#mer!geralt

[dapandapod]

helloooo I am here for mermay prompts! 👀

how about "lost" for Geraskier (bonus points if Geralt is the mer) 💜💜

ALEX YESSSSS, look, this was finished two days ago, and then it was finished again yesterday, and now again this morning. Did I add 1k to the story just to add a kiss? Maybe. Please enjoy <3 Send me a pairing and a word and I will make you some words? ❤️

On Ao3 here

Bardic inspiration be damned, Jaskier decides, slipping once again on the pebbled ground as he climbs the rocky coast line of Skellige.

He had wanted to see the whales, but did not listen to the advice given by the locals to go to one of the cliffs beyond the village. No, Jaskier really thought it would be better to experience it up close and all that.

He didn’t even see a fucking whale. 

Maybe whale watching is done better from up high, but Jaskier had seen this perfect spot down by the rocks and now he is full of sweaty regrets.

Because he can’t find the path he took to get down here and the high tide is sweeping in, making his path treacherous and slippery. 

Swearing profusely, Jaskier manages to at least get above the waterline. His shoes are wet, as are his breeches to the knee, but at least his leather satchel is fine.

Good thing he didn’t bring the lute.

Jaskier settles down to wait it out. It’s a fine day after all, even if the sun is slowly setting, and the sea is as calm as it can be around here.

Despite being so frustrated with himself, Jaskier finds himself relaxing. The sun shimmers on the surface of the sea, and gulls cry above, accompanied by the lapping of waves.

There are some rock formations further out, some of them almost shaped like giant, crooked pillars.

This view is why he was drawn to Skellige after all, so far away from his homelands. The stone he sits on is hard, yes, but warmed from sitting in the sun all day. 

Out of the corner of his eye, to the left, Jaskier notices movement.

When he turns his head, there is nothing there.

Strange.

He knows Skellige is not the safest of places. The coast is riddled with harpies and sirens, the latter especially dangerous this close to the water.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Then he spots something again, but this time straight ahead. It is directly in the bright reflection, so Jaskier has to squint but isn’t that… it looks like…?

The back of a whale!

Jaskier scrambles up to his feet, trying to shield his eyes to get a better look. Yes, that really is a whale out there! A big one, looks like, and far out!

He can only see the top of it, and the strange huffing sound travels across the surface when it blows water high, high up into the air.

The droplets are glistening like diamonds, like rain on a sunny day, as they fall back down.

The whale stays there for another minute or two, breathing deeply, and then the surface ripples as she dives.

Her tail comes up, rivulets of water falling down her fin, and then gives a giant splash as she pushes herself further down.

Jaskier realizes his mouth is hanging open.

He truly didn’t expect to see one, and not this close to the shore. Alright, it was not that close to the shore, but still visible to the naked eye, and he is thrilled.

He scans the surface once more, hungry for another sighting, but once the water has calmed there is nothing else.

Immediately, Jaskier starts going through his satchel to bring out the precious paper and pencil to write this down. When he finds it, he plops back down on the rock, legs crossed, and everything else forgotten.

The words come easily, filling the page with poetry and observation.

So lost in it, he doesn’t even notice he isn’t alone anymore until there is a soft splash right in front of him.

Jaskier startles, a long black line scratching across the page.

He could swear there is the upper half of a face sticking up out of the water, just a few feet away from him.

Pale skin, yellow eyes, even paler hair slicked back over what seems to be a surprisingly human-shaped head.

Jaskier’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Is this a siren? No, he would be dead by now, wouldn’t he?

Is it a dead person? No, the eyes are watching him very intently, blinking slowly, so it couldn’t be. It could be a drowner, though, but aren't they blue?

When nothing happens, Jaskier forces himself to relax his posture. His entire body is fighting him, that knee-jerk fight or flight response trying to decide which is best to do, but Jaskier decides on neither.

“Hello?” he ventures, and the eyes look back at him. “Who might you be?”

There is no response, which, fair, nose and mouth both seem to be submerged. But the being comes just a little bit closer, and Jaskier fights to keep his breathing even.

Just to be safe, Jaskier puts his papers to the side, pinned in place by the satchel. It wouldn’t do for them to become wet, even if this is where he meets his end. Maybe the skalds can sing about him, were they to find his notes. The bard who got too close, or whatever.

Fear is great inspiration, it would seem.

With a soft sound, the top of a head becomes an entire head, a neck, shoulders, and arms. Pale, glistening, well muscled, and surprisingly human looking, were it not for the gills on his neck, the long fins along the outside of the under arms, and smatterings of scales.

The white hair is longer than he thought, slightly curly now that it is out of the water, and sticking to the sides of the person’s face.

Jaskier blinks hard, taking it all in. 

“Are you a mer?” Jaskier asks breathlessly, as the person pulls themself up on a rock. The lower half of the body is still hidden, but he can see hints of scales on their sides and down over the hips. Pale grey, like pale silver, he thinks.

The person, who looks very much like a man, tilts his head, and seems to scent the air.

“Afraid?” The person asks, his voice raspy and low. Yeah, it absolutely sounds like a he, but Jaskier is not very well versed in Mer anatomy.

“You surprised me,” Jaskier says carefully. “I thought I was alone.”

“You are never alone in the sea,” the mer says between sharp teeth. 

As if that wasn’t a terrifying statement.

But the Mer speaks the language of Skellige, and Jaskier desperately wants to know more.

“Who are you?” Jaskier asks. “Do you live here?”

“This is my territory,” the Mer says, straightening up a little, revealing just a hint of a powerful tail below the surface. “Mine to keep.”

Jaskier smiles at the little display, finding it a little endearing despite the hint of aggression. Like a hissy kitten, trying out its claws.

“Then I am your guest. Forgive me, but I am lost, and I can’t find my way back.”

The mer watches, expression giving nothing away. Then again, expressions just might be different for Mer, Jaskier muses.

“Forgive? Do you need forgiveness for being lost?” 

“Maybe not, but for imposing on your territory. I did not know it was yours. I only wanted to see a whale.”

The mer looks over his shoulder when Jaskier motions with his hand out to the open sea. His profile in the fading light is stunning, and Jaskier feels like he is in some kind of fairy tale.

“And did you see her?” The Mer turns back towards Jaskier.

“I did. She was beautiful.”

The Mer seems satisfied with this answer, and does an odd little hum. It rumbles along his sides, and Jaskier notices another set of thin fins along his ribs. He also notices scars, some new and some old. 

“You may call me Geralt,” The Mer suddenly decides, pulling Jaskier out of a daydream where he considers what else is out there.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. Not what he expected a Mer to be named, but again, who is he to tell? “You may call me Jaskier.” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt says it like he is tasting the name, and with a slight lisp. “Is this land your territory?”

“I am but a guest here as well. I am a wanderer.” Jaskier smiles again, and Geralt’s eyes dip down to it, as if he doesn’t understand.

