#geralt knows how to please you lol

[cosmos-coma]

Sick Days- Geralt

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Words: ~1.1k

Summary: You refuse to tell Geralt that you're sick and so he has to find out the hard way

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“How are you doing back there, Y/n?” Geralt called back to you, he and Roach taking the lead on this narrow path.

The partly cloudy afternoon was more than welcome to you compared to the rain you had pushed through all day yesterday. And the day before. Ugh. 

Honestly, you liked rain as a whole, but the added chill in the air and the absolute soaking of your jacket left you feeling tired, feverish, and sniffly. You dared not let Geralt know that you were growing sick, the deadline to get to Novigrad was drawing closer and you refused to be the cause for missing it.

“Yep, yeah, I’m okay back here…” you lied. Your vision had begun spinning and your vision started lagging behind your eyes about 10 minutes ago. Your light tunic clung to your skin as your fever made you sweat relentlessly. Your various layers were laying across your horse in an unceremonious heap where you had left them and- wait, did you lose a jacket along the way? Hmm, you couldn't remember.

You let out a soft hum as a faint breeze cooled your skin and gave you a moment of relief from the sweltering heat.

 “Y/n?” Geralt called out to you, “did you hear what I said?”

“Hm? Oh, no… what were you saying?” Your eyes closed as you tried to listen, your ears only picking up garbled noises. You could feel your body begin to get to tired to hold itself together, but you had to fight through it. 

“Hmm, That’s interesting… “ you replied- well you're pretty sure that’s what you said. You… couldn’t be sure right now. Your consciousness filled with nothing more than a dense fog you couldn't seem to fan away. 

“Yes very interesting…” you slurred out as your mind finally forced your body to shut down and everything went dark.

“Y/n, you’re not making any sense- shit..!” Geralt turned just in time to see you fall off your horse with a great big THUD. A pathetic groan was the last sound your barely conscious body sent out as Geralt yelled again and ran to your limp body. 

“Y/n?” he shook you, “Fuck… and you’re burning up,” he commented and swiftly picked you up, your skin blazing and burning against his. “Let’s get you to an Inn, we’re done traveling for today…”

You woke up on clean linens, your body stripped down to its underclothes and covered in damp washcloths to keep you cool. “Hmm, Geralt...?” you grunted out as you sat up, rolled up cloth falling from your forehead, “Oh- nope, no, no, no... too dizzy…” you sighed and promptly laid down again. 

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty…” Geralt jested and sat on the edge of the bed- his expression slowly changing to something more sincere, his voice quieting as he urged you to take in the seriousness of his words. “You scared me back there… why didn’t you tell me that you were sick..? That you had a fever..?”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to find an adequate explanation, but it never came.

“You could have died if you’d fallen over a cliff's edge…if your head had hit rocks…” Geralt couldn’t even meet your eyes as he talked- instead opting to replace the damp cloths on your forehead. “You’re not as hearty as a Witcher is- you know that.” 

You frowned, feeling more and more like a scolded child as he spoke to you. You shook your head and glanced outside instead of anywhere near this conversation. 

“Y/n...” Geralt sighed, knowing exactly what you were doing, “Dear heart..?” he tried once more, finally catching your gaze. 

“I don’t mean to make your softness such a flaw- you know it's exactly what pulled me into you in the first place..” A small smile crept over his features as he briefly remembered your first meeting. “But you need to let me know when to slow down, okay? Remind me now and then to be a little softer too,” he spoke so quietly that you were sure nothing else in the world could have heard him but you. 

Your own expression reflected his smile and his whispered words fluttered around your heart “I will… I promise.” your fingers reached out for his, searching around until they captured his touch. “Oh, how long have I been out? We need to keep going” you urged, using your aching arm to bring his hand up to your lips in a soft kiss before you struggled to pull yourself upright.

But Geralt only laughed and shook his head as he helped you sit up, “now I see where Ciri gets her endless determination from- neither of you wants to stop for a minute to take care of yourselves.”

“We learned it from YOU, Geralt…” you grinned, sniffling as your nose threatened to run. 

Eyes rolling, his smile became even wider. “Anyways… I mean to say that you shouldn’t worry about it… we’ve been making good time, we can spare a day to let you rest and recover.” 

You nodded and relaxed a bit more, rolling your shoulder and cracking your back as you tried to get comfortable. “Good… Good, I really can’t fall off like that again. I feel like I just slammed shoulder-first into a shaelmaar…”

“I bet,” Your witcher snorted, a knowing smile hiding behind your hand as he brought it up to kiss in return. “Do you think some desert would make that shoulder feel any better?”

“Hmmmmmm, I think it’s a good start… that might help being sick but maybe you can rub my shoulder later..?” you grinned, knowing you were pushing it, but that hadn’t failed you yet. 

A genuine laugh pulled itself from Geralt as he stood, audible and even forming a faint crease around his eyes. For a witcher, it might as well have been a full belly laugh the way their stoic expressions dampen everything. 

You beamed and watched your handsome witcher as he headed off to get you dessert. You wouldn’t be surprised if his heart was as golden and lovely as his eyes were.  “Hey, Geralt? I love you…” 

“I love you too, Dear heart… no matter how soft you make me.” He said with a smile as he came back to your side and leaned down to press a sweet kiss against your lips.

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Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight @dark-academia-slut @madamemelancholysstuff

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

 Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that  cruel smile—

 Better to avoid him altogether. 

 A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head. 

 “Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit. 

 “Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.” 

 “Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.” 

 “I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

 “You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

 Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head. 

 “Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.”  You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head. 

 “One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds. 

 ”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

 You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

 “Fit for a queen.” 

 “The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

 “I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

 “Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array. 

 “Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress. 

 More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening. 

 “Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

 You suppress a shiver. 

 “Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

 The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt. 

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged. 

 You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?” 

 Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

 “I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.” 

 You grind your teeth. 

 The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it. 

 ”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you. 

 “Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.” 

 Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it. 

 “Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot  continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you. 

 A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.  

 As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle. 

 Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful. 

 Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly. 

 “Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

 Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears. 

 “T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought. 

 “Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can. 

 “Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

 “Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

 Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there. 

 “Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.” 

 You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride. 

 That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly. 

 “Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

 “No, no, it’s nothing—”

 “Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?” 

 You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

 But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

 She is angry. 

 You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal  perfectly, even without her input. 

 You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

 “Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.” 

—

 The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth. 

 Everything is dead here. 

 The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

 I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

 You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden. 

 It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips. 

 Your father stands before you. 

 He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut. 

 He is horrible. 

 He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

 You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

 “No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

 “A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.” 

 The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so. 

 I slept… unusually deeply. 

 You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind. 

 You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you. 

 After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces. 

 To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow. 

 It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress. 

 “I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow. 

 “Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

 “I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

 “ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

 “The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

 “Yes, thank you. I would.” 

 Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request. 

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence. 

 “Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly. 

 “So that the gods might receive their prayers.” 

  The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color. 

 “Is it not beautiful, lady?”

 “Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors  true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest. 

 It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead. 

 If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now. 

 “Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest. 

 “Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?” 

 “She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.” 

 You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

 His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word.  “Heathenistic rituals.” 

 The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation. 

 “Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?”  His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way. 

 “Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.” 

 “Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat. 

 “Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him. 

 “Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name. 

 “My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.” 

 “That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly. 

 “He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. 

 “I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement. 

 “Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.” 

 “Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection. 

 “Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?” 

 Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.” 

 “This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey. 

 “W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

 “I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.” 

 “H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra. 

 “My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.” 

 “By all means.” 

 Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

 Geralt’s, and the wolf’s. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[wren-of-the-woods]

Hello! Thank you so much for what you do- could I please have some recs for geraskier fics where geralt is the one pining harder?

Here you go!! I wasn't sure how to categorize who was pining harder in all of these (since our boys are masters of longing lol) but these are all stories where Geralt loves Jaskier very much, and I highly enjoyed them all!

~

favorite by @asweetprologue (Rated G, 5.8k)

Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out.

i’ll kiss you slow by @paintedcrayons (Rated T, 4.9k)

Geralt is not being creepy. He’s not. He’s just looking out for his friend (with a questionable choices in lovers). Lately, Geralt has started to notice the way people treat Jaskier’s affection like a means to an end. They kiss him only to move to the next step, dance with him as pretense to get him into their beds. He would like nothing more than to kiss Jaskier for the sake of it. (He does.)

time and time again by @samstree (Rated G, 5.2k)

Marriage proposals, through the years.

The Best Laid Plans by @dhwty-writes (Rated T, 5.5k)

Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.

A Friend in the Wild by @samstree (Rated G, 1.6k)

In which Geralt acquires a tiny friend who wouldn't stop following him.

Weak and Wanting by @sociallyawkward--fics (Rated T, 36k)

Geralt had thought that inviting Jaskier to Kaer Morhen after all these years would be a good thing. What he didn't plan on was his brothers deciding to have a little fun with their situation. Lambert and Eskel really needed to stop meddling in things they didn't understand, especially when it came to his bard.

Tell It With Your Heart by @bambirex (Rated G, 2.5k)

While Jaskier always says what's on his mind, Geralt works a little differently. That doesn't mean he cannot tell Jaskier how he feels - he just does that without words.

Repeat After Me by @onwardorange (Rated G, 7.3k)

All it takes is (nearly) three years, two meddlesome brothers, and one exasperated sorceress to get Geralt to admit his feelings for Jaskier.

Love Me Better, Send A Letter by @rebrandedbard (Rated T, 12.5k)

Geralt and Julian have been exchanging letters since participating in an inter-school pen pal program in high school, and Geralt has been pining away for Julian for over a decade since meeting by chance one faithful day in Posada. Between work and Ciri, he hasn't had much time for travelling, but he and Julian still exchange their letters faithfully. Finally, Julian's equally busy life coincides with Geralt's long enough for a short visit, and Geralt has the chance to finally introduce Ciri to the man she knows only on paper. Things would be perfect ... if Julian's visit didn't fall within the week of the concert of Ciri's favorite musician, Jaskier.

Music is no solution by @thecrownprincessbride (Rated T, 4.3k)

Jaskier has self-doubts, and Geralt is there for him.

A Careless Omission by @samstree (Rated T, 5.4k)

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely.

Highway Angel (To the Dark I Said Pour and Forgot to Say When) by @fangirleaconmigo T, 2.8k

Geralt is a long haul truck driver. With long stretches on the road away from his family, and with no one to keep him company but his loyal dog Roach, he has to brave most of his life completely alone. Then one day, just as he is passing the city of Oxenfurt, he turns on the radio and hears a voice.

zero for ten by @yaelathewordsmith (Rated T, 10.4k)

The blue-eyed boy on the school's cricket team seems determined to bowl Geralt out. The worst part is, he isn't even fucking trying. * Or, the ten times Jaskier held Geralt's heart in his hands without knowing, and how Geralt grew to want him to keep it.

~

(You can find my other reclists here!)

[haddonfieldwhore]

just pretend

while passing through your home town, you run into your ex. to get them off your case, you tell a simple little lie

•g/n reader, this was supposed to be fluff, awkwardness, fake dating, mention of parental death (no detail), a few uses of e/n (ex’s name), not edited as always lol

you had secretly dreaded that this day would come; the day you passed through your home village on a quest. you hadn’t told geralt that this is where you had grown up, but he seemed to be able to tell that something was up, as you seemed to be walking on eggshells ever since you’d arrived. he gave you a sideways glance, which you made no mention of as you looked around the small town. little had changed, all the buildings were the same, the townsfolk you had grown up with having aged in the years you had been away.

“something troubling you?” the witcher asked, his tone serious. you shook your head, and he chuckled slightly.

“why are you laughing?” you demanded, only causing geralt to shake his head, amused.

“your ears turn pink when you lie, you know.”

