#but. just. bards in the witcher in general

[lazynoodlepuff]

As someone who read the books to death as a teenager I never liked Henry Cavil's portrayals of Geralt. Geralt is smart and knows how to talk to people of different social class and joke. The stoic grunting and half sentences don't do it for me

my unpopular Witcher opinion (to the point this is licheeally the first time I’ve said it) is that I don’t think Henry Cavil is that good an actor like the Witcher fandom were freaking out he’s leaving (yeah I get it’s gonna be weird and bad but tbh the show is kinda mid and I’m here for vibes) but why were people acting like his portrayal reinvented acting he had maybe 2 good scenes

another Witcher opinion sorry but Yennifer x Jaskier > Yen or Jaskier x Geralt

as a person who cares about the witcher exclusively because thats where my good friends yennskier live i can only agree

send me unpopular fandom opinions

[thedemonofcat]

Geralt gets cursed to only hear the negative thoughts of those around him. He already knew how most people felt about him, but it was really starting to bum him the fuck out.

He's been avoiding meeting Jaskier until the curse can be cured. He doesn't think he could handle hearing his best friend/secret crush think poorly of him.

Then, they meet by chance. Geralt braces himself to have his heart broken, but the negative thoughts surrounding Jaskier are mostly self-centered. And the ones involving Geralt are generally Jaskier lamenting how the witcher doesn't take care of himself.

And then, Jaskier has a thought about how Geralt will never love him.

"Stupid, this song is awful." Geralt could hear Jaskier's thoughts loud and clear. The bard was attempting to write a new song, and his self-criticism was relentless.

"What are you working on?" Geralt asked, hoping to interrupt the stream of negativity.

"Oh, just some new song material," Jaskier replied, though his thoughts betrayed him: "He doesn't really care."

"Can I see it?" Geralt asked. Jaskier hesitated for a moment. Sharing unfinished work had always made him uncomfortable, but after a brief pause, he handed over his notebook.

"These are good," Geralt said, his tone genuine.

"Liar," Jaskier's thoughts hissed. "He hates you. You're a worthless piece of crap. No wonder they call you the Witcher's Whore."

"I don’t think of you as my whore," Geralt said softly, the words escaping before he could stop them.

[dirtycombatboots]

My headcanon for reverse AU is that human Geralt is absolutely horrible at his job. He went to Oxenfurt hoping it would help him with his communication problems. He graduated, he knows linguistics like the back of his own hand, he can conjure a technically perfect ballad. The only problem is that Geralt, as a bard, has absolutely nothing to say, so all his songs are generic soulless garbage despite being written by all rules of composition and poetry. Geralt regrets his career choice very much, should have become a soldier, like Vesemir suggested, not waste time and money on Oxenfurt. Geralt barely scrapes enough coin to feed himself, and there is no prospect of change. The only reason he isn't starving is because his brothers help him financially. Those lucky bastards. Lambert is an alchemist, got his own very successful business in Novigrad. Eskel is prancing around Continent doing whatever mages do for living. And Geralt is a disappointing sibling, hating his job but still stubbornly trying to make it as a bard , not because he wants to but because his family spent so much money on his education, he can't just quit.

Introducing Julian, a witcher who would be talking non-stop if he was physically able to. He can't, his vocal cords are damaged beyond repair, which makes finding contracts a lot harder. After all, peasants who can read aren't exactly in large numbers, and peasants who know sign language are even less. Taking jobs only from nobles is not an option.

Geralt quite literally becomes Julian's voice and translator. And finally finds inspiration to write something that isn't soulless garbage. Who would have thought that a bard just needed a muse.

During annual winter family meeting at the house of old mercenary, also known as Papa Vesemir, Geralt tells his brothers about Julian. Lambert and Eskel can believe that Geralt befriended a witcher. What they can't believe is that Geralt's career finally took a turn to success. They definitely don't believe that Geralt is an author of "toss a coin".

Bonus scene

Geralt and Julian meeting next spring

Julian, signing dramatically: Bard, what the fuck did you get into?

Geralt : I was meeting with my family

Julian: Your family? You reek of things, Geralt! Dangerous things! Explosives and poisons!

Geralt: Well, heard about that alchemist in Novigrad who secretly produces weapons for armies?

Julian, confused: Yes?

Geralt: That's my little brother.

Julian: Okay, fine. But you also reek of magic. Explain that!

Geralt: How do I say it... Ever heard about sorcerer with a sword and demonic goat as familiar. The one who helps kings organize military campaigns?

Julian, not liking where this is going: Yes?

Geralt: That's my big brother.

Julian: I am almost afraid to ask who your father is.

Geralt: A mercenary with reputation of killing monters just as good as a witcher?

Julian: That old man? Fuck. Fuuuuck. And you are just a bard, with family like that?

Geralt: Yes.

Julian : This is officially the weirdest shit in my life.

Geralt: By the way, can we go to Novigrad. My brothers said they want to meet their future brother-in-law

Julian: What the fuck

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Witcher Senses: Hearing

As a Witcher, Geralt has enhanced hearing. He can hear sound pitches that normal humans don't even know exist. The enhanced sense helps to keep him alive on the Path .

Having enhanced hearing comes in handy on the Path, but sometimes, it can be quite a curse. On one hand, you have superhuman hearing and can hear everything, but on the other hand, you have superhuman hearing and can hear everything.

When he starts traveling with Jaskier, he has to get used to all the noises another living thing makes. He's used to the sounds Roach makes as she lives her horsey life, but Jaskier brings a new set of sounds he has to grow accustomed to.

Geralt can tell how his bard is feeling by listening to the sounds he makes. He can hear if he is ill by how he breathes and how his heart beats. He can tell if the stew Jaskier ate last night is going to come out one end or the other by the rumbles in his guts.

Many times, those sounds he can hear are very annoying.

Geralt lays awake many nights, the sound of Jaskier's breathing annoying the absolute f**k out of him. He feels like he understands women better

"I can't stand the sound of his breathing", and "I hate the way he breathes!", suddenly sound like very valid reasons for murder.

And Jaskier only thinks he's being quiet when, in the wee hours of the night, he decides to visit with Mrs. Rosy Palm.

Geralt discovers that silence can be very loud indeed and he can hear him from the other side of the campsite, but he does his best to pretend to be asleep so as to not make things awkward. Sometimes he makes a few sleepy sounding grunts and gets up to pretend he needs to take a p*ss or sh*t, and heads off into the woods for a bit.

Not all the sounds Jaskier makes are annoying. Some of them are pleasant. The sound of his voice as he sings quietly to himself, or laughs, or talks about everything and anything. The sound of his bickering with Yennefer. Really just the sound of his voice in general, especially when he drops his adopted Court accent and allows his Northen accent to come out.

Those are comforting sounds; sounds that make him happy.

And of course, there are sounds that just cause a visceral reaction. There aren't many things that bother a Witcher, but Jaskier accidentally discovers one of the few sounds that does.

One evening, Jaskier decides to try to find out just how good Geralt's hearing is, and badgered Geralt with all sorts of questions about it.

Geralt puts up with the questions, some of which were absurd. Sometimes, he wonders if Jaskier is just f***ing with him, trying to see how far he can wind him up.

Jaskier ignores the death glare Geralt is giving him and sits by the fire, admiring the new comb he'd bought that afternoon.

"Can you hear a bear sh*tting in the woods?"

"Can you hear the sound of one hand clapping?"

"Oh, OH! Can you hear if people are f***ing in one of the other rooms when we stay at an inn?"

Geralt casually grumbles, "No, but I can hear you f***ing your d*mn hand in your bedroll when you think I'm asleep."

Jaskier flinches, embarrassed, but covers it with a dramatic, scandalized gasp,"HoW rUdE! cAn'T a MaN gEt aNy PrIvAcY?" He frowns at Geralt when the Witcher responds with a derisive "hm" and an eye roll.

Jaskier, embarrassed and annoyed, idly runs his fingernail down the teeth of the comb, and...

...Geralt gags violently.

"Geralt, are you alright?" Jaskier asks as Geralt swallows thickly, a surprised and confused look on his face.

Jaskier instantly forms a theory.

Ooh, let's test it out!

