#i honestly had no idea who jaskier was before this

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

for the domestic/relationship situation prompts: geraskier + 19? 🥺

19. Bingeing an entire season of trashy reality show in one sitting

“I don’t understand.” Geralt squints at the TV, where the first episode of the new season of Surviving Love is playing.

“What’s there not to understand?” Jaskier asks. “It’s sixteen beautiful people trapped together, trying to survive while also banging each other’s brains out in the hopes of finding their one true love. The whole idea is that they pair off as soon as possible and the couples all compete to see who can survive the longest on a desert island.”

“Island can’t be that deserted if there’s a camera crew following them around.” Geralt arches his eyebrow as a pretty redhead on the TV has a breakdown about needing to eat bugs for protein.

“You just need to suspend your disbelief for eight episodes or so.” Jaskier winces sympathetically. If he had to choose between starving and eating bugs, he’s honestly not sure which one he would choose.

For several moments, Geralt refrains from commentary, though his left eyebrow keeps twitching, like it often does when Jaskier is doing something that perplexes him so much that he finds himself beyond words. It’s one of Jaskier’s favorite expressions, not that he’s ever going to tell his boyfriend that. They both had a rough week—Geralt got stiffed on a big contract and Jaskier had to have not one, but two conversations with Valdo Marx—so they’re both in need of some TLC.

“Oh, good for her,” Jaskier says as the redhead from the bug breakdown begins making out with an attractive blond man. “She bagged the park ranger. He can probably catch something better than bugs for dinner.”

“Hm.” Geralt looks unimpressed.

Jaskier snuggles closer against his boyfriend’s side. “You know, I auditioned for this show years ago.”

That earns him an incredulous look. “You?”

“Don’t give me that look! It was before Pris and I made our first album. I needed a way to get our name out there.”

“You wouldn’t have survived a week.”

Jaskier drew back, gaping in outrage. “Excuse me?”

“Eight weeks without a shower and a toothbrush? Remember how much you whined when you followed me on that three day forktail hunt?”

“I was the picture of stoicism!”

Geralt is wearing that infuriating little half-smirk he wears whenever he thinks he’s being witty and clever, the fucker. “You were very stoic when you told me to leave you there to die when you stepped in forktail shit.”

“I was traumatized.” Jaskier whacks him lightly on the chest. On the screen, the redhead is tussling with another woman, screaming about betrayal. “And now we’ve missed something important! Go back!”

Geralt groans, but picks up the remote control.

***

Eight episodes later, the living room is dark and strewn with empty takeout containers as the theme music for Surviving Love plays from the screen.

“That was bullshit,” Geralt says.

Jaskier is actually a little surprised. He never really expected Geralt to like the show, but his boyfriend did sit through eight hours of it without much complaint after the first episode.

“Simon and Gretta should have won.” Moodily, Geralt takes a sip of his beer.

Jaskier blinks at him. “What?”

“The whole point is working together, right? Heidi and Jan didn’t really work together; she did all the work while he went off and played grab ass with Elin.

“Yeah.” Jaskier shakes his head, disappointed. “I don’t see them making it past the finale.”

“None of these couples are making it past the finale.”

“I don’t know.” Jaskier snuggles closer, propping his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. “If you can survive eight weeks together without showers or toothbrushes, you can survive anything.”

“Hm.” Geralt presses a kiss to his temple. “We could try it. Put our relationship to the test.”

“Don’t even think about it. I’ve cleaned harpy bites on your ass and picked kikimore intestines out of your hair and that was before we started dating. Our love has been proven thoroughly.”

“And I’ve been to your concerts.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Geralt turns off the TV. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I can see why it’s your favorite show.”

They sit in the darkness of their living room for a moment.

“You know, that was season sixteen,” Jaskier finally says. “There are fifteen other seasons we could go back and watch.”

Geralt turns the TV back on without hesitation. “Hm. If you want to.”

Jaskier grins as he pulls the blanket more securely around him. “You know, we could pretend not to know each other and audition for season seventeen. We would kill.”

“No.”

“Think of all the kitty treats we could buy Roach.”

Geralt pauses, considering. “What makes you think I’d pair up with you?”

Jaskier gasps. “Geralt! You knave!”

“What?” His boyfriend shrugs, looking very pleased with himself. “Roach only deserves the best treats. Gotta pair with someone who has a chance of winning.”

Jaskier splutters, outraged beyond words.

“Going to go get more ice cream,” Geralt rises to his feet.

Jaskier stares after him. “Fine! But we are having this conversation when you get back, mister!” He sulks for about thirty seconds before calling, “Can you bring me some ice cream?”

“Already got out the mint chocolate chip.”

“You’re the best. I love you so much that I’ll share the prize money when me and my partner on Surviving Love beat you and your harlot by a mile.”

In the decade they’ve known each other, Jaskier has never heard Geralt laugh so hard. He would be more offended, if he weren’t too busy laughing too.

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[conkers-thecosy]

My ask about asks I forgot to send you.

I've seen many posts about people missing how common asks used to be so I have been trying to send about an ask a week. Now I send this ask first anytime I follow someone as I really don't want to bother anyone, so I'd love to know if you enjoy receiving asks and if so what kind of asks. Not having energy for asks or being comfortable with them is perfectly okay.

The categories I have in my ask notebook that I file under are in colour. Please feel free to make your response as long as you want or private (the asker cannot directly respond to private responses).

Self, Job/Work: please let me know what you are comfortable with from eh idk just ask it to nothing personal at all.

Baggishield/Tolkien, Dragon Age, Johnlock/Sherlock, ineffable spouses, other fandom: Please let me know what fandoms. I think my main fandoms and ships are Bagginshield/The Hobbit, Sherlock/Johnlock, Dragon Age Inquisition, {Pippin/Faramir Merry/Eowyn}/The Lord of the Rings and I dip my toes in a few that I currently can't remember but ships I don't engage with the canon of at all are: Good Omens but only for Crowley/Azirapheal, Stranger Things but only for Steve/Eddie , The Witcher but only for Geralt/Jaskier.

OC's you want to talk about

art/drawing do you draw and like to get asks about it?

your writing

blog specific only is your blog specific to a fandom or something that you only want asks about related things

Story snippets ideas and prompts: Do you like receiving them?

Pets: I'd love to know all about them

Garden and Hobbies: What type of gardening and/or hobbies?

Like being tagged in things: If so what kinds of things?

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer.

Hi there!!

I'm sorry this took me so long to answer - I know there's no pressure (which I appreciate immensely!) but I really want to answer them, I'm just super slow!

Self, Job/Work: Honestly I'm super happy to talk about anything like this! With all my social links on my pinned posts it wouldn't be too difficult to find out a lot of stuff about me and my life anyway! Baggishield/Tolkien, Dragon Age, Johnlock/Sherlock, ineffable spouses, other fandom: Okay so while I enjoy all of these fandoms, and more besides, I get real single-minded about my special interests. Right now it's Bagginshield, and that's really all my brain has room for! OC's: I would genuinely loooove to talk about my OCs, so very much! As I said above, bagginshield is really my main focus right now, but I have two half-written original novels that I really hope to pluck up the courage to share one day. Honestly I would love so much to have the opportunity to talk about them more here, but I know there's not a lot of interest. Folks are here for the bagginshield stuff, and that's totally fair! But, I'm going to write these stories either way and I really would love any excuse to gush about them and my OCs! art/drawing: I don't draw, I'm afraid! I wish I did, I'm always in so much awe of people who have that skill! I paint a bit, but not often and just for fun, and it's always some weird abstract stuff, haha! your writing: Love to talk about writing! It's all that keeps me going some days, and any excuse to chat about what I'm doing, what I'm planning, ro even giving advice to other writers is just so much fun to me! blog specific only: Nah, this blog is a mish-mash of everything! Happy to talk about whatever! Pets: So I have a dog! His name is Wilfred, and he was a rescue! He's my boon companion, and I love any excuse to show him off, haha! Garden and Hobbies: So I do garden, but I'm new to it! I never had a garden before until about 3 years ago, and it's been super fun to learn as I go! Other hobbies are funny, because I do a bit of everything. I'm fairly crafty so I've done pottery, sewing, jewellery making, painting as I mentioned, a bit of knitting, etc. I also used to have my own small business, running a perfumery, so I've made all sorts of bathing products, soaps, bath salts, candles, etc! Like being tagged in things: I do, but you may have noticed, I'm a bit slow at responding! I do try to keep on top of them and I never mind being tagged, but it ebbs and flows, for sure!

Okay, I think that's everything!!

Thank you so much for sending this! I will answer your others at some point, but my alarm has just gone off and now it's writing time, haha!

Thanks again for these lovely asks you send to people, it's really such a wonderful thing you're doing!

[bigfan-fanfic]

A Captive Bard (Male!Reader x Geralt x Jaskier)

Requested by @capturingthecountryside Can we get more ? Perhaps a scene in season 2 where Jaskier is shirtless in the pond in his tight breaches and riding boots.. perhaps Geralt ties him up for some kink play ;-) or vice versa please leave the tight pants and riding boots on this time :-)

"Honestly, Geralt, you ought to take better care of your rescuees. I nearly got impaled on those swords of yours."

Geralt growls. "You're the only person I know who complains about being rescued."

"Who asked for your help? I would have gotten out of there on my own. Probably."

Geralt lets out another huff. "Then I won't bother rescuing you the next time your mouth lands you in trouble."

"Now, I didn't say that. Goodness, you're sensitive."

"Jaskier." Geralt snaps. "Do you EVER stop talking?"

The bard doesn't miss a beat. "No."

He whips off his red longcoat, to the witcher's surprise. Jaskier strides into the lake, pulling off his shirt as he goes, and for a moment, Geralt is stunned, just looking at the bard's surprising physique. And an idea starts to form.

He's no idiot. It's been clear that Jaskier talks a big game and flirts with everything that moves, but hasn't been taken care of for far too long. He needs a bit of punishment.

Geralt grabs a coil of thin black rope that you gifted him with after he insisted you teach him how to bind captives in your special ways. Now, when you tied him, he had been willing, and Jaskier might not take too well to this, but oh well.

The bard had been chattering incessantly, deliberately pivoting so that the witcher would have a good view of his flexing muscles.

He dunks his shirt into the water, the splash concealing the sound of Geralt slipping into the lake behind him.

Jaskier glances onto the shore, registering for just an instant that Geralt has disappeared, before rope falls across his vision and Geralt yanks it tense, pulling Jaskier's arms against his torso with no small amount of force.

"Geralt, what the hell are you doing?" Jaskier protests, as Geralt plants a knee on his back as he pulls Jaskier's arms behind him, using more rope to draw his elbows as close together as possible before adding another knot.

Jaskier grunts with discomfort as Geralt binds his wrists, his arms bound harshly behind his back, preventing much shifting.

"If you're not grateful for my rescue, then you can just be my prisoner instead."

Jaskier makes a noise, not of distress, but of interest, when Geralt yanks his arms up, forcing him to bend forward, the tips of his hair dipping into the water. He wiggles his rear against Geralt's crotch as the witcher forces him to walk like this out of the lake, and he swears he feels a hardening sign of interest before Geralt spanks him.

Jaskier yelps. "Geralt, Geralt, wait."

"What?" Geralt growls simply.

"Are you really mad, or is this for... am I going to be played with?"

Geralt growls again. Jaskier shudders.

"You're mine now, Jaskier, and I'm taking you away to my prince."

Jaskier shudders, then futilely attempts to struggle. "You'll never get away with this, you brute! I have a witcher who will rescue me!"

