#sea witch!jaskier

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

I look for the songs in the dark

My third fic for @witchersummercamp is up! You can find it below or here on AO3!

Prompt: Wet

Relationship: Jaskier/Yennefer

Rating: E

Words: 6K

Warnings: explicit smut; tentacle sex; some light bondage

Summary: While waiting to reunite with Geralt, Jaskier is kidnapped and left to the local sea monster as a human sacrifice. But when he’s saved from a watery grave by a beautiful sea witch, he has several ideas for how he can show his gratitude.

***

“Now, see here,” Jaskier says as one of his kidnappers binds his ankles together. “I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.”

“It’s nothing personal, lad.” The man tying him up, a kindly-looking older gentleman who looks like he should be offering Jaskier candy, not potentially murdering him, says. “But the sea god needs his pound of flesh every Midsummer, or he starts bringing down our fishing boats and snatching our children from the shore.”

“Last year, we had to give him my sister, Iris.” The second man, who Jaskier recognizes as the husband of the pleasant barmaid—who Jaskier didn’t even try to bed, for fuck’s sake—shakes his head. “We were fortunate to have a stranger pass through this year so we don't lose one of our own.”

“Sea god?” Jaskier swallows hard. “I suppose he’s not a friendly sort of god, who blesses babies and holds orgies?”

A foolish question, he knows. Friendly gods don’t take people’s children.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says. “I was planning on meeting my friend, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, in your lovely little town tomorrow. If he arrives and finds me missing, he’s going to have questions. What do you plan to tell him? Because let me tell you, he’ll be very cross when he finds out you threw me to a sea god. He’s not a man you want to make angry.”

“We’ll tell him you went for a walk and never came back.” The barmaid’s husband shrugs. “Happens all the time to people from inland. They go for a swim in the calmest part of the sea, not realizing it’s a riptide, or they underestimate how slippery the rocks will be and plunge off a cliff.”

“I’m from Kerack.” Jaskier tugs at the ropes binding his arms to the rock behind him, but the ropes are thick and sturdy and the knots well tied. “I’m hardly some inlander who has never seen the sea before. And witchers can tell when you’re lying. Your heartbeats will give it away.”

The two men exchange anxious looks.

“A witcher’s wrath is better than the sea god’s,” the barmaid’s husband says, though he sounds far from certain. “His wrath will come down on us, not our children.”

Jaskier rarely gets into trouble that he can’t talk himself out of. When he does, Geralt is almost always there to either use his swords or intimidation to extract Jaskier from the situation. But Geralt is probably still miles away, traveling towards the coast with no clue that Jaskier won’t be there to meet him.

“Don’t fuck anyone you shouldn’t,” he told Jaskier before they parted ways last month so Jaskier could travel to a string of music festivals while Geralt was busy doing witchery things. “Or, don’t fuck anyone at all, since you never seem to fuck anyone you should.”

“Jealous, darling?” Jaskier batted his eyelashes up at him.

Geralt gave him an exasperated look. “Just don’t want to meet you next month to find you tarred and feathered.”

“You make it sound like I get myself in trouble all the time, Geralt.”

“Hm. Sometimes, you get me in trouble.”

“Geralt, I would never.” Jaskier put his hand over his heart in mock offense. “Your accusations wound me. Wound me.”

It wasn’t a very good last conversation to have with his dearest friend, the man Jaskier has been secretly pining over for years now. Had Jaskier known he would end up a human sacrifice before their reunion, he would have at least told Geralt how he feels.

“Please.” His voice cracks a little. “Geralt can help you. He’ll kill your sea god for you before he takes any more of your children.”

The older man shakes his head, not meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “When I was a lad, our elders tried that. The sea god killed the witcher and brought down every fishing boat that left our docks that summer. Half the village either drowned or starved.”

“Geralt can do it. At least let him try. He’ll even do it for free if you let me live.”

“It’s too risky, lad.” The older man turns away. “For what it’s worth, it will be quick. We would drug you so you don’t feel a thing, but he doesn’t like that.”

That doesn’t reassure Jaskier. Not at all. He shouts after the men—offering pleas and when the pleas don’t work, threats—but they don’t look back. They leave Jaskier bound to a rock at the edge of the sea to await his fate.

***

The day is long and by the time the sun starts to set, Jaskier has moved past the mortal terror of imminent death to a kind of anxious boredom. He tried screaming for help for a while, until he had to admit to himself that no one was going to answer. Struggling against his bonds was equally fruitless; if anyone knows how to tie a good knot, it's fishermen. He sang all his favorite ballads, but they all reminded him of Geralt and all the things he never said, which left him too morose to continue. He chatted with the seagulls who came to inspect the strange new addition to the local landscape, but they lost interest in him when they saw he had no food to steal.

As the sun sinks below the waves, Jaskier shivers. It was a blazingly hot day and the sweat that had his doublet clinging to him earlier now leaves him chilled to the bone. His skin feels utterly scorched; he’s probably red as a tomato. It was thoughtful of the villagers to cook the sea god’s dinner for him, he thinks a little hysterically. No wonder the beast chose this village to plague. You just don’t find that kind of service in most places.

The water below him is inky dark in the growing dusk. When it starts to ripple, Jaskier hopes to all the gods that it’s just the tide or a trick of the light.

It’s not the tide and it’s not a trick.

The head that emerges from the water would look human, if humans had skin so translucent that you could make out the muscles and veins underneath. A mouth full of razor sharp teeth opens in a hideous pantomime of a smile while glowing, ice blue eyes watch Jaskier hungrily. As it rises, Jaskier sees that it has a human-like upper body, with arms corded with muscle and webbed hands, but a bottom half that resembles that of a serpent.

Through his shock and horror, Jaskier finds his voice. “Geralt!” he screams as he struggles against the ropes binding him. “Geralt, help!”

Logically, he knows that Geralt is still a day’s ride away, probably camping for the night after a long day of travel. But Geralt always comes when Jaskier calls for him and some irrational, childish instinct tells Jaskier that his friend will materialize between him and the danger, like he always does.

But Geralt doesn’t appear and the so-called sea god makes his way towards Jaskier, grin growing wider. Something tells Jaskier that the monster is taking his time, like he’s enjoying his prey’s fear.

“Please, Geralt!” Jaskier tries to shrink away, but there’s nowhere to go with the rock at his back. “Someone help me!”

The sea god reaches for him and Jaskier closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see what comes next.

There’s a splash, a wordless shriek, and a horrible crunch. Jaskier’s eyes snap open in time to see those unearthly pale eyes bugging out of the sea god’s face, the mouth agape in what looks like shock. Something long and dark is wrapped around the beast’s throat. It takes Jaskier a moment to realize that it’s a tentacle. As the tentacle releases the sea god, Jaskier sees that his head is hanging at an angle that’s all wrong, his neck clearly broken. The sea god’s corpse sinks below the water.

Jaskier wonders what’s strong enough to kill a god and then realizes with a jolt of terror that he’s about to find out.

The water ripples and Jaskier braces himself for whatever monstrosity is about to rise from the sea. But instead of another translucent-skinned beast, the face that appears is that of a human woman. Or at least, she would look human if not for violet eyes, which glow with the same unearthly light as the sea god’s. As she rises from the water, Jaskier sees that she has the torso of a human woman. But instead of legs, she has a mass of tentacles the same inky black as her hair.

The not-a-woman blinks at him, wearing an expression that might be exasperation. “For fuck’s sake,” she says and he sees that her mouth is full of sharp little teeth. “Humans.”

Jaskier has spent nearly a decade traveling with a witcher. He prides himself on his steady head in a crisis and his stalwart nature in the face of imminent death.

So he does the only sensible thing when faced with a needle-toothed, tentacled not-a-woman who may be about to devour him. He faints dead away.

***

When Jaskier wakes, the first thing he’s aware of is that he’s warm. Not the scorching heat of being tied up in the sun, but a pleasant coziness, like he’s wrapped up in blankets in front of the hearth. The second thing he notices is that he’s lying on a hard, smooth surface. His eyes open slowly and he has to wait a moment for his vision to focus. The first thing he sees is the ice blue eyes of the sea god, staring blankly at him. The monster is lying a few feet away, a cavernous hole in his chest.

Jaskier shrieks and flails backwards. The next thing he knows, he’s plunging into the water, which is as surprisingly warm as the air. He knows a moment of utter panic before something wraps around his waist and hauls him out of the water, back onto the ledge. He’s relieved, until he looks down and sees that the thing wrapped around him is a tentacle and he’s naked, all his vulnerable bits out in the open. He opens his mouth to scream again.

“If you keep screaming, I will let you drown.”

Jaskier snaps his mouth shut and looks up to see the violet-eyed sea creature watching him from the other side of the cave.The cave is circular, with rune-covered walls that glow faintly with magic and a ceiling that opens up to show the starry sky and the thin crescent moon. He’s currently sitting on the ledge that runs around the perimeter of the cave, his clothes drying a few feet away. The rest of the cave is underwater.

The sea creature—Jaskier keeps wanting to call her a mermaid, but nothing about her seems reminiscent of the sweet, golden haired maidens of his fairy stories—is submerged up to her waist in the water on the other side of the cave, mashing something with a mortar and pestle. With her tentacles submerged, she almost looks human and Jaskier can let himself pretend that he didn’t see her snap a sea god’s neck easily and that he isn’t wondering if he’ll be next.

“Are you going to kill me?” He aims for breezy nonchalance and falls several miles short.

She turns away from him, back to the mortar and pestle. “That would make saving your life a waste of my time.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Absolutely nothing.” She jerks her thumb at the dead sea god. “I wanted him.”

Jaskier doesn’t look at the corpse. “What would you want with a sea god?”

“Is that what he told those humans he was?” She laughs, though there’s not much humor in it. “He’s no god. He’s just a merman, albeit a rare kind. They usually live in the deep, deep sea, but this one developed a taste for human flesh and traveled to the shallows to find it. Fortunately for me, since I needed his heart.”

Jaskier discovers that he really doesn’t want to know what she’s mixing in that bowl. “Well, I thank you for saving my life, my lady.”

“Saving your life wasn’t my goal. I was there for the merman. Once I’d killed him, I couldn’t just leave you tied to a rock. A shark or a siren could have gotten you.” She sounds faintly chagrined and Jaskier gets the sense that she probably would have liked to leave him tied to a rock, but her conscience got the better of her.

Despite the fear still gnawing at him, Jaskier’s lips twitch. “Well, whatever your motives, my life is still saved, so you have my thanks.”

She turns back to him and despite himself, Jaskier swallows. He was too terrified before to properly appreciate how beautiful she is, but gods is she lovely. He does his best not to stare at her admittedly astonishing breasts as he says, “I’m Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, also known as Jaskier the Bard.”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she says. 

Vengerberg is in Aedirn, a landlocked kingdom far from the sea. Jaskier has questions, but isn’t sure enough that she won’t kill him to ask any of them. “May I ask what you wanted with a false sea god’s heart?”

“A spell,” she says. While her attention is on him, two of her tentacles rise from the water and resume mashing the concoction. “One that I’ve spent years gathering all the ingredients for.”

Jaskier swallows. “You’re a witch.”

“Of a sort.”

Jaskier has encountered a handful of witches in his travels with Geralt. Save for a few friendly healers, most of their encounters ended badly. “And the sea god’s heart was the only one you needed?”

She snorts. “I have no plans for your heart or any other part of you. I didn’t want to send you back to the village, lest they try to sacrifice you to something else. You said your friend, the witcher, was meeting you?”

“Yes, he—” Jaskier breaks off. “How do you know about Geralt?”

“I heard you telling the seagulls about him.”

“But that was hours before you rescued me. Wait, did you lurk all day, waiting for the merman to show himself?”

Yennefer lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It was my one chance to capture one of his kind.”

“Did you use me as bait?” Jaskier demands, horrified.

“I was fairly sure I could get to you before he killed you.”

“I was terrified!”

“So you told the seagulls,” she says dryly. “At length.”

“I had a lot of words to get out before I met my grisly end!”

“So you did.” Her lips twitch into a little smirk. “In the morning, I’ll bring you to land so you can reunite with your witcher. I imagine his presence will dissuade the townspeople from finding some other beast to try and feed you to.”

That cools Jaskier’s outrage. It’s hard to stay angry at the woman who saved him from what would have been an undoubtedly hideous death. Especially when she looks like that. His eyes are drawn to the motion of her tentacles as they stir the mortar and pestle. At their tips, they appear to be about the width of two of Jaskier’s fingers, thickening to be about the width of his wrist. He wonders how much thicker they get the farther up they go and swallows hard at the thought. 

“I grew up in Kerack,” he says, voice a little strangled. “And I’ve traveled with a witcher for over a decade. I’ve met my share of mer creatures, but never anything quite like you.”

Her lips curl into an enigmatic little smile. “That’s because I wasn’t born this way. This is a spell.”

Jaskier perks up at that. “A spell? What happened? Were you enchanted by an evil fairy? Did you try and break into a cursed tomb and this was your punishment? Did a full moon ritual go badly awry?”

With each word he says, one of her eyebrows arches higher and higher. “You have quite the imagination.”

“I’m a bard,” he says, a little apologetically.

“That explains all the singing to the seagulls.”

“Ah.” Jaskier can’t help but preen a little. “Hear anything you like?”

“No,” Yennefer says and Jaskier wonders if he really needs to be grateful just because she saved his life. Geralt has saved his life loads of times; she’s not special. “When I was a student at Aretuza, there was a mage who took a dislike to me. He hates elves, you see, and I’m a quarter elf. He tried to have me sent to a southern court where I would languish. When that failed, he tried to turn me into an eel to make me disappear. I tried to defend myself and I’m not sure what happened, because the next thing I knew, I woke up and…” She gestures to herself.

“Fascinating,” Jaskier breathes and then remembers himself. “I mean, I’m terribly sorry that happened to you, how dreadful.”

Yennefer snorts inelegantly. 

“But now you have your cure, right?” Jaskier gestures to the dead sea god.

“So I hope,” Yennefer says. “I’ll know by morning.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“I’m not sure.” Sadness flickers across her expression, before she seems to catch it and smooths her expression into impassivity. “What year is it?”

“1250.”

“Forty years, then.” She glances away. “I was worried it had been centuries. Everything blurs together after a while.”

“Have you been alone in this cave all this time?” Jaskier can’t imagine it. He can hardly be alone for an hour before he starts to lose his mind.

“Not always this cave.” Yennefer’s lips twist wryly. “I move around. I just relocated here a few weeks ago to wait for the merman’s arrival.”

“It’s nice.” Jaskier glances around. “Very homey for a cave.”

“I try,” Yennefer says. “Though gods, I can’t tell you how glad I’ll be to sleep in a proper bed again. I never adapted to the cold like most merfolk do.”

Jaskier runs a hand through the warm water. “Well, I appreciate that. I detest the cold.” He studies her face. “I’m sure it will be strange waking up tomorrow and having legs.”

“Perhaps.” She glances down at herself. “But I had legs for eighteen years. I’ll adjust soon enough.”

Jaskier has more questions, but a jaw-cracking yawn interrupts him.

“Rest,” Yennefer says, almost kindly. “You had a trying day, what with all the conversations with seagulls.”

“The seagulls were fascinating conversational partners, I’ll have you know.” Jaskier grabs his drying doublet and balls it up to use as a pillow. It’s not the most comfortable thing, but neither is sleeping on the hard stone. “You could learn a thing or two from them.”

He wonders for a moment if he’s offended her, but she only tilts her head back and laughs. It probably should be an alarming sight, what with the teeth. Instead, it’s surprisingly lovely. Jaskier drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

***

When Jaskier wakes up again, the moon has sunk out of sight and the sea god’s corpse is gone. He has a horrified moment of wondering if the monster came back to life and is coming after him, but a glance around confirms that Yennefer is sitting on the other side of the cave and not fighting to the death with a horrible merman from the depths of the sea. 

He almost calls out, but Yennefer looks deep in thought. She’s perched on the ledge, her tentacles spread out in front of her, tracing patterns in the water. Seeing her fully out of the water, he can tell that her tentacles become thicker as they get closer to her body. At their base, each one is as thick as Geralt’s thighs. He swallows hard.

“Will you miss them?” he asks without thinking.

Yennefer doesn’t seem surprised to see him awake. “I think I might, which is foolish of me. I’ve spent forty years trying to get rid of them.”

“Can I touch one?”

Yennefer arches an eyebrow at him.

Jaskier would like to find whatever deep, dark part of the sea the merman was from and hide there. “Unless that’s a terribly personal thing? I’m sorry, I don’t know the proper tentacle etiquette. I’ll just—”

“Yes, Jaskier, you can touch one.”

He tries not to look too eager as he swims across the cave to her. Yennefer doesn’t move as he approaches, watching him with a strange look on her face. He reaches out one finger and runs it over the tip of one tentacle, surprised when it elicits a shiver from her. The tentacle is silky soft and a little slippery. He expects it to be cold, like a fish, but it’s as warm as a human body. He strokes it again and glances up, gratified when he sees that she’s looking at him intently, lips slightly parted.

“Are they sensitive?” he asks.

“Very.” Her voice is just a touch hoarse. “I will miss that about them. They had their… uses.”

Jaskier’s tongue darts out over his lip. “Perhaps you could take advantage of them one more time? You did save my life. It’s the least I can do.”

She gives him an incredulous look. “And that’s why you want it? Because you think you owe me?”

“Not at all,” Jaskier says quickly. “I want you because you’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in my life and because in truth, there’s nothing I like more than getting railed by a beautiful woman. I’ve just never been railed by a beautiful woman with tentacles before. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Of course, if you’re not interested, please say the word and I’ll keep my hands to myself and we can never speak of this again.”

Her gaze travels over him, appraising. “You are pretty enough, now that you’re out of that ridiculous doublet.”

“Pardon me?” Jaskier puts a hand to his chest. “What, pray tell, was wrong with my doublet?”

“You looked like a flock of songbirds had exploded on you.”

“For fuck’s sake, remind me to introduce you to Geralt tomorrow. You can bond over your shared distaste for color and joy. Actually, no, I want you nowhere near Geralt. The two of you will gang up on me.”