He glances at Geralt one more time, then back at the comb, and drags his fingernail down the teeth.

Geralt made a retching sound, and a smile split Jaskier's face.

"Jaskier, don't you dar-EeUUrRggHh!"

"JaskiEeEauUrrRgGhh!"

"Stop doing tHaRRgHhKH!"

"HeuORgHKKK!"

"FaWWWUGHKing staHhuaRk!"

"BbleeEEUaRgkH!"

Jaskier is laughing and grinning as he keeps making the godsawful sound, until Geralt lunges at him and begins chasing him around the campsite.

Jaskier is dodging and running as Geralt chases him, their progress punctuated by the toothy sound of the comb, followed by gagging.

Roach watches in bemusement as her two imbeciles continue their nonsense, until Jaskier, now too busy laughing at Geralt to look where he's going, runs into a tree.

Geralt jumps on him, hisses at him, and snatches up the wretched comb, before hurling it as hard as he can into the woods.

The rest of the evening passes in sulky silence from Geralt. He feels a little bit bad for throwing the comb, and does apologize.

Jaskier just waves the incident off. He isn't too worried about the comb because he'd bought two. He refrains (with great effort) from using this newfound knowledge for evil. At least until he gets to Kaer Morhen that winter.

Lambert is the first to fall victim. He's being an ar**hole, as usual, and Jaskier, being the petty little sh*t he is, waits until his back is turned, then retaliates.

Get combed motherf**ker!

Eskel didn't do anything wrong, he just happened to unfortunately be within earshot when Jaskier took out Lambert.

Eskel had no clue where that awful sound had come from, but he d*mn near prolapsed his esophagus when it made him gag.

The other witchers were merely victims of bardic boredom.

They were all having dinner in uncharacteristic silence. Jaskier's attempts at conversation and entertainment had been met with disapproving glares and grumbles.

Oh, ok, you gloomy b**tarts, I see how it's going to be

Jaskier casually reached into his pocket and took out the comb

The quiet sound cut through the silence like the peal of a bell.

The Hall erupted in sputtering, spat drinks, and a symphony of gagging.

Jaskier is cackling madly as Witchers all over the Great Hall rise and start coming for him, cussing and snarling.

Jaskier runs for the door, pauses, and *comb sounds*

Witchers: *doubling over, falling to their knees, gagging, puking*

Jaskier had to hide in Yennefer's room until the Witchers were no longer considering outright murder.

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Additional Jaskier headcanon, non-human edition:

Every noble house has SOME kind of scandal. This is very well known, and all proper nobles try to keep up the fiction that "oh yes, eight generations ago, one of my grandfathers was a cut-throat business man, but that was eight generations ago, we're very refined now..."

Because of course, if anyone alive met the scandalous ancestor - or worse, remembers the scandal as it happened - you're doomed. Ruined. Will never make a proper marriage, will be shunned from society, et cetera, et cetera.

Well. About two generations ago, a very fine noblewoman, recently married, became very lonely while her husband was away and took a lover. And became pregnant.

Had the child taken after her, or even had her lover vaguely resembled her husband, this would have been fine. Unfortunately, her lover was an incubus, and the baby girl took after her father in...quite obvious ways.

In the same generation, a young lord was seduced - so he claimed - by an elven lady who desired his power and money. (The elves claim that they merely wished a place to settle in peace, and the lord required a young maid service him, but who listens to elves?)

In time, the lord's lover bore him a son, and as his wife proved baren, the child was adopted.

When the half-succubus daughter and the half-eleven son grew up, both were shunned by most of polite society, and so in frustration and despair, their parents wed them to each other.

In the fullness of time, the young half elf inherited his father's title - and the county of Lettenhove - and his wife bore him a son of his own.

When young Julian ran away from Oxenfurt to become a bard and follow a witcher, the nobility decided in unison that "strange blood will out" and cloistered their children further.

(Does it pair with my "Jaskier was a Cat trainee who became a bard after the Cats lost the grasses" headcanon? WHY NOT! Just add an extra step of "a witcher saved Julian's father, claimed the Law of Surprise - and the young half-human son - and eventually sent him to Oxenfurt when the grasses were lost.")

[thelostgirl21]

Sooo... Let me get this queer...

*Spoilers alert for "Sirens of the Deep".*

Agloval really went "Screw being the very last of my bloodline and rightful heir of my kingdom. Imma go leave everything behind to marry a mermaid for love, because the sex and the cuddles are that awesome!"

Does he not realise the kind of precedent this set for Jaskier, and the types of expectations that bard now feels completely entitled to?!

Plus, they don't need words to communicate! Seriously! They've got that whole body language thing down, and words aren't a barrier to any relationship!

To Jaskier, princes are slightly waffling hopeless romantics struggling to fit in with their own families, waiting for love to finally give them the opportunity to escape the senseless cruelty and violence of their own world!

Everyone would be like "Radovid can't marry you. He's the last of his bloodline and needs to find a princess to make babies with her to make sure it doesn't end with him", and he'd be like "Pffft! I'm from Bremervoord! If the last of our royal bloodline swam off with a mermaid, and the kingdom didn't suddenly collapse or implode just because we needed to start a new bloodline, Redania will be fine!"

Oddly enough, I wouldn't be opposed to Jaskier being the one to ultimately "make a little sacrifice" for Radovid this time around, though.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but I remember Hugh Skinner mentioning that one of the reasons that drew him to the role of Radovid was that he's always enjoyed playing an outcast.

And since, in the world of "The Witcher", you see queer characters mentioning their wives or girlfriends without anyone seemingly being shocked about it, I've sort of been wondering if what makes Radovid a bit of an "outcast" or "outsider" doesn't go much beyond his sexual orientation.

Sure, in his case being gay is seen as "seed wasting", but that's because his sexual orientation is perceived as "strategically inconvenient" by Dijkstra and Philippa, rather than "socially unacceptable", I think.

Vizimir's wife is "as barren as the Korath", and Radovid favors men. I could see their frustration.

But still, if queerness is generally well socially accepted on the Continent, then that alone wouldn't technically make Radovid that much or "an outcast" in his own world.

So, my brain always goes back to him immediately blurting out to Jaskier that "Song of the Seven" is his favorite.

And Jaskier - assuming he's just another rich human noble benefitting from the current system - sort of dismissing the statement as being "slightly ironic".

But then, when Radovid asks his brother to let him go, he makes it very clear to Vizimir (and to the audience) that he simply doesn't fit within the current system.

He's not a spymaster, he's not even a good prince, the way monarchy works, right now, doesn't suit him. He needs to be free to love and help those he loves.

To have Jaskier recognize how skilled Radovid is at seeing the big picture and taking into consideration everyone's needs - instinctively striving to go for the "least bad options" for everyone involved, seeking to collaborate, and reaching for "carrots" rather than "sticks", etc.

So, a part of me can't help but hope that Jaskier might actually be the one to convince Radovid to be strong enough to fight back against those seeking to control him, and grow into his role as a king, because he actually is someone that could help Redania and the North become less oppressive of the common folks and of other races, among other things.

I really wouldn't mind Jaskier realising that Radovid truly has the potential to become a great king, perhaps especially because he's never wanted to wield that sort of power over anyone in the first place.

If it had been up to him, he'd have made the choice to leave it all behind to be by Jaskier's side and offer him love and support in the most desperate of times.

Agloval could afford to leave his world behind while his father still sat on the throne. He could afford to let him deal with the whole issue of needing someone else to succeed him.

And they are going to continue to need him. Because Radovid is someone that knows how to listen, make people feel valued and loved, and help them heal.

Radovid had a bloodied crown put on top of his head at a time where Redania was at war and his people needed him!

And after the war, the world is likely going to be in desperate need of more love and healing!

Those are qualities I'd easily imagine Jaskier would be able to see in Radovid. And I could also imagine Jaskier choosing to face that future with Radovid, rather than abandoning him to his own fate.

He's the Sandpiper, after all.

I could imagine Jaskier choosing to love Radovid's people alongside him, and to share those responsibilities with him as best he can, too.

Loving people, being sensitive to their plight, and trying to bring some light into their lives in times of darkness is also what he does.