Geralt rolls his eyes and shoves Jaskier's wet shirt in his mouth and takes a leather strap from Roach's saddlebags to secure it with. Jaskier moans in protest as Geralt takes another coil of rope to wind around his torso and arms, pulling his arms almost painfully against his torso, ensuring he wouldn't be able to move anything independently.

When Geralt gently rubs his hands, checking for circulation, it occurs to the bard that the witcher definitely knows what he's doing, and it sends bloodflow straight to his crotch. Which Geralt pays absolutely no mind to as he lifts Jaskier over Roach's back, lashing him down like cargo.

"MMMMMPH!" Jaskier does yell this time when Geralt folds his legs, crossing his ankles before tying them together, and attaching them to his wrists and back. He's nothing more than a helpless parcel, and with this position, his rear, clad in his tight leather pants, pushed into the air, any movement makes him feel precariously placed. He feels like nothing more than another set of saddlebags.

Geralt simply packs up Jaskier's things and coat, and grabs a bolt of silk cloth to wrap around the bard's eyes, concealing his face and blocking his vision.

Giving into temptation, Geralt twists in the saddle to rest his hand on the swell of Jaskier's rear, making the bard whine eagerly, trying to get any semblance of stimulation. Geralt simply spanks him again before urging Roach on.

He definitely wonders how Jaskier will respond to any passing travelers, seeing a handsome, well-muscled shirtless prisoner struggling in a tightly packaged bundle - and then he grins at the idea of Jaskier covered in rope marks that the witcher put there.

And then the idea of being bound WITH Jaskier occurs to him, and he eagerly spurs Roach on faster.

[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

[lambden]

29 (I know this is ur witcher blog so I understand if legally you have to write a witcher drabble)

well. british one x superman/the lesser Hemsworth it is

G, 1592 words, no warnings except some canon anti-witcher sentiment

“Look at this,” rants Jaskier. Geralt doesn’t turn to look, sure their attention has been caught by the same thing. The notice board is rather scarce. Isla wants a farmhand to help with her unexpectedly rowdy herd of kids, without specifying if she means goat children or human ones. Preben, recently widowed, wants for a new wife— but not unless she’s blonde. The local guard wants everyone to pay the new levy without a fuss. Good luck with that one.

The only posting of any notice at all is a request to clear out some drowners by the river. Low risk, low reward. Geralt sucks his teeth at their circumstances, more bored than disappointed by the lack of opportunity, and his bard takes the sound as taciturn encouragement to continue complaining. “It’s unforgivable. Fucking bastardly idiots and their idiot propaganda! I— I’m going to take it down!”

Before Geralt reasons that they should probably take it down after killing the drowners, Jaskier lunges for the board. He doesn’t tear down the contract at all, instead going for a poster that Geralt hadn’t even noticed. He’s seen so many of these pinned up in the area that his eyes had honestly glanced over its details, but he is familiar with the general idea behind the idiot propaganda. In fact, he’s been dealing with similar bastardly idiots for decades before Jaskier was even born. He deadpans, “You gonna save it as a nice keepsake from your travels?”

“Save it for kindling, more like,” spits Jaskier, his eyes already blazing. He crumples up the poster in his hands, tossing it to the ground and then crushing it under his fancy but very solid heel. 

Even though Geralt hadn’t seen the specifics, he supposes this is probably a nice gesture. If the Great Temple of the Eternal Fire were the ones who posted it, their local chapter would waste weeks trying to deduce who was behind this heinous, heretic act of vandalism. And if the reigning local government posted it as an anti-magic measure, the consequences could be even greater for the town. Considering the hypothetical repercussions makes him grimace, but… Jaskier has already intervened, catalysing this town’s fate. For someone who claims to act as a narrator to the world’s plots, he is alarmingly good at stepping in and changing them. Geralt supposes the same could be said about himself, although he does it to his own chagrin whereas some great force drives Jaskier’s actions.

He wants to ask the bard what he might call that force, and what would possess him to venture so far out of his way to incur the wrath of people in power. But the inciting incident is already crumpled up in the dirt, and Geralt has no desire to enter yet another cyclical and monotonous conversation about why the bard does the things he does. It’s not like things will change. He has seen dozens of kings rise and fall, and the minutiae of each one’s rule only comes with more and more catastrophically cruel fallout for their kingdoms. Jaskier might have ripped down one poster, but an even harsher and more explicit one will be nailed up in its stead.

Geralt swallows his twisted, uncomfortable thoughts. He glances around to check that no one saw. Then he tears the drowner notice down from the board, shoving it into his pocket.

-

The mid-day sun beats down on them with a violence that would surely burn the shoulders and scalp of any normal human. It’s too bright to properly make out the path ahead, and they’ll need to stop soon so that Roach can drink and rest. Even Geralt, the only Wolf to ever survive the worst Trials twice, is fighting off fatigue. Maybe he should have taken Jaskier up on his offer to play an extra show last night, so they could have stayed in Novigrad another day. Instead they’re riding along the bank of an unnamed river, languishing together. And while the proximity to water should come as a relief and lower their temperatures, instead the humidity is just making his armour torturous to wear.

Or, rather, Geralt is riding along the bank and languishing. Jaskier, as he has been for the last few hours, is strumming his instrument and singing a quiet but fervent melody to himself. If Geralt didn’t love him so much he thinks he could kill him right now.

“Stop,” he commands, and Jaskier heeds him immediately, fingers going still on his lutestrings. “No, I… keep playing, if you want. But Roach needs a break.”

“I know what that’s code for,” sings Jaskier, which infuriates Geralt even more because he doesn’t know what that was code for, and he’s the one who fucking said it. “While I’m touched at your concern for my well-being, I’m right in the middle of composing, darling! Give me twenty more minutes and I think I’ll have something polished to perform at Midinváerne.”

Geralt digs his heels into Roach’s sides anyway. She stops cantering with a patient huff, and he directs her down towards the riverbed. 

The bard, despite his stupid request to continue onwards, trails after them down the bank. “I’m not that same boy who followed you out of Posada, you know,” he huffs impatiently, sounding amusingly similar to Roach. “My heels have blistered so many times they’re practically leathery now. And I can hold my piss like a champion.”

“That’s not why we stopped,” Geralt grunts, because ‘shut up’ would be too impolite. Unfortunately, he isn’t the same man who led the way out of Posada either. “How can you even compose without singing any words? It’s just humming.”

“Oh, I learned a long time ago to write my songs in my head,” laughs Jaskier, carefree. Guilt stings briefly and sharply at Geralt’s heart; he bats it away, turning to face the rushing creek beside them. “I can remember the entire thing, and I’ll take it down on paper once we make camp for the night. Got my invitation to eternal damnation. Get in line, pass the wine, we’re going straight to hell!”

Geralt’s pierced heart freezes, and it takes him a heavy, long moment as his blood runs cold through his veins without any added toxicity to get ahold of his suddenly churning emotions. He can just picture Jaskier’s pyre now, and all the bigots who would line up to applaud the demise of a loud-spoken free-spirit. “You can’t perform that.”

“What?” Jaskier stops strumming again, although this time the silence is paired with genuine hurt behind his open, vulnerable expression. “You don’t like it? That’s only the bridge, the rest is far more evocative. It’s a love song, really, and it’s about loving your community and your comrades. And it’s a call to arms—”

“No arms,” grunts Geralt, made ineloquent by his fear. “They’ll… What brought this on?”

“I will admit, I took inspiration from a source I thought I never would.” The bard drags his fingertip along a lutestring, clearly remembering something Geralt doesn’t from their travels. The fidgeting makes him look younger than he is, and it serves as an abrupt and unwelcome reminder of his immortality. Geralt scowls. “Oh, come now. You haven’t even heard the chorus!”

“Fine.” He stares Jaskier down, and while the bard has never looked intimidated by him, some form of tension does grow between them as they exchange a heavy look. The only sound in the world around them is Jaskier’s finger playing with the string of his instrument; even Roach is silent as she laps up running water. “What’s the chorus.”

“Umm…” The bard plays the same chord progression Geralt has heard over and over the last few hours, enough that it has phased into background ambience— only now, he accompanies it with the worst words Geralt could have imagined. “This hell is better with you… ?”

“They’re going to hang you,” Geralt blurts out before he can help it.

“They won’t—”

“They will,” insists Geralt, aware of the slightly pleading tone his voice has taken but unsure how to suppress it. Without quite meaning to, he stomps through the reeds over to Jaskier. Before he can think any better of it, he grabs the bard by the face and holds him tightly in place so as to impress his fear more clearly upon him. Maybe that’s what it is— maybe he’s fearful, actually afraid, for the first time in a long fucking time. “Jaskier. You can’t.”

“I have to,” says Jaskier, possessed by that horribly dangerous passion that Geralt has seen ignited across his young face a thousand times before. “It’s important.”

“You’re important,” Geralt blurts out.

The river rushes beside them; slowly, through his fear, Geralt realizes that he’s cupping Jaskier’s cheeks in his hands and standing rather close. Jaskier inhales sharply, his heart somehow beating even faster than the witcher’s. Neither of them pulls away.

“Alright,” Jaskier mumbles, blue eyes bright with emotion. “I’ll save it for just the two of us, then.”

-

“Walk a mile on these coals, busy cleansing my soul… getting ready for the night… damned for eternity, but you’re—”

“They’ll burn you alive.”

“There’s no one around,” Jaskier reminds him, gesturing at the wide, empty trail around him.

Geralt thinks on this, then thinks on it again.

“Damned for eternity, but you’re coming with me into the afterlife—” Jaskier’s lute plays a sour note as Geralt jumps down from Roach’s saddle, trapping the instrument between them as he kisses Jaskier like they’re both doomed. Which, of course, they are.

[abeautifulblog]

Thoughts on the Radovid romance

A couple people have asked about the Radovid/Jaskier relationship, and I thought it was... fine? As fine as anything in this show gets?

I wasn't expecting it to dethrone Geralt/Jaskier, because 20+ years of Jaskier building his life and legacy around Geralt is a lot more compelling than Some Twink He Met Yesterday, but I did go into it with a genuinely open mind. Everyone on tumblr was gushing over their chemistry, and I was like, Yea I'd believe it, given that this is Joey Batey we're talking about. So I was expecting to enjoy it the way I'd enjoyed the Yennskier content in S2, the rare treat of two characters having a real emotional connection.

And then I watched it, and it wasn't bad, but the relationship was a lot more disjointed (and their "chemistry" a lot less compelling) than tumblr had led me to believe. (Lol, mea culpa, I should have known better than to take tumblr's word for it.) Also it’s unclear whether it’s supposed to be a cute romance, or whether it’s two people using each other for their own ends?

But it did brush up against some interesting thoughts I'd had before about Jaskier and his patrons, and got me to thinking about consent and power dynamics again, because I am THEE MOST predictable little beastie in fandom. 🤣

First off, I'm not sure what we're supposed to make of Radovid. Obviously he's ~hiding his true self~ in some way, but I can't tell if we're meant to take at face value the side of himself he shows Jaskier -- that he's more intelligent than he's been letting on, and is actually deeply lonely in the empty-headed partyboy role he's been playing, desperate for genuine connection and for someone to truly see him for who he is -- or whether that is yet more deception, and this is all part of some big ambitious scheme that he'll whip out in a mustache-twirling villain reveal. There are elements that make me think it's the latter, but Hugh Skinner's acting is also just weird (and why are his eyes so wet o_o), and I can't tell whether that's supposed to be deliberate foreshadowing, or if, once again, the people making the show are just clueless about how their creative choices are coming off.

