#jaskier the swan

[dapandapod]

I was asking my fantastic friend @sleepingreader what I should do this friday eve, and was told "I would love to see jaskier but he's a horrible swan". So here it is. I share it because frankly, I find myself hilarious. I'm not sorry. And thank you Ella-la, this made me laugh.

"…. What is going on?" Geralt asks, watching the mayhem happening on the village square.

Hissing and shrieking and mocking laughter made the soundtrack to a big, angry swan chasing a man around what seems to be his own stall of jewery.

"You know how Jaskier is a magpie?" Ciri says with an amused smile, leaning against the doorway to the inn with her hood up, braid carefully tucked out of sight. "Turns out the ring he tried out was cursed, and he is letting the owner know his thoughts about it."

Geralt moves to stand behind her, letting Ciri lean back against him as they watch the scene unfold.

The Jaskier-Swan is hissing in ways he usually credits things with contracts at them, nipping after the fat man, only to get a beak full of cheak silk trousers.

His pale ass is bared to the village square and more people are stopping to watch the spectacle, some not even bothering to hide their mirth behind their hands.

"He had it coming," someone says a bit further away.

"When would be a good time to intervene?" Geralt asks Ciri, enjoying the sound of her giggles and the shrieks of the vendor.

However, he isn't enjoying watching more and more of that pale ass, as his trousers slip lower and lower while trying to get away from the big, feathered beasts.

Ciri pretends to consider it, the panicking crook stumbling over his own feet, trouser slipping dangerously low, and Geralt makes the decision.

"Menace," he tells her, ruffling the top of her head over the hood.

"Hey!" She complains, but lets Geralt step past her and into the square.

The moment the swan notices him, he comes charging, hissing and honking with his wings spread, ranting in a bird way that is very much Jaskier's way of telling Geralt exactly what he needs to do to that man. Throwing a hissyfit has never been more fitting, Geralt thinks to himself with a smirk.

The vendor takes his chance and tries to slink off, but Jaskier whirls on him and with his neck low charges at him again.

Geralt wonders what Jaskier will think when he admits he has no idea to turn him back…

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 64

Jaskier has been cursed to turn into a Lark during the day for years now. It makes following his dreams very difficult, what with a lark not being able to carry a lute nor his money pouch, but he just waits to move at night, when the magic turns him back into his human form. Which means he technically has a very awful sleep schedule, but that's not what we're focusing on. Jaskier is sat in a tree one afternoon, trying to sleep, when a horse neighs below him. He peeks down and to his surprise sees a witcher. A witcher! What stories he must have! Jaskier must follow him so that he can ask him questions once he becomes human again! So a very sleepy bird follows after Geralt, twittering and singing all the while. Geralt evidently notices, but ignores the bird for the most part. That is, until the bird lands on Roach's back. Geralt sighs. These birds will stop at nothing... He reaches into his pack, and plucks off a few pieces of bread, and scatters them along the road behind them. He watches as the bird eagerly hops down and pecks at them. Jaskier isn't usually one for eating off the ground, but he's technically a bird right now, and he really mustn't let free food go to waste! It's only after he's finished his banquet that he notices the witcher has ridden off. Oh drat. He'll try and find him that night. When he's not so tired. The next day, Geralt is sat at his camp with Roach, and is surprised to see the same hungry lark as yesterday flying over to sit beside him. Geralt once again shares a bit of his food, and even gets to pet the bird's head. He admits he's grown a fondness for the little lark. That afternoon, just before the sun has set, Geralt is armored up and ready for a fight. Roach is tacked up, he has his potions, his swords, his lark, his oils, hi- Wait, his lark? The lark keeps insisting on following him, until he finally shoos it away with a firm "Don't come. It's dangerous." and the bird seems to understand. Geralt is unnerved at the implications, but he has a contract to attend to first.

Geralt wakes up the next morning, bloody and beaten, no longer high on potions. It was very nearly a pyrrhic victory, it seems. Geralt brushes himself off and looks at his surroundings and sees that the monster and him tore the forest up a bit during their tussle in the night. He's walking back to his camp when he spots it, a fallen tree, and next to it, his lark. Geralt races over, and sees that the tree is pinning the lark to the ground by one of it's wings. The lark opens it's eyes and chirps frantically at him, kicking it's little legs and batting it's free wing erratically. Geralt manages to get the lark unstuck and mends it at camp. He plans to see to the lark's healing, and then release it back into the wild. This is complicated by the lark turning into a man in the middle of his camp later that night.

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier longed to be free from Lettenhove and the burdens of being a Viscount. In pursuit of this freedom, he struck a deal with a sorcerer—but he should have paid closer attention to the phrase "free as a bird."

As a result, Jaskier was cursed to live as a swan, transforming back into a human only on nights of the full moon.

Years later, Geralt, who was merely teaching Ciri how to use a crossbow, instructed her to aim at a swan flying overhead.

Neither of them expected the swan to turn into a man with an arrow lodged in his arm when they went to find it.

