. His hands begun to sweat as he rushed out of the room and went down the stairs, two steps at a time. Once he was outside, Jaskier froze by the door, staring at the three men.

He took a moment to gaze at Geralt, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading itself in his chest and belly. He looks beautiful, Jaskier thought. His hair was slightly longer and he grew a small beard, which really suited him. He was wearing a short-sleeved, dark-grey shirt, the one Jaskier confessed to him about that he really liked. Jaskier smiled to himself, realizing that Geralt probably wore that shirt on purpose today. 

Gulping quietly, he started slowly approaching the three men, not knowing what to do with his hands. How should he greet them? Should he just give Geralt a hug, or should he also kiss him? Would Geralt be okay with Jaskier kissing him in front of his brothers? Do they even know about their relationsh-

“Jaskier!” Eskel cried, waving at him. “It’s great to see you! You were deeply missed during the winter. How’s your father? Geralt told us he had fallen ill”.

Jaskier returned Eskel’s smile. “Thank you, he’s doing alright. It was just a bad cold. How was yo-”.

Before Jaskier could finish his question, he was crushed between two muscular arms and pulled against a broad chest. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s soft hair, inhaling, before moving down to catch his lips in a deep kiss. “I missed you,” Geralt whispered in a low voice, placing another kiss onto the tip of Jaskier’s nose, causing the other man to grin. “Been dreaming of this moment for weeks”.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him into another passionate kiss. “I missed you too, darling. I love the beard, by the way. Suits you well”.

“Hmm,” Geralt smiled in return, moving to kiss the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. “You look good as always”. Geralt tightened his embrace around the other man’s waist, as he continued littering small kiss all over his face.

“You’re tickling me,” Jaskier chuckled, but didn’t make an attempt to move away from Geralt’s embrace. He was still a little shocked by Geralt expressing his emotions like this, but he could definitely get used to it.

“Oh, and congratulations on that.” Eskel called, giving them a warm smile. “I’m happy you two finally got a hold of a single braincell”.

“One can argue about that,” Lambert muttered, not unkindly. “Can you idiots take this up to your room, after we eat? I’m fucking starving”.

Geralt rolled his eyes, chuckling, and pulled Jaskier into another kiss. This kiss was deeper than the previous ones, and Jaskier sighed quietly as he buried his hands in Geralt’s hair.

“Gross,” Lambert called, pulling a smiling Eskel after him. “I’m stealing your coin to buy myself dinner”.

Geralt couldn’t give a damn at that moment. He squeezed Jaskier’s waist and smiled in return, when he felt Jaskier smiling against his lips.

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x julian #geralt #the witcher #witcher #witcher geralt #geralt x jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #kaer morhen #kaer morons #witcher eskel #eskel #lambert #witcher lambert #lambert witcher #fluff #kissing prompts

[witcher-trash]

Witcher Fic Recs 15

Blue Christmas (coën/lambert, geralt, eskel, ciri, vesemir, teen, complete, 2k, major character death) They’d all been a mess for weeks now, but Christmas Eve looming on the horizon had only made things worse. Geralt didn’t plan to open the riding school again until into the new year, and Eskel was keeping himself busy with the farm, but Lambert had closed up the workshop and hadn’t so much as looked at a project since he’d dropped everything to rush to the hospital after Geralt had called. Geralt and Eskel were worried about him.

Decade (eskel/lambert, explicit, complete, 4k) Lambert’s being a brat. Eskel puts him in his place (and figures out what’s wrong in the meantime).

Euterpe (jaskier/lambert, mature, complete, 2k) Lambert acts on instinct, kicking the man’s feet out from underneath him and pinning him on his back in one swift move. It’s fairly useless, for a monster, letting out a terrified scream as it drops their only water source. It tries nothing that could be called self-defense even if held upside down and looked at sideways. “What are you?” Lambert hisses. “Nothing dangerous, I swear!” the thing squeaks, “A minor god, you wouldn’t even know of me, no one does anymore!"

Geralt of Rivia and the Jewel of Cintra (geralt/jaskier, eskel/triss, teen, complete, 50k) The Son, the Wife, the Mistress, the Tutor or the Mysterious Elf? With monsters now extinct, witchers had to find other lines of work. Unfortunately for Private Detective Geralt of Rivia, he owed Sigismund Dijkstra a favour and the Head of the Redanian secret service was cashing in. There had been a high profile murder and he needed someone to go and discreetly sort it out.

Hold Not the World in Your Hands (aiden/coën, coën/lambert, aiden/lambert , mature, complete, 3k) Coën tends to Aiden's wounds, and learns more about this Cat his lover is in love with. Or, 5 times Coën touches Aiden + 1 time Aiden touches Coën.

Letters (geralt-centric, teen, complete, 2k) Jaskier receives a letter from his family to remind him that he's loved. Geralt decides to send a few of his own.

Lifeguard to my Heart (aiden/lambert, mature, wip, 10k) Lambert gets talked into buying surfing lessons by his girlfriend right before they break up. He'll be damned if he's going to waste the good money he paid for them so he guesses he's going to learn how to surf now. That hot lifeguard that always seems to be on the beach when he's there certainly helps matters too. The Lambden Surfer AU that no one asked for but you all are going to get anyways!

Punishment for a Trainee (ivar/warritt, explicit, complete, 6k) Warritt always has the most intense ideas, and Ivar's happy to give him what he wants. This time, little trainee Warritt can't seem to get himself to behave, but Grandmaster Ivar knows exactly how to fix that.

Surviving Hard Knocks (vesemir-centric, mature, wip, 22k, graphic depictions of violence) They never expected Vesemir to live. Not when he was a child. Not for his Trials. Not on the Path. Not during the Pogroms. And certainly not when the King of the Wild Hunt took the seriously injured eldest witcher through the portal. But Vesemir has managed through dire straits before. Now he must draw on old lessons and experiences to survive his capture by the Wild Hunt. His friends and allies are worlds away. Cirilla is still in danger. Vesemir is at the mercy of a cruel elven king and a viciously intelligent viceroy. He must not only survive his imprisonment, but escape if he is to help his small family against the invading elves. Because Vesemir will be damned if he will let anyone hurt his family while he has a single breath to draw.

