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weaknwanting · 10 months
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look i just wanted to test some petal brushes and suddenly there was romantic witcher fanart
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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i don't know what younger person needs to hear this, but it is so valid to not want to drink alcohol at all, or to only want to drink very rarely. don't let others pressure you into joining in with those societal rituals. it is an outrage how normalized drinking alcohol is, to the point that those who choose to abstain are constantly forced to justify their private choices, be publicly questioned about what led to these choices or excluded from activities altogether. you do not ever need to justify your reasons for this. there are absolutely valid and important reasons to not drink, and nobody has a right to know your personal reasonings.
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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Geraskier Incorrect Quotes [18/∞]
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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blooper reels for anything make me SO stupidly sentimental.. watching them with tears in my eyes like.. look at them. laughing together. goofing off. being human. having fun. creating art in the process. I feel so normally about this
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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(old witcher fanart i should redraw )
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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They should cast Pedro Pascal as Geralt in The Witcher so he can have the market cornered on the “Reluctant Dad to a Very Important Badass Kid” trope.
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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reblog not for a “bigger sample size” but because polls like this are a fun way to help people reinforce their own self-concept and passing it along so that other people can also have the opportunity to strengthen their sense of self by pressing a button is a cool and nice thing to do
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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Pls reblog if u vote :)
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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People really need to realise that “media can affect real life” doesn’t mean “this character does bad things so people will read that and start doing bad things” and actually means “ideas in fiction especially stereotypes about minority groups can affect how the reader views those groups, an authors implicit prejudices can be passed on to readers”
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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the last thing you for voted in a poll is now the foundation for your newly formed political party
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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not all have emojis but
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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geraskier? geraskier.
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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find out: i was just a bad dream
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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weaknwanting · 1 year
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in other words (please be true)
A secret santa gift for dear @lamberts, hope your year is full of good sleep and love! 💖 (2.2k ☆ AO3)
“Jaskier,” Geralt says with his eyes closed.
“Hmm?” A slight shuffle, the sound of Jaskier burrowing into the cover.
“Go to sleep.”
A puff of breath ghosts over Geralt’s cheeks. The pillow under his ear is soft, a nice spot to stay forever like this.
“I am,” Jaskier answers, carefully.
“Your eyes are still open.” Geralt doesn’t even need to look to know, with Jaskier’s gaze on the back of his eyes.
“They’re not,” Jaskier lies again with a smile in his voice.
Sighing, Geralt leans forward to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead, down his eyebrow, and then lightly, on the tip of his nose. He rests a hand over Jaskier’s back, patting a gentle rhythm. It’s a trick he’s learned to get Ciri to fall asleep quickly.
Jaskier sinks into the bed further, but Geralt can practically hear the sound of him blinking. The feeling of being closely observed by Jaskier is not a bad one. It’s just a small weight of attention, a warm tingling on his senses, a safe kind of being seen.
Still, the subtle hint of exhaustion threads into the thrumming of Jaskier’s heartbeat, just on the edge of too light and too quick.
“It’s late, and you are tired,” Geralt shushes again under his breath. “Close your eyes.”
“They are closed.”
Shamelessly, Jaskier keeps looking, so Geralt lets him for a few moments longer.
The fire crackles as Geralt keeps his eyes shut—opening them would mean admitting defeat. He’d be giving up on the attempt to sleep, and he’s reluctant to do so just because Jaskier wants to be a cheeky liar.
Without looking, he can picture Jaskier perfectly—lying on his side, face only inches away. The night is dark, and so are Jaskier’s eyes, peeking from under the covers with his face hidden. Age has never taken away that mischievous glint in those eyes, nor the overflowing adoration resting in the crow’s feet at Jaskier’s temple. Without looking, Geralt knows he’s being seen with love.
His lungs expand, filled with the familiar scent of Jaskier, and then, he opens his eyes.
There Jaskier is, safe in their bed, the lower half of his face hidden under the cover. The smile is unmistakable when his eyes are curved like this, showing those beautiful crow’s feet. Upon seeing Geralt is wide awake, his eyes light up even more, nearly gleaming with excitement in the dim firelight.
“Oops,” Jaskier murmurs. “You’ve caught me.”
“As if you regret it.”
“Who says I don’t?”
Letting out a deep breath, Geralt searches for Jaskier’s hand under the covers, his limbs all slow and lazy, heavy from a day’s journey. Jaskier meets him halfway, links their fingers together and brings Geralt’s hand to his lips.
“Hey,” Geralt greets him as if they didn’t say goodnight mere minutes ago. A content hum rumbles quietly as his hand is being kissed.
“Hey,” Jaskier greets him in return.
They lie there, blinking slowly in the warm nest of their bed. There are faint bruises under Jaskier’s eyes from days of traveling. He truly is exhausted, and Geralt’s heart twists in sympathy.