(I assume this will get answered at some point, possibly already has in part 2, but I haven't watched that yet.)

Honestly, the part that caught my interest the most was when Jaskier showed up at Radovid's salon wanting to talk about new intel he had on Rience, and Radovid was blithely uninterested, just wanted Jaskier to sing for them -- and then proceeded to casually, completely disregard Jaskier's No.

gremble: Oho? 👀

That's a red flag! 😊 Jaskier tried to set a boundary, and Radovid brushed right past it. And in any competently-executed piece of media, I would expect that to be deliberately signaling something. It doesn't necessarily mean that Radovid is evil -- could just mean he's a crown prince who doesn't have much experience with people telling him No -- but seeing him blithely override Jaskier's wishes in a low-stakes situation sets a bad precedent, and foreshadows how he might behave later, when the stakes might well be higher.

...Except that this production team is so HILARIOUSLY bad at writing healthy relationships -- for three seasons they've been feeding us the most toxic slop imaginable and telling us that's what love looks like -- that I have no idea whether that was on purpose or not. 😂😂😂

--

The Radovid storyline does touch on some concepts that I've long found fascinating, about Jaskier's system of patronage and how he trades on his sexuality. How his work is canonically sex work, or at least sex-work adjacent (that's made explicit when he talks about the Countess de Stael, that they were involved sexually while she was supporting him financially), and the balancing act of keeping his patrons happy when they are always, always going to be second in his affections to Geralt -- and how they probably wouldn't be too happy to learn that.

Because for all that S3 tells us Jaskier is developing a crush on Radovid, Joey Batey's acting says something very different. He did not come off as a man in love, to me -- he came off as someone who's acutely aware that when the crown prince of Redania rolls up and tells you he's your biggest fan, you fucking smile for him.

(Why yes, Moulin Rouge is my all-time favorite movie, why do you ask? 🤣)

Jaskier's interactions with Radovid feel very... 'calculated' isn't quite the word for it, but Jaskier is conscious of the power differentials there, and always carefully choosing what he does and says in light of what he knows Radovid wants from him. He's conscious of having to keep Radovid happy, yes but he's also conscious of what he stands to gain from having a crown prince clamoring to win his affections, and what he could leverage out of that. (Like, say, having the entire Redanian army to protect his little found family.)

And the power imbalance isn't entirely one-directional either. Radovid wants Jaskier's affections, something that can't be bought or coerced, and wants his specifically, which means Jaskier has all the power to give or withhold it... while also being aware that toying with a prince's affections is a dangerous game.

........Or maybe I entirely misread that, and Jaskier's feelings for Radovid are meant to be genuine, and the whole thing was supposed to be a cute little romance. The way that Joey & the production team have talked about that relationship makes it sound like that's what they were going for, but what's onscreen is very ambiguous.

It will surprise no one to learn that I think the more interesting option would be the one that complicates Jaskier’s motives. That even if he likes Radovid well enough, he's still deliberately leveraging Radovid's crush on him to get help for Geralt -- and that if he oversteps, he's risking the wrath of a very powerful man. (And that as the perceived rival, Geralt could wind up as the target of Radovid’s retribution.)

Anyway, it's a fascinating situation, and almost identical to a fic premise I've been tossing around for years. It's never quite coalesced enough to get written, but it does compel me.

(Alternately, if you wanted Radovid to be noble and tragic, @coffee-mage-sans-caffeine suggested a situation in which Radovid and Geralt are in peril together, one of them is not going to make it out of this, and Radovid sacrifices himself so Geralt lives -- because he knows which of them Jaskier loves more.)

[moonlightpirate]

Inkpot Gods Chapter 2

Its finally here! Sorry for the delay guys! This chapter is what happens while you and Jaskier wait for Geralt and Yennefer and part of this is based on this moodboard by @sweetpeapod master list post here for chapter one ao3 link here

You woke up groggy and uncertain where you were, your last memory was of Jaskier telling to you about how he met Geralt. You look around wondering where Jaskier was. Gasping, you clutch your side as the pain reminds you of your recent injury. 

"Oh, good you're awake, I was getting worried." You heard Jaskier say. 

The ground beneath you was damp and hard. You could hear what sounded like waves. It looked like you may be in a cave but you had no idea where Jaskier was.

"Jaskier?! Where are we? What happened? Where are you?"

He appeared by your side faster than you expected, "You passed out before we got here. This is a safe spot that Geralt showed me a while back. It's sort of like a cave, but it's really well hidden. I'll show you when you're healed." Jaskier helped you to sit up and he put a gentle hand on your side where he had attempted to bandage your injury over your dress, "I didn't want to pry, so I just tried to wrap the wounds so they would hopefully start to heal. How are you feeling?". 

"I'm not sure. It still hurts." You take some of the bandages off, "looks like I've stopped bleeding at least. How long was I out?"

"About a day, I just cooked up some fish. I have some bread, if you're hungry that is."

"I'm so hungry, thank you." You smile up at him. 

His face lights up as he grabs the food, and sets it on a makeshift plate in front of you. You eat faster than usual, as the smell of the food makes you realize how hungry you are. After you finish, you both sit together in silence, unsure of what to say. 

"How long should we wait for Geralt? Or for Yennefer?" You finally inquire. 

"Honestly, I'm not sure. I figure I'll give it a week, maybe less, depending on how you are feeling." He looks at you with such care on his face. 

You smile at him and nod, still feeling anxious about being here. 

"Also, how are we going to trust them? My parents are convinced it's a shapeshifter that is after me. Do you have any questions you could ask them to confirm their identity?"

Jaskier pondered the question for a moment, "I think so. But please get some rest so you can heal."

Three days pass, and you finally feel healed enough to step outside the cave area to see just how concealed it was. It wasn't far from a beachy area, allowing you and Jaskier to work together to catch some fish to eat. You knew more about plants than he did, and found some edible berries, and other plants to add more than just fish and bread to your diets. To be safe, the two of you didn't really light a fire, especially at night. The cold made cuddling close to Jaskier a necessity, to borrow his body heat.

"You know, I promised to teach you how to sword fight. If we don't hear from Geralt, and decide to leave, it may not hurt for me to show you some moves. Especially since I don't think I'm quite strong enough to save us both in a worst case scenario."

Jaskiers face lit up at the proposal, "Yes, I would quite like that. May help me out some in the future."

"You mean as the sandpiper right?" You ask, you had heard your mother talking about the Sandpiper months ago, and now wondered if it was Jaskier she was talking about.

"How do you know about that?", he inquired looking at you first in shock then looking down at the floor sheepishly, "Honestly, it really is just a title. It's nothing that great." Jaksier blushes.

"Nothing great? You've been saving elves who are being tortured! It truly is a great thing that you are doing. Honestly, I just guessed. I heard my mother say that the sandpiper was someone close to Geralt, so I had a feeling it was you."

You both look at each other for a moment. It's obvious Jaskier is a bit nervous now that you know who he is. You gently place a hand on his shoulder, to show him some comfort.

After a bit, you finally decide to lie down. You were uncertain how much longer it was after you fell asleep, that you felt him lay down next to you, and pull you close to him. You blushed and tried to make it seem as though you were still asleep, as you enjoyed the feeling of his strong arms around you. Oh how you wished this moment would last forever.

The next day after breakfast you started to show Jaskier how best to wield a sword. 

After a few hours of practicing, Jaskier heard you laughing and sighed, "What am I doing wrong now?"

"That's not a good stance, or a good way to hold a sword. Here, let me show you."

You walk up to Jaskier, and gently use your hands to move his arms into a better position, and use your foot to guide his legs into a strong stance. Jaskier closed his eyes, he couldn't deny that your touch felt amazing on his skin. 

"How's that feeling?" You smile, stepping back and admiring his stance. 

"To be honest, it feels weird."

"Try taking a few hits on that tree there. You'll see what I mean." You laugh.

With one fluid motion, Jaskier hits the tree with the sword, and gasps in shock as he makes a dent in the wood.

"Yes! See? Now take a step back, and do it again." You cheer. 

You spent the next two days perfecting his sword skills. At the end of the second day, you decided to fake a fight, so he could get the feel of fighting someone else. Of course, between the injury on your side, and to make him feel better about himself, you definitely didn't use your whole strength against him. 

"What is going on here?" A female voice inquired. 

"Oh Yennefer thank goodness where's Geralt?" Jaskier asked, dropping the sword. 

"He's not here with you guys?"

"Do you see him anywhere?" You reply sarcastically. 

Yennefer shot you an evil glare before looking back at Jaskier. 

"I need to go find him. You are both safer here, unless the fighting I saw you doing wasn't a good sign."

"I was showing him how to sword fight so he can defend himself! Let us come with you to find Geralt!" You shout at her. 

"No! I barely even want to leave Jaskier with you! Someone needs to go check on Geralt and it will be better if it's just me rather than all of us."

You glare at Yennefer. She was definitely hiding something from you. Before you can say anything, a man appears behind her.

"No one needs to come looking for me. I am here."

It was Geralt. You look at Jaskier and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Remember to ask him the question, this could be an imposter." You whispered to him. 

Jaskier nodded, "Geralt it's great to see you! But before we continue this reunion, to be safe, I have a question for you."

"Hmm?" Geralt grunted, looking annoyed. 

"So, when you first met me in Posada, what did you tell me you smelled like?" Jaskier inquired with a sly grin on his face. 

"Really Jaskier?" Geralt sighed, " It probably was onions." 

"Yennefer the first time I met you after you healed me, what were the lyrics I sang to you?"

Yennefer rolled her eyes, "Toss a coin to your witcher, oh valley of penis."

"Perfect, you both passed the test!"

"Where are my father and mother?!" You shout. 

"I am exhausted from the battle, and I need to rest. Then you can ask questions." Geralt grumbled pushing past you and Jaskier, into the cave.

You look at Jaskier, and then Yennefer, feeling hurt and worried. Yennefer just nodded her head to acknowledge she knew your concerns, and made her way into the cave behind Geralt.

You collapse to the ground trying to hold back your tears, as the fear of your parents being dead hit you. Jaskier gently knelt on the ground next to you, putting his arm around you in an attempt to comfort you.

A few days passed and Geralt still wouldn't give you a straight answer about what happened to your family. Yennefer seemed to also do everything she could to keep you and Jaskier apart. Did she know about the prophecy? Was she trying to prevent it? You weren't sure, but right now all you felt was the rising anger in you.

[wren-of-the-woods]

Thank you for tagging me @flowercrown-bard! This was very fun.

Rules: post the top 5 works you’re most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular), your top 4 current WIPs that you’re excited to release in the new year, your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year, your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number 1 favorite line you’ve written this year!

Top 5 works:

Spectre's Soul (A modern Jaskier meets a cursed ghost Geralt. this became much longer than anticipated and was very difficult to get finished and edited on time, but I did it! It was the first fic longer than 8k that I'd finished in nearly two years and I'm extremely proud of it.)

Sometimes it Takes a Prison Cell (Jaskier and Yennefer meet when they're imprisoned in a dungeon together. This one also became longer than expected, I had a wonderful time writing it, and I really like how it turned out!)

Happy Birthday, Here's a Bard (Geralt finds his daughter's favorite musician, Jaskier, on the side of the road. I had a lot of mixed feelings about this one while editing it, which made it even more satisfying when I got it out in the world and so many people liked it!)

Home (Geralt and Yennefer comfort Jaskier after season two. Retrospectively, I think this one influenced my writing style a fair bit and I'm fond of it!)

