#because jaskier is a lover not a fighter

[i-got-too-many-links]

Remember.

Just because Radovid is behaving himself NOW does not mean that he will continue to do so.

He WILL inevitably turn on Jaskier and he WILL inevitably show his true nature. Radovid's a filthy rat bastard, and he always will be. He's insane, he's against nonhumans, and his kingdom is the birthplace of the Eternal Fire.

It's kind of sickening to root for him and Jaskier, especially when Jaskier is close friends with a Witcher, a Sorceress, and the Lady of Space and Time. All three of which Radovid would strap to a pyre without hesitation.

[thenightling]

For those who missed it. Yes, the villain Radovid and Jaskier (the heroic bard turned freedom fighter) in The Witcher Netflx series will be portrayed as lovers in season 3 of The Witcher.

And in case you missed the negative reaction from trolls... I mean "book purists" Yes, the Netflix version of Jaskier has been confirmed as bisexual or as Joey Batey calls it, Sapiosexual (which means attracted to emotional connection AND especially intellect before gender).

Joey Batey (Jaskier's actor) has given some hints about what causes the romance.

First, Radovid of the Netflix series is NOT the character from the novels or video games. He's been changed a great deal. He's no longer a child-Tyrant like Joffrey in Game of Thrones. Instead he's a grown man, played by thirty-eight-year-old actor, Hugh Skinner, and seems to be a drunken playboy prince. He'll probably still end up a villain but Jaskier won't realize it right away.

According to Joey Batey, Jaskier will be intrigued by Radovid because he can't figure him out immediately, the way he can understand most people. He'll realize that like himself and his Sandpiper (similar to the Scarlet Pimpernel) persona, Radovid is wearing a mask and he wants to know what's under that mask.

I'm taking this as code for poor Jaskier will end up hurt and broken hearted because he thought he found someone like himself and will instead find a dark mirror.

[moonchild-in-blue]

Okay, so I'm finally caught up with The Witcher 3 and as expected, most of the discourse here is about our favourite bard Jaskier and his hot lover. And while I LOVE him and Radovid, I really wanna see more discussion about the rest of show. So here's some of my favourite points/moments/whatever before vol. 2 comes out:

Yennefer genuinely trying to make amends with everyone, and becoming a better person. Her letters to Geralt?? Love them.

Ciri being not very great at magic - very refreshing to see a Chosen One™ teenage girl actually struggling and being clumsy and imperfect, and seeing her abilities improve realistically. Very tired of seeing the "trains for one week and instantly becomes a master at magic/whatever skill" trope.

On that same note, I really love that she gets to be a badass fighter, dirty and scruffy, but also still enjoys her pretty dresses and other traditionally feminine things. Girls are both, one doesn't excuse the other, and I just find that very neat.

Domestic Geralt and Yen. The dinners, the anniversary celebration, co-parenting Ciri. Hella cute 🥺

VERY interesting to see Nilfgaard seeking yet another truce with Francesca and the elves. Literally one of my favourite plot points of season 2 - Nilfgaard are the supposed "evil" ones, and yet so far are the only ones actively helping out the elves, even if with an agenda.

Emhyr burning his portraits and Pavetta's, erasing his past as Dunny. I'm very interested to see how the father dynamic parallels between him, Geralt and Ciri will play out.

Cahir, my skrunkly boy. ✨Him✨ Is he evil? Is he kinda okay? Is he actually disgusted with himself for murdering his elf boyfriend, and thus securing his position in the Nilfgaardian court, knowing that he's simply sinking deeper into Emhyr's grasp as merely a pawn, or is he just a cold-blooded army blorbo, and truly believes that the White Flame is the answer? Who knows!

Fringilla?? Living her best life as a free woman, dancing and drinking the trauma away? We love to see. Her hair looked AMAZING in the tavern scene. But please, someone give her something to do, girlie was NOT made for the streets.

Yarpen (his that his name?) is such a sweetheart, I love him 🥺

RIP Fern and her husband (am bad at names), and all that Library of Alexandria worth of knowledge and literature.

Love love love the gay uncle/rebel teenager relationship between Jaskier and Ciri. They're so funny together. Them spying on Geralt and Yen?? Fabulous.

YEN FINALLY BECAME A MOTHER. Listen, I almost teared up when Tissaia said that because, ugh. I love their friendship. And Tissaia is one of the very few people who really knows Yennefer, and how much having a child meant for her. And now she is, and she gets to be a parent with Geralt. And she's so awesome. I love that she, unlike Triss, isn't always kind and gentle with Ciri. She knows how much Ciri is struggling for control, she gets it. And she allows herself to be vulnerable and truthful with her - something that even Geralt struggles to do at times [with Ciri].

Geralt learning that his mother has died, and genuinely crying, less because of her passing, but more because he never understood why she abandoned him, and how much that hurt. Especially now that he's a father himself, and knows what true love and care and fear for a child means. Because he could never, ever hurt or endanger Ciri the way Visenna hurt him. Because there's always another way, it has to be. Someone correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this like the first time we see him cry? I don't remember if he actually shed any tears after Sodden, or when Roach died. Crazy to think he's been alive for so many decades, and yet still carries so much hurt and saddens towards his mother.

Jaskier having a crush is so cute hahaha. But also, I love the way he talks about his love for Geralt. Because sure, he's a slut (affectionately), and sure, him and Radovid? Their chemistry and connection is off the charts. But Geralt? His love for Geralt is so genuine, it runs so much deeper than people realise. It's unfair to say it's purely platonic or romantic or whatever because how can you even label a love that profound? "Family goat", AS IF BURN BUTCHER BURN ISN'T THE MOST HEART-WRENCHING, ANSTY BREAKUP SONG EVER, like okay, we all know how you really feel about Mr. Grumpy Pants. Honestly, big thank you Joey Batey, he really brings that romantic artist energy to life.

Philippa and Djikstra being in a bdsm relationship was NOT on my bingo cards. We love a dominatrix witch.

Tissaia's hair. She looks superb.

In comparison, someone please give my girl Triss some hair conditioner. Why did they let her walk around like that like, bestie, define your curls, please I'm begging you.

Vengefortz being the Big Bad - I did have a suspicion but didn't really want to believe it. What he did to those girls was atrocious and messed up, I was legitimately horrified. But also, bravo, whatever his purpose is, he pulled it off quite well.

Istred with that hair and eyeliner. Weirdly hot. Kinda wanted to see more of him.

Jaskier x Valdo Marx beef was EVERYTHING. I cackled when his trope appeared on the boat like fucking glee club. Their song on the conclave was extremely annoying tho, I did not love the constant replay of scenes.

GERALT SAID I LOVE YOU. Geralt said I love you. To Yennefer. Out loud. In public nonetheless. Gasping, clutching my pearls, screaming, crying, throwing up. I love them so much.

Yennefer serving looks 24/7 like the total boss babe she is.

Also, side note but, have you noticed that this season (so far) has had much less ~spicy~ scenes, or just generally less hyper-sexualised content, especially when it came to Yen/Geralt? Even the others, all of the sex scenes felt a lot more "plot relevant", and less "fan-servicey" than in previous seasons, which I for one really appreciate. I feel like before, especially s1, every other scene was an opportunity to show Yen's boobs or Geralt shirtless. Now it feels more, respectful? reigned in? Not that there's anything wrong with it - I'll never say no to a nice titty shot of Henry Cavill - but it can definitely take away the focus from the story, which is a shame because the plot is so rich and there's so much happening.

[love-me-my-anime-boys]

What's the opposite of a harem? Like instead of a heram of women for a singlean but multiple men men for a single woman? Like is it just me who wishes to come home to a big foft cushy bed will so many fluffy soft pillows and blankets (kinda like the bed Dodger has in Oliver in Company but obviously much bigger) and I could come home and lay in bed with my TV husbands, like Goku, Vegeta, Super Gohan, and Bardock from DBZ, All Might, Aizawa, present mic, Shoto, and Bakugo from my hero academia, and Tomoe and Mikasa from Kamisama kiss, and Levi from Attack on Titan and Eddie from stranger things, and Geralt and Jaskier from the witcher, Dean from Supernatural, Koga from Inuyasha, just to name a few off the top of my head. But we love each other or at least tolerate each other because they love me so much any one of them would go to war at the the drop of a hat to protect me with their lives and I love them all and they love me in return just as much but the saddest part is they are mostly warriors and fighters and not come home to me so I marry a doctor , (irl) and that's the comfort I get is that I can't lose any of my tv lovers becsuse my doctor husband can save them and he does so because he knows how much I care about them and what they would give to call me there's alone if they had different career paths.

But I definitely think a better bed is in store and we could all just sleep in dogpiles together. That would be my happy place.

[spielzeugkaiser]

One day, I’ll be less sloppy again, but I headcanoned that they’ve known each other for (more or less) twenty years, before they spend their first winter together at kaer morhen, so... there’ll be a few more of this (especially because your prompts were all just *chefs kiss*) Jaskier has a fine nose too, when he’s not drenched in perfume. But just because he can smell some monsters 3 miles upwind, doesn’t mean he knows what he is smelling. Or what to do about it, besides go the opposite direction, he is a lover, not a fighter, Geralt- bear!jaskier masterpost

[seidenbros]

If anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.

Pairing: Jaskier x (Fem)Reader

Summary: You've been traveling with Geralt and Jaskier for a year, trying to deny your feelings, but one kiss seems to destroy everything.

Warnings: implied smut I guess (if even at all), fluff, fighting

Word count: 3033

A/N: I didn't proof read this, because it's late and it got way longer than I expected it to be. This prompt is from one of @soulprompts lists (Sincerely Yours) because I am in love with these prompts.

For about a year, you've been travelling with the Witcher and the bard. You couldn't even really remember how it had started. Maybe, it was some kind of adventure for you, because you needed to get out of your town. Mabe it was some kind of fascination with the unlikely pair, but you'd proven yourself useful with your knowledge, your abilities, because you could help tend to their injuries. At first, Geralt hadn't been impressed, but after some time, he'd grown fond of you, just like it had been with Jaskier – something the Bard had told you when the two of you had talked halfway through the night sitting by the fire waiting for Geralt to return. Without even realizing it, the Witcher had taken the two of you under his wing, though Jaskier had been travelling with him way longer than you had. Geralt started to teach you both some fighting techniques, after you had pestered him about it. In the end, it was probably wise that you at least knew how to defend yourself. Your father had always told you to kick men where it hurt the most, but that would only help you so far...

After you'd asked asked the Witcher about it, Jaskier had shown interest as well. He should have probably learned a thing or two years ago, but better late than never, right? Though he wasn't exactly a fan of fighting or weapons in general – he was a lover, not a fighter, as he claimed – there had been occasions in his life, when it might have been good to know these things.

“You need to react quicker, Jaskier,” Geralt said during one training session, but when it came to you, he was rather pleased. Maybe because he hadn't expected you to be as good as you were. You listened to what he told and taught you, using spare time for practice.

“I'm trying, but it's hard when you have to watch out for these delicate hands. I need them intact!” Jaskier's words elicited a chuckle from you. Not because you thought his words were funny in themselves – you knew that he needed them to play music, but he also used his hands to emphasize what he was talking about – but because it was just so Jaskier. The whole theatrics, the words and that kind of desperate look in his eyes.

“Oh, so you think, this is funny, huh?” His eyes were suddenly on you, twinkling with mischief before he lunged at you to wrap his arms around your body to trap you against his chest. “How are you going to get out of this?” he asked close to your ear. You could feel him smile, but your own laughter slowly died down. The problem was, that you didn't want to get out of his grip, because it felt way too good to be this close to him, to feel his breath tickle your ear, slightly out of breath, his heartbeat strong in his chest so that you could feel it against your back. You'd known it for weeks now, known that you'd fallen for Jaskier, something you'd been trying to fight, because it wasn't right. You had become friends, you were close to these to men, and you didn't want to lose them over some unrequited feelings.

