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#a very bouncey halloween
bishiglomper · 5 months
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Nephew was Pikachu at the library halloween thing. I had to get a picture of sun and moon 👀
He had a good time. Lots of littles. Two kids punched him, which made him very sad. D:
Most children were delightful though. And they were all polite when I handed out pokemon party favors.
I love it when a totally professional-looking adult sees him and smiles like they're just as delighted as the kids. 😁
He's such a good pikachu. He does an awesome voice. One guy was saying he must have a voice changer. Nope. He's just makes a good pikachu. And his idle animation is this bouncey dance.
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nb-fowler · 9 months
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MEET THE RAPPER
Hello there, the name's Nobody Fowler.
I use They/Them pronouns and I'm an up-and-coming rapper. I'm on every music platform, as well as Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok.
I tend to make songs about mental health, personal struggles, and conscious rap, though I also occasionally branch out into more light-hearted bar tracks and even into some horrorcore type songs.
I've been putting music for a little over a year now and am pretty happy with what I've put out already. So, let me show what I've done so far. You can find links to all of these in the LinkTree above.
ALBUMS
The Dark Tape — This was my very first album. It's primarily focused on talking about mental illness, the toll it can take on you, and how it affects your life. With songs like Dreams—a song about struggling to separate fantasies (or, dreams if you will) from reality, while also struggling to work towards your own dreams—and The Dungeon—a song about struggling with depression and the ways it can isolate you, which makes it worse, and make you feel like your stuck in a sort of Dunegon with only one awful way out.
The Way Out [Album Version] — This is an expanded and improved version of my mixtape by this same name (See below) that adds 2 new tracks, an extended version of one of the singles, various changes on multiple original tracks, and, most importantly, brings this project to streaming services for all to hear. (More info below in the Mixtape Version)
MIXTAPES
The Snake Sessions — This is a compilation of different tracks I had submitted to a weekly Instagram contest called The Snake Pit, including tracks like Back In The Days and Who's That Kid that had earned me top 5 and even top 3 regularly. This project also included multiple scrapped tracks, a couple freestyles, and a track I did with another up-and-coming rapper named L0RD M3RC.
The Way Out [Mixtape Version] — This is a project based around the feeling being stuck and desperately trying to escape. It takes on this topic in various ways, such as Broken Mind—a song that focuses on how neurodivergent people and people with various mental illnesses are often cast out and view as too different to be treated as true equals, and desperately wanted to break out of that—and even in loosely tied-in tracks like Outta My Way—a more bouncey, light-hearted track telling everyone to clear out of the way while I make a name for myself.
EPS
Psycho Path — This was a horrorcore EP that I did for Halloween in 2022. The only way I can really describe it is, lots of bars about violence and horrific scenes. Fun Fact: This project got me banned from participating in a tournament style rap competition after the host listened to just the opening track and found it to be too disturbing.
Psychosis [By L0RD M3RC] — This is a collab EP that I did with another artist named L0RD M3RC. It ranges from regular bar tracks to horrorcore type tracks.
NON-ALBUM SINGLES
Woke Up Like This — This is a song about dealing with depression and thoughts of self-harm. This was my debut single. It is no longer available on streaming services after I started feeling guilty for how I approached the subject, so I took it down. It is currently only available on my Instagram and YouTube.
How Far — This is a song talking about how far I've come both as a person and as an artist in such a short period of time, and giving props to the people who helped me to this point. This is currently my most popular song, with almost 3k streams on Spotify and over 360 total views on YouTube.
Smoke Shop — This is largely an aggressive, dark track based around dishing out "smoke" to various people.
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Trick or Treat
The next A Very Bouncey Halloween installment and a belated birthday gift to my darling @veritasrose. Thank you so much for the last year of friendship, I look forward to celebrating with you again. <3 you are much loved.
tw: curses, Geralt is an idiot, competent Jaskier
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Light flashes through the room and momentarily blinds Jaskier, who stumbles back against Geralt. He mumbles an apology to the ever-sturdy Witcher as he waits for his vision to return and when he blinks clearly for the first time after a few long moments, the bard feels utterly and totally confused by the scene unfolding before him.
The Duke’s grandest ballroom, which had been bustling with excitable party guests only moments ago, is now flooded with ghouls, ghosts, vampires, and monsters of all sorts. A woman with swan’s wings is huddled in one corner, squawking angrily at anyone who tries to draw near. A minotaur stumbles through the center of the dance floor, lowing in frustration as he tries to control his bulky limbs. Two werewolves wrestle for dominance atop the furthest banquet table to their left. As Jaskier takes it all in, he feels Geralt’s hands wrap suddenly around his bicep; the Witcher is clinging to Jaskier fiercely, leaning his not insignificant weight against the bard’s side as his eyes grow round and watery.
“What’s happening?” Geralt finally asks. His tone of voice seems breathy and high, filled with a terror - almost totally foreign to Jaskier’s ears. Geralt fears nothing and yet… “Let’s get away from this dreadful place, please!”
“Aren’t you going to try and solve this problem?” Jaskier asks, glancing at his companion. He gestures at the various monsters roaming freely past the buffet table. “You’re likely the nearest Witcher, after all.”
“I’m no Witcher,” Geralt declares. He splays a hand over the very center of his blue velvet doublet (a nearly perfect imitation of the way Jaskier reacts to a perceived offense). “I am a Count. Witchers are dirty things, not meant for such a public life as my own.”
“For fuck’s sake, Geralt, now is not the time for a prank of this nature,” Jaskier huffs. “Something is clearly going on here. We need to help these people!”
“I know something is wrong,” Geralt sniffles - fucking sniffles - and squeezes the bard’s upper arm even more tightly. The sound of Geralt crying shakes Jaskier into understanding, even as Geralt begs: “But I don’t know how to help! Please get me out of here, Milord, I’m scared.”
Milord? Jaskier mouths to himself, even as he wraps one comforting arm around Geralt’s waist and ushers him away from the growing chaos at the center of the ballroom. Jaskier hurries them down one suspiciously empty hallway after another until he reaches the small suite that he had accepted as payment for his performance at the party. Jaskier ushers Geralt inside and locks the heavy oak door behind them.
“My Lord Geralt,” he gets the not-quite-Witcher’s attention. “Do you mind taking a seat by the fire for now? I’ll be right with you as soon as the room is secure, and then we can figure out what’s going on and what to do from here.”
“Yes, Milord,” Geralt nods. He hurries to comply with Jaskier’s request, to the bard’s continuing shock and awe, and stays still and quiet as Jaskier removes his doublet and rolls up his sleeves. Using the strength he’s spent twelve years at Geralt’s side developing, Jaskier shoves a bookcase, a dresser, and an unfortunately designed roll-top desk in front of the locked doors for added protection.
Moving behind Geralt with practiced efficiency, Jaskier also closes, shutters, and locks every window in the room, pulling the curtains closed to keep any light from spilling out and alerting stray creatures of their presence.
When he’s finished locking down all of their room’s possible entrances and breathing hard from exertion, Jaskier tugs the Witcher’s xenovox from his bag and flips it open, waiting with bated breath until Yennefer’s irritated voice snaps: “What do you want, Geralt?”
“Who is that?!” Geralt cries from his place near the fire. He has a white-knuckle grip on the overstuffed armchair he’s perched in and his clothing is mussed; Jaskier motions for him to be quiet and Geralt bites his lip, worrying the soft pink skin between his unusually dull canines.
“Was that Geralt?” Yennefer asks. "Did Jaskier summon me?"
“Yes and yes,” Jaskier replies. “I think he’s been cursed or enchanted or something. I was hired to play at the Duke of Rinde’s All Hallow’s Eve celebration and Geralt accompanied me - even dressed up for the occasion - but something happened at the party and now he’s acting strangely. I don’t know what to do.”
"What's happening?" Yennefer prods.
"Geralt is acting rather out of sorts. He’s speaking strangely, he wanted to flee the party rather than investigate the source of the changes-”
“What changes?”
“Everyone sort of… Well, a good portion of the party guests suddenly transformed into their costumes,” Jaskier explains, his speech stunted by his disbelief. “I know it sounds incredible, and it was! One moment we were all enjoying the music and the next… there was a minotaur and a mermaid and a faun… Geralt went nearly mute and started clinging to my arm like some sort of aristocratic maiden!”
“Oh shit,” Yen groans.
“Who is that?” Geralt repeats. Jaskier continues to ignore his companion. He knows that the moment he turns his attention to caring for Geralt, he won’t be able to tear it away again, and he needs to finish this conversation with Yennefer first.
“Why are you swearing?” he asks the sorceress. “What is it?”
“Geralt asked me for advice about this stupid ball a few days ago, while you were busy making arrangements with the Duke. He wanted to impress you with his All Hallow’s Eve costume and prove that he could be just as fancy and well-mannered as all the other men of your status.”
“Why in the world would Geralt want to dress up and act like a nobleman? It makes no sense! He detests small talk, he hates vanity, and he finds most men of my station to be cowardly and overly delicate - myself included! I just- I don’t quite understand why he’d go through all of this just to impress me. Or why he thinks this kind of thing would be impressive in the first place.”
“Jaskier, please tell me that you aren’t as stupid as our mutually beloved Witcher…”
Jaskier considers for a moment, pondering the things that he does to impress Geralt: gathering wood, learning to cook with game meat, preparing the Witcher’s potion ingredients while he's out on hunts, organizing their packs when they're spiking camp, brushing Roach’s mane… Realization dawns suddenly and all at once. He has a moment of pure understanding, a moment much beloved by every poet, bard, and playwright across the Continent: “Oh.”