One tentacle brushes over the curve of his cheek as she smirks at him. “Would you like to do this, or would you like to argue about that dreadful doublet?”

“I can multitask. Quite well, actually. I—” Jaskier’s words break off in a gasp as a tentacle wraps around his waist and lifts him out of the water, revealing just how enthusiastic he is about the idea of exploring her body further. She smiles smugly at the sight of his erection.

“You’ll tell me if there’s something you don’t enjoy?” she asks.

“I promise you,” he says hoarsely. “I am up for anything right now.”

She gives him a pointed look.

Jaskier swallows. “I’m not much for pain. So if you do bite me, please don’t do it hard enough to draw blood. Is there anything you don’t like?”

She looks a bit surprised, like she wasn’t expecting him to ask.  “I don’t like being called names.”

“Of course.” Jaskier nods. “Can I kiss you, Yennefer?”

She smirks, lifting him towards her. “Already so demanding.”

“That’s me.” He smirks at her. “Utterly incorrigible. You’ll get used to it.”

She laughs and presses her lips to his. Her lips are soft and surprisingly warm. Jaskier cups her face in his hands as he deepens the kiss and she sucks in a breath. He starts to pull back, but a second tentacle loops around the back of his neck, keeping him in place, as her fingers card through his chest hair. He wonders how long it’s been since someone touched her like this and feels a jolt of sadness for this strange, beautiful woman.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmurs against his lips.

“You’ll get used to that too.” Jaskier lets his lips trail down the line of her jaw and the slope of her neck, tasting the saltwater on her skin. When he reaches her breasts, he flicks a glance upwards and finds her watching him, those violet eyes filled with undisguised want. It’s all the encouragement he needs to suck one nipple into her mouth, gratified when she arches into the touch. His hands settle on her waist, pulling her close.

Yennefer’s breasts are lovely things and for several long, glorious moments, Jaskier loses himself entirely in lavishing them with attention they deserve—kissing and sucking and licking to his heart’s content. He’s so focused on the task at hand that the slide of a tentacle against his hole makes him jerk in surprise.

She pauses. “Alright?”

“Gods, yes.” He grinds his hips back against the tentacle.

The tip of the tentacle circles his entrance delicately, a tease as it skims over the delicate skin. Jaskier moans against Yennefer’s chest, already so hard that he feels like he might burst. The slickness of Yennefer’s tentacles is as effective as any oil as she carefully works him open, sinking into him inch by inch. He’s never felt anything like the tentacle moving inside him, undulating as it works at his inner walls. The stretch is delicious and Jaskier loses himself entirely for a moment, unable to focus on anything but the slide of her inside him.

Yennefer’s moan makes his eyes snap open. When he sees her head tilted back, lips parted in pleasure, he asks, “What does it feel like for you?”

“Probably what having your cock inside someone feels like for you,” she says, sounding a little breathless.

Jaskier’s gaze travels downwards and he’s fascinated to see a slit has opened up right above the base of her tentacles, where a human woman’s pelvis would be. He runs one finger over it and her hips jerk a little. His tongue darts over his lower lip. “Is this…”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He huffs a laugh and bends to run his tongue over the slit, reveling in the way her breath hitches. He’s not sure what he’s expecting her to taste like, but she tastes like any human woman. As she begins to thrust inside him, Jaskier deepens his licks, encouraged by the hand that fists in his hair and the tentacle wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There’s a nub of what feels like a clitoris inside the slit and he teases it with his tongue, grinning as the fist in his hair tightens. When he slips a finger inside her, her hips jerk. He thrusts inside her with his tongue and his finger until she cries out, shuddering with her release. It’s such a lovely sound that Jaskier has to reach down with his free hand to squeeze the base of his cock. He doesn’t want to spill too early.

“Can I fuck you while you fuck me?” he asks.

There’s a flush on her cheeks and her eyes are bright. “I suppose so,” she says with a nonchalance that’s belied by the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“Oh, thank the gods.” He leverages himself up to kiss her. “You know, I’ve long thought it unfair that it’s anatomically impossible to fuck one’s partner while they fuck you. A real design failure, if you ask me—”

“Bardling.”

“Yes, Yennefer?”

“If your talking puts me to sleep, no one will be fucking anyone.”

Jaskier doesn’t point out that she’s already inside him and enjoying it immensely, if the lust in her eyes and her unsteady breathing is any indication. “As my lady commands.”

She rolls her eyes, but yanks him into a kiss, so he doesn’t think he’s irritated her too badly. Or perhaps he has and she just wants to keep his mouth otherwise occupied. Oh well, he can live with that. 

Yennefer pulls him flush against her, the tentacles around his waist and shoulders tightening ever so slightly. A third tentacle slides under his hips to keep him steady. There’s something thrilling about being all wrapped up in her, knowing that she could probably break him in half and almost certainly won’t. When she smiles at him, all sharp teeth and unearthly eyes, he can’t stop a shiver from traveling up his spine.

Her smile widens. “Are you ready, bardling?”

“I couldn’t be readier,” he tells her and nothing he’s said in his life has ever been so true.

When he sinks into her, she’s warm and welcoming and feels divine. He moans against her mouth, kissing her hungrily as he rolls his hips against her. Inside him, she thrusts in time with the motion of his hips. It’s all so much—her lips against his and the warmth of her cunt and the tentacle filling him up. Jaskier thinks he might die from all the sensations, but what a way to go. She kisses his neck, sharp teeth grazing sensitive flesh, as her tentacle pushes in a little deeper, hitting the perfect spot inside him.

“Oh, fuck.” Jaskier throws back his head. “If you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

“It’s alright.” She nips at his earlobe, not quite hard enough to break skin. “We have all night.”

“You make excellent points.” Jaskier snaps his hips harder, grinding up against her clit as she drives into him. When she reaches her peak, letting out a cry as her face goes slack with pleasure, the sight is gorgeous enough that he finds his own pleasure within a handful of thrusts. He spills into her, muffling his cry in the curve of her throat.

For a long moment, they just lean against each other, Yennefer’s tentacles still wound around Jaskier and deep inside him. Jaskier finds that he really doesn’t want her to let him go. Not tonight. Possibly not ever. He doesn’t tell her as much, because he’s not a complete fool, but she can probably see it in the way he looks at her.

“You’re incredible,” he tells her.

He thinks there might be some fondness in her smile. He hopes there is, at least. “If all goes well, I’ll have legs in the morning.”

“Ah, well.” He glances down with regret. “I’ll probably still like you.”

“Probably?”

“You apparently have dreadful taste in doublets. That may prove to be a problem.”

“I suppose we should make the most of tonight then.”

“I suppose we should,” Jaskier says and leans in for another kiss.

***

Jaskier and Yennefer don’t fall asleep until the pink glow of dawn begins to fill the cave. When Jaskier wakes, he can see bright sunlight behind his closed eyelids. He doesn’t open his eyes, utterly at peace with the weight of Yennefer in his arms and the tickle of her hair against his chest. He’s stiff and sore—as much from sleeping on the stone ledge as from his delightful railing the night before—but it was entirely worth it.

Yennefer shifts closer to him and Jaskier runs a hand down her smooth, warm back. When his fingers find not the slick flesh of her tentacles, but the round curve of a human backside, his eyes fly open in surprise.

“Yennefer!” he yelps.

She sits up, blinking blearily at him. Her eyes are still violet, but they’ve lost that unearthly glow they held the day before. And when he glances down, he sees that her inky dark tentacles have been replaced by a pair of shapely legs.

“It worked!” Yennefer lets out a delighted little laugh, smoothing her hands over her thighs. “Fuck, it worked.”

“Are you surprised?” Jaskier asks.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, looking down at her legs in wonder. “I’ve tried so many things, I was starting to think…”

He pulls her into a kiss, because it seems like the right thing to do. He half-expects her to push him away in the light of day, but she kisses him back. She has morning breath, which seems like an incongruously human thing, but he doesn’t point that out.

“I expected you to be taller,” he says when they pull apart.

“Excuse me?” Yennefer arches an eyebrow.

Jaskier has a feeling he might be treading dangerous waters—heh—but that’s never stopped him before. “You just gave an impression of a woman who would tower over me with legs. But you’re tiny.”

“I’m a perfectly average height for a woman. It’s not my fault you’re so…” She gestures to him.

“Hirsute?” he asks. “Manly? Irresistible?”

“I can find another sea god to sacrifice you to. Or perhaps a kraken.”

“You won’t,” Jaskier says confidently. “You like me.”

Yennefer makes a disgusted noise, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she tries to stand, then immediately wobbles and goes to her knees. Jaskier leaps to his own feet, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her up. She leans against him to stay upright, looking thoroughly irritated by the indignity.

“Hey now, you haven’t had legs in forty years,” he reminds her. “Let’s take it one—”

“If you’re about to tell me to take it one step at a time, I will turn you into an eel.”

“I had to make at least one joke.” He presses a kiss to the crown of her head, glancing down. Now that he’s not surprised by its existence, he notices that she has a pretty damn gorgeous ass, as gorgeous as her tits. He can feel his cock stirring to life against her hip.

“Really?” Yennefer asks dryly.

“Well, we really should celebrate your success, which I was an instrumental part of.”

“You were bait.”

“It was my job to sit there and look edible and I did magnificently, thank you.” He goes to put his hands on his hips and strike a pose, forgetting something vital—that he's the one holding Yennefer upright. With a surprised cry, she topples sideways into the water.

"Oh, fuck, Yennefer!" Jaskier looks down in horror. Did she ever learn to swim with legs? Has he drowned Yennefer? He's about to dive in after her when her head appears about water, her hair plastered to her face and a murderous expression in her eyes.

"I can see why you had such a rapport with the seagulls," she spits. "You have the brains of one."

"Now, that's uncalled for." Jaskier holds out a hand to her. "I was about to stage a daring rescue."

"Were you now?" She ignores the hand. To his shock, two tentacles emerge from the water, leveraging her back onto the ledge. Her legs are gone, replaced by eight tentacles.

"Oh, gods." Jaskier claps a hand over his mouth. "I ruined it, didn't I? Fuck, how do we fix this? Do I need to be bait again? Because I'll be bait again, if I need to be. If you would just tie me up in a shadier spot, I'd appreciate—"

"You don't need to be bait." Yennefer's tentacles flick in annoyance, much like a cat's tail. It's kind of adorable, not that he'll ever tell her that. "I was warned that this could happen. Every time I get wet, I'll turn back into this." She gestures to herself. "When I dry off, I'll have legs again."

"That's not exactly convenient."

"No."

"Is there a way to fix it? Turn you entirely human?"

"There is," she says. "It won't be easy though."

"I'll help," he tells her. "Whatever you need. I'll do whatever I can."

She looks faintly surprised and he feels another jolt of sadness for her. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do." He offers her a rakish smile, because he feels like he's on the edge of saying too much and he needs to break the tension. "And in the meantime, I'd say a partial success is still worth celebrating. And I'm more than happy to help you celebrate."

Yennefer rolls her eyes.

“Your charitable spirit is admirable.”

“It’s a burden, but I’m happy to bear it.”

He thinks she might mutter something about him being a burden, but he’s too busy bending to kiss her to pay her any mind.

***

Twenty minutes later, Jaskier is feeling a little guilty for how much he's enjoying the continued existence of Yennefer's tentacles, though not guilty enough to dampen his arousal. She's lying on her back on the stone ledge with him suspended over her, a tentacle binding his wrists above his head, two more supporting his torso and legs while one thrusts inside him and one strokes his cock. She's already come twice and Jaskier can feel the heat building in his lower belly that tells him he's close.

He’s so focused on her that he’s entirely taken off guard when there’s a splash in the center of the cave and a shape comes bursting out of the water. Jaskier yelps and Yennefer throws out a hand, ready to cast a spell.

Then Jaskier makes sense of the dripping wet shape a few feet away. “Geralt?”

Yennefer lowers her hand. “This is the witcher?”

Geralt looks rather like a drowned rat with his soaking wet hair and his waterlogged clothes. He’s not wearing his armor or his swords—they probably would have been too heavy—but he’s clutching his silver dagger in his hand. Of course, being Geralt, he looks like the most most handsome drowned rat in existence. There’s a wild look in his eyes as he looks between Yennefer and Jaskier, breathing heavily.

“Jaskier.” His voice is a rasp. “They told me you… I thought… what the fuck.”

Jaskier smiles at his friend, very aware of the picture he must make, pinned in the air by Yennefer's tentacles and clearly enjoying every second of it. "Listen, I can explain."

***

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider leaving kudos and comments on AO3.

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

#the witcher #yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #jaskier/yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #sea witch yennefer of vengerberg #ghost's fic #ghost's writing

[thedemonofcat]

Born under the sea, Jaskier was a mermaid who had longed to walk on land. So when given the chance to make a deal with a witch to trade his fins for feet. Jaskier didn't hesitate to take it.

The deal was simple: Jaskier would get his legs and be allowed to walk on land, but one day, the witch would come and ask to use Jaskier's voice for a favour.

Soon, Jaskier started his life on land, becoming a Bard. What the witch didn't tell him was just how painful it would be to walk. Still, Jaskier decided to ignore that every step he took felt like knives stabbing at his feet as Jaskier started to follow Geralt around.

Then, when Geralt left Jaskier on top of the mountain, did Jaskier understand what heartbreak was. A part of Jaskier considers returning to the ocean to go back to being a mermaid.

But just as Jaskier was about to throw himself into the water below. The witch came to collect the favour.

#the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #the witcher #joey batey #jaskier the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #jaskier #gerskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #freya allan #headcanon #yennefer of vengerberg #anya cholatra #the witcher season 3 #anya chalotra #the witcher season three #mermaid jaskier #witcher yennefer

[cherryjuicegf]

He sees her last. After the blood and the gloom and the despair that plagued his sight, after the death and the wails and the pleas that teared at his chest, he sees her last.

Chaos, he thinks, has never looked more serene.

In another place, at another time, it would be beautiful.

Now Yennefer meets his eyes from across the hall and a sudden jolt shakes her whole and she runs, gods, she runs to him with such helplessness and relief that he knows he will welcome the most bruising hug, if it means it will keep her afloat. There is a weeping beauty in sadness, but not for her eyes. Never for her eyes.

As she buries her head in his shoulder, he feels her heart digging a hole in his chest. He holds her tight.

"Thank the gods," she whispers, as though to herself, "thank the gods you're alive."

In another place, at another time, he would make a joke, perhaps about the feeling not being mutual, just to steal a smile and a banter from her lips.

But he has no heart for that now. Not even for that.

He only has a chain clenched tight around his heart and gutting his voice in shame every time he opens his mouth to speak. "Yennefer, I–"

At once, she looks at him. "No words." As though she knows what he would say, as though she knows all he hasn't done, and mourns him anyway. She shakes her head, eyes huge and dark and pleading. "You can't stay here, it's dangerous. You have to go. You have to find Geralt."

"Yennefer, Yen– I know." His fingers dig into her arms and he can't bear to loosen his hold, he can't bear to let her go. Not yet. He smiles, soft. Leans to search for her eyes, for just a moment of peace in their turbulent current. "I just wanted to see my darling witch."

Yennefer stares at him for a moment, shoulders tense. Then, she huffs a laugh. Her expression softens, almost crumbles.

He feels her hands shaking where she holds him and the corners of her lips tremble as though with all the unspoken screams of the sea trapped into a single shell, wailing and weeping and waiting to be heard. He only wishes he had time to put her heart to his ear.

Her voice is quivering as she speaks. "I don't know where Ciri is," she says and it sounds like the complaint of a mother and a child crushed into one, like the world's cruelest crime, the earth's deepest regret, choked in swallowed tears. "I don't know where she is, I don't–"

She doesn't let her face break, as if she knows that when the bottle cracks, there will be no end or beginning, as if she knows he will only have to stay there, and hold her through it. And he cannot stay here between death's teeth.

She can't afford this too.

But he knows terror when he sees it in her eyes, for it is not frequent, and floods them with a different kind of darkness. It breaks his heart.

She looks at him for a moment deeply, in thought. Then she lets out a sharp breath. Quiet, exhausted. "Gods, Jaskier. I'm losing everything all over again. And then," she nods at him from tip to toe and laughs again, as though she finds it absurd, "here you are. Here you always are."

Maybe it sounds painful, because she winces.

Maybe she cannot bear looking at him, maybe in hope it will hurt less if she loses him. But Jaskier doesn't abandon her eyes, only stays there, because their violet melts just like then, just like that other time she was all bereft and scared and he got to see it, and knew. Yet again, a familiar kind of despair.

But, gods. What else could one make out of shared pain, except for love?

A tear flows down her cheek, and he wipes it away with his thumb before it shatters. He holds her face. "Hey. You are not in this fight alone." He swallows, voice thick, hand firm as though to caress the love on her skin and right into her. "Not anymore."

Oh, she has been alone for so long. So long that her first instinct is to disbelieve him, doubt him, squint. But it is only for a moment.

Because his thumb is still stroking her cheek clean of stray tears and her brows can only twitch in desperate acceptance as she slowly covers his hand with hers and leans into his touch, closes her eyes. Presses on, as though to memorize the shape of his palm when it's missing, as though asking of him to remember her shape.

Jaskier can't hear her, but feels her own voice in his head as he prays they don't become no more than a memory.

"We'll meet again." She looks at him again and now her voice is steadier.

It makes him smile. He will miss this. Offering a hand for her to lean into every now and then. Watching as she rises again, indelible.

A chuckle, as the curtain threatens to rise. "Eh, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Besides," he speaks softer now, like a lullaby, like a confession, "I could never be done with the likes of you, Yennefer of Vengerberg."

A promise.

And Yennefer smiles, through the tears, and shakes her head. How strange, how comforting. To fight so hard for a purpose, and to know the purpose is willing, at last, to fight back for you.

With a deep sigh, she raises her head. And there she is again. Solid, seething, like a burning hill. "Don't leave Geralt alone."

"You know I won't." Then, pleading. "Be strong."

He knows she will be. It's mostly to remind himself.

Slowly, their hands drop away, and he hopes the warmth of her touch lingers on his hand for a while.