“Let her go, Jaskier,” Geralt intervened, having enough of your banter. When Jaskier did what he was told, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Where there had been warmth from his body, it was now cold – colder than it had been even before that.

Drawing some fresh air deep into your lungs, you straightened again, looking apologetically at both men. “Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt our training.” Deep down, you knew that this apology wasn't necessary, but for years and years you'd had to apologize for every little thing, that it was engraved in your mind and in your behaviour.

“Y/N, you have to stop apologizing. It's perfectly fine.” Jaskier's smile made you calm down a little, but Geralt was looking at you the same way. Jaskier just had been quicker to open his mouth, like he usually was.

A few days later, you were alone with Jaskier, resting a by a lake while Geralt was once again out and about – and you didn't want to know what exactly he was up to. Sometimes, it was better to not know about this. The previous night, the three of you had stayed at an inn, and Jaskier had given one of his performances. While Geralt and you had enjoyed some ale, Jaskier had gone of with some lady – though you would probably not call her that, but that was the jealousy talking. Jealousy you were desperately trying to hide. So, when Geralt asked you what was wrong, you told him that it was nothing and that you would go to bed.

Now that you were alone with Jaskier, knowing or at least assuming that you knew what had happened last night, it was hard to not turn around and leave him there, because your mind kept running in all kinds of directions. Imagining him with that woman doing things that had been following you in your dreams... Shaking your head, you stood up to get that image out of your head. Not the time, not the place, and you should get that completely out of your mind for good.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asked, raising to his feet as well. The two of you should stay together after all, so you knew that he wouldn't let you go away anyway. There was something else that would probably get your mind off things, and you two could benefit from it.

“I thought that maybe we could get some training done? Geralt will be impressed with you, if we tell him that.” That was probably what got him to agree. Getting told that he needed to work on getting quicker, wasn't something he was looking forward to. Though you had to admit that he'd gotten better, faster, but there was still some room for improvement. On both ends of course, because you could get better as well.

The only problem was that you weren't able to keep your temper under control. Usually, you were this calm, sweet girl, that didn't look like you could do any harm, but right now... You'd already gotten Jaskier on the ground twice, dealing some blows to his arms and side that were probably going to turn a little blue the next day, when he caught you in his arms just like he'd done days ago.

“Where is all that anger coming from?” he asked, because yes, he'd realized that something was definitely up. Your heart was picking up its pace. Not from the physical action, but from being so close to the bard, from his scent filling your nose, his ragged breath stroking your neck.

“I'm not angry,” you defended yourself, trying to wiggle free from him, but you didn't stand a chance. He was stronger than he seemed.

“Really?” Jaskier only loosening his grip around you just so that he could turn you around. “Say that again and look into my eyes. I can tell when you're lying.” And he could. He'd proven that on many occasions, though you'd always found a way to distract from the matter at hand, or you'd said nothing more.

Right now, you didn't know what to tell him. That you were angry that he'd spent the night with yet another woman instead of you? That you were angry with yourself for falling in love with him? The words were right there on the tip of your tongue, but you didn't say anything. Instead, you surprised yourself when you pulled yourself up grabbing a hold of his shoulders for some support, and kissed him. It started with just a light touch of your lips to his, but that was already enough to make your whole body tingle. And suddenly, it felt like it was completely on fire, when you felt him deepen the kiss, his grip on you loosening, but his hands stayed on your back, slowly working their way up. It was everything you'd been dreaming of and more, but then he broke the kiss. Slowly, your eyelids fluttered open, fearing that this was just another dream, but you looked into these deep blue eyes that were clouded over with something you hadn't seen in them before. At least not when he'd been looking at you.

Jaskier opened his mouth, wanting to tell you something, but before a word left his mouth, you heard your own name be called, followed by Jaskier's.

“Y/N? Jaskier? Where have you gotten off to?” Suddenly realizing that this was indeed not a dream and that Geralt was on his way to you, you sprung away from Jaskier. This had been a terrible idea. Sure, it had felt good, amazing even, but in the end, this would never lead anywhere, you were sure of that. So it was probably best that Geralt didn't find out about this.

“There you are.” Geralt looked at the two of you. Your slightly dishevelled hair, the glassy eyes... “What's going on?”

“Training,” you simply said, brushing past him to get the hell out of this situation. You knew that he'd picked up on your racing heart, probably even on more than that, but you didn't want to answer any questions, so going back was the safest option for you right now.

Geralt turned towards Jaskier raising an eyebrow at him. “What did you do?”

“Me?” Oh, Jaskier was offended, and it showed on his face, even in his whole posture. “Well, I didn't do anything. You interrupted us...” But he stopped there. It was probably better if Geralt didn't know, while Jaskier still had to figure out himself what had just happened. Not that he hadn't been dreaming of a moment like this, but... that was all that had been. Dreams. No actions taken. And now you'd kissed him, and he didn't know what to make of it.

“I interrupted... what?” Geralt pressed, but now it was Jaskier's turn to shake his head.

“Forget it. Nothing. You interrupted nothing.”

Geralt knew. Or at least he was pretty sure what had been going on, but he wasn't one to intervene – at least not right now, but after a few days of the two of you tiptoeing around each other, even he was fed up with this situation.

It wasn't easy for you to look at Jaskier. The longing grew day by day, because you wanted to repeat what you had shared, to kiss him again, be close to him. You hadn't talked about it, instead, you'd apologized every time your hands had accidentally touched. Maybe, you should just own up to this moment, tell him that you were sorry. But were you really? You'd be lying to him and to yourself if you apologized for the kiss, because it had felt right, it had felt good. But you could apologize for ambushing him like this.

Geralt was by now completely fed up with your behaviour – yours as well as Jaskier's. Neither of you was concentrated, and he'd stopped you from tumbling off the road or running straight into a tree not only once. So when you were staying in another inn for the night, after Jaskier had finished his last song, he ordered you to the room him and Jaskier were sharing, without telling the bard about it.

“What's going on?” you asked looking at the two men, seeing Jaskier just as confused as you were.

“You two: Talk! Now!” It was an order, that much was for sure. “Stop being idiots and work this out!” And with that he left the room and locked the door. He would not let you out until you finally resolved this issue. Hopefully with the outcome he was rooting for, because he knew what you were feeling,

You turned back towards Jaskier feeling your cheeks burn. It was the first time being alone with him since that kiss. The kiss that had been haunting your dreams ever since. The kiss you wanted to apologize for.

“Y/N...” Jaskier started, but you cut him off.

“Look, I'm sorry about what happened.” You took a deep breath, wrapping your arms around your own body, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, exposed. “I shouldn't have... kissed you.”

“Stop that.” Jaskier closed the distance between you, but you took another step back. Being this close to him wasn't good for you, because apparently you couldn't trust yourself around him. “Did I pull back from you? Did I push you away? I certainly didn't.”

That much was true, he'd even explored your back with his hands, making you blush at the memory, because it was almost like you could feel him touch you again. “Well, no, but...”

“But what?” When he stepped closer this time, you stayed where you were, not raising your head, because you weren't able to look him in the eye. Instead, you stared at his chest, more precisely at the patch of chesthair that was peeking out.

“You have a lot of women out there Jaskier. Women more experienced than me, beautiful women, and you've just been with one yesterday, so...”

“I wasn't,” he said immediately, brows furrowed, but he sighed when he realized what you meant. “I may have flirted, I may have escorted that woman out, and yes, maybe I thought that I could get you out of my head this way, but nothing happened.” Gently, he tilted your head upwards, lettings his fingers linger a moment on your chin. “If anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.”

Without waiting for a response, his lips were on yours. Your fingers dug into his arms, before they travelled across the soft fabric towards his chest. His words as well as his kiss made your heart nearly give out, but it was worth it. Both these things made your doubts vanish into thin air. But when he tore his lips from yours, it was too soon for you, left you longing for more. You'd been longing for more for what felt like ages now, so it was probably understandable that you pulled him back down to kiss him again, your body as close to his as possible.

“Y/N,” Jaskier mumbled into the kiss, grabbing your hands and holding them against his chest, raising to his full height so that you could not reach his lips again and distract him. The pout on your lips didn't make it easy for him to resist you. “You have to stop or...”

“Or what?” you teased, wriggling your hands free so that you could run your fingers through his hair, down his cheek and along his bottom lip. He immediately pressed a kiss to your finger, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Gods, you make it hard for me to hold back.” There it was again, the clouded eyes, and now you knew what they meant: desire, lust.

“I'm not asking you to hold back, Jaskier,” you said, smiling up at him, before he kissed you again, but this time it was different. This kiss was burning with a hunger that you hadn't anticipated, that caught you off-guard and made you moan into the kiss.

He smiled against your lips before he started trailing kisses over your cheeks, made his way down to you collarbone. “What if Geralt comes back?”

“What?” You asked, trying to figure out what he'd just said, because it was getting harder and harder to pay attention to his words.

“Geralt might come back,” he said chuckling against your skin, letting his hands stroke along your sides, landing on your butt.

“Mhmmm whatever.” You dismissed his words, because after all, Geralt had been the one to lock you in this room, so he would probably, hopefully stay away for some time. And if he didn't.... you probably wouldn't notice anyway, because what Jaskier was doing to and with you, made you forget everything around you. It was better than what you had conjured up in your dreams much better, and you were already looking forward to spending more days and nights with him like this, now that you knew that your feelings weren't unrequited, but that Jaskier had fallen for you as well.

[brothebro]

Have you heard the news that you’re dead?

[undead!jaskier (almost), banter, geraskier, yennskier, love confessions, identity reveal, 3k]

[ao3 link]

It's bloody chaos. 

A demon has taken hold of Cirilla's mind and it has brought forth fucking basilisks, of all things, to dispose of Kaer Morhen's last witchers.

Jaskier himself, ever the lover not a fighter, has been hiding under a, hopefully, sturdy table trying ⁠— and failing⁠— to deliver the jasper to Geralt. How a piece of rock is going to help in this madness, he doesn't know. 

Whilst shouting 'jasper' to Geralt repeatedly, he feels it snap. The handy little spell that has been accompanying him for the last few hundreds of years dissolves as the demon launches another magical attack on the witchers. 

Before his mind falls into panic mode, he takes a long cold breath and feels the stone floor beneath his palm freeze. 

Ah, he'd forgotten he could do that. 

An idea flashes through his mind. 

Losing no time, he gets to his feet, each step colder than the other, each breath more freezing than the wind on the Blue Mountains' summit. 

The basilisks slow as he walks between them and he barely registers the witchers hacking them to pieces. 

Well, he can say for certain the beasties won't be missed.

And then, right before his very eyes, and without as much as a warning to boot, Yennefer crashes through the shield that's been keeping the demon from advancing and in a swirling swoop of a portal she disappears alongside Ciri and Geralt. 

"Now that was⁠—" he starts saying, nervousness rushing in waves inside him, but he's cut off by the shining purple light on his feet. "Yrden?" He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion and takes a step out of the circle; it never really did work on him anyway. 

"Another demon," he registers a witcher saying, probably Everard. 

"What are you waiting for? For it to attack?" Lambert yells and runs Jaskier through with a sword through the back.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Would you feel safer if I stepped back into the yrden trap? I promise you-" a second sword pierces him through the back. "Oh, that's just rude. Do you have any idea how bloody expensive this coat was? Not to mention mending the cuts is going to be a pain in the arse! Witchers these days! Unbelievable." 

They look stunned at him for a brief moment, eyes potioned dark and swords ready to strike. He's acutely aware of how he looks like; grey skin of a corpse melting into charcoal black in his extremities and cloudy eyes one would think unseeing, even if he's perfectly able to see.⁠ For how corpsy he appears, he's not rotting thankfully⁠, he'd hate if he had to pick up pieces of himself constantly.

Vesemir takes a step forward, lifting a hand to signal to the others not to interfere. "What are you, son? I've never seen a monster unburdened by yrden."