Grow Me A Garden (Forget Me Not) (My first and probably only MCD fic in this fandom. I'm fond of the writing style and it was my first Witcher fic to feature lyrics I wrote!)

Honerable mentions go to Rest My Head At Night Content and Publicity Pandemonium!

Top 4 current wips:

Sometimes it Takes a Prison Cell again (it's mostly done, but there is still some editing to be done and maybe a scene to write in the later chapters)

It doesn't have a title yet, but I have an AU brewing where Jaskier is cursed to be a sandpiper and Geralt has to care for him while they figure out how to break it. I haven't stopped thinking about it since I got the prompt, so it'll probably be my next project after the prison AU!

Sandpiper's Song -- a fic about Jaskier as the Sandpiper that's been sitting in my drafts for ages, but that I'm a bit more motivated to work on after Blood Origin

An assortment of other plot bunnies that have been floating around my head but not yet written down (a movie star AU, a winged!Jaskier AU, and a silly modern meet-cute, to name a few)

Top 3 biggest improvements:

Re-learning how to write longer fics

Gaining general confidence (and practice -- I managed to achieve my New Years' resolution of posting something every month!)

Experimenting with poetry/lyrics

Top 2 resolutions:

Write a proper novel (something over 40-50k), maybe?

See how many of my WIPs and ideas I can finish before season three comes out

Top 1 favourite line:

I honestly have no idea, but I am very fond of this stanza from a song Jaskier sings in Spectre's Soul!

You’ve been alone so long A ship that’s lost at sea I want to be your landfall I want to set you free

I'm not sure who's already been tagged, but I'll try @dreamofbecoming @wanderlust-t @karolincki @dama-art @elder-flower @linzod @penandinkprincess @theheirofashandfire @samstree @ghostinthelibrarywrites @rebrandedbard and anyone else who's interested!

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper (Part 8)

Jaskier x gn!reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve

Sorry for taking a little break on this! But I'm kind of glad I did honestly because I think I have a sort of better idea where to take the story + it was fun getting to read all of my notes and stuff again lol

Warnings: a bit of fluff, a bit of angst, knives (no one gets hurt)

Word Count: 2594

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Hot water cascaded down your back. The warmth seeped into your muscles, easing any lingering tension being held there. Jaskier couldn't stop his eyes from studying the canvas of injuries your skin held - the long scar that spanned from your shoulder blade down your spine, raised skin from wounds that never quite healed properly, a freshly stitched up cut just below your rib cage almost gracing an old injury where a creature's claws appear to have nearly ripped open your side.

He allowed himself the briefest moment to imagine just how many more scars littered the rest of your body. How many swords and claws had torn at your chest to tear open your rib cage? How close to death had you come in the decades - perhaps centuries - you were alive? How many bruises and bumps were from villagers terrified of your existence alone?

"I can feel you staring."

His eyes snapped to look at the back of your head, dripping wet with water you poured over yourself with a cup. Blue met yellow, warm and twinkling with some sense of mischief and teasing, despite the red rimming them. It still shocked him how fast you went from wailing into his shoulder, weeping in his arms, to requesting he help you undress for a bath.

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes from yours. The words in his little journal filled his vision instead. “Sorry,” he muttered. He ignored the sloshing of water as you continued to wash yourself. He ignored the smell of sandalwood and vanilla that filled the air. Fingers tensed on specific chords, just barely tugging the strings that would release the notes into the air.

After being - he still didn’t know any better way to describe it than ‘abandoned’ - by Geralt, the bard had attempted focusing his song-writing energy toward songs that did not involve the White Wolf. This did not work out well. Despite several attempts to write about his long-time muse, the Countess de Stael, or his few adventures with you, his mind kept finding its way up the mountain.

Just as you dreamt of your stolen childhood, he dreamt of his lost friendship. Even when his mind wandered, he remembered the way Geralt yelled at him. His words…

He hummed quietly, no words as of yet filling in the sad melody he strummed. What would he even say to Geralt if their paths crossed now? Something within him withered at the thought of ever having to face his old friend.

“That sounds sad.”

You were turned in the tub, chest facing him but hidden behind the wall of the tub. He was grateful he could not see more of your injuries. One arm laid resting on the rim while the other, the one previously speared by a bolt, simply held your wrist for support.

He grinned weakly. “It is sad.” He plucked a few more strings, continuing the depressed melody that seemed to source itself from his soul, before sighing and resting his hand over the wires to silence it.

You hummed, thoughtful. “Who is it for?” It was almost a redundant question. Who else would a sad song from Jaskier be for? The rest of his repertoire (as much as you had heard, anyway) was upbeat and usually strayed toward scandalous topics. When his shoulders slumped inward, and his eyes dimmed, falling to his journal of late night rants, you were certain of the cause. “Geralt.”

A scoff suddenly tore from his throat, bitter and upset. “Of course it’s Geralt,” he bit. “It’s always Geralt. He’s the hero! He’s the one throwing himself in front of monsters and then yelling at me for trying to help. He always has to work alone, otherwise…” He growled in frustration, cutting himself off. His foot tapped the floor irritably, fingernails following a similar rhythm against the wood of his lute. “And I’m just the useless bard.”

“You’re not useless,” you defend immediately.

“Oh, really?” His eyes bore into you, full of distrust and incredulity. “And how have I helped you, hm? I can’t start a fire, I can’t tell a-a poisonous berry from something edible. I can’t even fight! I can’t even defend myself from the husbands of past affairs - Geralt had to save my ass, and now you probably will, too!” His eyes were glassy by the end of his rant. He panted, breaths ever so slightly shaky to your trained ears as he fought not to cry - not to be weak - in front of you. “All I’m good for, Viper, is sleeping around and writing songs.”

His fingers pulled on discordant strings. The harsh harmonies filled the air like the tangy iron of spilled blood, before stilling with a metallic twang that both of you winced at. He glared at his notebook as if it held all the answers. He wished, for the briefest moment, he could burn away all the memories hidden inside.

Burn…

With a frown, he tested a few more strings, softer this time. His voice hummed along like a whisper, before quiet words formed on his lips.

“Watch me burn,” he paused, more tears flooding to his eyes, “all the memories of you.”

Before he could recover, swallow the lump in his throat and wrap bandages around his heart; before he could write down the new lyrics he uncovered from the deep recesses of sorrow and betrayal he swam in, a dagger, handle held toward him, appeared in his vision.

Wide eyes followed the blade up the arm to its owner. Your yellow eyes were soft and mellow, like warm honey, or the flowers the bees collected them from. You were still wet from the bath. The clothes - his clothes, actually - clung to your frame, soaking up what leftover moisture stuck to your skin. You nodded toward the weapon, gesturing for him to take it.

Slowly, as if he was unsure this is truly what you wanted him to do, his hand that had previously rested on the strings of his lute wrapped around the handle, taking the worn and well-loved leather into his grasp. You let go of the blade and removed a second dagger from your waistband, before moving to stand in the middle of the room.

“If you want to know how to fight, I’ll show you.”

His eyes lit up. “Wh- Really?” He tossed his lute onto the bed as he got up, eagerly scrambling to meet you in the center. His gaze suddenly fell to your shoulder, still red, black, and blue as it healed. “What about your arm?” His shoulders fell along with his hopes.

You scoffed, holding your blade up defensively. He held his up, too, albeit with the wrong grip and with more uncertainty than you. “I’ll teach you what I can right now - just enough to defend yourself against vexed husbands and disgruntled bar patrons.” You lowered your stance and moved closer to correct his. “Now, hold it like this...”

-

The bard danced and pranced around the tavern, weaving between merry, drunk patrons with practiced ease. All the while, his fingers plucked and strummed every perfect chord upon his lute. His voice, warm and bright, belted out a tune all the patrons clapped along to. You were content to simply watch the display and sip your ale.

The folk of Crinfrid were welcoming enough. The people of Tridam were fine, at first, until they decided they didn’t quite like having a Witcher around so close to Blaviken. After a rushed breakfast, you practically lifted Jaskier onto Bayard, injured shoulder be damned, just to avoid the callous glares and prevent being chased out of town with stones to the back. The road still had not been kind. Two nights of heavy rainfall and three days of trudging through mud, to finally land here.

You simply hoped the villagers would not turn against you, as the last ones had. Though, perhaps, as a Witcher, it couldn’t be avoided. Even now, as tankards sloshed and patrons laughed with red cheeks, you could sense the glances sent your way, burning with distrust.

Jaskier finished his last song with a flourish, bowing deeply and circling the tavern with an empty mug to collect crowns. He plopped down across the table from you with a satisfied sigh and a wide grin.

“Have fun?”

His eyes gleamed, airy laugh filling the air as he reveled in the post-performance euphoria. “Like you would not believe!” he emphasized. Brought back down to earth by the cup in hand, he eagerly dumped it out onto the table. Crowns clattered against the already scuffed wood. His mood deflated, the joy leaving him with a sigh. Ten crowns. It was just enough to pay for your drinks. He scooped up the coins into his coin purse, tucking it away quickly.

“So,” he began, turning from his disappointing collection to a tankard of ale you saved for him, “where to next?”

You hummed, imagining the Continent’s layout in your mind to find the best route to Oxenfurt. “We could head for Troy, a three day’s walk from here, but from there we would have to make a week’s journey to Denesle…”

The bard seemed to think for a moment, and then winced. “Ah, slight problem. I may or may not have… gotten around… a bit, there…” He shifted uncomfortably under your yellow stare. “It would probably be safer to avoid Troy.”

“It truly is a wonder you have survived this long.” Before he could chime in with his offense, you sighed and pulled out an old tattered map. The paper was aged, ink writing over it in places where new towns had sprung up over the ages. Jaskier stared at the upside-down cartography with awe, tracing mountains and rivers with his eyes. “We could try to go to Vartburg,” your finger rested atop the town on the map, “but it would take us farther away.”

Jaskier leaned out of his seat, further over the map. His eyes followed your finger and studied the writing around it. “What about Tretogor?”

You considered the option. Sharp, snake-like eyes traced the invisible trail from Crinfrid to Tretogor to Oxenfurt, before lifting from the paper to consider your traveling companion. “It would be two weeks on the road,” you informed him. He sat back down in his seat, meeting your gaze. “Not to mention, the weather will continue to be… unideal as we slip into autumn.”

He huffed, reminded of the rain. For the most part, after his grumbling and complaining began, you allowed him to ride on top of Bayard. It didn’t stop him from being any less miserable, but it brought you peace from his constant whining about scraping the mud off his boots. Once you set up camp, though, there was no escaping his bellyaching.

For a brief moment you wondered how Geralt put up with it, but the thought quickly turned sour and was discarded. Despite the trouble Jaskier brought with him, you never wished to call him a burden. He was far from it, in any case. The thought that Geralt could travel on and off with the bard for years to simply discard him instead furthered your resolve not to become like the Wolf.

“If you think it’s the best path…” He stared at the map, frowning. Though, you knew his mind was only thinking of sleeping on the wet ground.

“Unless you wish to travel two weeks straight through the countryside to Rdestowa Laka, then yes, I think for now it is our best option.”

He sighed, but nodded. You spared the map no secondary glance as you began to fold it back up as you had a thousand times before when the bard interrupted you. “Can I look?” He gestured to the paper. You opened it back up and spun it around to face him.

Jaskier took in the entire page. The edges were singed in some places and torn in others. The ink itself had faded over time, kept alive by your own efforts to write over the original text. A few notes not originally written in also found themselves a place on the parchment. Most of which, he noticed, were reminders of locations to find rare ingredients. He found himself quite appalled at the age and state of the map, a question slipping from his lips before he even processed he was asking it.