The Old Hen She Cackled (eskel-centric, explicit, complete, 35k, graphic depictions of violence, please read all the tags, this is very dark!) Someone on Tumbler wanted a fic where Eskel is not the good boy he normally is. This is that fic. - He remembered seeing Vesemir’s eyes light up with joy as Lambert threw himself through the oaken doors of the keep. He remembered the laughs and hugs when Geralt would return for the year. He coveted the looks they got from the last surviving master of the Wolf keep, but what he got instead was a small smile, a nod, and occasionally, a pat on the back or a simple embrace. It was because he was, Eskel. Good ol’ steady Eskel, who returned every year without fail.

The Portraits of the Witcher as an Old Man (geralt-centric, aiden/lambert, teen, complete, 3k) When the crowds finally part and Geralt sets eyes on the painter’s masterpiece, his first thought is well, at least that explains the funny looks I’ve been getting all morning. People had been gawking at him, smirking as if they knew something private about him, and whispering to each other. It hadn’t felt malicious per se, more like one of those dreams where you suddenly find yourself outside in public without your clothes on. Now, with the reason for that sensation displayed before him in all of its questionable glory, Geralt has to give it to his gut for the exceedingly apt comparison.

To Live Well (erland, gezras, erland/arnaghad, mature, wip, 3k, graphic depictions of violence, major character death) Living well is the best revenge — that's how the old saying goes. But what does it mean? Is it burying the past in the depths of one's mind and moving on? Is it seeking bloody vengeance to ensure that one's abuser will never happen to anyone else ever again? What does living well mean when so many have lost so much? Erland of Larvik — dedicated community leader, loving husband, caring father, and first survivor of the atrocious mutations inflicted by the masterminds behind the Order of Witchers — thought the worst was behind him. But when a stranger barges into his life, Erland is forced to confront the real horrors of their shared past. How does one move on, if living well can only be made possible by killing an idea?

Rainbow Farm Chronicles - series (eskel/geralt/jaskier, aiden/lambert, explicit, 100k) Eskel and Geralt just have a few too many aesthetically pleasing attributes to ignore, which Jaskier tries not to make into a problem. Of course the two most attractive people in town are married. To each other! It’s fine, it will be fine, because he’s here for the adventure, and the change, and to make friends. A boy can dream and appreciate the nice things that present themselves to him so handsomely, ok? Or: Geralt and Eskel are hot and competent farmer husbands, Jaskier is their new oblivious vet who is looking for adventures in the little mountain village of Morhen, Lambert and Aiden are absolutely besotted with each other, Vesemir is the proud farmer dad/grandpa, and Ciri has always loved rainbows. A Modern Farm AU where everyone is queer, including Roach.

Star-Laiden Sky (eskel&lambert, aiden/lambert, eskel/geralt, teen, complete, 2k) It’d been a long, hard year, the entire continent bracing for war. But Geralt had brought a fight home to Kaer Morhen with him that winter, and there hadn't been much time to rest in the midst of battle preparations. But, in a stolen quiet moment, Eskel takes the time to really look at Lambert. He doesn't like what he finds. (i.e. Aiden lives but not yet)

Whatever it takes (aiden/coën/lambert, mature, complete, 7k,graphic depictions of violence) A memory flashes through his mind, of two pairs of cat eyes, one amber-gold and one tinged slightly with green; of two hands holding his, one copper-skinned, the other the glowing warmth of umber, intertwining their fingers. Dimples, a quick laugh, warm skin, a shout reverberating through a keep somewhere, and two pairs of lips on his that feel like home. Coën. Aiden. The names stand out stark in his mind, like the flames of a bonfire. Lambert grits his teeth and takes another few steps, knowing that they are out there somewhere, waiting for him. * Lambert is being blackmailed by a mage for Aiden's and Coën's safety and finds himself in more and more dangerous situations. Can he save them?

when in toussaint (geralt/regis, teen, complete, 2k) “You’ll tire of wine soon, no doubt,” Regis says, standing at the door for the fourth time that week bearing a bottle of red and a rueful smile, “but, well. When in Toussaint, as it were. Or: Geralt isn't used to being taken care of.

#the witcher #coën/lambert #eskel/lambert #jaskier/lambert #geraskier #eskel/triss #aiden/coën #lamden #ivar/warritt #eland/arnaghad #eskel/geralt/jaskier #aiden/coën/lambert #geralt/regis #fic recs #so i dont think i can call these weekly anymore haha #lots of flavors this time! #I'm not really here you don't really see me I should be studying right now

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided.  The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. 

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook. 

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.” 

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree. 

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face. 

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase. 

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word. 

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out. 

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant. 

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam. 

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement. 

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming. 

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too. 

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side. 

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn. 

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.” 

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment. 

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll. 

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink. 

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life. 

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating. 

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table. 

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again. 

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what. 

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List!  @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata  @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast  @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna 

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think. 

#geraskier #the witcher #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #its part two y'all #and the earl is a slimy sob

[flowercrown-bard]

Started out rocky, now they’re both cocky

(Part 3 of the rooster!Jaskier series, but it’s not necessary to read the other parts. All you need to know is that Jaskier is a rooster and he’s here to cause chaos)

word count: 3378

content warnings: innuendos, use of the word “cock”

part 1  part 2

AO3 (here Jaskier is called Dandelion, bc I think this has more game!Danelion vibes)

Jaskier had often imagined what it would be like to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen. In his mind, there had been no doubt that he would sweep into a deep bow, announcing his presence to the witchers residing there with a confident grin and eloquent words.

Alas. As fate – or, in this case a very insistent Geralt – would have it, Jaskier was unable to do either of these things. His words had been replaced by crowing, charming someone with a smile was most definitely impossible if one had a beak and an ugly lappet beneath one’s chin. And as for sweeping into a low bow – well, it would look rather silly if a rooster were to bow and he was beneath making an idiot of himself. That’s what Valdo Marx was for and he would not lower himself to that imbecile’s standards.

A less obvious, though no less important reason why Jaskier was not going to present himself the way he normally would have, was simple: To do so, he’d have to stop letting Geralt carry him. Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t so certain anymore, whether Geralt was carrying him because why wouldn’t he carry his dearest friend? Or if he did it so he could have a hold on Jaskier and prevent him from running away and wreaking havoc again.