"Be brave," she replies, but she knows too. "I won't be there to save you this time." Jaskier huffs, mostly to hold back tears. "Well, then," she continues, and her voice is suddenly strained in a half-laugh, half-sob, an attempt perhaps, to seal the promise back. "Goodbye. Good luck–"

Only, she can't.

Her voice dies in her throat, and she presses her lips together, in refusal, in grief. Her eyes are wet again.

Jaskier lets out a silent gasp and shakes his head, pulling her close one last time, tighter than before. This is too much. He can't ask for too much. So he only lets her steal some breaths from his chest before he lets her go, and places a kiss on her head.

He feels her holding her breath, or his, as she pulls back and silently looks at him one last time.

And then, like a cord snapping in two, she turns around and walks outside the room. She doesn't look back.

And Jaskier watches numb. Her form disappears behind the walls and he stands wrecked, a sob threatening to rip his throat apart.

Broken, trembling, he smiles at her remaining memory, and decides to seal her promise himself. "Good riddance."

His voice echoes back to him in the empty hall.

#hiii insane hour again!! who's asleep #anyway i want the equivalent of goodbye good luck good riddance in part 2 and if i can't have it i will do it myself #also not to get meta on my own fic but you know. the promise of meeting again returning back to jaskier. you know #the witcher #yennskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #s3 spoilers #the witcher s3 #fic recs #chrysa writes #or tries to idk i'm tired

[churchofpossum]

Another one of these! Yen as a Sea Witch, for the same person that commed Rogue Jaskier, Ranger Eskel and Paladin Geralt. 

#the witcher fanart #the witcher #dnd #dungeons and dragons #Yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg

[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) 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

[roughentumble]

anyway the royal woman "explains" everything to geralt, and suddenly he feels like an outsider all over again. he doesnt understand anything on land, all he's doing is holding jaskier back from his future. he feels stupid, for ever dreaming of a cottage by the sea with a prince. he decides to leave. jaskier sees him go, but isnt fast enough to stop him, is only fast enough to see a flash of scales as geralt regains his tail and hides away at the bottom of the sea.

jaskier visits the beach every day, hoping for geralt to come back, now that he knows geralt isnt just his friend, but also his handsome rescuer. and geralt knows because he hides by the dock, hoping to see jaskier finally moving on. but he doesnt.

geralt hides. he stays hidden. it's what's best for everyone, he reasons. he cries, merfolk tears turning to jewels on his cheeks. he feels foolish. he feels like he'll cry himself a whole new ocean.

he collects them all, takes them to yen to trade. they're very powerful and very rare, after all, a sea witch could do a lot with them. he manages to communicate to her-- his legs are gone but the deal still holds, he traded his voice-- that jaskier stays on the shore, that he cant live his life there. he wants yen to use her magic to make him leave, so he can move on and be happy with his fiancee. she considers his deal, then tells him to visit the beach in three days, when the sun is high overhead. she takes the gems.

she finds jaskier there. on the beach. and she makes him a deal, too. come to the beach in three day's time, when the sun is high and only when it's high, wearing two shirts and two pants. and he'll get the answer he seeks. he asks why she's doing this for him, and she says she's simply an interested party. and who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth?

when geralt arrives, the beach is empty. blessedly empty. his heart aches, because belonging and joy and a future has fled him, but at least jaskier can move on. he lays his head on the sand and rests.

a hand grabs his arm, tight. tight enough he cant slip away. his head jerks up and he sees jaskier, standing there, clinging to him like a lifeline. "geralt! it's you, it's really you! why did you leave me?" he begs

geralt twists and squirms, but he doesnt want to hurt jaskier, and he's at a disadvantage on his belly in the sand. it comes out, eventually. he signs that jaskier has a life. a future. "you cant stay on this beach forever. you have a fiancee. you'll be king." his face is screwed up in agony.

"oh geralt," he says, pets geralt's hair, pushes it out of his face. "that's not true at all." geralt's head whips around to stare at him. "im not engaged to anyone. and im too far down the line to gain the throne. what made you think that?"

geralt feels dumbfounded. betrayed. unthinkably foolish. "i dont understand." he signs, because he doesnt. he doesnt understand kings and princes and being the 8th son, he doesnt understand jaskier's eldest brother has a brood of children of his own, all of them more ready for the throne than jaskier will ever be. jaskier tries to explain, but mostly what it makes geralt get is that he was lied to, and he bought it. he wants to bury himself in the sand.

"geralt, darling, who told you all this? why did you think i was leaving you?" and geralt tells him, tells him about the royal who misled him, who wanted jaskier's hand and his position. and jaskier's face grows dark. "no. no, i wasnt promised to her. and i certainly never will be, now."

geralt's head is spinning. "it doesnt matter," he signs, "it's too late. you cant live your life stuck on this beach. i gave up my legs."

jaskier shakes his head. "of course i can. who cares about that?" jaskier says, breathless, "i always wanted a cottage by the sea."

and geralt cant help himself. he surges forward, lips meeting jaskier's. jaskier holds him tight, cradling his face so sweetly. its everything they wanted but have been denying themselves for so long

geralt doesnt know how, but when he pulls away he /knows/. he can feel it in his throat. merfolk sing to communicate, and he thinks back, remembers the tune they'd been singing on the ship before it capsized all that time ago. twists the words to make it his own he sings soft and sweet, a low murmur; "my heart is pierced by cupid / i disdain all glittering gold / there is nothing can console me / but my jolly sailor bold"

jaskier gapes at him. "his eyes are ocean waters / and his hair is like a foal's / i will follow where he leads me / wherever he may go"

"you-- your voice-- geralt, how" he starts, heart beating out of his chest, and geralt just shakes his head

"i have no idea. i just knew it was back."

"took you long enough to figure it out." yen says, and they both whip around to stare. she lounges back against the dock like she hasnt a care in the world. "honesty was all you needed to get back your voice."

"you set me up." geralt says, because she did.

"and it worked out for you." yen says, because it did.

"you know the sea witch?" jaskier asks, and they both snort.

"we're on again off again." yen replies dryly, "though it seems off again for the forseeable future." just to make them both turn red.

she removes a bottle from the bag she has slung around her hips. she holds it out to him. her eyes are softer then before. "merfolk tears. a powerful ingredient. since i did no magic here, i figure you could take back half the payment." geralt looks shocked. "plus a few other ingredients."

he takes it from her carefully. "you wont be a merfolk with legs if you drink this." she warns him. "you'll be human. your tail, your gills, the depths of the sea, will be lost to you forever. no going back."

he thinks about it for all of a few seconds before tilting his head back and swallowing it all. "that's what i figured." yen says quietly, a soft smile playing on her lips.

it hurts worse than the last time. scales slough off in so much bloody viscera, and jaskier's eyes well with tears as he holds geralt through it. yen stays for it all.

when it ends, finally, with geralt whole and human in jaskier's lap. there are scars on his legs, starting at his feet and running in a straight line all the way up to his crotch, as if his fin had been ripped in half. but he's whole, and he's human, and he kisses jaskier again. and again, and again, and again.

when they part for air, jaskier panting and geralt naked as the day he was born, jaskier's face lights up and he says "oh! that's why you told me to wear two!" he peels off one of two shirts to give to geralt, who looks at him quizzically. "i thought it was a magic thing, you sneak."

"it's a sort of magic." yen says, smiling slyly. "just remember, geralt-- you owe me for this." he nods in agreement, and she slinks back to the depths, the air too dry for her to stand much longer.

jaskier lends geralt a pair of pants as well, too tight but better than nothing. they walk back to the castle together, hand in hand. and in a few years' time, they get that cottage by the sea

#witcher tag #ogc tag

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Geralt and Yennifer: *arguing*

Geralt: hey Jaskier, isn’t it true that SpongeBob lives in a cucumber?

Jaskier: what?

Yennifer: for the last time, he lives in a fucking pineapple!

Geralt: no, it’s not. 🎵who lives in a cucumber under the sea? SpongeBob SquarePants🎶

Jaskier, internally: ah. Geralt is fucking with the witch. Excellent!

Jaskier: it’s a cucumber.

Yennifer: *looking betrayed and confused*

Geralt: Ha! Told you!

Yennifer: it fucking isn’t!

Jaskier: no. Geralt is right. It’s a cucumber. Correct number of syllables for the song and I can assure you, it’s a cucumber.

Yennifer: *stomps off*

Geralt: *leaves triumphant*

Jaskier: *goes back to his book and forgets all about it*

(Jaskier, Geralt, and Ciri are watching TV and SpongeBob comes on)

Geralt, angry: you lied to me!

Jaskier: um… about what?

Geralt: ABOUT THE CUCUMBER!

Jaskier: …

Jaskier: darling, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.

Geralt: you told me and Yen that SpongeBob lived in a cucumber under the sea. You lied!

Jaskier: *suddenly remembering and realizing what’s happened*

Jaskier: *laughs*

Geralt: hmm!

Jaskier: you… haha! You were serious?! Bahahaha!!!

Geralt: of course I was serious!

Jaskier: I thought you were fucking with Yen!!! Bahahahaha!

Geralt: hmm?

Jaskier: and I… hahaha!! I thought I was helping you with the prank!!!! *dissolves into a laughing puddle*

Geralt: I was asking for your help and you thought I was joking?

Jaskier: Everyone knows it’s a pineapple, Geralt! Except maybe Yennifer for being too old and stuffy to have watched SpongeBob!

Geralt: hmmm!

Jaskier: I assumed you knew because Ciri and I watch it and you’re there. But no! You thought it was a cucumber!

Ciri: Shhhh!!!!

Geralt: *storms away*

Jaskier: *realizes how mad Geralt is*

Jaskier: Geralt. Geralt, I’m sorry. I truly didn’t mean to mislead you! Come back!

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher netflix #geralt x jaskier #dandelion #witcher #julian alfred pankratz #witcher yennefer #yennifer #spongebob #this actually happened to me in high school #I thought my friend was messing with out other friend that was from a very religious sheltered family #I didn’t know his family didn’t have cable #so I was sure he was messing with her #nope. apparently not #witcher cirilla #princess cirilla

[destiel-inpurgaytory]

I cannot be the only one who thinks of Jaskier as the most chaotic character they've ever loved, right? Man full on saw a man brooding in the corner, meaning to get railed, proceeded to invite himself on a bunch of different quests with said broody man, told broody man to protect him from lords that wanted him dead, got broody man a child surprise, found broody man once again, found a djinn, stole it from broody man, asked for a woman who didn't love him to love him again, and for all his enemies to die a horrible death, asked if he fucked a terrifying witch, meaning he would, hit on a fucking warrior woman who could easily snap him like a twig, went on a dragon hunt because broody man was going, and got dumped by broody man, and wrote the most epic break up song in history. That's only listing season one, don't even get me started on season two, I'm gonna start season two, gave Taylor Swift a run for her money with Burn Butcher Burn, helped elves get across the sea not caring what happened to him, helped Yennefer, got kidnapped, got saved by Yennefer, still cracking jokes even though he almost died, told a prison guard to go fuck himself, went to Kaer Morhen straight up started eating a bowl of god knows what in a Witcher lab, for all he could know could kill him, tried to give broody man a fancy rock, and instead almost died again, got captured again, and was fully prepared to fuck his clone?!?! I can't even believe he's an actual character, he's so fucking funny I can't

#why is jaskier like this #jaskier #the witcher #dandelion #joey batey #he's to be protected at all costs #chaotic bisexual

[fangirleaconmigo]

I wrote my first full Geraskefer (Geralt x Yen x Jaskier poly) fic! It's a..."it's not really unrequited, Jaskier is just a dumdum" fic. It has a POV chapter for each character.

It is below AND on Ao3 (5k words)

I wrote it as part of a fandom event with @witcherficwriters for @demeter918

Jaskier

When Jaskier fell in love with Geralt, it hit him hard and fast--like an arrow straight to the heart. Yen was different. Falling for her had worked like a poison, like droplets in his wine, building up in his body unnoticed, year after year until he was weak and unsteady.

That was the truth of the matter. But it all sounded so cliche.

Bollocks. 

His metaphors needed work.

Jaskier leaned against a large oak tree and picked at his lute. Every few notes, he stopped to scratch lyrics on his parchment. 

He needed something that rhymed with venom.

Jaskier was in a forest, by himself, half drunk. His heart ached in the empty place where his friends used to be. Once upon a time, this had all been easier. Simpler. He had known his role and had played it well. 

In the first several decades of his relationship with Geralt, Jaskier was the one who picked up the pieces. The witcher and the witch were always at each other’s throats, always scratching each other’s eyes out. When the fights were over and the dust had settled, Jaskier was always there with a pint and a friendly ear.

Then, after Voleth Meir, things changed. It had felt so odd, drifting away from Geralt, and being there for Yennefer during that cold, brutal phase when Geralt wanted nothing to do with her. Jaskier was the only one left in Kaer Morhen who provided her with any warmth. He was the only one who she could turn to.

If you asked an average member of the public to describe the famous troubadour Jaskier, you would be hard pressed to find someone who would use the terms reliable or constant. And yet? That was what he had been for them--his witcher and his witch. Jaskier had always been their port in the storm. 

And while it had certainly troubled him over the years to see his friends hurting, he found comfort in helping. And, if he were honest, he may possibly have felt a tiny bit smug. A little, itty bit superior. While they fought, he patiently counseled. While they scratched and hissed, he embraced and listened.

The childish, fickle poet got to play the hero.

It had taken the sting out of the unrequited yearning. 

But then the worst thing possible happened. Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg made up. And not just temporarily. 

They grew. 

They matured. 

Parenting Ciri together eventually brought them closer than ever. And about six months ago, Geralt and Yen had purchased a lovely home by the sea. 

THE SEA.

Jaskier’s face screwed up like he’d sucked a lemon. He spat on the ground next to him. 

What rhymed with betrayal?

He had always understood that he was the friend, not the lover. It was true that both Geralt and Yen had kissed him at different points in their sordid histories. Each moment was burned into his memories for good. He was convinced that on his deathbed, the phantom caress of their lips would carry him back to the soil. 

But every kiss, every touch that strayed from the bounds of friendship, had always felt furtive. Stolen. They had never spoken of it, and Geralt and Yen had always returned to one another. 

Up until about six months ago, he thought he was fine with that. 

But this new home by the sea changed everything. It was physical, conclusive evidence that they would be settling down together. Making a life. A future. Without him.

After about a month, the dinner invitations began to arrive for him at Oxenfurt. He would sit at his desk in silence and stare at the curled up parchment, picturing sitting around the table with Yen and Geralt. His heart ached with yearning for them. But he would only get as far as imagining what it would feel like to see their clothing hanging together, to sit on the furniture they picked out as a couple, and to witness their contented smiles, before he grew sullen and resentful.

Dinner.

Dinner in the home he was not a part of. 

But he couldn’t say no. There was no rational reason to say no to generous invitations from cherished friends. So he decided to pretend he hadn’t received the invitations. He fled Oxenfurt for some conveniently timed walkabouts. They, however, knew he liked to hang around Posada, so an invitation had arrived for him there. So, Jaskier took off again. And again. And again. That was how he’d arrived where he was, on the outskirts of bum fuck nowhere, drunken and writing shitty ballads. 

He tried to play another stanza, but the notes slipped from underneath his fingers, and dropped like bricks, making a discordant sound. 

It was twilight. He looked at the empty wine flask at his knee. Shit. He may as well stop for the evening and stagger to an inn. Maybe the solution was to get more drunk. Yes Jaskier, he said to himself, that was a wise choice indeed.

“Master Jaskier!” A messenger boy popped out from the bushes.

Jaskier shrieked in surprise. The messenger boy was startled by his outburst, and shrieked in return. He was young, barely out of adolescence, wearing a hat pulled down to his prominent ears. 

Jaskier clasped his chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” He shouted, affronted. “You rogue! You snot nosed, uhhhh,” his brain was foggy, so his voice trailed off, not able to come up with any better insult than uhhhh.

“I apologize sir!” the messenger pleaded, “but I’ve been tracking you for ages. You’re a tough man to catch.”

Jaskier swore under his breath. He thought he’d lost the little bugger. What happened to standards? What happened to work ethic? The messengers were rapidly gaining both, and it troubled him. You could barely escape a legal summons anymore, nor messages from your dearest friends.

“I have another message from Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg and Sir Geralt of Rivia.” He held out a cream colored square of paper. It was a lush envelope this time, affixed with a black and white seal.

Geralt and Yen had designed their own seal to affix to the envelopes and parchments that they sent as a couple. 

It was so very...

Jaskier eyed his lute, instead of the messenger boy. He just needed a word that rhymed with cloying.

The boy waved the envelope impatiently in front of his nose. The slight scent of lilac and gooseberries wafted towards him. Scent was a funny thing. A funny and powerful thing. This particular scent brought very specific memories roaring back to life. It brought back Kaer Morhen, in the wreckage of Voleth Meir, when his arms cradled the petite frame of one raven haired sorceress as she quietly pretended not to cry.

Suddenly, Jaskier felt like a complete ass.

He swiped the envelope, and sent the boy away with free advice to never ever fall in love. He sat back hard against the rock and opened the envelope, reading it against the dying of the light.

Yennefer

It was raining.

Yennefer had not planned for rain.

She straightened the silverware again and smoothed out the napkin. Damnit. She was turning into Tissaia.

“Why is he avoiding us?” she demanded. “We’ve sent him ten invitations by now. He’s gotten at least one, there’s no way he hasn’t.”

Yennefer couldn’t bring herself to speak her real fear aloud. Does he not want us? No. Of course he wants Geralt. Is it me? Does he not want me? A warm hand covered her own. She raised her eyes. 

“He’ll be here,” Geralt assured her.

They sat together, on either side of a table for four. There was one more place setting immaculately staged in front of the empty chair. Geralt and Yen sat in silence, listening to the rain tap on the roof.

“It is so rude not of him not to answer. He should at least say yes or no.”

“He’s an ass,” hummed Geralt. “But he’ll be here.”