And, as much as "A Little Sacrifice" was perhaps meant to foreshadow the upcoming "Sirens of the Deep" movie, it also paralleled Jaskier and Radovid's own story arc in Season 3.

Jaskier sang the lines "For if your goal be paradise, a life with your true love, ponder all your wants in life, and make a little sacrifice," to Ciri to help her fall asleep right before his own prince, Radovid, came knocking on his door, leading to their first kiss (and off-screen sexy times).

And then, the ending of the song doesn't really fit the ending of Sh'eenaz and Agloval's own love story in the movie at all!

I mean...

"For if your goal be paradise,

Just give your love a firm nudge,

If he sinks to darkest night,

Embrace his little sacrifice!"

Agloval didn't sink to any dark depths in the night when he chose to trade feet for fins!

He soared high with his mermaid, and was readily embraced by her world!

It was a happy ending for them both, that lacked all the dark, ominous, dramatic tone of the ending of the full song (as Freya Allan sang it).

Jaskier's "firm nudge", however, made Radovid see that his place wasn't at his brother's court, and that he belonged with Jaskier and his family/people.

And, on his very first attempt to swim away to join him, here's what happened to him that night:

Radovid is the prince that "sank to darkest night" once he realized his place wasn't amongst his own kind, not Agloval.

I was initially disappointed that Jaskier didn't sing the whole song on the "Sirens of the Deep" soundtrack; but, after having watched it, I think that's because it slowly starts to transition towards a "poetic retelling" of Jaskier's own love story with Radovid around this point:

The tide is low, now they both know

"But where they lay, they cannot stay

A swap for turf

A trade for surf

For if your goal be paradise

Who'd turn and let go

A life with your true love

Ponder all your wants in life

And make a little sacrifice

His choice was made aside the sea

A twilit red horizon

His place among the sirens

For she had finally made him see

He knew what it's worth

A trade for surf

To trade foot for fin

Just give your love a firm nudge

For if your goal be paradise

If he sinks to darkest night

Embrace his little sacrifice!"

In the end, Radovid genuinely tried to "make a little sacrifice" for Jaskier by prioritizing Jaskier's needs and happiness with his family regardless of the risks involved for himself out there.

I like to interpret "embrace his little sacrifice" as meaning that Jaskier will be able to recognize that Radovid's effort to "trade foot for fin" and come "join him at sea" was genuine.

And therefore, that he'll refuse to let him sink alone, but choose to face that "darkest night" with him instead.

[intrepidacious]

this writing blog of mine is turning three next week and on the same day, i'm officially entering my charlotte lucas era. i frankly don't think there's ever been more cause for celebration so join me on this perfectly themed and not at all last minute sleepover 💛

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[dapandapod]

A whisper of truth

Hello there, loves, long time no see! This little floof thing was written in a live write backi n 2022.... back in the good ol' days haha, and was promptly forgotten! Rediscovered it "recently" and decided it's time. We all deserve some good ol' fluff, I miss them, I miss writing them. I confess I have started like.... 10 new wips in 2 new fandoms, and my brain is a scattered mess in general, so posting old feelings it is, because it feels good and everybody deserves soft things. So please enjoy! <3 On Ao3 here

Oxenfurt is a lively place. Students and shops and carts on cobblestone and the marketstands and shrieking children. It is a town, like any other, only this one is where Dandelion finds himself again and again. His home away from home, or as close to a home that the poet dares call it.

The summer is slowly tucking itself away, fading before burning into bright colours of fall. Usually, at this time of year, Dandelion would still be between cities. Usually, he would either be called between courts or travel the roads to grace taverns and inns and travelers alike with his presence, his voice and his lute.

This time, however, he already finds himself in this seat of knowledge and learning. The yearly bardic competition had been held later than usual, and now it is too late in the season to make any journey make it worth his while.

Especially when his dearest friend is here, staying with him in the little house he is renting. Two stories, narrow stairs, but with thick carpets and two bedrooms. The bath house is only a few streets away, the stables just twenty minutes walk.

It is not unusual for Geralt to come and visit him when Dandelion is stationed at the same place for some time. It is unusual, however, how Geralt of Rivia is making a place for himself in Dandelion's home. The guest room is occupied with herbs and bottles and books and suspicious liquids and jars. The room where they spend most of their time together, a little parlor with stuffed chairs, a fireplace and a few bookshelves, has traces of him too.

His swords are resting against the wall, there is a stray sock forgotten under the table, a hairband on the tea table. Not that Dandelion does not have traces of himself everywhere in here, but for Geralt to blend into his chaos, to add to it, it's putting his mind in a spin. It doesn't seem like the witcher is much inclined to leave, this time.

Geralt is always teasing him about how he can't keep a secret to save his life, and as that might be true, Dandelion has found a way around that. It is not a secret as it is a truth, his one truth that keeps him awake at night, keeps his legs in motion and his heart aching. He may take many lovers, but his heart is already taken. Dandelion writes of love, writes of hope, writes of longing, sings it loud and screams it to the night sky. All hear but none listen.

Dandelion is in love.

Helplessly so. Many believe he falls in and out of love all the time, and well, maybe he does. He wonders if anyone has noticed, but it's always less so when Geralt is around. It's like he settles. That empty place in his heart that he keeps trying to fill is adjusting to wrap around the shape of a witcher. His witcher.

Tonight, they are enjoying the late summer's eve together, Dandelion sitting on the stuffed chair they dragged out on their small porch. Geralt is placed on the floor, leaning back against the chair between Dandelion's knees, the poet's fingers gently detangling the strands after their visit to the bath house.

"Would you mind much if I braid it?" Dandelion muses.

"Not when it's still wet. It will get wavy when I let it out."

"So don't let it out. I swear to you, good friend, my skills in braiding are unmatched!"

"What a humble bard you are." Geralt teases, but Dandelion can hear the smile in his voice. Dandelion smiles too, content with white, soft hair between his fingers and the arms resting around his ankles. The gentle and easy way that Geralt has started to touch him puts stars in the sky and warmth in his heart.

"I could braid it and then let it out."

"You would call it a masterpiece and demand it stays."

"I might." Dandelion admits, carding his fingers a bit higher, sorting out the strands for the perfect braiding size. "But who am I to stand in the way of art? Who are you, master Witcher, to stand in the way of the muse, working through my fingers?"

Geralt scoffs, shaking his head gently, undoing Dandelion's not so discreet preparations.

"Well then, braid away then, oh vessel of muses, may it be better than last time."

Dandelion divides the hair into sections again, trying to decide what kind of braid he’ll do.

"Anything would be better than last time." he defends himself. "You drank me under the table and then begged me for a braid, you heathen. Can't be the vessel of muses if my hands have eight fingers each!"

Geralt chuckles and squeezes his ankle just a little.

Dandelion is a master of many things. Seven arts, if one were to look at his degrees. Hiding his love in plain sight has become another thing he has mastered. Affection given to any and all, his heart worn on his sleeve, as effective today with Geralt as with anyone else.

The braid takes form, Dandelion taking his sweet time. Not so very accidently, his fingers touching Geralt's temples every now and then. It is soft and warm, and Dandelion undoes his works a few times just to keep the excuse to touch his witcher going.

The fourth time he does it, Geralt leans his head back against the chair and looks up at him. His fingers are now resting over the witcher's cheekbones.

"Did your muse finally leave you?" Geralt asks with a smirk. Dandelion just wants to lean down and press a kiss to those lips.

"I hope he never does." He whispers, thumbs gently moving over Geralt's cheeks.

The moment it leaves his lips, he knows he said too much. He can see it in the way Geralt's eyes shift, feel his own heart racing and beating and fluttering.

Now he knows. For all his screaming all it took was a whisper for his truth to be known. His not-secret.

There must be something showing on his face, because Geralt slowly turns, shifts in the cradle of Dandelion's hands, and nuzzles into his palm.

A soft kiss, warm and dry and fleeting, is pressed there. For a moment, Dandelion thinks he dreamt it, but then Geralt is reaching for him, turning between his knees to face him properly.

"Wherever you are, I will find you again." Geralt promises, knocking their foreheads together, hand finding blond curls and holding Dandelion close. "Wherever you find yourself, you will find me too."'

"Our paths are not always the same, they may split and they may join, but know this, Dandelion, my fantastic, unbelievable friend. I will always find you."