"Not a monster, thank you very much," Jaskier snaps. "I just can't die. Yes, I am aware I appear quite dead, and no, I am not. Now, can we please go back to caring about where the bloody fuck they disappeared to?" He points with both hands to the empty spot previously occupied by one witcher, one sorceress and one princess. "Because that is more alarming than one unalive bard."

As he finishes his sentence a portal opens and they are back. "Oh, thank the gods," he whispers, relief coursing through him when he sees that all three of them are unharmed and Ciri doesn't feel like demon anymore. 

Yennefer turns towards him as Geralt holds his daughter in a tight embrace, her tired eyes going wide before they settle in a mix of confusion and fury. 

"What did you do to him?" She addresses the witchers, voice thundering. 

Ah⁠— Yeah, right, yeah, he still has swords sticking through his chest. 

"I'm fine, Yennefer I'm fine!" He waves his arms frantically to stop whatever foolish thing she has in mind, as he tastes the chaos crackling at her fingertips. 

"How are you fine, bard? You-" 

"He's an undead," Geralt interrupts her, brows furrowed with something like worry, or perhaps sadness. 

Jaskier huffs. "Do not put me in the same category as ghouls, or gods forbid, rotfiends, Geralt! Besides, I prefer the term unalive. Because I can't be undead if I've never died in the first place!" 

"What do you mean⁠—"

"Not important now," Jaskier cuts him off. "That's a talk for tomorrow morning, so if you don't mind I'll go nap or doze off, or I don't know stare at the ceiling for a while." 

He spins on his heel, ready to head towards his dreadfully small room when the blasted witchering swords ⁠—silver for monsters, he notes⁠— throw him off balance and he almost impales himself further on them. With the gracefulness of a newborn calf, he gets to his feet and with a hand attempts to reach the swords’ hilts. When he finds himself unable to, he sighs loudly and dramatically.

“Gentlemen,” he addresses the two witchers ⁠— Lambert and, uh… Gwaine possibly?— who attacked him, “As much as I like silver, it doesn’t exactly go well with my complexion. So if you don’t mind…” 

“You can’t be serious!” Lambert hisses. 

“Dead serious, I’m afraid. Do me a favour and unlodge your… mighty swords from my torso and I won’t write a scathing song about you, please and thank you.” 

The men hesitate for a moment, exchanging quick glances between them, but a look from Vesemir and Geralt has them scampering to release Jaskier from the weight of their weapons. 

“There’s no blood or ichor,” Gwaine mutters to himself, staring at the sword in awe. 

“That’s because I have none,” Jaskier doesn’t even bother looking the witcher in the eye, and instead busies himself with getting the fuck away from here as soon as possible. 

-

Jaskier would very much like to sleep, forget about everything that transpired only a few hours ago, but he seems unable to. He doesn’t know if it’s because sleep is optional when he’s like this or if his nerves are so frazzled that it would take a minor miracle for his brain to shut off for a few minutes. What he knows is that the ceiling consists of forty-six big stones and that there are rats living inside the walls. Both of these facts, he could unlive without. 

It must be close to midnight, or perhaps early morning when Yennefer graces his doorless doorstep. 

“Trouble sleeping?” He asks, more for the sake of asking as it’s abundantly clear that’s the case. She shoots him a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and he can feel her tiredness seeping inside his bones. “Come, sit,” he pats at the spot next to him on the small bed and she obliges. No cutting remark, no witty banter. No anything. 

Gods, whatever happened there in Cintra really did a number on her. 

They sit like this for a while, side by side, Yennefer’s (warm) head on Jaskier’s (cold) shoulder. 

“He’ll forgive you,” he says unprompted when the words are too much, too quick, too relentless in his brain. Then, hesitantly, “I’m sorry.”

“What for, bardling?” 

“You know that fire mage couldn't have killed me, no matter how much he tried. If… If you hadn’t saved me, Yennefer, perhaps none of this would have happened. If I were a little more forthcoming with you all, less arrogant…” 

“Can you feel pain?” she asks, a serious edge to her soft voice. 

“What?” 

“Can you or can you not, you unalive fucker? It’s not a difficult question to answer.” 

“I can,” he admits. “Not as strongly when I’m like this,”—he gestures to himself⁠, head to toe⁠— “but as human-adjacent, yeah, I guess. A lot.”

“It would’ve been nice to know you’re practically immortal,” she huffs, “but I’d still save you, you insufferable man.” She intertwines her hand with his between them. Fuck, she’s so warm. “Besides, you don’t know I wouldn’t have given in to the demon- Fuck. She was relentless, Jaskier. Constantly berating me inside my head⁠—” She snaps her mouth shut. 

“Not your fault. As you said it was a real fucking demon. The kind nightmares are made of, Yennefer! Nightmares! And- and sometimes, o beloathed witch, sound choices fly out of the window when we’re trapped into a corner⁠— Wait, I said basically the same thing but waaay better to Geralt- how did it go? Ah, I knew I should've written it down!” 

She chuckles, a soft melodic thing that makes Jaskier’s still heart soar. Oh, he’s a goner. Perhaps this is how he’ll finally go after countless centuries upon the Continent; slain by one very sexy mad witch’s lovable laughter.  

Well, if Geralt decides to top it up tomorrow with one of his rare gravelly laughs then Jaskier shan’t see the sun rise another day. Such is the fate of great poets and troubadours.

-

Dawn finds Jaskier immobilised by Yennefer’s sleep death-hug. 

Honestly! How can a woman so slight have so much strength is a big mystery. He’s been doing his best to keep the cold of his body from escaping, countless (maybe three) hours waiting for the witch to wake. 

Wouldn’t do if he accidentally froze her to death, now would it?

To her credit, she doesn’t leave him fighting for long with his innate call to release such vast amounts of cold the highest peak of the Blue Mountains would be jealous of. 

“Rise and shine, beautiful!” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them over. Great fucking job self. He mentally facepalms at his treacherous tongue. And because he’s Jaskier and he’d loath to have his banter record annulled by one overly smooth flirty sentence he adds, “Why yes, thank you sun, I am rather handsome myself.” 

Yennefer snorts out an inelegant little laugh and it’s last night all over again. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to live with that. 

Before he has a chance to say anything even stupider, he disentangles himself from the sexy witch. A brief look at his poor mangled coat convinces him to leave it lying on the single decrepit chair of his room; it’s not like the cold inside Kaer Morhen is insufferable. Au contraire, as the Toussaintoi say. It’s almost warm. 

Luckily, this time he doesn’t get skewered when he meets the witchers in the now, destroyed grand hall. In fact, he gets ushered by Coen to the kitchens where he finds all of the, still living and breathing, witchers sat around a big table that has seen better days. 

“Oh, great,” he mutters to himself- though they can probably hear him if Geralt’s raised eyebrow is any indication. “I suppose it’s interrogation time?” He grabs a chair and brings a fistful of berries in his mouth. He’s quite famished. 

“You eat, lad,” Vesemir remarks. 

“Well yeah. Running on an empty stomach is plain uncomfortable you know. Next question, please.”

“Revenant?” Geralt asks.

“Nope!” He pops the ‘p’. “As I said I am not undead, Geralt, as much as I look the part. Not a vampire either.” From the resounding grumbles this seems to have been the guess of several witchers. 

“Perhaps,” Coen says, “he’s a lich.”

“Pardon? What’s a lich?” Jaskier asks. 

“A very rare form of undead- no, hear me out- a human mage that tried to turn themself immortal-”

“While that’s quite fascinating and I didn’t know such creatures existed, I have to stop you because how do I put this simply? I’ve been around before the Conjunction.”

“That’s impossible.” Geralt’s eyebrows shoot to his crown. “The Conjunction was fifteen centuries ago.”

“Well aware. Look, I don’t know what I am, I just know that I formed, well, actually in a cave rather close to here, now that I think about it, way before the humans arrived on the Continent. If I was an accident, or whatever, no one will ever know because in my impossibly long unlife life, whatever you may call it, I have never met another like me. 

As you can imagine, it gets rather lonely after a while, and whilst the elves were quite accepting of my condition when the humans arrived… Well, you out of all people can picture how that went.” He gestures abstractly. “So… Here we are!” 

“You can’t bloody die,” Lambert surmises, or thinks aloud- who knows? “How do you know?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shoot him a tired look. Instead, he forces an amiable smile and says, “Well, since you asked, I know that by crafting a list and trying each individual item on the said list- Oh, don’t look at me like that, I haven’t lost my marbles just yet! The short answer is: by coincidence.” 

“And what would the long answer be?” Probably Everard or maybe Marek asks.

“Ah, that⁠— Poisons are ineffective as I pretty much eat anything I deem edible, to which Geralt attest to, is anything of the meat, fungi or plant variety. As you noticed last night, magic doesn’t really work on me nor do weapons of any sort. As for other methods of, uh, death, let’s just say many people have tried to be rid of me in the past in very, and I mean very, creative ways. It didn’t work a single time.”

“And you just let it happen?” 

“What would I do? Fight? Me? Have you met me? Geralt, come on, back me up.”

Geralt, ever the humorist, says, “He gets beaten by rabbits on a good day.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier exclaims the moment Yennefer decides to enter the impromptu questioning chamber. They exchange small smiles that spell ‘save me’ from Jaskier’s part and ‘no, suffer’ from Yennefer’s. 

Oh, she’s enjoying that, is she? 

“Have you considered that you could be a minor deity?” Vesemir asks, tone carefully gentle. 

He had not, in fact, considered that. 

It’s such a ludicrous thought that it makes him laugh, loud and unreservedly, frosty tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He waves a dismissive hand, unable to stop laughing, and shakes his head making a way out of the kitchen to somewhere, possibly, less crowded. Between laughs and heaving, he says, “A god of what? Bad luck?” 

Because quite honestly, he can’t think of anything else that could be his domain. Save perhaps, danger magnet or rejection. 

Ugh. He doesn’t like where this train of thought is going.

-

Jaskier finds out that Kaer Morhen has lovely towers that have even lovelier views of the valley the keep is perched on. 

It’s nice here, quiet in a way a decrepit castle full of witchers never is. But most importantly it’s somewhere no one sound of mind can follow. Alone with his thoughts, he lets the shitstorm of the past⁠—oh wow, it’s been a couple of weeks already⁠— settle and brew a little in his mind. 

He doesn’t really know where he stands with Geralt⁠— Yennefer for once is easier to read than the stony broody, and by the Gods, handsome witcher. It’s all a bit nervewracking, if he’s being honest, his little secret of twenty-something years revealed just like that, with a click of the fingers. 

It would have been lovely if he could go back to being just a bard, human-looking and awkward, just like he’s been for nigh a millennia now, but he can’t. 

A sigh escapes his lips, and he looks up at the white winter sky. It’s going to snow soon, he can feel it. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice sounds behind him and Jaskier yelps, jumping a bit from where he’s perched on the bannisters of the crumbling tower. 

He almost falls down.

As quick and efficient as ever, Geralt grabs him from the collar of his vest and steadies him. 

“Melitele’s plump bottom! Are you trying to kill me, Geralt?!”

Geralt’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Thought you were unkillable.” 

Jaskier pouts in response. “Touche.” And then reluctantly, “Why are you here, Geralt?” 

“Why are you here?” The witcher counters. 

Jaskier elbows him weakly. “Come on, spit it out! I can tell you came all the way up here to talk.” 

“Hmmm.” Geralt moves to sit next to him on the stone bannister. “It’s fine,” he says as if it explains anything. Jaskier stares at him in confusion. “You.”

“Me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Geralt, I know you’re messing with me right now. You can’t possibly be fine with,” ⁠— he gestures to himself from head to toe, ⁠— “this deathly pallor I don unwillingly.”

Geralt rolls his pretty amber eyes. “All I’m saying is, I understand why you never said anything, Jask. And it’s fine that you’re not human.” Geralt pokes him with a finger on the chest, where his heart would be if he had one. “Because you’re you.” 