Yennefer nodded. He would be here. He would. He would come and she would show him the house that they bought and decorated with care and love, and she would feed him the food that she and Geralt had made with their own hands. She would tell him about the town, how lovely and vibrant it was and how well he would fit in. And when he had seen everything this particular life had to offer him, they would make him a proposition. They would extend him an invitation.

“And what if he does come?” Yennefer blurted out. “What if he does come, and when we make our offer, he thinks we’re some kind of degenerates? What if he laughs, what if he--”

Geralt snorted. “Jaskier?” He laughed. “He’s the worst degenerate I have ever met.”

Yennefer swatted his arm softly. “Well, we aren’t. Not really.”

Geralt leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. “You’re nervous. Don’t be nervous. And don’t read his thoughts when he gets here. He hates that. If the answer is no, then it’s no.”

Yennefer leaned into his kiss and sighed. The fireplace crackled. The wind ripped through the branches of the olive tree by the window, and it sent leaves flicking against the window. She turned and pressed her lips softly into his. Her eyes closed and she inhaled his warmth, his scent. 

Her dear witcher. Her Geralt. Finally they were getting the chance to rest together. To build a life. She let out a trembling breath as she pulled away and opened her eyes. She gazed at him fondly.

“This is all your fault, Geralt. I blame you entirely.” 

Geralt grimaced and gave her The Look.

“It is,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t brought that beastly little man into my life, if you hadn’t introduced us, if you hadn’t made him marginally more tolerable by your association with him, I would never have taken him more seriously than I ever should have.”

“Yen.” Geralt leaned towards her, looking patient and understanding. 

“He’s a bastard and I don’t even care,” she protested. “And what is more, I never should have.”

“Yen,” Geralt said again, like he was comforting a cranky child. 

It made her feel like a cranky child and her voice grew louder. “And I don’t! I don’t care! I haven’t. And what’s more, I don’t even care if he comes tonight. If he knocked right now, I don’t know if I’d even answer it, I’d leave him outside to drown, and catch cold, and it would serve him right--”

Her tirade was suddenly muffled by the sound of a bang on the door.

Yennefer and Geralt leapt to their feet, rattling the dishes. They stood, facing each other in the candlelight, the moment hanging in the air. Geralt smiled in that way that said I told you so. Yennefer grinned back at him.

The sorceress tore open the door.

There he was, ragged and sopping wet, dripping water onto her landing. The sight of his face after so long was overwhelming. 

“Hello?” he said, though he said it like a question. “You summoned a bard?” He laughed weakly.

“Well it’s about time. Come in,” Yen said. “You look like a wet alley cat, and you smell like it too.”

Jaskier stepped inside, water dripping onto the rug. He looked at her, and his eyes seemed to have gotten even more blue, if that were possible. They stared at one another for a tense moment. This was normally the moment in which he would either compliment or insult her lavishly. 

But he didn’t. He smiled tentatively and he seemed, well, Yennefer wasn’t sure how he seemed. Apprehensive? Nervous? She began to reach out with her mind out of habit. Geralt preferred for her to read his mind rather than to be forced to speak his, so she’d gotten into the habit.

But she felt Geralt’s urgent hand on the small of her back and she yanked her mind back like she had touched a hot stove. 

Jaskier opened his arms, and with a voice that sounded cheerful and forced, said “Well. Don’t just stand there, rejoice! The famous bard Jaskier graces your humble home.”

“Yes, and you look ridiculous.” Yennefer touched the sad soaking feather drooping from his hat. “I think it’s dead, bard.” She tugged on the top of his boots. “And what the fuck are you doing wearing these in this downpour? Are they rainwater collection devices?”

Jaskier yanked her into an embrace. It was cold and wet and jarring. It also made her heart leap with joy and her eyes prickle with tears. Geralt wrapped his arms around the two of them, and didn’t let them go until he heard Jaskier’s teeth begin to chatter.

Geralt

Sometimes, when Geralt found himself in awkward social situations, he pretended that he was on a hunt. He would gather data with his senses instead of worrying about what he would say next.

This was one of those moments. Instead of letting the uncertain tension in the room seep into him, he looked around and gathered data. 

Geralt sat in his own dining room, at a teak table he had made with his own hands. The table settings had been done by a servant girl called Fiona who came over for a few hours on odd days. She had folded the napkins into birds. They were lined up like little soldiers, ready to absorb the detritus of dinner.

Yen sat to his right. She had on one of those soft gowns that she often wore around the house.  It was a crushed velvet green that made her look like she glowed from within. Whenever she wore it, he had to be careful how he touched her if he wanted to get anything productive done that day. The fabric was warm and flimsy and it drove him insane the way it slid under his fingers. It was a vulnerable, gossamer barrier between his desire and her bare body that felt like it could be removed with just one tug. Whenever she wore it, it was all he could do to keep the wolf in check and his hands to himself.

“I can’t believe you like these old things,” she would sniff. 

But she knew. She loved to provoke him, then trap him between her thighs. He loved that too.

He inhaled, and she smelled as she always did. The scent of lilac and gooseberries had grown to become the scent of home, calming him on contact. Beneath that scent was her beauty potions. She had spent twice as long on her face and hair that morning, though he’d known better than to call attention to it. It was her armor. Her arsenal. It was all in preparation for this; this battle with her fear of being rejected.

That was another thing he wasn’t allowed to speak, but he knew it to be true. Geralt always assumed rejection was imminent, so he was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t receive it. But Yen had more pride than he did. In some ways, she was more vulnerable, though if he said that aloud he’d lose his nuts. He understood though. He looked at her softly, as she faced off with his oldest, dearest friend, her fingers clenching her knees under the table.

Geralt had been trying to avoid really looking at Jaskier, but now he did. He had to gather data, after all.

His gaze settled on Jaskier, and he tried to empty his mind.

The bard had been soaked to the bone, so Yen had offered him a fresh change of dry clothes. It was perfectly logical. But now Jaskier sat directly across from Geralt, wearing the witcher’s clothes. 

The fireplace was directly behind the bard, which was a problem. Geralt’s tunic hung half off one of his shoulders, so the loose fabric was made transparent by the back lighting. The shape of Jaskier’s strong shoulders and the thick pelt he called chest hair was entirely too visible for the witcher’s comfort. The light from behind made his half wet hair look like a bedraggled halo, which, unfortunately, Geralt also found very charming. But most distracting of all was the scent. Jaskier had dried himself, but the subtle scent of fresh rain clung to his skin, mixing with the scent of Geralt. 

It provoked a territorial instinct in the witcher that he was trying to tamp down on. This was a delicate situation, and he didn’t need to add flame to the fire. But it was no use. When he looked at Jaskier in his clothes, a voice within him growled.

Mine. Fucking Mine.

Back in the day, Geralt had never gotten enough of Jaskier to sate him. They’d kissed and groped in the cover of darkness, but things had been so chaotic then. 

Everything then had been about Ciri. About survival. They were on the run from every power hungry bastard on the continent. There had been nothing left for what he wanted. When the dust cleared, he and Yen had made their way back to each other first. They were both focused on Ciri, after all. They had built their bridges. But he hadn’t meant to leave Jaskier behind.

Geralt looked at his friend now, and all he could think about was all the things he had never gotten to do. He’d kissed him. But had he kissed him properly? Tenderly? Like he meant it? Had he even paid attention? And what about all the places on Jaskier’s body that he had yet to touch or see in the beauty of daylight? 

“Don’t you think, Geralt?” Yen asked, voice sounding tense.

Geralt startled. “What, dear?” 

Shit. What had he missed? 

Yen smiled, tight lipped. “Don’t you think this is a lovely area, Geralt? A great place to live? Doesn’t it have a thriving artistic community with plenty of bards and craftsmen and artists around?”

Geralt smiled too. “Yes. Yes. Definitely.” He wanted Jaskier to want to live here, and it seemed like just the thing to say. “Lots of bards.”

But Jaskier looked pained. “Other bards, you say?”

“No.” Geralt blurted out. “No. None. No other bards anywhere.”

Yennefer sighed. There was an awkward pause and he could see the gears turning. She was changing tactics. “How about a tour of the house?”

Again, Jaskier smiled but looked pained. Geralt felt like they were torturing the man, but he wasn’t sure how. He understood Yen’s impulse towards mind reading sometimes. “Yes,” Geralt answered. “A tour.”

“No! No thank you!” Jaskier said, a little too loudly. “I can see it from here!”

Yen and Geralt had already pushed away their plates and begun to stand. They plopped back down again. 

Jaskier coughed and fiddled with his napkin. The little bird had long since unfolded into a shapeless mass, yet his napkin was still clean. Geralt looked at his plate. He and Yen had eaten their entire meals, but Jaskier hadn’t taken a bite.

“What’s the matter?” Geralt leaned forward and instinctively put his hand on the table, reaching towards his friend. Jaskier glanced at it and his face fell.

“I saw the room. When I was changing.”

“Your room?” asked Yen, her voice tight. “You don’t like it.”

Jaskier looked down at his napkin again, as he pinched and twisted it. “I do, it’s lovely. I saw that you put a lithograph up for each of my favorite bawdy houses in each of my favorite cities.” He smiled, and his eyes looked like they were growing wet. “And you put dried buttercups and music sheets.” He finally looked up at them. “It is so thoughtful and kind. You are the best friends anyone could hope to have.”

Yen leaned forward now too. She held Jaskier’s hand until his fingers stopped fluttering. Their eyes met. “Then what is wrong?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt and then back at Yen. “I wish the two of you weren’t so fucking kind. Because that means I must be honest with you.”

“Honest?” Geralt asked. “About what?”

Jaskier slipped his hand free of Yen and sat back in his chair. She returned her hands to her lap, so Geralt reached under the table and laced his fingers together with hers. They were clammy and nervous.

Jaskier looked at the ceiling. “I’m a selfish cunt.” He looked back at them, more confident now. “Alright?”

“Yes,” Yen agreed. “We know that.”

Jaskier continued as though she hadn’t said anything. “I am not worthy of your friendship. Because,” He drew in a slow breath, then released it, “I want more.”

“More?” asked Geralt.

Jaskier swallowed. “Geralt, I have all of these feelings. I tried to deny them. I tried to change them. I don’t want to feel this way.” He was speaking so fast now, Geralt was having trouble keeping up. “But I do. So I am not going to be able to come and stay here just yet, in this beautiful room, not until I can calm this beast in my heart, and can accept the love of your friendship without wanting more. It’s why I avoided your invitations. Instead of answering honestly, I avoided you, and now I must decline your hospitality for the foreseeable future. Because,” he tapped the table a few times, “I am a selfish cunt.”

There was a moment of silence between them, though the fire crackled away noisily.

Yen cleared her throat. “You want more? From who? Which one of us are you talking about? Me, or Geralt?”

Jaskier’s shoulders drooped. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

There was a longer moment of silence. It was a delicate, brittle silence, as they all sat, trying to grasp for their next words. Geralt finally broke the silence.

“Why don’t we take that tour of the house.” He slipped his hands around Yen’s waist. “Let’s show him the bedroom.”

Jaskier squeaked a protest. “Geralt, you weren’t listening, please don’t do this to me--”

But Yennefer was up in a flash, tugging him by the hand. 

Jaskier

Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled along because he didn’t want to fight with Yen. But when he stepped into the bedroom, his heart sank, exactly as he was expecting it to.

It was a lovely room. It reflected the elegance and taste of Yen, but it was unfussy in a way that felt like Geralt. The bed was large enough to accommodate a small army. They must have had it made special so they could be as acrobatic as Yen wanted to be.

Jaskier swallowed down the lump in his throat. They could both be so kind, and yet so cruel. He’d said he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to see where they carried on without him.

“Jaskier.” 

Yen was still holding his hand. He focused on her, and immediately regretted it. He felt vulnerable. His eyes were prickling, his throat constricting. And despite his emotional turmoil, he still felt that old attraction to her.

How could he not?

Look at her.

Those incomparable, violet, doe eyes. The softness of her hands. The shameless grace of her low swooping neckline which, from his higher perspective, revealed most of her lovely breasts. They’d been in his mouth once, on his lips.

He cleared his throat and corrected his wandering gaze. “Yes?”

She stepped close. Too close. He became aware of his quickening pulse. He glanced nervously at Geralt. Geralt sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands. He didn’t seem concerned that the love of his life was a bit too close to his best friend.

Yen cradled his face, forcing him to look at her once more.

“Yes?” he repeated doubtfully, his voice cracking like an adolescent.

Yen pushed up onto her toes and gently tugged him down, just as she pressed her lips to his. They were pliant and petal soft, and before he could think, he moaned and clasped her slight waist, clenching her tight.

Yen, lovely Yen, pressed into his lips with her tongue. There was no mistaking this kiss for anything friendly.

Panic came roaring back, and Jaskier dropped her waist and stumbled backwards, covering his mouth. He was too ashamed to look at Geralt. “Geralt,” he croaked. “No. I mean. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

His back hit the wall. Yen was looking at him like she did sometimes. Like she thought he was a fool, but she was resigned to it. She shook her head as though regretting all of her life choices. “Geralt?” she asked.

Geralt stood up from the bed, almost lazily. He stretched, giving Jaskier a moment to admire him too. He wore a tunic much like the one Jaskier had on. When he stretched, he revealed a sliver of belly. He’d been eating better, and he looked thicker than Jaskier remembered. He looked absolutely divine.

While Jaskier was busy admiring him, the witcher took three long steps towards him. The witcher was so large and broad, but he moved so gracefully that it made Jaskier’s head spin. 

Jaskier tensed. He wasn’t sure why. What would Geralt do to him? He lifted his arms in defeat.

But Geralt was not angry. He did not push him, or anything else Jaskier feared. Instead, the witcher looped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and spun him.

Jaskier felt the room spin and his body drop. Geralt was dipping him. 

He managed to relax and let himself be thrown backwards into Geralt’s arms. Then Geralt leaned down and their foreheads touched, their lips were so close together. 

Jaskier smiled tentatively and touched Geralt’s cheek.

Then, Geralt kissed him, fiery and passionate. It was just like some romance novel. Jaskier let himself go. He sunk into Geralt’s arms and pressed into his kiss. Some part of Jaskier’s mind was vaguely aware that Yen was watching them. 

When Geralt returned him to his feet, Jaskier was dizzy. He was giggling like a schoolgirl, and he was dizzy.

“Do you understand now, bard?” teased Geralt.

Jaskier touched his own lips and looked from Geralt to Yen. “Oh.”

It was all he could say. He was a poet, damnit. A poet.

Oh.

Yen giggled too. She did that so rarely. It was a fucking gorgeous sound. A girlish, carefree sound that she so rarely made. “Moron,” she said, as she threw herself into his arms. 

Jaskier nodded, in a daze, stroking the small of her back and pressing a kiss to her hair. “I think I get it,” he said, his voice rough.

“There are three pillows on the bed, Jaskier,” said Geralt. He pointed at the bed. And yes, it was true. “There are three hooks by the door,” Geralt continued, “for robes and things--” his voice trailed off.

“We made you a room,” said Yen, voice muffled by being pressed into Jaskier’s chest, “just so you could have your own space if you want it. But we want you to live in this one, with us.”

Geralt draped his arms around them, encircling both of them. “You only need to use your room when you want privacy or need a break.” He kissed the top of Yen’s head. Then he kissed Jaskier’s temple.

Jaskier was never speechless. He always had something to say. But he could not quite believe that life would give him this blessing. After everything they had been through. After the pain, and torture, after the imprisonment, the loss.

He was really going to get to have this.

“Well,” Yen asked. “What do you say, bard? Cat got your tongue?”

Jaskier let his head drop onto Geralt’s impossibly round, impossibly solid shoulder.  ‘I accept,” he said. “I accept.”

-----

Jaskier had, of course, had sex with multiple people at once. When he could afford to, or he was on someone else’s dime, he paid for multiple people to attend to him at the brothels. There were also those nights when he had several fans who wanted him after a performance, and weren’t averse to sharing. He loved the attention, that was no secret.

But this.

This was something new.

He had never made love to two people at once, not people that he would lay down his life for. And while he was aware that some people had more than two individuals in their relationships, he supposed it hadn’t occurred to him that Yen and Geralt might be like that, and for him of all people.

He was nervous at first. But when he saw that touching Geralt made Yen smile, and that touching Yen made Geralt’s eyes darken with lust, he relaxed. 

When Geralt and Yen asked him what he wanted, he was in such shock that he fell back into old habits. He grasped Yen’s thighs and ate her out like she was his last meal, though he had never done that with Geralt fucking him from behind. It was unspeakably sexy. It also made him feel important that two people like Geralt and Yen wanted him like that.

They learned how to move together, they touched one another, kissed one another, and rolled around together on the bed big enough for an army.

When they lay in the afterglow, Jaskier asked if he’d died and gone to heaven. It was truly difficult to fathom that he could have both. Choosing anything was the bane of his existence and it seemed too good to be true that it would not be required of him.

Geralt assured him that when Yen began to use his legs to warm her feet, he would change his tune.

“That’s the main reason you’re here, bard,” Geralt had said. “I was tired of being the foot warmer.”

That night, Jaskier fell asleep with a contented sigh on his lips. 

He was with Yen. He was with Geralt. He was home. Home at the house on the sea.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskefer #descarada writes #geralt x yennefer x jaskier

[samstree]

Beneath the Winter Snow (1/2)

The care and keeping of one’s bard and winter garden. Jaskier falls ill. Geralt copes as best as he can. (sickfic, 3.8k ☆ AO3)

Winter arrives with a small cough that settles deep in Jaskier’s lungs.

“Oh, dear.” Jaskier rubs his chest, coughing a few times, breaths forming a white fog. “What is with me today?”

Temperature near the coast rarely drops so suddenly, but a cold gust has swept over the little fishing village along with freezing rain, catching them off guard. Frost covers the ground overnight, lining bare branches and fallen leaves with glistening silver.

Geralt tucks in the woolen scarf around Jaskier’s neck. “Perhaps you should go in,” he says. “I’ll finish in the garden.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier pushes Geralt’s gloved hands away. “It’s our winter garden. I will not leave all the chores to you, darling, no matter how adorable you look when you give the plants little pep talks. The next frost won’t be long, and we haven’t planted the honeysuckles yet.”