Which was, of course, preposterous and also rather hypocritical of him. After all, the whole reason why Jaskier was here in the first place – and in this undignified form at that – was so he could fulfil Geralt’s wishes and use his unique talents and talons to destroy the room of one of Geralt’s brothers, a task that he was more than willing to take upon himself.

Still, it would have been much appreciated if Geralt had made sure that the other witchers welcomed him as well, or at the very least knew who he was, instead of ignoring him mostly while they greeted Geralt. Truly, it was a marvel that the witcher who welcomed Geralt at the gate didn’t pay any special attention to Jaskier. Not that he needed the attention per se, but it would have been nice and, well, there was a reason why he wasn’t used to people ignoring him. He was a delight! And no one could tell him that the sight of Geralt warming his hands by burying them in the feathers of an exceptionally beautiful and sophisticated rooster wasn’t a sight worth being paid attention to.  

Filled with righteous indignation, Jaskier fluttered his wings and pecked a little at Geralt’s fingers, when he had been ignoring Jaskier way too long – not that any amount of ignoring Jaskier would have been acceptable - in favour of talking to the fetching witcher wearing red leather. Eskel, if Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, and as everyone knew, he was never mistaken.

The action earned him a small tightening of Geralt’s arms around him that had him squawking indignantly, but at least, Eskel now looked at him. Jaskier did his best to preen and exude an air of sophistication. For a blissful moment it seemed that he had indeed thoroughly charmed the witcher. Eskel’s face lit up, he reached out and –

“Sir!”  Jaskier tried to shout, but his voice contorted his outraged outcry to a crow.

How- the audacity of – what did Eskel think gave him the permission to just pet Jaskier as if he was but an animal? Oh, how dare he…

Oh. Oh. No, actually, it was quite a nice sensation having strong hands caress his head and down his feathered back as gently as a lovesick poet would run their fingers over a flower. Quite nice indeed. He could get used to this.

To his shame – but really, who could fault a bard for seeking a little innocent pleasure in being touched by a handsome man? – Jaskier leaned into the touch. Thank all the gods that he hadn’t been turned into a cat, or else he might have had to suffer the indignity of starting to purr under the well-deserved attention.

For a brief, blissful moment, all was perfect. Until -

“He will get along well with Lil’ Bleater,” Eskel said. “You think we can put them into the stable together?”

And that was just – no! Oh no no, dear witcher. A pretty face and a soft touch would not be enough to save him from Jaskier ‘s outrage.

Expectantly, Jaskier turned his head to Geralt, his most beloved friend, the man who had rescued him countless times from the clutches of those who meant him or his reputation harm. Surely, now would be the perfect time for Geralt to come to his aid once more and defend his honour. Certainly he would –

“Hmm.”

Oh that bastard! This was no disagreeing or scolding hum. This hmm, accompanied by a sly smirk and a mischievous twinkle in Geralt’s eyes was very decidedly not the support that Jaskier was looking for.

Jaskier nipped Geralt’s fingers again, but that only served to make the witcher grin even wider. Together with Eskel, Geralt walked through the gate and towards the entrance hall, giving Jaskier a shit-eating grin when they passed the stables and making a comment about how in there, no one would hear the rooster’s morning crow.

He better just be teasing. As tasteless of a joke as this was, Jaskier might find it in himself to forgive Geralt for the threat of making him sleep in a stable with a goat.

As they walked, Geralt kept petting him absentmindedly, which was admittedly nice. Jaskier could live with being used as a glorified hand-warmer, if it came with the luxury of being carried around and getting pressed against a strong man’s chest.

Even better than that, though, was the look the old witcher, who Geralt greeted with the name Vesemir, gave Geralt, when they met him in the great hall. The way his eyes wandered from Geralt’s face down to where he was stroking his rooster marked him as a man who had lost all faith in Geralt.

A younger witcher with slicked back hair, who must be the infamous Lambert, the very reason why Jaskier was here, snickered behind Vesemir’s back.

“Looks like I’m officially the superior brother now,” he said with a grin. “The only one whose best friend isn’t a farm animal.”

“Your best friend is a cat,” Geralt deadpanned.

“A handsome cat that would claw your pretty face off if he heard you taking shit about me.”

Lambert’s grin looked infuriatingly smug. Jaskier didn’t know this cat they were speaking of, but one thing should never be questioned: He was the farm best animal friend. Even if he wasn’t really an animal or – he shuddered at the thought – living on a farm. But how dare Lambert imply that a cat could be better than a rooster? He gave Lambert his best menacing glare, which fell rather flat, considering he was a damned bird, currently snuggling against Geralt.

As was to be expected, which didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t take offence to it, Lambert ignored him. “What’s his name anyway? I sure hope it’s not Roach.”

If he had been able to snicker, Jaskier would have done so. Lambert might be a cock – oh, who was Jaskier to judge such a thing? – but it was nice to see that the bard wasn’t the only one who would relentlessly tease Geralt for his inability to come up with good names.

“Eskel has his Little Bleater,” Lambert added, his grin turning downright devious. “So, pretty boy, you have…a Little Cock?”

Little? Little?

The gall of that man! Jaskier was anything but small, thank you very much. But then again, Jaskier couldn’t shame a man for showing such a great understanding of wordplay, especially when he used his talents to tease Geralt.

Oh, who was he kidding? He liked Lambert.

Between his unexpected appreciation for the youngest witcher and the urge to make himself seem bigger than he was, Jaskier nearly missed Geralt’s answer. It was exactly the sort of reply one would expect. Except…Geralt did not correct Lambert regarding the fact that Jaskier was an animal.

Now, here’s the thing. Jaskier loved his witcher with all his heart. Geralt was his best friend in the whole wide world and he would never exchange him for anyone, as much of a smug bastard as he could sometimes be. But by the gods, why oh why, did Jaskier ‘s best friend have to be a man who didn’t have the presence of mind to just, oh, I don’t know, tell his family that the rooster he was bringing with him was a cursed human? There was no doubt that Geralt had told his brothers and father of Jaskier before, for how could he not? Jaskier was a great subject to talk about. Surely, Geralt couldn’t be worried about them not accepting him in their midst.

A quick glance at him – Jaskier preferred not to think about how strange a rooster turning his head nearly upside down and giving a stink eye must look – made it quite clear that he was, in fact, not worried at all. Instead, Geralt was up to something.