Yennefer gives a tired laugh. “Yeah.”
“So he’s stuck as… a noble?”
“I suppose,” she sighs. “I’ll portal you to my location and we can figure things out in peace. Get your things together, I’ll open it up in precisely five minutes.”
“What’s happening!?” Geralt demands. Jaskier pulls the Witcher/Count to his feet and bows shallowly.
“I am Jaskier Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. I will be your protector and chaperone for the foreseeable future, Your Lordship,” Jaskier bows shallowly. “I’m going to gather our things together and then we are going to meet up with a very lovely sorceress, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
Jaskier barely manages to hide his surprise at Geralt’s utter lack of recognition. His memories of Yennefer have also been taken, then.
“She’s a mutual friend.”
“Are you my friend?”
“I would like to think so,” Jaskier smiles. Geralt remains oblivious to the bard’s heartache, even as he curls himself against Jaskier. He tucks his face against Jaskier’s shoulder and sobs quietly. The bard runs his hands comfortingly up and down Geralt’s spine for a long, soothing moment. The smooth, royal-blue velvet tickles his fingertips. “Shh, dear heart. I’ve got you. Everything will be alright, I swear.”
“I trust you,” Geralt whispers.
Just as Jaskier is about to reply, Yennefer’s portal snaps open in the center of the room. Jaskier hands Geralt a set of bags and hauls his own over his shoulder. “Time to go, Your Lordship. Just take one little step…”
---
“Do you know who I am?” Yennefer asks. Geralt shakes his head before burying his face in the back of Jaskier’s shoulder-blade.
“I’m so frightened, Milord.”
Frightened? Milord? Yennefer mouths. Jaskier shrugs nearly imperceptibly and makes a panicked gesture in the Witcher’s general direction.
“I don’t know what to do either!”
“Well, start from the beginning. Tell me what happened at the party before all of… this.”
Jaskier recounts every detail he can remember in the most straightforward way possible, momentarily renouncing his poetic skills in favor of efficiency - for Geralt’s sake, of course, not Yennefer’s. When he's finished he asks: “And you said he did all of this to impress me?”
“Yes.”
“But why?” Jaskier repeats his earlier question. Yennefer understands that his meaning is different; Jaskier understands that Geralt is interested in him romantically, but the bard can't seem to get it through his head that Geralt has deemed him worthy. Although, knowing the Witcher, he isn't even sure how to go about doing such a thing in the first place.
"I just... I don’t quite believe you," he adds.
“He loves you,” Yennefer reiterates. "And now he’s stuck like this until the effects of the spell wear off, so I suggest you take his precious Lordship to one of my spare rooms and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll see you both for breakfast, providing the magic is null and void by then.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“I hope you enjoy small talk, you bardic bastard.”
Yennefer smirks and disappears from the room in a whirl of black and white silk, the scents of lilac and gooseberry curling through the air in her wake.
Geralt clings to Jaskier’s bicep again as the exhausted bard stands, keeping his larger body pressed against the human’s side as if Jaskier is the one who wields the Witcher’s swords. “So I’m under a spell?”
“Yes, darling.”
“At least I have you here to protect me, Jaskier. You’re so brave and strong; my hero!”
“It’s usually the other way around, dear heart, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, how about we find a comfortable place to bed down for the night, Milord?”
"Alright."
Jaskier moves Geralt's hand so that it's curled around the inside of his elbow, the proper etiquette for a platonic escort, and leads him quickly down the long hallways of Yennefer's sprawling manor house. He chooses the blue-themed bedroom at the back of the East Wing, far from the sorceress' own suite of rooms.
He has to help Geralt change out of his lordly costume, the Witcher-turned-Count fumbling uselessly at the laces and buttons as if he'd never seen a fastening before in his life. Geralt whispers shyly as Jaskier pulls a nightshirt over his head: "Thank you again, Milord Jaskier. I feel as if I can't help but continue indebting myself to you."
"Think nothing of it, dear heart," Jaskier smiles, ignoring the pang in his chest. "I am happy to help you."
Jaskier tucks Geralt into bed before changing into his own nightclothes, tossing his things back into their travel bags as he swaps outfits. He feels Geralt tense up when he sits on the edge of the bed and his eyebrows narrow in concern.
"Are you alright, Geralt?"
"Are you going to share a bed with me?"
"Would you rather I didn't?" Jaskier answers with a question of his own.
"I... I wouldn't mind it if we shared."
Jaskier wishes he had Witcher sight, so he could catch a glimpse of the blush no doubt attempting to stain the Witcher's face. Despite the mutagens, Geralt's face still went pale pink when he encountered a strong emotion. It was adorable. And incredibly rare.
As soon as he pulls the covers over his chest, Geralt glues himself to Jaskier's side, snuggling close. "Feels safer," he says in lieu of explanation.
"Goodnight, dear heart."
"Goodnight."
---
"Fuck," Geralt groans, sitting up in bed. Jaskier sits up beside him, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Good morning, Milord," he teases.
"Shut up," Geralt groans. Jaskier does get to see him blush this time, and the bard revels in it; he would trade all the gold in the world to see Geralt flush like this. "I can't believe I cried on you!"
"It was rather adorable, actually."
"Hmm."
"Still..." Jaskier reaches out, tentative, and cups Geralt's cheek with his palm. He turns the Witcher's face and locks their gazes together, blue meeting gold. "Still, I think I prefer you as you are. My big, strong Witcher who cares so much about defending the little guy. Willing to step in and help wherever and whenever he can."
Geralt's eyes get a little glassy and he leans forward, pausing and letting Jaskier make the final decision. The bard meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Geralt's without any sense of urgency at all. It's warm and sweet, time fading away as they let their feelings pour through this one simple gesture. When they pull apart again, Geralt gives a surprised, lopsided smile. "Oh."
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by Bouncey
Based on the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode "Halloween".
Words: 2203, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 5 of A Very Bouncey Halloween
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Additional Tags: Cursed Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Halloween Costumes, Inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Noble Geralt, Yenneference, Yennefer is Too Tired for This Shit, Jaskier | Dandelion to the Rescue, Fluff, First Kiss, Getting Together, idiots to lovers
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mellifluousoctopus · 3 years
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Rewatching all the Halloween towns reactions
Halloween Town
strange man comes up to you and gives you candy? from his ear? and you you trust him completely? and actually want the candy? huh?
why does this movie feel so disconjointed? but make sense?
Zombie elvis?
how did this mans know marnie’s name?
we’ll fly it out then flys it in a circle
if halloweentown is a town why is it local government building called cityhall
how come dylan never showed signs like marnie and sophie of magic
does sexism exist in halloween town? I mean it was ruled by a matriarchal family of witches for a very long while
yEaH BAbY
yes let me just  sit alone in a sweatbox while children just walk around me and i will not say anything
the betrayal on this mans face as he gets punked
why do villans openly believe themselves evil I dont get it especialyy when they think they are doing right?
Halloween Town II: Kalabar’s Revenge
*bouncey music as i describe actual life or death situations*
i cant tell if the costumes got better or worse
look at that dinosaur of a computer and chatroom
*angrily chops lemons* 
cindy is a mood
marnie’s relationship with her mom is a mood
*flirts with showing a guy my grandmother’s room*
why did they link the town with a giant decoration thats in the center of town? who thought this was a good idea
a spell that turns you to a normie is kinda scary
why is he so monotone?
was merlin a cromwell
dylan doesnt know what a amphibian is? out of character
elevator music fitting yet jarring
i wonderif there are any matching socks just by sheer probability
hackers? offline? update? whats with the intentional computer references
WHAT ARE you doing in my swamp
baby cockroach
its a plot block but what about aggies friend (glorck?) sats he’d sell his junk
cindy is no longer a mood
marnie darling he clearly is in emotional distress whyare you playing around
instead of playing cool gwen decides to openly shout at her daugther to not do magic
oh god its a family of science nerds
the magic of french
why are they counting down til midnight for halloween
“you can do it”, yeah thats well established why was she doubting herself at all
maybe you could use another spell to hellp your mother idk two witches and a warlock seems like you could brain storm a bit
IM reALLY THiRSTY
are warlocks/witches/sorcerers/etc considered human they are the most human looking
what! are! the! rules! of! magic! 
why is kal just chillin that spell didn’t turn ALL humans
lemme just glow real quick
...why did they explain it this way.
why did dylan decide to use magic during his 13th birthday if he didnt want magic 
nice credits song
Halloweentown High
Knights??? Aggie made it sound like they chose to do it out of choice why didn’t Marnie know about them, why wasn't Aggie 
what is the counsel?
are they a clan or a coven?
why does everybody have the hots for the mom?
Marnie is at level one but has bent space and time before??
Aggie is Ms. Frizzle
I forgot that Ryan from HSM was in the Movie omg als o is that Chelsea?
what happened to the cloth bag
CANADA
2! red berets!!
Small school but its larger than my large school
Is chemistry different for witches??
SCIENCE 101
imagine having your first day of school having a strange teavher who makes a parrot and then gets chided by a student as if the student is in charge
I think marnie actually just wants to experience life in Halloweentown seeign as she has no plans to introduce humans to halloweentown
where are the Head phones
marnie you narcissist
I remember this scene! (marnie hitting the bag)
Aggie x DiVinci is my new otp
oh? what is the legality of catching a ball with your mouth
considering women couldnt be actors and plays were signs of indecency Aggie was an absolute legend. 