[rebrandedbard]

Going through those musical photos was a trip,, why's everyone dressed in all white linen(?) though

I think it's an aesthetic theme or low budget. Not sure. At least they're consistent though!

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geralt x Jaskier Geraskier First kiss, friends to lovers

Geraskier Dancing

When Geralt of Rivia was a child, he begged Vesemir to teach him the kind of dances they performed at court. The answer was always no, but he kept trying.

After the trials, when Vesemir seemed so affected by his eyes, Geralt would widen them and look up at his tutor, pleading.

After all, Geralt thought, what if he rescued a fair maiden, and she demanded that he accompany her to a party? Perhaps she would drag him, giggling and flushed, onto the dance floor. He would be her noble savior, and she would be his grateful maiden.

He didn’t tell Vesemir his reasoning of course. He said that it might be important for royal courts, with kings in them. Wouldn’t it be best if he could fit in? Fencing was similar to dance, so surely Vesemir could handle teaching it.

Vesemir sighed and gave him the same speech he always gave.

"Geralt. You are not training to be a knight. Put that out of your mind. You are a professional. A working man.

Further, you are a mutant now. You will not be greeted with gratitude. You will be lucky to be greeted with the cash that you are promised."

Geralt felt stubborn. Furious. But he knew when to drop the subject.

Vesemir would pat his shoulder and offer him a sweet bread. His eyes always held regret.

Geralt understood him now. After years of hard lessons, he understood. When he thought back on his youth, he felt like a dolt.

The women he saved were traumatized. He was meeting them during the most terrified, violent moments of their lives. They screamed, bled, and threw up. And they all ran. With his bloody sword and ashen skin, he looked little different from the monsters he fought.

At least to them.

And yet?

He still learned how to dance, despite having given up the dream.

It started with Jaskier of course, like most misadventures and novel undertakings. The young bard had just shown up in his life one day and sort of just...never left.

His enthusiasm, energy, and optimism infected Geralt's life, as did the handsome twinkle in his eyes.

One night, after several glasses of wine they shared their most ridiculous childhood dreams. Jaskier admitted that he wanted to publicly rub his success in his family's face, to make their rejection sting less. So Geralt admitted that he'd always stupidly wanted to woo a grateful damsel on a dance floor.

He thought they were just talking nonsense, so he was startled when suddenly, Jaskier was on his feet, woozy and holding out a hand.

"C'mon. Lesgo." Jaskier jerked his curly, disheveled head towards an empty spot on the tavern large enough maybe for one large man.

Geralt refused at first. It was silly. Besides, They were both men. Who would lead?

But Jaskier simply grabbed his hand. When they touched, Geralt found that all of his resistance dissipated like a magic spell. He found himself standing and allowing himself to be dragged. And after they moved a few tables, he found himself touching the small of Jaskier's back and swaying with him.

Why didn't it feel odd? It should have felt odd.

It probably felt fine because they were alone.

They always danced alone.

They would be in a bar that was emptying out, the last drunkards stumbling home. Jaskier would be inviting, leaning against him, words slightly slurring.

Geralt selfishly loved him like that, not because Jaskier would lose his inhibitions, but because Geralt would. Plausible deniability.

"No one is here, Geralt. You won't ruin your fearsome rep--rep--pox on it. People won't see you." Jaskier waved dismissively as he dragged him.

The bard's lips grew pinker when he drank, and his cheeks flushed when they danced.

So Geralt let himself be led into the middle of empty bars, dance halls, and sometimes even just under the stars near a campfire.

"Y'need this for" *hiccup* "d'plomacy." Jaskier tugged him this way and that.

Despite the slurring, Jaskier always moved gracefully, like a swan. He'd sing to himself, lost in the music, touching Geralt with surety, guiding him. His body would be warm and little puffs of his wine soaked breath would drift towards Geralt. The witcher would inhale and try to control the surge of something primal in him awakening from a terribly long slumber.

Jaskier always led.

"I thought you were teaching me to dance with ladies," Geralt complained playfully one night. Jaskier was leading him in a lazy circle under some street lanterns on an abandoned street. Trash and litter was everywhere, left over from the spring festival. Their feet crunched on discarded candy wrappers as they moved.

"I am," Jaskier huffed indignantly, eyes hazy. "You must charm these noble ladies. It's not easy, you know. You must practice."

Geralt bit the side of his mouth trying not to smile. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He was so close to Jaskier, the closest he ever got to stand. "But I'm not learning to lead."

"Oh, s'fine. You'll just," Jaskier gestured, twirling his hand in a circle, "turn it all round." Then it was a rolling motion. "Flip it. Change it backwards. You know what I mean. They'll love it."

It was quiet for a moment, Geralt turned his head and crept closer, so he could secretly smile to himself.

"You already complain they simper around me," he murmured near his friend's ear. "You want to make it worse?"

Jaskier snorted loudly. "They're just trying to get to me, Geralt, you know that. Price of fame!!"

Then he spun Geralt, and all the while, Geralt grumbled, purposely moving stubbornly. "I don't twirl, Jaskier."