Jaskier glared at him, as if staring might let him read Geralt’s thoughts, provided Geralt knew how to use his mind to think.

Perhaps his plan was to give Jaskier the best possible way to get attention by only introducing him once he was back in his dashing human form? Oh, that would be marvellous! After all, if there was one thing Jaskier was good at – well, there were numerous things, of course, but we shall ignore that for the sake of the dramatic – it was making an impression. He had to commend his friend for being so thoughtful as to grant him such an opportunity, unless…

Oh, Jaskier knew that look on Geralt’s face. He was having far too much fun with this. A suspicious amount of fun even. It would almost make one think that all this had never been solely about Lambert’s room at all. If Jaskier hadn’t known any better, he might even be inclined to think that Geralt was taking delight in letting Jaskier stay cursed.

Well. If that was the case, Jaskier would make sure that Geralt would delight not much longer in that.

He let out an ear-piercing shriek that had Geralt flinch and unfortunately squeeze him a little uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” He asked, as if he didn’t know fully well the magnitude of what he was doing.

Before Jaskier could answer, well, whatever equivalent of answering he could do in this form at any rate, Lambert spoke up again.

“Jaskier?” He cooed. “How sweet. You miss your bard so much that you call your rooster by his name? Who would have thought the White Wolf could be so soft-hearted. Watch out or Roach will get jealous if she learns that you found a new love.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growled, though whether he was defending his own reputation as a stoic, brooding loner – ha! As if anyone could look at him and believe him to be such a thing! – or if he was outraged at the thought that anyone could take Roach’s place in his heart, Jaskier couldn’t tell. It was likely a mixture of both.

“Oh, so you don’t miss your bard?” Lambert lifted an eyebrow. “Is it perhaps just a certain bodypart of his that you miss? I guess then it would make sense why you gave his name to the cock.”

Lambert turned away from Geralt before he could come up with a reply, but before he had his back fully to Geralt, Lambert caught Jaskier’s eye and he winked.

Oh. Oh ho ho, he knew. That sly bastard. Evidently, Lambert was the only witcher who knew how to use his brain and seen through the curse and Geralt’s admittedly poor attempt at making it seem as if the extraordinary and overall splendid rooster was but a normal bird and now Lambert was fucking with Geralt.

And – now, listen. Jaskier had been looking forward to destroying Lambert’s room. There was nothing like joining forces with a friend to mess with someone who annoyed them. Well, the biggest pleasure Jaskier knew came from proving once again that he was more talented than Valdo Marx, but that was a given, so it shall not be mentioned further. The point was that Jaskier would have done as Geralt had asked of him.

But now, with this new knowledge that Lambert apparently shared the same ambition as Jaskier to become the biggest nuisance he could be, he couldn’t possibly work against him. Jaskier could recognise a kindred spirit if he saw one. Reading people and recognising his own greatness in others was one of his countless talents. The last and perhaps only time he had met such a kindred soul before, had been in his first year at Oxenfurt at the admission exam, when Valdo Marx had immediately singled out Jaskier as the one who could be the biggest threat to his career. As loathe as Jaskier was to admit it, he too had recognised a certain talent in the other bard and they had both decided to make it their lives’ mission to not let the other top them.

Jaskier had not regretted that decision a moment in his life, but even he had to admit that said rivalry was the reason why he was now a rooster and delightful as that could be, he could have done well without it.

So, he would not make the mistake of antagonizing a congenial person again. At least not know. Who was to say what the future held? The important part was, that for now, for once in his life, Jaskier was going to be the bigger person.

He waited until the moment was right, a feat greater than any he had ever faced before. As virtuous as he was, being patient was not one of Jaskier’s strong suits. Still, once night had fallen and Geralt had thankfully not made true of his promise to put him in the stables, he snuck out of Geralt’s room, searching for Lambert’s instead.

Lambert, of course, was already waiting for him, a cocky smile on his face and his arms crossed in a way that meant business.

He greeted Jaskier with the fateful words “You gonna help me mess with Geralt?” and obviously, there was only one possible answer to that.

It was thrilling having an ally in his mission to create chaos and take revenge on those that had slighted him. And, oh, how Geralt had slighted him!

The first step of their however-many-steps-they-would-get-away-with-plan was simple: Jaskier was supposed to take a nap. In Geralt’s bed. Specifically, in his hair, creating a nest out of it.

Now, Jaskier was no craftsman for any craft that didn’t involve the spoken word, but he did so love to make himself comfortable. So that was what he did. Snuggling into Geralt’s hair and masterfully rearranging the strands with his beak until they could well and truly be considered a mess.

And then, as always, Jaskier woke Geralt up in his new favourite way. One would have thought that Geralt would have gotten used to Jaskier crowing into his ear at the top of his lungs. But no. Geralt grimaced and grabbed his pillow to throw it at his tragically underappreciated companion. The feathers flying through the room were not only those from the pillow.

So naturally, Jaskier started complaining. Loudly. Loud enough to, as a completely arbitrary example, signal a different witcher whose room was down the hallway that their plan was in motion.

Before Geralt could find another pillow to throw at him, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s breeches that the witcher had unceremoniously dropped to the floor the past night and dragged them towards the door.

Cursing, Geralt chased after him, wearing nothing but his underthings. Had Jaskier been alone, he would have gotten caught, no doubt, but the door flung open just in time for him to dash through and just before Geralt could reach him, Lambert, who had been lying in wait, scooped Jaskier up and ran down the stairs and outside, cackling like a hen, while Jaskier let out a triumphant crow that was somewhat muffled by the breeches still firmly held in his beak.

Geralt was catching up to them quickly, but Lambert and Jaskier had one rather obvious advantage: There were two of them.

Lambert dropped Jaskier unceremoniously, leaving him to flutter his wings to land somewhat elegantly – oh, who was he kidding? He plummeted to the ground like a stone - and they dashed into two different directions. For a precious moment, Geralt stood there frozen to the spot, surely contemplating which menace would be able to cause the greater chaos, if he didn’t catch him: The rooster with a godcomplex or Geralt’s little brother in possession of opposable thumbs.

Geralt, once more was forced to choose the lesser evil, but here is the thing: As it was so often the case, there was no correct choice to make.