“So no territory?” Geralt asks, seemingly confused about the prospect.

“None. Well, none but this one.” And Jaskier pats his satchel. “It holds my treasures, and the stories I collect.”

“How does one collect stories?” Geralt asks, sinking into the water again and swimming closer, eyes all the while trained on Jaskier.

He stops when he is about an arm’s length away from the rock where Jaskier is sitting, making Jaskier’s adrenaline run again.

“Afraid?” Geralt asks again with a frown, tilting his head back as if he is smelling the air. Huh.

“A little,” Jaskier admits, seeing no point in lying. “I have never met your kind before, and I don’t know if you would wish to drown me.”

“If I had wanted that, you’d already be dead,” Geralt says with a cold expression, probably meant as a reassurance, but it doesn’t feel like one.

The Mer props himself up on a rock hidden under water and Jaskier now sees the tail, sleek, strong and silver.

“I collect stories by writing them down, and sometimes singing them,” Jaskier explains, deciding he does not want to remain on the subject of drowning while stuck where he is. “Would you like to hear one?”

When Geralt nods his assent, Jaskier thinks about the skellige songs he knows. Most are bawdy tavern songs, to be honest, but he recalls a ballad of the Maid and the Moon.

He sings it with the lapping of the waves and the cry of gulls, slapping his hand to the rock to keep the beat. It sounds better with a drum, but it will do.

Geralt keeps watching him, keeps doing that weird blink of his. Jaskier starts another one, one of war and fire. And then another one about returning home, which aches just a little.

When the songs are done, Geralt doesn’t say anything, just dives beneath the waves.

The sun is getting really low, and Jaskier is a bit worried he will have to stay here all eve. He isn’t wearing much more than his white tunic and a thin pair of trousers, courtesy of the Skelligan summer heat, but the temperature is dropping along with the setting sun.

Geralt returns with less of a splash than Jaskier expects.

His hair sticks to his forehead, and this close Jaskier notices a scar over his left eye. It looks old, and deep, and Jaskier can’t help but wonder if Geralt’s skin would be cool to the touch, if he were to reach out.

With some strain, Geralt reaches up to the rock where Jaskier is sitting, and Jaskier shifts to accept what Geralt is offering. Their fingers touch, and Jaskier learns that no, Geralt is not cold. The ring that he is handed, however, is. 

“Does this one have a story too?” the Mer asks, and Jaskier is immediately flattered for being trusted with Geralt’s treasure.

“I’m sure it does, but it seems it is not mine to tell. Is it yours?”

Jaskier attempts to give the ring back, but Geralt sinks further into the water, shaking his head.

“I do not know it. The ring is yours to keep, Jaskier, as a thanks for sharing your collection of stories with me.”

Jaskier senses this is goodbye, as the Mer swims backwards, back out towards the deep. Despite their short time together, the thought of parting stings. It feels unlikely they will meet again. 

“Come back again, Jaskier the wanderer. It was good to have you as a guest. Your path to land is clear.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise, and then frowns at this statement. When he turns to look towards the rocks around and behind him, he realizes that the tide has pulled back enough for him to climb up towards the safety of land. When Jaskier looks back, Geralt is gone.

The waves lap against the stones as if nothing happened. Before the sun can disappear beyond the horizon, Jaskier gathers his things and carefully makes his way up.

When he’s ascended to safety, he turns once more, looking out over the ocean. The sky is a myriad of colors, birds a dark outline against its splendor, but not a hint of his new friend is to be seen.

-----

The day after brings a storm and Jaskier is unable to go back to the shore for another two days. It’s strange, but Jaskier feels an itch under his skin, he wants to go back, learn more, see Geralt again.

On the third day the sky clears, the clouds finally finishing with their weeping and the wind its howling.

Jaskier is better prepared this time. He sits down on the same rock as before, and he sings while he waits.

Geralt finds him again on that rock, this time swimming close without any hesitation.

“Lost again?” Geralt asks. There is a new set of gashes on his arm, looking like claw marks, too big to be anything Jaskier would ever want to meet. 

“No. Looking for a friend.” Jaskier smiles. “If you will have me as a guest once more.”

Geralt smiles back at him then, stiff though it may be, but Jaskier sees it as the gift it is anyway.

“It would be my honor.”

------

Since Jaskier came to Skellige, he has seen at least three whales, climbed a number of beautiful and treacherous mountain passes, and tasted alcohol strong enough to give women chest hair. He has made friends with skalds and fishermen and errand boys and lords, and his time is coming to a close.

He will miss it. Them. This sharp country and its inhabitants, the living myths found hidden everywhere.

There is one he will miss a lot, Jaskier thinks, as he makes the now familiar climb down the rocky shore.

Saying goodbye is a part of being a wanderer, but it doesn’t make it any easier. His mother always liked to remind him, a goodbye is not a farewell, but still, Jaskier doesn’t have much hope for that.

Geralt is already there waiting for him, and Jaskier plops down on a rock further down so he can dip his feet into the water.

The Mer had expressed great interest in the concept of shoes, struggling with understanding their  function. That first time Jaskier had joined him for a swim, Geralt had made one of his unreadable faces when Jaskier took off everything but his underclothes before getting in.

Technically the cove not a safe place to swim as the currents are strong and had threatened to pull Jaskier under more than once, but Geralt was always there to catch him.

Now, Geralt is sunbathing, propped up in a way to let his bare chest soak up as much sunlight as possible, his tail lazily moving side to side in the shallow water.

He is achingly beautiful, and Jaskier is suddenly struck by melancholy.

Jaskier doesn’t say anything when he sits, only removes his shoes and socks to dip his toes in water that doesn’t get warm, even in summer. 

The Mer opens his eyes, gazing directly at him, eyes as bright as rays of sunlight.

“Sad?” Geralt asks in that direct way of his. 

“Yes,” Jaskier admits, splashing his feet and scaring off the shrimp that were brave enough to approach him.

Geralt sits up enough to lean back on his elbow and watches Jaskier intently.

“Why?” 

“I am leaving soon, my friend. A ship arrives within the week to take me home. To my territory.”

Geralt opens and closes his mouth, then looks out over the sea.

“Hm,” he says, confirming that he understood but doesn’t know how to reply.

Were Geralt a human, Jaskier would have asked him to come with, but he is not. Geralt’s territory is here, his life is here, and even with a boat, the travel across the seas is dangerous.

He will not ask it.

They sit in silence for a long while, Jaskier humming under his breath when a story, this story, starts to take form. 

When it is time to leave, Geralt swims close, gently taking hold around Jaskier’s calves to stay afloat.

“You have been a good friend,” Geralt says, deep in thought.

“As have you,” Jaskier says, aching with the sadness of parting, of leaving Geralt behind.

To soothe himself, he reaches out a hand and cups Geralt’s cheek. Something he has not done before, something he did not think welcome, but Geralt leans into it. 