(trans aggie???? :))
Aggie x Divinci x Shakespeare
yells secret stuff out in a busy mall
whys this dude where chainmail at the mall if this was 2020 id see it but...
matching black and white stripes
so im confusion about what constitutes as human
Marnie’s room in a whole different section of the house than the last movie
does ever school have the same hallway tile
hes ugly in two worlds lol mood
a witches training ends at 13 so really why is cassie going to marnie she knows so much more than marnie
there is no way this gym is that quiet
WHAT CONSTITUTES AS HUMAN
this is legit trying to be Sabrina the Teenage Witch which is weird because they were own by the same company at the time
And the twist is...unsurprising
the mirror has a popsocket
how? did? a? child? lose? an? ear? in? Gym? 
i dont understand why people hated the walk through if people watch those walk through doll villages during Christmas and like then theyll like the Halloween version
theres just a spell to take magic? and he can just take it without any witnesses?
He steals aggie’s and marnie’s but not sophie’s, Dylan’s or mom’s thats not very smart
fucking food boy has magic, not cromwell magic but hes got it and has been done with his trainng for at least 3 years why doesnt he use it
how can you use a spell with no magic 
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Mothskier vs. the Haunted House
Welcome to the first of this year's annual "Very Bouncey Halloween" stories! At the request of my beloved @veritasrose I have written some cute Mothskier fluff!
tw: haunted house spooks (brief description of a jump scare)
---
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Geralt asks, taking Jaskier by the hand. The half-Fae’s wings flutter a little in annoyance and he glares over at his boyfriend, eyes narrowing dramatically when their gazes lock.
“This is one of the few seasonal human traditions that seems scary and fun,” he asserts. “I don’t want to miss out!”
“Alright,” the Witcher relents. “But next weekend I get to choose the date activity."
Jaskier nods his consent to this suggestion, antennae bouncing.
The Witcher smiles, presses a quick kiss to Jaskier's fluffy brown hair, and asks: "Do you have the tickets?”
“I printed them out this morning" - Jaskier offers up the folded papers - "Here.”
“Excellent."
Geralt takes the tickets from Jaskier and slips them into his hoodie pocket, keeping them clutched tight as they make their way from the parking lot to the small front gate. After a quick pause to wait in line, Geralt hands their entry passes to the bored-looking teenage attendant at the window.
“Welcome to Hawthorne’s Haunted Halloween Spooktacular,” the dark-haired boy says in a tired monotone as he fastens the day-glo orange bracelet-passes around Geralt and Jaskiers’ wrists. “Enter only if you dare, and please remember to keep your hands to yourself inside the haunted houses.”
Jaskier's mouth opens as if to question the lad and Geralt ushers him forward quickly, into the half-assed Main Square area of the Halloween attraction.
“Do I really have to keep my hands to myself?” Jaskier asks, glancing down at where Geralt’s fingers are intertwined with his own. “Because I'd much rather stick to holding your hand!”
The Witcher bites his lip to keep from chuckling; the Faerie’s naivety about human society and traditions can be ridiculously adorable sometimes. “He meant that you’re not allowed to hit or kick the actors who work here. You have to keep your hands to yourself when you're around the employees.”
“Oh. Well of course!” Jaskier practically squawks. “It would be incredibly rude to do my host an injury!”
“That's well and true for everybody, most of the time, but people often react strangely when they’re frightened.”
Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s hand in reply, his antennae flicking back and forth in the air as his eyes sweep from one haunted house to the next. “There’s so many!"
“Yeah, that’s why they’re allowed to charge us so much to get in.”
“I paid for my own ticket,” the Fae sticks his tongue out. “You could have spared yourself the fifteen bucks and stayed home for the evening with a nice book or your sword or something equally boring and lonely, you know.”
“And miss out on seeing you absolutely shit your pants when an underpaid university student jumps at you with a chainsaw?” Geralt teases, “No way!”
Jaskier yanks his hand free from Geralt’s grip and makes his way to the closest attraction, which happens to be themed after a science lab. There’s a poorly ripped-off Doc Brown painting being mostly illuminated by a dying blacklight above the words: Laboratory of Despair: Enter Only if You Dare!
“Oh my gods, that’s so corny,” Geralt hears Jaskier mutter under his breath. The Witcher chuckles out loud this time and Jaskier whips around to look at him.
“It’s a terrible sign, yeah,” Geralt nods. “Now how about we see what the lab has to offer, hmm?”
Jaskier grips at the hem of Geralt’s hoodie sleeve and nods, betraying his nerves by worrying his lip between his teeth. His false bravado and anger from before have abandoned him completely. “Okay.”
Geralt steps through the fringe of black beads that covers the door and pulls his anxious boyfriend along behind him. He can hear the way Jaskier’s wings are shivering and twitching. The slender Fae's twin antennae dance atop his head, searching for information about his surroundings without making a sound. Geralt runs his thumb in gentle circles over the back of Jaskier’s knuckles, practically smelling the relief that pours off the pretty creature as they continue into the darkness.
A few steps later, just as a light appears at the end of the tunnel, a person in a cheap rubber bug mask pops out from behind a false wall, buzzing into Geralt’s personal space. The Witcher feels himself shoved back, a slightly smaller body coming between him and the half-bored actor. Jaskier hisses assertively, his whole body tense and alert, until the teenager disappears back behind the wall to wait for his next round of hapless victims to wander past.
Geralt leans down to whisper as they continue walking, “Did you just try to protect me from a seventeen year old in a shitty costume?”
“Can’t let my mate get hurt,” Jaskier replies simply. Geralt balks a bit. Mate? Is that what we are, mates?
“I appreciate it,” Geralt praises, enjoying the way his boyfriend preens at his words. “Even though I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”
Jaskier doesn’t reply. Instead, he tugs Geralt close and continues bravely into the next section of the haunted house. His instincts had shown themselves once again, eager to prove to Geralt that he was a worthy partner. He couldn’t have known, of course, that he was far worthier than Geralt had ever dreamed.
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And Do I Dream Again?
We’re throwing it WAY back to the early 2000′s with this one, guys. One of my first hyperfixations crossed over with my latest; poetic, really. I also dug into my Weird Memories archive and remembered that we used to make banners for our fics back in the fanfic.net days (I’m old as hell and I’ve been doing this for a long time). So...without further ado, the first story in my A Very Bouncey Halloween series:
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Jaskier perched on the velvet-padded stool in front of his dressing room mirror and ran a brush through his soft brown hair. He hoped to remove the curls it had been pulled into for the performance and return it to its normal fluffy mess; unfortunately that wasn’t entirely possible, the pomade his costumer had applied was too thick. 
Once his chestnut locks were as silky smooth as they were going to get, Jaskier placed the silver brush back on the tabletop and sighed. The Phantom had left him another plain red rose with a plain black ribbon around the stem. No note. No name. Just Madame Yennefer’s quiet, “He was pleased with you.” 
A whisper in passing.
Valdo interrupted the young starlet’s thoughts when he poked his head in the door and smiled brightly. Jaskier pulled his delicate white dressing gown closer around his shoulders and chest, hiding whatever skin he could despite its laciness. An ingénue’s aesthetic did not always lend itself well to preserving one’s modesty, ironically enough.
“You did wonderfully tonight, my sweet,” the Viscount purred from his place in the doorway.
“Thank you.”
“Could I have the honor of escorting you to a late dinner?”
Jaskier was about to turn him down outright when he struck upon a very particular thought. If his Angel of Music was as possessive as Jaskier hoped, surely he’d step forward and show his face to deter the Viscount. If the Phantom thought his claim on the pretty opera prodigy was being threatened then perhaps he’d make an appearance. The scheming young starlet smiled softly and let his excited Angel-related blush do the work for him in regards to Valdo Marx, “That would be lovely, Viscount Valdo.”
The mustachioed cavalier beamed. “I’ll have my footmen bring the carriage around.”
And then he disappeared back out the door.
Jaskier turned towards his mirror, still clutching the robe around his shoulders tightly to keep it closed. He wished desperately that he hadn’t changed out of his costume before the Viscount arrived at his door. Valdo had all the appearance of a gentleman, and he’d been kind enough when they were both children, but something about the way he’d looked at Jaskier in such a state of undress, like he was hungry… 
The prodigy shivered and ran his hands up and down his upper arms for both comfort and warmth. The corset around his middle felt unusually tight as he stood to get dressed in his street-clothes. If he was to meet with the creepy young Viscount for dinner then he’d need to be dressed.
Before he could move an inch, however, a cold wind swept through the dressing room and doused the candles. Jaskier gasped and let his hands fall to his sides. Had his plan really worked so well? Had his Angel decided to step out of the darkness and finally show him the face behind the roses?
The deep, familiar rumble of his tutor’s baritone seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling the pitch dark room with sound: “Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Insolent fool, your brave young suitor; sharing in my triumph!”
The possessive note in his Angel’s voice sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine and he replied quickly, already halfway under the Phantom’s dizzying spell: “Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen; stay by my side and guide me. My soul was weak and I wished…” - the boy shook his head to clear the thought away - “Forgive me. Enter at last, Master.”
“Flattering child,” the Angel chuckled darkly. “You shall know me soon and see why I hide my face in shadow. You shall understand at last why I have not let you lay such innocent eyes upon me in all these years.”
“Yes,” Jaskier breathed, stepping forward into the embrace of darkness. From behind the two-way mirror on the wall, Geralt gasped softly. He felt his heartbeat double in speed. The longing on his flower’s face was exquisite. It lit a flame in the composer that could not be dampened by the mists of any Paris catacomb. The boy cast his eyes around the dark room, searching for his tutor, “I want to see your face, my Angel. Don’t tease me any longer with your pretty words. I’m tired of spending my nights alone, Phantom.”