Jaskier was wobbly and dismissive. "Y'doing great."

Geralt really did learn during those nights. But they never spoke of it in the morning. Those nights were sacred and untouchable lest they shattered in the light of day.

But one day, they finally, truly paid off.

Geralt wanted to run and tell Vesemir. He'd been right. He had needed to learn the skill after all.

Because one spring day he rescued a beautiful young woman, and she was grateful. She was lovely, truly. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back, caressing her delicate waist.

She had been menaced by a werewolf and run screaming into Geralt's arms, invitation to a ball at the ready. It was just like in his youthful dreams.

The werewolf wasn't such a bad guy to be honest. His name was Gil. And he wasn't so much menacing her as he was trying to say hello and simultaneously coughing. But it was an unpleasant sound to be sure. It was a hacking cough.

Geralt had intervened, having been sent there on an errand by Jaskier. The witcher took Gil aside to speak to him. The werewolf was moving on, anyway. He'd just come to see a picnic of beautiful women that Jaskier had told him about, thinking he would say hello.

Geralt wanted to shake Jaskier. Gently of course. To tell his friend that yes, he had needed help with dancing, but certainly did not need help with finding ladies to rescue. They were lying about everywhere there were monsters. Jaskier wasn't around though, he was nervously flitting around at fittings and lute tunings, preparing anxiously for the dance.

It was silly of course.

And to be honest, the young woman hadn't needed much rescuing. Gil's nose was still sore where she had hit him with her bag.

But nonetheless, when she'd seen Geralt she'd sighed and pretended to be quite helpless.

Geralt carried her to safety on Roach, and she had invited him to a dance that night. They were in Lettenhove, and the dance would be packed with nobles. It was the perfect setup.

Geralt got ready with trembling fingers. He laced on his best armor and slicked down his hair. His stomach was weak just to think of it.

When Geralt arrived, the maiden was there in a stunning gown. She arrived breathlessly, ready for her dance. She batted her eyes and curtseyed.

Geralt bowed slightly, and led her onto the dance floor. After a few moments, her raptured attention began to cool. She was well educated and polite, but Geralt caught her regretful glances towards the handsome young nobles in the corner.

He didn't blame her. He was not a small man, and he was stepping on her toes.

The bloom was very quickly off the rose for the young maiden.

"I'm sorry. My mistake." Geralt muttered at every wrong turn.

If you had asked Geralt as a child, whether the disappointment of a maiden would sting, he would have imagined so.

But it didn't. This was not what he had come for. This was not why his stomach had done somersaults as he had laced on his armor. It was because this party was not just packed with nobles, but very particular nobles from a very specific family.

Geralt glanced up to find him.

Jaskier stood off to the side, close by, clutching a glass of wine, and staring daggers at his cousin across the room. His cousin was a handsome man, if you went in for that kind of thing, though not as handsome as Jaskier. But he was holding court with several ladies.

Geralt excused himself with the relieved young lady who tried to look as though she were not fleeing.

Geralt came up behind Jaskier, and touched his back.

Jaskier did not jump or startle. He must have known Geralt's touch and scent by now. He simply turned and smiled.

"You're here!" Jaskier looked behind him. "And Juliet?"

Geralt shrugged. "I never actually learned to lead."

Jaskier's face fell. "I'm sorry, I-" he looked mortified, "-I don't actually know how to teach dance. I only know how to dance. I was just-"

Geralt cut him off by pulling him into his arms with an 'oof'.

Jaskier startled, leaning eagerly into the embrace. But then he remembered himself and looked around cautiously.

"I don't care if they see," Geralt whispered. "I want them to. Let the miserable bastards gossip until their throats are sore."

The widest, brightest grin he had ever seen blossomed on his handsome bard's face. "Well then." Jaskier straightened his shoulders and cleared a catch in his throat. Let me do this properly."

The bard gently detangled himself from Geralt's arms. Then he bowed at the waist and held out a hand. "Geralt of Rivia? May I have this dance?"

Geralt nodded and straightened his jacket. "You may, Viscount Julian of Lettenhove."

Jaskier held his hand with both of his, but he shook his head and whispered. "No. Viscount Julian is theirs. I am Jaskier. I am yours."

Geralt's heart melted. He did not know how to cope with that, so he just nodded.

The music fell silent, and a new song began.

The witcher and the bard were the first couple out on the floor. It may have started as a way to help Jaskier rub his success in his family's eyes. But almost instantly they forgot all about that. They lost themselves in the movement, the laughter, they only saw each other.

But Jaskier's family saw. His mother. His father. His envious cousins. They all saw that he was loved. That he was talented, famous, and loved.

Geralt didn't think a whole lot about Vesemir that night.

He simply danced. And when the last note on the last song died out, he touched Jaskier's chin. His love's eyes lit up with hope. Geralt didn't want to draw out the suspense, so he pulled him in for a kiss. It was tender and they were sweaty, their hearts beating in their chests.