“it’s cold-“

“mhmm.” geralt hummed, not believing your excuse. you groaned as your eyes landed on the person you hoped to avoid, your ex from when you were a teenager. it was never anything serious, but they seemed to never have moved on, hence whenever you visited you tried to avoid them at all cost. you grabbed geralt by the arm and pulled him behind a tent.

“i need a favour?”

“now?”

“yes. i need you to pretend we are…. together,” geralt a jaw stiffened at your words, his eyes wide.

“what?” he asked sternly. it wasn’t a perfect plan, but maybe if you ex thought you were spoke for, they would leave you alone.

“i promise i will explain later- just please… do this for me and i will forever be in your debt,” you begged. geralt must’ve been able to tell how desperate you were, as he gave you a short nod in response, followed by a simple ‘alright’. you took a deep breath, before taking his large hand in yours and leading him back out into the main area of town. to your dismay, the two of you numbed right into your ex, a shocked look on their face as you stood in front of them, hand in hand with the witcher.

“y/n? how are you? it’s… it’s been ages.” they spoke, rather awkwardly as they regained their balance.

“i’m well, thank you. and you?” you replied to be polite, not because you were really interested.

“i’m good. what’s it been now- 4 years? i think i last saw you at your fathers funeral.”

“it’s been 5 years actually.” you corrected, noticing that their eyes had once again traveled to where your hand was intertwined with geralts. the man next to you cleared his throat.

“darling.. are you going to introduce me to your friend?” he tugged you into his side, giving a forced, but convincing enough smile.

“oh, yes. e/n, this is geralt of rivia. geralt my love, this is an old friend of mine. we grew up here together.” you explained. they laughed lightly.

“if i recall we were a little closer than friends, isn’t that right?” they pushed your arm teasingly, your face hit with embarrassment.

“i’m not sure what you mean,” geralt spoke, his tone serious. he wasn’t stupid, he knew what they had meant; but he didn’t appreciate them making you uncomfortable seemingly on purpose, and he felt it only fitting to return the favour. your ex began to stutter awkwardly, and tried to dig themself out of the hole they had begun to dig.

“forgive me… i just …. i was-“

“hmm.” geralt interrupted with a deep hum, a sound he often made when he wished a conversation to be over. “should we go get settled at the inn, dear?” he turned to you. nodding, you excused yourself, budding a quick goodbye and following after geralt, who was leading roach over to the stable on the way to the inn.

after checking in and getting settled in your room, deciding to share one to keep up the act, you were now explaining what was going on to geralt. albeit he had figured out bits and pieces, he listened as you spoke.

“so… you more using me to keep them from -“

“do not say it like that.” you pleaded, causing the witcher to laugh lightly.

“it is fine. we will only be in town for the night, and then we will be gone, and this little game will be over.” geralt spoke matter of factly. he was right; we just had to pretend for one day.

•

the night came and went quickly, some much needed rest leaving you feeling refreshed when you woke up, if not a little nervous about having to keep up the act. most of the day went by without incident, now early in the evening when you grew bored of sitting inside the inn.

“let’s go get a drink.” you suggested.

it had been about an hour or two since you and geralt had arrived at the bar, both a few drinks in when he noticed your ex at across the room, occasionally looking over. the witcher leaned close to your ear, he breath tickling your neck.

“they’re watching, over by the door.” he whispered. “you should laugh as if i’ve said something funny.” the two of you laughed at nothing, and after a minute as not to be obvious, you glanced over and saw your ex finish his beer, aggressively slamming the mug on the table before starting to stand. grabbing geralt’s arm, you pulled him from his seat and through the bar, down a quiet hallway.

“what is is?” he asked.

“they were walking this way, sorry i panicked-“

“do you trust me?” geralt asked. you nodded, and out of the corner of my eyes you saw e/n approaching from a distance, but we’re distracted by geralts fingertips tilting your chin upward.

his lips were on yours before you knew what was happening, gentler than you expected, not that you had expected to be kissing him. his lips moved perfectly with yours, the taste of ale on his tongue as his hands rested on your hips, his muscular frame trapping you between him and the wall your back was pressed against.

your hands went to his chest, and he seemed to pull you even closer, as you heard footsteps approaching, and someone clearing their throat. geralt pulled away, and you opened your eyes to see your ex stood there. you worried about what they were going to say, but to your surprise they gestured to the doorway to the restroom you hadn’t realized the two of you were stood in the way of.

“pardon me.” they spoke, waiting for you and geralt to move, and going through the door once you had stepped to the side. geralt still held your body to his, you realized, and your eyes met his as you looked up at him again. although no one was watching, he kissed you again, softer this time.

“i haven’t done that in a while, forgive me if i’m out of practice.” you said sincerely. you couldn’t remember the last time you had kissed someone. the witcher smiled at you.

“you’re doing good so far.” he hummed, and you felt your face get hot again.

“thank you.” you spoke. “i owe you…. a great deal.”

“don’t mention it. now let’s get moving, night will be upon us soon.” you smiled as you watched geralt turn and walk out through the bar. as happy as you were to be leaving this town, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if things between you and geralt perhaps weren’t just pretend.

[asexualbookbird]

Oh what a month for reading! Some really bad books, but also some candidates for favorites of the year! Had book club! That was fun as always! I also started TWO new fiber craft projects which I'm excited about. The Cabled crochet blanket is SO much fun and I'm really getting into the groove of it. I've learnt how to read crochet charts! Partially anyway. For this one project. It's clear I am still recovering covid because I can't do much else than sitting in bed reading lol But hey, I'm resting and having fun!

Envy of Angels by Matt Wallace ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - What a delightfully hilarious nugget of a book! Absolutely wacky! Definitely interested in the rest of the series, but it's also more of a Read When In Brain Fog so I want to save it for my bad brain days lol

Shadow of the Crown by Amber Morane ⭐ - Unpolished. Poorly written. The ending sucked. No redeeming qualities and I do not want to read more from this series or author. At least it was free.

Starter Villain by John Scalzi ⭐⭐⭐ - Another fun and silly book! Scalzi definitely has a way of writing that defines a Scalzi Book™️. Don't think too much about it, just enjoy the ride. Loved the cats, I think more authors should put genius cats into their books.

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - CRYING. SOBBING. SCREAMING. Finally read this and I am in PAIN! Very good, very feelings, this is what Ready Player One could've been.

Flight & Anchor by Nicole Kornher-Stace ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The Prequel to Firebreak, glad I read this second so that lines could hurt me more because I know how their stories end. I'm not sure what, but this one was missing something for me that made me enjoy it a little less than Firebreak, but I still enjoyed it a lot! A great duo!

His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Reread for book club! Still enjoyed it a lot! Still adore Temeraire and Laurence! The amount of times they call each other "my dear" so early melts my heart. I'd probably like this even more if I actually enjoyed historical fiction and the Napoleon wars.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - hey. Hi. Hello. What if Geralt was canonically a woman and the demon chicken from Nettle & Bone had a Voice. What. If. This book is a part of me now thanks bye!

Again, no clear goals for March. I"m honestly having a good time just reading with whatever I vibe with. I didn't get to the Ga'Hoole books in February, so I'll put those at the top of my potential list for March, but other than that? Who knows! I definitely immediately put myself on the libby waitlist for Sunbringer I need to know how Kissen, Elo, and Ina get on. I need to know they're all okay. Please let them be okay ;-;

If you have any recommendations for books like Godkiller I am ALL EARS! Might replay Witcher III about it in the meantime.

[crownofstardustandbone]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Hello love, thank you so much for sending this!!

First up is a story I wrote not too long ago "Mercy Mercy Please (The Monster in Me)" which is a Theo x Liam Teen Wolf fic that is an enemies to hate fuckers to lovers story with 20k words of dirty, nasty, kinky dub-con hate fucking lol I love this one so much because I haven't written this dynamic before and these two are just PERFECT for it.

Next up is "Prussian Blue" which is a Clark x Bruce superbat story in which Bruce gets irradiated to lethal levels and Clark frantically tries to find a way to stop him from dying, while also being forced to confront the depths of his feelings for Bruce. I love this one because it's angsty (big surprise LOL), but also because of the relationships I built between Clark and Alfred, and Clark and Bruce--I think they're well characterized and engaging. Plus I did a SHIT TON of research into the acute effects of radiation sickness and the treatments for it, which is where the title comes from--Prussian Blue is a pretty standard treatment for radiation poisoning!

My next one I'll talk about is hands down my favorite thing I've written in the last few years because it's so unbearably tender. "Ribs Cracked Open, A Home Made Within" is a Geralt x Jaskier story that came about because I had this idea that with his extra mutagens, Geralt would probably be hypersensitive to the point of pain, and wondered what that would look like within canon. I also really wanted Geralt to be handled with care and affection and tenderness because we never really see that in canon, and when someone is so hurt by the world and so self loathing, I desperately crave stories where they get to be treated tenderly.

Next is "Handful of Aces, Pocketful of Nines" which is a Holden x Bill Mindhunter story that came about after a rewatch while I was high and had my brain go galaxy mode and see them as a ship 😂This story follows canon and is filled to the brim with yearning, internalized homophobia, and so much angst it'll break your heart! I love this one because it's got so many tropes that I adore, and I think is a very compelling story of two people who don't know how to love each other, but also don't know how not to love each other.

Finally, is "Unbroken" which I consider to be my Steve x Tony magnum opus lol This story is my baby--I spent two years writing it, during which time I was in grad school, working full time, doing an internship and trying to get homework done. It's angsty and full of pining, hurt/comfort, whump, and all the other tasty tropes that I adore. It's a complicated story about a complicated relationship--Steve is found in the ice during Tony's childhood and comes to live with the Starks where he serves as a friend and protector for Tony. Tony loves him, and when life intervenes, they're married to protect Tony from being given to Obie--but that doesn't mean things get any easier. I do honestly think that this is the best thing for stony that I ever have and ever will write, and I hope more folks give it a shot despite that underage tag lol

[icarustica]

77... geraskier <3

77 - "you were my best friend" - G rating, 900ish words, tw alcohol, angsty

♡♡ filing this under the "could've made it angstier" column lol but i didn't have any better ideas ♡♡

Somehow, Geralt had thought this would have gone better. He ran through the night in his head, an anxious, guilty tumble of hours. So many silent apologies. So many half-spoken, unsure ones.

Only one had counted.

The one Jaskier had accepted.

But Geralt was old enough to know that acceptance did not always mean forgiveness. And how could it be forgiveness, when Jaskier’s words were sharp like that? When he barely spoke at all?

But now they sat at the inn, and Jaskier’s hair was long and ruffled and no longer as blonde as it used to be, and his cheeks were stained like berries and he smelled of cheap wine and elderflower. He rubbed at his nose with one velvety sleeve.

Geralt took a long swig from his ale, trying not to listen too hard to the silence.

Perhaps I can live with this, he thought. This pantomime of our friendship. 

“Mmfh,” mumbled the tipsy Jaskier, sliding a shiny silver coin across the table.

Geralt stared at it. “What’s this?”

“For my drink. Drinks. Drinks,” he stressed.

Shaking his head with refusal, Geralt pushed it back across. “We share,” he said. “My coin is yours. Just like before.”

We share. Remember when we shared? I liked that.

“Oh, and I suppose mine is yours?” mumbled Jaskier, fiddling with the coin, flipping it onto its side. It wobbled between a crevice in the wood. 

Geralt frowned, swallowing. There was a pain in his chest like a large bird beating itself to death, or a starving cat crawling at the walls of his stomach.  “Well. No. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t want it to be.” He flicked the coin, then pushed it across the table.

Geralt stared at it. It felt like a trick.