Jaskier’s voice breaks with another wheezing sound. Geralt’s worry only grows. He frowns in dissatisfaction and pulls the fur-lined hood over Jaskier’s head.

“I know,” Geralt ignores Jaskier’s protest and presses his ears to keep them warm. “Just don’t want you to catch a cold.”

The crow’s feet at Jaskier’s temples are beautiful when his smiles, understanding shining in eyes as blue as the sea. Hair peppered with silver streaks sweeps across his forehead in the wind, and Geralt brushes the strands away, tucking them behind Jaskier’s ears.

“You take care of me too well. I won’t be catching anything,” Jaskier says coyly, his cheeks pink from both the winter chill and a blush. “Come on. I’ll do the honeysuckles and witch hazels. You can trim the hydrangeas for us.”

“Hmm, just…be careful with your knees.”

Geralt isn’t convinced by Jaskier’s reassurance, but they start the chores while there’s still daylight. The air smells like fresh rain as Jaskier plants the seeds in damp soil, humming an absent tune. Geralt trims the bare branches with half of his senses tuned into every subtle cough under Jaskier’s breath.

The sun barely sets before Geralt calls it a day, the few pots of witch hazels still not moved into the ground. Jaskier’s legs wobble as he stands, his hands resting on Geralt’s shoulders to steady himself.

“Alright?” Geralt checks carefully, studying the tiredness in Jaskier’s features.

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier’s eyes crinkle. “Getting old, is all. The good days of me walking all day without complaints are long gone, dear witcher.”

“Without complaints?” Geralt gives a look. “Sure.”

Jaskier gasps in offense, starting to ramble about how he was the picture of suffering in stoic silence, but Geralt only ushers him indoors, shaking his head. The warm air of their home surrounds them, and they begin another evening routine.

Geralt helps Jaskier out of his garden gears from muscle memory, helping him out of the sturdy boots and thick coats. He then puts all the tools in the closet, before retrieving the blankets to put on Jaskier’s lap so he can relax in front of the fireplace in the soft armchair.

He almost thinks Jaskier has drifted off if not for the occasional coughs that bubble up in his throat. The harsh sound interrupts the quiet crackling of the fire, piercing the most vulnerable part of Geralt’s heart.

So he finds the book.

It’s a leather-bound notebook Geralt keeps solely for Jaskier’s health, recording all the medicine he takes, all the trips to the local healer, and all the herbs that fill up that cupboard in their living room. The book is half full already, with pieces of notes and remedies pressed between the pages.

Geralt checks the herbs they used last time—a small cold Jaskier caught in the spring that didn’t bother him for too long. He finds the turmeric, slippery elm, and ginger root in the cupboard, but the peppermint leaves have dried up along with a few other things. He writes down the list of things to be restocked on the next trip to the herbalist.

“You and that book,” Jaskier grumbles, stretching in the comfortable chair. “Stop worrying and come sit with me.”

Geralt simply bends down to kiss Jaskier’s hair, passing him. He has water to boil and a herbal tea to make.

“Any headache?” Geralt asks from the kitchen, not sure if he should use willow bark in the mix.

“Only from your fussing,” Jaskier whines.

Geralt chuckles as he puts away the willow bark and adds a generous scoop of honey. Gods know how long Jaskier will complain if the tea is too bitter.

When he brings the steaming mug of pungent herbal tea to the living room, Jaskier deflates visibly, lips curling into a pout from the unfairness of it all. “You know, no amount of honey hides the taste.

“I know,” Geralt answers in sympathy, “but it helps.”

Jaskier sighs, wrapping his hands around the mug. “Urgh, the things I do for you.”

Geralt sits on the rug by Jaskier’s feet as he sips slowly, grimacing the entire time. In the end, Jaskier chugs the last of it with a full-body shudder, wiping his mouth clean.

“Proud of you,” Geralt says, rubbing Jaskier’s thigh in encouragement.

“Of course you are. I’m the bravest bard to ever walk the continent. Brave enough to drink this vile liquid.” Jaskier puts the mug on the table, tugging at Geralt’s arms. “Just come here, you.”

Geralt joins him gladly, squeezing into the armchair. With a bit of shuffling, somehow Jaskier ends up on Geralt’s lap, his head tucked in the space under Geralt’s chin, the scent of mixed herbs still in his breath.

“Hmm,” Geralt hums softly. “Your knees okay? Not bothering you?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier whispers, kissing Geralt’s neck. “Yours?”

Geralt moves his bad knee slightly and feels no pain flaring up. The chores they did earlier were not nearly enough to exert his old injuries. He just wants to focus on his human bard who needs a lot more care and attention than a witcher.

“I’m fine,” Geralt says. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Too late. I have to.” Jaskier sags, burrowing into Geralt’s embrace. “I made you my problem a very long time ago, in a most horrid tavern at the edge of the world. You are the one who should want to run away from all of this. You didn’t sign up for taking care of an old human, after all.”

Jaskier takes to coughing again, so Geralt strokes between his shoulder blades.

It’s true that Geralt wouldn’t have chosen this life back then, in a dingy tavern where an annoying bard decided to follow him around the continent like a lost puppy. Had it been up to him, he’d never have grown to care for Jaskier or anyone after. Had it been up to him, he would still be walking the path alone with only the company of Roach. He’d not need to build a winter garden, or keep a collection of medicine, or have Jaskier here with him, in his arms, soothed by his presence.

It would be a living nightmare, compared to the dream that is his life right now.

“Don’t,” Geralt whispers as Jaskier catches his breath. “Don’t say that. I’d fight anyone who tries to take this away from me. You know it.”

“I just don’t want you to take on too much, darling. You’ve spent the past few years caring for me. All you do is scribble in that damn book. Don’t get me wrong, I love the attention.” Jaskier huffs. “But I want you to feel supported too, and I fear—well, I fear I won’t be able to do that for you. Not anymore.”

It’s ridiculous Jaskier still puts Geralt’s needs before his, but he does, and he will always want to.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it,” Geralt repeats, not sure how convincing he is. “Everything I need is right here.”

He just needs Jaskier to be alright. As long as Jaskier is healthy and safe, Geralt doesn’t think of much else.

They stay there like this, in front of the crackling fire on a winter night, with Jaskier warm and tired, resting against Geralt’s shoulder.

The cough won’t go away.

As the days shorten and the chill sets in, Jaskier spends more and more time hacking up a lung, and his energy drains with it. The bad days will leave him exhausted. Even a good day can quickly turn into a bad one with a mere gust of wind.

The night stretches forever near solstice. With daylight waning, Geralt takes up all the gardening to keep Jaskier from the cold. He is just checking on the hydrangeas blooms when the faint strumming of the lute comes from their bedroom window.

It’s been too long since Jaskier last sang.

The coughs leave Jaskier’s voice hoarse, the brightness in his songs diminished by the constant exertion, but his spirit remains. It’s a ballad, a love story, as it always is. Unlike those famous works from his youth singing about heartbreak, this song is about a love that matured over the years. This song sings of quiet mornings and hushed conversations, of secret jokes and companionship.

It’s about them.

Geralt stops to listen as the melody wraps deep around his heart, smoothing over all the tension in his body. He listens as the song comes to an end, fading with the warmth of trust and security.

A cough wrecks Jaskier’s voice. The lute drops to the ground, the strings clanging. Geralt is in the cottage within a few strides, running into their bedroom.

There Jaskier is, perched on the bed, body shaking from another coughing fit, the rattling in his lungs like an old ship.

“I’m—” Jaskier wheezes, trying to smile but only manages a pained grimace. “I’m fi—”

“Hey.” Geralt brings Jaskier into his arms, stroking his back with long, patient movement. “Hush now, don’t speak. It’s alright. Take your time.”

Jaskier ends up slumped against Geralt’s shoulder, clutching at his chest, coughing erratically. The sharp, acrid scent of pain grows as he wheezes. Geralt’s hands act on instinct, soothing, comforting, his lips pressed against Jaskier’s hair in reassurance. None of it seems to help. The coughs pass in time, draining all the strength in Jaskier’s body.

For a moment, he can only let Geralt support all his weight, all his energy focused on taking in one broken gasp after another.

The lute lies by their feet, silent and still.

Geralt feels every slight tremor under his palm. He keeps rubbing Jaskier’s back, knowing he cannot ease the pain underneath. He thinks of the book, of all the medicine in their cupboard.

“I’ll get you something.” Geralt starts to leave, but arms wrap around his waist, pulling him back.

“No, don’t go,” Jaskier croaks, eyes watering. “I’m really fine.”

When he tries to squeeze out a smile, a tear streams down his pale cheek. Geralt wipes it away with a thumb.

“Let me get something for your throat, at least,” Geralt says gently, coaxing Jaskier to release him. His arms are so weak it’ll only take the barest force to push him away, but Geralt can’t bring himself to do it. He hasn’t been able to do it for decades.

Jaskier shakes his head, resting against Geralt’s neck. “In a bit. There’s no rush.” He huffs a small smile against Geralt’s skin. “Did you hear me sing?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Geralt lowers his head to meet Jaskier’s eyes in sincerity. “It was beautiful.”

Jaskier nudges with an elbow. “Such high praise for you. You were the most difficult audience member to satisfy on this continent. Did you even realize? For my entire career, you were always so picky. Can’t be too inaccurate, can’t make you sound too heroic. Had I known dedicated love songs were the way to go, I’d have professed my love much earlier.”

Geralt softens. “It would have saved me a month after that sleeping curse, looking for your one true love.”

When Jaskier looks up, remembering that day, his eyes sparkle with fondness. “But it was you all along, the love of my life who saved me with a simple kiss.”

“Hmm. If only those could cure coughs.”

Geralt hugs Jaskier closer, feeling the thinning of his waist and the sharp edges of his ribs. Something in his chest aches at the overwhelming powerlessness that won’t leave him since winter began.

True love’s kiss saved them from a curse then, but it’s nothing against a fragile human’s mortality.

He hugs Jaskier more tightly, somehow.

“How are the flowers today?” Jaskier changes the subject, sensing Geralt’s melancholy, exhaustion already seeping deep into this voice. “You won’t let me stay outside, and now I miss them.”

Geralt keeps his voice soft. “The hydrangeas are fine. Growing better than last year. We should be able to sell soon.”

“Remember to save some for us. We haven’t kept flowers in the house in a while.”

Geralt hasn’t had the mind to decorate since Jaskier became sick, but he promises anyway. “Of course. The pink ones for your study, blue for our room.”

“The White Wolf has such a keen eye for colors. Who would have thought?” Jaskier teases. “Come on. Let’s stop moping. I haven’t been out of this room all day. Let me at least go out in the garden, lest the plants miss me too much.”

“You make fun of me, but I know you talk to them too.” Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“You rub off on me, dearest, especially when you are being a sweetheart. Plus, they do grow better when you give them some encouragement. I thought I’d try, that’s all. Once I started, it was hard to stop. They are such great listeners.”

“Like Roach.”

“Not as good as Roach, I’m afraid. She’s the best.”

With much dramaticism, Jaskier tries to stand but his legs are too weak. Geralt pulls him up gently, supporting him by the elbows.

Jaskier smiles tiredly, opening his mouth to say something, only to suppress a sudden cough.

It’s a big, violent one that seems to rumble against his chest. Pain flashes across blue eyes that were relaxed a moment ago. Color drains from Jaskier’s face, leaving his cheeks white as a sheet.

Geralt is alert in an instant.

“Jaskier?” All of his senses turn towards Jaskier and every shudder in his breaths. There is nothing outwardly wrong, but the bitter scent of pain spikes, mixed with overpowering fear and panic. Geralt’s hands move frantically, touching and checking everywhere, not sure how to help. “Talk to me, Jaskier. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jaskier looks like he’s out of his body, confused and unresponsive, vacant eyes fixed on somewhere miles away. He sways, before bending over and coughing up a mouthful of blood.

The crimson color cuts sharply into Geralt’s vision, stark against the paleness of Jaskier’s face. The world rings in Geralt’s ears, a dulled background noise behind the heaving of Jaskier’s lungs.

“G’ralt—” Jaskier’s eyes are round with unbridled fear, much like that fateful day in Rinde all those years ago. All he blindly searches for is Geralt. “Geralt, I…”

Geralt catches his hand, just like that day. He catches Jaskier’s hand, the same fear echoed deep within his ribs, enveloping his heart.

“Jaskier? Jask—”

Jaskier coughs again, spitting out more blood. “Hurts,” he chokes hoarsely. “Geralt, it hurts so much—”

With that, he collapses against Geralt’s chest, legs giving out. His body is light, nearly weightless in Geralt’s arms, but they are brought to the ground anyway. Jaskier’s head lolls listlessly, face scrunched up in pain, but his hand still holds onto Geralt tightly. He holds on as if Geralt is the single most powerful anchor in a storm, as if Geralt alone can keep him afloat when another wave of coughs topples him over.

But all Geralt can do is hold on in return. All he can do is call out for Jaskier helplessly as he struggles to choke in one breath after another.

It’s painfully clear to Geralt what is happening—what he missed. An infection has set in as the cough progressed. He should have recognized this disease and its symptoms. Witchers never fall to human illnesses, but he’s witnessed how many have been taken by it in his century-long life. The white plague, consumption, the names are unimportant, but knowing the danger of it nearly leaves him paralyzed with fear.

There is no cure on the continent apart from magic. Geralt has never been more thankful for the xenovox Yennefer and Triss left for them. For emergencies, Yen said at the time, but the meaning behind the existence of the small box is clear. For when you can’t protect Jaskier. For when you fail him, for when you’ve put him on the brink of death again.

Geralt doesn’t let his voice waver when he calls for Yennefer’s name. He doesn’t fall apart when he describes Jaskier’s condition to Triss, who listens patiently and without judgment. His chest twists with panic when learning the sorceresses are being held up for another two days by local matters, but a cure will be ready before they arrive.

He doesn’t fall apart, because Jaskier needs him, now more than ever. He stays by Jaskier’s bedside and watches as he sleeps.

It’s just that Jaskier is too still when he sleeps.

For two days, Jaskier is confined to their bed, only making a noise when the coughs rattle his lungs. A fever flares up and refuses to come down, making him drowsy all day. When he’s lucid, he can’t keep anything down, throwing up all food and medicine.

There’s a smear of blood on Jaskier’s chin. Geralt wets a cloth to wipe it away. Sweat soaks through Jaskier’s hair, his skin scorching to the touch.

Geralt sits through another night, dabbing Jaskier’s forehead with a cool cloth with little effect. He answers to the incoherent mumbling from fever dreams, but his reassurance is never heard.

“Don’t…leave…” Jaskier’s eyes remain closed, tears streaming down his temples. “I’ll be better… worthy travel companion…”

It’s one of the worst nightmares. Geralt’s heart breaks into pieces as Jaskier calls for a past version of him, begging not to be left behind. He holds Jaskier’s hand near his heart and murmurs his love quietly until the dream passes.

Dawn breaks. Jaskier’s health book lays flat on the bedside table, useless.

Jaskier begins stirring with the sunrise, the shimmering light under the curtains interrupting his fitful rest, so Geralt leans down to press a kiss to his dry, pale lips. Blue eyes crack open. There is so much happiness in the small, tired smile on Jaskier’s face when the first thing he sees is Geralt.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Geralt whispers their private joke.

“Oh…” Despite everything, Jaskier plays along. “You saved me, my brave knight. Now I’m all yours.”

He tries to say more but the cough takes over, shaking his whole body. The violent sound rips through the heavy silence in their home. Phantom pain echoes between Geralt’s ribcage with every wheeze.

Geralt helps Jaskier sit against the pillows and claps his back gently. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, dizzy from the lack of air. Blood stains his lips, grotesque against the paleness of his skin. He coughs until he’s gagging, muscles spasming and trembling all over.

“Yen will be here soon,” Geralt repeats what he’s been saying for the past two days, stroking Jaskier’s hair. “Triss too. They heard my message as soon as I sent it. It’s just something holding them up. They’ll be here.”

Jaskier breathes, and breathes, shivering against the pillows. He takes a sip of water from the cup in Geralt’s hand, and pushes it away, scared of it turning his stomach. “Just need—” he rasps, “just need you.”

“I’m right here.”

Their home smells of pain.

“Just you… No one else.”

Geralt looks away from all the love in Jaskier’s eyes, his trust unwavering. He finds shame and guilt weighing on his breastbone, overpowering and inescapable.

This is all his fault.

“I don’t know what to do, Jaskier.” Geralt wipes the sweat from Jaskier’s brow, patiently explaining. “You are sick, and I can’t make it better.”

Jaskier shakes his head in disapproval. “You make everything better.”

“Not right now,” Geralt nearly huffs. “I’m doing everything I can, but nothing is better.”

Jaskier gives a long, poignant look. His eyes dim in the way that says he’s seeing right through Geralt and finding the most guilt-ridden and self-deprecating part of his soul. It’s the same unhappy look Jaskier gives when he’s ready to give Geralt a lecture about thinking badly about himself.

Jaskier doesn’t give the lecture.

“Have you slept?” he asks instead.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “I don’t need to.”

“Not an answer.” Jaskier sighs, shifting on the bed. There’s so little strength in his body all he manages is lifting the cover by a corner. Even the small movement leaves him breathless, and Jaskier pauses with nearly every word. “You haven’t—haven’t slept for two days. You look awful, dear.”

“I don’t need much sleep. You should rest—”

“Please?” Jaskier rubs his chest pitifully, looking up at Geralt through his lashes. “I feel better when you are next to me.”

It’s a trick, an old one Jaskier uses to make Geralt take care of his own needs. It’s been working since Geralt found himself incapable of saying no to a cheeky bard who wouldn’t stop following him, and it works now, when Jaskier is sick and miserable and all he asks for is Geralt’s presence.

Geralt slips under the cover, curling around Jaskier’s too-warm body.

“I need to bring your temperature down,” he says, mind still alert.

“Shh…” Jaskier only hushes him, humming a contented sound. “Don’t worry too much. You’ll end up with wrinkles like me.”

The crow’s feet at the corners of Jaskier’s eyes bloom beautifully, and Geralt brushes away grey hair to see them. He feels his eyes crinkle in return.