It felt right. And not because they were alone. It was because they loved each other.

When Geralt visited Vesemir during the winter, he brought up his childhood dream. He would tell the old witcher that he understood now.

Love wasn't something you earned through daring acts. It wasn't something you extracted from terrified women as the price for their safety.

Love was a bard who tried his damndest to fulfill your dreams at the expense of his own.

Love was taking him in your arms and fulfilling his.

Well, Geralt tried to say all that. Perhaps it didn't come out the way he meant. Perhaps he stumbled over his words and grunted some.

But when he pulled Jaskier into the room to introduce him to Vesemir, the old witcher understood.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

for the kiss prompts - a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling + geraskier, pretty please 🥺

Jaskier has never been one to suffer stage fright. Since the first time he gave an impromptu performance at one of his parents’ banquets at the age of seven, he’s soaked up the spotlight at any chance he can get. There’s nothing he delights in more than having a crowded tavern or ballroom watching him with starry eyes, hanging onto his every word. He knows he’s good at what he does, a far cry from the boy who used to get bread pelted at his head while he sang about hags and abortions.

Except that as he stands behind the stage at the Oxenfurt Music Festival, listening to a pair of Nazairi troubadours sing a lovely duet, his insides roil with the same queasy nervousness he’s carried with him all day. He glances over at Geralt to make sure the witcher doesn’t notice. Geralt is leaning against the wall, looking remarkably stoic for a man who has been dragged to a music festival entirely against his will. 

Jaskier can’t let him know how nervous he is, not when Geralt took on two wyverns singlehandedly only three days ago. The fact that Jaskier, who has been a traveling bard for years, who has faced far scarier things than a crowd of onlookers (usually while cowering behind Geralt, but his point stands) has stage fright is too mortifying to admit. Luckily, Jaskier is excellent at keeping his feelings under wraps after years of traveling with his witcher. He’s sure Geralt has no idea.

“You’re nervous,” Geralt says.

Fuckity fuck.

“Nervous?” Jaskier breaks off in a monologue about how he lost the Student Bardic Competition to Valdo Marx his final year due to trickery and biased judging. “I’m not nervous! Merely excited to claim yet another in my long list of accolades.”

“You stink of anxiety.”

Jaskier just manages to resist the urge to sniff himself. “Why, thank you, Geralt. How kind of you to say. And here I thought you liked this new perfume.”

Geralt just stares at him, unimpressed.

Jaskier sighs. “I seem to have come down with the tiniest case of stage fright.”

“Stage fright?” Geralt arches an eyebrow. “But you perform all the time.”

“Not at places like this.” Jaskier waves his hand in the direction of the stage.

“You just told me in detail about all seven times you performed here before. You said you won five times.”

“And it would have been all seven, if Valdo Marx weren’t a cad and a cheat.” Jaskier puffs up in remembered outrage. “But that was the Student Bardic Festival. Everyone expects the acts there to be a little bit shit. Melitele help them, but my classmates didn’t give me much of a run for their money, save for Valdo and Essi. This is the first time I’ve performed in a professional competition.”

“And that’s why you’re nervous.”

“Yes!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I know this isn’t a wyvern or an angry mob, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of thousands of people!”

Geralt gets an expression on his face like he’s valiantly refraining from pointing out that Jaskier doesn’t normally care about making a fool of himself. “You perform all the time.”

“For drunks in taverns who won’t notice if I make a bunk of the pronunciation of an elven ballad or courtiers who wouldn’t know a wrong note if it hit them in the face. Many of these people are trained musicians themselves who have come from all over the Continent to be here today. I have to be perfect.”

“Then be perfect.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier moans and slaps his hands over his eyes. “Have you ever heard of Elsa Svensen?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Of course you haven’t! She was a cautionary tale when I was at Oxenfurt, a rising star in the bardic circuit until she tried to sing The Six Swans at the Lan Exeter Bardic Festival.” At the blank look on his witcher’s face, Jaskier elaborates. “It’s a famously difficult ballad in Elder. Very long, lots of tricky notes. She butchered it so badly that she was laughed off stage! Suffice to say, there was an unfortunate mispronunciation and she sang a line about the hero committing unspeakable acts with a donkey in front of the entirety of Lan Exeter, including the king and queen. It ended her career. Rumor has it that she changed her name and is now working as a traveling player.”

Geralt doesn’t look suitably horrified, in Jaskier’s opinion.

“A traveling player, Geralt!” Jaskier practically shrieks, which isn’t good for his voice, but he can’t stop himself. “I can’t act! There isn’t a single troupe of traveling players that would have me. I’ll starve. Gods, I should never have let Essi talk me into this. I’m too young to live in disgrace. Can you go out there and tell them that a horrible tragedy has befallen me and an evil witch has stolen my voice? Ooh, yes, say I’ve ruined her for all other men and this is my punishment. Do you think we can find an actual witch in—”

He doesn’t realize Geralt is approaching him until the witcher presses a brief kiss to his lips.