It’s spilling over. Every feeling, every word, stacked on top of each other, and Dandelion finds himself falling.

Falling forward, angling his chin, his breath coming short, helpless to his own aching heart. A soft kiss, warm and dry and fleeting, he presses to his witcher's lips.

Geralt kisses him too, rising up to his knees, arms winding around Dandelion's waist, bodies pressing closer. The empty space in his heart is filling up, and he wonders if Geralt had one too. The way Geralt holds him close, like he is precious to him, like he matters, like he longs to fill up that void that only a dramatic, ridiculous poet can fill.

The braid remains unfinished until morning. That night, the guest room remains a guest room, a witcher and his bard spending a night together, sleeping in each other's arms. They kiss, they touch, they taste, they feel, they are whispering truths and tracing lips and leaving traces of themselves on each other.

Come morning, Dandelion finishes the braid. Geralt makes fun of it, and Dandelion gets his revenge by nipping at his ear.

Maybe they will stay in Oxenfurt as the summer fades and the colours of fall start to burn. Maybe they will part ways as snow comes, or maybe they will enjoy the quiet dark together. For now, they spend time in a lively Oxenfurt, filled to the brim with students and shops and carts on cobblestones. For now, they will explore this new thing they have, this old thing they have shared for so long. And will share for even longer.

For now, they have found each other.

[drunkensongbird]

Alrighty! First post on here!

I decided to make my main account for my silly reblogs and fandom mutuals, while this one is entirely dedicated to my love for the witcher franchise.

Since I needed a profile picture for it, I decided to draw our all-time favorite bard Dandelion/Jaskier.

Also, if you're wondering why he's blonde, it's because of the books description of him! I like to stay in the canon zone with characters and designs in general and I'll try applying that on the witcher cast as well.

Funfact about this piece: I included the flowers mentioned in the blog - Larkspurs (the german name/word 'Rittersporn'), Dandelions (og english book name) and Buttercups (the polish name/word Jaskier)

I just thought it'd be fun to include all names I use for him in private.

Anyway, I guess this means welcome to my witcher account lmao

We'll have shitposts, art, headcanons, book talks and maybe my own au of it soon!

[jaskwritesthings]

Hello! Unsure what prompts you want but maybe a Lambert and Aiden prompt where one of them loves the smell of upcoming storms and the other tries to get them inside before it starts. Silliness and fluff basically :)

(ao3)

sorry this took forever my dear nessie, had a lot going on

---

“Thought Cats hated water?” Lambert said, as he watched his lover stand in the rain, head thrown back and face upturned to the sky. Aiden’s eyes were closed, and his lips were quirked in a soft smile as he seemed to enjoy the near never-ending rain of fucking Velen. If Lambert needed more proof of the instability of Cat Witcher's, it was standing in front of him, enjoying the miserable weather of what could generously be called the Continent’s arse crack.

Fucking Velen.

Aiden turned his head to Lambert, blinking his eyes open slowly as he lazily admired Lambert still hovering in the mouth of their cave, the only dry place they’d found outside the tiny hamlets scattered around the bogs.

“Cats, yes. Cats, no, in fact I’d say Wolves appear to hate water more,” Aiden teased as he took a comical sniff in Lambert’s direction, it earned him a growl.

“I bathe!”

Aiden snorted, tipping his head back once more, “Once in a blue moon or when I force you too.”

“Arsehole,” Lambert grumbled, folding his arms over his chest, he would ordinarily storm off and leave Aiden to prance after him, poking and teasing as he did to regain Lambert’s undivided attention, but there’s something strangely captivating about Aiden at this moment that keeps his feet rooted to the spot. His fellow Witcher has always been one of the pretty ones, wavy dark hair to his shoulders that he often left unbound, tanned skin only slightly blemished by the scars of their trade, a rugged but neat beard to frame a rakish grin and deep piercing green slitted eyes. Together with the swords and the armour and, Lambert had tripped over his own feet more than once because of his staring.

Aiden knew he was gorgeous as well, wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage whether it was to lean in suavely and charm the tavern owner into a decent meal and bed for a few coins cheaper for them or turn it on Lambert, deliberately choosing to ask his lover to finish the less enjoyable chores around their campsite with that too innocent purring voice, all while, conveniently, missing his shirt. Lambert knew he was being played, didn’t stop him for dancing along to the tune Aiden played every damn time though.

The point was Aiden was beautiful. That wasn’t the surprising thing. But somehow standing under the dreary drizzle of Velen’s usual climate, he looked ethereal, radiant in a way he usually wasn’t. If it had been the damned Bard standing with him, he could have properly put it into pretty words, but all Lambert could conjure mentally was that Aiden was simply beautiful.

“A little rain never hurt anyone,” Aiden said, completely unaware of his lover’s thoughts.

“Rust, mould, there’s a whole list of diseases and shit you get when waterlogged,” Lambert grumbled quietly and half-heartedly, struggling to find something to say that wasn’t just telling Aiden’s already inflated ego how gorgeous he was.

“From one downpour?”

“It’s Velen, this whole country is waterlogged.”

Aiden smiled fondly, “You worry too much.”

“You don’t worry enough,” Lambert huffed, prepared to leave Aiden to his meditation in the pouring rain and get started on cooking up some of their rations when Aiden lazily swung his head back towards Lambert, wet locks sliding across his face in a way that should have made him look ridiculous, it didn’t, of course.

“Dance with me,” Aiden asked, holding out a hand for Lambert to take, completely sure that he would. And why wouldn’t he? Lambert hadn’t stopped reaching back since they met.

“In the rain?”

“In the rain.”

“You’re insane,” Lambert snorted, a sharp amused sound.

Aiden grinned wide, “Said the Wolf who loves a Cat to that very Cat.”

“Shut up,” Lambert snapped without any real bite, “One dance then we go into the damn cave and get warm.”

“I’ll get you warm,” Aiden said cheekily.

“Kitty cat thinks he’s so funny,” Lambert mumbled under his breath, taking Aiden’s hand and letting the mad Cat yank him into the downpour like they were joining a waltz at some fancy lord’s party.

[ammarettu]

please pleaseeeeee please please please give us a part 3 to true hate's kiss i NEED a resolution im obsessed 🙏

Your wish is my command.

Parts 1 and 2

Part 3 under the break

He dithers at the edge of the stage for just a moment, hesitates, until Valdo forcefully shoves him back into the crowd.

He doesn't want to think about what will happen now, his hands have a tremble to them that make him almost wonder if he could claim to be ill again just to keep him. He wonders if Geralt will notice if he just... follows him out of the party and into his camp and just... stays there.

He groans, of course Geralt would notice. He's already annoyed the poor man enough. Fuck. What does he even say now? Should he say anything? Should he just leave and save Geralt the trouble?

He nabs a cup of wine from an unsuspecting bystander who huffs at him in disapproval. He tosses it back in one fluid motion, then glances over to where Geralt was only to find the Witcher absent from the space.

Jaskier's heart somehow plummets and rises into his throat all at once, his pulse throbs in his fingers. Of course Geralt would leave the moment the curse was broken. Why the fuck would he stick around? Jaskier's already been enough of a burden on him, even before this whole fiasco, he couldn't have honestly expected, or even hoped, for Geralt to stick around.

He asks someone if they saw where the Witcher went, alright he asks several people, but none saw him leave. He slipped out silently, or whatever. Likely to avoid Jaskier trying to trail after him like he always used to.

Jaskier takes a breath, closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself and force the tears back - it doesn't work. He gets drunk instead.

-

Geralt flees, you know, like a coward.

He can't describe the rush of feeling that floods through him when he hears Jaskier's voice again for the first time in... too long. He'd gotten so used to having that voice at his side, encouraging him, complimenting him, and just generally being a light that was far too bright for this world. For Geralt's world, dark and dripping with blood and hatred.

And hearing him speak again wrenches at something in his chest that he doesn't want to dwell on. Something raw and painful. He thought when he heard that voice again he could have atoned for all the cruel shit he'd spewed, merciless and without truth.

He can't bear to stick around and hear that voice turn on him the same way he'd done to Jaskier. Can't bear to hear the words of hatred he's so used to hearing from every other human pour like vitriol from such sweet lips-

Can't bear the rejection.