“Careful there, witcher! You’ll make me think you actually care.”

Geralt’s eyes do that thing Jaskier hate-loves where they look at him with barely disguised affection. 

“Well, that’s not fair⁠—”

“Seeing you last night,” Geralt says, shuddering visibly, “it made me realise some things, I was purposefully ignoring for years.” 

Where is he going with this? Can it be- but no. As if Jaskier would ever be so lucky. 

“What things?” he asks, voice wavering in fear and anticipation. 

“You’re important to me, Jask. Always were and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” He wraps Jaskier in a half-hug. If Jaskier had a heart he’s sure it would be jumping out of his chest right now. 

“I love you, Geralt. You know that don’t you?” he blurts out. Oh, fuck it. He’ll see whatever this is through the end if it’s the last thing he does. “I love you so much it hurts. You’re my- my everything and I’ll admit I-” 

Soft lips crash into his effectively shutting him up. 

Oh, Gods. 

Oh. Gods. 

If only he could lock himself and Geralt, in this moment forever. 

“Will come with?” Geralt asks, voice a soft rumble, when they break apart. 

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, I don’t exactly remember the spell that turned me human-adjacent and I can’t very well-” 

Geralt kisses him again. 

“Geralt.” 

“Jaskier.”

“Let me talk.” He takes a deep breath. “If Yennefer comes with then I’ll come too.”

“Because you need her to glamour you.”

“Yes, but also no, you dolt. Because I like her and she deserves something good in her life after everything she’s been through and I won’t-”

“I know that.” Geralt sighs. “It’s hard, to forgive her for bringing danger to Ciri but…”

“But corners and entrapment and shit.” 

Geralt snorts. “Corners and entrapment and shit,” he echos. “Yeah.”

[jaskierswolf]

For ace week - Jaskier thought that Valdo hated him when he spurned his advances. He didn’t realise Valdo was ace

Of Love and Hate

Pairing: Geraskier (previously unrequited Valskier) Rating: T Warnings: None _

The bard’s eyes darkened and his jaw clenched as he looked across the room. It was as if a storm had fallen over the cloudless day that was Jaskier, and Geralt could almost feel the ice in the air around them. A quick glance around the room told Geralt there was no immediate danger. There were no bruxas or werewolves hiding in the shadows, and he hadn’t been able to clock any thugs or assassins. Whatever had caught the bard’s attention- it was personal, but that didn’t stop Geralt’s instincts from screaming at him to draw his sword, to cut down the source of his lover’s anguish.

Instead, Geralt’s hand landed on Jaskier’s thigh, sliding down the soft, teal, silk trousers to the bard’s knee. The music playing at one end of the tavern was too loud for Jaskier to hear him, especially with the usual roar of the tavern; fist fighters, drunkards and gamblers not caring for the lilting tune of the lute player. Jaskier didn’t seem too impressed by the man either. His cornflower blue eyes were narrowed and cold as the steel strapped to Geralt’s back. Rolling his eyes, Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s temple, smiling as the bard leaned into the touch with a soft sigh that no human would be able to hear.

The reason for Jaskier’s posturing soon became clear when the lute music came to a close and the brightly dressed troubadour with an extravagant hat and feather strutted over to their table.

“Marx,” Jaskier gritted out, shoulders tense as he gripped Geralt’s hand under the table.

“Julian, how lovely of you to visit Cidaris! I thought you’d all but forgotten about me,” the troubadour smiled brightly, removing his hat and tucking a long dark curl behind his ears as he slid into the bench opposite Geralt and Jaskier.

“Oh you made it quite clear you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“What?” the man froze, his tankard halfway to his lips. “Jask, you were my best friend?”

“You hated me!” Jaskier snapped, knocking his own drink flying. “I tried everything to get your attention, to show you how much I loved you. You barely even looked at me, stole my songs and fucked off to Cidaris. We were going to travel the Continent together, Pankratz and Marx-”

“Marx and Pankratz,” Marx amended softly without seeming to even think about his words. It was clearly an argument they’d had many times before.

“Oh fuck you!” Jaskier hissed. “Doesn’t matter now anyway, I have Geralt.”

The troubadour winced and looked away. “Ah yes, your precious witcher. Essi told me all about him.” Dark brown eyes flashed to Geralt, and he was taken aback to see only pain where he’d been expecting anger. “Your bestest friend in the whole wide world.”

“My boyfriend.”

“Yes, because I became nothing to you when I didn’t want to sleep with you.”

Jaskier was about to snap back but Geralt clapped his hand over his mouth. He took advantage of the silence to study the peacock of a man in front of them. He’d flirted with the patrons just like any bard worth his money did, but he’d come straight to Jaskier, to an old friend, denying any opportunity to bed the handful of girls who were very obviously interested in him. It was… unusual for a bard, and reminded Geralt more of his brother Eskel who had never really cared for sex and valued his friendships above anything else .

“You’re ace?” Geralt surmised.

“What? How did you-?”

“Lived a long time, I’ve seen it all.”

Jaskier wriggled in Geralt’s arms until he was able to force Geralt’s hand away from his mouth. “You- you don’t hate me?”

“I never did.”

“But I- I thought… You- the Countess?”

Marx laughed, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand over the table. “Oh darling, she’s my sister.”

With a whine, Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s chest, still holding the other bard’s hand tight despite the burning hot blush on his cheeks. “Val, I’ve been an idiot.”

The troubadour winked at Geralt as he replied. “Well then, I’m glad to see you really haven’t changed a bit, love.”

_

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @slythnerd

[sunflowersteves]

feel your touch || g.r.

summary || Geralt wasn’t used to your gentle and soft touches, but he never wanted them to stop either. 

author’s note || ok this is dedicated to @borkingbarnes​ because it’s v much inspired by this post and bee u are a wonderful amazing human being for thinking of touch starved geralt. hope you all enjoy!!

warnings || so much fluff, insecurity, touch starvation, soft!geralt, some angst, NC-17, not edited (oops)

masterlist

Geralt of Rivia was a plethora of things. He was a warrior, a tracker, a magic holder, a skilled fighter, and a monster hunter. But, he wasn’t a passionate lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. In the one-hundred years he has been alive, he’s never had a lover.

He’s had little nightly adventures with many women to cease any tensions he had. They were one singular night, the sheets pooled around him, and whoever was in bed with him. And every single time, there was always a mutual agreement that there would be no attachments except that of sweaty bodies. 

He had previously thought that emotions got in the way of things. Feelings and sentiments always get him in some type of trouble, so he vowed never to let them get to him. He always chooses to hold people at least five feet away from him at all times, even close friends like Yennefer and Jaskier. 

That is until you came along. 

You were like a breath of fresh air, light and flowing in the sunny breeze, but you were also a force that crashed up against rocks during a storm against the ocean shore. It had shocked the stone cold Witcher that you had held such an effect on him. 

It struck him so suddenly, like lightning; it was fast and hard. He thought of things he had never done so before. His mutated heart beat faster and faster when all you did was grin at him underneath the sunlight. 

He suddenly wanted to be a good lover for you, and Geralt had no clue how to deal with such feelings. He had never dealt with such desperation to be near you, such wanting that surrounded him constantly. He wanted to hold your hand when you walked along a market, laughing and talking casually. He wanted to press his face against your thighs as you fiddled with his long hair. He wanted to feel your warmth radiate onto his cool body while you read a book with your back pressed up against his chest. 

He wanted to feel your warm skin against his, basking in the sweet sensations of you. He wanted to give you everything; the desire to please you struck deep within his soul. 

Due to the lack of experience in such longing touches, he had struggled quite a bit. He struggled not to let his muscles tense when you lay a hand on his shoulder in comfort. His lungs restricting the air in them at the sensation of your lips peppering faint kisses on his chest. The strange phenomenon, however, was the fact that he loved your touches.

He loved the way the pads of your fingers ran down his spine. He loved the way your heat seeped into his skin. He loved the way your softness caressing his rough skin. Despite all of the times his body had betrayed him, he loved it.

You were reading some of your spells, trying to memorize every detail about them. For a short while, you didn’t even notice the Witcher make his way to bed. However, Geralt never got comfortable and only sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned towards you. 

Your sweet, honey-filled voice interrupted his intruding thoughts. “Why are you so tense, my love?”

He let out a long sigh, eyes flickering towards yours before fluttering down to his lap. You could tell that he wanted to say something, but his mind was betraying him leaving him with a blank stare as he twiddled his thumbs. 

“Lay down.” 

There were a few beats of silence, his back still shining before your eyes. You knew he must’ve had something troubling him even further if his ears ignored your presence. He rarely would ignore you of all people. It was as though he was incapable of it; his mind was constantly filled with thoughts of you. 

“Lay down, Geralt.”

Your tone was much sharper than before, the hints becoming more of a demand than a question. He blinked before doing as he was told and laid on his stomach. His eyes fluttered close when he felt you lay on top of him, your legs meeting the end of his back. 

His mutated heart starts to beat a little faster, your lips gently kissing the nape of his neck. He felt vulnerable as his cheeks scrunched up against the feathered bedding while your lips skated across his skin.

Your finger mindlessly started to trace a large scar, and his body immediately reacted by shivering from your delicate touches. He couldn’t help but let out a whimper as your hands caress his back, rubbing back and forth. 

Your body lifts itself at the sound. Your mouth hung open slightly in surprise. You weren’t expecting such a sound to erupt from him, more or less from the massive stoic Witcher. For a split second, you could have sworn there was a hint of blush that rested on his cheeks, most likely from the embarrassment of the sound he had made.

Nonetheless, you ignored it and continued to poke and prod at his tense muscles. Your hands worked their way from the top of his shoulders—grinding and digging to elevate the stress he was so clearly under. 

A moan escapes his lips, and you giggle, trying to dig even further into his muscles. You could tell that he felt good; his lips curled into a small smile. 

“Your hands are wonders, little dove.”

You laugh slightly, warmth spreading in your chest as a groan slips past his lips. Your hands kneading the sore battle-scarred muscles had felt like heaven. His skin burned with each touch you gave. 

You stop for a second before prompting him to roll over. He looks at you teasingly, watching as you try to lift him. He was like four men in one, so it was hard to get him to budge. Finally, he turns over and shares a couple of giggles with you. 

He lets out a small gasp as you immediately go to kiss down his chest, his hair slightly tickling your lips. On days like these, Geralt would normally wrap his arms around you and pepper kisses along your body. However, he just stared at the thatched ceiling while his breaths became shallow. 

“What’s wrong, my love?”

“I just… I feel as though you deserve more.” Your heart broke a little at the sullen look on his face; the furrowed eyebrows and teary eyes told you everything. All you could do was softly smile and take his large hands into yours. 

“You are stubborn, yes. You lack emotion more than anyone I’ve ever met, you’re thick-headed, and you have the worst of tempers.” You pull his head up to look at you. His eyes slightly widened at the burst of adoration that flowed between your glistening eyes. His stomach churned with pure glee while you squeezed his hands, “But those qualities that you always deem as negative are what I love about you. My love for you isn’t as simple as a want or desire. My love for you is by what you do and how you live. You are my life, my love. You are my stars and my sea.”

He just stared at your face. His eyes flickered between the crease of your brows, the hollows of your cheeks, and the plumpness of your lips. At first, you thought he was going to kiss you passionately, but he just held your face in his hands.

“I’m never letting you go, dove, ever. Anyone will feel my wrath if they disagree otherwise.”

“Hmm, that better be a promise, my love.”

~~

witcher: @lenalxvegood​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @borkingbarnes​ @dreams-of-sunlight-and-starfire 

geralt: @harrysthiccthighss​ @borkingbarnes​ @doozywoozy​

permanent: @captainchrisstan​ @angstysebfan​ @teenagereadersciencenerd​ @rebekahdawkins​ @hailmary-yramliah​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @stardust-galaxies​ @wiccanmetallicrose​ @keithseabrook27​ @hereforthesunrise​

[eskel-and-goat]

Hey so what if Jaskiers entire family were hunters? Or just really rough and rowdy, fighters. They grew up fighting and hunting but Jask is the “odd ball” in his family because he’s against violence?