Jaskier blinks, surprised. Geralt isn’t one for displays of affection where anyone else might see. “What are you—”

Geralt kisses him again. Jaskier can feel the curl of his lips.

“Geralt, this is—”

Another kiss, this one accompanied by Geralt nipping at his lower lip.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says through another kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Trying to shut you up.”

“How dare—”

Geralt kisses him again. “You were working yourself up.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, then realizes he was just plotting to find an actual witch to steal his voice in order to get out of a performance. Perhaps Geralt has a point. “Right.”

“You know Elder too well to accidentally sing about donkeys. And if you do manage to fuck up so badly that you ruin your career, I won’t let you starve.”

Jaskier melts into him. “Geralt, that’s the sweetest—”

“Because you’re right, you’d be a shit traveling player.” Geralt’s lips quirk.

“You—”

Geralt kisses him again, slow and sweet, and Jaskier feels the last bit of tension drain out of him.

“Jaskier the Bard!” a woman’s voice calls from the stage. “Also known as the Dandelion!”

“That’s you.” Geralt pushes him towards the stage. “You’ll do great, Jask.”

Jaskier can’t help but smile at him. “How can I not, after a sweet pep talk like that?”

“Hm. Probably not as great as Valdo Marx did earlier.” A full-on smile spreads over Geralt’s face at Jaskier’s outrage. “But we’ll see.”

And just for that, Jaskier gives the best damn performance of his life. Which is probably what Geralt intended, the terrible man.

***

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

Kiss prompts

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Jaskier being 100000% done after the mountain and his self preservation Swan diving off the edge even if nothing else does and instead of being scared of any bandit attacks or attempted robberies, he starts critiquing them a'la Mike Wazowski's: "If you're gonna threaten me, do it properly."

"I swear, if I have to hear that exact same threat one more time! How are you all somehow singing from the same songsheet? Mix it up a bit!"

"I'll be honest, the jumping from the bushes thing would have been scarier if I hadn't known you were there about five minutes ago."

"Take it from me, the Devil's in the detail. I'm not exactly trembling in my boots over you claiming 'hand it over or you' ll be sorry'. Sorry how, exactly?"

And one very memorable occasion when he got caught in a rainstorm and just shoved his would be mugger away with a firm "No!" without even breaking stride.

Word soon spreads through the various criminal groups and Geralt is left to wonder why any bandits they do come across after reuniting with the bard just turn and walk away as soon as they catch sight of Jaskier.

[artistsfuneral]

part 12

"Death affects our hearts in many ways. Good and bad." Jaskier muses out loud as he collects his cards to put them back into his pocket. Normally he'd offer the witcher his deck to look through, but he hardly has any cards Geralt could be interested in. Because of it he doesn't notice the way Geralt's face turns incredibly angry at first and then morves into a mix of confusion and distrust.

"What did you say was your name again?" The bard blinks up at him in confusion, too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the sudden shift of the atmosphere around them. "Jaskier."

"Your real name."

He makes a noise, "Julian."

"Of?"

"Julian Pankratz of Lettenhove."

"Your father's name."

"Alfred Maxwell."

"Your husband's name."

"Geralt."

He gasps. Frozen to his chair, Jaskier's eyes widen. He messed up. He messed up badly.

Death affects our hearts in many ways.

As a boy, Geralt was forced into a second trial of grasses even before most of his brothers had woken up from their first. He hadn't reacted well to their death. High on the toxicity in his blood Geralt had turned his grief into anger and lashed out. It took three grown witchers to take him down. Afterwards Vesemir had sat down with him and gave Geralt a piece of advice he kept close to his heart for two decades. The day Jaskier read his parents' names in the obituaries was the day Geralt took Jaskier to the side and told him, "Death affects our hearts in many ways. Good and bad." He had fallen into Geralt's arms and cried his heart out. To this day, he never sought out revenge.

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[olderthannetfic]

Just like a small question based on that one ask, but... might the lack of brown/black men in popular M/M ships have to do with people trying really hard not to be racist so they just... never feature black/brown men? Because I know several F/F ships with brown/black women, but I can't remember a single M/M or even M/F with a black/brown male love interest... well, maybe Link/Gan or Zelda/Gan? But besides that one... nothing rings a notable bell.

--

There are more than that, anon, even if there aren't a lot.

If we're talking about AO3, Link/Gan has 785 works. Finnpoe has 8,636. Sam/Bucky has 10,591. Do you just not watch live action media?

--

Part of it is "I don't know. I just don't find them hot for some reason..."-style racism. That can shift with time and exposure but there's no instant fix even if someone is interested in changing their own tastes.

Part of it is being instantly screamed at and held to higher standards. (And yes, no matter how much people want to whine and say this isn't true, it is true, and anyone who goes ahead and writes despite the haters will tell you so.)

Part of it is fear of messing up above and beyond fear of reactions. Personally, I think this is toxic white guilt-flavor time-wasting and it's better to try and fail than not try, but it's a massive factor in what some people choose to write.