While Lambert ran back to Geralt’s room to cause who knew what chaos, Jaskier ran towards the stables, and be it only for the dramatic irony.

Geralt must have chosen to follow Lambert and Jaskier was almost insulted, but it gave him the chance to take his time, pushing open the door to the stables and dragging the breeches inside. Just a little revenge for all the times that Geralt had made fun of Jaskier when he had been forced to run out of town without his breeches, since they had to be left in a lover’s rooms.

He dropped the breeches in Lil’ Bleater’s corner and watched with smug satisfaction as the goat immediately began munching on the breeches happily. Jaskier gave her a proud look and had they both been human, he would have kissed her hand in thanks. As it was, he was rather fond of his beak and he would not risk hurting it by kissing the goat’s hooves. Still, Lil’ Bleater lived up to her name, giving a happy little bleat that Jaskier chose to interpret as thanks for the delicious meal. How polite of her.

Who knew. Maybe they would become friends after all.

From somewhere in the keep, Jaskier could hear a bang and then a shout of disgust and had he been in possession of his luscious lips, would have made them split into the biggest, most self-satisfied grin, when Geralt’s voice continued cursing loud enough to be heard even where Jaskier was. To be fair, Geralt had probably opened the windows of his room. At least that was what Jaskier would have done in his stead to escape what Lambert had done to his room.

Well. Served Geralt right. No one could accuse Lambert of unoriginality and Jaskier was nothing if not petty.

Of course, the bomb that Lambert had set off wasn’t another moon dust bomb. Where would be the fun in that? No, Lambert and Jaskier had agreed, as much as a rooster and a witcher could agree, that they would be gracious and bring Geralt closer to what he loved the most: The sweet sweet smell of his cherished Roach. In this case, the smell of what Roach left behind, when she had eaten a lot.

There were more steps to their genius plan of creating chaos in the keep, one of which involved a fork, a strategically placed axii and the backside of whoever pissed Lambert off the most, and naturally there were endlessly more possibilities for improvisation.

Sadly, the other witchers, roused by the mayhem and possibly even the stench coming from Geralt’s room, didn’t seem to appreciate Lambert and Jaskier’s combined genius and they made sure to break the curse on Jaskier as soon as they got the change.

Now, there was only one fundamental flaw in that: For some unknown reason, the witchers hadn’t considered the fact that Jaskier’s personality hadn’t changed when he had become a rooster. They had no idea what they were in for, now that Jaskier had opposable thumbs again.

This would be a fun winter indeed.

#There's a bard lose in Kaer Morhen #jaskier #Geralt #geralt of rivia #Lambert #Eskel #rooster!Jaskier #cock!Jaskier #my writing #Hähnchen #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #feral!Jaskier #cursed!Jaskier #Jaskier&Lambert

[thearvariblues]

So, About The Pockets...

The third and final part of my little “Jaskier is obsessed with pants” series. I’m sorry to say that this part doesn’t really focus on the pants or Jaskiers, uhm... unorthodox fashion research. But it’s there, I promise.

You should definitely read part 1 and part 2 before this one.

Tagging  @lottelorelei, @likecastle, @stinastar and @kalikatze, because you might want to read the last part, too. :D

*

“I’m feeling kind of nervous about meeting Jaskier this spring,” Geralt says to the man who’s walking with him through the streets of Oxenfurt.

“Finally grew some balls and decided to ask the bard to rearrange your insides?” his companion smirks. “I swear, Geralt, if you don’t offer your ass to him, I will have to sacrifice mine.”

“Lambert!” Geralt groans.

“What? Poor boy apparently didn’t fuck a Witcher last year.”

“Because I asked him not to. Well, not to fuck any Wolves, at least.”

“Jealous prick.”

“The worst thing is, he really didn’t! Or so it seems,” Geralt sighs.

“I can see the problem. He’s a fucking idiot.”

Geralt grunts.

“And what are you doing here, anyway? Sticking around just to annoy the shit out of me?”

“Meeting a friend,” Lambert smiles.

“A friend? You?” Geralt blinks, pausing. “Another?!”

“You make it sound like some sort of a miracle. I assure you, I’m fully capable of making friends.”

“Hm,” Geralt nods. “And this friend, he’s a… what? Another Witcher?”

“He’s a… bard.”

“A bard.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Lambert frowns.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe a single word.”

“I don’t believe a single word,” Geralt smirks. “So what’s his name?”

“Aid… Fuck,” Lambert grunts.

“So, Aiden. Now tell me, Lambert, this wouldn’t happen to be the Aiden I helped you avenge last autumn, would it?”

“No. It’s a completely different Aiden.”

“Am I really supposed to believe that you found two friends, both named Aiden, and both willing to put up with your bullshit?”

“In my defense,” Lambert says, grumpily kicking a nearby stone, “I really thought he was dead when I asked you for help. Met him like… a week after you and I parted ways afterwards. Thought I finally managed to turn my brain into mush with all the drinking, but it turned out that Cats really do have nine lives. He lost an eye and tends to mess up his signs a lot, but nobody’s perfect, eh? And hey, turns out that Igni works against pretty much everything.”

“And you didn’t tell me for the whole winter because…”

“Because you’d probably kick me down from the balcony?”

“Damn right I would,” Geralt growls. “So where’s this Aiden of yours?”

“Don’t know. Somewhere here in the city.”

Geralt stops dead in his tracks, gaping at Lambert.

“Here? In Oxenfurt?!” he asks. “With Jaskier?!”

“Well, he needed a safe place to spend the winter, and you know Vesemir isn’t a fan of Cats,” Lambert shrugs. “Come on, it’s a big city. I’m sure they haven’t even met each other. The city’s still standing, after all.”

“You don’t understand. Jaskier–”

Geralt doesn’t even get to finish the sentence when he sees a young man leap from the window of a nearby building and land with a perfect roll that only comes with years and years of practice.

“Melitele’s tits,” he mutters under his breath while making sure his pants are properly fastened. “Nobody’s ever told you it’s impolite not to let a man finish?!”

“Hey, Geralt,” Lambert snorts. “Found your bard.”

Jaskier, hearing his words, turns his head and beams at the Witchers.

“Geralt! Lambert! So nice to see you! Would one of you mind Yrdening the fucking door for me?”