Like, let’s take his family for a moment, now imagine with me: a giant man with nothing but pure muscle, people have to look up at him to speak. Geralt would he shocked at meeting him, Jaskier’s father looks more like a tame bear than human, though jaskier gets his smile, laugh and humour from him.

For his mother? I’d love to say she’s just as scary as Jaskiers father, very intimidating, she looks like she can handle her own shit. She’s gotta round up all of the kids? Give her five minutes. Also I think she’d also be tall (tall intimidating women please end me thanks).

I just like the thought of Jaskiers family being  excellent hunters/fighters who continually look for competition. Maybe it throws Geralt for a loop, finding out that Jaskier came from a family of fighters and knows how to use different weapons, but prefers poetry and art, a lover.

[thenightling]

*SPOILERS!* My review of The Witcher season 3 (first half) with mid-season finale spoilers

In general I actually loved The Witcher season 3 so far.

I like how the writers more or less fixed the harm to the character dynamic they caused with Yennefer's behavior in Season 2. I absolutely love the new music by Percival Schuttenbach. It really sets the mood. They should have called upon that Polish band that did the video game music sooner. They really know what they're doing. I love that they no longer tiptoed around Jaskier's sexuality and allowed him to have a romance (even if his lover probably should not be trusted.) I'm dreading the conclusion of the season (to be released July 29th) because I have a bad feeling Geralt might be replaced with an alternate universe version of himself to explain the change in actors. I don't like that. I imagine it going like "Well, since I'm stuck here, I might as well protect you, other Ciri." I hope I'm wrong. Having an alternate universe version of Quin take over the lead role in Sliders helped kill that series. I'd rather something happen to Geralt where his soul ends up in a new body or he's badly disfigured so a new body has to be made for him somehow. That I'd be okay with. I wish they wouldn't bother with an in-show explanation for the change of actors. A glamour spell was the explanation for the change in Robin Hood actor in Once Upon a Time and it was completely unnecessary. The change had happened years earlier. It didn't need a season 4 explanation. Anyway, most of The Witcher Season 3 has been excellent. The four main characters of Geralt of Rivia (the Witcher), Yennefer (The sorceress), Ciri (Geralt's adopted daughter), and Jaskier (The bard freedom fighter) have all had their chances to shine. My only disappointment really is the mid-season finale. There's a song sung at a ball. The performer is Valdo Marx, a rival bard to Jaskier. The song is catchy and bears a striking resemblance (in it's refrain and rhythm) to Queen's Radio Gaga. I heard the song out of context before I saw the episode and liked it but... The episode kind of ruined it for me. I read articles where people behind the scenes compared the episode to The Red Wedding from Game of Thrones so I expected a coup and some major character deaths. No. Instead I got a fifteen minute story played over, and over, and over again. Each time more details or hidden agendas revealed. And it would have been clever if the schemes weren't so obvious. But what made it worse is with each variation of the flashback there was a "Tok, tok, tok" sound (often used in modern video games) followed by The first verse of "All is not as it seems." By the time the episode was over I felt that I might hate the song. Imagine if Disney's Frozen replayed the crescendo of Let it Go thirteen times, back to back while other stuff happened in the foreground. That's how it felt. And just as annoying as you might think. "All is not" *clap clap* "as it seems! All is not" *clap clap" "as it seems!" SHUT UP ALREADY! Or at least get to the next verse! I need to use the actual Queen song Radio Gaga as brain bleach. Also I was kind of relieved that the so-called cliffhanger is just someone holding a knife to Geralt's throat. Ooooh, he totally can't get out of that. Oooh. But whose doing it? Does it matter? Pretty much everyone except Ciri, Yennefer, and Jaskier are his enemies. I wish they had just released the whole season all at once. There was really no need to break it up like this. I had also hoped to hear Jaskier's "Ride of The Witcher" in context but that probably won't be until the July season finale. Disclaimer for my Witcher season 3 part 1 review: I actually really like the song Let it go From Frozen. Just not played over and over and over again.

[geralthastwohands]

The Play’s The Thing

I just wanted to write something with Jaskier using his brain to get them out of a sticky situation with a healthy side of angst and this spawned out oops!! but also hey!!! i finished a fic!! 

***

The mercenaries attack their camp while they sleep.

By the time Jaskier is woken up, Geralt is already being held down on the ground by at least four men. He’s putting up a good fight, but Jaskier can tell the witcher is only so strong. The men were human, but they were well trained.

He has three options. Option one, get on his feet and try to fight back against the mercenaries. There were six men standing around the four holding Geralt down and Jaskier’s always been more of a lover than a fighter, so that was out. Option two, pretend he was still asleep and let Geralt get taken away like a coward. He is many things, but he refuses to be a coward. That leaves option three…

“Oh, thank the gods.” Jaskier breathes out, standing up on shaky legs. All heads snap towards him, including Geralt’s. If he wasn’t committing to this new role, he’d be offended that they seemed to have forgotten about him.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the mercenaries asks. He’s the only one not wearing a face mask. Most likely the leader.

“I-I’m a bard. Dandelion,” He stutters. Geralt lets out a low growl and Jaskier flinches overdramatically. “The witcher’s had me trapped with him for so long. I knew if I waited long enough someone would rescue me! You, kind sirs, are gifts from destiny.” He knows he’s playing it up, but he needs this to work. He glances towards Geralt and sees the hurt confusion there and hopes they live long enough for him to explain.

“Y’here that, boys? We’re gifts from destiny!” The leader laughs. “Fuck off, bard. We’re taking him for the coin.” The leader shoos him like a fly the little- and gestures for the now bound Geralt to be pulled to his feet.

“He’s seen your face, sir.” One of the men pipes up. “We should kill him.”

“Oh, no, no! You don’t have to do that!” Jaskier quickly interjects. “I could- I could come with you! I’m known for many songs! Drinking songs, love ballads, even the occasional jig, if I’m in the right mood for it. I could be your entertainment, at least until the next town?”

The leader leans his head back and forth, considering it. He turns towards the man who spoke, who shrugs. Jaskier notes how he doesn’t look to anyone else. Most likely the second in command. Good to know for later.

“Alright...Dandelion, did you say your name was?” The leader pauses so Jaskier nods in answer. “We’ll give you a chance to earn your life. Morning is hours off yet. You’ll play while we eat. If we enjoy it, a few of my boys will escort you to the next town.” The leader raises an eyebrow. “Agreed?”

“Anyone here know Fishmonger’s Daughter?” He asks in lieu of a response. The men cheer.

***

Within the hour, the mercenaries have taken over their camp with their own bedrolls and firmly secured Geralt to a tree. The witcher won’t look at him, no matter how many times Jaskiertries to sneakily catch his eye. Even Roach, ever so loyal, turns her head away when he pauses to slip her a carrot.

There’s a stew cooking over the fire and ale being passed around. With Jaskier’s music, it’s a proper celebration of a job well done. The bard wants to snap and swing his lute at the nearest head. Stick to the plan, Jaskier…

“Oi, Dandelion! You know anything about these?” Jaskier looks over to see the second-in-command next to the fire, holding up one of Geralt’s potions. He can't believe his luck. Fuck the plan, this one is better.

“Y-yes, sir!” He fumbles the lute onto his back, playing up the helpless bard once again. “The witcher had me gather the ingredients for some.” He stands awkwardly above them until the second gestures for him to sit. “The one in your hand is a night vision potion called Cat.” He digs through the bag for a second, slipping a small vial inside his sleeve under the cover of the worn leather. He pulls out another harmless one. “This one is for your reflexes, he called it Blizzard.”

“Interesting…” The second mutters, listening intently. “Don’t suppose a human would be able to take them, do you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He answers, fully knowing Witcher’s potions would kill a full-grown man. Without thinking, he leans a hand on the pot to look closer. The hot metal quickly burns his skin through his sleeve and he lets out a sharp yelp of pain.

“Ryvel! What are you doing to the poor bard over there?!” The leader calls out with a laugh.

“Fuck off, he burned ‘imself!” The second - Ryvel - calls back with a grin. He shakes his head as he tugs Jaskier’s hand closer. “Let me see where it hurts.”

Jaskier freezes at the touch but relaxes when nothing follows beside gentle prodding at the new burn. Ryvel digs through his own pack for a second before coming up with salve and a roll of bandages. They’re both silent as he coats the burn then wraps it with the care of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

When it’s done, Jaskier flexes his hand. “Thank you.” He whispers. “I didn’t expect…” He trails off, not knowing how to say it without offending the mercenary.

“What happened to us kind sirs being a gift from destiny?” Ryvel teases. Jaskier forces a smile.

“I should go back to playing.” He excuses before standing. “Any requests?”

“Something fun,” is all Ryvel replies.

Jaskier crosses back to where he stood to play earlier. Ryvel’s kindness almost made him feel bad for the deadly amount of White Gull he poured into the stew while burning his arm. Though judging by the fact that every man is without a mask and calling each other by name, they weren’t planning on letting Jaskier go anyway.

He sneaks another glance at Geralt who still refused to look at anything but the ground. Soon, love. You’ll see what’s going on.

***

Dinner is served once the meat is declared cooked through. No one offers him any and Jaskier doesn’t ask. He plays while they eat and doesn’t think he’s ever felt more anxious in his life. He watches every single mercenary as they chew and swallow and take bite after bite. He keeps waiting for someone to say something about the taste or spit it out or call attention to it.

And then the first man drops, suddenly and without warning. Jaskier starts inching towards Geralt. He only has moments before the mercenaries realize their friend has been felled by more than just ale.

The second man drops. Jaskier picks up the pace. Geralt is finally, finally, looking up. He’s got this confused expression and his head is tilted to the side and oh, that would be so cute in a different situation.

The third man drops. All hell breaks loose. Jaskier uses the time they take to sluggishly grab their weapons to throw his lute to the side - Daddy’s sorry, baby, but needs must. - and pull the dagger from his boot. He cuts Geralt free as the fourth and fifth man drop in quick succession.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, before throwing himself at the leader. With the drugs in his system, the man goes down easily. It’s actually almost laughable how effortless it is to simply push the next three mercenaries to the ground and wait for them to die.

Ryvel, now the last of his men, falls to his knees before Geralt can even touch him. His eyes are firmly locked onto Jaskier, mouth open in shock. “You manipulative fucking jester…” He hisses out. His last words before he too meets the ground.

After hours of talk and music, it’s eerie to be met with only silence.

Geralt, with no more mercenaries to take care of, settles on Jaskier. He opens his mouth to say something only to be cut off by the bard launching into nervous ramblings.

“Listen, Geralt, I know what I did wasn’t safe or smart or anything else you’re going to say but what else was I supposed to do? Let you get taken by those brutes?”

“Jaskier.”

“And that wasn’t even my original plan, poisoning them. That was just a lucky mix of circumstances that I got into your potion bag - you should really label those, by the way. We’re lucky I just so happened to pay attention to colors and bottles last time you organized this mess. And another thin-”

“I was going to say thank you.”

The bard stops. “I’m sorry?”

Geralt takes a step forward, tense. “You did well. With the stew. And the...acting.”

Jaskier blinks. “Not as good as that, I hope. You do know I’d never actually betray you, right, Geralt?”

The witcher raises an eyebrow. “Brothers have betrayed brothers for less than their lives.”

“For gods sake, Geralt, I didn’t even tell them my name! What part of that made you think I trusted them? Do you really think so low of me that-” Jaskier cuts himself off. He’s smarter than that. He knows it’s not him that the witcher thinks low of.

The bard takes a step forward and Geralt lets him.  “I could have stayed at Oxenfurt, you know. As a professor. They all loved my classes. I was the hot, young new teacher.”