“How long have you had this thing?” He winced at the incredulous tone in his voice, but when he looked up you seemed unfazed by the question.

It took you a moment to think about it. How long had you had it for? When did you get it? Who gave it to you? The questions all circled back to one place. “I think since I finished training,” you hummed. Your face was tugged into a contemplative frown. “Some of us stayed at the Keep - the Viper school - to study, but those of us who decided to leave and face the world were given maps.”

The Keep… Oh, Geralt mentioned something similar once, hadn’t he? A place for Witchers to rest for the winter. “Where is the Viper school?” His eyes traced over Nilfgaard. The large expanse of land took up half of the paper. At some point, he noticed as his eyes traced over the faded ink of words you wrote in yourself, it would have been the most detailed portion of the Continent. And yet, no matter how many times his eyes followed the rivers or mountains, he did not see anything at all resembling a school. “It’s not marked anywhere.”

You scoffed. “None of them are. The Schools were designed to be hidden away and kept secret. If everyone knew where they were, it would be chaos.”

Setting your ale aside, you leaned out of your chair and onto your elbows, hovering over the map. No matter how long you had been away from it, your eyes still followed the pass of mountains along the map’s edge as if drawn by an invisible force. Your finger landed where the feeling drew you in, to the unmarked location of the school.

“There,” you said. Your voice sounded at once dim and wistful, void of emotion and yet nostalgic. “Deep in the valleys of the Tir Tochair mountains.”

His eyes roamed the map, following an invisible path. “Would we be able to go there?” Bright blue eyes stared up at you, full of curiosity and wonder.

A frown morphed your face. Your brow creased, yellow eyes instantly dull at the mere thought. You swallowed thickly, falling roughly back into your seat. You did not look at him. Instead, the mountains you once called home held your gaze. “It doesn’t exist anymore.” It was barely a whisper, as if you were afraid to admit it to yourself. A heavy weight settled in your chest.

You quickly folded up the paper, tucking it back in its place. Jaskier did not stop you. He simply watched, eyes fogged over with concern, as you downed the last of your ale and pulled out a few coins to pay for the drink you ordered.

“We should leave soon, while the sun is still up. I’ll make sure we have enough provisions.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the floor, but no eyes were drawn to the sound, everyone too focused on their own company. The bard wasn’t spared a glance as you made your way through the patrons and out the door.

It was going to be a long week to Tretogor.

---

Tag List:

@kmuir1

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lex-caspartine

[vitos-pink-shirt]

If you could cross over the Mafia series with any other franchise, what would it/they be?

Oooh this is an awesome ask!

My gut reaction was to cross it with Red Dead Redemption II (it’s one of my favorite games and I love cowboys lol). I think seeing the guys as old-time outlaws would be interesting, not to mention I think Arthur would really relate to Tommy (doing everything to protect your family) and Vito (feeling propelled by outward forces, but ultimately doomed) and I’d love to see Salieri or Falcone get in a fist fight with Dutch. I also would love to see Lincoln be this legendary gunslinger, who is known to never lose a gunfight/duel even if he gets hit.

For the second game I think I’d really lean towards red dead redemption 2, I just really like the idea of all of the rival gangs interacting, but also the chance for Vito to get to know Arthur would be really cool for me. I think Arthur, Charles, Hosea, and Lenny could show Vito that being a man is more than just violence, and Arthur specifically could teach him that every man isn’t doomed to be his father. Joe and Henry would be really cool to see as cowboys, I personally think Henry would be afraid of every horse but his own lol. I also think that it’d be cool to apply the idea of moral vs immoral to Vito as he seems to specifically struggle with morals when it comes to drugs, and the dock workers, but I think it’d be cool for him to be high or low honor like Arthur can, but then also let Vito realize that low honor is worse than his own father. I just think the setting and characters or rdr2 would compliment Vito, specifically, in an interesting way.

However, I think the first and third game wouldn’t be as complimented by red dead. I think maybe for the first game, some type of movie like Goodfellas or possibly another gangster movie, where we get to see the characters in the extreme highs and the extreme lows. I think it’d be interesting to see how Tommy deals with the extreme violence and cruelty that is depicted in some of those movies as we already see that he doesn’t have the same indifference as Sam and Paulie when it came to hunting down the guys catcalling Sarah. I also think it’d be interesting to see how far Tommy’s loyalties can be pushed, he robs a bank with Paulie, but had Paulie done something like kill a made man over a personal insult (like Tommy in goodfellas does) how would he respond? I would be interested to see how Jimmy in Goodfellas would get along with specifically Sam. My mind immediately lumped Henry (GF) with Tommy (M1), Tommy (GF) with Paulie (M1), and Jimmy (GF) with Sam (M1) but I think the differences in that last pair would be interesting. Maybe another piece of media that would add a little more variety than just another mafia story would be like the movie Lawless, where instead of being big city gangsters, they’d be back hills moonshiners and Tommy of course would be the driver. Or maybe Tommy is just a driver and that’s how he meets Sam and Paulie, during a run.

For the third game I’m not really sure, I definitely think that keeping the time frame in the 60’s-70’s would be ideal, as the setting of the Vietnam War and the Civil Rights movement is such a powerful part of M3’s setting, but I think I would be interested to maybe see a crossover with some media where Lincoln isn’t morally discouraged from getting his revenge with religion, maybe something where he gets a team. Not that Lincoln needs a team, but he’s such a charismatic person and he’s really kind and sweet when it comes to his friends. So maybe something where the viewer would get to explore his life before the war, before getting hell bent on revenge, and just see a goofier more domestic side of Lincoln, without losing the badass side. I almost want to throw the Witcher series out there, because I like the idea of Lincoln and John traveling like Geralt and Jaskier lol. Lincoln being a Witcher or monster hunter without the Witcher trials is honestly a really cool thought to me.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Lock Me Up and Sock Me Up

My third fic for @whataboutthebard, featuring old married couple!Geraskefer, immortal Jaskier (the details of how he's immortal aren't important) and a vaguely post-canon future! You can either read it below or here on AO3.

Prompt: bondage

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Rating: E

Warnings: explicit smut; off-screen kink negotiation

Summary: After being rescued from yet another villainous mage by his lovers, Jaskier is stuck until the magical ropes his captor bound him in fade away on their own. He has some ideas about how he, Yennefer, and Geralt can wile away the time.

***

In Jaskier’s opinion, it takes an unacceptably long time for Geralt and Yennefer to stage a rescue mission.

“I’ve been here for hours!” he wails as Geralt steps over the body of the now-dead mage, silver sword slick with blood. Behind him, magic still crackles on Yennefer’s palms as she scans the room for any other threats. From his position tied to a stone table, naked except for the sigils painted on his forehead and chest, Jaskier didn’t see much of the battle, but what he did see was short and unimpressive. Geralt made quick work of the mage before the bastard could fire off a single spell.

“It was maybe an hour,” Yennefer says dryly, letting the spell die on her fingertips.

“Hours, Yennefer! Do you know how many monologues I had to listen to?”

“The last time you were kidnapped, you complained because they didn’t monologue.”

“Yes, but this monologue was boring and unoriginal.” Jaskier rolls his eyes at the ceiling of the mage’s lair. “He wanted to bring about another Conjunction of the Spheres. That’s like the fifth mage we’ve met who has wanted to bring about another Conjunction. I don’t know what it is with mages and the Conjunction. You think they’d find another villainous plan.”

“I’ll bring it up at the next Lodge meeting,” Yennefer says.

“Thank you, Yennefer. This is why I love you.”

She swipes a hand over the sigil painted on his chest, smearing it into nonsense. “I thought you loved me because I save your pretty ass whenever someone tries to ritually murder you.”

“That certainly helps.”

With a sigh, Geralt inspects Jaskier for any wounds before bending to brush a kiss across his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Not a scratch, thanks to my heroic loves.” Jaskier bats his eyelashes up at his lover, who has a spray of the mage’s blood across his cheek. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “It’s so nice to see someone is full of gratitude to get his bard back.”

Pointedly, Yennefer turns to Geralt. “Do you remember when he used to be properly grateful when we saved his life?”

“Oh, please, like it was a challenge for you.” Jaskier huffs. Perhaps he should be more shaken after being kidnapped, but honestly after all the horrors the three of them have faced—Nilfgaard, Voleth Meir, the Wild Hunt, Stregobor, angry mobs, too many monsters to count, Valdo fucking Marx’s musical performances—one solitary mage puffed up on his own importance was nothing.

Jaskier was frightened, sure, especially when the mage started waving a big ass knife around and talking about the power of an immortal’s blood, but he never truly thought that Yennefer and Geralt wouldn’t save him. They’ve rescued him time and time again from kidnappings, interrogations, near-executions, that hideously unpleasant occasion where he’d been swallowed whole by a zeugl, and plenty of angry spouses. The three of them keep each other safe; they always have.

Gustily, he sighs. “Is someone going to untie me, or am I to languish on this table for the rest of the evening? While I do appreciate the drama of being trussed up like a virgin sacrifice, he couldn’t even be fucked to give me a cushion. My bottom is getting sore, and not in a fun way.”

“We could leave you there,” Yennefer warns, but Geralt is already drawing a knife from his belt and bending down to saw through the rope lashing one of Jaskier’s ankles to the table. The ropes are golden and glow softly in the dimly lit room. Jaskier waits for the ropes to fall away so he can fling himself dramatically into Geralt’s waiting arms and be properly cuddled after his traumatic evening.

But nothing happens. Frowning, Geralt looks up at Yennefer. “Yenn?”

Yennefer goes to stand at his side. She waves her hand and murmurs a word in Elder. When nothing happens, her forehead creases. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” For the first time since they appeared out of the portal, Jaskier feels a frisson of concern.

“I know this spell,” Yennefer says. “Nothing is going to get rid of these ropes. Not magic, not a blade, not fire.”

“Wait, do you mean I’m stuck like this? Forever? Yennefer, the Beauclaire Music Festival is next week. I can’t show up like this!”

“It’s still better than that outfit you wore last year.”

“Yennefer!” Jaskier howls.

“Yenn.” Geralt gives her a reproving look. “Don’t torture him.”

She looks between them in exasperation. “It’s not going to last forever. My guess is the mage spelled them to last for as long as he needed them to. Did he say anything about the ritual?”

“Oh, yes, at length,” Jaskier says. “He was going to slit my throat at midnight.”

Geralt’s jaw twitches.

“Then I imagine they’ll vanish sometime after midnight.” Yennefer glances at Geralt. “What do you say, should we leave him here and head back to Corvo Bianco? It might be nice to have a quiet night for once.”

“You’re dreadful,” Jaskier tells her. “And once I get out of these ropes, I shan’t ever speak to you again.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or an early birthday present?”

“As if I would bother getting a woman of your age a birthday present. What does one purchase for a withered husk?”

“Well, that ring I got you for your last birthday looks lovely on your withered husk.”

Geralt sighs, barely audible over the sound of Jaskier's offended squawk. “If we can’t untie him, can you portal the whole table back home?”

“I could.” Yennefer lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “But do we really want me to?”

Jaskier pins Geralt with a wide-eyed, pleading look.

Geralt sighs again. “Yes, we do.”

“You’re no fun.” Yennefer waves her hand and a portal opens up.

“Geralt is a delight,” Jaskier protests. “Unlike certain dreadful witches I could men—”

With another wave of her hand, Yennefer sends Jaskier and the stone table sliding through the portal. It’s a singularly unpleasant way to travel and Jaskier isn’t ashamed of the undignified shriek he lets out. He scowls at Yennefer and Geralt as they follow him through the portal into their bedroom.