“I will miss you,” Jaskier says quietly, and the Mer looks up at him through thick lashes.

Then he pushes himself out of the water, heaving himself up on the rock and leaning over Jaskier, into his personal space.

There is water everywhere, soaking Jaskier’s breeches and shirt, but Geralt has leaned forward, and Jaskier meets him halfway.

The kiss tastes like salt and sunlight. Geralt is careful not to hurt him, his teeth hidden behind gentle lips.

“I will miss you, too,” Geralt murmurs against his lips, and then he sinks back down into the water and is gone.

----

Lettenhove in spring is beautiful. The trees are full of buds ready to bloom any day now, bumblebees waking up and doing their confused dance around the flowers in the courtyard.

It is now late enough in the year that summer threatens to overtake the land, waking a wanderer from his slumber.

Jaskier makes his way down past the docks, to the rocky parts where the river meets the ocean.

It’s a habit he can’t shake, and he dips his feet in the cold water, just like he did last summer. He sits there for a good long while, thinking of a kiss and a ring.

There is a ripple in the water to his left, and for a moment, Jaskier thinks he only imagines the familiar face peeking up just over the surface.

But their eyes lock, and half a face becomes a full head and shoulders, as Geralt swims closer.

It is impossible, or, well, improbable. Jaskier feels a giant smile form on his lips and something heavy that’s been on his heart finally lifts.

“Are you lost, wanderer?” he asks, when Geralt swims ever closer, reaching for Jaskier’s calf to hold himself steady.

“No, I'm here to see a friend.” Geralt returns the smile tentatively. “I crossed the sea to find you.”

“Then you are welcome as my guest, friend,” Jaskier says warmly, reaching down to touch Geralt’s cheek, just like the last time they saw each other.

And just like last time, when Jaskier leans forward and down to meet him, their kiss tastes like salt and sunlight.

#mermay #the witcher #geraskier #mer!geralt #geralt x jaskier #skellige #whales #getting together #fluff #this gave me fairy tale vibes ngl #dapanda writes #thanks a billion for the prompt i had so much fun #singing #kissing #friends to lovers

[justhereforeskel]

Mer!Prince Geralt and Bodyguard Eskel anyone? 💜

That warm up from the other day got very out of hand (*^▽^*)

#eskel #geralt #eskel x geralt #mer!eskel #mer!geralt #mmmm the angst potential #I wish I had any ambition to write for this #tw3 fanart #my art

[xejune]

hooked and caught 🎣

#i was initially planning to colour this but it's been sitting in my WIP folder for nearly a year now #so im posting it as is #feel free to use as a [glances at google translate] colouring page? if anyone feels so inclined #gerlion #the witcher #the witcher books #geralt of rivia #dandelion #mer!dandelion #art #my art #yes it's loosely inspired by that one fic

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup: 7th April - 14th April

So, this week has been a rough one, so im just addig my word count and othing else, will add my fics and recs at a alter day, but its 2:30 am in Monday (def not Sunday which I thought was Saturday ...) So I wrote 17,709 words with 4 fics uploaded. Okey Dokey, time t fix the weekly round up, recs first as always, but if I wait any longer, it will be Suday again lol. far across the distance - LinguisticJubilee - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, this one is lovely imo) Summary: Balin blinks, shifting backwards. “Laddie, it’s—it’s been a year. Bilbo has returned home, to the Shire.” He looks at Thorin, then says more gently, “I did not realize you counted the hobbit among your treasures.” Where I go, will you still follow? - ghostinthelibrary - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, the plottwist is delicious angst) Summary: When Jaskier is revealed to be spying on Kaer Morhen for Redania—a treachery that nearly gets Eskel killed—he’s banished from the keep. But when it becomes clear that there was more to his lover’s betrayal than meets the eye, Geralt will have to race to find him before it’s too late. Fae!Jaskier and Geralt - TheBretonBookDragon - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, I adore Fae Jaskier, and I legir re read the entire series today too) Summary:

The Mountain hangs over their heads, but Geralt is sure that if he just keeps trying that Jaskier will know how much he loves him. Jaskier has been quieter than usual, but that just means Geralt needs to try even harder. Too bad Geralt is just a smidge oblivious and emotionally constipated. Guardian of Kings - SunnyRose - The Hobbit by @sunnyrosewritesstuff (Bilbo/Thorin, one of my favs from Sunny, its clever and the world building, its just delicious) Summary: The Company has been having a good laugh as the story of their quest spreads through the mountain and more and more retellings makes Thorin out to be Bilbo’s damsel in distress. It stops becoming funny when Thorin’s honor is challenged, and it’s up to Bilbo to defend it. Thorin may be ready to smuggle his hobbit out of the mountain, but Bilbo will do it. For Thorin, he would do anything. Prize Enough for Me - StrivingArtist - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, BAMF Bilbo for the win, need I say more?) Summary: After falling in love months earlier with the Dwarven King, when Bilbo sees Thorin stabbed on Raven Hill, he decides to find vengeance. mercy and death on swift arrows fly - authoressjean - The Hobbit (Gen, hinted eventual Bagginshield, another BAMF Bilbo, but also, hes just lovely no matter what) Summary: Hunger Games AU with slow burn Bagginshield.

And now for mine. We have 4 fics I finished last week, and a revealed bonus one. Ive found Frodo ....and he found you? - Lucigoo89 - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, Animal Au. Badger Thorin/Skunk Bilbo written for my friend @shantismurf's bday <3) Summary: Canine distemper has stolen all of the Bagginses away apart from Bilbo and little Frodo. No he has to find his kit, who has wandered off, again, and keep them safe from "The Sick". If only he wasn't alone doing it. You're Floo Was My Emergency Contact (Sirius Black, Gen, written based off this wonderful video Satellitedide: Sirius after he's arrested... Summary: Sirius is in Moody and Kingsley's custody after Halloween 1981. Dumbeldore is his emergency contct but he isn't answering his floo.... I'm bitter: You were mine first (Jegulus, unhappy ending, mind the tags) Summary: James catches Regulus in an alley after a Death Eater attack. One thing leads to another and Regulus revels in the fact James isnt as good as he pretends to be, he never has been You were to late - Lucigoo89 - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, Canon comliant ish, mind the tags. Based int he @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt #248 - watching Birds) Summary: Bilbo is watching the eagles fly overhead in victory. With Thorin's cooling hand in his, Bilbo isnt sure what their is to feel victorious over. And final one. My first Mer au, for the @remuslupinfest High Tide Came and Brought You to Me (Mer Remus/Siren Sirius) Summary: Remus was cursed as a child and became a wermerman. 20 years later and he still hates himself and what he becomes once a month. Maybe some new additions to his cove will help him feel a bit more at peace with himself? Once again, I hope theres at least one thing for you to enjoy. Have a good rest of the week <3

#weekly roundup #Lite version #Sorry all #Bagginshield #The Hobbit #geralt/jaskier #the withcer #Sirius Black #Azkaban #sirius/remus #marauders #mer au

[thebestworstidea]

#The witcher #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #Mer!Jaskier #mermay #willow is drawing

[crogersart]

Geralt always likes to take time out to vist an old friend.