Jaskier swallowed the last of his wine. Cheap wine that Geralt had bought him - not even the expensive apple stuff he liked so much. And the coin was silver, embossed with the mark of Lyria, far from where Geralt thought Jaskier had traveled. He didn’t even know how much it was worth. Probably more than his entire coin purse.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?” he said, looking up at him. But his affect was blank. His blue eyes, usually so full of light - dim. Disinterested.

Geralt’s chest ached. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “You said you needed me.”

“I do. I just–”

“Come on, Geralt. I’m not that thick. Whatever you need me for’s more important than my…” he smacked his lips, leaning back in the chair. “My idiotic pride.”

Geralt stared at him. At the worry lines around his mouth. The scar on his neck. The stubble that suited him. When did you become this?

“Geralt. If you’d like to stop gawking at me like a virgin in a whorehouse that’d be just dandy. I know the little kid bard has gone and grown up on you, but please, unless you’re going to shower me with compliments and flowers I’d tone down on the big-doe-eyes.”

“Would you like me to?”

The question shocked them both, but as Jaskier froze, still balancing back in his chair, Geralt straightened. 

He swallowed. “I know you haven’t forgiven me,” he said, voice low and full of barbs. He felt like crying out. He felt like kissing every part of Jaskier's hands, pressing I'm sorry into everything he'd failed to protect.

“I accepted your apology,” he retorted, indignant.

“You’re still angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You smell of it,” Geralt snapped back. Jaskier’s jaw set. 

His breath came short for a few long seconds, and the scent of it, metallic and sharp, filled the air. “Fine,” he said, leaning forward, snatching the coin from Geralt’s side of the table. He fiddled with it between his knuckles. “I am angry.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked up, blue and imbued with hidden fire. “You were my best friend," he swallowed, long dark eyelashes fluttering for a second as he looked down at the coin between his fingers. “An apology and a drink won’t fix that.”

“I don’t know a lot about friendship,” Geralt started slowly. His mouth tasted like cotton and blood.

Jaskier scoffed.

“I know I don’t. But whatever I can do to–”

“Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, holding up a hand. “You aren’t hearing me. I’m not here because you were my friend,” he continued, nearly growling. “I’m here because right now you happen to be the most important man on the continent. And you need me.”

Despite the bustling of the inn, everything felt so silent. Like the very air was judging him, sizing him up for a flogging.

Jaskier laughed. “You need me. Do you know how ridiculous that is? The whole fucking time I went around, following you like a dog, and you never even wanted me.”

“I want you,” he said, the words torn from him.

But Jaskier didn’t hear them. He leaned forward across the oak table, wine and anger mingling with disappointment and wildflowers. “There was supposed to be a point, you know, where you actually wanted me in your life. Between when you hated me and when you needed me. When did you want me, Geralt?”

When I came back to Roach and your pack was gone. When I saw you’d taken the buttercup you’d tied into her mane. When I realized you had nothing, no-one, nobody to keep you safe. You might have died. And it could have been my fault.

“You were my best friend,” Jaskier repeated, breath ragged. His face was ruddy, his eyes shining as he sniffed, rubbing his sleeve under his nose again. “How the fuck could I ever believe that I was yours?”

[fangirleaconmigo]

I would love to hear your bitter rant abt TWN Eskel

Ok Nonny, duck and cover. Here it comes.

I tend to delay making posts like this because when I watch something (in this case, the botched Episode 2 of Season 2) and get pissed off, I like to calm down and think before I speak.

But then time passes, and it’s like….it’s too late. It’d be weird now. (this is actually the story of my entire life and communication style) But if you’re interested in my Eskel rant, I am happy to oblige.

Before I do, please know I am not just reflexively negative. I reviewed S2 Ep 1 and gave it an A. I posted a long ass blog post saying how much I loved it. The vast, vast majority of the space I take up on social media is focused on positivity and restraint. But I’m a human being too, and like anyone else on this planet, I cannot possibly be expected to love literally everything.

So DO NOT CLICK OR READ IF TWN CRITIQUE IS GOING TO BUM YOU OUT OR RUIN YOUR ENJOYMENT OF IT. Protect your peace. Curate your fandom experience. I want you to be happy and comfortable here first and foremost, I do not need anyone to read this who doesn't want to.

So, for me (book fan, fan of witchers and Eskel), Season 2 Ep 2 failed at everything it attempted regarding the parts set at Kaer Morhen. It failed at showing basic respect for the fans. It failed at telling the original story. It also failed at telling its own story. It also introduced brand spanking new misogyny to the story and to the wolves that was so goddamn disappointing to watch.

It failed at having basic respect for the fans. You can change almost everything about a story. But I firmly believe that the major things like deaths should stay the same. Killing off a character that does not die in the books is a dick move. You can only get away with it if your new story is so powerful and brilliant that it makes people appreciate it for what it is. But it didn’t do that either.

It failed at telling the original story: In book canon (on which the show is ostensibly based) Eskel is the gentlest, most gentlemanly witcher we ever meet! He is kind. He is mannerly. He is loyal. He is protective. I did a whole character breakdown here.

TWN made him a predatory, misogynistic creep. He is aggressive and shitty and creepy to Ciri. He even implies to Geralt that if he would have found Ciri, he wouldn’t have adopted her. He would have fucked her. Seriously I could barely watch, it was painful. I was ill.

But he was infected by the leshy! And we just wanted his death to have impact.

No! That story failed too! They threw the original story in the trash, then replaced it with a weak story that didn't work on it's own merits.

It failed because it did not establish Eskel as a character first. It did not establish his friendship with Geralt first. And no one in the story seemed to be surprised by his behavior. So there was NOTHING in that story that made me FEEL or SEE that it was unusual behavior for Eskel.

If a character is acting the literal opposite of their personality, people would have reacted! When he walked in acting like a giant weirdo Geralt would have hog tied him and performed an exorcism lol. He never once said what the fuck is going on with you. Neither did anyone else.

You can tell me that he was infected by the leshy and that this was unusual behavior for him, but if you show me the opposite thing, (no one taking much note of it) it is muddled, weak storytelling. The ‘after’ scene in the hall could not retroactively change the order in which people experienced his arc. Also, it couldn’t fix this glaring error.

So you’ve disappointed and screwed over people who love Eskel. And you’ve had zero effect on people who didn’t know Eskel. No one who was watching him for the first time gave a shit that he died, because from scene one he was a complete piece of shit. So his death didn’t even have an impact.

Its only job in the narrative was to be vague danger hits unexpectedly close to home making Geralt pivot from ‘hide Ciri away’ to ‘teach Ciri to fend for herself’. There were a million other ways they could have done that. It wasn’t powerful. It wasn’t necessary.

So why does that matter? I’ve seen people go “But he’s a minor character who cares?” I mean, if you don’t love that character then no, you don’t care. And you don’t have to! People connect to different characters. It is allowed. I am fully aware that this is largely a book reader complaint, and it doesn’t need to impact your enjoyment of the show. It shouldn’t! It is also an Eskel fan complaint (which includes lots of gamers), and not everyone is that either. You have my blessing and my envy to not care.

But I would like to differentiate between minor and insignificant. In the books, Geralt and Ciri are the main characters. (Geralt starts out as the main character and it kind of segues into focusing more and more on Ciri.)

And Kaer Morhen is essential to grounding, to defining, to understanding, and to humanizing both Geralt and Ciri. Kaer Morhen may only appear “live” in one book, but this place explains entirely how Geralt became Geralt. And it is (along with Yen) what gives Ciri the strength and resources to survive and vanquish her foes. She dreams about Kaer Morhen. She has visions of it. She recalls their lessons at the most pivotal moments throughout the entirety of her journey. Kaer Morhen may not be ‘on the page’ much, but it is at the heart of literally everything.

And Eskel is the witcher who (other than Vesemir) has known Geralt the longest. They are the same age. They were childhood best friends who played together. He is literally the only living person who was a child alongside Geralt. He knows him and anchors him in a way no one else could. He is singular and unique in that regard. There is something powerful about a story with beings who have been almost wiped out in genocides and are the last of their kinds. It defines Geralt in so many ways. And Eskel is an inextricable part of that.

And Eskel’s protectiveness of Ciri and his kindness to her, makes a huge difference in her life. Also, ETA: Eskel is the first witcher Ciri sees who isn’t Geralt and she is terrified because of how he looks. She is scared when she arrives at Kaer Morhen. But then she learns they are not scary. They are safe and they take care of her. So she learns not to be afraid or judge based on outward appearances. And that is because of Eskel.

So you can say that Eskel is a minor character, but you cannot say that he is insignificant to the story, because he is massively significant to the main characters.

And not only did this episode fuck up him, it fucked up that entire dynamic.

Kaer Morhen is a place of safety and family for Ciri and she calls upon it for strength for the rest of her life. And instead of Geralt walking in and saying “She is our destiny” and them pitching together to train and love and raise her, you have them ignoring her, being like ‘who the fuck is this’ and also sexually harrassing her? Like sobs What was the reason??? Then Geralt kills Eskel??? Kills him??? And Lambert is like…this is all Ciri’s fault?? What the fuck? We didn’t even know Ciri was involved yet. It was so confusing. I was like what the fuck are you saying, Lambert??? It was like a nightmare! Who are these people?? Lmaosob.

And Kaer Morhen itself, this mystical, melancholy place that is speaks of brothers lost that must be hidden at all costs, they bring like an entire group of sex workers there? Geralt can say the place is hidden. But if you show me that everyone and their mother parties there, I don’t feel it.

And the explanation of ‘they all somehow got black out drunk literally simultaneously and they get all the sex workers black out drunk and that is why not a single one of them objected to it, and then Vesemir was totally cool with it because that is both possible, and somehow makes it better?’

But even worse was the misogyny that was introduced. I’m gonna switch to feminist killjoy mode, and I know some of these things I absolutely hated, quite a few of you loved. And that is fine. I respect you and I love you and I would never tell people how to feel about it. But here is what I absolutely loathed.

As a feminist, one of the most important ways to tell if someone’s feminism is real is how they treat sex workers. Feminism is for EVERY WOMAN. ALL. NO FUCKING EXCEPTIONS. The minute someone is degrading of sex workers, I see their true colors. Their true colors are respectability politics, girlbossery, and dignity for some. It cuts through a lot of bullshit.

A lot of people see TWN as feminist. And there are FOR SURE some strong feminist themes that I appreciate. But in this episode it was just a big old rotten turd in that respect. (that’s the technical term).

They introduced sex workers so that they could show a naked dead female body. How regressive is that? What the fuck? They also introduced sex workers to act as a ‘scare tactic’ and ‘cautionary tale’ for Ciri. What the fuckkkkkkkkk man help me out here I’m crying.

And I will say that I adore 90% of what they did with Geralt and Ciri this season. I could write a positive post about that if anyone wanted to wash the taste of my disappointment out of their mouths. But again, I am focusing on this ep, and it was just a turd all the way around.

When Geralt stepped THREATENINGLY into Danica’s face because she implied Ciri could become a sex worker, what the fuckkkkk. I KNOW people think that is cute. I respect your point of view. I appreciate you. But I have to disagree. I hated it with my whole heart.

You add that to Vesemir’s little remark about Ciri dancing on tables that was supposed to upset Geralt, and we have more of the same.

Geralt HAS NEVER AND WOULD NEVER be the “I’m bringing a gun to my daughter’s first date” kind of dad. He’s never been the “I'm safeguarding my daughter’s vagina so she keeps her virtue” kind of dad.

Y’all. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I hate it. It creeps me the fuckout. The ENTIRE POINT of Geralt’s relationship with Ciri is that he protects her AUTONOMY. Not her VIRTUE. Do we not see how those two things are literal opposites? Geralt cares about protecting Ciri. From having to kill people. From being traumatized. From being killed or forced to have babies against her will. Not from having fun (dancing on tables??!!). And his worst nightmare is not a sex worker.