A lot of it is simply the composition of the mega-franchises that tend to generate the ships with bajillions of works. If we're looking at AO3 circles, the biggest f/f ships are not that big. If you look at m/m ships of the same size, there are some with some guy who is not white and not a pale-skinned Asian.

Here's the AO3 f/f tag where you can directly see what's big in the sidebar.

Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (20389)

Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan (15516)

Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s) (14062)

Clarke Griffin/Lexa (12661)

Minor or Background Relationship(s) (11492)

Adora/Catra (She-Ra) (10855)

Amity Blight/Luz Noceda (9751)

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (7913)

Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long (7205)

Korra/Asami Sato (6866)

If we exclude nonspecific tags and misplaced dudes, we add:

Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer (6127)

Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler (6120)

Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught (5738)

Luz Noceda and Korra have darker skin. Lana Parrilla is Latina, but is Regina Mills? This isn't exactly some paradise for the diversity you're talking about.

Here's the M/M tag:

Castiel/Dean Winchester (107699)

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (68231)

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson (65757)

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (64761)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers (59546)

Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) (48169)

Minor or Background Relationship(s) (47119)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (43665)

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson (41631)

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (40374)

Let's exclude some things and see what we get as we head towards the 5-20k range.

Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku (38445)

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V (36025)

Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn (35907)

Keith/Lance (Voltron) (31634)

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester (30488)

Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood (29568)

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) (28959)

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin (28191)

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter (27775)

Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou (27193)

Well, we've got Lance. (*shudder*) He's one of the most distasteful and useless stock character types in episode one and is the reason I never bothered to touch Voltron again, but his fans are certainly loud enough about him being Latino.

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov (26087)

Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) (26058)

Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF) (21900)

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson (21897)

Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) (21296)

Original Male Character/Original Male Character (21035)

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion (20224)

James T. Kirk/Spock (18810)

Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru (18703)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin (18147)

Eddie Diaz is Latino.

Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel (17787)

Levi Ackerman/Eren Yeager (16950)

Dan Howell/Phil Lester (16818)

Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier (16229)

Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet (16193)

Harry Potter/Severus Snape (15551)

Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich (15539)

Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki (14990)

Keith/Shiro (Voltron) (14816)

Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio (14780)

We've got the Taika Waititi thirsters in this cohort.

Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier (14413)

Rodney McKay/John Sheppard (14209)

Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto (13135)

Tartaglia | Childe/Zhongli (Genshin Impact) (13016)

Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know (12962)

Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto (12878)

Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic (12817)

Loki/Thor (Marvel) (12767)

Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren (12391)

Frank Iero/Gerard Way (12146)

Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams (12050)

Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou (12002)

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga (11898)

Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga (11352)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin (11101)

Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith (11088)

Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones (11083)

Loki/Tony Stark (10699)

Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) (10523)

Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin (10415)

Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (10312)

Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard (10211)

Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi (9950)

Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (9944)

Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee (9763)

Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington (9686)

Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru (9625)

Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol (9471)

Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski (9367)

Clint Barton/Phil Coulson (9359)

Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (9347)

Nico di Angelo/Will Solace (9317)

Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji (9186)

Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean (8973)

Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg (8785)

Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks (8710)

Alhaitham/Kaveh (Genshin Impact) (8657)

Peter Parker/Tony Stark (8607)

Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto (8588)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson (8522)

Only here are we finally getting down to the range where a lot of the big f/f ships on AO3 hang out, and here's Sam/Bucky, which is frankly not a small pairing at all unless you only mean in comparison to Stucky.

I'll stop there for m/m since these numbers are getting pretty distorted by me filtering out everything higher up, but you get the idea. Even that wretched Old Guard fandom couldn't completely kill off its ship, though then we get into how you're defining your terms and how much actual skin tone matters.

Here's f/m on AO3:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug (32122)

Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (26417)

Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s) (23498)

Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren (23403)

Minor or Background Relationship(s) (18497)

James Potter/Lily Evans Potter (18142)

Kylo Ren/Rey (15915)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader (15200)

Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (14547)

Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley (13843)

Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin (13551)

Fox Mulder/Dana Scully (13145)

Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak (11318)

Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan (11031)

Castiel/Dean Winchester (10851)

Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth (9236)

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (9152)

Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson (9141)

Other Relationship Tags to Be Added (9108)

Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper (9046)

Bellamy Blake's actor is Filipino, isn't he? I remember race wank.

I don't see anything particularly significant until we get further down the listings, but there are definitely smaller fandoms like Leverage where everybody loves and ships the black guy.

I mean, yes, clearly, media does have a bias against darker skin, and the darker the skin, the bigger the bias. This bias may be exacerbated by fandom, but in a lot of cases, it just seems to be replicated at about the same level.

That pattern notwithstanding, it seems like you just haven't heard of a lot of ships.

[dancingwiththefae]

at the end of all things

1.3k, Milva & Jaskier, reference to torture, flashbacks, hurt/comfort, potential (mild) book spoilers In a quiet moment in Brokilon, Milva and Jaskier come to understand each other AO3

“Rience is dead.”