#the witcher #the witcher fanart #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #mer jaskier #mermay #mermay 2022 #creature jaskier #fanart #drawing #my art

[magdaclaire]

geralt of rivia deserves a weighted blanket

#send post thank you #geralt of rivia #mer rambles

[dapandapod]

Kelp Forests and trinkets

Hello lovelies!

My brain is very empty but it is Mermay and I had to! Because somfte! Please enjoy!

Oh, and Kuri I love you, thank you for Beta reading, you are a gem!

On Ao3 here    For the @thepassifloradiscord Merweek

Normally, Geralt would roam in the Kelp Forests of old. He enjoyed the sunlight filtering down from the surface, the broken off rays of light shimmering between the kelp's thick leaves. 

It is not without its dangers, but that is why he is there, to guard their little reef. His folk rely on him to keep the dangers at bay, and he does so to the best of his ability. His body wears the scars to prove it; bitemarks, and sometimes even claw marks from surface creatures.

Usually, it is not so bad. It heals up fast enough when he is allowed to rest back home. But one of his side-fins took a bad beating a few years back, and every now and then it pains him. It is healed, as well as it can be with being torn into pieces, but sometimes when he makes a sharp turn, or when he gives chase after some pest trying to eat his family, he feels it for a long time after.

The Kelp Forest is calm. Their stems sway in that soothing way of theirs. Dancing, Jaskier called it once, and Geralt thinks that, yes, maybe they are. At least when Jaskier sings to them, they do.

That is how they met actually.

Geralt was patrolling the outer edges of the Kelp Forest, when a voice reached his ears. Distance was tricky sometimes, but it sounded close. Geralt had followed it, only to find Jaskier singing to himself as he sat on the edge of a big rock formation, his scales glittering in the sunlight.

At the time, Geralt had been pissed about it because the singing had attracted a rather large shoal of Razers, a small but sharp toothed fish that were too nosy (and hungry) for their own good.

Jaskier, the idiot, apparently did not yet know what it meant to be out in the open like that. While singing in itself is an innocent activity, and usually a good strategy for placating whales or even sharks, it can be a bitch when his folk were unable to read their surroundings and attract attention such as that.

They were not in mortal danger, but would have been had Geralt not stepped in and not only shut Jaskier up, but pulled him into the relative safety of the kelp. After that near-death experience, he took to following Geralt, watching his every move, *singing* until Geralt finally relented and admitted they were friends.

It took even more time for Jaskier to nestle himself into the reef, but no time at all to make sure that there was a place for him in Geralt's home.

Living together came surprisingly easily; his family took to Jaskier like algae to a bone.

And since then, they have been living like that for years. The cave system Geralt had chosen was perfect for inhabitants more than himself. Maybe he had hoped one day to fill those rooms with life, despite the aching loneliness when he originally chose it. Maybe Jaskier had already known, and that is why it was so easy to slip into Geralt's life, once he found the door.

This time, he is making the rounds on his own. It is a longer route this time because his brother, who would usually meet up with him halfway, had to stay home. 

Eskel mentioned something about a 'hatchling' that needed his help in the message sent earlier, but Geralt knows full well it's because said 'hatchling' is in fact a full grown mer who had been courting Eskel for a full year already.

If he had the guts to do it, Geralt would probably attempt courting too. Sometimes when he is on patrol, he would spot something Jaskier would like. A pretty shell, smooth sea glass, sometimes even a pearl.

He has a little pouch of things he has found. He has only once ever given Jaskier something from those treasures. The smile Jaskier gave him stayed with him for days.

A few days later, he would be the one who let someone else take patrol. Geralt had made up his mind just the night before. Yes, he and Jaskier live together, do pretty much everything together, but there is one thing he is missing. 

The one thing yesterday had given him a taste of. Jasker had fallen asleep while clinging to his arm, his lips pressed against Geralt's shoulder. And Geralt would do anything to get that again.

So this morning he sent Roach with a message, the little sea horse speeding off to Eskel's home. Payback for flirting instead of working, he thought, as he collected another armful of seagrass.

Jaskier won't be back for a while yet, so he should at least have an hour or two to finish up the first step of his plan. When he decides he has enough seagrass, he settles into a nook in the cave wall, weaving the grass together so it becomes thick and soft. Perfect to nest on.

It takes some time, some swearing, and some more gathering of sea grass when he butchers a few too many to keep going, but when he is done, he has new, bigger bedding for his nest.

There is just about enough time to put it into place when Jaskier returns, calling down the halls to announce his arrival. It makes Geralt's blood pump with nervous energy, and before he can change his mind, he rummages through his hidden bag of courting gifts, and picks out a shark tooth.

As per usual, Jaskier bursts into the room, telling Geralt about his day, arms waving and fins swirling with expression. Sometimes, Geralt feels like he could watch him speak forever.

"What's that?" Jaskier interrupts himself, mid story, finally picking up on what Geralt is hiding in his hands. 

Geralt feels his face heat up, and he offers up the little treasure to Jaskier with an open palm.

"Found this when patrolling," Geralt mumbles. "Thought you might like it."

Jaskier's smile is blinding. He picks it up, the very tips of his fingers brushing against Geralt's palm. There is no reason for that to send a shiver through him, down to his tail fin, but it does.

Jaskier studies the tooth this way and that, holding it up in the light as he asks what kind of animal it came from, if you can tell the creature's age from it, what this spot right here means, would this be better as a knife or as a necklace, and so on.

Geralt answers all of his questions, and when he quietly offers it to Jaskier as a keepsake, he is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. As much as he had decided that today would be the day asked Jaskier to be his, he can't fight off the nervous grumble at that.

Jaskier just smiles and swims back to his own nest to place the gift somewhere safe until he has decided its fate.

As soon as the other mer is gone, Geralt finds his little bag of treasures again. This time, he chooses three very small pearls he found. Rolls them between his fingers, feeling their smooth surface, letting them ground him.

He wonders if he can give them to him just like that? Or maybe he should save them, give the pretty rock instead, the one that glitters when turned.

Before he can make up his mind, Jaskier returns, words exploding out of his mouth again with ideas for the tooth. It has Geralt smiling, glowing inside with how his gift was so well received and with so much enthusiasm.

He doesn't notice himself floating closer until Jaskier turns silent, looking up at him with quiet wonder.

"Geralt?" he asks, quietly for once, eyes big and questioning.

"If I told you I picked you dozens of courting gifts, but lacked the courage to give them to you..." Geralt starts, but trails off. The naked hope on Jaskier's face, it catches him off guard somehow.

"Yes?" Jaskier whispers, inching closer too.

He blushes, even his gills turning a pretty pink, and Geralt just wants to reach out and touch him.