“I swear to Melitele, Jaskier, one day I am going to let you suffer the consequences of your actions,” Geralt smirks, stepping closer to the door and using the sign on them. “How was your winter?”

“Very amusing,” Jaskier smiles just as the doorknob rattles uselessly. “How about yours?”

“Drafty,” Lambert says. “Hey, you didn’t happen to see Aiden, did you?”

“Aiden?” Jaskier repeats, his eyes darting over to the door of a tavern on the other side of the road. “Well, that’s quite a funny story, actually…”

There is a loud crash from within the tavern, followed by a roared: “Cheating Witcher scum!”

The door open and a lean blond man with an eye patch over his right eye runs out, looking around frantically.

“Jaskier!” he yells when he spots the bard. “We need to go. Now!”

“Did you try to Axii your way out of cheating again, kitty?” Lambert smirks, takes a few steps forward and casts an Yrden on the door.

“Lambert!” Aiden yells and throws his arms around Lambert’s neck. “You’re here, puppy!”

“So what did you cast?” Lambert smirks, hugging him tightly.

“Aard. Not that bad.”

“It’s better than the Yrden last week,” Jaskier comments. “The guy really wasn’t happy about having to spend the night in his seat. And there was, of course, the tiny incident with Valdo Marx and Igni two days before that…”

“I’m sure they haven’t even met each other. The city’s still standing, after all. Well, what a fucking miracle,” Geralt snorts, turning to Lambert, only to realize that he is currently kissing Aiden passionately. “Oh, fuck. Jaskier?”

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier smiles.

“They’re not just friends, are they?”

“What gave you the clue?” the bard chuckles.

The shutters on a window of a house Jaskier was running away from crash open and an angry man starts to climb out, even though he can barely fit through.

“Uhm, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news…” Geralt starts, but then Jaskier grabs his hand and he promptly shuts up.

“Yes,” the bard nods. “We’d better fucking run.”

*

Jaskier puffs out his chest and frowns at the fat man in front of him – the man who, as Geralt realizes, was the one climbing out of the window of the house where Geralt met Jaskier about an hour ago, right before their hurried escape to Jaskier’s rooms in the university buildings.

“Are you suggesting, my dear sir,” Jaskier says in his best offended noble voice, “that I, a respectable professor at this university, have, as you said yourself, canoodled with your wife?”

“I saw you. With my own eyes!” the man growls.

“Impossible. I spent my afternoon here, with my dear friend Geralt of Rivia. Is that true, Geralt?”

“Hm,” Geralt nods solemnly, trying not to spit out his wine.

“But this… friend of yours was there, too!” the man tries.

Jaskier gasps for breath and places a hand on his chest dramatically.

“Did you…” he whispers. “Did you just dispute the words of Geralt of Rivia, the mighty White Wolf himself? My dear sir, this man is a Witcher! The legendary savior! Slayer of bruxas…”

“Bruxae,” Geralt murmurs.

“… strigas…”

“Didn’t actually kill the striga.”

“… ghouls…”

“There’s really nothing exciting about those.”

“… and… and nekkers…”

“Every respectable Witcher wants to be known as a slayer of fucking nekkers.”

“And drowners!” Jaskier yells after the man who’s already turned on his heel and left.

“I see you’re running our of monsters again,” Geralt chuckles when Jaskier slams the door shut.

“Oh, shut up,” Jaskier mutters, sits into his armchair and grabs his goblet of wine. “Did I get rid of him or not?”

“You annoyed him into leaving, yes,” Geralt nods. “That, or he realized that Witchers tend to have two very big and sharp swords.”

“And I have three Witchers,” Jaskier smiles just as they both hear Lambert’s high-pitched scream from the next room.

“Sweet Melitele. How much longer is it going to take them?”

“Come on, Geralt. They didn’t see each other for the whole winter.”

“I didn’t see you for the whole winter, and you don’t hear me moaning your name like a cheap whore.”

“Yes, and isn’t that a shame?”

Geralt nearly chokes on his wine.

“What?” he wheezes.

“Nothing, dear,” Jaskier says quickly and gets back to his feet to refill their goblets.

“Hm…” Geralt hums, cocking his head. “Are those new pants?”

“They are. Thank you for noticing.”

“What happened to the tighter ones?”

“An accident,” Jaskier sighs. “I keep saying it, yours are only held together by some sort of dark magic!”

“They aren’t.”

“Fine, is it Quen, then? Are you constantly Quenning your fucking pants?”

“I am definitely not Quenning my pants, no.”

“Then explain how it’s possible that your mighty ass doesn’t rip them in half!”

“I don’t know. I suppose you will have to take a look at them yourself.”

“Geralt, I’ve been looking at your pants ten times a day ever since I met you, I don’t think one more look will change… What are you doing?”

Geralt downs the rest of his wine and stands up.

“I was thinking about a… closer look,” he murmurs. “I mean… for research purposes, of course.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier says, his eyes going wide. “Are you seriously suggesting… what I think you’re suggesting?”

“That there is one Wolf Witcher you haven’t fucked yet, yes.” For someone who’s just a little taller than Jaskier, Geralt is sure good at towering above the bard. “So if you wanted…”

“For research purposes, yes?” Jaskier asks as he wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist. “I should warn you, though. I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be a very thorough research. Probably gonna take at least a year.”

Geralt smirks and brings their lips so close together that they almost – but only almost – touch.

“Works for me,” he murmurs right before Jaskier kisses him.

*

“Did you know Cat Witchers have pockets on their pants?” Jaskier asks much later, when they’re lying side by side in his bed, naked and satisfied.

“Mhm,” Geralt hums because he was just about to fall asleep. “That’s nice.”

“I mean, not for me, they would absolutely ruin my silhouette, obviously,” Jaskier continues. “But for you, they might be quite handy, right?”

“Did you… Did you have to research with Aiden to find out?”

“Well, yes. You see, winter nights tend to get boring,” Jaskier grins. “But fret not, dear heart, you won’t have to spend the rest of your life protecting me from your angry brother. They have quite an open relationship.”

“Bold of you to assume that I would protect you,” Geralt sighs, burying his face in Jaskier’s chest.

“I know you will always protect me, dear,” Jaskier smiles and presses a kiss in Geralt’s hair. “So, about the pockets...”

“Tomorrow. I want to sleep.”

“But you promised I could take a look at your pants.”