Geralt was going to fall to his knees and cry if the boy said another word, so he interrupted: “Look at your face in the mirror.”
Jaskier turned to the full-length mirror on the wall and saw a light shimmering faintly from behind the glass. He reached out involuntarily and his eyes went wide with confusion. There was definitely a figure there...a tall, broad-shouldered man standing just beyond the wavy glass wall. He was holding out his hand in Jaskier’s direction. The singer’s ghostly, lace-clad reflection stared back at him with hazy vision, enthralled entirely by his Angel’s presence.
“Angel of Music, hide no longer!” Jaskier begged, stepping forward again. “Let me see you, please!” 
“Come to your Angel of Music,” the figure in the glass beckoned, waving him forward with that broad, outstretched hand. Further into the room. Into the dark.
Jaskier placed one delicately slippered foot in front of the other, crossing the carpet in a slow but determined line. He tried to keep his legs from tangling with his dressing gown as he moved, slipping it open a bit to reveal his mostly-bare legs. Geralt bit his lip at the sight of all that skin, too much and too little at the same time. Gods, how he wanted to touch the younger man. Hold him. Please him endlessly. 
Jaskier’s eyes never wavered from the figure in the mirror. His Angel had finally come for him and he wasn’t about to waste the chance to see his tutor up close. To feel his Angel’s hands against him. He reached out towards the glass and the white silk of his robe slipped easily from his shoulder, baring a swathe of pale skin. 
Geralt hadn’t been aware, until that very moment, that someone could feel both predatory and terrified at the same moment. He wanted to take Jaskier away and hide him beneath the Opera house forever where nobody could ever touch him again; but oh, how sinful would it be to keep his talented student sequestered from the sun. He didn’t want to be rejected. He didn’t want the boy to see his face, his hideously scarred face and strange white hair, and turn from him in terror. He wouldn’t be able to live through that. 
And then…
“Jaskier!” 
Fuck. That stupid little Viscount was going to ruin everything Geralt had worked for! Had waited for! Had prayed and begged and yearned for!
But the starlet didn’t turn around. 
The posh young fool pounded against the strong mahogany of Jaskier’s dressing room door, screaming his head off to get the opera star’s attention but Jaskier’s bright blue eyes stayed trained on the composer’s outstretched hand. His gaze was glassy and out-of-focus. 
Hypnotised by chance, Geralt mused. I probably should have expected that, given the circumstances and the usual nature of our meetings.
It had been months since the Phantom of the opera last had to hypnotize his prized pupil; and it was only to keep him from getting too close to his lair.
Now his darling little flower, the boy whose voice he’d trained from good to gorgeous, was standing willingly before him. His face was void of anything but devotion. His eyes were misty and his lips were parted oh-so-sweetly as he stood before his Angel, utterly enthralled. The decadent white lace of his dressing gown had fallen from one of his shoulders, baring not only his entire left collarbone but the long, statuesque expanse of his neck as well. Geralt took his flower’s pale, rose-petal soft hand in his larger, more calloused one and whispered, “Will you come with your Angel of Music?”
Jaskier nodded and breathed out a soft, pleading: “Yes. Take me, Angel.”
Geralt pulled the younger man’s robe back over his shoulder to return him to a state of oddly indecent modesty before grabbing up the torch and turning his back on the dressing room entirely. Jaskier followed behind as they walked, the gentle whispering swish of his robe’s lacy train a constant reminder of his presence. You are taking Persephone down to the Underworld, a little voice at the corner of Geralt’s mind whispered. You are pulling your flower away from the light of the sun. 
He shook away his guilt and squeezed the starlet’s hand. Jaskier squeezed back instantly, firmly, and any doubt left in the composer’s mind flew clean away. He wants me back, the older man realized. He came with me into the Underworld. 
They rounded the final curving corner of the low, quickly-dampening stone hall and came upon Roach. The trusty mare was waiting as patiently as ever where Geralt had left her bridle fastened to the wall and she perked up her ears when her master approached. The opera ghost lifted his muse up into Roach’s saddle and nervously met Jaskier’s blue eyes with his malformed gold ones, “Sing once again with me our strange duet.”
“Your power over me grows stronger yet,” Jaskier replied easily, finishing the rhyme of a song Geralt had once composed for him. His hand reached down to cup the side of the Phantom’s face that wasn’t hidden by the white plaster mask. Geralt flinched away but Jaskier paid the movement no mind, continuing to caress him wherever he could reach. “Oh, my sweet Angel.”
The composer turned away, leading Roach down the echoing hallway as quickly as possible. He tried not to glance back at his flower too often, afraid of having his intentions misunderstood by the drowsy-looking boy but oh - the way Jaskier looked sitting astride the horse with his stockings still fastened above his knees and his underthings only barely reaching to meet them. The way his dressing gown, all thin white silk and fine lace details, cascaded down around his hips and spilled over Roach… “Fuck.”
“My Angel?” he inquired. He sounded half asleep and Geralt bit his lip in shame. It wasn’t right to look at someone like that without their permission, first. He’d apologize later. 
“Nothing, my little flower. Would you sing for me?”
They’d reached the shore of the underground creek that cut through Paris. It wasn’t the sewer but it wasn’t exactly nice either. Geralt swung Jaskier down from Roach and into the boat, settling him back against a pile of velvet pillows gathered (stolen) just for this occasion. He wanted his love to be comfortable. He wanted the boy to return once his tutor gave him back to the outside world.
Because Jaskier could not be kept away from the sun. From the stage. From the adoration of the Paris elite.
No, Jaskier was destined to succeed. 
Jaskier sang through the final notes of the aria he’d performed earlier at the Gala, daring to push his voice further and pitch the notes higher than was written. It sounded heavenly as it rang and bounced off the curved brick walls of the tunnel system. Geralt knew his home would never sound this lovely again and he marveled in it for a moment. 
“Sing for me!”
Jaskier went ever higher, his face turning pink with the effort of sustaining the song. He gasped for breath between notes. 
“Sing, my flower! Sing for me!” Geralt demanded, rowing the tiny boat closer to his odd little home. Jaskier was so caught up in pleasing his Angel, his tutor, his Master, that he didn’t pay attention to how constricting his corset was or how little air he’d actually been taking in. 
The desperate opera singer finished out the final two notes of his aria as strongly and loudly as the rest before he slumped, unconscious, to the floor of the boat. 
The phantom dropped to his knees, abandoning the oar completely. He gathered the younger man into his arms and laughed in shock. His fingers paused at Jaskier’s neck to feel his pulse. He was alive. He would be fine. He’d been so eager to impress that he had run himself out of air. 
“The little fool,” Geralt chuckled, settling him against the pillows again to resume rowing. “I’m fucked.”
---
Jaskier’s eyes blinked open slowly, surveying the unfamiliar bed he’d found himself in. “Angel?” he called nervously. There was no reply, but in the distance he could hear an organ playing quietly. Jaskier stood and stepped gracefully from the bed, summoning up all his greatest charms to impress his teacher. 
When he crossed the floor and ducked into the antechamber he gasped; the Phantom wasn’t hideous at all. He wasn’t a hunchback like Triss had suggested. He wasn’t deformed like Firman claimed. His Angel’s hair was long and white, swept halfway up and away from his face while the other half hung to sweep against his shoulders. Jaskier knew already that his eyes were deep honey-gold and slit like a cat’s; they had haunted his dreams before. 
He had seen them in Box Five before. Watching him sing. 
“Angel!”
“Jaskier!”
The music stopped as his darling Phantom rushed to reach his side, arms outstretched to steady him if necessary. Jaskier thrilled at the attentiveness of his soon-to-be-lover (he hoped) and let himself fall bodily against the Phantom’s chest. His head fit perfectly against the older man’s broad shoulder and he sighed contentedly as he settled into place. “I thought you’d never show me your face.”
“I still haven’t.”
“Let me see,” the brunette pleaded, reaching for the edge of the mask where it sat on Geralt’s face. The composer turned away and grasped Jaskier firmly by the wrist. His grip sat just on the edge of painful and Jaskier bore it bravely. If he had to prove himself than by gods he most certainly would. “I want to see you, Phantom. I want to know your name and your face, truly.”
“You’ll… I don’t want you to leave yet,” Geralt whispered brokenly. Jaskier’s heart ached for this man, the man who had taught him to sing so beautifully. Surely the only thing beneath the mask could be more beauty?
“I’m not scared of you,” he reassured. “I love you, my Angel. Can’t you tell? I’ve been waiting for you for years, now.”
“You were merely a boy, then.”
“You aren’t much older than I am,” Jaskier huffed. “What, six years? Maybe seven?”
“Closer to ten.”
“And if I hadn’t been orphaned so terribly young then I would have been married at fourteen,” Jaskier reminded his tutor, whose face had turned pink beneath his covering. “I was a noble’s son, my dear. Please let me see you.”
Geralt sighed and removed the mask, baring the scar that marred one half of his otherwise very attractive face. Jaskier’s fingertip traced feather-light across the surface of his wrinkled skin. He didn’t flinch this time.
“Beautiful,” the boy muttered. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”
“My love,” Geralt sobbed, burying his face in the younger man’s neck. “My name is Geralt.”
“Geralt,” the prodigy whispered softly, like a prayer. “My sweet, perfect Geralt. You have shone so brightly in the darkness of my life, darling Geralt. You must know that I love you deeply and dearly.”