“The only thing you’ll regret tomorrow is the lack of sleep.” He squeezes Jaskier’s hand in worry. “Come on, stop staring.”
Jaskier only shakes his head. “No.”
“Jask.”
“I didn’t ride for days just to not look at your face, witcher.” Jaskier’s lips purse into a displeased line. “I’ve waited for months. Months, Geralt. Do you know how long they last when you are away?”
Geralt is too aware, because those months stretched out in Jaskier’s absence as if they’d never end. The empty bedroll beside him grew cold every morning when he reached out, but he kept reaching anyway.
“So you’ve decided to never take your eyes off of me again?” Geralt asks. “Even at night, just to make up for those months?”
“You tease me for missing you.” Jaskier pouts, wounded as if he’s suffered great unfairness.
“I tease you for being unreasonable.”
Geralt wraps an arm behind Jaskier’s back again and begins running soothing circles, inching forward until Jaskier fits into the curve of his body.
“Perhaps I am,” Jaskier whispers, his breath warm against Geralt’s neck. “When we were apart, I’d close my eyes and picture all the details of your face. I was quite proud for remembering well, but my imagination could never compare. You see, you’ve changed in my absence.”
“I did?”
“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier touches his forehead to Geralt’s in confirmation. “You always change when I’m not there. I merely wanted to record the differences for my imagination. So next time, I’ll be more accurate.”
Geralt aches at the thought of separating from Jaskier again. “You understand we need to part, do you? Between your job and mine, it’s the way it is.”
Jaskier swallows. “Yes, for a few years at least. We have our plan, so I understand. Doesn’t make it easier.”
With that, Jaskier looks down at where their hands link. For the first time, a real sense of tiredness weighs on his frame, shrinking his presence, and it makes Geralt feel wrong-footed in a million ways. It just won’t do. Geralt hates it when Jaskier takes up less space.
“No. It’s never easy,” Geralt agrees, rather urgently. “It’s the same for me. I…I’d pretend you were with me too.”
“You would?”
Geralt nods. “Our bedroll felt too big. I kept trying to find you at night, only to remember you weren’t there. Even Roach sensed I was sad.”
“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, I am. Shouldn’t have made fun of you.” Geralt pulls Jaskier closer to lay on his shoulder, securing the comfortable weight of his bard at his side.
“You can’t stop making fun of me even if you wanted to. I don’t know why I’m sweet on you,” Jaskier mumbles into Geralt’s shirt. “Perhaps I shall forget about your face altogether and let you suffer in unrequited longing.”
With a huff, Geralt pulls away, wrapping a hand around Jaskier’s chin. “My, my, have mercy. I won’t survive.”
“So you’ll let me stare now?” Jaskier perks up, his face open and earnest. “I don’t ask for more, only a few stolen moments at night.”
Jaskier still talks about Geralt’s love as if it is something he cheated out of the universe, as if he can only steal moments of affection in the darkness of the night. Even after all these years, he treats Geralt like it’s a privilege to love him, to be loved by him.
Suddenly, he never wants Jaskier to stop looking.
“Stare all you want,” he answers. “Look all you want. Remember all of me, but know you can ask for more. Always.”
Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with a coy smile, the lower half of his face swallowed by the soft cover once again. “Always is a long time. I’d never sleep if you kept letting me get my way. You’d be dealing with a cranky, sleep-deprived bard every morning.”
“Hmm. A compromise, perhaps,” Geralt says. “A deal. Look all you want, but if you sleep early enough, I’ll get you those strawberry tarts you like in the morning.”
“With honey tea?”
“With honey tea,” Geralt confirms. “You can stay here comfortably, with your tea and breakfast. It’ll also be snowing in the morning, I can smell it in the air.”
“Oh,” Jaskier breathes hopefully, “you know I cannot refuse a lazy morning in bed. With snow, no less. This is the highest form of bribery, I’ll have you know. It’s put me in a rather difficult position.”
“Look your fill, bard.” Geralt raises his eyebrows, his hand sneaking up Jaskier’s back again, patting gently. “I won’t mind, but think of the price you’ll be paying.”
Jaskier squints, studying Geralt with a wicked look.
“There is one thing different about you, now that I’m paying attention,” he says. “You’ve grown cunning while I wasn’t here. It’s not a good look, darling. I liked it better when I could get away with anything.”
“I learned it from the best.” A human’s heartbeat thrums under a witcher’s callused fingertips, and Geralt keeps his touch patient. “What else is different about me?”
Jaskier reaches out for the stray hair at Geralt’s temple. “Lots of things. Your hair, for one. It was too short when we parted. Kept getting into your eyes. Now, I think I can braid it again.”
“In the morning, then,” Geralt offers another bribery. “And?”