It's pathetic, after all he's put the bard through, all he's said, how he's certain his own words felt to Jaskier, who feels everything so deeply. But he is pathetic, and a coward, so he runs.

He finds himself down one of the estate's many long halls, golden filigree doors lining the walls. He'd intended to go outside, kind of. He hadn't really been paying attention, more concerned with simply moving away, but he'd hoped he might just end up outdoors.

Still, it's better than nothing. He pushes open a door, finding a large bedroom on the other side, and closes it behind him.

He sighs and flops onto a red velvet armchair, burying his head in his hands.

It's been a long day. A long week. It's been strange, as nice as it was having Jaskier back at his side the lack of noise usually associated with the bard still being absent was off-putting and wrong.

He takes a minute to recenter himself. To get used to being alone again. He curls into himself, resting his head on his forearms, on his knees, and firmly does not cry. He doesn't.

He also doesn't lose track of time, nor is he startled when there is a noise in the hall, giggling and shuffling footsteps - a thump, someone is pushed against the door to the room in which Geralt has taken residence. He stumbles to his feet, hears a moan past the door and moves to the window to calmbor out (the sun has set now, several hours have passed since he entered) - his medallion shudders in it's place against his chest. A warning. He pauses, he hasn't a choice, whatever is waiting outside the doors is a monster of some kind about to feast. A bruxa, knowing their affinity for alcohol infused blood.

"I wasn't expecting to find you here tonight," a female voice mutters, "Imagine my delight and surprise."

"Mm, I'm about to delight you even more."

Geralt almost fucking trips over his own feet as he glides across the room towards the door. The second voice is Jaskier's. As badly as he wants to turn on his heel and leave, his cowardice returning with a burning vengeance, he can't. Not if-

"And what of your Witcher? Will he not be joining us?"

Jaskier huffs a little laugh, "Geralt isn't my anything," Geralt winces at the coldness in his tone, "Anyways, he left."

"He'd just leave you here alone?" He hears Jaskier take a shuddering breath, hears the unbuttoning of his doublet.

"Course he would," Jaskier mutters, "He hates me."

Geralt blinks. That- Jaskier can't possibly think- but then again Geralt has always been rather cruel. It makes sense, he supposes, that he'd think Geralt hates him, especially after the mountain. But he was certain that the hatred was more than a little directed back at him.

"And yet you love him still?" The woman taunts, "How admirable."

Geralt wants to laugh at the absurdity. Jaskier doesn't love him, he hates him. He made that clear when he came to him to break a curse that could only be broken by kissing someone he hated. He waits for the refusal, but it never comes. Instead, Jaskier mutters, "Aren't you supposed to be distracting me? Making me forget?"

He can hear the grin when the woman, the Bruxa, replies, "Oh, darling, soon you won't remember a thing."

"What the fuck-" Jaskier gasps as the door handle moves, he's shoved inside, the Bruxa stepping in after him all feral eyes, fanged teeth and clawed hands. The door opens inwards, blocking line of sight between the newest occupants and the Witcher pressing himself to the wall as the vampire lurches towards Jaskier. The door slams shut, and in less than a second Geralt has his silver drawn and cleanly through the Bruxa's neck. One motion. One swipe. She never even saw him. Neither did Jaskier, until the head is already rolling, and he's taking a breath in to scream.

Geralt is there in a flash, leather-gloved hand pressed firmly over the bard's lips, "It's me, Jaskier."

He's trembling, breath coming in short little puffs that make Geralt kind of worried he might pass out, but he moves carefully back away and says, "Geralt. You're still here."

His eyes are misty with tears and drink and Geralt finds himself sighing, fond.

"I'm here. We should go."

"You- we?"

"You want to stay in the room with a bloody corpse?"

"Well... no, but we should at least take her jewelry, don't you think? Those sapphires, Geralt! A travesty to leave them on the floor."

He rolls his eyes but allows it, if Jaskier wants some jewelry he's earned it. Plus it's kind of nice to see a little glimpse of the same hedonistic bard he's missed.

The sneak out of the manor, and into the stables to gather Roach. It's just easier. Sure the woman was a Bruxa, but she was still high society, and all the red tape and questions... Geralt shudders just thinking about it.

They end up in the forest under the stars just like they used to sleep, with Jaskier chattering away and a canopy of leaves swaying with the breeze.

Geralt will ask Jaskier tomorrow what the Bruxa meant about him loving him.

-

He doesn't ask. He can't make the words force themselves from his throat. Instead, he wakes early and makes them both breakfast like he used to, wakes Jaskier with gentle shakes and a cup of warm willow bark tea sweetened with just a bit of honey.

"Where are you off to now?" Jaskier asks him as they pack up, soft as a whisper.

Geralt pauses, glances to Jaskier, and takes a chance, "Always drowners along the coast," he says. Hears Jaskier swallow in response.

"Yeah?"

"Mm... Hear Kerack is pretty this time of year." A sharp intake of breath, Jaskier's heart beats so hard Geralt is pretty sure he could hear it even without his Witcher senses.

"Is that so?"

Geralt resumes what he was doing, tacking up Roach, pretends to be nonchalant, "The taverns there could probably use a bard," he says.

"Are you sure?" Jaskier's voice is shaking and Geralt hates how uncertain he sounds. How hopeful.

"Jaskier."

"Yes?"

Geralt turns, tilts his head to the side a bit, "Come to the coast with me."

A sheen forms on those gorgeous blue eyes, brought to life even more by the glittering sapphires he now wears on his ears and around his neck.

"Yes," he breathes, and Geralt smiles his response, holds out his hand, and hoists his bard up onto his horse.

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 6)

Summary:Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader 

Warnings: 18+, mostly fluff, MDNI (there will be smut in the future), some more teasing and sexual innuendo

Word count: 950

A/N: Sorry it took so long, but here’s finally the next Chapter. I know it’s short but I was kinda busy and just wanted to post something. It’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you❤️✨enjoy

(FYI: This won’t follow the exact timeline of the Witcher. But Geralt has met Jaskier already.)

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 5)

 

CHAPTER 6

Daybreak had come way too early in Geralt’s opinion. Admittedly he’d slept very well. May have had to do with the pretty nymph, snuggled up to him. But right about now, he’d rather have some peace and quiet.

 

Instead you had noisily started rummaging around an hour ago. He hadn’t even noticed, when you’d slipped out of his embrace. Now he was glaring in your general direction, as your nervous energy made you flit from place to place.

 

 

You hadn’t had another nightmare, but you still had woken up quite early and your body still somewhat buzzed with the adrenalin of the past few days. So you had stood up, tidied up ‘camp’, and got Roach something to munch on, leaving you to wait impatiently for Geralt to finally wake. Apparently he did, if his half opened eyes were anything to go by.

 

 

Chirping happily, you greeted him, “Good Morning.”

 

Geralt huffed, crossing his arms.

 

 

Definitely not a morning person, you noted. You kept staring at him, until he opened his eyes completely, at last. The Witcher got up, and started to put his bedroll away, stuffing it into the saddlebag, next to where you had put yours.

 

 

The second he had turned his back to you, he could feel you bouncing up to him, steps feather light.

“So?”

 

Without turning he answered gruffly, “So?”

 

 

“Where are we going?”

 

 

At that he glanced over his shoulder at you, amused by your cheeriness. He still wasn’t convinced he’d actually kissed you last night. But he knew even his imagination wasn’t that good. He couldn’t have imagined the perfect softness of your lovely lips nor the warm pressure of your back against his chest, fitting against him like a glove. He shook his head lightly, “We, huh?”

 

 

The teasing smile on his lips gave him away, so you just retaliated, “Yes, we. You know me and Roach.”

 

 

Geralt thoroughly enjoyed your quick comebacks, full on belly laughing at your comment. Before something struck him as odd. Dark brows furrowing, “Wait a minute. How’d you know, my horse’s name?”

 

 

You winked at him playfully, “She told me of course.”

 

 

Now his eyebrows shot up in disbelieve. Surprise written all over his face. Could nymphs actually talk to animals? Or were you pulling his leg? He honestly couldn’t tell, your own expression, one of amusement, leaving him none the wiser.