“Sleep,” Geralt whispers. “You need rest. I’ll wake you later.”

Jaskier blinks slowly, exhaustion pulling his eyelids, but he frowns at Geralt. “You sleep too.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Am not.”

Geralt watches as Jaskier drifts off, knitted brows relaxing gradually. He listens to the subtle scratches in Jaskier’s lungs, the fluttering beats of his heart. They are lucky enough that the coughs don’t act up in Jaskier’s sleep.

But Jaskier is too still when he sleeps, too still that, for a moment or two, it looks like the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of his chest have stopped.

Geralt’s breath catches. He blinks, shaking away the false sight in front of his eyes. He stays awake after that, counting Jaskier’s labored breaths, one after another.

It’s the only thing keeping him sane until the familiar sound of a portal appears comes from their living room, Yen’s magic humming in the air.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #old jaskier #sickfic #not sure if people still read my self-indulgent nonsense but here it goes...

[ephhemeralite]

writing pattern tag game!

post the first line of your last ten posted fics and see if there's a pattern! thanks for the tag, @ful-crum !!!!!

not quite sure how i got here, real glad i've got more than ten fics posted (if only barely), excited to see how it goes

"Aziraphale bustles back into his shop with all of the energy of a raccoon holding a goodie they never expected to stumble across." – no skin like the skin you woke up in (gomens canon divergence au)

"Ed has spent the vast majority of his life as a pirate. Get as old and experienced as he’s gotten – far older and more experienced than he ever expected, mind you – and you form some opinions, about salt and the sea and the way of things." – and i feel so proud when the reckoning arrives (this is two lines so it's cheating but whatever 💚. very dumb black sails/our flag means death crossover)

"The first time Dick notices himself call for Batgirl and the wrong sibling respond, he doesn't think much of it." – no difference between the past and the ground (dick grayson thinks he's going crazy until he realizes [REDACTED])

"Tommy thinks that finding himself stuck through the Blood God’s sword – stuck through – should come as more of a shock to him than it does." – this is mostly what happens in dallas (au of my dsmp hero/villain major character death series where the major character death doesn't happen but it's still not great! hence the wtnv if he had lived title)

"Wilbur drops onto the couch with a groan and some sort of weird, histrion-type flail." – a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun (dsmp hero/villain au, companion piece to the actual mcd, probably my best piece of posted writing)

"He isn't looking for trouble today, but he isn't surprised when the blade of a sword finds him regardless." – the truth is like a sickle (it'll cut you to the middle) (dsmp hero/villain au with the mcd)

"The flickering lights of the tavern seem soft, in the late hours of the night." – drunk in a field (on dandelion wine) (unfinished 5+1 from a folk witch!jaskier universe that i got super super attached to but eventually let go of because my life kept getting more insane and the concept more intricate)

"Peter had spent a lot of time trying to psychoanalyze Neal Caffrey before his capture." – acquainted with the saint of never getting it right (white collar/batfam crossover, dick grayson is neal caffrey, my most popular fic by a chunk)

"Geralt can already tell that Jaskier plans on dragging them both out tonight, probably with quilt, to force him into a night of 'stargazing and communing with nature like we used to!'" – it could feel like an end (to have to keep going) (immortal/modern times geraskier au fic i haven't read since i wrote and posted it in a day. i think it's contemplations on mortality, helplessness, and the climate crisis?)

"Briefly, he contemplates sitting up on the couch to give himself better lung capacity for his incoming tirade, but figures that he may as well put his vigilante training to good use, and continues to lay back." – more like me (less like you) (technically the second line of an emotional conversation between dick and jason, but the first line was dialogue and it is too early for me to mess with quotation marks like that)

so, full disclaimer that i don't post a ton (no skin was last updated in august of last year and more like me was posted in july of 2021) so a lot of this writing is kind of old, but! i did notice that i've tended to open in media res, but recently i have been incorporating more exposition. i've never tried to make my first lines great hooks — i'm honestly more concerned with giving myself a good jumping-off point than anything else. it also struck me how many fandoms i've written for that i no longer engage with, basically at all. maybe i've just been really focused lately, but i don't think a few of these fandoms would hold my attention anymore! ironically, i'm talking about the more recent fandoms like dsmp/gomens/ofmd and not the older stuff like the batfam or the witcher.

this was really fun, i loved looking back through my work like this!! thank you again ful-crum for tagging me :)! i'm gonna tag @doingthewritethings, @b10000p, and @alavenderleaf !!!!!!

#tag game #me when ive been writing plenty of fic recently but not posting any of it so my most recent thing is gomens s2 cope fic...... #and by cope fic i mean Make It Worse fic. for the record #augh i'll finish something eventually

[carrottheluvmachine]

2023 writing round up

I was tagged by the lovely @bambirex who is a brilliant writer and a darling friend. Please check her out if you can!

This year I've written more than I ever have before. I have 12 fics in total and most of them were only made possible thanks to the help of my friends at the Witcher Chub Club. I'm ridiculously proud of all of them and of myself.

March

A Perfect Fit (geraskier, E, 2.9k) Jaskier has gained a substantial amount of weight lately. So why did Geralt find clothes that are clearly several sizes too small in his pack?

May

How To Serve Mankind (geraskier, E, 7.8k) Geralt and Jaskier part ways for the winter and Jaskier finds himself captured by a pair of trolls who intend on feeding him up so that they could eat him. In captivity, Jaskier loses hope and himself. Will Geralt be able to save him? Can he escape? And even if he does will he be able to come to terms with the major changes in his body?

June

A Bard's Glamour (geraskier, M, 5.3k) When Jaskier was young, he was given a special ring that hid his real self behind a perfectly slim image, one that would be more successful in society. Over the years he learned to depend on this fake image because facing reality was simply too difficult. It was much easier to pretend to be skinny rather than getting the world to accept the fat bard that he actually was.

July

Growing For You (geraskier, M, 3.6k) Geralt likes Jaskier soft, he said so himself. Jaskier loses weight over a winter they spend apart and worries what Geralt will think once they're reunited in the spring again.

Somewhere Beyond the Sea (geraskier, E, 7.3k) As a newly retired Witcher, Geralt is living by the coast when he discovers a seal under attack by a drowner. He rescues it and bonds with it and may be getting in a little over his head when he discovers that it’s much more than just an ordinary seal.

September

This Little Piggy (geraskier, E, 5.6k) Jaskier tags along with Geralt on a contract to kill a witch who lives on a suspicious pig farm but things aren't quite what they seem. Perhaps they should have realized sooner that the pigs roaming the land had previously been men.

Just A Couple of Pounds (geraskier, T, 3.1k) Jaskier responded by reaching up and pulling Geralt down close enough to crush their lips together in a searing kiss. He had been waiting for this moment for far too long. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening and all because he had eaten a bit too much at a banquet.

Life's Little Pleasures (geraskier, E, 4.9k) “Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier scolded, raising his head and glaring purposely at the Witcher. “You are going to let me shower your cute little belly with kisses and you are going to like it!”

“Jaskier–”

“I could leave,” Jaskier threatened. “I could put my clothes on and waltz right out of here. Could just leave you hard and alone, wanking into your hand for the night. But I suspect you don’t want that, now do you? Hmm, Geralt?”

Geralt paused for a beat before shaking his head.

October

Bring Your Hunger (geraskier, E, 14.4k) Nilfgaard needs Jaskier alive to tell them where Geralt and the princess are, but only barely. The witcher’s bard subsists on stale bread and water over the winter, protecting his family with his silence, and as his hunger grows his body shrinks away.

When Geralt finally rescues his beloved bard, he’s horrified to find mere skin and bone. Together they recover.

November

A Heart Is a Heavy Burden (geraskier, M, 8.2k) Yennefer laughed, carding her fingers through his hair. “Oh? So you weren’t the one who had wished that the bard wouldn’t be able to follow you anymore so you could get some peace? That wasn’t you?”

It was him. He had wished that. He had yelled that right before Jaskier had made his wish to not be hungry anymore. The djinn had taken his words, twisted them, and made it so it was physically impossible for Jaskier to follow him across the Continent anymore by making him so heavy that he was nearly immobile.

The bottom fell out of Geralt’s stomach and he felt like he might throw up. He had caused this. It was his fault.

Four Years (geraskier, E, 4.8k) Jaskier and Geralt both think the other dead after they get separated during an ambush by the Nilfgaardian army. Jaskier manages to escape and returns to teaching at Oxenfurt while Geralt continues to keep Ciri safe. Four years pass and everything changes and yet remains exactly the same when they're reunited.

December

From Bard to Bait (geraskier, E, 7.8k) When Jaskier arrives in a town famous for their food festivals and finds Geralt stuffing his face, he isn't shy to question why the Witcher has such an impressive appetite suddenly. Geralt explains that a lik'ichiri has been feeding off the towns people, plucking the fattest one it can find and eating them. In order to save the town, Geralt is determined to make himself bait for the monster, but his Witcher metabolism just won't cut it.

Jaskier steps up to the task after a little help from Yennefer who makes it so his body will gain more weight more quickly. He and Geralt have a week to help him gain 200 pounds so he could be the perfect bait for the lik'ichiri. The thing is, Jaskier didn't expect to enjoy it as much as he does. He didn't expect Geralt to either.

#colie writes #the witcher #geraskier #chubby!jaskier #chubskier #weight gain #stuffing

[polls-showdowns]

Best Poly Ship Round 1

Here are the links to the match ups:

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove (Stranger Things) V.S. Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker/Padme Amidala (Star Wars)

Laudna/Imogen Temult/Fearne Calloway (Critical Role) V.S. Willow Park/Luz Noceda/Amity Blight (The Owl House)

Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast/Mollymauk Tealeaf (Critical Role) V.S. Alex Kralie/Brian Thomas/Jay Merrick/Tim Wright/Sarah Reid/Seth Wilson/Amy Walters (Marble Hornets)

Daniel Faraday/Charlotte Lewis/Miles Straume (Lost) V.S. Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier/Yennefer of Vengerberg (The Witcher)

Mabel Mora/Tim Cono/Oscar Torres/Zoe Cassidy (Only Murders in the Building) V.S. Piper Mclean/Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase (Riordanverse)

Frodo Baggins/Samwise Gamgee/Rosie Cotton (Lord of the Rings) V.S. Jack Sparrow/Will Turner/Elizabeth Swann (Pirates of the Caribbean)

Steve Manheim/Dashawn Mannheim/José Guerrero/Cupe Robinson III/Otto Zilberschlag/Gregory Hsung/Arturo Fonzerelli/Quackers McQuack (BoJack Horseman) V.S. Orym/Dorian/Dariax (Critical Role)

Jack Rackham/Anne Bonny/Max (Black Sails) V.S. Nya/Cole/Jay (Ninjago)

Caleb/Fjord/Jester/Beau/Yasha/Veth/Caduceus/Mollymauk(Critical Role) V.S. Steve Harrington/Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler (Stranger Things)

Crona Gorgon/Maka Albarn/Soul Evans (Soul Eater) V.S. Veronica Lodge/Betty Cooper/Archie Andrews (archie comics)

Lonnie/Kyle/Rogelio (She Ra) V.S. Proteus/Sinbad/Marina (Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas)

Yoo Jonghyuk/Han Sooyoung/Kim Dokja (Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint) V.S. Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth/Melisandre/Selyse Florent (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Eddie Brock/Dan Lewis/Venom Symbiote/Anne Weying (Venom) V.S. Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades/Alucard (Castlevania)

Jade Harley/Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam (Homestuck) V.S. Sucy Manbavaran/Lotte Jansson/Akko Kagari (Little Witch Academia)

Garnet/Amethyst/Pearl (Steven Universe) V.S. Sookie Stackhouse/Bill Comptom/Eric Northman (True Blood)

Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Darcy Lewis (MCU) V.S. Zuko/Katara/Aang (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Sasha Waybright/Anne Boonchuy/Marcy Wu (Amphibia) V.S. Arthur/Lancelot/Guinevere (Arthurian Legends)

#polls #round one #round 1 #best poly ship

[callunavulgari]

Year-In-Fic | 2022

This is... very late. I almost didn’t do it at all. But you know what, I like my traditions, even if it takes me two months to claw myself free of the pit of despair long enough to do it.

How many fics did you write this year? What was your total wordcount?

In 2022 I wrote 18 fics, for a total of 62,476 words. About 30k less than I did in 2021, which is disappointing, but not surprising. Between mental health tripwires and planning a wedding (harder than it sounds, do not recommend, do yourself a favor and elope) last year was the pits.

Fic Roundup!

what for d'you yearn? | The Witcher | Yennefer/Jaskier/Geralt | 5,481 words | Yennefer fucks Jaskier the third week that she is at Kaer Morhen.

the spring will come with the floods | Harry Potter | Drarry | 1,677 words | On a dreary day in early June, Harry Potter gets stuck in Draco’s wards.

tear you apart | The Untamed | SXX | 6,656 words | “Awful lot of effort,” Xue Yang says. “To save someone you’ve never met before. Don’t you get something out of it?”

find hope in the hopeless | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 861 words |  Billy closes his eyes on Starcourt Mall, Max a hazy silhouette above him, haloed in light.

like holy days | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 2001 words | He looks up at Steve from under his lashes, tongue between his teeth, and cocks his head. “We good, King Steve?”

this is a life | The Untamed | SXX | 9500 words |  “Well,” Xiao Xingchen says brightly. “You’re welcome to join us for a little while. We’re heading to Oregon, so we can basically take you as far as you want as long as it’s on the way.”

my kingdom for your graces | The Untamed | SXX | 2,616 words |  In the kitchen, Xiao Xingchen is cutting Xue Yang a slice of olive oil cake, the top of her head just barely visible over the fruit bowl perched on the dividing counter between kitchen and living room.

don’t feed it, it will come back | Stranger Things | Eddie/Steve | 861 words | Steve Harrington spins Eddie Munson back to life on a Saturday.

when the autumn moon is bright | Teen Wolf | Derek/Stiles | 2207 words | “Hello Derek,” he gasps, eyes sparking with delight.

no wealth, no ruin | PJO | Nico, Gen | 770 words | Nico di Angelo takes his last breath in broad daylight, the sun gleaming at him through the trees overhead.

don’t look under the bed | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 3528 words | When Ryan Bergara was younger, he had an imaginary friend named Shane.

if the sun comes up | Stranger Things | Eddie/Steve | 1695 words |  “Oh baby, don’t do that,” Eddie says, transferring Steve’s wrists to one hand so that he can use the other to catch Steve by the throat and shake him like a rag doll until Steve’s dizzy and reeling, nausea thick on his tongue.

mirror, mirror, what’s behind you? | LoZ | Link/Dark Link | 1441 words | There is a mirror in the furthest corner of Hyrule Palace that is guarded day and night.

listen to your heart bleed | TMA | Martin/Jon | 1467 words | “Hello Jon,” Martin tells the floating figure that used to be his boyfriend, crossing the room to take a seat in the chair a few feet to the left of Jon’s dangling feet.

leave your life open (somebody hears you) | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve/Eddie | 6,444 words | The first time that Steve sees Billy after Starcourt, he thinks that he’s hallucinating.

who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead? | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve/Eddie | 4,831 words | local witch and his revenant boyfriend resurrect mutual crush.

the tide will take, the sea will rise | The Untamed | SongXueXiao | 7106 words | Xue Yang dies on a Tuesday. The following morning, he wakes up.

Rest Stop | LoZ: Majora’s Mask | Gen, Link & Romani, Link & Tatl | 3,334 words | “You have a magic ocarina that rewinds time. You can take a break.“

Best story I wrote this year:

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Weirdly enough, I think it was find hope in the hopeless, which was a very short atmospheric one-shot that I spun together in the hours leading up to the premiere of the new season of Stranger Things. I wrote it while Nick was playing through the ashtray maze level of Control, and was just stupidly charmed by Billy getting a softer death - something to kind of lull him to sleep. A death still, sure, but something tender. Wanted. I ended up making myself weep a little, because when it comes down to it I am still sad about the tragedy that is Billy Hargrove.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

It looks like my most popular fic was what for d’you yearn, coming in at 611 kudos, followed by when the autumn moon is bright, which is sitting at 355. The runner ups are ghost sex the fic, fish sex the fic, and a very short Drarry one-shot, because I was feeling them last Spring.

Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

I think probably listen to your heart bleed, which was the canon-divergent coda that I wrote for The Magnus Archives during dark month. Basically, Jon becomes the Eye and they continue on with a different sort of sad, quiet apocalypse. 

Most fun story to write:

Can I say the story with all the fish sex? Because tear you apart was a horny mess that was a total blast to write. I honestly didn’t expect it to get too much attention, because I was very up front with my tags about its particular brand of kink, but hey. Monster fuckers unite and all that.

Story that could have been better?

I really, really wish that I’d had more time to craft who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead? into something better. I wrote a ton of it in the aftermath of the season, but ended up getting stuck somewhere and didn’t really finish it until dark month, and then it was just a rush to the finish. I wish I’d taken the time to properly drag it out, and maybe even gotten around to the boning. But October was coming to an end, and if I didn’t post it then, I never would have, so I made due.

Story I wrote to fix things:

God, I think most of these are fix-it fics. Some of them are porny ones, some are sad introspective ones, and others are just plain old fashioned fix it. I think that  leave your life open (somebody hears you) was the closest I got to a true fix it fic, a fic where Steve sees (2) dead people and Eddie and Billy get some kind of catharsis in fucking the small town jock in the afterlife. I don’t know, it was fun to write and I was grieving Eddie.

Longest completed fic this year:

this is a life was nearly 10k. Written for the MXTX exchange, it was basically 10k of will they or won’t they with the added bonus of road trips and chaos gremlin Xue Yang. I enjoyed writing it!

Fandom you enjoyed writing for most this year:

Honestly? Probably Stranger Things. The Untamed bits were great, but I’m still so weak for Billy and Steve, and the added bonus of Eddie made it all the sweeter.

Favorite character you wrote this year:

Oh, definitely Yennefer. Don’t get me wrong, I love Xue Yang and Steve and Billy, but Yennefer was a JOY to write.