HE GOES TO THEM!! He isn’t disgusted by them. To have him again, STEP THREATENINGLY towards Danica to show ‘oh he’s a real dad’ I’m sorry I despise it. I hate that model of fatherhood. The one that is focused on guarding virtue. And Geralt of Rivia baby I’m so sorry that ugly bitch (episode 2) did that to you.

I can have a sense of humor about myself ok I know I’m not in the majority. I know that’s the model of fatherhood that people like. They think it’s cute. But we are all individuals and have our own reactions to things, and that is mine.

I even hated how they had him not remember Danica. Every time she was on screen it was ‘haha see how crappy all these witchers treat them?’ And they also got them all black out drunk??

Holy shit you guys. This is what the creators of this show think the ‘rugged, rough around the edges’ masculinity of witchers is all about. Gahhhhhhhhhh.

And the one bright spot, Geralt and Vesemir, they ended up taking away from me when Vesemir betrays Geralt and TRIES TO DOSE CIRI????

So look. Again. There are so many things I do love about the show. I could wax complimentary about the parts I love if you guys want me to. I love SO MUCH about what they've done with Yen. The sorceresses. I love that they've given them genuine friendships. I could also talk about that. I am obsessed with Myanna Buring as Tissaia. We know how I feel about Joey's Jaskier. I mean it's not the cast's fault! I am fully, fully in love with Yasen Atour as Coën, he was absolutely perfect. I wouldn't be so into the fandom if there weren't many things that I love.

But the fact is, TWN just does not ‘get’ witchers. They do not understand their oppressions (class, mostly) or how power structures exploit them. They made this plainly obvious in the lore they created for the sacking of Kaer Morhen and the ‘Vesemir doses Ciri’ storyline. (that is a whole other post) They do not understand this model of masculinity. They made this plainly obvious with this episode.

Which, these are big things to not ‘get’ for a show that is called The Witcher.

But this is probably just fine for most people! If they have no strong attachments to the themes and spirit of the books, I'm sure it is fine. I understand that this is a niche nerd rant and that I feel passionately about something most people do not! That’s ok. That’s the nerd life baby.

This has been my rant.

[limerental]

ficletvember 2023 - day 22

Wildlife conservation expert Geralt is roped into helping Roche identify some endangered species potentially poached by the suspicious characters living in the hills.

in other words a horrible tw2 modern au with cop roche and redneck elves. apologies in advance lol

The drive cutting up through the hills had seen better days, washed out in ruts and pot-holed to hell. If somebody didn't know better, they'd say whoever had once lived at the end of this drive was long gone. Or at least not worth bothering.

They'd left the truck back by the main road. For all that it was big and black and mean with an ugly grille and flashing lights, it was useless on land like this. Geralt grabbed Roche's arm as the guy slipped on a skid of gravel. 

“The tread on those boots just for show too?” he asked, and Roche shook him off.

Geralt knew his type. Small-town nobody with something to prove, a transfer all the way from Vizima out to the podunk Pontar Valley who took his job far too seriously. He kept fiddling with the bent brim of the black baseball cap he wore, frowning like he was displeased it couldn't keep the fine mist of rain off his race.

Geralt had never liked cops much and would rather be coming up here alone. There'd been some tip about poached squirrels. Endangered species endemic to this area. Unfortunately, Geralt was one of the few wildlife conservation experts around who could give an ID. 

“It's just over this ridge,” Roche grunted. He looked nervous, like he wanted to go for the gun at his hip.

When they came up over the ridge, the drive sank again, piddling out into a browned yard cluttered with scrap that surrounded a single-wide trailer. Smoke chugged from the crooked pipe of a chimney. 

“Where'd this tip come from again?” asked Geralt. These people didn't look like they got into town much.  A pair of muddy ATVs and a snowmobile sat parked in a run in shed, and scattered around were a dozen more pieces and parts of varying vehicles that might run in a pinch.

“Doesn't matter,” said Roche. “We've got a warrant to search the premises. I'll talk to them. You keep an eye out.”

He pounded the front door with more vigor than Geralt figured was necessary. At first, it seemed like no one would answer. Maybe they'd heard them blundering up the drive and booked it out a back window. 

The door cracked, and a green eye set in an angular face appeared.

“Good to see you, officer,” drawled a nasally voice that did not sound at all sincere. “How nice of you to visit again. Two times in one week? Pity you didn't call first. I'd have invited you for supper.”

“Iorveth, open the door,” Roche sighed. “We got another tip. Brought in an expert this time.”

The door opened further to reveal an eyepatch covering part of a scarred cheek, and the slender, pointed ears of an elf. Geralt hadn't seen an elf in years. They were as much in danger of dying out as any endangered species he studied, but of course, with far less protections afforded to them.

Iorveth looked him up and down. 

“You're not from around here,” he said. 

“Neither are you,” said Geralt.

Iorveth's accent was a thick and woodsy drawl common to mountain folk. He'd guess Blue Mountains, where pockets of whole towns full of elves still lived. Geralt had been raised farther north and given up his mountain dialect in the hopes of getting any respect in his field.

Mostly that respect had just roped him into shit like this.

Roche shot him a look, clearly not pleased that Geralt had ignored that he'd said he would do the talking.

This Iorveth, according to Roche, was a regular son of a bitch surrounded by rumors of all sorts of suspicious activity, but no one had ever been able to pin him with anything. 

He had connections through his fugitive cousin Isengrim Faoiltiarna to the domestic terrorist Scoia'tael movement and was rumored to be associated with dangerous anarchist Saskia, not to mention being the likely source of most illicit moonshine and hash in the Valley.

“Don't make this difficult,” Roche said. His thumbs hitched in the front of his belt, not far from his holster.

“Of course, come on in,” said Iorveth. “Don't want to have to fix the doorjamb again.”

The inside of the trailer was plenty short on space but almost cozy, a galley kitchen looking out over a living room furnished with lumpy couches. The space was full of elves, more than Geralt had ever seen. Peeling potatoes at the sink. Plucking at the strings of a guitar. Feeding a crackling woodstove and stirring the pot that bubbled on top.

They all eyed the intruders with clear disdain.

“That look like endangered squirrel stew to you, Geralt?” Roche asked, and Geralt didn't bother to cross the room to take a look. The meat in the pot could be just about anything.

“Sorry, I'm a wildlife guy. Not much of a culinary expert,” said Geralt, shrugging. “Smells good though.”

“Am I going to find anything interesting in the back rooms, Iorveth?” Roche asked as he headed down the hallway, so narrow his shoulders brushed each wall.

“I'm sure you'd like that, officer,” said Iorveth, dripping with innuendo. 

With Roche's back turned, the elf nodded to Geralt, a brow quirking up. It took him a breath to notice the others in the room had gone still and tense. The curtains of the a window set high on the wall billowed in a breeze. 

He had a feeling Roche would find far more than squirrel pelts in a thorough search of the trailer. That this hadn't really been about the damn squirrels from the start.

The door to the back bedroom clicked open.

“Geralt!” Roche's voice carried, and in a flurry of activity most of the elves scattered through the open doorway. ATVs revved.

There was the sound of a scuffle from the back room. Still standing by the woodstove, Iorveth met his eye. 

Geralt had only a moment to make a choice.

Roche reappeared with splotches of color high on his cheeks and cap knocked off his head, barking requests for backup into his radio.

Before Iorveth scrambled up and through the window, he kicked over the woodstove, threadbare carpet and peeling wallpaper swiftly catching as burning logs scattered. Then, he bent back through the window to offer a hand.

Swearing under his breath, Geralt clasped their arms together and went through.

[fics-not-tragedies]

January 2024 Music Prompts - Spotify Wrapped edition

♪ Hello again! Yes, I'm finally back, at last. Let's start new year with something great: music prompts ♪🎵🎶

♪ Since getting your Spotify Wrapped is such a huge event every year (at least for me, who listens to the same 5 artists and even tho I still get surprised, lol), I decided to surprise you with a little prompt event.

♪ I've chosen 15 songs from my 2023 Wrapped playlist and a lyric (or few) for each one of them that just has THE vibe (y'know):

1. Own My Mind ♫ Måneskin I'm prayin' at your altar if you know what I mean.

2. Dinner & Diatribes ♫ Hozier I’d suffer hell if you'd tell me/What you'd do to me tonight.

3. Kiwi ♫ Harry Styles She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes/Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect.

4. Electricity ♫ Arctic Monkeys Tell me something I don’t already know/Like how'd you get your kisses to fill me with electricity?

5. Francesca ♫ Hozier Though I know my heart would break/I'd tell them, "Put me back in it".

6. Honey (Are You Coming?) ♫ Måneskin I'm gonna show you how this Italian amor/It's gonna love you harder than ever before/You will like it.

7. Don't Blame Me ♫ Taylor Swift I would fall from grace/Just to touch your face.

8. For Your Love ♫ Måneskin I wanna be the first man you look at tonight/I wanna be stuck in your head and make you go wild.

9. Stuck ♫ Thirty Seconds to Mars I've been lost in your eyes all afternoon/The more I drift, the closer I get to you.

10. Mammamia ♫ Måneskin They ask me why I'm so hot, 'cause I'm italiano.

11. Nobody ♫ Hozier I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint/I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave/But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love.

12. I Can See You ♫ Taylor Swift But what would you do if I went to touch you now?/What would you do if they never found us out?/What would you do if we never made a sound?

13. Baby Said ♫ Måneskin Baby said, "Let me taste your silhouette/You can talk between my legs"/Uh-uh, uh, uh, know you really want to.

14. Cuff It ♫ Beyonce I wanna go higher, can I sit on top of you?

15. I Wanna Be Your Dog ♫ John McCrea So messed up, I want you here/In my room, I want you here/Now we're gonna be face-to-face/And I'll lay right down in my favorite place.

♪ You can now start making request for the following list of characters:

1. Keanu Reeves along with his following characters/movies:

John Wick & the John Wick movies franchise,

Constantine & the movie,

Johnny Utah & Point Break,

Jonathan Harker & Bram Stoker’s Dracula,

Neo & The Matrix,

dr Julian Mercer,

Jack Traven & Speed;

2. Riccardo Scamarcio along with:

Santino D’Antonio;

3. Andrew Hozier Byrne;

4. Tom Hiddleston along with his following characters/movies:

Sir Thomas Sharpe & Crimson Peak,

Loki & Avengers/Thor,

Adam & Only Lovers Left Alive,

dr Robert Laing & High Rise,

Jonathan Pine & The Night Manager;

5. Henry Cavill along with his following characters/movies:

Geralt of Rivia & The Witcher,

Walter Marshall & Nomis,

Capt. Syverson & Sand Castle,

Napoleon Solo & The Man from U.N.C.L.E.,

August Walker & MI: Fallout,

6. Alexander Skarsgård along with his following characters/movies:

Eric Northman & True Blood,

Leo Beiler & Mute,

Gadi Becker & The Little Drummer Girl,

sergeant Brad “Iceman” Colbert & Generation Kill,

7. Peaky Blinders franchise along with the following characters:

Thomas ‘Tommy’ Shelby,

Alfie Solomons,

8. Supernatural franchise along with the following characters:

Dean Winchester,

Sam Winchester,

9. The X Files franchise along with the following characters:

Dana Scully,

Fox Mulder,

10. Kiefer Sutherland along with his following characters/movies:

Jack Bauer & 24,

president Tom Kirkman & Designated Survivor,

David & The Lost Boys.

Please send in a number with the song/lyric you fancy + a character from those listed above, first come - first serve, as always.

If there are any questions don’t be afraid to ask them, I’m always all ears for y’all!

♪ LET'S CELEBRATE THE BEGINNING OF 2024 ✨

[highwayorgantrade]

Okay, so basically!!

Hi!! My name is Kat, I'm 22, she/her, and this is basically a summary (I guess is the best word) of my profile. This is where I'll update a masterlist, who/what I write for, and some other information I feel like is important. So first things first, a masterlist and stuff I plan to write!