The words came from the witcher's mouth with a wheeze. It wasn't a name she recognised, but then why would she. She waited for the bard's response. When none came, she risked a glance in at them. Jaskier sat with his back to her, leaning over Geralt. The witcher was still bed-bound. Sometimes she wondered how he was still breathing. For the first time since she met him, the bard was quiet. It was unnerving. When he eventually spoke, she had to strain her ears to hear.

“Are you sure?” There was a wobble to his voice. An uncertainty that she only ever heard from him in moments like this, when she really shouldn't be listening. But she couldn't help it. These people were strangers in her home. Her safe place. The witcher, she understood. Eithne vouched for him. They had a history, an understanding. The bard was a different story. Every inch the human. Swanning in here like he owned the place. His incessant chatter and naivety grated on her. He didn't belong here. He belonged in the comfort of cities. In moments like this she wasn't so sure. And that was what irritated her the most.

“Killed him myself,” the witcher replied. The tension eased from the bard's shoulders ever so slightly. He took a deep breath and dropped his head.

“Good,” he said at last, almost at a whisper, “that's- that's good.”

Jaskier turned away and Milva slipped away from the entrance.

“You should rest,” he mumbled, “I'll come back to check on you in a bit.”

The witcher hummed and Milva heard shuffling as Jaskier rose from the ground. He breezed straight past her as he left, either unaware or uncaring of her presence. Curiosity got the better of her and she followed close behind.

“Who's Rience?” she asked as she matched pace beside him. He didn't answer at first, heading away from the settlement. She followed in silence.

“He's a mage.” She almost jumped, she was starting to suspect he wouldn't answer at all. “With a penchant for fire.”

He stopped then and turned to face her. She studied him carefully. He refused to look her in the eye, he looked at almost anything but her. He worried at his fingers, a habit that she had noticed since he got here. He seemed to curl in on himself slightly. There was more to this than that.

“He hurt you?” she guessed.

Jaskier pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. And then he sighed and sat down on a log.

“He wanted information,” he began slowly, “information that I didn't have. But he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Milva frowned, considering his words.

“He tortured you,” she said as she sat down opposite him. The bard gave a short nod towards the ground. They both descended into silence. She didn't know what to say to that. Something soft. Reassuring. Something like, 'it wasn't your fault' or 'it's going to be okay. They were not words that she could say because she knew that they were not true.

A small child with a bow in her hand who only ever wanted to please her father.

“Life's unfair like that,” she settled on instead, “the world is harsh.”

The bard chewed his lip, thinking over what she had said.

“You're right,” he replied softly, “but forgive me for wanting to believe otherwise.”

She hated him for that. She envied him. To still feel like there was good in this world, that things would work out for you in the end. She wanted to dismiss the thought outright. Call him foolish for entertaining the idea even after what he had been through. What his friend had been through. It was unfair. Unjust. Cruel. And that's the way it has always been. Will always be. The only thing to do was to harden yourself to it. If you saw it coming, it wouldn't hurt so much when it arrived. Yet he, who could worm his way even into Brokilon, who talks and sings incessantly, who has little regard for anyone but himself. He is allowed to think different. That, she decided, was what was truly unfair.

As they sat together, away from everyone else, she allowed herself a moment to feel the weight of it, just as he felt the weight of his own burdens. There was something different about him here. Like she was able to glimpse behind the mask, see the man that was underneath. If it was a facade he had, it was a solid one. But then, was she any different. He looked as though he had more to say, a crease forming on his brow, lips parted slightly.

“I thought-” Jaskier cut himself off and frowned. She waited silently for him to continue. “I thought it would be better when he was dead. I thought I would feel...happier. But I just feel the same.”

Her stepfather on the ground, spitting blood. The rage that had built up inside of her cooling in an instant. She gave him a few kicks and ran.

“If only it were that simple,” she uttered, almost under her breath, but the bard heard it anyway. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. It was like he could really see her. She had his full undivided attention, his sympathy, his understanding. She didn't like it. It was too personal. A part of her wished he would go back to being the idiot she had let into the forest so that she had an excuse to yell at him again. Eventually his eyes slipped away from her and she let out a breath. He seemed lost in thought. The air around them, though heavy, was peaceful and so she dared not disturb it by asking what was on his mind. It wouldn't have took much to guess anyway.

She followed his line of sight down to his hands, where he was rubbing his thumb across his fingers. Back and forth, back and forth. It was then that she finally noticed what he was doing. It was faint, but from this close, she could see the scarring. He worried at it rhythmically, soothingly. She couldn't help but lean forward to get a better look. Milva had been around long enough to recognise the tightness of the skin, the change in tone. They were burns. He pulled his hand back suddenly. She looked up to find him staring back at her. He looked as though he'd been caught, though she couldn't understand why. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and then stood abruptly.

“I should check on geralt.”

He made to leave. She reached her arm out to stop him.

“The waters,” she explained, nodding towards the scars, “they can heal you too.”

“Oh,” he smiled, the mask was firmly back in place, “don't waste it on an old fool like me.”