Most memorable comment(s) this year:

I mean they were all great, but my recipient’s comment on this is a life was this long rambling stream of consciousness as they were reading the fic and it was really so fantastic and made me so incredibly happy. I also got a couple of really gorgeous thoughtful comments on both old Teen Wolf and old PJO fics, which are always a treat.

Fics you wanted to write but didn’t:

God, a ton. I don’t even know. I have a graveyard of abandoned thoughts at this point.

Oddest story:

Fish sex!

Hardest story to do:

I had some minor trouble with the tide will take, the sea will rise but over all, the fics didn’t fight me too much this year. I also had some issues with the ghosty Stranger Things fic later on in the year.

Easiest story to write?

Probably my kingdom for your graces, the super horny cis swap fic that I did just for an excuse for femme!Xue Yang to get absolutely railed in a dress. Though there were quite a few other ones that came super easy to me.

Most mining of your own history in one story:

I mean, not to be tmi, but I too have been railed over the side of a couch after having recently eaten cake, but somehow I don’t think that counts? I know in  listen to your heart bleed I had Martin reading Coraline to Jon, and that was around the time that I was reading it to Nick. That counts, right?

Themes, or absence thereof:

Vampires and monsterfucking, mostly.

Where did you publish/archive your stories?

Ao3, as per usual. I didn’t crosspost too much this year.

Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to:

I’m honestly pretty stuck when it comes to writing right now. I haven’t felt the drive and when I do it’s really fleeting and gone before I can properly square up. Most recently I have felt the urge to write a very brief ust filled one-shot of Jericho and Sam Lloyd from the Diviners, because there’s this moment in Lair of Dreams that makes me want it and I am the only person in existence who has even thought about it. I’ve also felt the urge to write more Aloy, but idk.

Sexiest moment (excerpt):

The fifth time that she fucks Jaskier, she does it in broad daylight. There’s buttery warm winter sunlight spilling in through the keep’s windows, and the corridor is deserted, everyone else out in the courtyard under the pretense of helping Ciri through her forms when really all they want to do is hassle Geralt about it, and—Well, Jaskier is there.

She lets him hitch her leg up around his hip and fuck her there in the hallway, right up against the stone wall next to the door to Geralt’s room. It’s hard and fast and hot, her hair coming undone from its braid as Jaskier works his hand into it, and she is right on the cusp, her mouth open against Jaskier’s shoulderblade when she catches a hint of movement down the corridor.

She turns her head, curious, still floating on a hazy cloud of pleasure, and meets Geralt's eyes over Jaskier’s shoulder.

She makes a noise unlike her—a low whine that she muffles into the side of Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier hasn’t noticed yet. He’s close to coming, his thrusts growing erratic as he presses sweet murmurs into the curve of her throat, and Yennefer is— she’s always been selfish. She’s chased her own ambition, her own pleasure, for decades, pursued her own ideals at the cost of others. She isn’t the sort to regret it, not usually, but Geralt has always been a sore spot for her, a particular bruise that she enjoys prodding at whenever she thinks she's getting over him.

She keeps her eyes on Geralt as she urges Jaskier to fuck her harder, faster. Geralt’s face is slack, soft with something—surprise? Want? And if it is want, which of them is he busy wanting? Yennefer’s never come right out and asked Jaskier if he and Geralt ever fucked, but she’s clever enough to read between the lines. Jaskier is transparent in heartbreak, and if he and Geralt truly hadn’t fucked in the intervening years, then Yennefer is willing to bet that it wasn’t for a lack of desire.

When Jaskier comes, he makes a wounded sound into the curve of her throat, his entire body hitching into hers. She bites her lip, eyes growing heavy-lidded with pleasure as he reaches between them without missing a beat and thumbs between her legs until she follows him over, eyelids fluttering closed as she comes.

.

“Please,” Xue Yang gasps into the cushions. She never knows exactly what she’s asking for, but she asks anyway, because they somehow always do. Somewhere above her, Xiao Xingchen laughs, and then her hand is cupping Xue Yang’s chin, bringing it up and out of the cushions. The sweatpants are gone, leaving Xiao Xingchen bare from the waist down, and as Xue Yang watches, hungry, Xiao Xingchen’s legs part and she draws Xue Yang towards her.

Xue Yang likes bringing Xiao Xingchen off like this, with just her mouth, likes it better than using a toy or her fingers. Xiao Xingchen is hot against her, dripping for her, and Xue Yang loves this part, loves getting messy, so she loses herself in it, licking and sucking at Xiao Xingchen’s folds, her clit, her hole. All the while, Song Lan keeps fucking her through it, his thrusts never once slowing.

“You’re so good for us, a-Yang,” Xiao Xingchen tells her, fingers tightening in Xue Yang’s hair, and something in Xue Yang goes pliant, boneless and sated.

Song Lan fucks her through Xiao Xingchen’s first orgasm, through her second, through the third, until Xue Yang is red-faced and gasping, her chin slick, dizzy from a lack of oxygen.

“Please,” Xue Yang tells him through her teeth, after Xiao Xingchen’s finally pushed her gently away, leaving Xue Yang’s cheek pillowed on her thigh. Song Lan grunts, and, leaning over her, finally—finally—splays his hand out across her throat and squeezes hard, just the once.

Xue Yang’s entire world goes blank, white hot, stars exploding behind her eyelids as she comes hard, convulsing around him. She shudders, toes curling in the carpet, and lets out a throaty groan, going boneless all at once. She’s only half paying attention afterwards, floating in a haze of bliss. She’s aware of little things, Xiao Xingchen’s hand smoothing back her hair, the patter of an evening storm against the windows, and the distant realization that Song Lan is still fucking her, his hand clenched so tight around her hip that she knows there will be bruises tomorrow. Outside, the sun is going down. Xue Yang drifts for a while and wonders what kind of night this will be—if Song Lan will finish, smooth down her skirt, and send her on her way, or if it will be one of those nights, when they tug her up to bed and have her another six ways between them before plying her with pizza, still fucked out and sprawled across the sheets. She likes those nights best, because it soothes the cracked open thing in her chest that’s started making noises whenever she has to leave them afterwards.

Xue Yang surfaces all at once when Song Lan gets a fist in the back of her skirt and yanks it up even higher, until the fabric is bunched up between her shoulder blades. She makes a thin reedy sound when he shifts, going impossibly deeper as he stretches out along her back and closes his teeth around the column of her throat. He licks it afterwards, as if in apology, and then asks in a rough voice, “Where do you want it?”

The first time that he’d asked her that, she’d laughed. She’d been fresh off a shift and still stank of sweat and spoiled cream and espresso, and it was just so abruptly ludicrous, like she’d walked straight onto the set of a low budget porno. Now though, it sets off fireworks inside of her, and she gasps, clenching her eyes shut, and in a raw voice, whispers, “Inside. Inside, please.”

Crackiest moment (excerpt):

Steve keeps seeing them. Most of the time, they can’t really stop to chat without making Steve seem like a crazy person. He sees them the same way that he saw Billy those first few months—in passing.

He sees them passing the video store at least once a week, jackets bunched up around their shoulders as if they actually need them to ward off the coming chill of autumn. Steve doesn’t know where they’re going, but Eddie never fails to stop and make faces through the window—devil horns, tongue out and wiggling, crossed eyes. Once, he actually moons Steve, pale butt cheeks pressed to the spotless glass, and Steve promptly  inhales his gum and breaks into a coughing fit while old Mrs Conley watches on, unblinking and unamused.

He spends the next ten minutes apologizing profusely as she wipes spittle from her glasses, plying her with free malt balls so she won’t rat on him to Keith, and by the time he’s done, Eddie and Billy are long gone.

.

“Oh hey,” Eddie says, blinking. “Did you see what Billy taught me?”

He gestures, indicating the new outfit and Steve laughs, his eyes coming back again to that wide sliver of belly, the trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button. He blinks, eyes darting back up to Eddie’s.

“I did,” he says. “It’s some outfit. That usually what you wear to the pool?”

Eddie snorts. “The pool was never exactly my scene, if you know what I mean. Pretty sure all those soccer moms would see me lit up like the beacons of Gondor and run the other way screaming.”

Next to him, Billy snorts. “Trust me, Munson. There were worse things at the local watering hole than your pasty ass.”

“Yeah, uh huh,” Eddie says agreeably, nodding along. “Sure there were.”

Billy rolls his eyes, giving Eddie a look, eyes narrowed. “Quit fishing for compliments. Just count your fucking blessings that you’re not Keith.”

Eddie sucks in a breath through his teeth, making a face. “Did he wear a lot of sunscreen? I’ll bet he wore a lot of sunscreen.”

“Hey,” Steve protests. “There is nothing wrong with sunscreen. It's good for you. I’ll bet that you’d burn like a peach without it.”

“Yeah, but Keith wouldn’t rub it in, would he? Guarantee you he was up there looking like Casper.” He frowns, looking suddenly concerned. “Actually, hey. Billy. Do ghosts burn?”

Billy groans, pulling his sunglasses back up onto his nose. “I really couldn’t tell you. I never have, but I didn’t burn when I was alive, so not sure that tells you much.”

“Hm,” Eddie murmurs, frowning like he’s trying to work out a puzzle. “Guess that’ll be an experiment for another time. Ghost physics are bullshit.”

The sun is starting to droop in the sky, the horizon turning red and gold, slivers of violet streaking through it. Steve watches the sun set with sleepy eyes, listening with half an ear as Eddie and Billy bicker in the background. The distant scream of cicadas mixes with the hum of the AC unit, and already, there are fireflies emerging from their slumber, lighting up the backyard around them.

Steve is so fucking tired. He just wants to sleep.

.

In the end, Billy is the one who talks him into it. He’s sitting on a pool lounger, his feet dangling over one of those god awful cracks that run all through town like he’s determined to soak in some hellfire, when he turns to Steve, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and says, “I think you should resurrect Munson.”

Steve blinks back at him. “What?”

Billy shrugs, busying himself with plucking his lemonade off the cement. The glass is sweating. He spends a long time slurping loudly through the straw, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, before he pulls away with a smack of his lips and elaborates.

“Resurrection is your specialty, baby,” he says, nudging the glasses down his nose so he can hold Steve’s gaze over them, eyes burning blue. “I think you should add another dead girl to your collection.”

And then he smiles winningly, his teeth white and shiny, and winks.

Favorite dialogue (excerpt):

“You know that he wants you, right?” Xue Yang asks, his voice hot in Song Lan’s ear. He gives Song Lan another slow stroke, kissing the space behind his ear when Song Lan groans. “He does. He wants you so badly. This whole time, I thought that the only reason you weren’t fucking was because you had company, but to find out that you’ve never even—?”

He breaks off with a groan, stroking Song Lan harder, faster.

“Let’s see if he joins us,” Xue Yang hisses, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the column of Song Lan’s throat. “I think he will.”

“He won’t—” Song Lan starts to say, reeling, dizzy with it, and Xue Yang laughs again, biting this time.

“He will,” Xue Yang breathes. “Won’t you, Xingchen?”

Song Lan inhales sharply when the bed dips, and he gives a hard shudder, bucking into Xue Yang’s grip, unable to help himself. From behind him, he hears Xiao Xingchen make a small noise, something soft and greedy all at once, and suddenly, Song Lan needs to see—

He turns, shoving Xue Yang’s hand away long enough to roll onto his other side.

There’s a smug smirk on Xue Yang’s face, his hair mussed from sleep, pillow creases across one side of his face. He’s visibly hard in his boxers, sheets pushed down to his thighs. And behind him, Xiao Xingchen is perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes bright, interested. He’s damp from the shower, hair curling in damp tendrils over his clavicles, and his pink lips are parted—on a word? A name?

Xue Yang laughs again, rolling onto his back to peer up at Xiao Xingchen, amusement on his face as he raises the hand that was just on Song Lan’s dick towards Xiao Xingchen.

“Want a taste?” Xue Yang asks with a wicked smile, and Song Lan flushes when he realizes that there’s a streak of pre-come on Xue Yang’s hand, smeared along the sharp curve of his wrist, the bend of his thumb.

Xiao Xingchen’s eyes are boring into him, dark and intense, and Song Lan swallows as Xiao Xingchen leans forward and wordlessly seals his mouth around Xue Yang’s wrist.

Song Lan watches, enraptured, as Xiao Xingchen sucks it from Xue Yang’s skin, moving on to suck Xue Yang’s thumb into his mouth when it’s gone from his wrist.

When he pulls back, his lips are red, wet. He turns his head, giving Xue Yang an indulgent smile, and murmurs, “Good boy.”

Xue Yang whimpers, his whole body shivering. As Song Lan watches, he reaches down and palms himself hard, lower lip tucked between his teeth.

“Did you just almost—” Song Lan starts to ask, eyes wide, cutting himself off with a click of his throat when Xue Yang opens his eyes and sends him a poisonous glare.

“Shut up, Zichen,” he hisses, flushing. “We all have hair-triggers.”

.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Eddie murmurs gently, going down to a crouch. Like this, their noses are almost level. Steve can see Billy lurking behind Eddie, looking… something. Confused? Angry? Steve blinks, slow-like, and tips his head until Eddie’s back in his line of vision. Eddie smiles at him. “We lost you there for a bit. You ready for bed?”

Steve smacks his lips, still muzzy, and nods.

Eddie’s grin widens, eyes going inexplicably soft. He turns and calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Hargrove. Help me get his royal highness up to bed, yeah?”

Billy pulls a face, but shockingly does as he’s told with only minor complaint, padding over and getting an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

It’s only as they’re pouring him into bed that Steve thinks to wonder why they can touch him. Eddie is stooped, trying to wrangle the sheets out from under Steve, and Billy is lingering back again now that Steve’s out of his hands, the glow from the hallway haloing him in buttery orange light.

Steve licks his lips, catching Eddie’s wrist as he finally works the sheet out from under him.

Eddie goes still, eyes darting to Steve. They’re wide. Dark. Wet. Pretty eyes. Steve kind of wishes that he’d realized that when Eddie was still alive.

“Hey,” Steve asks, frowning. “Why can you touch me?”

Eddie blinks, his eyes going helplessly to Billy over his shoulder. Billy gives him a jerky little shrug. “I can’t be your afterlife handbook here, Munson. I’ve got no clue.”

Eddie looks back at Steve, his eyes still soft, but there’s something else there now, shifting in their depths. Something thoughtful. Even curious.

“Guess you’re just our little grounding rod, Stevie-boy,” Eddie laughs, ruffling Steve’s hair. When Steve whines at him, he laughs harder.

“Get some sleep, Harrington,” Billy says gruffly from behind him, eyes a gleam of blue in the dark. “Don’t work yourself to death.”

.

Billy grins at him. “Hit me.”

Steve blinks again, harder this time, like that’ll change what the fuck Billy had said. He shakes his head a little, frowning, and says, again, “Wait, what?”

“Okay, fine,” Billy sighs, winding up. “I’ll go first.”

Billy’s always thrown a beautiful punch. He spent his formative years perfecting it after some city-spun leech ripped his throat out in a back alley three blocks from his house. The leech hadn’t expected him to wake up afterwards, and was long gone by the time he had. Billy had coped. He’d learned to protect himself. Learned to be the bigger predator.

So, the punch that he throws at Steve lands perfectly, just under the jaw. Billy watches, damn near giddy, as Steve’s head snaps back, his skull striking the bark behind him hard enough that it cracks, denting inwards in a perfect impression of Steve’s pretty little head.

The punch probably would have taken a normal human’s head clean off, but Steve recovers quickly, jerking his head free of the bark and turning a furious snarl on Billy, his teeth sharp and ready.

“What the hell was that?” he yells, hands clenched into fists at his side.

Billy laughs in his face.

“That was fun,” he says, and hits him again.

This time, Steve gets smart, jerking his head away just in time so that his cheek only takes part of the blow, momentum carrying Billy’s fist forward into the tree instead.

“Are you crazy?” he yells, dodging out of the way when Billy lunges for him again.

“Maybe,” Billy tells him with a sharp cackle, his grin fierce, blood hot. “Want to find out? Come on, Steve. Hit me!”

Steve stops dodging and his face twists, determination and frustration all converging, and he puts his fist up and—

It’s a terrible fucking punch.

Billy snorts, thumbing the blood from his lip.

“That all you got?” he asks, bloody teeth bared, and Steve snarls—

It’s a good fight. Billy’s always liked good fights, ones that he can control, ones that are in his power. He hasn’t been able to cut loose like this since he was turned—a fight like this with a human would be too risky, too easy to kill them on accident. But with Steve? Steve can take his punches. And judging by the manic little grin on Steve’s face, like something deeply primal being sated for the first time in his entire pathetic life, Steve wants to take his punches.

Billy doesn’t know how long they’re at it, but he knows when it ends, his breath going out of him all at once as Steve lets out a furious roar, charging him and getting his arms wrapped around Billy’s waist, bearing him down to the forest floor.

Billy stares up at Steve, suspended above him. He’s heaving for breath that he doesn’t need, sweat on his brow, face flushed red enough that Billy wonders how well he must be eating, with enough blood leftover to flood his cheeks like that—fuck—Billy wants to bite them.

There’s pine needles in his hair, the prickle of them biting through his jacket, and Steve’s body is pressed in tight against his, between his splayed thighs. They’re both hard—Billy can see the moment that Steve realizes that, his cheeks going even redder, his eyes abruptly darkening as he licks his bitten-red lips.

“Yeah, okay,” Billy tells him, arching up against him and gasping open-mouthed when Steve gives a hitching little thrust back. “We can do it this way too.”

“Fuck,” Steve says.

Billy laughs, getting a hold of the back of Steve’s neck and bringing him down. He bites at his mouth, relishing in the little hitch of Steve’s breath, and tells him, voice cocky, “That is the idea.”

Favorite lines (excerpt):

“Billy?” he asks, sounding confused, but not shocked. “What are you doing?”

Oh, Billy thinks, as Steve’s hand closes around his wrist, his eyes concerned. I’m still dying.

“Billy?” he asks again, stepping out of the shower towards Billy, bare-assed and still dripping, hair still thick with lather. “What’s wrong?”

Billy swallows.