 

 

You found Geralt’s confusion hilarious. Though you were aware that very few people actually knew what nymphs could and couldn’t do, as they preferred to live secluded and mostly just among other nymphs. But if the witcher didn’t ask, you wouldn’t tell him either.

 

 

Your next move distracted him anyway. You had moved so swiftly, he felt like his enhanced eyesight betrayed him.

You were now sitting astride his horse.

 

 

“Wait no. No. Get down there. No one’s allowed to ride her but me.”

 

 

Exasperated you laughed, “What? You can’t be serious?”

 

 

“I am.”

 

“You are telling me, whoever you’re travelling with has to walk beside you? Even the bard? Jaskier, was it?”

 

 

Grinding his teeth, as you still hadn’t even tried getting down, he growled, “Yes everyone. Especially the bard.”

 

 

You patted the mare’s neck, giggling back,” Sure. Uhm, I talked it through with her, and Roach seems to agree that, that is a stupid rule.”

 

 

Geralt had to give it to you, you were certainly imaginative, a quick thinker, and you had the guts to taunt him. It didn’t even irk him that you were quite the brat. If anything he was fond of your playfulness.

 

 

“Mmh. If she says so. Who am I, to disagree with my own horse, right?”

 

 

The witcher’s cheekiness astounded you. The little things you had heard about their kind, were anything but positive. Though you’d always believed those things to be rubbish anyway.

 

 

You nodded yes, “Right.”

 

 

With two graceful movements, he had climbed onto Roach’s back as well. Settling in behind you. Very, very close behind you.

 

 

His wonderfully thick thighs caging yours in, on either side. Broad chest against your back, arms pressed into your flanks as his big hands grasped the reins. Your breath hitched, when he scooted impossibly closer. Sure to press everything against you.

 

 

Geralt could once more, smell your reaction to his proximity, as he relished the sweet scent of your arousal he leaned forward, warm breath against your ear, “You wanted this. You didn’t want to walk,” he reminded you.

 

 

Cursing inwardly, you tried to not give him the satisfaction of making you flustered all over again, so you whispered,” I still don’t want to walk.”

Clicking your tongue, addressing Roach, “Come on girl, let’s go.”

 

 

The witcher was left stupefied for a moment, as his mare set out and stared to trot in the direction you wanted her to.

Then the second part of your ‘plan’ started, as the movement of the horse automatically meant, being pushed into the sturdy body behind you. Circling your hips for good measure.

 

 

And sure enough, something hard began pressing into your rear. A low growl left Geralt’s lips, when he felt your curves move teasingly over his stirring cock.

 

Though he had, had enough of your daring and bratty behaviour, big hands stopped your movements grabbing your hips, ordering, “Be still.”

 

 

Antagonising him was so much fun, you couldn’t help yourself and shot back, “Or what?”

 

 

Making you shudder as he hissed darkly, “Or I won’t be able to stop, this time. So you better behave, you little brat.”

CHAPTER 7

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me!❤️✨

[thedemonofcat]

“You love selfishly,” the witch told Geralt, which was pretty presumptuous seeing as how they’d met all of 5 minutes ago. And those 5 minutes had been spent trying to kill each other. “This selfishness will hurt you and those you love. Until you learn to love selflessly, you will only take your pleasure in the pleasure of others.”

Even as the curse took hold, Geralt didn’t panic. As curses went, it didn’t sound so bad. The bit about “pleasure” made it sound like it was about sex. Like, he wouldn’t be able to feel good unless his partner did, which was a standard Geralt held for himself anyway.

Only, the curse was much more than what he had assumed. Geralt soon discovered that food had lost its taste, that he tossed and turned all night. He wasn’t in pain, but he was never comfortable.

Fuck.

Through trial and error, Geralt learned the rules of his curse. It was pretty simple really. He couldn’t enjoy anything in life alone. Someone had to be nearby and enjoying it with him. Their pleasure was his pleasure. If that person wasn’t pleased with a meal—or in general—Geralt’s food would taste poorly too.

This made things difficult for Geralt. He had a solitary profession. Additionally, the people he did meet were never comfortable around him: all scared of hateful or suspicious.

Geralt found some work arounds though. Roach was a lifesaver: if she was eating, he could eat nearby and taste his meal. As long as she slept well��and nearby—he could sleep.

Winter was better: he explained his situation to his brothers, and he was never left without a companion. They offered to travel with him on the path, but he refused. He could endure the rest of the year as long as he had Roach

Geralt considered breaking the curse; however, he honestly wasn’t sure how. He honestly didn’t believe in love that was completely selfless. Relationships were always about give and take. People always wanted things from one another.

Years passed, Geralt endured, and then he met Jaskier.

Jaskier was… odd. He had taken one glance at a witcher, a rumored butcher, and decided that Geralt was his traveling companion. And then his muse. And then his friend. No matter how Geralt tried to disabuse him of any of these notions.

He did admit that having Jaskier with him made the path easier. He didn’t have to carefully time his meals and sleep around Roach when the bard was around. Jaskier was also surprisingly easy to please. Geralt could give him stale bread to eat and a lumpy mattress to sleep on, and the bard exuded joy.

Even while complaining the entire time.

The oddities continued when Geralt discovered that Jaskier didn’t have to eat a meal to enjoy it. Once, Geralt had been grievously injured, and Jaskier had insisted on spoonfeeding him. Even though the bard didn’t eat a morsel, the bard was so happy that the soup tasted like ambrosia to Geralt.

It was all so strange, and it made Geralt strange too. He caught himself thinking about how to make Jaskier happy. Not because of the curse. Because…because it was Jaskier, and Jaskier was meant to be happy.

Geralt loved seeing Jaskier smile, especially when he laughed. He'd never been one for music, but the sound of Jaskier's laughter was the sweetest melody to him.

But there were days when Jaskier seemed lost. Despite his usual cheerfulness and boundless energy, sometimes a deep sadness settled over the bard.

“You need to get up,” Geralt said. It had been three days since Jaskier had refused to leave his bed at the inn where they were staying, and Geralt was running low on coin.

“Then just leave me,” Jaskier muttered. “You always say you will.”

“I don’t mean that,” Geralt replied. “You know that.” This time, his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

“Leave me alone, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

On days like this, Geralt wondered most about the curse. Was it selfish of him to wish Jaskier weren’t sad? To want to understand the monsters lurking in the bard’s mind so he could fight them?

All Geralt knew was that he loved seeing Jaskier happy.

[adarkrainbow]

The fairytale world of The Witcher

The Witcher is first and foremost a work of fantasy and as such, of course, when looking at the inspirations of Sapkowski, we have to look at fantasy works. For example the early worldbuilding and characters of The Witcher world bear the heavy mark of D&D (Jaskier is a cliche D&D Bard, the classification of elemental genies is traight out of D&D, there's the handlings of "druids", etc...), while the main character clearly has parallels with Moorcock's Elric (white-haired wanderer-warrior who knows magic and uses elixirs, drugs to maintain his fighting abilities, philosophizes a lot about the ending of an age and the future of humanity and the doom he is condemned to). However, The Witcher is also, primarily, a fairytale work.

[EDIT: So I am used to call Jaskier "Jaskier" but in English he is called Dandelion apparently... So know that when I talk of Jaskier, I'm talking about Dandelion]

And I am not just saying that in the way that almost all major fantasy works are inspired by fairytales, no. It tends to be lost on people due to how they usually know derived incarnations of this series, but The Witcher stories started out as full on fairytale rewrites. More precisely: subversives parodies of fairytales using dark humor, a gritty tone proper to dark fantasy, and fantasy tropes in general mixed with some folklore sprinkled here and there.