"If I collected them to give them to you... would you accept them?" Geralt braves, and when Jaskier's smile wavers, when his chin wrinkles and his brow furrows, Geralt thinks for a moment he read it all wrong.

"Can I show you something?" Jaskier whispers, and when Geralt nods, Jaskier reaches for his hand.

He is guided out of his own room and down the hall, to where Jaskier has his nest. He should be used to Jaskier's tactile nature, but he still isn't. It always surprises him when Jaskier reaches out, when he offers reassurance or seeks comfort.

As soon as they are inside, Jaskier lets go and swims up to one of the upper shelves. His nest has always been a mess, full of things that Jaskier finds interesting and beautiful, his ornaments and instruments strewn about the room, mixed with the little corals growing here and there. Jaskier returns with a sheath, and inside it a whale bone, carved into a knife.

It is beautiful, if a little crooked, but wonderfully decorated with runes and carvings.

"Where did you find this?" Geralt asks with wonder.

"Lambert helped me make it. Or, well. He made it mostly, didn't let me near any of the sharp objects."

Geralt snorts and Jaskier smiles, coming closer and pointing out the finer details on the knife.

"Yennefer helped me with this bit. Said it would help keep you safe. And this one, Ciri put it there."

Geralt admires the handiwork, recognizing the runes and symbols. The one Ciri had put on it was a charm to lead him home.

"And this one?" Geralt asks, pointing to an inscription along the top blade.

"If I told you this is a courting gift, would you accept it?" Jaskier whispers, mirroring what Geralt had asked before.

Gently, Geralt sheathes the knife and puts it down. Then he reaches forward, cradling Jaskier's face in his hands, leaning forward.

"There would be no higher honor," Geralt whispers, and Jaskier's face crumbles again. He looks devastated, and Geralt doesn't understand it, but then the mer is throwing his arms around Geralt's shoulders, pressing close.

He tucks his head in under Geralt's chin, the hands that had been cradling him now holding him close instead, and Geralt finally, finally feels whole.

"Beloved," Geralt whispers, and Jaskier makes a pained sound and presses closer.

"I have had that knife for months," Jaskier admits into Geralt's collarbones, lips grazing the sensitive skin there.

"I have collected courting gifts for years."

They stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Then they hold each other while lying on Jaskier's nest, barely fitting together even with their tails curled around each other.

"I had another question for you," Geralt murmurs into Jaskier's hair eventually, and the mer looks up at him.

"I... uh....made my nest bigger...."

Maybe it is too soon to ask? It feels soon, but also oh so very late. But Jaskier is smiling at him, adjusting them so that he is looking down at Geralt, bracketing him in between his arms.

"Would you share it with me?"

Jaskier kisses him. Soft and lingering and warm and perfect, one of his fingers slowly dragging along Geralt's cheek bone. When they part, Jaskier is giving him another of those blinding smiles.

"There would be no higher honor," Jaskier replies, leaning in for another kiss. Geralt melts into it, losing himself in Jaskier, in the sensations of finally, finally being close the way he has always wanted but never dared. 

Too scarred or too broken to think someone like Jaskier would ever want him, but here they are. It has barely reached midday, but it is hard to do anything other than hold each other close and trade kisses.

Eventually, Geralt's stomach growls, and they have to get up and get food. Now that it is allowed, Geralt can't stop touching him.

Brushing their fins together, resting a hand on Jaskier's lower back, thumbing away food from the corner of Jaskier's mouth... He can't stop.

They wrestle, which dissolves into cuddling, into kissing, and it is like all those years of waiting has led them up to this. The first touch is tentative, hands exploring and kisses deepening. 

When Jaskier presses closer, presses them together, Geralt can't help the low moan slipping out.

"I thought the courting came first," Geralt teases, but Jaskier won't have it. Not entirely, at least.

"I have spent years courting you in my head. I want this. Please."

Despite those years of mental courting, it is too early for the final step. Maybe this will all fall apart in time, maybe it will turn out they won't be able to stand each other within a few months.

Jaskier just laughs when he says it, and Geralt doesn't believe it either. But for Jaskier, he wants this to be done right.

Day by day passes as he empties his courting bag. Trinkets and gifts and findings are given, and Jaskier accepts each and every one. 

Until Jaskier is gone for two full days, returning with a golden ring for Geralt.

The inscription matches the one on the knife, and what Geralt had called him that first night.

Beloved.

Geralt still makes his rounds in the Kelp Forest. He doesn't hesitate to pick up the treasures he finds now. He brings them home to his husband, his mate, presenting each and every one as a gift.

Jaskier calls him a romantic. Geralt calls him home.

#geraskier #mermay #the passiflora merweek #mer!geralt #mer!jaskier #friends to lovers #getting together #fluff #first kisses #cuddling #dapanda writes #courting gifts #i am very tired send help

[justhereforeskel]

Gift exchange piece for the lovely Lia! Eskel deserves nice things, like getting gently.... snuggled ... by Mer!Geralt and Mer!Letho Full piece is on Pillowfort - Link in pinned post

#eskel #letho #geralt #mer!AU #mer!Geralt #Mer!letho #ovipoisition #tw3 fanart #gift piece #my art

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: another week ahead.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gates open as horses snort and kick. The dawn air is ripe with impatience. You and Merinda watch as you stand east of the front doors. The luggage is clustered near the stables, to depart once all of the nobles have trotted their steeds from within the walls. 

Your encounter with the king lingers in your head but the echo of his anger and the scent of spilled ale is enough to deter you. A maid will not be missed. Merinda can’t tear her eyes away from it all. Her expression is longing and doleful. 

“A pity we must stay here with Lady Rezlyn,” she mutters, “she’ll be miserable without her daughter.” 

“I’m certain she will miss her,” you agree. 

“She won’t have any to indulge her,” Merinda sniffs, “or distract her.” 

“Mm, I suppose. Perhaps she will be too sad to be angry,” you suggest. 

The noise of mail approaches and you look up. You expect the soldier to pass by as all others have done. It is the same steely soldier who’d been at the king’s side that morning. Merinda steps closer to you as the man’s grey eyes are fixed on you. 

“Maid,” he barks, “find a cart.” 

You frown and look over at Merinda. 

“The king has sent for a lady maid for his wife,” the soldier explains, “you.” 

He points at you with his gauntlet and you flinch. The king has not forgotten or changed his mind. It was wrong of you to assume. You grab Merinda through her sleeve and squeeze. 

“Just me, sir?” you ask. 

“We needn’t a dozen of the traitor’s servants,” the man scoffs in return, “come. You will travel with the others amid the bedrolls.” 

You blanch and cling to Merinda. She whimpers and you turn to her, the reality setting in on your at once. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed as you face your lifelong companion. As close to a friend as any might have in your position. 

“Mer,” you croak. 

“Save your tears, there’s no time,” the soldiers grits. 