“I cannot believe,” he says primly. “That you would mistreat me so when I’m in such a vulnerable state. Look at me, Yennefer. He ruined my fourth favorite doublet. I’m inconsolable.”

“Was it that green one?” Yennefer asks. “You should have said. I would have told Geralt to spare his life.”

“Honestly.” Jaskier tilts his head back in exasperation. “The near-sacrifice was better than enduring this disrespect. Bring me back to the dungeon, please. Let me wallow.”

Yennefer reaches down to cup his cheek with surprising tenderness. “You really are okay?”

Jaskier grins up at her. “Careful, Yennefer. I’m going to start thinking you like me.”

“Well, I have been fucking you for the better part of fifty years and living with you for forty,” she says. “So I don’t entirely detest you.”

“Geralt, get my lute! She’s being so sweet to me that I feel a song coming on.”

“How do you intend to play it?” Geralt asks dryly.

“Huh.” Jaskier frowns at the ceiling. “With my teeth, perhaps?”

Yennefer snorts and bends to kiss Jaskier, briefly enveloping him in the scents of lilac and gooseberries. “That foolish mage should have gagged you. The amateur.”

“Oh, I think we would have gotten there eventually.” Jaskier grins against her lips. “Between you and me, I’m terribly obnoxious.”

“No,” she deadpans. “I had no idea.”

“You would miss my voice if I were gagged forever, admit it.”

“It’s for maybe another two or three hours, bardling. And I’ll admit, there are some things about your mouth I would miss.” She traces her thumb over his lower lip.

Jaskier’s prick gives a sudden twitch of interest. Because he may still be stretched out on a table, bound and helpless, but he’s probably the safest person on the entire Continent right now. The home he shares with Geralt and Yennefer in Toussaint is heavily warded. Even if someone did manage to get past Yennefer’s protection spells, they would be met with a very angry witcher and an equally angry sorceress. They wouldn’t live long enough to realize their mistake.

And he has to admit that there’s something a little thrilling about knowing that he’s entirely at Geralt and Yennefer’s mercy, while also knowing that neither of them would ever let him come to harm. It doesn’t hurt that Geralt still has blood on his face, which is a damn good look on him. Plus, Yennefer has that steely glint in her eye she always gets when someone threatens what’s hers, a glint that Jaskier has always found unbearably arousing.

Geralt’s nostrils flare and he arches an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Oh, don’t you dare judge me,” Jaskier shifts, but there’s nothing he can do to hide his growing erection. “Can you blame me, when you two are standing there, looking all heroic? And Yennefer is being terribly mean to me, and you know how that gets me going.”

Yennefer snorts, though there’s a heat in her own gaze as it travels over Jaskier, stretched out on the table like an offering.

“I’m just saying.” Jaskier looks up at the pair of them beseechingly. “I’m going to be stuck here for hours more. I might get bored. And you know that when I get bored, I get annoying. We can’t have that.”

“You’re right.” Yennefer traces one finger teasingly over Jaskier’s nipple. “I think I have the perfect cure for bored bards.”

***

“This is bard abuse, plain and simple. I am shocked that the two of you would sink to such a level. Shocked!”

On the lovely four-poster bed that the three of them have shared for decades now, Geralt and Yennefer pay Jaskier no mind. They’re otherwise occupied, with Yennefer propped up against the headboard, head thrown back in pleasure, while Geralt kneels between her legs, eating her out with relish. 

Jaskier is treated to the most beautiful view in the whole world: Geralt’s ass sticking in the air, Yennefer’s gorgeous legs wrapped around his shoulders, her breasts heaving as she gasps in pleasure. His cock is so hard, it almost hurts. He’s already watched Geralt fuck Yennefer twice and Yennefer fuck Geralt with the toy that now lies discarded on the ground. The only person not getting fucked is Jaskier and the anticipation is killing him.

“When I said I wanted you to keep me occupied, I thought I would get to participate,” Jaskier whines. “Not sit here like a particularly attractive throw pillow.”

Yennefer laughs breathlessly. “I would say that if you’re nice and quiet, you’d get a turn… oh fuck, Geralt, right there… but I think that ship has sailed, oh—”

Geralt must do something particularly good with his tongue, because her words break off into a moan, her back arching. Jaskier’s cock throbs in sympathy.

“Look at you two,” he says. “Torturing me with your beauty. It’s not fair.”

They really are unspeakably beautiful together. There’s a reason he’s written hundreds of songs about them over the years.

Geralt growls, shoulders flexing as his grip on Yennefer’s thighs tightens, and she cries out, her fingers scrabbling at the headboard as she reaches her orgasm. She always looks so surprised when she comes, like the momentary loss of control takes her off guard. The sight of her face going slack with pleasure is one of the hottest things Jaskier has ever seen. He would write a song about it, but she would make a necklace out of his vocal cords.

Yennefer and Geralt lie together for a moment, both breathing hard as Geralt nuzzles at the inside of Yennefer’s thigh.

“Do you think we should pay our bard some attention?” Yennefer asks, voice thick with pleasure, as she cards her fingers through Geralt’s hair.

Jaskier whimpers. He’s only a little ashamed of it.

“Hm.” Geralt looks over his shoulder at Jaskier, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth slick from Yennefer’s cunt. “He hasn’t exactly been patient.”

“No.” Her lips twitch. “But he looks awfully pretty over there, wrapped up like a gift, doesn’t he?”

Jaskier gives them his best doe-eyed look.

“Chatty gift,” Geralt says. “We could make him wait another round or two.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Geralt!” Being doe-eyed isn’t getting Jaskier the results he wants. “You’re supposed to be the nice one.”

Geralt chuckles quietly and Yennefer’s face softens. She nudges Geralt’s shoulder with her foot. “Go take care of our bard, before he becomes unbearable.”

“Before?” Geralt cocks an eyebrow at her, but slides off the bed and makes his way across the room with an easy, predatory stride. The hunger in his eyes almost makes Jaskier feel like the virgin sacrifice he keeps joking about being, like Geralt is here to claim the prize that the villagers left him. Somehow, the thought turns Jaskier on even more.

“You know, if I were a gift, I don’t think you’d be able to return me at this point,” Jaskier says, aiming for breezy, but sounding more than a little strangled. “You’ve waited too long.”

“Hm.” Geralt cups Jaskier’s cheek in one broad hand. “Who says I’d want to return you?”

Before Jaskier can formulate a reply—gods, his witcher always chooses the worst times to be disarmingly sweet—Geralt bends to kiss him. He tastes like Yennefer and even Jaskier’s human nose can smell the traces of lilac and gooseberry on him. It’s enough to make Jaskier moan into the kiss.

“Geralt, please,” he whispers against his witcher’s lips.

Geralt can never resist when Jaskier asks nicely. With a soft hum, he kisses his way down Jaskier’s throat and chest, pausing to let his tongue flick over Jaskier’s nipples in a delicious tease. Jaskier arches off the table as teeth scrape over the soft skin of his belly and Geralt chuckles. Breathlessly, Jaskier watches as Geralt swings himself up onto the table, which is just wide enough for him to straddle Jaskier’s thighs. Without preamble, Geralt bends and swallows Jaskier’s cock to the root.

Jaskier gasps as the sensation of glorious heat. Geralt has always been a marvel with his mouth and now is no different. He teases Jaskier to the very edge with his lips and tongue before backing off, sucking at the head of Jaskier’s prick. On the bed, Yennefer is fingering herself, eyes dark with lust as she watches them. Jaskier thinks it’s very unfair that she gets to pleasure herself when he didn’t have the same privilege, but he’s too busy moaning to point that out. When Geralt swallows him down again, cupping his balls in one hand, Jaskier can only tip back his head and shout as the orgasm tears through him.

Geralt releases his cock with a wet pop, looking very smug, and nuzzles at the crease of Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier would give anything to reach down and stroke his fingers through that long, gorgeous hair.

“Alright, Jask?” Geralt asks.

“Oh, now you ask that? After hours of torture?”

Geralt looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.

Jaskier grins. He never gets tired of Geralt’s exasperated looks. “I’m more than alright, darling. You just owe me at least two more orgasms, after all the waiting I was forced to endure.”

Yennefer brews Jaskier a marvelous tea every morning that helps him keep up with his lovers’ stamina, despite his largely human heritage. Jaskier thinks he’s doing pretty well for a man in his nineties, especially since he still looks barely thirty. Despite having just come, his cock is still half-hard and Jaskier knows it won’t take long for him to be ready to go again.

“I think I can manage that.” Geralt’s eyes take on a wicked gleam. He slides his hands under Jaskier’s ass, lifting him up as much as the ropes will allow. Even though Jaskier knows what’s coming, he still gasps at the first swipe of Geralt’s tongue over the crease of his ass. When Geralt’s tongue swipes again, this time pressing more firmly at the rim of his hole, Jaskier’s hips buck. Geralt growls his approval and begins licking in earnest, his tongue a sweet, teasing kind of pressure.

Jaskier is so caught up, he doesn’t notice Yennefer approaching until she’s next to him, her curtain of hair falling down to tickle his cheek and neck. The fingers she traces over his cheek are damp with her own arousal and Jaskier turns his face to suck them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the soft pads of her fingertips. She has such soft, delicate hands compared to him and Geralt, which has always struck him as ironic, given that she’s the deadliest of the three of them by far.

She pulls her fingers from his mouth and bends to kiss him, catching his lower lip with her teeth. Her breasts brush his chest and he can feel the peaks of her nipples trailing across his chest hair. He whines into the kiss and she laughs softly, leaning over him so that one of her breasts barely brushes his lips. He tries to capture her nipple in his mouth, but she pulls back, just out of reach.

“Horrible woman,” he croaks. It’s hard to think of anything but Geralt’s tongue, which is still working him open with firm, glorious strokes, and the swell of Yennefer’s gorgeous breasts.

“And here I was, about to reward you for showing a modicum of patience,” Yennefer says softly, letting her breasts dangle above him.

Yennefer is less susceptible to pleading and puppy dog eyes than Geralt, but Jaskier lets his eyes drop pointedly to her cunt. “Tit for tat?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Emphasis on the tit?”

She huffs with exasperation, but her lips curl into a smile. Finally, she bends so that Jaskier can properly suck her nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak. He lavishes her breasts with the same attention Geralt is giving his ass, reveling in her soft gasps and moans. She really has the most perfect breasts, truly a marvel of the modern age. He would tell her so, but he’s too busy worshiping them.

Suddenly, she pulls back. Jaskier doesn’t have time to protest before she swings herself up onto the table, her legs straddling his face.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier breathes. “Yes, please.”

Yennefer doesn’t need to be told twice; she lowers herself down so that he can lick into her cunt. She takes like herself and like Geralt, surrounding Jaskier with the scents of lilac, gooseberries, and sex. Jaskier is vaguely aware of Geralt’s fingers working at his hole, slicking him up with oil. Yennefer is his entire world right now—the taste of her, the smell of her, the soft skin of her inner thighs. He could spend the rest of his life between these thighs, tied to this table like an offering, and die like a happy man.

When he feels the press of the head of Geralt’s cock against his hole, he gasps against Yennefer’s clit.

“Focus, bardling,” she growls and he licks deeper in apology.

Jaskier is loose and relaxed from Geralt’s ministrations and his lover meets little resistance as he pushes in, filling Jaskier up gloriously. Jaskier fucks Yennefer with his tongue in time with Geralt’s thrusts. He imagines the picture they must make for Geralt, Yennefer’s pretty little ass bouncing up and down as she rides Jaskier’s tongue with the same gusto with which she rode Geralt’s cock only minutes ago. The thought has heat building in his lower belly as his second orgasm approaches.