“Did you accept favors in exchange for good grades, Professor ?” Geralt asks, voice low. Inwardly, Jaskier groans.

“As sexy as that was, you’re not seducing me out of talking about this, Geralt.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It’s worked before.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier admonishes and slaps him on the chest. “Listen to me, you brute. My point is that I could have had the easiest, boring-est, lavish-est life I wanted. Instead, I chose you. And I will continue to choose you over everything else in this world, including myself. Because you’ll do the same for me.” He says this with such certainty, as if Geralt had never done a single selfish thing in his life.

Geralt swallows, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eyes, and nods. “I would. Do the same, that is.”

The bard smiles, bright and wide, like Geralt just told him that he was personally gifting him the stars. The witcher smiles back, small and quiet, but it means all the same.

“Now that that’s settled,” Jaskier breaks the silence with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘Let’s find out who hired these men and kill them, hmm?”

[regrettablewritings]

Can I request a Love head canon with Geralt please? I just read the pre-relationship one you did for Jaskier and I absolutely loved it!!

I mean... I can try 😅 Though, I think it should go without saying that Geralt isn’t exactly synonymous with love and affection as we relatively human beings interpret them . . .

Who said “I love you” first?: Assuming we’re sticking strictly to the verbal expression of the phrase, I believe you already know the answer to this. After all, it’s simply not in Geralt’s nature to be the most talkative person, much less vulnerable and affectionate. And that’s referring to his nature as being Geralt of Rivia and not specifically his nature of being a Witcher. You could wait an entire run of three human lifetimes and still potentially have to wait just a bit more to hear Geralt willingly say, “I love you” in this manner. It’s nothing against you, of course, but it’s better for you to recognize this and accept it than force otherwise. Besides, it’s not as though he doesn’t appreciate it: Deep down, Geralt is beyond startled that you would willingly apply such affection and devotion to him of all people, and a Witcher at that! Though, if you’re willing to stretch the expression one uses for “I Love you”, then it’s arguable that Geralt said it first, in some way, considering that . . .

What are their primary love languages?: Geralt is a very . . . sexual being. Physically aggressive. And considering his complex relationship with Yennefer, it therefore would stand to reason that his primary expression of “love” comes in the form of physical touch. Hell, if love languages were a thing acknowledged of the period (and if Geralt ever even cared to acknowledge them), he might’ve grunted and agreed so himself, even if only to get the conversation over faster. But the longer he spends having you as his companion, the more evident it becomes to him that this may not be the case. The thing is, physical touch can be more than just sexual release -- but for him, that’s all it ever was, simply because it was easier for him to do when Yennefer was still around. But since then, he’s come to recognize that perhaps he has more to offer than he gave himself credit for: Geralt operates through acts of service. Geralt is never going to be the most openly expressive one of the bunch, even when it pertains to you. But he’s always going to show his care for those whom he has a soft spot for by assuring their safety and well-being -- in odds and ends, so to speak. He’s never going to write you sonnets or wax poetically to you; he will rarely hold your hand just for the sake of doing so, or be the best at offering words that could technically be comprehended as affectionate. But when he notices you’re tired, he won’t hesitate to place you on Roach’s back -- an absolute honor, considering his protectiveness towards the mare. He’ll make sure that you’re warm and sheltered when you break camp, even if it comes at the cost of his own comfort (not that he feels much of a difference after this point anyway). If he thinks you may be doing something or even considering doing something that might put you in harm’s way or cause you mental or emotional pain, he’s unafraid to shoot that shit down (he loves you enough to let you hate him, so to speak). It may be the bare minimum that he saves you from a death of cold or starvation or hazardous encounters, but for him, it’s a way of showing he at least respects your right to continue living. He doesn’t really expect anything back besides respect. And perhaps some . . . physical comforts. But, once again, to his surprise, he’s not solely focused on physical touch when it comes to you. At least, not as intensely as he normally would be. What Geralt specifically appreciates form you is words of affirmation. But only from you: None of that showy, obnoxious nonsense that Jaskier calls music. Geralt likes feeling recognized as a person, questionable as that sort of title might actually be. He just likes being talked to to a degree, over small things. The affirmations come where you openly appreciate him for his efforts and bravery, and even when you thank him for taking care of you. Being a Witcher is a thankless job. But hearing you appreciate him for everything, big and small, and acknowledging his more humanistic traits at the same time? It does him more good than both you and he ever thought it could.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: The closest you get is when the two of you are either in a very crowded market place or are running and you’re having trouble keeping up: He’ll hold your hand to assure you don’t get separated or left behind. There’s also, of course, the preservation of body heat when the both of you wind up breaking camp on a particularly cold night.  But other than that, I wouldn’t expect much in the ways of affection.

What are their favorite things to do together?: The lifestyle you both lead (well, that Geralt leads -- you simply adopted it by association) doesn’t exactly lend itself well to couples’ hobbies . . . But the two of you haven’t bitten each other’s throats out yet, so clearly you’re doing something right, no? You aren’t quite sure what it is, but you heavily suspect that it might be when you ask Geralt to tell you about the creatures he’s encountered. Not in the “Tell Me Stories of Your Amazing Feats” kind of way, but more so in a manner of “Please Make Me Aware of the Weird, Strange, and Horrific Beings Lurking in This World and How To Combat Them”. Which suits Geralt well enough, as he tends to skimp on the details and doesn’t care to describe battles or anything of the sort. He knows that you’ll never be a Witcher, but it surely couldn’t hurt you to have an awareness of the world around you. Besides, he’s witnessed far too often the slaughtering of perfectly harmless creatures due to ignorance -- he feels a sense of relief when you express an interest in learning how to differentiate beasts with intentions of harm and beasts that simply want to be left alone unless provoked.

Who’s better at comforting the other?: Neither of you is especially great at it, but for different reasons. Though it should at least be said that you’re better skilled at comforting than Geralt is: You by far are the more emotionally available and intelligent one between the two of you, so the efforts you put forward are at least more overt. However, given that Geralt is a rather standoffish person and not especially prone to expressing vulnerabilities of any kind, it’s hard for you to know if you’re getting through to him. He won’t make it blatantly obvious if something is bothering him unless it’s bothering him in a way that earns his aggression -- and even then, he doesn’t need comfort, he needs you to gently chide him and calm him down as one does to an agitated horse or dog. Or a wolf, in this case. Meanwhile, Geralt . . . just isn’t the best at comforting people. At least, not in the most traditional sense. When he tries to be, it comes off very awkwardly, the words not filled confidence as much as they are hesitancy. It’s only made worse by the fact that his gruff, barely-used voice just isn’t compatible with the words he tries to use. Which is why he feels the best he can really offer to do is just say nothing at all. He won’t reject you or even flinch if you were to bury yourself into his side, instead just slowly placing an arm around you and trying to give a consoling, if stiff, pat on the back. Please know that this is him trying his best, and that he’ll be far more relieved than you’ll be if you actually do find some semblance of comfort in his seemingly low-effort efforts.

Who’s more protective?: Geralt wouldn’t consider what he does protection -- it’s simply what he, well, does. He’s always fighting creatures (and people) in self-defense or for a cause of some kind. And whenever Jaskier joins the two of you, or once Ciri becomes a part of his life, the job only intensifies. Him keeping you alive is simply common decency, lover or not. But if one were to ask someone who’s more emotionally observant like, say, a certain bard who occasionally accompanies the two of you, then he would beg to differ: Geralt is fiercely protective of you, he just does so quietly. Contrary to his stony nature,he does value your well-being. And even if you’re a commendable fighter, he acknowledges that it’s not as up to snuff as his own, making him feel more obligated to assure you come out of encounters alive and well. This is more obvious in the wilderness, of course, but when it comes to civilization he tends to become a bit more lax. He trusts you enough to measure your options when, say, some men at a pub are making particularly bawdy comments about you. He also trusts you to know when to whip out that knife you always keep on you. However, you needn’t worry about him turning a blind eye, should things threaten to escalate: Whether you’re at a marketplace buying some necessities, or paying for your meal at a tavern, Geralt is never so far away that he can’t keep a close eye on you or be unable to step in, should the environment intensify.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Geralt likes verbal affirmations, yes, but don’t discount physical: At least he doesn’t have to talk or respond when at the end of a long day, you sit next to him and nuzzle your head up to the crook of his neck. Plus there’s the whole intimacy he experiences for the first time in its true form when you and he finally decide to take that step.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: Hm. It’s hard to say, especially considering that Geralt is a hard person to apply music to, much less music with a narrative or one that actually sounds like anything he might listen to, particularly in a romantic setting. I had to push past that mindset just to pick anything, and what that got me to conclude was something along the lines of “Love Like You” by Rebecca Sugar or "Resilience” by Thomas Newman. Maybe “My Blood” by Twenty-One Pilots. I can’t place exactly how or why, especially sound-wise, but these just stood out to me in particular . . .

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: You two don’t really resort to nicknames, actually. “Geralt” isn’t exactly an easy name to harvest a nickname out of, and he doesn’t do anything that particularly warrants one in reference to an idiosyncrasy. The closest you ever got was trying out “Wolfy” in reference to his title as “The White Wolf” but the look the attempt received, coupled with your own realized distaste for it, made you drop it in an instant. And Geralt just isn’t the sort to apply nicknames in the first place.

Thank you for requesting this! I hope I did okay . . .

[queenxxxsupreme]

ok ok- the reader is a very talented fighter (let me have this so many fics are about helpless peasant girls tagging along) and gets ambushed, manages to fight off a pretty hefty group, but gets a forehead cut that looks scary in the process. eskel helps wrap her up and they try to avoid eye contact but then she looks up and hes looking at her and Tension and then they kiss???? ok thank you bye

A/N: Hi babe!! I hope you liked this <3

Warnings: mentions of death, nothing outside of canon though, 

***

The sound of swords clashing together still rung Eskel’s ears. He stood in the edge of the woods with his sword in one hand and another man’s dagger in his opposite hand. His side hurt, the stab wound burning and stinging with every breath he took. His left fingers were numb after he grabbed the blade of a sword. Blood and sweat on his right temple caked his hair to his face, blocking some of his vision. His broad shoulders moved with every heavy breath.

Golden eyes flickered around the clearing in search of you. There were a half dozen slaughtered men scattered throughout the open space. Every one of them tried to best the witcher, and every one of them failed.

Eskel’s eyes fell on a man across the clearing. He was on his stomach, trying to drag himself into the woods with his arms. The witcher crossed the clearing and used his boot to turn the man over onto his back. The man cried out in pain, clutching a wound on his stomach. 

“Who sent you?” Eskel spoke through his teeth. When the man didn’t answer, Eskel placed his boot over the man’s hands, pressing down on his stomach. “Who fucking sent you?”

“I’ll-I’ll never tell.” He choked out. 

Eskel growled from within his chest, his eyes lingering on the man before he plunged the dagger into the man’s chest cavity and twisted, effectively putting him out of his misery. 

“Eskel!” Jaskier’s rather high-pitched cry took the witcher’s attention away from his latest victim. The bard was crossing the clearing, looking over his shoulder as he ran. “Eskel!” 

“Keep your voice down, bard.” Eskel spoke through his teeth, moving towards Jaskier.The witcher wasn’t mad at him, but moving caused a searing pain to radiate throughout his body. 

Not watching where he was going, Jaskier tripped over a severed leg and nearly hit the ground but Geralt caught him. 

“Oh thank gods!” Jaskier breathed out in relief, clutching the witcher as if his life depended on it. 

“Where are Y/N and Geralt?”

“Hell if I know. There was a big scary one chasing me-THERE HE IS!” Jaskier moved to stand behind Eskel as a large, bulky man came from the direction Jaskier was running from. Eskel twirled his sword around in his hand, readjusting his grip. 