Merinda pulls you into an embrace. “Be safe,” she whispers with a sniffle. 

“You too,” you part and look her in the face, “Mer, I--” 

“Yes, I know, me too,” she frowns, “you must go.” 

“Yes, you must,” the soldier insists and points towards the stable.  

Merinda lets you go and the fabric of her sleeve slips from between your fingers. You follow the soldier, looking back at the lone maid as she watches after you. You can see her wringing her hands. She’s never been the nervous sort. 

You take in a deep breath and turn forward. The soldier marches you to the back of a cart and points inside. There's just enough room for you among the chests and casks within. You climb up, moving your skirts from under your knees, and sit against the side. You don’t have anything to worry about leaving behind. 

He stomps away and you lean to see him around the wall of the cart. He disappears and you sit back and huff. Off to the capital and then the Hinterlands. You look down at your dress, the apron and wool frayed with your labour. You will be cold once you turn north, you hope you might bear it. 

There’s a clink of metal and horse hooves. You look up as a speckled grey steed appears by the cart. You gulp and gape at the large beast as its equally grey master holds it by the reins. The steely soldier shoves a wad of leaves into his mouth and chews. 

“Come this far,” he grumbles through sloppy gnashing, “just to guard the luggage.” He snorts and shakes his head, “I’m not in the mood for trouble, maid. You keep in your cart.” 

You lower your head as you bend your knees, and cross your arms across them, “yes, sir. Thank you.” 

He chews in the lull between you. He turns to spit the leaves onto the ground and kicks dirt over them. His horse nuzzles at his shoulder as he shrugs it off. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he girds at last, “you won’t once you see the snow.” 

⚔️

The day rolls by with the wheels of the cart. You jostle with the movement as the grey soldier rides abreast of the luggage train. Ahead, the royal party and soldiers lead the way on the long road to the capital. There’s a glimmer of excitement in you, a sensation you’re not used to.  

You’ve only ever heard of the capital from your masters. Lady Jazlene’s tales of sparkling banquets and golden plates and raucous dances. Lady Rezlyn was more likely to talk of the courtly whispers, who is marrying who, which earl despises which count, and scandalous affairs of those already bound to another. Your anticipation is routed by a sadness; you don’t know that you’ll ever see Merinda again to tell her of all you see. 

You pick at your nails and watch the rippling clouds above. The blue sky appears as a sheet of pure satin with streaks of soft ivory. The sunlight streaks from the horizon, weaving into the cornflower expanse and limns over the soft green leaves of swaying trees. The smell of pollen and dirt breezes from the forests and the rustle of tall wheat drifts in from the rich fields. 

As you take in your homelands, you feel a twisting in your chest. You will miss it very much. You never put special thought to it before, you never considered the ties that bound you to this land, but now they tug and strangle you near to tears. This is what you know, it is what you don’t that terrifies you so much. 

You rock as noon burns high, rattled by the bumpy earth below. The grey horse hovers closer and you look up to soldier scowling down at you. You shy away and cough as dust is thrown up by the wheels. The man grumbles and steers his horse closer. You slump your shoulders down, wondering why he hovers. 

Perhaps it is your masters who cast suspicion over you. You are one of them. New allies forged in deceit. The more you think of Lord Dustan’s deception, the more uneasy you feel. You always thought the duke was at least a good lord, now, you don’t know what to think of him. 

“Aye,” something hits the cart, landing next to your feet. It’s a water skin, a thick hide strap attached to it. You peek up at the soldier and reach for it, the water swishing within. “Your summer lands are dry as ash.” 

You consider the skin before you uncork it. You pause and try to see the man through the beaming rays of midday. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Mm,” he grumbles and keeps his horse in line the end of the cart. 

You drink, not too much, just enough to sate, and you offer it back to him over the side of the wagon. He takes it and strings it back around his shoulder. You sit back, facing away from him. The horse trods on without expedience. 

The soldier is just as silent as ever. You hear some shuffling, something brushing, it is barely discernible from the leaves fluttering in the distance. There’s a nudge on your shoulder, the man holds a small bundle of cloth in his gauntlet. 

“Sir?” You crane and turn your body. You accept the handful. “Thank you.” 

He nods and sets his sights on the horizon, undeterred by the blazing sunlight. You look down and carefully unwrap the linen from around a medley of nuts and a hunk of cheese. You suspect they were taken from the castle kitchens. 

“I...” you glance over at him, “would you like some too?” 

You cradle the food towards him and his brows form a vee. He reaches beneath his mail and pulls out a stick of dried meat. He wiggles it at you and takes a bite. 

Your lips curve slightly, “thank you...” 

“You have better manners than the turn cloak’s daughter,” he bristles through his mouthful. 

You take a nut and turn it over between your fingers. You don’t know what to say to that. You nibble on the nut, crushing it between your teeth noisily. You look up and meet the soldier’s grey irises. 

“You are kind,” you gesture to the food, “not like the guards at the castle.” 

“Mm, a symptom of the summer lands, I fathom,” he mulls with a shake of his head. “Though war can make any unkind.” He pets his horses main, a thoughtless act as he speaks, “soldiers are plunderers more oft than not.” He drags his hand back and adjusts the reins, “you will not stray far when we make camp. These men have been marching for months.” 

You blink as you break off a piece of the hard cheese, “yes, sir.” 

“You understand me,” he states, not asks. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Bryce,” he says curtly. “And your name, maid?” 

You take a moment to process his request but you issue your name before tasting the bold cheese. You make a face. It is not your favourite. You often live on the dry rye bread and butter, and the chunk broth leftover from the hearty stews served to your masters. 

“Aye, I didn’t like it either,” he remarks, “let’s hope there is better fare awaiting us in the capital.” 

⚔️

Night falls and the party makes camp. You help cover the wagon with a few other servants, ready to sleep beneath the canvas with the chests of clothes and books. You sit beside the wheel in the dirty, watch the sky glitter with stars as you bask in the cool night. You’ll retire soon but the sun lingers in your skin and burns. 

Footsteps mulch towards you. You look up, expecting another servant headed for a piss in the trees. The figure is broad and stiff. You recognise Bryce before he reaches you. You stand expectantly to meet him. 

“I was only about to retire,” you assure him and turn to touch the canvas, recalling his earlier foreboding. 

“No,” he says, “your queen requires her maid.” 

You pause, “oh, yes, certainly.” 

He sighs, “she requires many things I would not put to word.” 

You flutter your lashes, not quite sure of his meaning, though his tone is sharp. Lady Jazlene does not always inspire kindness. You put your head down and turn to follow the soldier. 

Bryce walks beside you through the camp. Soldiers snore or sit and chatter, others clean their blades, and several sit around fires roasting whatever they could catch in the brush. Towards the front of the train of slumbering steeds and stalled carts, larger than the canvas on crooked poles, is a grand silk tent, glowing from within. 