Yennefer comes, her thighs shaking around Jaskier’s ears, and Geralt groans, his hips snapping harder as he drives himself deeper into Jaskier. When one of Geralt’s warm, calloused hands wraps around Jaskier’s cock, Jaskier’s second orgasm washes over him. He groans into Yennefer’s cunt, still licking her through the aftershocks of her own orgasm. She’s practically dripping with spit and her own slick, but Jaskier doesn’t let up.

After several more long, glorious moments, the snap of Geralt’s hips takes on a desperate edge as he chases his own pleasure. The head of his cock is hitting the perfect spot inside Jaskier and Jaskier can feel his own cock stirring to life again, already ready for a third round. Gods, Yennefer’s tea really is a marvel. Geralt spills inside him with a moan, grinding into him until his cock softens and slips out of Jaskier.

“Yenn,” Jaskier whispers. “I want to fuck you.”

Yennefer doesn’t need to be told twice, sliding down his body. With her hair disheveled and her face flushed, she looks unspeakably beautiful. He’s about to tell her that, but when she sinks down onto his cock in one fluid motion, he loses the ability to form coherent sentences. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he watches her ride him, her head thrown back in pleasure. Geralt kneels behind her, nuzzling at the side of her throat while his large, scarred hands reach around to cup her breasts. Yennefer turns her head to catch his mouth in hers.

Without thinking, Jaskier reaches for them and realizes that he can; the ropes are gone. He sits up to wrap Yennefer up in his arms, peppering her chest and throat with kisses. He lets his hands wander over her and Geralt—their arms, their legs, their chests, their backs, their hair—reveling in the feel of them. Yennefer comes with her mouth on Geralt’s and Jaskier with his face buried in the crook of her neck. He follows a moment later, spilling inside her.

The three of them sit like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, breathing hard. “Fuck,” Jaskier finally says.

Yennefer lets out a long breath, sagging back against Geralt. “There’s still an hour left until midnight. That idiot mage couldn’t even tell time right.”

“Alas.” Jaskier laughs breathlessly. “You could have taught him a thing or two about proper villainy.”

“He wasn’t worth the bother.” She lifts one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “He wasted his time kidnapping you, so clearly his standards weren’t the highest.”

“And what does that say about you, Yennefer?” Jaskier winks broadly at her.

“It means that the longer I know you, the lower my standards get.”

“You shouldn’t talk about Geralt that way, not when he’s so lovely to both of us.” Jaskier grins up at Geralt, who just rolls his eyes at them as he disentangles himself from Yennefer to go fetch them a cloth to clean themselves up with.

Once he’s relatively clean, Jaskier tries to rise to his feet, but his legs are boneless and shaky under him. He doesn’t even have time to lose his balance before Geralt catches him around the waist, scooping him up in a bridal carry and bearing him across the room to the bed.

Jaskier nuzzles contentedly into Geralt’s pecs. He feels floaty and sleepy in the way he always does after a particularly good bout of lovemaking. As he curls up in Geralt’s arms, his back pressed to the witcher’s broad chest, Yennefer puts out the candle and joins them, slipping into bed on Jaskier’s other side and putting her arm around his waist.

“You know, you were both very mean to me tonight,” Jaskier murmurs, brushing a kiss over the shell of her ear. “Very mean.”

“Were we?” Yennefer asks. “Funny, I didn’t hear you complaining there at the end.”

“Well, you know me. I like to suffer in silence.”

Geralt snorts.

Jaskier cuddles back into him. “I’m going to make you both pay tomorrow. Just you wait.”

“Oh?” He can hear the raised eyebrow in Yennefer’s voice. “And how will you do that?”

“I haven’t decided yet. But mark my words, retribution will be swift, merciless, and thorough.”

Geralt hums. “Good thing I have Yenn to protect me.”

“She won’t stand a chance,” Jaskier tells him. “I’m afraid you’re quite doomed, my love.”

“Ah, well,” Yennefer says. “It was a pleasure knowing you, Geralt. Bardling, it was… adequate knowing you.”

“Horrible witch,” Jaskier grumbles and cuddles closer to her, dropping a kiss on her dreadful forehead.

In the morning, he’ll have his to-be-determined revenge. But first, he’ll bask in the feeling of being in their arms, sated and secure.

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @mosaicscale @tsukiwolf42 @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard

[mr-no-life]

History and Music.

HI! Wow it feels like forever since I made a new post here. I had a whole elaborate idea of reviewing my favorite things for the month of August, but life had other plans. So, Fall is finally upon us and to the general U.S that means Halloween is around the corner (even though in my mind October is the spooky season). So, now that being said, let’s discuss something a bit different, Bards and War. 

Back in June one of the albums I had reviewed (and quite liked) was The War to End all Wars by Sabaton and it got me thinking. Throughout history there has always been “the Bard '' someone to sing a song about events long past. Wherever there is a story to tell, big or small, someone is there to record it for future generations. As long as humans could speak, we have sought out ways to preserve our history. Whether you are William Shakespeare or you just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time, there have been (and always will be) people writing history. Events in history have often been a driving force for a lot of artists. Let’s look at the 60s through the 80s for instance. The political climate (and the fallout thereof) has given light to a lot of classic pieces we know and love today (Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival comes to mind with this). The difference with this and bands like Sabaton is that those songs are made in the moment and are made in reflection of the time, but what about the events that happened before “The Modern Era”? The allure of bygone eras and the mystery shrouded  events that leave us wondering “So what actually happened?” have always been a siren call for artists and musicians. The ups and downs of human history are essentially ripe for the picking when  it comes to interpretations. Books, poems, news articles and more have always been a healthy starting spot for those who wish to draw inspiration from them. 

Now, you are probably wondering, “Why and how does a tangent about Bards and war have to do with music and sound design??” Well, the way I see it, music is just poetry with a musical arrangement. Music is a very effective and flexible storytelling mechanism. Not only is it a creative way to explain something that could be absolutely boring to some people, but you also ignite curiosity in those who wish to dive deeper. Or can make an excellent companion piece for a much bigger project. But, the point of this long-winded tangent is that a lot of music today really started out as ways to share stories of days past or to express one’s opinion on a current event that will grab someone’s attention. 

Now it would be very easy to dive into character designs of Bards from the media (I'm thinking of one Jaskier from the Witcher comes to mind) but that is not my place to talk. Instead, I am going to explain how a Power metal band from Sweden and a Black metal band from Ukraine (honestly at this point if I mention anything about Ukraine it is nothing political) have in common when it comes to sharing history. 

Let’s start with a brief explanation of the bands in question. Hailing from Sweden and with bangers like “To Hell and Back” and “Primo Victoria” you’ve by no doubt heard of Sabaton. Amassing a nice little niche of metal-heads and history nerds (of which I am both) albeit they do cover some deep topics (such as everyone’s favorite angry mustachio man) it is largely in a lively entertaining fashion. When compared to Ukrainian based Black/Death metal band 1914, shit gets HEAVY. 1914 is actually a more recent discovery and the main inspiration behind this piece. They mainly focus on the atrocities of World War 1 (hence the name) and whew boy, if their goal was to make you uncomfortable, well congrats, they did it in spades.  The Great War (released in 2019) and the 2022 follow up The War to End all Wars are not Sabaton’s first dip into WW1 history. These two albums focus primarily on bringing to light some small details that most people may not have known about a war largely forgotten about. The effectiveness is almost hard to describe because I often find myself digging deeper into these events. This leads back to what I mentioned earlier, music is an effective delivery system to have a nice summary about something, even if the event is tragic and depressing. Speaking of depression, the band 1914 is essentially (the way I like to describe it) “Sabaton but more gritty.” Tone also affects a song’s delivery as well and they nail the dark horrors of war to a T.  Hell, the  lead singer  has a bayonetted  rifle as a microphone stand  (nothing to nit pick,  just aesthetically on point). I have not  heard a  whole lot  about  them, but I have heard  bits from their latest album Where Fear and Weapons Meet and woof it’s a hard  listen to. I'm not a Black metal fan by default, but I can see where fans may like this. 

So what is the overall conclusion? Well, in short , if it were not for History, we would not have people (like Bards) to sing about them. 

This was an odd topic to try and write out, so if it seems all over the place and a bit short I apologize, next month (which is soon yikes) will be more on par with  the technical side of music. This month I wanted  to experiment  with  a little more freeform history. Maybe down the road we will revisit this topic again. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this and  I hope to see you again next time. If  you have any questions or care to  support me click the  like  HERE for  links to social media and donations.

Stay Safe 😊

[quartergremlin]

I also did one of these

[falcqns]

idk if you’re still taking these with the new rules so if you aren’t please just ignore me lol but do you think daddy andy would help baby shave? (or any of the daddy’s in your aus honestly) i think that would be so cute🥺

okay wait this is such a cute idea so im gonna do all of them 🥺🥺

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞

✰ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daddy!Andy Barber x little!Reader (Baby), daddy!Geralt of Rivia x little!Reader, daddy!Bucky Barnes x little!Reader (Plum), daddy!August Walker x little!Reader, daddy!Chris Evans x foster!little!Reader (+ bonus mama!Reader helping little!Chris and mama!Reader helping little!Bucky!)

✰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you're daddies help you shave, and you help your boys shave!

✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cg/l, ddlg, mdlb, shaving, mentions of hospitals and abusive relationships. if i missed anything pls let me know!

✰ 𝐚/𝐧: this was so cute and i love this concept sm 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i added my au daddies, and a few from upcoming fics that are in the works, along with the (sort of) premise of each story!

to who ever reads this: don't bother asking for a part two, you won't get it. i am the owner of this fic, and this blog, and I, and only I, will decided what fic gets a part two and when. respect me and my wishes or get off my blog. thanks!

don't forget to read and reblog, and i do not give permission for my works to be posted anywhere other than tumblr. thank you.

"sit still Bubba," Andy said, rubbing the shaving cream into your soft, freshly showered skin. "Dada doesn't want to nick you with this." he said, showing your purple razor.

"otay, Dada," you babbled back, your hands wrapped around your stuffed dolphin. you hummed as you watched Andy glide the razor up your leg, and over your knee. he reached your inner thigh, and you giggled. "'ickles, Dada!" you exclaimed around your paci, and Andy chuckled.

"sorry, Bubba." he said as he switched legs, repeating the action, smiling again when you giggled at his actions again. "there, pretty girl." he said, rinsing the razor off and putting it away. "all done!"

you stood up, and rubbed your clean shaven legs together. you giggled and bounced and lifted your arms up for Andy to lift you. "t'ank you, Dada." you said, and Andy kissed your forehead, despite wanting to kiss your lips.

"you're welcome honey."

"you must sit still, flower." Geralt said, dipping the piece of metal that Geralt had sharpened and shaped into a straight razor to use on his face into a small cup of water. "i do not want you hurting yourself."

"yes, Papa." you whispered, hands curling into the material of the dress that you were wearing. you had only been with Geralt for a few weeks now, and you were still nervous around him. he was big, and you knew he could crush you without a second thought. you'd seen it with your own eyes, but you hoped he wouldn't.

he ran the razor up your leg, humming a tune as he did so. you gazed out the window of the inn, and smiled when you saw Jaskier walking back in from collecting some food from the market. you had tried the food at the inn and didn't like it, so Geralt sent the Bard on a mission to get you something you would tolerate.

"Papa," you said in your sweet voice.