“As I love you,” the Phantom admitted. This had been more than he’d ever hoped for. Tolerance he was prepared for. Tolerance he understood. Reciprocity? Acceptance? He was terrified and thrilled and giddy.
“You are brighter than all the stars in the sky,” Jaskier beamed, pressing his lips to the opera ghost’s. Geralt kissed back, pressing their bodies together from hips to shoulders. Feeling him.
“You are my little flower,” Geralt stated, pressing another soft kiss to the boy’s forehead. 
“Come,” the starlet insisted, pulling away and tugging at his hand. “If I am to be your virgin sacrifice in the pits of this Parisian Hell then I intend to enjoy it thoroughly.”
The Phantom laughed and followed his darling into the bedchamber. 
168 notes · View notes
Cabin Ten
Another installment of A Very Bouncey Halloween! This is based on Friday the 13th but like wayyyyyy less murder and way more smut.
tw: SMUT! PLEASE 18+ ONLY! 
Jaskier’s wearing pink booty shorts if that helps.
---
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“Geralt!” the skinny brunette giggled, “Where are we going?”
“So you know how I got here a few days before everyone else to clean out the boathouse?”
“Yeah.”
“I may have found an abandoned cabin hidden somewhere deep in the woods, cleaned it up, and made it nice enough to spend an evening or two alone in. I figured we could have one more romantic night together before the campers arrive,” Geralt ended his explanation with a wink over his shoulder.
“You’re so sweet,” Jaskier smiled. Geralt was leading his boyfriend through the dense forest around Camp Crystal Lake by the hand. He made sure to hold aside any particularly large or dangerous tree branches until Jaskier had passed by; he liked keeping his slightly smaller boyfriend out of harm’s way. This time as Jaskier passed him, Geralt smacked him lightly on the ass. The counselor laughed and turned to blow him a playful kiss, “I love you, hot stuff.”
“Thanks, Jask.”
Geralt wasn’t known for his romantic tendencies, but something about Jaskier was just so inspiring. When they’d both gotten the chance to work at the same summer camp together before their junior year of college started up, they’d jumped at the opportunity. Now, as the time for actual campers to arrive approached, the lifeguard found himself brimming with giddy, nervous energy. This was probably the last opportunity he had to fool around with Jaskier for another two months. Just as he was starting to panic, they came upon the door to Cabin Ten.
“Did you really find Cabin Ten?” Jaskier asked. Geralt nodded and pushed open the creaking wooden door. He’d brought an enormous collection of clean and comfortable blankets, a fresh mattress for the cot, a basket of food and candles, and a bottle of wine. “That’s so cute, babe! This is amazing! I must be the luckiest man on the planet.”
Geralt blushed and set the basket down on the rough-hewn wooden table. He pulled out the bottle of wine and uncorked it. “Shall we?”
---
“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier moaned, fisting his hand in his boyfriend’s snow-white hair. The lifeguard grinned against his boyfriend’s pale chest and bit down again, worrying the skin slowly out from between his teeth to leave a wide red mark. The radio was still pouring Pat Benetar out into the otherwise silent forest:
“Your love has set my soul on fire, burnin' out of control!
You taught me the ways of desire, now it's takin' its toll!
You're the right kind of sinner to release my inner fantasy...
The invincible winner, and you know that you were born to be!
You're a heartbreaker
Dream maker, a love taker
Don't you mess around with me
You're a heartbreaker
Dream maker, a love taker
Don't you mess around, no! No! No!”
---
A hooded figure peeked in through the window from the silent woods outside. Seeing the two boys, half-dressed and clearly enjoying a romantic entanglement far from their coworkers, the person paused. The mysterious stranger could creep inside quietly, kill the boys without alerting anyone else, and head towards camp with no one the wiser. But...why? What would be the point? It wasn’t like these boys were screwing in the kiddy cabins where children would soon take up residence; Cabin Ten was long abandoned. It had been built too far away from the others and slowly forgotten, left to rot from disuse. The two young lovers were probably already dealing with enough bullshit from society and their families already, anyway. These particular camp employees wouldn’t be dying tonight. 
The figure, having made their decision, carried on towards Camp Crystal Lake. leaving Geralt and Jaskier well enough alone.
---
“Geralt, please stop teasing,” the younger boy begged, tugging at the back of his boyfriend’s half-ponytail. “C’mon.”
The lifeguard growled and looked up at Jaskier with lidded honey-gold eyes. “You’d better stop pulling my hair like that unless you really want to get in trouble, babe.”
The brunette smirked and gave one final, decisive tug before he was tackled backwards onto the bed. He squealed and batted at Geralt’s broad chest with weak fists. “Hey! Let me up!”
“No,” Geralt grinned. He dove forward, burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and biting down gently. He slowly increased the pressure of his teeth until his boyfriend was a panting, writhing mess beneath him, clinging to his red tank-top with desperate, heat-seeking hands. 
“Take your shirt off you delectable bastard,” Jaskier demanded. His usually nimble fingers scrabbled at the hem, trying to pull it off and having more than a little trouble. The lifeguard stilled his boyfriend’s busy hands and took the shirt off himself, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Once he was bare, however, those same hands became a slightly more immediate problem.
Jaskier flattened his palms against Geralt’s insanely defined pecs and spread his fingers as wide as they could go. He trailed the guitar-calloused tips slowly downwards, tracing every dip and groove in Geralt’s muscles as he went. The white-haired lifeguard resisted the urge to shudder when some of those fingers suddenly snapped together, each hand trapping a nipple and rolling it gently. 
“Fuck!”
“That’s the intention, I think,” Jaskier giggled cutely. Too cutely for what he was doing to Geralt’s body right now. The lifeguard growled and bit down on his boyfriend’s shoulder again, worrying a dark love bite into the skin. “Hey! Babe! The kids are coming this week! Knock it off!”
“Then don’t tease me so bad, you minx.”
“But I like to tease,” Jaskier pouted. “You’re cute when you’re all worked up.”
“Rude,” Geralt murmured against the skin of his boyfriend’s neck. “Very rude.”
One of his broad hands reached down, cupping beneath one of Jaskier’s practically bare thighs. He ran his hand up and under his boyfriend’s temptingly skimpy pink cotton gym shorts, kneading the meat of Jaskier’s ass with his fingertips.
“Oh babe,” the brunette moaned, pressing himself even closer to Geralt. “Yes!”
---
Jaskier arched down towards the bed and keened, high and loud. The radio might not have been able to cover up that particular noise and Geralt blushed at the thought of their coworkers overhearing. Any potential follow-up thought was ripped from his head a second later when Jaskier clenched his ass with purpose and rocked his whole body backwards against Geralt’s. “You’d better start fucking me for real, babe.”
The lifeguard complied, moving so that his foot was flat on the bed and he was half-curled over Jaskier’s back. He knew he got the angle just right when Jaskier threw his head back and began to release high, huffy little panting sounds. He was close. Geralt knew those sounds well; he’d learned to achieve them with lots of dedicated practice.
Geralt sped up, digging his fingers into the creases where Jaskier’s legs met his hips. He wanted to leave bruises that only the two of them would know about. Only the two of them would ever see. That thought alone was getting him-
“Geralt! Fuck - babe, fuck - I’m close - I’m gonna-”
“Jask, yes,” Geralt grunted, his stuttering hips a dead giveaway for his own impending orgasm. Jaskier went taut and still beneath him, gasping as he came across the plaid flannel blanket laid out beneath them. Geralt followed after, tumbling into the tight heat of his boyfriend’s fantastic ass. They both came down from their mutual high together, panting hard and smiling. Geralt collapsed onto his side and pulled Jaskier against him. “Shit, babe.”
“That was- wow. That was great,” Jaskier laughed breathlessly. 
“Yeah. Should we get dressed and head back to our real bunk for the night?”
“Hmm...skinny dipping first? The lake is right there and you are a lifeguard after all.”
“So you think you’re in safe hands?”
Jaskier pecked his sweaty boyfriend on the cheek and nodded. “Oh yes. The very safest.”
92 notes · View notes
When the Sun Goes Down
This story is a heavily edited adaptation of “Gabriel-Ernest”, written by H.H. Munro in 1909. I owe this whole story to @tinyplaidninjas​ (thank you for helping me fix my werewolf story dilemma).
This is almost 3k words long, fair warning
tw: kinda horny, nudity
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---
"There is a wild beast in your woods," said Lambert, as the two men were being driven to the station. It was the only remark he’d made during the drive, but since Geralt had talked incessantly about his latest publication in the Kaedwen Journal of Medicine, his half-brother’s silence had not been noticeable.
"A stray fox or two, or perhaps some wandering brownies. Nothing more formidable," said Geralt. His brother said nothing.
---
"What did you mean about a wild beast?" Geralt asked later, when they were on the train platform with their bags and tickets in hand. Geralt was bound for his private woodland estate while Lambert was making his way into town to visit with friends. 
"Nothing. Probably just my wild imagination running away with me again. Here comes the train," Lambert rushed. 
Geralt found it odd, but said nothing. Perhaps he should not have gone on at length about the Medical Journal in the carriage. Perhaps Lambert was tired or overanxious about his meeting with Aiden. It had been years since the two college friends had seen each other in person and Geralt knew that his brother held the other, equally brilliant artist in high esteem. Surely, that was the reason for Lambert’s odd dismissal of his questions.