Your escort stops just outside, exchanging a nod with the two soldiers standing before the flap. You can hear Jazlene’s shrill voice from within. It is too dark to make out the expressions of the guards or the man at your side. One of the soldiers pulls back the fabric to let your through. You bow your head as you enter. 

“This isn’t fair!” Jazlene roars, “I am a queen now and I will not be treated as a child!” 

You peer around, expecting another to be at the mercy of her wrath. It is only her. She rages around the space, stamping and snarling. Her skirts are stained with the dirt of the road as her steps hitch now and again. 

“I will not sit a horse again! It is not good for a lady to ride as such!” She stews, “Where is my father?” She rushes towards the door, brushing by you as she pushes through the flap, “fetch me my father, now!” 

“Get inside,” a soldier growls. 

“You do not command me! I am the queen--” 

“The king bids you stay within,” another drones without emotion. 

“Ugh, stupid men,” she retreats and swirls, her skirts swishing against you, “empty-headed soldiers! What do they do? Carry their swords and run to their deaths! I am a lady, a queen! And they speak to me as if they are above me!” 

Her rant continues as if you are not even there. Even having touched you, she has yet to notice your presence. You look around and go to the corner where a bottle sits on a crate, with a wooden cup near it. You pour the wine as the queen continues her tirade. 

“Your highness,” you offer the cup, though you avoid her harried route around the tent, “you must be tired from the road.” 

She stops short, looking at you as she pulls her chin back. You cannot tell if she is surprised or affronted by you. She huffs and stomps towards you. You steel yourself as she snatches the cup and sniffs the contents. 

“Food! I am hungry,” she snaps. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch something,” you assure. 

She narrows her eyes at you. Her lips slant. “Your highness, yes, you recall, I am the queen.” 

You turn and go to the entrance. You poke through and the soldier angles his spear across your path. You gulp and stay at the threshold. 

“She is hungry. Is there food?” 

“Aye, I will fetch it,” Bryce’s voice startles you as he looms in the shadows. 

You thank him before you retract back behind the silk. You stay close to the door as you wait and Jazlene slurps down the wine between furious mutters. As she reaches the bottom, she turns the cup upside down and wiggles it in your direction. It’s empty. 

You take it and refill it to the brim. The wine might calm her should she imbibe enough. Lady Rezlyn was always jollier when she had a healthy helping of red. 

As you bring it back to her, she faces you with a sneer. She glares at you and takes the cup. You stand, trapped in her distaste. You cry out as you feel something sharp on your stomach. You look down as she pinches you through your apron and twists. You clamp your jaw tight as you hold back a squeal. 

She lets you go and drinks deeply as she struts away from you. You put your hand to the sore spot and resume your place by the door. It is better than a slap, though that may still be to come. 

As you stand just inside the flap, you hear the approach of boots. The soldiers utter low words, ‘your highness’ and you barely step out of the way as the silk is drawn back. The king steps inside as you sidle away. You still as he glowers around the space, the flicker of the torch planted in the ground reflects in his golden eyes. 

“Wife, half the camp can hear your tantrum,” he says, “queen’s do not behave as chil--” 

Before he can finish his remonstrance, Jazlene is billowing towards him in her satin skirts. There’s a splash that fizzles in the air, tense silence rising as the king’s words die on his tongue. He closes his eyes against the liquid assault, wine dripping down his face and wetting his dark lashes. He sucks in a deep breath and his hands fist as Jazlene snickers cruelly and throws the cup at his chest. 

“If you treat me as a child, then I may as well act as one,” she retorts. 

The king doesn’t react. His posture is locked, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in stone. Slowly, he expels his breath and opens his eyes. Jazlene’s mocking smirk trembles and falls. 

“You are worse than a child,” he accuses and grabs her by the shoulders, “you are nothing more than a vicious cat.” 

“Get your hands off me,” she sneers as she writhes in his grasp, “unless you mean to be a husband, eh? Do you think you might prove yourself this time?” 

He growls and squeezes so she winces. She whimpers and beats on his thick arms. He walks her backwards as her feet shuffle beneath her to keep from tripping. 

“Husband, you cannot blame me for being unhappy. I have not been t-treated as a queen should--” 

“You have not earned it,” he shoves her and she lands on the stuffed mattress across the ground. “Be quiet. The camp needn’t lack sleep on your account.” 

Jazlene pouts up at him. You see the battle in her, of anger and fear. The king snarls down at her, “go to sleep.” 

She bats her lashes and pushes herself up on one elbow. She reaches to her skirts and tugs them up, “husband...” she shows her leg, “please...” 

He doesn’t move. He stares down at her for a moment then turns on his heel. He takes a step then falters. His gaze meets with yours. You quickly look down, realising then he was unaware of you. You shouldn’t have seen that. He falls back into step. 

“Do not make me return,” he barks as he shoves through the silken flap. 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

[xejune]

posting this as a rebloggable WIP for now because it's going to be a while before i finish this one :')

#one day. one day i'll get back to you #in the meantime #[looks at my WIP folder. looks at my school work. looks at everything else] #haha. ouch #the witcher #art #the witcher books #geralt of rivia #gerlion #dandelion #mer!dandelion #although that might yet change #my art

[bluedillylee]

Siren and a Song

"Oh," he gasps, unable to help himself, "you're beautiful." The siren flushes, a delightfully rosy color.

"You're delirious," he says, pushing away from the sandy water line and swimming farther back into the cave, "this way." Jaskier stumbles to his feet and shuffles after him, bent a little to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling”

full art on my twitter

#the witcher #witcher netflix #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #mermay #creature geralt #mer witcher #fanart for fanfic

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 4

Geralt is the captain of a pirate ship, named "Kaer Morhen." Perhaps he's still a witcher, perhaps he's just a regular old human (with white hair and golden eyes? Lol) His brothers (and "cousins" from other witcher schools) are his crew Now I can see this going two different ways, so choose a favorite (or make up your own, I am only the beginning, I hold no affront of being anything more) Jaskier is a nobleman's son, aboard his family's ship, possibly on his way to be forced into a marriage to a woman he doesn't love. And either he falls overboard or he's shoved off as a murder attempt, but he's lost in the ocean. Lambert (or someone else, but I love to imagine how Lambert would attempt to call this out to his captain who he doesn't take seriously 90% of the time, #brothers) calls that he spots a man bobbing in the sea, and they haul him up. The majority of the crew sees sight of his jewels and finery and insists on holding him ransom. But when the prisoner wakes up and isn't afraid of death, Geralt looks into this a little more. Apparently their prisoner won't get a ransom because his entire family despise him and his want to run away and become a bard. Funny. Most pirate ships have entertainers aboard to help the pirates deal with months of nothing but ocean. Perhaps they'll have use of this dumb twink after all. OR, option number two Jaskier is a nobleman's son, chained and starved for the crime of wanting to become a bard and not wanting to marry some prissy noblewoman. He hears a lot of loud noises and screams and then a bunch of burly men in fur cloaks stomp down and start rifling through their supplies. One catches eye of him and immediately yells to the captain. The captain is a very handsome man with silver locks and bright eyes, and the dreaded pirate captain is treating Jaskier with more kindness and gentleness than his family or their workers ever have. The pirate hauls Jaskier up into his arms and carries him to their own ship, laying him down in his own bed, and looking over his injuries and sending one of his crewmembers to make hm a fine meal. Jaskier begins telling the captain of his abusive life beforehand and mentions that all he's ever wanted is to spread music and love, and shockingly enough, this big scary (gorgeous) man doesn't even laugh at him for it.. Oh fuck he's falling in love-

♡!Optional addons!♡ • Geralt gayly teaching his bard how to swordfight!!!