"yes, my flower?" he said, looking up at you as he switched legs, a smile on his face.

"Uncle Jaskier is back," you said, and Geralt smiled.

"well, that's good. we can get your tummy full before going to bed."

you babbled around your paci as Bucky slowly shaved your legs. you were going to Bruce for some testing tomorrow, and your legs and nether region had to be free of all hair so that Bruce could get to the bottom of what happened to you.

you giggled when Bucky blew on your freshly shaved skin. he smiled up at you, and tickled your belly lightly, making you shriek in laughter. "god, i love that sound," Bucky said to himself, picking up the razor once more and working on the rest of your body as you showed him your Bucky Bear that your Uncle Tony had given you.

"Dada!" you said, his title being the only word you said. "a'Da!" you said, shoving the bear in his face.

"Plum, Daddy has to see to do this. he doesn't want to hurt you." he said, kissing your belly and angling your arms above your head as he continued to shave your legs.

"no!" you shrieked, sitting on your bum and crossing your arms. "no wanna!"

"i know, princess." August said, crouching down to eye level with you. "but we need to. you need to look professional for tomorrow." he said, dread filling his stomach at the thought of you taking the stand against that man tomorrow. "why don't you want to?" he asked softly, and you whimpered.

"'cawed." you whispered, and August sighed, sitting down and pulling you into his lap.

"my little princess." he whispered, rubbing your back. "i will not hurt you." he said, kissing your forehead. "you know that Daddy will do anything to protect you, right?" he said, and you nodded, cuddling into his wide chest. "good. maybe we can find you some dress pants instead of a skirt, would that make you feel better?" he asked, and you nodded.

"okay, princess. let's get you sorted."

"okay, darling." Chris said, maneuvering you to sit on the closed toilet. he had just given you your first bath with him, and he was preparing to shave your legs for the first time.

he ran the shaving cream into a line, and then rubbed it in with his hands over your bare legs, glancing up at you to make sure you were still okay. "shhhh, honey," he whispered seeing your eyes welling up with tears. "'m not gonna hurt you," he promised. "'m not him, okay?"

you nodded, and suckled on your paci as hard as you could, trying to calm yourself down, your hands gripping your doll.

"gonna be so gentle." Chris said, running the razor up your leg, giving you a smile. "there, see?" he said. "one strip done!" you smiled small, and Chris felt happiness bloom in his chest.

'baby steps,' he thought to himself. 'she'll get there soon.'

Chris held onto Anthony's hand as you slowly ran the razor over Chris's beard.

"doin' so well, buddy." Anthony praised, despite the sniffles Chris was producing. "as soon as you're done shooting, you can grow it back."

Chris pouted slightly. "gon' wook ugly." he whispered, and you immediately put the razor down. you grasped his face, and made him look at you. "don't you dare say that." you said, making him shed his tears.

"you're our beautiful baby boy, no matter what." Anthony chimed in. "we both love you, so so much. get those thoughts out of your head because not a single one of them is true." he said, and leaned forward to kiss Chris. Chris sighed into the kiss and nodded when they parted.

"otay, Dada." he said, and turned to let you continue what you were doing.

"wan' off!" Bucky cried, kicking his feet and rubbing his face harshly with his flesh hand. "ah dun!"

"i know, sweet boy." you cooed, getting the razor and shaving cream out. he was having a rough day, and his sensory issues were off the charts, and he was less than a minute away from a full meltdown, which more often than not, led to a seizure. "here we go," you said, coming over to where he was plopped on the floor, his back against the wall.

you lathered his face with the shaving cream, and slowly began to shave, smiling when his tears stopped, and he began to smile, the itchy hairs falling away.

[jaskierswolf]

Number 14 with aiden/lambert? 💕💕💕

I combined this with a prompt from @slythnerd which was Lambden and fake dating! Let's pretend I didn't forget these were in my box and it's still Christmas.

_

“This is a really fucking terrible idea,” Lambert groaned, as if it hadn’t been his idea to begin with, but Aiden knew he would deny it to his dying breath. “Dad will see right through it, not to mention Geralt. That son of a bitch is creepily good at picking out lies, he’s like a walking… shit what’s the thing called?”

Aiden rolled his eyes, shooting his best friend an exasperated expression as he folded his favourite jumper to pack. “The… thing?”

“With the squiggly wiggly and the needle?”

“A polygraph?”

“A fucking polygraph!” Lambert grinned and pointed at Aiden as if they’d won some TV show and not whatever weird jumps Lambert’s brain was making. “You're lying, Lambchop.” Lambert’s voice dropped a few tones to impersonate his brother. “I can hear your heartbeat skip a beat.”

Scoffing, Aiden closed his suitcase and pulled his best friend into a hug. “I’m sure Geralt’s not that bad.”

“Fucker absolutely is, he just… sniffs you and says some weirdly accurate thing about feelings but with fuck all tact. Like the worst party trick ever. Oh god, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Wolf, I have no family,” Aiden said for the hundredth time that day, the words feeling numb in his mouth. “And the holidays really suck when you’re on your own.”

“Shit, kitten, I’m sorry. I forgot, again. Fuck!”

The chaotic sincerity of Lambert’s words tugged at Aiden’s heartstrings, making him yearn to pull the bastard in closer, finally pressing their lips together and admitting the stupid fucking crush that he’d had ever since they’d first met. Only, Lambert didn’t do the whole dating thing, not once in their whole five year friendship, had Aiden ever seen Lambert pay any attention to anyone romantically, not men, nor women or anyone in between. It was hopeless.

And yet, it had been Lambert’s idea to fake-date whilst Aiden stayed with the Wolf family for the holidays. Apparently, ever since Geralt had married Jaskier, the holidays had been unbearable to the two remaining wolves. Their father wanted to know who was next, and Lambert was unfortunately very competitive, refusing to let Eskel win.

So they had to date to beat out Lambert’s older brother. It was the only way and it was sure to be torture.

“Come on,” Aiden chuckled, ignoring the pain in his heart as he cupped Lambert’s cheek. “We have a train to catch.”

_

Lambert’s family were… a mess. That was really the only word for it. Their father, Vesemir had clearly done his best as a single father, but the house was falling apart and everything was dysfunctional as hell… and Aiden loved it. As a kid, he’d been homeless before social services had picked him up, but he’d aged out of the system and family was something he’d never had. So the loud hustle and bustle of Kaer Morhen Farm was enviable and a dream come true. When Lambert had roughly grabbed his hand, pulling him into the house, Aiden thought he had died and gone to heaven. Being introduced as Lambert’s boyfriend was something he’d barely let himself imagine…

It was everything he wanted and more.

And it was fake.

This fresh hell would burn him, leaving him broken into more pieces than he’d be able to count, but it was worth it. Everything was worth it for just a chance at living his dreams.

“Oh well,” Aiden purred as he slung an arm around Lambert’s neck, dragging his lips across his best friend’s cheek. “I’ve been in love with him since just about forever.”

“So when did friends become…” Jaskier waved his hand in their direction, his over hand gripped Geralt’s tightly on top of the table, displaying their matching wedding bands. “This?”

“My fault,” Lambert grumbled, his face glowing as red as his hair. “Took me longer to realise.”

“Honestly, Lambchop, I thought you were going to stay a bachelor forever, you and me both,” Eskel chuckled, taking a sip of his ale.

Lambert scoffed, leaning into Aiden’s side in a way that felt so natural, so real.

It’s an act. It’s fake. It’s not real. It’s an act. It’s fake. It’s not real. It’s an act. It’s fake. It’s not real.

A mantra to protect his heart, but one that was failing miserably. They were only half a day into their little charade and Aiden was deeper in love than he’d been before and he was fucking miserable.

“Jealous, brother?”

After everything Aiden had heard about Lambert’s family, he’d expected Eskel to deny it, to make some excuse as to why he was failing the competition, something cocky and arrogant, which is why Eskel’s response surprised Aiden.

“You know I don’t want that, Lambert.”

Eskel didn’t want it, which is exactly what Aiden had always thought about Lambert, but then if neither brother wanted it why would Lambert make up some stupid competition that neither of them would win?

Unless there was an ulterior motive.

Oh fuck!

“Wolf,” Aiden cooed sweetly, letting his fingers trail up Lambert’s thigh under the table. “We’re done with dinner aren’t we?”

That was a lie. Lambert still had half a plate left, but Aiden needed to talk and he needed to talk now. The best way to get some privacy from Lambert’s lunatic family was to pretend that Aiden was about to fuck the bastard’s brains out, and, well, he enjoyed the flirting more than he really should.

“I-umm…”

Aiden laughed as he pressed a kiss to Lambert’s neck, his fingers brushing over the zip of his best friend’s jeans. “I want dessert.”

“Fuck’s sake, Lambert, would you two get a room already?” Geralt grumbled.

“Oi! As if your husband isn’t just as bad.”

“Oh I am the worst,” Jaskier giggled, winking at Aiden. “Go on, go have fun. We can manage without you for a while.”

And with that Aiden won the battle as he dragged a very flustered Lambert upstairs to the bedroom. The door hadn’t even shut before Lambert tore his hand away and started scowling up a storm.

“What the fuck?”

Rolling his eyes, Aiden put one hand on his hip and cocked his head. “You fancy me… for real.”

“Wait, what? No?”

“Yes!” Aiden drawled, slowly moving into Lambert’s space, a predatory smile on his face. The closer he got, the bright Lambert’s cheeks burned, and the restlessness of his friend was truly adorable.

God, he’d been so fucking blind.

“Eskel is ace, darling. There was never any competition. So, that begs the question… why am I here?”

“Because you’re my best friend, kitten.”

“Why are we fake dating?” Aiden challenged.

“Because.”

Scoffing, Aiden dragged his fingers along Lambert’s cheek, brushing the edge of his beard. “Because?”

“Yup.”

“Bullshit. Why do you never date anyone?” Aiden knew he was closing in for the kill. With every breath, he could feel his friend’s resolve cracking.

The thing was, Aiden was happy to sit back and pine miserably when he didn’t think he had any chance. He only ever wanted Lambert to be happy, despite the pain in his own heart, but now he had hope, and god, that was a dangerous thing to give a man in love. Hope now seared through his veins, clouding his mind and guiding every word, every action, and he wouldn’t let up until he knew the truth, be it rejection or finally realising his dreams.

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” Lambert admitted. “Just takes me longer to realise.”

Aiden’s smile melted into a softer, more genuine one. “So, not ace?”

“Demi, I think. Fuck, I don’t really know. I thought I didn’t care until… until you.”

That… was flattering in the worst sort of way. If Lambert needed to be close friends before falling in love… Why was Aiden the first? They weren’t exactly teenagers - had Lambert never had a best friend before Aiden?

Fuck, that was heartbreaking.

“Until me,” he repeated quietly. “And it just so happens, I wasn’t lying either. I love you, wolf.”

“I- umm… I can’t,” Lambert cut himself off with a groan.

“You don’t have to say it, but I need to know something, just one thing… yes or no?”

Lambert’s golden eyes narrowed and he pulled back slightly, allowing them both a moment to breathe. “What?”

“Will you give us a chance? No expectations, nothing life changing… just… a chance?”

There was a heavy pause, a weighted silence where the only sound Aiden could hear was his own heart racing in his chest, until finally, Lambert nodded, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. A chance… I can do that.”

Aiden sighed in relief and reached forward to kiss his best- no - his boyfriend’s cheek, then he smirked. “We’re still messing with your family though, right?”

“Oh fuck yeah!”

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @contemplativepancakes, @marvagon, @slythnerd

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."