---
Once he’d returned to his estate and unpacked his bags, Geralt decided to take a stroll through the woods. He often took a leisurely walk in the late afternoon; the trees were full of chittering animals and preening birds this time of day, after all. The natural scientist and medical doctor found the great outdoors to be brimming with new discoveries. He wanted to pick everything apart and reassemble it accurately and down to the last minute detail. He wanted to know why certain animals behaved the way they did and how they communicated with each other. He wanted to know why the little white flowering plants in his yard only bloomed every other day. He craved the answer to the universal question of why as it applied to everything.
The doctor would often spend long afternoons sitting absolutely still in the center of his garden, observing the wildlife as it moved around him. Last summer he’d even managed to get a wild rabbit to eat out of his hand. 
Now, though, the forest path seemed uncomfortably quiet. Had a larger predator taken to wandering his grounds? If so, he’d need to send word to a local hunter’s lodge and request assistance in ridding himself of the pest. As he was debating who to inquire after, he came across an unusual sight.
On a shelf of smooth stone overhanging a deep pool just to the side of the path, a boy of eighteen lay asprawl. He was drying his tan, dripping limbs luxuriously in the light of the late-summer sun and he had very few cares about doing so, according to his state of complete undress. His wet brown hair, (disheveled as it was by a recent mussing with his long, slender fingers) and bright blue eyes, so light that there was an almost cat-like gleam to them, were aimed in Geralt’s direction with a sense of lazy watchfulness. 
He was an unexpected although not unwelcome apparition, and Geralt found himself quite ignoring his eldest brother’s good advice of “thinking before one spoke”. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest in what he hoped was a stance of great authority. 
"What are you doing on my property?" he demanded. “And have you no shame? Trespassing for a cool dip in the water I could forgive, but you don’t even have the proper clothing to do so.”
"Obviously I came here to have a swim and sun myself," replied the boy. “I rather like how it feels to be bare beneath the warmth of the open sky.”
"Where do you live?" Geralt inquired, stepping closer. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run. To flee this place and the presence of his estate’s mysterious visitor.
"Here and there within these woods."
"You can't live in the woods," Geralt frowned. “It’s not proper.”
"They are very nice woods," said the boy. To Geralt his tone sounded almost patronizing. Borderline condescending. The doctor bristled and stepped forward again. 
“You can’t possibly be surviving out here like this!”
“I am rather proficient at fending for myself.”
"Then where do you sleep at night?"
"I don't sleep at night,” the boy winked one of his cornflower eyes. The movement had Geralt’s head reeling and his heart thundering within the confines of his waistcoat. “That's my busiest time, dear heart."
"What do you eat?" the young professor and doctor finally asked. It felt as if that question had been on the tip of his tongue since he’d seen the strange creature come into view and only now did he have the adequate terror in his veins to ask it. 
"Flesh," said the boy. He said the word slowly and carefully, almost as if he was running his tongue along every later to catch their flavor.
“What a horrible thing to say.”
“Hmm, it is the truth,” the slender youth rolled onto his back and tilted his head over the stony ledge. His mop of chestnut hair dangled down towards the water and he gazed steadily at the doctor from upside down, “I am plenty good at catching hares and birds and mice and men. I am not picky, you see. I gobble them all up.”
Geralt nearly choked on his tongue. His face flushed and his cheeks grew hot with indignance (and perhaps something else, a stirring in his belly that he quietly ignored). The audacity of such a creature! Such open and frank fliration was unheard of, especially since he was so indecorously nude!
"I can’t imagine you’re eating well. The rabbits on my estate have never been easy to trap or catch or corner. Not even my father’s best games keeper could do it, and that man lived on the property for nearly sixty years.”
"It is easier for me to hunt them than it is for your game keeper to trap them, Dr. Bellegarde,” the boy winked again. The sound of his name in the stranger’s mouth had Geralt mildly panicked. Did he know this improper young villain? Had he forgotten the boy’s name? Had the lad followed him back from university? The strange young man added another cryptic statement, “At night I hunt on four feet. It’s faster that way.”
"I suppose you’re referring to a dog?" Geralt offered. “And wouldn’t that be considered poaching, you hunting on my lands at night with your hound?”
The boy laughed a weird, low laugh; it was pleasantly like a chuckle and disagreeably like a snarl. Both portions of the sound had Geralt’s heart racing even faster in his chest. It felt nearly as painful as he’d expected from cardiac distress and he breathed evenly like he’d been taught to do under such duress. Slowly, the panicked feeling faded away and he gazed back at his trespasser with narrowed eyes. “Why are you laughing, then?”
"I don't think any dog would be very anxious for my company, especially not at night. We wouldn’t get along with each other, me and a dog.”
Geralt began to suspect (with a deep and primal sense of ever growing dread) that there was something odd and uncanny about the strange-eyed, silver-tongued youth lounging above the pond. He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips, “Well you can’t keep sleeping in the woods.”
“I fancy you’d rather not have me in your house.”
The prospect of this wild, naked animal loose in the professor’s neatly ordered and well-kept manor was certainly an alarming one. Geralt glared and shook his head, dislodging some of his long white hair from its ribbon. 
"If you don't go then I shall have to make you.”
The boy flipped onto his front in a flash and plunged into the pool. In the span of a moment he had crossed the short expanse of water and flung his glistening body half-way up the bank where Geralt was standing. For an otter the movement would not have been remarkable; for a boy it was sufficiently startling. Geralt’s leather-booted foot slipped as he jerked backwards involuntarily. After his arms windmilled for a moment and his balance failed him, the young doctor found himself almost prostrate on the slippery weed-grown shore of the pond with those cat-like blue eyes mere inches from his own. 
He raised a hand to his throat instinctively and the boy laughed again; a laugh in which the snarl had nearly driven out the chuckle entirely. Then, with another of his astonishing lightning movements, the naked youth plunged out of view into a yielding tangle of weed and fern.
"What an extraordinarily wild animal!" said Geralt as he picked himself up. Then he recalled Lambert’s remark on the train station’s waiting platform: "There is a wild beast in your woods."
As he meandered his way back towards the manor proper, Dr. Bellegarde began to turn over in his mind some of the various local occurrences which might be traceable to the existence of his astonishing young savage.
According to the local paper, gathered the day previous by his valet, something had been thinning the game in the woods lately. Poultry had gone missing from several neighboring farms and factories, hares and rabbits were growing unaccountably scarcer, and complaints had reached the local constabulary of lambs being carried out of their pastures in the hills. Could it be possible that this wild boy was really hunting the countryside with a pack of obedient hounds? 
The oddly pretty creature had spoken of hunting "four-footed" by night, but then, again, he had hinted strangely at no dog caring to come near him, "especially at night." It was certainly puzzling. 
And then, as Geralt was running his mind over the various odd occurrences he’d heard reported from the village in the past few months, he came suddenly to a dead stop. The young man that had gone missing from the milling town upriver two months ago--the accepted theory was that he had tumbled into the millwheel and been swept away; but the boy’s mother had insisted that merely run away with some village girl (who had also disappeared). 
He thought of the village youngster, who’d been applying to attend Oxenfurt at the time of his mysterious yet apparent death. Perhaps they were one in the same; but then, why in all the world, would a college hopeful by lying naked in the woods outside Dr. Bellegarde’s lonesome manor house? It was odd. Very odd.
"Where's your voice gone to, Doctor?" asked his housekeeper, Ms. Merrigold. "One would think you had seen a wolf on your walk."
At breakfast next morning, Geralt was overwhelmingly conscious that his feeling of uneasiness regarding yesterday's episode with the boy had not wholly disappeared. He had decided to go into the village and talk with Lambert about the “beast in his woods” and learn what his brother had really seen that had made him so twitchy. With his day planned and his mind slightly more settled, his usual cheerfulness partially returned. The doctor hummed a bright little melody as he sauntered to the morning-room for his customary cup of tea with Ms. Merrigold. 
As Geralt entered the morning-room and scanned the familiar space his humming made way abruptly for a quietly shouted curse. Gracefully laid out atop his red velvet settee, in an attitude of almost exaggerated repose, was the boy from the woods. He was drier than when the doctor had last seen him, but still he remained entirely naked. Every inch of his lovely, soft-looking skin was on display; Geralt averted his eyes as quickly as possible and tried to hide his blushing face from the grinning minx.
"How dare you come in here like this!” he huffed.
"You told me I was not allowed to stay in the woods," said the boy calmly. He propped his elbow up on the cushion and laid his cheek against his palm, languidly stretching his legs out at the same time. The doctor breathed deeply and kept his eyes firmly locked with the strange young man’s. 
"I did not invite you to come here!"
“Then I have misunderstood,” the boy sighed. The hand that had been supporting his head moved down and flattened against the settee. His arm straightened and his torso lengthened with the movement. Now sitting with one knee resting slightly bent atop the other, his hair messy and his shockingly blue eyes half-lidded, he looked like the painting of a young Cupid. 
“Triss!” Geralt called, desperate for another person to intervene on his behalf. To save him from this tempting little beast. “Triss, fetch one of the pantry boys. We have a guest and he’s...he’s quite out of sorts.”
“Yes, Dr. Bellegarde,” his housekeeper called back. “Right away, sir!”
The boy giggled from the couch and Geralt whirled back to look at him. His finger was playing gently with the plumpest part of his lip and the young professor found himself flushing yet again. “Yes, Dr. Bellegard. Hurry to cover me up right away.” 
---
Lambert was less than helpful when Geralt first asked about the beastly reference he’d made at the station.
"My dear father died of some brain trouble," he explained, "So you will understand why I am averse to dwelling on anything of an impossibly fantastic nature that I may see or think that I have seen. I don’t even know that I saw anything, you understand?”