Of all the Witcher books, the first two are the ones where this logic is on full display, forming the core of each tale. If you ever missed it, here is a little list of the fairytale references in them. [Note: I am using the French translation so I might miss some stuff or write them strangely for those used to the English translations or the original Polish]

Book 1: The Last Wish

Many people might be surprised to learn that the first story, "The Witcher", is actually the parody of a specific fairytale. It might seem to be just a take on the vampire as it appears in Eastern European folklore, but in truth Sapkowski rewrote a tale that you probably do not know. Why? Because none of the "great" collectors or writers have it: it doesn't appear in Andersen, Grimm, Perrault, Aulnoy, Basile, Straparola, or whoever else you might name. It is however a fully classified fairytale-type that is VERY present and popular in Eastern Europe, hence why it appears in The Witcher: the Aarne-Thompson classified it as type 307, "The Princess in the Shroud/The Princess in the Coffin". The closest thing you'll find to a version of this in the "classical" corpus is a Danish fairytale that Andrew Lang placed in his Pink Fairy Book: The Princess in the Chest (and Paul Delarue centered his own French-specific classification of this type around the story "La Ramée and the Phantom"). In interviews the author explained he took "a Polish fairytale" where "the royal daughter transformed into a monster because of the incest of her parents, as a punishment", but I don't known which story prcisely he used.

The second story, A Grain of Truth, is much more obvious, as it is a farcical take on Beauty and the Beast (with some flavors of Undine in it).

The third story, The Lesser Evil, introduces the Curse of the Black Sun, which is the in-universe existence for the "maidens in the tower" and all these princesses that princes have to rescue from doorless buildings (interwoven with the figure of Lilith). The cases of Fialka and Bernika are obviously inspired by the tale of Rapunzel. However the real character of the story, Renfri, is The Witcher's dark take on Snow-White.

A Question of Price is a large mix. The storyline is actually a retelling of Hans My Hedgehog, but exploring the fairytale trope that in Witcher terms is called "the law of surprise" - the episode of someone in need striking a deal with a supernatural being for help, and unwillingly selling away their children (it is most famously illustrated by Grimm's "The Girl without Hands"). One of the "historical" illustrations of this trope in the Witcher universe is a version of Rumplestiltskin (queen Metinna and Rumplestelt). There's also references to great heroes that served as an example of such "fate-striken children" sold to a mysterious stranger - but if there's a cultural nod there, I didn't get it. Finally several fairytales are referred during the discussions: Baba-Yaga and Cinderella are briefly said to exist while "A Question of Price" takes place. And Pavetta's magic is not related to fairytales, but rather to the strange cultural motif of "puberty-induced or virginity-linked psychic powers" found from poltergeists to Carrie.

The fifth story, The Edge of the World, is the only one of the collection not dealing with fairytales. It is rather a tale mixing on one side rural folklore, farming superstitions, field spirits and harvest gods, with on the other an exploration of the fantasy trope of "disappearing elves".

The sixth story, The Last Wish, is all about wish-granting genies, with a strong influence from the tale "The Fisherman and the Jinni".

Book 2: Sword of Destiny

The first story, The Bounds of Reason, is not deconstructing a fairytale per se, but rather the entire myth of the dragon-slaying. You find references to many elements of said myth: "You must kill the dragon to claim the princess", the saint-knight figure interpreting dragons as pure evil, the band of dwarves famed for slaying a dragon seem to me a nod to The Hobbit. But mainly, we see that the tale begins as a subversion/expansion on the legend of Smok Wawelski, the Dragon of Wawel, known to some as the Dragon of Cracovia. There's also a mention of bridge-trolls (The Three Billy Goats Gruff).

The second story, A Shard of Ice, is not linked to fairytales per se, but uses a motif taken directly from The Snow Queen (and in-universe, the fairytale of the Snow Queen is said to be an embellished version of the Wild Hunt).

The third story, Eternal Flame, has no fairytale theme, it is just a pure fantasy story.

The fourth story, A Little Sacrifice, opens and closes on the in-universe love story that caused the story of The Little Mermaid to exist (turns out it is a ballad by Jaskier, the actual romance went much happier, though not smoother). Also, the under-sea city is explicitely compared to the city of Ys, which is a big legend of France.

With the fifth story, Sword of Destiny, we go back into a lot of fairytale nods (it helps that it is a direct sequel to "A Question of Price"). The "Last Forest" of Brokelion is a nod to Brocéliande, the legendary forest of Arthurian legends. Geralt tells Ciri the fable of the Fox and the Cat. Freixenet turns out to have been the inspiration for the fairytale of "The Wild Swans", which in-universe is a ridiculous exaggeration and mistelling of what truly happened.

The sixth story, "Something More", only is "fairytale-y" as it reuses the saw "surprise-child/law of destiny" elements already prepared and presented by A Question of Price and Sword of Destiny.

Afterward, from what I understood (I haven't read the third book onward), the fairytale elements are dropped to rather put focus on the exploration of the fantasy and folkloric elements - but it is always useful to know that it started out as basically a dark humor /dark fantasy take on fairytales.

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 10th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 4/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – One satisfied Alpha makes a happy Witcher and Bard combo :)

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“And in return for your little… pack… you wish to mount me?”

Gaetan’s voice is odd; there is aggression laced into his words but he still has his hands on Jaskier, mindlessly petting and trying to soothe the Omega as he makes more and more of a ruckus.

Geralt hums low with a growling little edge to it. As sweet of an Alpha rumble as he can manage – which is not much, he is the first to admit, even without Jaskier’s many assurances that he sucks at this.

“He and I are a packaged deal,” he murmurs. No sugarcoating it. He can tell that the other Alpha appreciates it even as he is stuck in a stalemate. Geralt is quiet and Jaskier is not. The Omega is making a soft little ruckus that becomes harder and bigger as the Alphas fail to tend to his need.

He tries to twist around, his voice put upon despite what he is saying: “Then let me at least dress your wounds, good grief-”

He’s not allowed to go anywhere. Gaetan curls his arms in a bear hug around his middle and hectically pulls him in, closer, underneath himself.

Jaskier yelps, his fingers leaving tracks in the dirt where he tries and fails to grasp on to something.

Geralt can relate to what the other witcher is feeling. That desperation to connect. The intense loneliness gaping in his chest and the many years of training that insist that it isn’t sitting right there.

They’re in an odd little configuration; three people slotted into each other with Geralt as the biggest and sturdiest of them, ranging large and protectively above the other two.

Jaskier whimpers, the sound gone hoarse. “Fuck… you’re so close… please, just-”

He probably wriggles, trying to finally slip that warm Alpha cock where he needs it most.

Geralt inhales deeply, rubbing his cheek against Gaetan’s. They’re in a stalemate. He waits, anticipation prickling down his spine and sitting warm and itching at the small of his back. His cock flexes slowly, dripping pre-cum against the small of Gaetan’s back in turn.

Finally, the other Alpha relaxes minutely. His head tilts. Submitting.

The desperate skin hunger has won out.

Geralt rumbles low and approving. He shifts his arms, still wrapped around Gaetan’s waist and drags his fingers between Jaskier’s cheeks to gather a generous amount of his silky slick against them.

Jaskier whimpers in anticipation.

“Very good,” Geralt praises in a low voice. “Have at him.”

It’s a good sign that Gaetan waited for the permission. A sign that he could actually… fit. Nice and obedient. Right between them where he needed to be.

Geralt listens to Jaskier’s melodious whine as the Alpha slowly slides into him and brings his slick covered fingers between Gaetan’s cheeks. Gaetan growls as he feels the warm petting sensation across his nervously clenched hole, but the exhaustion from the massacre and wounds sustained keeps him docile. Has him shuffle his knees apart just so in an almost meek offering of himself.

Geralt smiles with a quiet, close-lipped uptick in the corners of his mouth. His fingers are slow and gentle as he pushes them into Gaetan’s overly hot body. He did not anticipate for it but he is setting the rhythm by which the other Alpha mounts his Omega. His Jaskier.

No matter how loud Jaskier becomes; how desperately he begs for more, harder, deeper. Gaetan has his head tilted in an odd way, somehow attempting to attentively listen to the Omega he’s mounting and also keep a watch for Geralt as he opens him up slowly with patient strokes of his thick fingers through the slowly loosening clench of his body.

Gaetan’s mouth falls open on a reedy little whine. His eyes look wet for a split second before he closes them against scrutiny and whispers: “...Alpha…”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry.

Jaskier’s incessant yammering suddenly cuts off. There’s quiet, only filled by the hesitant chirping of birds before the Omega suddenly changes his tune. His voice becomes throaty and a bit rough around the edges as he coos at the Alpha on his back.