Eske moved away from Jaskier towards the man. He was taller than Eskel by a few inches and definitely larger. As the man and Eskel crossed swords, Jaskier looked around the clearing in search of you. He cringed at the sight of the bodies laying around on the ground.

Geralt emerged from the tree line, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Jaskier was about to greet his best friend when movement behind him made his blood run cold. 

There was the glint of a sword in the moonlight as it was raised into the air to cut down the White Wolf. Jaskier opened his mouth to warn Geralt when the assailant’s eyes went wide and his head fell to the ground. 

As the dead man fell to the forest floor, you brought your sword down to your side. 

“Y/N!” Jaskier called your name, relieved that everyone was safe and accounted for. 

However, hearing your name fall from the bard’s lips took Eskel’s attention away from the man he was fighting. He looked away for a split second only to have the blade of the sword brought down on his collarbone. Eskel hissed in pain and spun around to cast aard. The man went flying back into the bushes where Eskel finished him off. 

As he returned to the clearing, his eyes immediately found you. You were standing on the edge of the clearing, eyes gazing around at the carnage. 

“We need to be moving.” Geralt said.

“Some of us are injured, Geralt.” Eskel shook his head. “Can’t travel safely until we’re all okay.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you. 

“I'm fine.” 

“You've got a nasty cut on your head, darling. You should sit.”

You shook your head, moving to gather the items from your bag that had spilled. But your head spun as you moved too fast and you reached out for something to stabilize yourself. 

Eskel was by your side in a heartbeat, offering you a sturdy arm to grasp. 

“Sit down.” He spoke, deep voice rumbling like a quiet thunder. 

You didn't fight him, feeling the urge to vomit as you tried to open your eyes. You closed them tightly and let him guide you down onto a large rock. 

“I’ll be right back. I'm going to get a few things to patch you up.”

You watched the witcher wall away from you to his satchel. When he turned back to you, you quickly looked away. You didn't want him to catch you staring at him. 

You teetered a little where you sat, having moved too fast. 

Eskel knelt down in front of you. 

“Is…. Is it okay if I….?” He couldn't find the right words to use. You opened your eyes to meet his golden gaze. He was so close to you that you could see specks of brown and black around the outside of his irises. 

“Yes.” You answered, your voice a weak whisper. 

He used gauze to clean around the cut. His eyes focused on you, on making sure the cut wasn't too deep and that it didn't need stitches. 

With him this close, you could see all the little scars that littered his features, the ones that weren't as prominent as the one that mutilated the right side of his face. There were little freckles across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks. You wondered if they'd be more visible if his skin wasn’t tanned from being out in the sun so much. Perhaps if he had a fairer complexion like Lambert or even Geralt, his freckles would be more noticeable. 

His eyes flickered over to you and that's when you realized you were staring at him. 

You quickly looked down, muttering out an apology. He said nothing in return. You wanted to bite your bottom lip, to mess with your fingers or something. You were a little nervous. There was a tension in the air that could be cut with a dill knife. 

Just as you were about to open your mouth and apologize for staring so rudely, he spoke. 

“Good news is you won't need stitches.” He sat back on his knees, putting a little bit of space between you two. 

“Is there…. bad news?” You hated how quiet your voice was. What if you offended him by staring? You didn't mean to. You just had never seen him so up close before, and it was like seeing the stars on a clear night. He was a handsome man, a breathtaking masterpiece of physical imperfections and a heart of pure gold. 

“You could have a concussion. Is your head hurting?”

“A little, but I think that's because one of those bastards elbowed me in the head. I knocked his sword out of his hand and he ended up tackling me before I had a chance to stop him.”

“Are your ears ringing?”

“No.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“When I move too fast.”

“Can you see clearly?”

You brought your eyes back to him. As your eyes met his, your heart began to beat quickly in your chest. You forgot that he had asked you a question. You found yourself lost in his gaze. 

But something moved out of the corner of your eyes. You turned your head to see Jaskier move towards Geralt. 

“Let me, uh, finish patching you up.” Eskel muttered under his breath as he moved to sit up on his knees. 

You nodded a little. He went back to work, staying silent as he put a bandage over the cut. You kept your gaze down, unable to meet his line of sight. 

“You fought well today.” He complimented, keeping his voice low. “You handled that sword like a pro.”

“Thanks.” You tried your best not to smile but you couldn’t hide the blush on your cheeks.

When he moved to get up, your hand shot out for his arm. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own as you leaned forward to kiss him, but you stopped short of meeting his lips. 

“Can I….?” You felt your cheeks blaze as you trailed off. His golden eyes were glued to you. “Please?”

His lips moved in a yes, but no sound came out. His hand slipped around the back of your head, drawing you in for a tender kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair, drawing you closer to him. 

There was a wolf whistle that made you both pull away. You looked to Jaskier, who was clapping and wore a happy grin on his lips. 

“Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. 

Eskel let out a little sigh as he stood to his feet. He held his hand out for you. You smiled and put your hand in his.

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[hummingbee-o0o]

Parting Gifts (Winters at Kaer Morhen 1)

The wind changes and the first whiffs of thaw begin to flicker in the air. Up in the peaks of Kaer Morhen the ice and snow still hold unmoved, but Geralt can smell the spring stirring in the foothills when the wind blows just right.

Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir can smell it too. His brothers pace like he does, knowing soon they’ll start making ready. Vesemir smiles, small and restrained, and hides in his study more than usual. The old man does get a bit misty sometimes when it’s time for the three of them to leave.

Except it’s not three this year. It’s four.

Jaskier, for all his lack of Witcher senses, seems to feel the spring in the air too. He keeps singing about flowers and mornings, entire landscapes crafted out of song, the plucking of his lute strings somehow fresh like a stream.

It’s his first winter at Kaer Morhen and it’s been... good. More than good. Kaer Morhen doesn’t have much luxury to offer, and most of its splendour has crumbled away when viewed up close, but it has plenty of fire in the hearth, a steady routine of filling meals, soft beds with furs and blankets for comfort, and all the hot water for bathing one could want.

To Geralt, these things are a luxury, never mind that they take turns peeling vegetables and chopping wood (Jaskier turned out to be remarkably skilled at both and was put to work accordingly), but there had been a thorn of anxiety prickling somewhere in the back of Geralt’s mind as he led Jaskier up the mountain, walking ahead to shield him from the worst of the snow billowed in their faces by icy cold winds. Jaskier is no stranger to sleeping rough on the road and making do with whatever food can be found in leaner times, and he does it with cheerful indifference or colourful swearing and whinging. But Geralt had worried that Jaskier might expect Kaer Morhen to be... well, more. More than what actually awaited him. He seemed to have built it up into a heroic fantasy of a fortress in his mind, and the higher they climbed and the more Jaskier shivered and murmured comforting things to himself about food and bedding, Geralt worried that he would be disappointed.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Jaskier gasped his awe when the keep first loomed into view, and ate three helpings of the thick, hot stew they were greeted with. Even tired, he was delighted to meet Eskel and Lambert and Vesemir, and he grinned when Geralt was teased about finally bringing him along. And when at last it was time to retire after the final and most gruelling stretch of their journey, Jaskier slept like a log, in Geralt’s bed, in Geralt’s arms, wrapped in furs and blankets and snoring lightly into Geralt’s chest.

Winter drags slow and lazy, its days filled with chores and sparring and idleness, but it still comes to an end. And as much as Geralt enjoyed having Jaskier here, with him, safe and warm and filling the keep with his cheerful voice, he’s also looking forward to resuming their life on the Path. To warmer days and new sights and having Jaskier all to himself again – as quietly happy as he is that his brothers and Vesemir have taken to Jaskier so much, he’s looking forward to it being just the two of them again.

Eskel is the one to head out first, as he usually does, braving the mountain pass while it’s still snowed over. He exchanges embraces with Lambert and Geralt, and then he pulls Jaskier into one as well.

“For you,” he says, putting something small in Jaskier’s hand. “Thank you for my songs. I... look forward to hearing them on the road.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier, surprised but clearly touched. “Thank you, that’s quite terribly sweet of you, my friend!” He turns the small gift over in his fingers, a little confused (from where Geralt is standing it looks like a coin, but he has enough dignity to not strain to try and get a better look). “This is very, erm... what is it?”

Eskel grins.

“Relax. Geralt will tell you what to do with it. Just... something to keep you safe out there.”

Geralt bristles, because he’s very much dedicated to keeping Jaskier safe just fine, fuck you, Eskel – but he tries to stamp out that impulse.

“I must say, your brother is a darling,” coos Jaskier later, once Eskel is gone, and for all the teasing aimed at Geralt, there’s genuine warmth in his tone.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, come, come, you know you’re my favourite... so, my dear, what am I supposed to do with this? I’m intrigued!”

Geralt recognises the small metal disc engraved with protective symbols the moment it’s placed in his hand.

“An amulet,” he says. “Sew it into a bag or a case and it puts a mild protective charm on what’s inside. Helps keep things safe for travellers.”

And Jaskier does so love his lute. And of course Eskel noticed. It's... good. That he cares. Jaskier deserves care. Which is why Geralt hums and smiles a little as Jaskier trills his delight over his gift and proceeds to sew it into his lute case, tongue sticking out as he sits on their bed, dressed for sleep.

Lambert leaves next. Normally, Geralt would head out with him, keep him company on the descent, but this year he wants to wait a little longer, to make sure the pass is fine for Jaskier to cross.

On the morning of his departure, Lambert pulls Geralt into his room and shoves something into his hand.

“For Jaskier,” he grunts, because he’s never dealt well with being upstaged.

It’s another fucking amulet, of course. This one is to ward off the evil eye or something along those lines. Geralt can’t help but snort.

“Hey, fuck you,” snaps Lambert. “You’re the one always complaining about how many times you had to save his arse from a cuckolded husband! Or other enemies.”

“Yeah, and I always do save it.”

“You’re not always there! And Geralt, he’s so... you know. Breakable,” Lambert says with concern that clearly shows he’s never seen Jaskier kick a burly mercenary in the crotch.

Geralt has. Twice.

“Fine. Give it to him yourself.” He grins, leaning back against a wall, because he never passes up an opportunity to taunt Lambert.

Lambert hisses, which Geralt is going to chalk up to that mysterious Cat he’s been spending time with.

“Would you stop being a dick for five minutes – honestly, I don’t know what he sees in you!”

“Hmm,” says Geralt, because most days he doesn’t know either, and other days he tries not to wonder about it. “Fine, if you’re going to cry about it.”

“Fuck you!”

Geralt grins. “That’s Jaskier’s job.”

Jaskier may claim to be a lover, not a fighter, but Geralt has seen him handle himself in tavern brawls and other fights plenty of times. Still, Jaskier beams and prattles his delight at Lambert’s thoughtfulness and promptly slips the gift in his pocket. Lambert will definitely bribe his way into another song with this, the bastard.

When at last it’s time for Geralt and Jaskier to leave, Vesemir approaches them with a small, worn-out book in his hands, and Geralt uses most of his willpower to keep his eyebrows from climbing up to his hairline.

“With thanks for caring so for our library this winter,” the old man says, handing Jaskier the book. Something shrewd plays in his eyes. “You’ll always be welcome here, Jaskier.”

It’s a book about the uses of forest plants and mushrooms for poisons and antidotes (mostly poisons), and Jaskier’s eyes gleam eagerly at the sight. Vesemir has always been a sharp judge of character. Geralt bites his lip and turns his head away to hide a smile.

Up in the peaks the snow still lies thick, and Geralt makes sure Jaskier’s new winter cloak (a proper cloak, not a flimsy piece of decoration) is secure around him, but this high up, in the clear blue skies, the spring sun smarts hot already, and Jaskier tilts his face to meet it with a laugh. He sings to snowdrops when, a while down, they find them popping up through the snow, and he tells Roach about all the juicy meadows she’ll soon be grazing on.