“You have a new scar. Right here, by your collarbone. Is it a scratch? A vicious beast, perhaps?”
“The most vicious.” Geralt winces. “A stray cat by the road.”
Jaskier gasps, soothing the claw marks, hissing in sympathy. “What? Have you still not given up on petting them? Geralt, you know they attack witchers on sight!”
The orange little thing liked Roach fine, purring and rolling by her feet in the sunbeam, so Geralt made the mistake of letting down his guard too soon. It’s been a century of feline injuries; he really should have learned.
“I’ll live, Jask. Don’t you fret.” He catches Jaskier’s hand and kisses his palm. “Anything else?”
“Hmm, let’s see. I don’t see other signs of your foolishness.” Jaskier recoils a little when Geralt’s stubble scratches the sensitive skin of his wrist. “Except you are not taking care of yourself again, despite all my nagging letters. You know I love your face as it is, dearest, but this beard needs some upkeep.” His voice drops to seriousness, a hint of worry hanging by his pursed lips. “You’ve also gotten thin, just a little bit.”
Jaskier looks saddened by the thought, his fingers now tracing the sharp lines of Geralt’s cheekbone.
“You know how winters are,” Geralt says, his chest warm from the sense of being protected. It’s a rare feeling, but here Jaskier is, fussing over a witcher who is only meant to protect others.
“I know it gets like this. But again, it doesn’t make it easier.”
Jaskier sighs, brows knitted and deep in thoughts. They are no doubt thoughts of pampering Geralt over the entire winter now that they are together. He’d be mentally arranging all those sweet treats Geralt likes, or even contemplating cooking by himself again. Hopefully not—the kitchen can’t take another burning.
It’s too ridiculous a sight, Jaskier exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, worrying over Geralt’s missed meal or two.
“Hey,” Geralt calls out, interrupting. “I know something hasn’t changed.”
“Hmm?”
He always knows another trick to put Jaskier to sleep.
With their bodies tangled up and breaths mingling, Geralt kisses Jaskier sweetly and lazily. He sets a languid pace, a gentle exploration, a quiet homecoming. They exchange soft hums between pleasant teasing, but it never goes beyond what it is. Geralt simply kisses Jaskier, coaxing him to lie back and bask in the attention.
“Is it the same?” Geralt breathes, pressing another small kiss on Jaskier’s grin.
“Better, even.” Jaskier blinks slowly, his eyelids growing heavy despite the grin on his face. “Something else hasn’t changed.”
“Oh?”
“The way you look at me.”
Geralt runs his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, studying the light fluttering of his lashes in the dim light. He’s looking right into all that is kind in the world, all that is his.
“And how do I look at you?” Geralt asks.
“Like I’m a secret you get to keep,” Jaskier answers.
For a moment, the world disappears and all that’s left is them, being here, a secret Geralt never thought he could keep.
Jaskier’s hand falls next to the pillow, where Geralt threads their fingers together. He’s almost entirely resting on top of Jaskier, but he knows the weight is welcomed. It makes Jaskier feel safe enough to be humming that pleasant sound, and most importantly, it makes Jaskier sleepy.
“My secret. Mine. How did that happen?” Geralt muses as Jaskier lets out a yawn. He chuckles. “You know, we can always pick this up tomorrow.”
Under him, Jaskier is all sprawled out and squirming, pressed into the mattress and melted into a puddle of contentment.
“Not tomorrow, no. More kisses for me…right now.”
“Hmm, another deal, then.” Geralt smiles wickedly, resting his head on the pillow, studying Jaskier’s silhouette. “More kisses, but only tomorrow morning. I’ll kiss you more when I have the strawberry tarts.”
A sad whine escapes Jaskier’s throat, but there is no fight behind the drowsiness. “Sabotage on top of bribery, depriving me of kisses. You are truly too cunning.”
“You can complain tomorrow.”
“And feed you strawberry tarts too.” Jaskier yawns again. “Must feed you treats. Keep you happy and healthy.”
“Tomorrow,” Geralt promises, watching Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, his mouth going slack. The quietness stretches on with only the fire crackling. The shadows dance around Jaskier’s features, warming his round cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest evening out.
It’s like Geralt could stay here all night, just counting all the ways Jaskier is safe and happy and comfortable.
“Your eyes are still open,” Jaskier whispers under his breath, half asleep.
“They are not,” Geralt lies.
“Liar.”
A small smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips as he drifts off. He lets out soft snores soon after, his pinkie still hooked with Geralt’s thumb.
Geralt stays there for just a while longer, reveling in not having to reach out for cold, empty sheets, and in not having to miss Jaskier like there is a bard-shaped emptiness in his heart.
He sleeps, knowing he won’t need to miss Jaskier for a while longer, knowing in the morning, he will have sweet treats to buy and his bard to kiss awake.
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