• Perhaps Jaskier's family is crueler and has done more than beat him, perhaps they've stabbed him or something, and the very last thing he sees before he passes out from bloodloss is Geralt (Maybe he even thinks he's an angel! Lmfao)

• Geralt getting lovingly bullied by his brothers for taking care of his songbird so well

• Geralt's crew revenge-robbing or revenge-killing Jaskier's family if we do Option one for the story (attempted-murder route), since it's implied it happens in Option Two while they ransack the ship-

• Perhaps I'll do a sequel for this prompt one day for Mermaid Jaskier, I do LOVE mermaids, take this as a much smaller and much less detailed prompt for if you want that idea, too! Perhaps the Pankratz ship has a captured mer aboard, parched and dehydrated (I just mostly think it'd be funny if Geralt was checking his pulse and if he has any injuries while random other witches dump buckets of sea water on him-)

#fanfiction prompts #geralt x dandelion #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #writing prompts #alternate universe #strangers to lovers #mutual pining #story prompts #writing prompt #pirate au #pirates #pirate geralt #nobleman jaskier #Geralt loves his bard! #Optional smut scene where Geralt shows Jaskier that there is a nice way to be tied up #jaskier thinks geralt swordfighting is hot and that's canon #requited unrequited love #plot bunny #Its so great that people are starting to like and reblog my dumb gay ramblings about my otp #like i am my own target audience but omg the possibility of these one day actually getting written into fics is just so Y E S #pray writers find me and like me guys i want to read good fics with no unlikable-asshole netflix geralt

[scales-n-art]

March Rewards for my Patreon are up! Featuring Naiad! Jaskier & Geralt SFW, and Shark!Eren x Mer!Levi NSFW ❤️

Join us on Patreon to see the full pieces!

#geraskier #ereri #the witcher #shingeki no kyojin #jaskier #geralt of rivia #eren jaeger #levi ackerman #patreon

[hanzajesthanza]

the multilinguality of a lot of the witcher characters is something i love and also probably a feature resulting from sapkowski being a polyglot himself as well as creating a fantasy world that mimics the real one.

it’s a more obvious and crucial element in the hussite trilogy, but i think that it’s also significant in the witcher, too.

languages are not as simple as belonging to one people group. for instance, one can know one dialect of elder speech and be fluent in it, but struggle to communicate in another dialect.

there’s various dialects of elder speech, the first being the classical, the one spoken by elves. another one is nilfgaardian. another one is skellige jargon. another one is brokilonian… and there is an entire variant of elder speech used by mer-people and sea creatures, but it is sung, with one’s musicality, melody, and intonation affecting their accent.

and elder speech is needed for specific activities. if you cast spells? if you’re a human, you need to know classical elder speech, because the human way of casting spells requires incantations and hand gestures.

if that wasn’t enough, the concept of languages dying out and intermingling and evolving is also touched on.

for instance, the dwarvish language exists, but is quickly being forgotten as assimilation into human settlements becomes more and more common, and youngsters are reluctant to speak their own language

another example of time and the mixing of groups affecting the evolution of language is in the north case, a mountainous region in which nilfgaardian and northern tongues have been mixing for the past couple of decades due to imperialism and nilfgaardian expansion northward. and owing to this is an eruption of new slang using words from nilfgaardian has entered the local tongue.

(this part is just a headcanon:) there’s probably a lot of local languages and dialects, from regions the nilfgaardian empire consumed, that are various stages of dying because some places were conquered hundreds of years ago and some were conquered only a few decades ago

there’s even more obscure languages like the vampire language which is only known to us in a nauseatingly menacing, terror-inducing song and… an untranslatable pun.

what’s more is the curious use of latin words and phrases used as one mught use them today; for which, of course, the out-of-universe explanation is that sapkowski is addicted to using latin, but, in-universe is an ancient language with a similar role latin has in modern society being “translated” to our latin, just like the common tongue is being “translated” to polish.

and what i love the most about this is that this isn’t knowledge that lives in the background, not touching the lives of our characters. the characters’ abilities (or inabilities) to speak languages affects them in many ways throughout the story.

geralt speaks elder, but his brokilonian dialect is poor (at least during sword of destiny, in time of contempt he seems to have improved somewhat during his month-long stay)… and dandelion had to learn elder speech for his expedition to brokilon, to sing elaine ettariel and speak with the dryads, and you can see that he’s a beginner in the language.

milva gains multiple nicknames in elder from the elves owing to her service to them, not solely out of respect, but because her given name is hard to pronounce for them. and her present nickname, the one she should be proud of, is not of any of her attributes, but a familial title—sor’ca, sister.

another thing about milva is that she is illiterate, but at the same time, bilingual. one does not preclude the other!

cahir’s mother language is nilfgaardian, but speaks the northern common language because of his northern ancestry on his mother’s side. and in times of stress, his mind blanked on northern, as well as when he swore in nilfgaardian.

cahir can understand angoulême’s north case slang, as well as “translate” for the rest of the company, but they have probably run into confusion or frustration—“how did you get that from that?!”

and regis’ language is so obscure, he makes a joke in it to himself and no one else understands, but he still is clearly amused by it. and vampires seemingly also do not speak with their mouths, only using telepathy, so the acquisition of human language must have been a challenge for him. and i wonder how many human languages he’s learned only to later face their extinction. perhaps when he came back from the grave, the human language he had learned was now defunct, or rarely used?

#my favorite thing is when yennefer and triss are trying to cast alzur’s thunder and they’re ‘squeaking’ frightenedly #and it’s said that alzur had a voice like a bell and here we are squeaking and muttering and messing it all up #i love how they were both terrified then #the witcher books #txt

[silvertonguelover]

Day 5 @witchersummercamp : Swim

Geralt, Ciri and Yenn: How are you going to swim in the sea when you are the size of a goldfish and a freshwater Mer?!

Jask: *indignant spluttering* You lot don't deserve my love! 🤧

When they finally reach the coast only for Jaskier to stay on the beach in his Mer form. 😂

Did I recycle my mer!may sketch? Yes. Am I ashamed?NO.😂

#the witcher #jaskier #witchersummercamp