"I am a medical doctor, Lambert, of course I understand. But what did you see?" Geralt inquired. “I must know.”
"What I thought I saw was something so extraordinary that no really sane man could dignify it with the credit of having actually happened. I was standing at the end of the lane near your manor property, half-hidden in the hedge growth by the orchard gate. I’d been watching the dying glow of the sunset and committing to memory for use in a future painting. Nothing extraordinary, of course, but beautiful nonetheless. 
“It was then that I became aware of a naked boy. I assumed that he was a bather from some neighboring pool who was standing out on the bare hillside, also taking a moment to watch and appreciate the sunset. His pose was so suggestive of some wild faun of Pagan myth that I instantly wanted to engage him as a model, and in another moment I think I should have hailed him over to my hiding spot to discuss such a matter. Just then, however, the sun was lost over the edge of the horizon and the last of its warm orange glow slid away. The landscape was left a cold and gloomy grey.”
“And what of the boy? Your language is poetic, Lambert, but I’ve grown rather impatient!”
“The boy was gone, Geralt!”
"What? Did he simply vanish into nothing like some ghost or phantom?"
"No; that’s the most terrifying part, you see," answered the artist; "That’s the whole reason I didn’t want to tell you about this problem in the first place. Geralt, my dearest brother, on the open hillside where my momentary muse had been standing a second before, there was a wolf instead. It had shaggy brown-black fur and huge, gleaming fangs. Most terrifying of all were its huge, bright blue eyes.”
Geralt’s mind whirled with the new information. Lambert had indeed given him the details he’d so desperately needed to draw his final, strange conclusion: the boy was a werewolf! He thanked his younger half-sibling and made his departure, hurrying back to the manor as quickly as possible.
He had to make it home before dark.
---
“The moon isn’t full tonight,” the boy sighed. Triss had managed to wrestle him into a clean shirt and a pair of cropped blue breeches but despite the clothing he still seemed to ooze a sense of easy, naked confidence. The slim brunette was draped across the chaise lounge of Geralt’s personal study, his bare feet hanging over the arm. 
“So?”
“So I will not transform into the horrible monster you fear I shall become,” he sighed again. He rolled his eyes in Geralt’s direction and smirked. “You and your housekeeper are safe. As is your cook, your pageboy, your valet, and your terribly friendly mare. Roach, right?”
“Hmm. You’ve been through my things?”
“Triss allowed me to wander the house and the grounds but then she forced me to bathe again when I came back in,” he frowned. “Soap does not agree with me and neither do these prickly, constricting clothes.”
“And your name?” Geralt asked, finally. “Since you have proven to know me already.”
“You may call me Jaskier,” the boy said, popping up from the couch. He offered his hand, which Geralt shook rather nervously. “And I’ve already decided that I’m going to be staying for awhile.”
“Why should I allow you to stay?” the young doctor bristled. “What have you to offer me in return for room and board?”
“I have no money, but I’m a wonderful gardener and I’m sure that there are, Dr. Bellegarde, other ways we can pass the time together. I sense that we are kindred spirits in many ways.”
Geralt blushed and swallowed hard, blinking down at the boy, whose fingers were playing with the material of the doctor’s cravat. His blue eyes peeked up through their bordering black lashes and Geralt’s will crumbled to dust. “Alright. I suppose you can stay; if it keeps the village safe.”
“Very safe,” the werewolf, Jaskier, smiled. His delicate little paw with its long, lithe fingers spread over the material of Geralt’s silk waistcoat, right over his heart. “So very safe, indeed.”
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What about a freaky friday/body shuffle au?
I will definitely consider that for my Halloween series!!!
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In the Dead of Night
Title taken from the same Judas Priest song as before, “Love Bites.”
tw: horny (duh), blood mention, consensual blood drinking, consensual mind reading, consensual mind control, dom/sub undertones but only vaguely
the mind control does not occur during the smutty bits, by the way. that shit is foreplay only and it is discussed at length by both parties (I just wanted to play with Dracula’s fun powers and also as someone said in my AO3 comments: “THRALL SEX! THRALL SEX!”).
THIS IS A SMUT, 18+ YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED
top!Jaskier, bottom!Geralt
please comment I am fucking begging you
---
“Geralt,” the silky voice called out to him. It echoed off the castle walls, pulling the lawyer deeper into a state languid, misty stupor. “Come to me, my love. Come to me, Geralt.”
The solicitor, whose mind was still half-convinced this was a dream, found his body moving of its own accord. He rose mechanically from the bed and crossed the enormous guest room, not even stopping to pull on his slippers or dressing gown as he should have. Nor did he brush his hair back into place; it hung in a loose white curtain, framing his eyes and jaw rather romantically. 
Geralt stumbled through the keep like a drunken marionette, tied and tangled in the strings of some clever puppet-master. The drawling voice told him to turn left towards the Count’s set of private rooms, so he did. His bare feet didn’t even register the usually freezing temperature of Castle Dracula’s cold stone floors. His skin was aflame with goosebumps but not a single one had resulted from the chilly temperature. 
“Geralt,” the voice purred. The sleepwalker’s pace sped up as he neared the heavy oak door that led to his employer’s bedchamber, “I am waiting for you, my pet, and I am growing impatient.”
---
“Are you completely and totally sure, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, worrying his lip between his sharp, sharp teeth. Geralt nodded and tried his best to look away from his lover’s gorgeous mouth. It wasn’t working. “Oh...Oh yes. I suppose you’re quite sure.”
“How can you tell?” the solicitor asked, quirking a curious eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction. The vampire gestured as he spoke, trying to work out some of his fizzling energy as he explained his powers. 
“Uhm, right. I should probably explain. I can read minds, you see. Telepathy was gifted to me along with the immortality, the odd sleeping hours, and the lust for drinking human blood. I am also an incredibly fast healer, I can turn into a bat, and I can walk up and down walls as easily as if they were floors.”
“Impressive,” Geralt smirked. “Care to demonstrate, Your Grace?”
“Perhaps at a later date; I’m not in the mood for party tricks just now. Not after what you just told me and what I just saw going through your pretty white lawyer-jargon-filled head.”
“So you can read my thoughts as clear as day, then?”
“Yes, but I don’t make a habit of doing it regularly. I only peeked in just now because your line of questioning had me in a bundle of nerves.”
“Going to bed with me makes you nervous?”
“I very much enjoy our tender nights of lovemaking together, Geralt,” the vampire admonished teasingly. He was trying to lighten the mood, to fully process his recently acquired lover’s peculiar request. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to suddenly change your mind or feel unsure going into things and only continue for my sake. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you woke up one morning and feared me for being the monster I truly am.”
“You are no monster,” Geralt asserted, catching Jaskier’s flighty hands in both of his and holding them tightly. He squeezed his fingers and smiled encouragingly when Jaskier squeezed back. “And aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one, coming to you with something of this nature and speaking of it in plain terms? I’m mortified.”
“I just don’t want you to be afraid of me, Geralt.”
The human cocked his head to the side and smiled, the deep blush that had accompanied his earlier request still darkened the apples of his cheeks. His open expression was so trusting and endearing that Jaskier’s heart would have broken if it were still beating. “I could never be afraid of you, Your Grace.”
“Do I have your permission to read through your expectations of this, should we attempt it?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Whatever pleases you best, Your Grace.”
“That’s cheating, darling. You know how it boils my blood when you call me that,” the vampire growled. 
They’d fallen back into the pillows after that but the deal had been struck: some night when Geralt wasn’t expecting it, when he was fast asleep, Jaskier would bring his lover under his thrall. He would command Geralt’s every movement, keeping careful tabs on his mind so that no wrong moves were made and no damage was done. He cared too much for the mortal’s safety to risk anything.
But the mortal had learned that it was very hard for Jaskier to deny him anything, especially when it came to adventurous and lusty bedroom games.
---
Geralt pushed the door open and approached the bed, where Jaskier was reclined comfortably against a mound of pillows. His ankles were delicately crossed and he was draped in a long, flowing white silk night shirt. His fangs were already fully extended and his irises were glowing crimson in the dim light of a few lit candles. 
“Kneel,” Jaskier ordered. Geralt dropped to his knees, unconsciously grateful for the pillow that his employer and lover had set out in preparation. The Count slid from the bed and approached his prey, breathing the heady scent of a lustful, eager human. It was a warm, earthy scent and it tickled him greatly to know that Geralt felt it all for him. Only for him. 
For Count Dracula, the terror of Redania. 
One of the immortal’s cold, calloused fingertips slid down the side of Geralt’s jaw and the solicitor shuddered instinctively, thrusting his chest forward and turning his face to the left to better reveal the pale, unmarked column of his throat. The Count released a feral growl and fisted his hands into Geralt’s hair. He tugged his head back, forcing the younger man to arch even further forward and breathe even more shallowly than before. All Jaskier could hear in the mortal’s mind, even beneath the fog of his vampiric thrall, was: Yes! Yes! More. Yes!
It was very encouraging. He kissed a torturously slow line of tooth-heavy kisses up and down the soft skin and refused to let the mortal give in to his urge to write. He forced Geralt to stay perfectly still as he laved his throat and Adam’s apple with his teeth and tongue.
He whined, low and long, and the Count released him to step back. 
“Greedy thing,” the vampire chuckled. The sound was low and ominous; it reverberated dangerously through Geralt’s chest and forced a whine from his throat, his eyes still trained on the Count. The solicitor could not force himself to move an inch as he awaited further instructions from his Master. Finally, after a nearly painful length of silence, Jaskier murmured, “Disrobe for me, pet.”