Steve Harrington, here, in California.

Steve Harrington, here, in this particular motel. Billy’s shitty little safe haven. He’d split a hastily rolled joint with a hooker in this exact room the morning after he first fucked a boy. She had carefully concealed bruises all up and down her arms and one under her chin to match, but she’d been nice. She hadn’t judged him for crying a little when he’d woken up alone.

And Steve is here, with Billy.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He has a hazy image of Max above him, crying. Blood in his throat, bubbling up and out.

It had hurt, when they tore chunks out of him.

He sniffs.

“Nothing, baby,” he says with a tremulous smile.

When Steve still looks concerned, Billy rolls his eyes, peeling out of his clothes and maneuvering Steve carefully back under the spray. He steps in after him, pretending not to notice the way that the water pooling on the tiles under him runs red.

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning in to seal his mouth over Steve’s pulse point. He closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around Steve’s narrow waist. In response, Steve makes a quiet noise of appreciation, arching into Billy’s touch.

This is, Billy figures, a small comfort.

One last gift before the end.

He doesn’t know if he should say thank you or scream obscenities until the end comes.

Steve makes his mind up for him when he lets out a soft noise, something quiet and almost wounded. What Billy wouldn’t have given to take him here himself. He’d probably be a judgy little bitch about it, making faces at the hookers and the bullet holes, but maybe he’d understand too.

To see Steve in Billy’s home, sun and sand and everything else, it’s enough.

.

Draco finds Potter at the widest point of the river, huddled in the hollow of an old oak tree. He’s up to his knees in water, visibly shivering from ward fever, and looks like, at best, death warmed over. As he gets nearer, Draco can begin to make out other key details. Potter’s glasses are broken, for one, the right lens cracked right down the middle, a spiderweb of smaller cracks branching off in all directions. He’s paler than parchment paper, his skin grey-tinged and clammy, and there’s blood leaking from several orifices.

At least he doesn’t seem to be splinched, Draco thinks, his chest giving a twinge as he settles down next to him.

Potter looks up at him, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He looks like he’s barely standing.

“I would have thought that I would have read about it in the Prophet if the Chosen One had gone missing,” Draco remarks mildly, carefully setting a bracing hand on Potter’s shoulder. Even through his robes, Draco can tell that he’s burning up. “Guess I must have thought wrong.”

Potter shivers again, tilting his whole body into Draco’s touch. Alarmed, Draco makes a grab for the other shoulder.

Potter attempts a smile, his teeth red with blood. It’s not a very good smile. More of a grimace, really, made all the more horrifying by the blood. Then he opens his mouth and says, his voice slurred, “Hi, Draco.”

“Oh,” Draco says, catching Potter as his knees go out from under him. “Fuck.”

Potter blinks at him, his mouth a smear of red, and says. “Sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“So you came here?” Draco hisses out waspishly, bundling Potter onto his broom. The broom, unsurprisingly, is not proving very cooperative considering the last time Potter was on it, he’d nearly flown it into a tree. Draco swings a leg over the broom behind him and kicks off the ground, trailing icy droplets behind him. “Why?”

Potter shrugs, his teeth chattering, and nestles closer. “Felt safe.”

Draco swallows hard around the knot suddenly in his throat, and for a moment - just a moment - lets himself close his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly for a while, aware of the wind on his face, the damp in his shoes, the weight of the body in his arms.

Safe, Draco thinks. Now that’s a laugh.

“Well,” Draco says in a voice much too wobbly to be sneering, “That was stupid of you.”

“Mm,” Potter murmurs, already half gone. “Maybe.”

The thing about Potter, Draco thinks later, once Potter is safely deposited into Draco’s bed and has had several potions forcefully poured down his throat, is that he’s too good.

Too trusting.

He’s a right twat about some things, sure. He’s got a horrible taste in Quidditch teams, and beer and, in Draco’s opinion, women. He’s got a surprising mean streak under that savior complex, and is actually funny in a dry, unintentional sort of way. The first time that he’d cracked a joke that made Draco laugh, he’d been up all night overthinking it for a week straight, because - was Potter always funny? Or was his humor like an infection? Did it creep up on you slowly? Or was it just there all along?

Draco didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot about Potter, as it turned out, until… he did.

It started at New Year’s. There was a gala. People, reporters, fireworks.

There was also, unfortunately, firewhiskey.

He remembers only snapshots of the night. Finding Potter lurking in the shadows of the fourth floor was one of them. Licking the sweat from his neck later that evening was another. They’d woken up in what Draco later came to realize was Potter’s flat, their legs tangled together in the sheets.

Never again, they’d vowed, green with nausea as they took turns chucking up acid in the loo.

What a cliché, Draco had thought, safely ensconced in the manor later that day. Best now that it was out of his system.

And then… it happened again.

And again.

And somehow, it just kept right on happening, growing like that river. A trickle to a stream, a stream to a brook, a brook to… whatever was spilling over the banks now.

Fic goals:

Write something - anything - at least once a month. The shortest one-shot or the longest novel. January doesn’t count.

#heather says what #year in review #new year's memes #heather writes #2022

[handwrittenhello]

I posted 1,551 times in 2022

That's 277 more posts than 2021!

44 posts created (3%)

1,507 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@samstree

@limerental

@wanderlust-t

@meliteles-tits

@ghostinthelibrarywrites

I tagged 500 of my posts in 2022

#the sandman - 228 posts

#disco elysium - 137 posts

#ofmd - 26 posts

#the witcher - 22 posts

#hhartt - 18 posts

#fic rec - 14 posts

#the witcher fanart - 13 posts

#jaskier - 10 posts

#yennskier - 9 posts

#yenskier - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 120 characters

#i’m in a server with the author and when they casually mentioned being the progenitor of one the most famous tropes ever

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I tried out an art nouveau style and am very impressed with the results :)

Individual posts for each character: Yennefer | Jaskier

134 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

#4

Tangled Up in You

Geraskefer, T, no warnings, 2.6k, Mer AU. written for @penny-anna! based on @journeythroughunknownlands' incredible art of prawnskier :3 When Jaskier finds Geralt tangled in a net, he seeks out the sea-witch Yennefer for her help, but she wants something in return. read below or here on ao3

Jaskier didn’t often consider his size an advantage. Shrimp, after all, were both subject to hunting by the larger predators of the sea, and went largely unnoticed by the larger breeds of mercreatures. More than once Jaskier had had to dart away to a hiding place when a hungry mouth had come snapping. He craved attention, sure, but certainly not like that!

Today, though, his small size would prove to be an advantage for once.

He was out near the old fishing grounds, a place usually not frequented for fear of being seen and hunted by the humans that skimmed across the surface of the sea. It was a good place to find things, old junk the humans had discarded that winked and sparkled brightly under the refracted sunlight that filtered through the water.

Plus, as mentioned earlier, fish were largely wise enough to avoid the place, so Jaskier could relax his guard some as he sorted through the treasures on the seabed.

He was contemplating taking home an old silver locket—it was rather large for him, and useless besides, but so pretty—when he heard the sounds of a struggle. He darted inside the nearest hiding place he could see, a beat-up tin can, quailing at the thought of danger. But the sounds continued, far off, and after a few moments his curiosity got the better of him.

He peeked his head out, scanning all around him for the source of the disturbance. There, to the north past the seaweed forests, movement. Swimming as quickly as he could, he wove his way between tall strands of seaweed, the sounds of thrashing becoming clearer, interspersed with low grunts and cursing. Another mer!

He broke through the weeds to see someone tangled up tight in a large fishing net. Jaskier caught a glimpse of scales, a scarred fin, sharp teeth bared—he was a shark!

But, tangled as he was, and with no sign of freeing himself soon, there was no real danger. Despite his instincts yelling at him to flee, to hide, Jaskier swam closer, deftly avoiding the shark’s flailing tail and coming to float next to his head. The shark didn’t seem to have noticed him at all yet.

“In a bind?” Jaskier asked, tail twitching. Golden eyes snapped to focus on the small shrimp, teeth still bared in a snarl. “I could help you,” he continued. “I’m Jaskier, pleasure to meet you.”

“I don’t need help,” the shark growled.

Jaskier huffed, swimming closer. “Hold still and let me see.”

The shark growled again, but stilled, allowing Jaskier to wiggle between the ropes of the net. It was knotted around his dorsal fin where he couldn’t reach, and his thrashing had only drawn it tighter around him.

“Ah, here we are,” Jaskier said, circling around to the knot. It was a nasty one; no amount of pulling would loosen it. He checked that the shark couldn’t see, and then, feeling foolish, tried to bite through the ropes. He made little progress, his teeth simply too small to gnaw through such thick ropes.

“Well?” the shark rumbled, tail fin twitching. “If you can’t do anything, go away. Your legs tickle.”

Jaskier once more squeezed between the ropes of the net, coming around in front of the shark. “Worry not! I know of a sea witch, Yennefer, who will surely be able to help.”

“I won’t tangle with any witches.”

“Well, I’d like to see you stop me, tangled as you are with that net,” Jaskier said cheekily. The shark tried to lunge, snapping his teeth, but Jaskier deftly swam out of the way. “Stay put, I’ll be right back,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily, as the shark seemed to slump, still caught in his bonds.

Jaskier swam quickly to the witch’s cave, which was just on the edge of the fishing grounds, far enough away from civilized society that she wasn’t often bothered—which was exactly as she liked it, Jaskier suspected. He had never been there, but he’d heard tales of it—the eerie flickering light that bounced off the cave’s walls, the fronds of dark seaweed that obscured the entrance, the bones that lined the bottom.

The cave was exactly as the stories told, and a frisson of—something close to fear, but not quite, maybe anticipation?—shivered through him. He was small enough that the fronds of seaweed proved to be no entrapping maze, though the tiny bones he swam over gave him a deep sense of dread. Hopefully they had belonged to fish only, and not to those who dared disturb the witch of the sea.

As he delved deeper into the cave, twisted shadows began to writhe along the cave walls. What dark magic was the witch weaving?

Good sense finally got the better of him, and he slowed to a stop, peeking around a corner into the true hollow of the cavern. It was large, but not gloomy at all despite its outward appearance. Holes at the top opened to let sunlight in, and colorful schools of fish swam among the rainbow of coral that grew on all sides.

And in the center floated a figure hunched over a gleaming orb that shimmered and sparked. The shadows resolved themselves into tentacles, mirroring the witch’s inky appendages—of which she had many—that wrapped around the orb.

She was chanting lowly in some language Jaskier didn’t recognize, the total of her focus on whatever spell she was performing.

It was, of course, the perfectly wrong moment to sneeze. So Jaskier did.

Yennefer faltered, stumbling over her strange words. The orb’s light dimmed and then died. “Fuck!” she cursed, shaking the now-useless ball of glass. Her head whipped round, her eyes piercing him with their violet gaze, pinning him helplessly in place.

With a flick of her finger, he found himself being rushed forward of no will of his own. He yelped, legs trying fruitlessly to cling onto something. He came to a stop hovering in front of her face, looming over him so close.

“What foolish little shrimp dares to enter the cave of a witch?” she asked, her hair floating around him as if it had a mind of its own, aiming to snare him.

“My name is Jaskier,” Jaskier replied, relieved that his voice didn’t waver. “I’ve come to request your help, Madame Witch.”

See the full post

141 notes - Posted March 28, 2022

#3

That Sandpiper Scene

You know, the one that had a lot of people screaming at their TV screens "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT YOU COLOSSAL IDIOT?"

AKA the scene in 2x04 when Jaskier smuggles the elves onto the boat, but pisses off the guard when he insults Jaskier's music. I, like I'm sure many people were, was also extremely frustrated by that scene--but I want to dive into why I think it's ultimately in-character for Jaskier to do it, and what might be behind his actions.

To start, we have to consider the situation as a whole. It's an EXTREMELY stressful time, for him and for everyone else, but especially the elves. War with Nilfgaard, racial genocide in the streets, and for Jaskier, a new hobby of subterfuge and smuggling. He feels it's not only his moral obligation to help the elves, but also pragmatically speaking the sensible thing to do, because he could be next ("They came for the elves, they'll come for the dwarves... no artist is safe.") So it's safe to say he's pretty fucking stressed.

And on top of all that, he doesn't even believe he's qualified to do the job. He makes a joke about it, of course, because that's what he does, but he even admits that he has no plan for smuggling the elves and Yennefer and Cahir onto the boat. He's going to improvise, like he's apparently been doing the entire time. The only thing I can think of worse than risking my life is risking my life without a plan.

So he's running on some pretty high tensions here. Luckily, it seems that he's usually able to get by when he relies on his persona as Jaskier the famous bard, a name he's made for himself over the course of two decades. Only for the guard to stop him short with unasked-for critique over one of his songs (and, as a writer, we all know how much unsolicited criticism sucks, right? :P)

This is, I think, less of an overblown overreaction to a minor comment, and more of the straw that broke the camel's back. Consider all of the previous stressors I just listed, and then consider the fact that Jaskier has literally no control over any of them. He's doing all he can, but there's only so much he can do. But you know what he can control? Music. That's what he's based his entire career on, that's (presumably) what he studied at university, that's what he lives and breathes. How dare this uneducated, amateur dock guard presume to know anything near as much as what Jaskier does?

So he explodes. He rants about how the guard doesn't know anything about music, how his song is unappreciated, etc. etc., and unfortunately pisses off the very guard whose goodwill his and his passengers' survival depends on. This is something he can control, something he knows, something he's good at, and this is his stressed overtaxed brain doing its best to assert control over a situation he has absolutely no control over. It sucks, but it's understandable when considered like this.

Further, it's in-character for him. He's always been painted as the lovable but self-important narrator, a good musician but flawed--he's prideful, overly defensive of his music, easily offended, holds a grudge. It's no wonder he feels deeply wounded by the guard's criticism of his songs, and it's no wonder he lashes out like he does, especially under so much stress.

Anyway thinking through it like this helped me see his frankly horrific actions in this scene in a better and more understandable light, and I hope anyone else who felt uncomfortable during this scene can read this and maybe gain a different or more sympathetic perspective.

144 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#2

A (very belated) birthday present for @hobbart-art! I'm obsessed with their prince Jaskier/knight Yennefer AU, and think Jaskier should get to play the damsel in distress more often

(click for quality)

175 notes - Posted July 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

apparently i?? never posted this?? anyway this was a gift for @inber who requested jaskier riding a frog. he littol

285 notes - Posted July 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[thenightling]

Here is the teaser trailer for The Witcher: Sirens of The Deep. This is the second Witcher animated movie from Netflix. Remember, just because it's animated does NOT mean it's intended for children. There's violence, nudity, and swearing.

Abridged explanation of What is The Witcher: In a medieval-fantasy world in a place called "The Continent" (resembles Europe) in a region that resembles Poland we meet Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher.

Witchers are semi-immortal (they don't age as humans do) male witches trained since childhood to be monster hunters.

Geralt travels the countryside with his effeminate bard friend, Jaskier, (called Dandelion in the English language versions of the novels. Note: Jaskier is Polish for Buttercup), and Yennefer, Geralt's sorceress lover.

This barely functional trio end up, together, raising an orphaned princess, named Ciri. Ultimately Ciri grows up to be a Witcher, herself.

Plot of The Witcher: Sirens of The Deep:

Set before episode 6 of season 1 of The Witcher Netflix series, Sirens of the Deep has Geralt summoned to a sea-side kingdom where there is political unrest between the human kingdom and the neighboring sirens (mermaids whose voices can lure men to their deaths). The prince has fallen in love with a siren and one must give up their world to be with the other, much like The Little Mermaid.

This story was previously told in the song "A little Sacrifice" song by Princess Ciri in season 3 of The Witcher (live action Netflix series).

For those keeping score here are all the adaptations of The Witcher so far.

First there were the original Polish novels and short stories (available as a box set in English).

Then came a short lived Polish TV series.

After that came three very successful Witcher video games.

Then came The Witcher comic books (new short stories in comic book form).

Then Netflix created their own UK / American produced English language Witcher TV series, which is currently filming its fourth season. Henry Cavill played Geralt of Rivia for three seasons but Liam Hemsworth will take over the role for season 4.

Then came The Witcher: Nightmare of the Wolf (first Witcher animated movie by Netflix (also in English). Prequel to the Netflix show). This is set roughly a hundred years before the Netflix series.

Then came The Witcher: Blood Origin (also from Netflix). This is a live action prequel mini-series to the Netflix show but it uses Jaskier being told the story to bookend it. This is an origin story for the very first Witcher.

Next comes the latest Netflix animated movie. The Witcher: Sirens of the Deep which is set during season 1 of The Witcher Netflix series, some time before episode 6 but after episode 2.

Currently another Netflix spin-off series is in development called The Witcher: The Rats dealing with vagabond children in a major city of The Continent, who befriend and help Ciri in her travels.

Season 1 of The Netflix live-action English language Witcher series has an unnecessarily confusing timeline, probably inspired by HBO's first season of Westworld. If you are just starting on The Witcher don't be intimidated. Just know that the story about Yennefer is set at least thirty-years before the events happening with Geralt and Geralt's story is roughly twelve years before Ciri's story. And the timelines converge near the end of season 1. They don't bother telling you that the stories are taking place in different time periods. And it's needlessly confusing because half the characters (Geralt and Yennefer in particular) don't age. And the show forgot to age Jaskier during the first season.

In The Witcher: Sirens of The Deep Geralt is not voiced by Henry Cavill but instead by Doug Cockle who voiced Geralt in The Witcher video games and actually inspired Henry Cavill's portrayal in the live-action show.

When Henry Cavill speaks as Geralt in the Netflix show he's actually impersonating Doug Cockle's version from the video games.

Doug Cockle is currently battling prostate cancer.

I'm glad Doug Cockle was finally given the opportunity to voice Geralt in a movie since his video game voice is what inspired how Henry Cavill speaks as Geralt in the Netflix series.

I appreciate that Netflix pushed to allow him to do this.

Many people expected The Witcher to be Netflix's Game of Thrones but it ended up being more like a gender swapped Xena: Warrior Princess. And… It's good.

#The Witcher #Witcher #Sirens of The deep #Youtube