Geralt watches as Jaskier half-turns, trying to press kisses against Gaetan’s cheek. Assuring him that he is fine. That he feels so goddamn big inside him. The line almost makes Geralt snort but he refrains from it. It’s worked on him more times than he likes to admit. Just something primal gripping him right by the cock.

Jaskier is sensitive; he can feel the loneliness and distress dripping off the Alpha in their midst. Geralt can see it too; it’s pretty plain at this point. A little embarrassing of a Witcher of Gaetan’s status, but… it has been a long day for the Alpha.

Geralt shuffles into places. Jaskier’s borrowed slick is like silk, aiding the slide into the other’s intensely hot body beautifully.

Gaetan grunts, stuck between the cooing Omega stroking his ego and trying to smooth ruffled feathers and the foreign feeling of having another Alpha mount him.

He’s growling but it sounds half-hearted; body clenching nervously as he tilts forward on his knees, away from the thick cock and unwittingly pushing deeper into Jaskier’s silky hot insides.

Jaskier gurgles. His arms seem to give out because Gaetan is tilting forward suddenly as well, his growl becoming high-pitched and puppy-like for just a split second. His hands shoot out, palms slamming onto the grassy ground to brace himself and push back up; right into Geralt’s warm, firm bulk.

Geralt hooks his chin once more across the other’s shoulder and growls; not in a threatening way; more just a low rumble that shudders through the other Alpha and keeps him unmoored. Whimpering.

Gaetan cuts it off, probably biting his tongue to do so, but his body betrays him even so. He carefully, almost shyly, tilts his hips up into Geralt’s breeding and Geralt rewards him with another few inches of cock, pushing into him and forcing him back into Jaskier.

They find a rhythm. Or more like Geralt finds it for them; fucking nice and slow and patient, pushing Gaetan into their little service Omega and listening to Jaskier going dumb and cock drunk in just a few delicious thrusts that have him drooling and trilling in a gurgling kind of way.

Like he is about to choke on his own damn tongue. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Gaetan is making precious little sounds. He’s wheezing mostly; just trying to keep somewhat upright and not completely bury Jaskier beneath his bulk. Jaskier tries to purr for him but that, too, gets choked out by everything else.

The both of them come before Geralt gets close. That is fine. He would not have subjected Gaetan to a knotting anyway; not when he is already aching and confused by everything else.

But he lets him have Jaskier; lets him growl and posture and bury himself so deep in his warmth that it might be just enough to make him forget the massacre for a moment or two. Maybe have him think of home.

Just like Geralt promised, they would escort him into the next settlement. But he hopes that by then Gaetan will have made up his mind to come with them indefinitely.

[thelostgirl21]

Okay, I felt like this post (by @panur & @underthebluerain) deserved some visuals, so people could really understand and truly appreciate just how dramatic the difference in body sizes and shapes between these two gorgeous, absolutely lovely men, is!

And just how skilled the costume design team is, on the show, when it comes to giving the illusion that a character is much smaller (in Jaskier's case) or much larger (in Radovid's case), than their actors actually are.

There was an incredible post, a while back, that really explained how those wizards work their magic!

And it's utterly fascinating!!! Seriously, if you haven't read all of that yet, I highly suggest you go and take a look!

But yeah, when you look at the way their clothes have been designed this season, there's definitely been some attempt to make Jaskier look generally smaller than Joey Batey really is, while making Radovid look generally bigger than Hugh Skinner really is, too.

A few examples (with my extremely humble interpretation / things that have grabbed my eye when I look at their costumes. Please bear in mind that I am but an humble fan with no experience in costume design, so there's probably tons of stuff I've missed, and/or I might have misinterpreted some of those designers' intent):

Then, of course, there's Radovid's cloak that just... triples his size or something!

So, when you look at them side by side with their clothes on (even without the cloak), there really doesn't seem to be such a huge difference in body size and shape between the two.

Why are they so pretty though?

Like yeah, you do get the sense that Radovid might be a bit leaner, and that he has a longer torso, perhaps, but it's not THAT dramatic of a difference...

As soon as you get them out of their costumes, however...

On that last gif, you can really see that Joey's roughly the same height as Henry Cavill, and get the sense that he'd probably fit really well in a Witcher's armor, too!

Technically, their heights are listed as: - Henry Cavill: 1,85cm (6 ft 7/8 in) - Hugh Skinner: 1,83cm (6 ft) - Joey Batey 1,82cm (5 ft 11 5/8 in)

So, Joey's like 1 1/8" smaller than Henry and 3/8" smaller than Hugh.

Since I'm ½" taller than my own partner and virtually never realize it, I doubt they'd notice that 3/8" difference between them.

But yeah, one of the really funny "side effects" of costume designers being so good at their job is when you somehow manage to forget about it while watching the show and then this happens:

and your brain needs a moment to re-calibrate its settings because you're like "Right! Buff bard! Right... 6 feet tall really strong looking damsel in distress that keeps complaining Geralt could break him like a twig, when it would be something closer to splitting a log!"

Makes you wonder if people in Jaskier's family are just... naturally muscular or something (lots of fast-twitch muscle fibers?!)?

Because, while Joey is apparently into climbing, kick boxing, swimming, fencing, medieval sword fighting, etc.

Jaskier complained about needing to walk down the path of a mountain on his own, because his fancy boots kept sliding.

He does a lot of traveling and walking, sure... But that doesn't really help you develop your upper body / pectorals / arms, etc. in such a way!

Unless he just... likes the way those muscles aesthetically look on him?

You know, I really wouldn't put it past him, now that I think about it...

Over the years, Jaskier has just developed his very own calisthenics workout routine to build and maintain his looks, but feels the need to hide it.

Because "body fitness" is not exactly a popular discipline on the Continent at that time.

People tend to train to learn how to fight, or develop muscle mass while working the land or their craft, not because "they like the way those muscles look on them when taking their clothes off!"

So, Jaskier wears clothes that hide his actual body shape, since he's afraid that, if people saw and noticed how built he really is, then they'd just assume he knows how to fight and defend himself, when he doesn't.

People might stop shoving him out of harm's way, pulling him behind them to stand between him and the danger, coming to his rescue, etc.

And, since Jaskier's whole ongoing survival sort of depends on people spontaneously stepping in to save his sorry arse, well...

In the bedroom, however, the added bit of upper body strength and endurance does wonder when you want to be able to fuck someone against a wall while keeping their feet off the ground (for example).

Being able to lift and carry more than your own weight definitely has its advantages...

As Radovid has no doubt found out...

And, if the prince turned out to be a bit lighter and easier to carry around than Jaskier was initially expecting him to be, you definitely won't hear him complaining, either!

Although, I must admit that part of me also likes the idea that they might have been able to accurately "size each other up", so to speak.

Radovid's just there looking at all the lines and proportions on Jaskier's pants and shirt, while figuring out where his shoulders and arms actually stop underneath; being both fascinated by the actual size of Jaskier's body, and the choice of clothing design that's making him look much smaller than he appears to be (if his calculations are, indeed, correct)...

While Jaskier's just looking at all those layers covering Radovid, while attempting to get a rough estimate of the total naked weight underneath, and for how long he could keep him lifted... Hypothetically... For science...

But even there, there's a huge difference between knowing those clothes are playing with your perceptions and briefly getting a mental glimpse of what you think might be closer to the truth... And actually gazing upon or getting your hands all over said truth!

Because sincerely, no amount of me trying to look at this while attempting to make abstraction of the whole illusion created by the clothing design:

is successfully going to be able to make me see this:

Hence why I tend to forget about it, and need a moment to re-calibrate almost every single time Jaskier winds up getting shirtless!

Seriously, just look at the bottom gif of him shirtless, then at the top where he's got his clothes on a few times, one after the other, and try to tell me that you're able to visualize where all of that body at the bottom is managing to fit in there at the top!

It's like part of it literally went missing!

So, even if Radovid had managed to guess that Jaskier was a lot buffer than his choice of clothing was letting on, and vice versa, I'm thinking they'd still have been in for quite a bit of a surprise when they actually got each other's clothes removed!

Therefore, that headcanon would still work, regardless of Jaskier and Radovid having guessed that each of them used their clothes to make themselves appear less threatening, or more imposing than they really are.