“Mhm, I didn’t specify when, though. So shut up and let me sleep.”

“Geralt...” Jaskier whines.

“Jaskier,” Geralt chuckles.

“Ugh, fine. But I like you a lot less now, I hope you’re aware of that.”

“I’ll make it up to you. In the morning. I might even be willing to go with you to that tailor of yours.”

“Really?”

“Really. But first I have to ask Aiden about the… pockets thing…”

Geralt falls asleep, snoring slightly, even though he’s assured Jaskier a million times that Witchers absolutely do not snore.

“Knew you were gonna like that idea,” Jaskier smiles and closes his eyes. “Good night, my dear Wolf.”

“Hmmm…”

*

The next morning, Jaskier grins at the tiny tailor who’s studying Geralt’s pants with interest while the Witcher just stands there with his ass barely covered by his shirt.

“Truly an excellent bottom.”

“I can see that,” the man grins back.

“You are so,” Geralt snarls, “so paying for this, bard.”

“Oh, my dear,” Jaskier laughs. “With pleasure.”

#witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #lambert #aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #witchersexual!jaskier #my fics

[all-hail-the-witcher]

rest well my songbird

its @softdarlingjaskier‘s birthday!!! and i have some soft eskier for him!!! a little birdie kings of the bog told me that you like jaskier getting his hands massaged so...without further ado...

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ship: eskier :) (eskel x jaskier)

warnings: jaskier overworks his hands and eskel takes care of them. lamberts an ass for 1 second in true lambert fashion

words: 1.6k

editing: ye

genre: somfte

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Jaskier flexed his hands and winced as he put down his lute. Winters offered him more down time than on the road, so he could spend the winter months composing to his heart's content, working on the longer ballads that he often neglected while tagging along on the Path.

The only problem with composing and songwriting non stop was that it made his hands ache terribly.

Between plucking at his lute and gripping his quill, his hands would usually start to protest a month or so into winter. But, as all good songwriters did, he pushed through the pain, willing to continue composing no matter what. He had a reputation to uphold and Witchers to help, after all. He couldn't afford to slack off.

Eskel did not share his views.

Well, neither did Vesemir, Geralt, Lambert and Aiden, but Eskel was the most vocal about it, often plucking the quill or lute from his hands after so many hours and demanding that he rest. Right when he was in the middle of a good line too! Jaskier had lost so many good ideas to Eskel’s forced breaks.

This was the first time though that he had chosen to take a break on his own that winter, and Eskel was on him in a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern flowing off of him in waves as he approached Jaskier, who had been sitting the farthest away from the fire. It wasn’t his fault that the fire would dry out his lute!

“Fine,” Jaskier muttered as he struggled to close his bottle of ink. He didn't want Eskel to worry, but he realized perhaps a second too late that Eskel could probably smell the pain coming off of him.

“That’s not true,” Eskel said, seeing through the lie immediately. “Usually I have to force you to take a break.”

He didn't say anything else and Jaskier sighed. Eskel was waiting for him to admit that he was in pain, despite the fact that he already knew.

“My hands,” he whispered, forgetting that he was in a room full of Witchers with enhanced hearing. “They’re stiff, and sore, and cramped. More than usual.” He looked up at a blurry Eskel and it took him a moment to realize that he had been almost crying.

“Yeah no shit they hurt!” Lambert shouted from the couch. “If you keep fucking playing with that damn lute of yours theyre gonna fuckin fall off!”

“Lambert,” Aiden said sternly. “Shut up.”

Jaskier laughed and tried to wipe away his tears with his hands, but winced when his fingers cramped up.

Eskel brushed his hands away and gently wiped away Jaskier’s tears with his thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You need to not push yourself so hard, Jaskier,” he whispered, pulling Jaskier’s face against his chest. “You don’t need to spend every single waking second of the winter composing. Winters are supposed to be for relaxing, and you haven't been doing much of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier muttered into Eskel’s shirt. He longed to bring his hands up to hug Eskel and reassure him that this was fine, it just happened every so often, but his hands hurt too much. He didn't want them to cramp so hard that they ended up stuck in one position. That was never pleasant.

“No,” Eskel said firmly. “Don’t apologize.”

He tugged Jaskier closer to him, resting his chin on top of his head so that Jaskier was engulfed in the arms of his Witcher. Jaskier inhaled Eskel’s scent deeply. He smelled like he always did in the winters: of wood and musk, chamomile and fresh bread. It was Jaskier’s favorite smell in the world. It meant that his love was well rested and taken care of, healthy for once after a long year on the Path.

Eskel pulled away after a moment and tugged at Jaskier’s upper arm, encouraging him to stand.

“Come here,” he said, his eyes bright with what could only be an idea. And who was Jaskier to say no to him?

He followed Eskel over to the nest of furs that they kept in front of the fire, for puppy piles usually. Eskel directed him to sit down in the nest and then with a stern look not to move, he darted out of the room.  

“What the hell is that sneaky fucker- mmph” Lambert’s insult was cut off by Aiden kissing him on the mouth, likely to get him to shut up.

Geralt sighed and turned a page in his book, but Vesemir, who was sitting on the other side of the fire knitting, regarded them with a fond look before turning to Jaskier.

“I have a salve that you could put on your hands, it’ll help with the cramping,” he said.

“Oh! That’s very kind but-”

Jaskier was cut off by Eskel running back into the room.

“I already got it, Vesemir,” Eskel said, walking back to the nest.

Vesemir smiled knowingly and went back to his knitting.

“C’mere Jaskier,” Eskel said, sitting behind him and tugging one of the furs across Jaskier’s lap. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of Jaskier’s chemise before opening the little tub of salve. “Lean back, relax, you don't have to do any more composing today, or tomorrow, or this whole week. I’m going to take care of you.”

Jaskier was glad that his back was to Eskel because he could feel his cheeks flushing.

Eskel picked up Jaskier’s right hand delicately in his much larger, sword calloused ones. “Let me know if I’m hurting you at any point, okay?”

Jaskier nodded and watched, mesmerized, as Eskel began to rub out the cramps in his hand. He started with his fingers, beginning with his pinky finger, and rubbing out the tensions in each of the joints. It was almost painful at first, but Jaskier soon adjusted to it and found himself craving more.