Geralt’s fingers flew to the collar of his nightshirt, tugging the buttons apart haphazardly in his rush to bare himself before his Count. His Jaskier. His Master. The vampire placed his hands over the mortal’s and tutted in disappointment. The sound had Geralt reeling, groaning in utter confusion as he went limp beneath his lover’s ministrations. 
“Slower, my darling. Put on a show for me. You’re so pretty, Geralt, and I’d like it if you remembered that. Unwrap yourself like a present, wouldn’t you?”
The white-haired human flushed a charming shade of pink and ducked his head. Jaskier removed his hands and sat back down on the edge of the bed. He watched with obvious arousal as Geralt slowly unhooked each shiny black button, drawing the material aside to reveal the planes of his broad, lightly-furred chest. He slowly slipped the offending article over his head and discarded it to the side. Then he paused, waiting once again for the vampire to give him a command.
“Pants off, too. I’d like you bare, my pet.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“What does it feel like to be enthralled by your love, Geralt? Do you regret letting me be your Master?”
“I regret nothing, Your Grace. Being yours like this...it feels as if my mind is far away and yet everything I touch is very close. If your skin brushes against mine unintentionally I fear that I shall fly apart; yet I’ve never wanted to be touched more desperately in my life.”
“Hmm. That is an interesting way to put it. Now, my love, come lay with me and let me touch you as you so desire.”
“As it pleases you, Your Grace.”
“Even bent to obey my every whim without question you are no less accommodating, my dear.”
Jaskier straddled Geralt as soon as the mortal had laid himself down. He shucked off his own silk nightshirt in the process, tossing it off into the darkness as if it wasn’t worth more than Geralt’s weight in gold. The Count ran his frigid hands down Geralt’s firm arms, clasping his hands and pulling them slowly, teasingly over his head. 
“How strange it must be to know that I will not tie you down and yet you will not be able to move from this position without my order to do so,” the vampire whispered against the shell of his lover’s ear. Geralt moaned and tossed his head back, baring his throat once again. The human was practically screaming his thoughts at Jaskier: Bite me! Feed from me! Take from me and make me yours, Your Grace. My handsome Count. My love!
The Count wrapped himself around his lovely, willing victim and eagerly acquiesced.
---
“Fuck!” Geralt cried. He was sure that every nerve ending in his body was screaming in wave after wave of unstoppable ecstasy. 
Jaskier was everywhere. The Count had released the hold of his thrall as soon as he’d bitten into the side of Geralt’s throat. Now there was nothing standing between Geralt and all of the wonderful sensations his lover was inflicting upon him. The rhythmic movements of Jaskier’s hips as the vampire fucked him firmly down into the mattress, the heaving of his breath in his slow human lungs, the little white flyaways that were stuck to his forehead with sweat; even the way his hands were buried fiercely in the vampire’s soft chestnut hair seemed to only further drive Geralt mad with lust. 
There were warring sparks of arousal and heat shooting between the spot in his neck where Jaskier’s teeth were buried and the spot in his ass where Jaskier’s glorious cock was buried. The Count was an expert at mind reading and at lovemaking. He played Geralt like Geralt had seen him once play the lute and the harp. His fingers were expert, flicking at his nipples and pulling at his hair at just the right moments.
The young solicitor was nothing more than a moaning, writhing symphony and Jaskier was his wicked, brilliant composer. He sang at his Master’s order, grunting and sighing whenever one of the Count’s expert thrusts hit his prostate. It was even better knowing that every slam of Jaskier’s hips was matched by a strong pull of blood as the vampire drank from him. To know that he was pleasuring His Grace in so many ways at once brought the human to the height of joy. He mumbled a long series of wordless, gibberish thanks and let the Count drain him of his life force. 
“I can keep going all night,” the vampire warned, removing his teeth from his quarry only long enough to speak. “I could drive you mad like this, Geralt. Would you like that? Would you enjoy spending your life under my spell, warming my bed and slaking my immortal lusts? Would you like it if I laid you out on a pretty velvet dais during the day and gave you endless books to read? Would you be content if I had you dressed and bathed for me by your own set of servants every night and delivered to my bed when the sun finally disappears?”
“Your Grace! Please!”
Geralt didn’t know if he was begging for it or trying to plead against it; perhaps both or perhaps neither. Perhaps he was merely begging for Jaskier to put his fangs back in his straining, yearning neck. But the Count wasn’t about to let him off that easily.
“Please, you say? Does that idea appeal to you, my pet? Would you like being looked after and taken care of and tenderly worshiped from now until your dying day?”
“Jaskier!” the mortal solicitor cried, clenching tightly around the vampire and forcing the immortal’s breath from his lungs. “Keep me forever, do not let me leave your side, Your Grace! Please!”
“Fuck, Geralt, I’m-” he cut himself off by sinking his canines back into his lover’s pale arteries and sucking in one last deep gulp of sparkling ruby nectar. 
“Yes! Your Grace!”
They fell over the precipice together, tumbling through empty, breathless air as they came. The feeling of Jaskier’s fangs in his neck had finally given Geralt the perfect amount of stimulation to climax, messing both his own chest and part of Jaskier’s with sticky spend. Since the Count had been monitoring Geralt’s thoughts the entire time they were coupling, hell bent on making sure he was enjoying himself, Geralt’s climax sent Jaskier headfirst into his own shuddering finish. “Fuck! My love!”
“Jaskier!” ---
“You’re a marvel, my darling,” the Count insisted, forcing Geralt to take another sip of sweet red wine. He slipped a piece of sweet bread with jam into the mortal’s mouth shortly thereafter. “I am so lucky to have had you delivered right to my doorstep, ready and willing to fall under my evil spell.”
“You’re still not frightening me,” the solicitor replied. “I went to law school; you’re almost tame.”
“For that remark you shall be severely punished.”
Geralt rolled over in Jaskier’s lap and wiggled his ass playfully. “Oh no, Your Grace. Anything but that.”
“Get back here and finish your wine, pet.”
Geralt returned to his previous position and Jaskier ran a hand through his snow-white locks. “May I get dressed yet, Your Grace?”
“Not if you keep calling me that. If you insist on flaunting my title then I may never let you see a stitch of clothing again.”
Geralt blushed and Jaskier’s eyes widened as the mortal’s thought passed through the veil into his own mind. The Count laughed and fed Geralt a bite of bread. 
“You’re an absolutely filthy little minx, pet. I’m going to keep you forever.”
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by Bouncey
Geralt and Jaskier visit a Halloween attraction and Jaskier makes sure to keep Geralt safe from the underpaid teenagers who work there.
Just cute haunted house shenanigans.
Words: 873, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 4 of A Very Bouncey Halloween
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Additional Tags: Fluff, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Modern Era, Part-Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Mothskier, Established Relationship, Date Night
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by TallQueen
Once his chestnut locks were as silky smooth as they were going to get, Jaskier placed the silver brush back on the tabletop and sighed. The Phantom had left him another plain red rose with a plain black ribbon around the stem. No note. No name. Just Madame Yennefer’s quiet, “He was pleased with you.” 
A whisper in passing.
OR
A Phantom of the Opera crossover that fixes a lot of gross stuff about the original! Nothin' but fluff.
Words: 2689, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of A Very Bouncey Halloween
Fandoms: And Do I Dream Again?
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Additional Tags: It's a Phantom of the Opera Crossover in 2020, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Fluff, First Kiss, Singer Jaskier | Dandelion, Opera Starlet Jaskier, Ingenue Jaskier, Phantom Geralt, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Shy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Swooning, Angel of Music, Music of the Night, Fainting, Consensual Kidnapping, Kissing, scar appreciation
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by TallQueen
The large wooden door of the looming grey castle swung open and a young, dark-haired man gestured for Geralt to come inside. “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!”
“Count Dracula?” the visitor inquired, stepping across the threshold and into the entryway. The man at the door gave Geralt a deep, sweeping, overly courtly bow and a close-lipped smile. 
“Call me Jaskier. You must be my new solicitor, Mr. Bellegarde?”
Words: 1939, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 2 of A Very Bouncey Halloween
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Additional Tags: Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Dracula Influence/References, Count Jaskier, Gratuitous use of "Your Grace" by Geralt, Solicitor Geralt, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Victorian Era Witcher Universe, Victorian Aesthetic Witcher Universe, Biting, Blood Drinking, Consensual Blood Drinking, Gothic, Romance, Love at First Sight, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Kissing, Blood, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, But no actual fucking yet, all of the original mystery and sex appeal of Dracula now with CONSENT
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by TallQueen
“Where do you live?” Geralt inquired, stepping closer. Every instinct in his body was telling him to run. To flee this place and the presence of his estate’s mysterious visitor. “Here and there within these woods.” “You can’t live in the woods,” Geralt frowned. “It’s not proper.” “They are very nice woods,” said the boy. To Geralt his tone sounded almost patronizing. Borderline condescending. The doctor bristled and stepped forward again. 
(An adaptation of H.H. Munro's 1909 werewolf short story "Gabriel-Ernest")
Words: 2980, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 3 of A Very Bouncey Halloween
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Additional Tags: Minor Lambert, Minor Triss, Werewolf Jaskier | Dandelion, Doctor/Professor Geralt, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Victorian era, Gabriel-Ernest - Freeform, Adaptation, Public Nudity, No Smut, Jaskier Just Prefers Being Nude in the Woods, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Delicate Sensibilities Geralt, Victorian, Professor of Medicine and Natural Sciences Geralt, Artist Lambert, Seductive Jaskier
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