Main blog : @wavegrandpa

Wattpad: HighwayOrganTrade

As you can see, this list is very very empty, but I hope I fill it soon with all the little scenarios y'all use to get yourselves to sleep. This is not an end all, be all as to who I write for :). As a reminder, requests are open for now!

♡ = 18+, ♤ = fluff, ☀ = angst

♫ = there's a cool playlist for this one!

Movies

Twilight

Carlisle Cullen

Art History ♡ ♤ ♫

Live A Little ♡ ♫

As Long As You’re There ♤ ♫

Alice Cullen

Nothing here yet!

Jasper Hale

Honesty Hour ♡ ♫

Jacob Black

Nothing here yet!

Edward Cullen

Nothing here yet!

Various

Nothing here yet!

Harry Potter

Severus Snape

Nothing here yet!

Sirius Black

Nothing here yet!

Fred Weasley

Nothing here yet!

George Weasley

Nothing here yet!

Cedric Diggory

Nothing here yet!

Various

Nothing here yet!

Video Games

Red Dead Redemption II

Arthur Morgan

Nothing here yet!

John Marston

Nothing here yet!

Javier Escuella

Nothing here yet!

Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Ghost

An Echo In The Dark (Part One) (Part Two) ♡ ♫

Baptized By Fire (I)

König

Sciamachy ♤ ☀

An Echo In The Dark (Part One) (Part Two) ♡ ♫

Soap MacTavish

Nothing here yet!

Gaz

Nothing here yet!

Alejandro

Nothing here yet!

Various

I Can’t (John Price x Reader) ♤☀

Series

Safe House: Chapter I (Soap)

Miscellaneous

Pelle (Midsommar 2019)

A Little Distraction ♤

Geralt (The Witcher)

Kylo Ren (Star Wars)

Lestat (Interview With The Vampire 1994)

Just a few more things:

Minors. I kindly ask that minors find a different author to read. Not all of my works will be 18+, but regardless, most of them will be coded a certain way. I have a very hard time writing 18+, mostly because I think about how I read things I shouldn't have at a certain age, and it altered how I viewed relationships and how sex should be. Knowing a minor is consuming my works would make me extremely uncomfortable, so I must reiterate that this blog is MDNI (Minors Do Not Interact).

While I do love writing, I do not get paid for it (unless you're hiring lol). If I could write day in and day out, I would, I promise. I have a full time job, and I have friends and hobbies outside of Tumblr. Aside from this, I have bipolar disorder, that includes episodes of mania and depression. I cannot tell when these episodes are going to happen, and I rarely know when they are actively happening. With all this in mind, please understand if my fics are posted randomly. I don't intend on ghosting this blog or any of you wonderful people! If you're curious on why I haven't posted (or if I'm taking over your feed), you can always send an ask! I will always answer any questions to the best of my abilities.

[onceandfuturelesbian]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks...

i definitely don’t mind, i LOVE getting asks so everyone please feel free to message me or send asks

here it goes

my top 10 favourite characters EVER (in no particular order)

1. nick miller (new girl)

- he’s so chaotic and stupid and i relate to him so much, definitely one of my favourite comfort characters

2. andy dwyer (parks and recreation)

- also chaotic and stupid, i just think he’s funny and adorable, just generally wholesome, another favourite comfort character

3. loki laufeyson (marvel cinematic universe)

- he’s on that absolute king shit!!! chaotic, funny, badass, has magic and can be scary (which is a slay). the fact that he’s queer is a major plus too

4. scott lang (marvel cinematic universe)

- just a goofy lil guy with so much love in his heart. another amazing and wholesome comfort character

5. merlin + arthur pendragon (bbc merlin)

- 2 for 1 cause they’re best together. i read merthur fics everyday and while i know fics aren’t accurate to their actual character/canon, they have one of the best dynamics ive ever seen

6. adelina amouteru (the young elites trilogy by marie lu)

- been ages since i read this but adelina is such a cool character. if i had powers, id want to have hers (or flying, that’d be great). actually went as adelina for halloween once. 10000/10 recommend the young elites

7. lena luthor / morgana pendragon (supergirl / bbc merlin)

- another 2 for 1. i watched merlin because i saw katie mcgrath in supergirl and now i read merthur everyday. both lena and morgana’s journeys are beautiful imo. lena from light to dark back to light. morgana’s from light to dark when it was so preventable. perfect characters for a perfect actress

8. nick nelson (heartstopper tv)

- i related to his s1 storyline quite a bit but overall he’s just such a loving character. sometimes when i see him on screen, i think he’s gonna explode with how much he loves charlie, his mom, nellie. reblog if u also need a nick nelson hug LOL

9. mirabella (three dark crowns series by kendare blake)

- one of my favourite book series and my favourite mc!! like seriously guys look up this series, the original plot is so cool and there’s some plot twists that made my jaw drop - my sister rating goes mirabella, katharine, arsinoe btw hehe

10. dwight schrute (the office)

- he carried the show tbh. especially after michael left. i never rly cared much for jim and pam (ofc i wanted them to get together but i don’t love them). dwight was consistently funny and chaotic, and most of the best plots included/rided on him

honourable mentions:

- lily tucker-pritchett (modern family)

- jaskier (the witcher)

- geralt of rivia (the witcher)

- edna mode (the incredibles)

- craig pelton (community)

- finnick odair (the hunger games)

- lucifer morningstar (lucifer)

honourable duo/trio mentions:

- wong + madisynn (she-hulk)

- steven grant + marc spector (moon knight)

- cam tucker + phil dunphy + gloria pritchett (modern family)

[bambirex]

Me And Mr. Wolf

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier/Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia

Rating: explicit

Category: m/m

Additional tags: plot what plot/porn without plot, porn with a little bit of plot, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, roleplay, light dom/sub, doggy style, horny Jaskier/Dandelion, horny Geralt of Rivia, dirty talk, spanking, biting, possessive behavior, rough sex, breeding kink, wolf instincts, (not literally but you'll see), anal fingering, jaskier basically writes smut fanfiction and then gets to experience it, coming untouched

Word count: 3,861

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Geralt looked at him differently, with an emotion in his amber eyes that Jaskier couldn’t quite decipher, but it looked like hunger. And Jaskier tried to signal to him that it was okay to act upon his desires (if they existed at all, of course), but all his attempts were futile. The tension, the lingering glances and touches remained, and Jaskier felt like tearing his own hair out every day.

(...)

All his frustrations oozed onto the piece of paper before him. That was the only way to truly let it all out, by making up an unabashedly horny song using his typical metaphors. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever hear it; this wasn’t the kind of song Jaskier would have ever played in front of a crowd. That was just for him, only he would know who the big bad wolf and the needy bunny of the lyrics were.

Well, Geralt would probably know, too, what with him living his life with the “white wolf” title plastered to him, and the fact he once fondly said that if Jaskier would be an animal, he would definitely be an over-energetic rabbit.

Lucky that Geralt would never find that song.

Author's notes: What the hell is this, I hear you ask. I don't know either. I had a nasty idea and I jumped onto it. Please, check the tags before reading!!!! Comments are super appreciated, but hate commenters will get their kneecaps stolen! (I'll also be very sad and I'll let you know and make you feel embarrassed, so just don't, please)

I don't know how dicks work so you just have to accept whatever I wrote here lol

Read on Ao3

It was a silly song, really.

Sillier than most of Jaskier’s little jaunty songs about horny daughters of fishmongers, or that ridiculous sea shanty about a drunken selkie man.

Jaskier was usually a fine poet; he appreciated the beauty in the world around him and he made sure to translate those into his songs via decorative metaphors. He poured his joy, his heartbreak and his anger into his creations, touching the hearts of many who listened to them and who needed an outlet for their own feelings.

But, he had other emotions besides the most obvious ones that a songwriter usually penned down, very pent-up and frustrating ones that made him grab the bottle of ink one day and write a ridiculous story, which then grew into a very confusing lyrics of a song.

Jaskier and Geralt has been dancing around each other for months, and it was slowly driving Jaskier crazy. Now, he didn’t even know if the witcher liked men, but his behavior was certainly very strange. His touches lingered on longer as he rested his big hand on the small of Jaskier’s back when he escorted him out of a crowded tavern, or when he gently patted him down to check for injuries after Jaskier once again foolishly got caught up in the middle of a hunt. When he walked past Jaskier, his body always brushed into his, even when there was plenty of place.

Sure, these all could have just been the signs of Geralt finally growing more comfortable around the bard and letting himself open up to the possibility of a friendship, but Jaskier enjoyed making up conspiracy theories, especially if it involved his own feelings for his companion. He’s been aching for Geralt since the day he’s laid his eyes on him in the tavern at Posada, and it has only gotten worse the more time they’ve spent together. Jaskier’s heart- and other parts of his body – wanted and needed Geralt so badly, of course he couldn’t help but hope when Geralt’s behavior towards him changed.

There was only one catch, namely, that even though it seemed like Geralt had become more physically affectionate, he still refused to verbalize his needs, or act on them in a more explicit way. Which left Jaskier endlessly second-guessing what this all meant, drinking up these small moments and always craving more. He couldn’t help but notice this strange tension between them whenever they were close to each other. Something heavy has been hanging in the air around them for a while now, fizzling like cracks of lightning, waiting to blow out into a storm. Geralt looked at him differently, with an emotion in his amber eyes that Jaskier couldn’t quite decipher, but it looked like hunger. And Jaskier tried to signal to him that it was okay to act upon his desires (if they existed at all, of course), but all his attempts were futile. The tension, the lingering glances and touches remained, and Jaskier felt like tearing his own hair out every day.

Not even furiously jerking off each night thinking of Geralt’s hands on his body helped. Jaskier’s body was pulled tight like the strings on his lute, ready to snap.

All his frustrations oozed onto the piece of paper before him. That was the only way to truly let it all out, by making up an unabashedly horny song using his typical metaphors. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever hear it; this wasn’t the kind of song Jaskier would have ever played in front of a crowd. That was just for him, only he would know who the big bad wolf and the needy bunny of the lyrics were.

Well, Geralt would probably know, too, what with him living his life with the “white wolf” title plastered to him, and the fact he once fondly said that if Jaskier would be an animal, he would definitely be an over-energetic rabbit.

Lucky that Geralt would never find that song.

Once he was done, Jaskier shoved the paper deep into his bag. He barely even skimmed the lyrics to check if it was coherent at all. His cheeks felt warm, and there was a growing tightness in his pants by the time he was finished. Fuck it all, he thought. He may never be fucked by Geralt, but he could always write down his lustful fantasies using flower language.

--

“I brought an apple for Roach, but I can’t find it for the life of me!” Jaskier groaned as he patted down his clothes, checking every pocket for the ripe fruit. “She’s gonna hate me now.”

“She doesn’t know you were gonna bring her anything,” Geralt replied calmly from the tree trunk he was sitting on, cleaning his sword. “She can’t read minds.”

“Still, it’s so embarrassing,” Jaskier huffed, “I’m trying to impress a lady here, and I’m failing!”

“Isn’t that just the usual story of your life?”

“That was a low blow,” Jaskier murmured under his nose. He rummaged through his bag, but there was still no sight of the apple. “Ah, shit. I think it might be in my other bag.”

Geralt sighed, then reached down for the embroidered bag by his feet. “This one?”

“My hero,” Jaskier cooed, fluttering his eyelashes at him. “I know I can always count on you, my dear.”

Was that a blush on Geralt’s cheeks, or was this a cruel game Jaskier’s eyes played on him?

“You would lose your own head if it wasn’t attached to your neck,” Geralt grumbled as he opened Jaskier’s bag, reaching inside to shorten the process a little bit. He knew that if he’d let Jaskier continue his frantic search, the apple would never see the light of day.