Once Eskel had worked his way slowly through Jaskier’s fingers, he moved to his palm, taking it in both of his hands and massaging it slowly in small, but firm circles. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Yes, that’s it,” Eskel murmured. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier let his head drop back against Eskel’s shoulder as he looked out at the room. Lambert and Aiden were bickering over a game of Gwent, passing a bottle of White Gul back and forth between them. Geralt was pretending to read, but every so often his eyes would flick up to the game and he’d mutter sometimes useful hints to Lambert and Aiden.

Jaskier watched them fondly as Eskel moved to his wrist, giving the tendons there extra attention. From there he moved up Jaskier’s forearm to his elbow, massaging his skin carefully.

Jaskier flexed his hand experimentally and was surprised when he discovered that he had definitely more movement than before. But Eskel covered his hand scoldingly.

“No,” he said. “Don't go undoing all of my hard work.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmured. “It just felt so nice and-”

“I’m not done yet,” Eskel said, cutting Jaskier off as he dipped his fingers into the salve.

Eskel warmed the salve first in his hands before rubbing it against Jaskier’s skin. And Meliele’s sweet tits, if the massage had been heavenly, this was absolutely divine. Vesemir had been right, the salve was positively wonderful, seemingly wonderful, drawing out the pain from his hands almost instantly. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Eskel laughed lightly, rubbing the salve all over Jaskier’s hands and wrists, even going up his arm a little, before reaching for a few small straight planks of wood and a roll of bandages that he must have grabbed while he was getting the salve.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier protested. “Just what are you doing with that?”

“You don't want the salve getting everywhere,” Eskel explained. “So it’s best to put the bandage on until it soaks into your skin. And the splint will help keep your hands from cramping and getting stuck in an uncomfortable position while they’re bandaged.”

“But what is a musician without his hands!”

“A resting, healing one,” Eskel said, pressing a light kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “I’ll help you with everything, my songbird. I’m here to take care of you.”

Jaskier pouted but held his hand out to Eskel to bandage. “You better mean that.”

“Of course I do,” Eskel said, wrapping Jaskier’s hand and wrist in bandages first before placing the wood underneath it and arranging his fingers over it before wrapping it in even more bandages. The end result was a bit clunky looking and Jaskier wasn’t crazy about the fact that he wasn't going to be able to use his hands at all, but Eskel had promised that he would take care of him and Jaksier knew that he would deliver.

“See?” Eskel said, placing a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s bandaged hand. “All better.”

Jaskier smiled at his lover's efforts before leaning back against Eskel’s soft chest as he got started on his other hand. He watched his careful ministrations through half lidded eyes before the heat from the fire and the warmth from the furs lulled him into a half asleep state. The only thing keeping him awake was Eskel’s gentle massaging of his hand.

But eventually, Eskel finished, tying off the bandage with another kiss before wrapping his arms around Jaskier.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered truthfully. He was tired, but at least his hands didn't ache so fiercely anymore.

Eskel pressed another kiss to his hair and laid back, tugging Jaskier until he was resting his head on his chest, and wrapped a fur around the two of them.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours to take the bandages off,” Eskel murmured into his ear. “But until then, rest well my songbird.”

And Jaskier did. He fell asleep to the gentle roar of the crackling fire, to Lambert and Aiden’s drunken bickering, and to Eskel’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

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happyyyestttt of birthdayssss to peterrrrrr

tag list: hmu if you want on or off

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#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #jaskel #jaskel fic #jaskel fanfic #eskel #jaskier #eskel x jaskier #theyre SOMFT #saph scribbles

[pherryt]

Bard Loose in Kaer Morhen Harlequin Bingo

This was a Teamed up Event and my team included:  @jaimistoryteller and @lenalawlipop - had a great time working with you both!

So there was a maximum of 2500 words for this - those of you who know me, know this was a CHALLENGE to stay under or as close as I could get.  We also had just under a week to fill as much as we could - I lucked out that I had 2 extra days off this week. Worked out PERFECTLY for this event.  Ships allowed: Jaskier/Witcher or Witcher/Witcher, so I tried a couple things I haven’t before.

Some of these covers were definitely harder to write for than others, but all in all, I had fun :D

Here’s the Masterlist to my four entries if you’d rather go to a specific one directly than to the series.

1 - Lost: One Cat

Rating: T

Ship: Aiden/Lambert

Wordcount: 2501

Square Filled: B3 - Cover 1: Here Kitty Kitty Also fills Save a Witcher Bingo Square: O4 - Missing You @save-a-witcher-bingo

Summary: Lambert hadn't even known Aiden was in trouble but he should have. It'd been a while since they'd last seen each other. A lot could happen in that time. So honestly, he wasn't surprised that Aiden was in trouble - he was a Cat, after all - but he hadn't expected this.

2 - To Yearn, From Not Quite So Far

Rating: M

Ship: Established Eskel/Geralt, Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier

Wordcount: 2506

Square Filled: I3 - Cover 6: Aroused by Two Lions

Summary: Jaskier's had feelings for Geralt for quite a long time - why else would he continue to follow the Witcher so faithfully? - but things are only made worse when he finally gets a long coveted invitation to Kaer Morhen and he meets Eskel. Now he's in love with two oblivious Witchers - who are already in a relationship with each other. How is he going to survive this winter?

3 - Of Flowers and Frotting

Rating: E

Ship: Jaskier/Vesemir, Implied Jaskier/All Wolves

Wordcount: 1801

Square Filled: B2 - Cover 10: The Master's Touch

Summary: A day out for a picnic becomes a heart to heart and then a lovely little interlude where Jaskier shows Vesemir his appreciation for all that the Wolf Witchers do - for him and the Continent.

4 - Second Time's the Charm

- note, I see this one as being in the same continuity as Fic #2

Rating: T

Ship: Young Eskel/Geralt

Wordcount: 2548

Square Filled: N1 - Cover 8: Claiming His Virgin Princess

Summary: It was bad enough that Eskel and Geralt were the only survivors of their cohort, but then Eskel wakes up and Geralt's gone too - and no one will tell him where he is. He can't lose Geralt. He can't.

#witcher #bingo #harlequin bingo #bard loose in kaer morhen #thor bingo masterlist #jaskier/eskel/geralt #lambert/aiden #eskel/geralt #jaskier/vesemir