“Ah, the freedom of the open road again!” he announces, spreading his arms wide in that way he has, like he’s embracing the whole world. “Don’t get me wrong, my dear,” he carries on, taking Geralt’s hand in his, “Kaer Morhen was lovely, and I’m very honoured to have been invited, but it’s nice to be just us two on the road again, is all.”

“Hmm,” says Geralt, because he understands, and because something still flutters in his chest whenever Jaskier expresses his happiness with staying at Kaer Morhen.

“What’s that I hear you say? I was a delight to have and I should come back every winter henceforth? Why, Geralt, you say the sweetest things!”

Jaskier grins at him, beaming in his face, but there’s a touch of performance about it, and Geralt tugs his hand and pulls him into a kiss.

“Yes,” he rumbles against Jaskier’s lips when they part. “That.”

This time, Jaskier’s smile is brighter than the clear skies above them.

The temperature drops as soon as the sun hides behind the peaks they’ve left behind, so they make camp before it’s completely dark. In their tent, shielded from the winds by a pile of snow (and which, in turn, shields Roach as well), they sit close together under blankets. In the light of their oil lamp Jaskier reads, engrossed in his new book of poisons, flicking eagerly through the pages and worryingly scribbling Valdo next to some entries. Despite the piercing cold and rapid variations in humidity, his lute is kept a little safer by Eskel's amulet sewn into its case, and Lambert’s gift stays tucked into his pocket.

It feels right, Geralt thinks, watching the light play soft and warm across Jaskier’s face as he carefully puts the book away. Geralt has his wolf medallion, something that signifies his bond with his brothers wherever he goes. Jaskier may not have one, but with these gifts, he too now has a link to the other Wolves, something to tie him to them until he returns next winter. And he did say he wants to return.

Pleased with the thought, Geralt pulls Jaskier closer and turns out the light.

(also on AO3)

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

How to hold a sword - Geralt of Rivia x Reader - Part 1 of 2

Summary: You are bored with your life and want more. Luckily, Geralt of Rivia visits the town one day.

Requested by: @just-antiyou “could i request a geralt x reader where the reader is slightly wealthy but hates it and wants to be tougher than she looks so she hites geralt to teacher her and he slowly falls for her but she doesnt comprehend why HER? maybe this made no sense im so sorry i love ur writing pls an thank u stay safe” --> Hope you like it! I decided to make two parts out of the story! <3

Words: 2030 Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Warnings: none

„Stop wasting my time. “

 „Come on! I can pay you!”

 “Sure you can.”

 “Yes! Don’t you believe me?”

 “Stop bothering me and go home.”

 “I have coin! Here!”

 Finally, the Witcher turned around when he heard the rattling of the coins in your small bag as you held it up. He quickly grabbed your hand, forcing it down. “Are you mad or do you enjoy the idea of being robbed,” he scolded you.

He was right. You were standing in the middle of a busy street, merchants and farmers passing you by as they made their way home from the market. The sun was already beginning to set and the first drunks stumbled out of the tavern to your right. Two working girls shrieked when a man fell against them, landing face down on one of the their bosoms, and angrily pushed him away.

 You let the small bag slip back into the pocket of your coat. “I have coin!”, you repeated yourself.

 “Where’d you get that?”, he demanded to know. “Did you steal it?”

 You snorted. Asshole. “My family owns half the town. Did you not recognize this?!” You pointed at your necklace with the family emblem brightly visible.

 His eyes only grazed shortly over it. “I’m not from here.”

 “Right, because you’re Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher, a famous one – so give me one reason why you would decline my offer?”

 “Teaching spoilt girls how to hold a sword is not in my job description.”

 “First of all,” this time you pointed your finger at him. “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman, so start treating me like one! And secondly, as far as I’m concerned, there is no monster to kill for you at the moment.”

 “There’s always monsters to kill.”

 “Witcher!” A frustrated sigh escaped your mouth. What was his problem?

 Geralt looked at you intensely, his eyes wandering from your face to your pocket, where the coins were stowed, back to your face. He pondered about what the offer would truly mean – letting another person come too close to him rarely resulted in anything good. People around him tend to end up hurt or heartbroken or dead. The last person to experience this had been Jaskier. Years of traveling together and it ended in Geralt chasing him away, blaming him for things that weren’t his fault. This happened a few years back and since then, the two of them had rekindled their friendship, but still. His point remained unchanged.

 However, this could be different. You didn’t seek him out to become friends. It was nothing more than a job. Not to mention that your comment about him not having anything better to do at the moment was true. He could really use the coin. Before Geralt was able to rethink this, he wiped his eyes in a tiring and annoyed matter. “Fine.”

 Your face lit up instantly and a big smile appeared on it. “Yes? Oh thank you!”

 “Ten days.”

 “That’s a good start!”, you exclaimed happily.

 “It’s not a start, it’s all I’m offering,” he corrected you. Were you always this cheerful or just when you got your way? “What do I get out of it?”

 “Three coins for each day.”

 The Witcher raised an eyebrow. There was far more in that bag of yours and you both knew it. “Eight.”

 “Four.”

 “Seven.”

 “Witcher!”

 “Six then.”

 “Five.”

“Deal,” he nodded.

 Your smile grew even wider. “Thank you! This is fantastic!”

 The only acknowledgment you got for that statement was a low grunt. He wasn’t so sure about it being a fantastic idea. “Meet me here tomorrow when the sun rises. Do you own a sword?”

 He let out a sigh when you shook your head. “Of course you don’t. Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, when the sun rises! Understood?”

 “Understood!”

 ***

 You arrived early the next morning. The excitement for the days to come was too overwhelming so after hours of tossing and turning and occasionally falling into a half slumber, you decided to cut the night short.

 You nervously looked around you. Despite the late (or rather early) hour, the street was buzzing with people. Mostly drunks but no less intimidating. It was the second time you visit this part of the town as your mother would forbid you to come here. “It’s a dangerous place,” she always said, “nothing to find there except for criminals and whores.” Observing the people around you, she might had a point.

 Growing up in one of the richest families of the town was a blessing and a curse at the same time. Nothing seemed to be missing from your life – dresses and jewelry, parties and royal receptions – everything was there in arm’s reach. You never had to work a day in your life and never went to bed on an empty stomach. Still, you were unhappy. You were born into this world with no purpose. All you had to do was look pretty, agree to a beneficial marriage and produce heirs. Your father didn’t allow you to be something else, something more. You never asked for much, knowing he’d deny your requests, except for learning how to fight and defend yourself. It was a simple desire but you hoped it would give you something. What, you weren’t sure. A purpose maybe? Indubitably, he refused you.

 A sense of guilt and shame rushed through you. It happened every time as you were aware that the problems were nothing more than luxurary at best. After all, what gave you, a privileged girl with no troubles, the right to complain when there were people starving and dying?

 “Well, ‘ello there, aren’t you a pretty one.”

 You shrieked at the slurring words coming from your left. A man, smelling of beer and piss, reeled towards you. A disgusted look on your face, you took a step back.

 “What’s that face, pretty one? Don’t cha think I’m pretty too?”

 “Fuck off!”

 A second voice made you turn around in surprise. Geralt of Rivia was standing in the doorway of the tavern, glaring at the drunk. Even in his current state of mind, the man sensed that Geralt wasn’t someone he wanted to bother, so he spit out undefinable curses and stumbled away.

 “Thank you,” you said to the Witcher. He looked different this morning. Rested and bathed, you figured and realized his attractiveness for the first time since you met him. Last night you were more focused on convincing him to train you. Tall, broad, with his glooming golden eyes and white hair that fell loosely on his shoulders – only a blind person could deny his good looks.

 Geralt eyed you up and down. “Now why would you wear that?”

 You furrowed your brows in confusion and looked down at your blue dress and fine cloak that hugged your figure. “What?”

 “You want to learn how to fight, am I wrong?”

 “No, you’re not.”

 “And you’re gonna do that in a dress?”

 “I’ve seen women fight in dresses.”

 “But not in fucking ball gowns.”

 “This is not a ball gown!” You protested.

 He rolled his eyes and started walking. “Whatever, come on. We have a long day ahead.”

 You followed, struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t seem to care all that much. “Why do you sleep here?” You pointed back to the run-down pension.

 “What do you mean?”

 “With the money I’m paying, you can afford better … places.”

 “I like it here.”

 “You like sleeping around these creatures?”

 Geralt didn’t answer instead he shot you a glance that made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You knew exactly what he thought in this moment – he probably regretted taking the job and dreaded the fact that he was stuck with a spoilt girl like you for the next days. You didn’t blame him.

 You couldn’t have known on this day but you were wrong. Geralt didn’t have any regrets – not yet however. He saw you as spoilt, yes. He also recognized your will to change – or else you wouldn’t have come to him in the first place.

 ***

 One hour later and Geralt finally stopped in his tracks. You were more than thankful as your feet already started to hurt. The two of you had left the town far behind and had now reached a small clearing in the woods.

 With a sigh you sat down and leaned against a tree. Geralt kept his gaze on the ground and walked around the clearing, looking for something.

 You watched him. There was certainly something about that Witcher with his tall figure, white-hair and brooding looks. Only a blind woman would deny that. For a brief moment, you wondered if he had a companion or a consort, so to speak. What kind of woman did he desire? You had heard rumors about a mage he had taken as his lover. So probably powerful woman, fighters, he didn’t need to worry about protecting.

 “Here,” a stick landing in front of you catapulted you back into reality.

 You looked at the stick and back at Geralt. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

 “Fight,” only then you noticed a second branch, resting in his hand.

 “With a stick?”

 “Yes.”

 You grabbed it and got up in the same movement. “I’m not a child, I won’t play with sticks,” putting some force behind your words, you looked at him intensely.

 His face didn’t falter. “What do you suggest instead?”

 “A sword. I want to learn how to fight with a sword.”

 “You’re not ready.”

 “We only have two weeks though, we need to speed up this whole process,” you argued.

 “You’re not ready.” He repeated sternly.

 You kept staring at him, realizing that you wouldn’t win this argument. A sigh left your lips. “Fine.”

 A small smile appeared on his face. “Great. Let’s get started.”

 *** The first training was an absolute disaster. You were convinced that you spent the most time on the ground, face-down in the mud – the rest of the time you got your ass kicked. The exhaustion you felt when you were back in the tavern with torn clothes and leaves in your hair came close to nothing you ever experienced in your life.

 Geralt sat next to you, happily eating his piece of chicken, looking like he had just returned home from a lazy and relaxed day out of town.

 “You should eat something,” he said in between bites.

 You looked down at your plate where the food remained untouched. “I’m not hungry.”

 “Yes, you are.”

 As if your stomach wanted to agree, a low growl was heard.

 Geralt smirked but didn’t comment.

 “Fine,” you admitted. “I’m starving.”

 “But?”

 “Everything hurts.” It was true, you felt too exhausted to take one bite out of the meat.

 He shrugged. “Of course it does. You’ll get better though.”

 “I don’t think so,” you sighed. “Did you see me today?!”

 “I’ll tell you what,” Geralt said with a chuckle. “I promise that you’ll be able to fight and win against Jaskier by the end of this.”

 “Is he a good fighter?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

 “He’s not too bad.”

 “What if I lose against him?”

 “You’ll get your coin back.”

 “Deal.” You nodded in contently. Then you added after a brief moment: “Wait, who’s Jaskier?”

 “He’s traveling with me,” Geralt simply answered and took a sip from his beer mug. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. He knows people from this town.”

 Jaskier. You were curious about the kind of person a Witcher spent his time with when he wasn’t away, hunting beasts. Was he as calm and collected as Geralt? Always so serious?

 Another growl came from your stomach and you looked back at the plate. Well, maybe not eating at all would be a worse decision. After all, there were nine more days filled with exhaustion ahead of you. Slowly, you reached down to grab one of the chicken legs and bit into it.

 Geralt watched you carefully and a very small part of him began to like the idea of having to spend more dinners with you in the next days. Of course, he’d never admit it. Not even to himself.

***

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