By that time, Jaskier had completely forgotten about the song he wrote a couple days prior, about him and Geralt fucking, disguised as animals. He didn’t even recognize the piece of paper in Geralt’s hand.

It took several moments of heavy silence and seeing Geralt’s eyes widening as he read whatever was written on the paper for Jaskier to realize that it was his horny-frustration song Geralt was reading.

He practically flew over to Geralt to try and snatch it out of his hands, but Geralt was faster, rising from the trunk and holding the paper out of Jaskier’s reach. Jaskier desperately jumped up for it, panic swirling in his chest.

“You wrote a new song,” Geralt stated. His voice was calm as usual, but there was also something else to it. Jaskier didn’t know what it was, but it made chills run down his spine.

“It’s shitty, just a silly little thing,” Jaskier said, forcing out a laugh. He could feel his face flaming, and he was pretty sure Geralt could see it. “I was gonna throw it away. Did you find the apple?”

“The lyrics is interesting,” Geralt said, his eyes drifting back to the paper. He licked his lips, slowly. Jaskier watched his tongue, his own mouth running dry.

���Why would the bunny want to be fucked by a wolf, and not another bunny? Why does he want the wolf so bad?”

“Since when are you so interested in my, I quote, ‘empty nonsense sang by my fillingless pie of a voice’? It’s just a song, Geralt,” Jaskier scoffed. He made another attempt at reaching for the paper, but he was stopped by Geralt’s hand around his wrist. He had a strong grip, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him halt. Jaskier swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the way his whole body heated up by Geralt’s touch.

Geralt’s eyes darkened as he looked at him. He stepped closer. Jaskier wasn’t all that shorter than him, but right now, it felt like Geralt was towering over him. It made Jaskier feel small and weak, in a way that was equal amounts intimidating and thrilling.

“The bunny seems very frustrated,” Geralt continued. Jaskier felt his breath on his face. He had to bite down on his lower lip to stifle a whimper.

“Poor thing is constantly humping the ground. Why doesn’t he just tell the wolf he wants to be fucked?”

Something about the way he asked that question, and how his pupils dilated, made Jaskier realize they weren’t really talking about the song anymore. Geralt may have been oblivious, but not this much. He clearly understood the metaphors, and now he was giving Jaskier the chance to explain himself. He needed to take this risk: he would either majorly embarrass himself by misinterpreting this whole situation, or he could finally get what he wanted and put an end to this weird tension between them.

“He keeps telling him,” Jaskier said, his voice wavering slightly. “Maybe not outright saying it, but he keeps giving signs. The wolf is just dense.”

Geralt chuckled. “Is that so?”

“He keeps looking at the bunny hungrily, but doesn’t do anything about it,” Jaskier bit his lip, daring to move a little closer himself, until their noses nearly brushed. Geralt didn’t move away. “It’s driving the bunny crazy.”

“Maybe he just wants to eat the bunny. A wolf is a predator, after all.”

“He would have already done that, then. He’d had plenty of opportunities, but he’d never hurt the bunny. He keeps letting the bunny follow him everywhere he goes, and sometimes it almost seems like he likes him. Am I wrong about that?”

Geralt hummed. There was a small smile playing on his lips, barely there, but it still gave Jaskier hope.

“I think you may be right,” Geralt replied. He gently run his thumb across the vein in Jaskier’s wrist, making him shiver. “But maybe the wolf isn’t dense, he’s just never met such an eager bunny before.”

“Are you saying that the big bad wolf is afraid of the tiny bunny?” Jaskier grinned cheekily, unable to help himself. The unexpected slap on his ass made the air in his lungs hitch, and his cock stir in his pants.

“Maybe the bunny should be more careful around the wolf,” Geralt growled. Impossibly, his voice went even deeper. It made Jaskier tremble with need. He didn’t even try to hide the quiet moan that fell from his lips, this time.

“The wolf could destroy him.”

“He wants to be destroyed,” Jaskier breathed. Daringly, he took Geralt’s hand and placed it back on his bum, sighing in bliss when Geralt squeezed it. “He’s been dreaming about it for long months, haven’t you read the lyrics?”

“He wants to be impaled on the wolf’s cock,” Geralt read the line, a teasing edge to his voice. “He wants the wolf to re-arrange his guts.”

“Okay, probably not my finest lines,” Jaskier cringed, “but sue me… I mean, the bunny. He’ll die if he doesn’t get to feel the wolf’s huge dick inside him.”

With a deep, guttural growl, Geralt dropped the paper, then surged forward and smashed his lips against Jaskier’s. His fingers dug into his buttocks through the material of his trousers possessively as he licked into Jaskier’s mouth, his tongue slipping past his lips, coaxing his mouth open. Jaskier obeyed him willingly, moaning as Geralt’s teeth dug into his lower lip.

His own hands flew up, desperately tugging at Geralt’s hair. He pressed his body closer to him, grinding himself against Geralt’s pelvis. He gasped in delight when he felt the hardness in Geralt’s trousers pressing back against him.

This was really happening, that part of his brain that was still able to make coherent thoughts, reminded him. Finally, finally, Geralt understood the message. Jaskier wished it didn’t happen through his embarrassing mess of a song, but he gladly took what he could get.

Jaskier whimpered when Geralt pulled away, desperately chasing his lips. Geralt smirked, giving Jaskier another curt spank that had him arching into his touch.

“How does a male bunny go into heat, by the way?” Geralt laughed. Jaskier groaned, quickly shutting Geralt up with another kiss. He nipped at Geralt’s lower lip, enjoying the way Geralt’s hips shot forward in response.

“Is he still in heat?” Geralt pressed further. He moved to Jaskier’s neck, licking at where his pulse thrummed quickly. He took the pale skin between his teeth, making Jaskier let out a high-pitched whine as he marked him, sucking a deep blue bruise into his neck.

“Yeah,” Jaskier moaned, his aroused body deciding to stop feeling embarrassed about his ridiculous lines. He needed Geralt so badly, he felt like might actually truly die. His body felt like it was going to explode any second, and Geralt’s lips on his neck didn’t help. He swore under his breath as Geralt’s hot breath ghosted over the blooming bruises on his sensitive skin. He was being marked, being owned by Geralt – the sheer possessiveness of it all nearly sent him over the edge right there. He tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat. He was the perfect prey, and Geralt was the perfect predator.

The exact opposites of each other, and yet, that was exactly what made them work.

“The wolf needs to take care of it,” Jaskier panted as he rocked against Geralt’s body. “They ended up fucking in the song, Geralt…”

“Don’t worry,” Geralt drawled into his ear, his large hands travelling over Jaskier’s body, squeezing and pinching and caressing everywhere he could reach, “the wolf wants the bunny just as bad. He’s gonna fuck that little bunny within an inch of his life.”

That in itself nearly made Jaskier come into his pants. He cursed under his breath as he whipped around and fell to the ground onto his hands and knees, not caring the slightest about how ridiculous he must have looked like. His sheer need clouded every single rational thought inside his brain; there was no more shame, no more second-guessing. They wanted the same thing, and it was finally time to tangle up in each other after months of excruciating tension.

“That’s a very needy bunny,” Geralt chuckled behind him. Jaskier lifted his butt higher, wiggling it with a whimper.

“And that’s a very slow wolf,” he shot back, “I thought he said he wanted to fuck the bunny, so what is he waiting for!?”

Geralt slapped his ass again with a growl. Then again, and again, until Jaskier was a panting mess, desperately humping the ground like the bunny in the song. His ass stung with every slap, making Jaskier crave more of the delicious pain. He arched his back needily when Geralt yanked down his pants along with his underwear.

He heard the pop of a bottle opening, and immediately there was a cool, wet finger circling his entrance. He moaned at the realization that Geralt was carrying a certain oil with him, probably hoping to do this for a while now.

“The wolf needs to hurry up,” Jaskier hissed, “if he keeps playing, the bunny will hop onto a different wolf’s dick.”

Jaskier felt quite triumphant as Geralt growled again. He pressed his finger inside not too gently, the stretch burning just enough to make shivers run down Jaskier’s spine. He shut his eyes tight, rocking back against the finger inside him. The callouses on Geralt’s finger felt rough against his sensitive insides, making him keen. He spread his legs further apart, welcoming the second, then the third finger inside. Geralt scissored them, stretching him wide open. He rubbed that sensitive spot inside Jaskier, making him see stars.

“Please,” Jaskier moaned, canting his hips backwards, fucking himself on Geralt’s hand. “The wolf knows the bunny is in heat, he can’t keep making him wait…”

Just like that, Geralt removed his fingers. Jaskier mourned the loss of them for a couple seconds, until he heard the sound of Geralt unbuckling his belt behind him.

There was something so incredibly raw and animalistic in fucking like this, out in the open, with only their pants undone, too impatient to do much foreplay. The whole thing made Jaskier’s blood buzz inside his veins pleasantly; that was what he wrote about in the song, after all. The wolf fucking the living soul out of the bunny, taking him fast and rough, the way they both needed it.

Jaskier gasped as he felt the pressure of Geralt’s cock against his rim. He’s expected Geralt to be big – he hoped he was, even- but the reality of it made him tense up momentarily. He whimpered at the burning ache, clawing at the ground.

“Are we sure the bunny can handle it?” Geralt breathed against his neck, raising goosebumps all over Jaskier’s skin. “He might be too delicate to take the wolf.”

“He’s not,” Jaskier moaned. He took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles as much as he could. Slowly, the head of Geralt’s dick pushed inside. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back into his head as it stretched him, slowly but mercilessly pushing inside him. “Ah, fuck. He can take it, he needs it!”

Geralt caressed his bare hip gently as he buried himself to the hilt. He moved his hips gently at first, letting Jaskier get used to the stretch. Jaskier arched his back impatiently as the ache subsided, giving place to pleasure.

“Come on, now,” he groaned, wiggling on Geralt’s dick and making him swear, “the wolf is a wild animal, isn’t it? He should act like one!”

His voice died on a gasp as Geralt shoved his hips forward. Jaskier felt so full, stretched and owned in every way, and he fucking loved it. He gripped onto handfuls of grass, mouth falling open on loud moans as Geralt started pistoling into him, not holding back anymore.

“Is that what the bunny wants?” Geralt rasped, his fingers digging into Jaskier’s hips, hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises there. His hips shot forward at a maddening speed, knocking the breath out of Jaskier’s lungs. “To be taken apart by the wolf?”

“Yes!” Jaskier screamed. He was surely going out of his mind. This was even better than what he imagined, better than the nasty little fantasy he wrote down: the reality of Geralt’s girth inside him, the delicious pain of being filled to the brim by him, the sound of his deep moans and their skin slapping against one another was beyond everything Jaskier has ever imagined. It was all so nasty, so absurd in a way that thrilled him to no end.

Geralt let go of his hips to drape himself across Jaskier’s back, his body covering his and pushing him further into the grass. He braced himself with his hands on the ground by Jaskier’s head, his hips thrusting in and out of him without any support – it really felt like they were a pair of wild animals coupling. Geralt growled, and Jaskier whined, their sounds creating a confusing, sinful orchestra.

Geralt tilted his hips and drove the head of his cock straight into Jaskier’s prostrate. Jaskier cried out, pushing his own hips back to meet Geralt halfway. There was a tiny string of drool dripping down his chin as he was getting fucked out of his mind, jaw hanging slack and eyes half-lidded in bliss.

“The wolf is going to come all over the bunny’s pretty bum,” Geralt whispered into his ear. He grinded himself into Jaskier’s sweet spot, making them both moan in unison. “Gonna show everyone who the bunny belongs to.”

That sounded wonderful, the idea of Geralt’s cum joining the decoration of bruises on his hips, but Jaskier had different ideas.

“No,” he whimpered, twisting his head to look back at Geralt. His witcher’s eyes were dark, his hair escaped his ponytail, messily framing his face. The strong, wild white wolf, so dangerously beautiful. And he was Jaskier’s.

“The bunny wants to be bred,” Jaskier moaned, face burning with his words that stumbled out of his mouth carelessly, his brain to mouth filter even flimsier now that he was mad with lust, all his darkest fantasies coming to life as he was coming apart, speared on his wolf’s cock.

“He wants to be bursting with the wolf’s seed.”

The sound that ripped out of Geralt’s chest would have been terrifying in any other situation. Right now, it made the heat coiling inside Jaskier’s belly flare up even more.

“The wolf’s gonna breed him full,” Geralt rumbled, driving himself impossibly deeper inside Jaskier, “gonna pump a litter into the bunny.”

By the gods and all the higher entities out there, this shouldn’t have been the sentence that made Jaskier blow his load with an embarrassingly loud, half-sobbing half-screaming moan- but then again, everything they’ve done today was so wrong in all the best ways, Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised, really. His vision blurred for a couple moments as he spilled onto the ground beneath him, his body trembling and twitching with the force of his orgasm.

His hole tightened around Geralt, making Geralt practically howl as he desperately chased his own completion. He sunk his teeth into the back of Jaskier’s neck, biting down hard on the skin until Jaskier screamed, his spent cock twitching one more time as the wonderful pain exploded in his nerve endings.

Geralt kept his teeth around his neck as he fucked him, growling and hissing as he reached the edge. His hips stilled inside Jaskier, and he let out a shaky breath as he came deep inside him. Jaskier closed his eyes, his lips curling into a tired, but very pleased smile as Geralt emptied his load into him.

They stayed like this for a while, Geralt still inside him, panting against Jaskier’s back. He gently kissed over the bitemark on Jaskier’s neck, soothing the pain with his tongue. Jaskier sighed happily, a very pleasant exhaustion settling into his bones.

“And you say my songs don’t have power,” Jaskier chuckled tiredly, “how long do you think we would have kept this stupid façade up otherwise?”

Geralt hummed softly, kissing Jaskier on the cheek gently. Nowhere was the animalistic horniness now, seeping out of them as they both came down from their high.

“Your metaphors are incredibly on the nose,” Geralt murmured, “at least you could have made some effort and not make the wolf white, or the bunny brown with blue eyes.”

“Leave my horny song alone!” Jaskier whined. “That was my only outlet!”

“Not anymore,” Geralt grinned, gently cupping Jaskier’s jaw and making him turn his head to kiss him on the lips, sweetly, languidly, until Jaskier practically melted against his mouth.

“Not anymore,” Jaskier repeated with a dreamy sigh. He pecked Geralt on the lips one more time, before he patted his bicep with a smile. “Now, as much as I like how this all turned out, I think the big bad wolf should pull out of the little bunny now. We still haven’t found that apple for Roach.”

“Hmm. I thought the bunny would like to go for another round. He could show the wolf how well he can hop. On the wolf’s dick, maybe.”

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t have the heart to argue. Instead, he gently pushed Geralt off and flipped them around with a triumphant grin.

[dreamofbecoming]

ough ok this is a rough rough rough draft, but i have a migraine and i can’t sleep so writing - yes, editing - no, lmao. it’s altogether sappier than i intended and the tone is wildly different from part 1 but i started writing and this is what came out, so what can i say? i just work here lol. feedback greatly appreciated, this is a huge departure from my usual repertoire so i’ll welcome any and all suggestions. the banshee/siren hybrid!jaskier saga continues. enjoy!

og post part 1 here ao3

wc 2500

—

It’s vaguely surprising to open his eyes at all, expecting as he was to end his days on the dusty road beside the men he killed, another monster never to terrorize the Continent again, courtesy of the great White Wolf.

But open his eyes he does, blinking blearily in the low firelight of what appears to be a generic room at a generic inn, judging by the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy blankets tucking him in. Geralt is in a chair by the hearth, patching a hole in what looks to be one of Jaskier’s socks, of all things.

Jaskier would prefer to lay here silently for a while, watching the way the light flickers and dances across Geralt’s handsome cheek, but he isn’t fool enough to imagine that his waking has gone unnoticed, or that such attention would be welcome. And, apparently, there’s a conversation to be had, given that the witcher hadn’t slain him where he stood when he revealed himself, and Jaskier would rather have that bit over with, at least.

He tries to sit up, only to grunt embarrassingly and fall back against the pillows when his elbows give out on him. He feels weak and wobbly, like a newborn foal. How long has he been out?

“Easy, don’t hurt yourself. Here,” Geralt rumbles, crossing the room to help lever Jaskier upright, propping pillows behind his back. He looks like he’s physically holding himself back from fussing over the blankets, but that’s absurd. Geralt doesn’t fuss. Geralt would never. Jaskier must still be fuzzy from sleep.

In a desperate attempt to regain some footing, some normalcy, Jaskier decides to be the first to bring up the fiend in the room. “Going soft in your old age, witcher? You don’t normally fluff the monsters’ pillows for them before you slay them, in my experience,” he says, forcing out a chuckle in the hopes of lightening the mood.

It doesn’t work. Geralt’s expression would be flat to the casual observer, but Jaskier, with his years of practice deciphering the minute twitches and shifts of that beloved face, sees the hurt and resignation in the creases around his eyes. Something that feels a lot like shame burns in his belly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re no monster.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Besides, I don’t kill anything with sentience or intelligence, you know that. Intelligent may be a bit of a stretch, sure, but you’re definitely sentient.”

Jaskier takes the teasing for the olive branch it is and makes an appropriately outraged noise, swamped with relief and reveling in the pleased little huff he elicits when he reaches out to thwap the witcher across the arm.

Unfortunately the effort involved in moving brings him right back to where he started, and he falls back against the pillows with a hiss. Geralt is back at his side and—there really is no other word for it—fussing over him in an instant.

“You need to be careful, Jask, you lost a lot of energy. You’ve been out a few days, so your muscles are likely to be weak for a while.”

“A few days? How? What even happened, I don’t…” Jaskier trails off, not knowing how to end that sentence. It isn’t remember, he remembers perfectly well, right up until the moment he collapsed in the dirt. Understand, maybe. He doesn’t understand at all. He doesn’t understand why he’s here, why Geralt is here, how he was able to do those things to those men...there are a lot of things he doesn’t understand. He isn’t sure he wants to.

Geralt sits awkwardly at the foot of the bed, perching on the edge in his effort not to disturb Jaskier’s position. Jaskier rolls his eyes and pokes him in the back with one blanketed toe, pointedly shifting his legs over to make room for Geralt to sit properly. The witcher huffs, looking vaguely sheepish, and settles more comfortably.

“You...you used too much magic at once, Jaskier. It drained you. We’re lucky the innkeeper here let us stay as payment for getting rid of the bandits. They’ve been plaguing that stretch of road for months, apparently. Meant they didn’t ask too many questions about the bodies, at least, just figured they got what they asked for, attacking a witcher.” At this, he looks up from where he’s been staring a hole in the floor between his knees, glaring at Jaskier. “Why did you do it, Jask? I had them under control. You didn’t need to—you never should have killed for me. I never asked you to do that.”

“You didn’t, though.” His voice comes out quieter than he means.

Geralt furrows his brow. “Didn’t what? Ask? I know, Jask, that’s my point.”

“Have them under control. You didn’t.”

Something in Geralt’s expression softens, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “I was fine, Jaskier, I can handle seven men. My injury from last week isn’t even that bad, it would have been fi—”

“Eight.”

“What?”

Jaskier finally makes himself meet Geralt’s eyes, determined to make himself heard if this is the last time they speak. “There were eight men, not seven. There was a man in a tree with a crossbow behind you. You didn’t see him, he was about to—” He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard against the memory of the foul taste of Geralt’s death Song flooding his mouth, of that crystal moment of knowing the person he loved most in all the world was Doomed, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help—

But he had helped. He had stopped it, despite not even knowing his powers were capable of something like that. Against all odds, Geralt was safe, he was here and alive and gazing at Jaskier with unmasked concern.

“Alright, eight, then. You still didn’t need to enchant them, Jaskier. Siren powers shouldn’t even work that strongly this far from the sea, anyway! You burnt yourself out! You could have been seriously hurt, throwing magic around like that. You should have gotten on Roach when I told you to, you should have gotten to safety. I would have been fine.”

“But you wouldn’t have!” It bursts out of Jaskier, far louder than he’d intended, tinged with desperation. “You wouldn’t have been fine. I’m not just a siren, Geralt. My sire, my matka, is a siren, yes. But my mama, the mother who bore me? Was a banshee.”

Geralt’s brow furrows in confusion. Dam broken, Jaskier continues in a rush.

“My powers have never been good for much of anything. I was a disappointment to my matka and her kin, because even though my Voice comes out as a Song, all it’s ever done is foretell death, I’ve never been able to use it to compel anyone, and what use is a siren without a Lure?

“I don’t have a proper Shriek, either, but my mama always said my Shriek was as good as any other, just prettier. That’s what it’s always been, a Shriek disguised as a Song. I look at someone, I can feel that they’re slated to die, and the Song wants to be sung, but I never bothered because what’s the point? What good is a warning when you can’t escape the inevitable? Better to let people live freely until their last, that’s what mama said. She never used her Shriek, either. It’s why her people cast her out, why she married a human man when her siren mate grew tired of her. She hated death, too.” Jaskier swallows against the tears building behind his eyes.

“Hers was the first Song I ever Sang all the way through. The only one I ever Sang, until now. My father began to suspect I wasn’t really his, and flew into a rage. I was only thirteen, I couldn’t save her. I could only hide in the closet and Sing while he killed her. I left for Oxenfurt the day after the funeral and I haven’t Sung since. Useless.”

A warm weight on his foot pulls him out of the memories, Geralt’s thumb swiping gently back and forth over his ankle while Jaskier dashes the angry tears from his eyes and tries to get his breathing back under control.

It’s Geralt who breaks the silence.

“You’re not useless, Jaskier. Never that.” There’s another long stretch of quiet, before Geralt seems to settle some internal argument and looks up to meet his eyes, molten gold shining with unnamed emotions. “Help me understand. Why Sing for those men? Why risk yourself? You’ve held in your...Shriek, all this time. Why let it out now, for them?”

Jaskier chuckles mirthlessly. “You’re not listening, Geralt. It wasn’t supposed to be their Song. I don’t...I don’t know what I did. It’s never happened like that before.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve never...I changed it, Geralt. It was supposed to be you.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the foot of the bed, but Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut against the phantom taste of rot and barrels on. “I felt it. The man in the trees, he wasn’t going to miss. The Song was meant for you, but I— gods, Geralt, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I—I just knew I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I—” Between one breath and another Geralt has moved up the bed to his side and gathered him into his arms. Jaskier buries his head into his chest and clings.

When he stops shaking, he unclenches his fingers from where they’re fisted in Geralt’s shirt and starts again. “I don’t understand what I did, Geralt. I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never had a Lure, no matter how my matka and her kin tried to beat one into me.” A low growl rumbles beneath his cheek, and he pets Geralt’s arm consolingly. That pain is long past, there’s nothing to be done for it now.

“I didn’t even mean to, really, the only thing in my head was that you couldn’t die. I never meant to—Geralt, I never wanted to kill anyone. I don’t regret it, I’d do it again for you, but I—” Geralt’s hand strokes softly through his hair, soothing the frantic pace of his heart.

“I’m scared, Geralt.” His voice is small to his own ears, thin and frightened. “If I can do that when I’m not even trying...what’s inside me, Geralt? How can I be sure I won’t hurt anyone else? Someone innocent this time?”

There’s a long moment where the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Jaskier’s own hitching sniffles, and Geralt’s slow, measured breathing beneath his ear.

“Hm,” comes the eventual response, almost startling a snort out of Jaskier at the sheer predictability of it, until Geralt continues. “We’ll figure it out together, then. There may be someone out there who can help you learn to control your powers, we just have to find them. We can start at Kaer Morhen. Come home with me this year, we’ll talk to Vesemir and figure out where to start.”

Jaskier sits up, gaping in shock. “You’re inviting me home? To the witcher keep? When I’m—”

“If you say you’re a monster again, I’m not buying you a single honeycake the entire trip.” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, still stunned. Geralt’s face softens, and he sighs. “I should have invited you a long time ago, Jaskier. Human or not, you’re my friend, you’ll be welcome.” He furrows his eyebrows, looking suddenly uncertain. “Unless...You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. I know it isn’t...it won’t be what you’re used to. I understand if mmph—” He stares, golden eyes wide over the hand Jaskier has clapped over his mouth.

“Foolish witcher, of course I’m coming! Are you mad? A chance to meet your brothers, your mentor? To see the majesty of Kaer Morhen with my own eyes? Gods, the songs to be sung! The stories that must be waiting to be told! Can we go now? Let’s go! Come on, up! Let’s get packed before you change your mind!”

The wondering look is gone from Geralt’s eyes, which are back to familiar flat annoyance. He pointedly grasps Jaskier’s wrist and removes the hand from his mouth, before standing up and manhandling Jaskier back under the blankets.

“Majestic isn’t the word I’d use, and the stories in those walls are hardly the kind of heroic tales for writing songs. It’s not there for—for—material, bard, you really will piss them off if you try that.”

Seems their equilibrium isn’t quite back, that or Geralt really is really, properly nervous about this invitation, if he thinks Jaskier is serious about picking over his home for inspiration alone.

“Geralt.” He waits until his witcher stops fiddling with the blankets and meets his eyes again. “Darling, I know. I’m only teasing. I wouldn’t exploit you, or your family, that way. Whatever songs I write there, they’ll be just for my own memories. And yours, if you like. I promise.”

Geralt deflates a little, shoulders slumping. “I know. I—I know.” He straightens up, and Jaskier can see the mask of The White Wolf, Stoic Scary Witcher descending back into place. “We’re not leaving today, anyway. You’ll need a few more days to recover, and we’ve a few weeks besides before we need to start heading north. Stay there, don’t move. The innkeep said she’d have some broth waiting for when you woke up. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He glowers threateningly at Jaskier, who sticks out his tongue in response, before leaving, apparently satisfied his bard isn’t going to make a break for it in the next ten minutes.

Jaskier settles back against the pillows with a sigh, reeling internally from so many new developments at once. Today has been nothing like he expected. He’s still somewhat surprised to be alive at all, and a tiny part of him is still waiting for the moment Geralt realizes he’s made a terrible mistake and Jaskier can’t be allowed to live, though he realizes now, with some chagrin, that that was never a realistic outcome.

He’s still terrified of the power lurking inside him, all the more ominous now for having been used with only the barest consent from his own mind. But for now he can breathe deep and set that fear aside, at least for a moment. Geralt has promised to help him. Geralt will keep him safe.

He’s alive. Geralt is alive. Geralt knows the truth and doesn’t hate him. They have the beginnings of a plan. Geralt called him his friend, out loud, on purpose. He’s been invited to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Soon he’ll have dinner, or something resembling dinner, anyway. He has altogether more blessings than he was strictly prepared to count, under the circumstances. So for now, he supposes he’ll allow himself to rest, and hum, and wait for his witcher to return. They’ll sort out the rest together.

[eureka-its-zico]

Hi, I'm back with another essay 😂

I've had a busy week at work and I thank the heavens it is Friday because I need to just sit and stare at a wall for a while and decompress 😂 Also, my week's been fully thrown off since Monday as I did not sleep at all that night so I've been all over the place. HOWEVER, it's been a fairly alright week!

I thought I'd send in an ask to mainly talk video games because Dragon Age, ME AND Baldur's Gate? Especially ME?! I don't get to talk about ME enough!

Okay, so I have to admit that for most of the game, my party was Shadowheart, Karlach and the gith chick, Lae'zel, that you don't like 😂 And I have to admit that at first I was on the fence about her, but she quickly grew on me and even more so as the story progressed. Larian Studios gave each of their characters a great background and amazing personalities. And majority of them have great character progression as the game progresses, imo! (there's some things that happen in that game that I cannot comment about yet, but honestly, Larian Studios are creative geniuses lol)

In regards to Lae'zel, I will definitely want to hear more of your thoughts as you progress through the game!

Also, I cackled at the fact you restarted the game because you found out you missed Gale! 😂 I have to admit though - I would absolutely do the same! Let me know what you decide on him, because I went through the whole game and my opinion about him didn't change 😂

How are you finding the game so far? What do you think of the story and the characters you encountered? Both, the characters you can have in your party and NPC's? Have you tried to speak with any animals yet? 😂

Coming up to Dragon Age and Mass Effect… It's been years since I touched a Dragon Age game, but I remember the first and second games fondly. But Mass Effect… Oh boy, haha. I played the games… I don't even know how many times. ME2 still to this day holds a special part in my heart so when they announced an ME Legendary Edition with all three games reworked, all shiny and pretty?? You bet I got them and played through all three games :D And it felt like playing them for the first time again. Also, Garrus? Yes, please!

Have to admit, I was disappointed at the ending on ME3, both because of the ending they gave Commander Shepard and also because the ending that they originally came out with was… a flop and unsatisfying, though they gave longer endings after a patch because of fan disappointment. And I will forever think that the "secret ending" of Commander Shepard's N7 logo in those ruins actually means they aren't dead (there should also be a new ME game???! And they showed Liara in the trailer??!).

The universe that ME has, with the story and characters is just absolutely mind blowing and those games are beautiful ❤ And personally, I look for games that have a rich and deep story so the fact that we are talking about DA, ME and Baldur's Gate right now? My heart is singing and I am just all warm and happy haha

Another one of my favourites is Witcher 3. AND it was a fave before Henry Cavill became a live action Geralt 😂 I spent a lot of hours on that game... One could even say too many, but if anyone does - they're wrong 😂

But of course, I have to take a moment and scream about "Violent Delights", because excuse me? Where has Enishi Yukishiro been and why have I not seen him?? 👀 I know what I'm watching over the weekend lol I need to find time to go through your whole master list because your writing is like nourishment and it does unexplainable things to me!

And that sneak peek for chapter 7..? Oh fuck. These two petty fools will be the end of me 😂

On a personal note, thank you for your kind words in your reply. I appreciate you for taking the time to reply and share your lovely words with me because they mean a lot ❤

I hope your week has been great, Jenn! And I hope you will have a lovely, restful weekend! Sending you lots of virtual hugs! ❤

Okay so I KNOW you just sent me a brand new ask but I need to answer this one first! I am so sorry it took me so long to reply 😩

How have your weeks been going? It’s been a while since we’ve checked in with one another! I sincerely hope that no technology has been acting up and that your days have been peaceful and content 🖤

DID YOU BY CHANCE WATCH RUROUNI KENSHIN: THE FINAL WITH ENISHI YUKISHIRO?!!??? I legit wrote that thinking it would get him out of my system but it actually did not lol and I’m already just planning on continuing it but it’s just going to be filth. Pure smutty filth and I refuse to apologize 🤣🤣

Right now Karlach is still currently my fav! Her character is just so FUN. She has such a good attitude, and she is definitely the type of person I would want in a real-life crew. I’m torn on the love interest part of it because like…so far I like none of them lol. Astarion is in the lead, but barely, just because he’s a vampire and I’m a whore for love bites 😈 lol but I have noticed that he does have these soft moments through the indifference he conveys. He’s just different from who I usually pick in games. Although, in Cyberpunk I picked Judy but if I could’ve picked Johnny (absolutely LOVE Keanu) I would’ve lol. I love broody men.

I agree with you on ME3!! I’m so glad they went back and added more to it. I think it allowed a lot of us to get the closer we needed when it came to our Commander Shepherds. And yeah, if you chose the destroy option, they hinted that he/she was still alive, but I could never choose that one. I’m such a paragon lol I wanted everyone to get along and if my character had to sacrifice herself to do it, I did it every time (I can’t do that to Eve) 😩😩 except the one time to see if the destroy ending was worth it. I won’t hold my breath about the new DA and ME trailers they showcased a couple years ago, because Andromeda was not a fav lol. I think trying to bring in a new character to take over for shepherd is going to be incredibly hard, but I am interested to see if the continue with the storyline of inquisition for DA!

Baldur’s Gate 3 is just such a breathe of fresh air because I’m such a whore for a good storyline. I LOVE them. It makes it so much more immersive and makes you care about the outcomes of those in your party and your character. Witcher 3 was sooooo good at that too!

I’m still waiting to replay Cyberpunk 2077 from the beginning because of the Sons of Liberty DLC. I’ve heard amazing things about it, and I’m hyped but I got 2 weeks left of Uni work and then I graduate and I’m DONE! I’m so ready lol 🤣🤣

Thank you for always being such an absolute joy to talk to and for the essays lol. For being one of the sweetest humans alive. I hope your weekend is treating you well 🖤🖤 much love

[blackberrywars]

First Lines

First of all, damn you (thank you) @alllthequeenshorses for tagging me because I love this idea, but also you know i have too many wips. That being said: the first line of any wip longer than a paragraph.

The Witcher

One of these days, Lambert’s thighs are going to kill her —not through any fault of their own, either. 

Many, many a stupid sailor has said many, many things about her.

Lambert’s head has barely touched the worn fabric of her rag pillow when a rustling noise starts up from the other side of her campfire. 

Arnaghad’s hands fall on Ivo’s shoulders like they always do, attempting to rest there supportively and instead achieving something similar to the effect of a draft ship’s anchor on a raft. 

A long, long time ago, beyond seven mountains, beyond seven forests, a dark, spotted jaguar lay stretched across a tree branch, napping contentedly.

When Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier drop his squealing, adorable granddaughter onto his porch, she runs toward him, wrapping her skinny, freckled arms around his thighs. 

Many things can be said for Arnaghad’s seat in Haern Caduch. 

No matter how many times they do this, no matter that they’ve been doing this for a decade and then some, Lambert can never silence that little voice in her head swearing at her for not letting Aiden fuck her sooner. 

Cats are crazy.

In retrospect, Aiden should have known that chasing after Lambert would be a hunt unlike any other.

For the right price, anyone could be bought. 

A half-naked Aiden crawling into his lap is something Lambert has sorely missed, and he almost bites the bastard right then and there for depriving him those five terrible years.

Splayed out across their warm, wide bed, well-rested and better-fucked, Erland decides to indulge himself in his most favorite pastime.  

Halfway through Kaedwen on the way to Kaer Morhen, well past the little inn where Aiden has reluctantly left her every year, Lambert starts getting…… tetchy

Legend of Korra

“Spirits, he’s so embarrassing. Pulling at his tunic like he’s not harder than the walls of Ba Sing Se.” 

The way her grandmother tells it, the story of her birth could have fallen from the tongue of a priestess.

When Ming-Hua crawls into his bed later that night, all he can think about is how small she is.

The walls of her room, apparently like every other wall in every other home in the Earth Kingdom, are cracked and gray-brown and delightfully cool to the touch

If anyone has literally any questions about any of these, please send them! I’m hoping it will give me some more motivation to write lol

Tagging you all gently, as well as anyone else who sees this and wants to play!  @hellinglasses, @halehathnofury, @girls-and-honey, @keirametzbrassknuckles, @t4tlambert, @round--robin, @on-a-lucky-tide, @whyzowl, @orangepanic, @nyamadermont, @yellowsalt3