Milva wanted to argue, but something in his face told her not to. Instead she stepped aside to allow him past. He offered a small nod as he left, nothing more. She watched him as he walked towards where Geralt lay. The way he stood straighter as he left the safety of their hideaway. As he walked away, she was sure that what was shared between them would never be spoken about again. He was a fool. Fivolous and naïve of what lay ahead. But for a moment, she glimpsed something more, something deeper than that. And, she feared, he had seen the same in her. Well, if the idiot was going to walk straight into a war without thinking to protect himself, she was just going to have to do it for him. She went in search of her bow. It was time to go hunting.

[littlestsnicket]

i get the desire of wanting to headcanon jaskier as a good professor, but also what if he’s not? he’s probably actually not

- jaskier swanning about treating lecturing like he’s doing the university a huge favor when he really really needs the money. he’s a famous bard, he earns plenty. there are just literal children with better financial planning skills and impulse control than him. (but he’s also always been like this, even before he was properly famous.)

- lectures on whatever the fuck he feels like, often in a highly associative, i probably have adhd sort of way. fascinating and compelling but not a great learning environment. also huge problem in intro level classes with department set, oral exams.

- mostly teaches seminar classes where the entire grade is a final performance. even when he’s teaching in the history department. no mandatory or even encouraged progress check ins. your on your own unless you track him down outside of class.

- makes a point of not attending his office hours but at least he is extremely enthusiastic about discussing material with students if they manage to track him down somewhere else. willing to give extensive notes and encouragement and tips and opportunities for practice performances for stage fright history students on final performances. but you have to find him and ask.

- doesn’t have inappropriate relationships with his students but enjoys and encouraged the attention he gets from having a reputation as the sort of person who might.

- one thousand percent plays favorites. (this one he sort of gets a pass on because his favorites at the ones who he thinks are going to make it, and he has an uncanny knack for picking them out.)

[inexplicifics]

I need you to know that the doodles are fighting me but the commando outfit chickens lead me to Ciri dressing up chickens as an enemy army (Redenian maybe) then deciding that's not far enough and dressing up geese as witchers. They are smaller in number but it still doesn't seem like a fair fight. Which one of the other kids was about to point out before the black swan representing yen arrived with a random sparrow cheering it on (Jaskier). May never finish enough to post. But I'm laughing.

This is delightful and terrifying. Geese don't need swords! Do not give the geese swords!

[theirmadness]

muse update list!

below the cut you will find: deleted muses i think aren't going anywhere. if we have any interactions with these muses, please consider them null. thanks!

all fantastic beast muses.

all cursed child era muses.

tom riddle.

severus snape.

sirius black.

remus lupin.

bucky barnes.

steve rogers.

hope van dyne.

thor odinson.

tony stark.

magneto.

thanos.

matt murdock.

bruce wayne.

arthur curry.

clark kent.

dr. fate.

starfire.

lois lane.

anakin skywalker.

kylo ren.

10th-12th doctor.

dean winchester.

castiel.

nicholas scratch.

gabriel.

daemon targaryen.

jon snow.

aragorn.

gandalf.

legolas.

thranduil.

smaug.

geralt.

jaskier.

belle french.

hannibal lecter.

charlie swan.

carlisle cullen.

edward cullen.

damon salvatore.

niklaus mikaelson.

stefan salvatore.

van helsing.

alice cooper.

hermione lodge.

hiram lodge.

alcide herveaux.

bill compton.

eric northman.

john watson.

mycroft holmes.

atticus lincoln.

amelia shepherd.

greg house.

aaron hotchner.

joe goldberg.

emily prentiss.

eve polastri.

joe goldberg.

ellie settler.

jeanine matthews.

lorraine warren.

doric.

ed warren.

jim preston.

ian malcolm.

oc muses:

agna blake.

bambi elsher.

bess cromwell.

bianca delaveaux.

camilla souza.

dahlia ledger.

elia sandstone.

emily reacher.

grace stevens.

george star.

harriet stark.

jane williams.

kitty green.

margot peach.

nymeria sand.

ophelia dragos.

pearl james.

roxy blue.

ruby andrews.

summer hayes.

suzanne preacher.

jean taylor.

gertrud northman.

jack smithman.

juliana marques.

madame erin.

margaret greene.

edward charles.

elias karlson.

jack wallace.

max everwell.

philip windsor.

tiresias iamus thebeus.

belial.

brandon strage.

christopher smith.

daniel williams.

dante smith.

harry williams.

ian caroll.

jeffrey cole.

patrick wright.

paul smith.

[thedemonofcat]

Thinking about Barbie Swan Lake since that is the best version of Swan Lake. Then, this idea came

Jaskier, a timid Earl’s son with dreams of becoming a bard, is lured into a magical forest by a talking unicorn. There, he releases a Magic Crystal from its resting place in a tree and learns from the Fairy Queen and witch Yennefer that whoever takes the Crystal is destined to defeat the evil sorcerer Rothbart.

Though Jaskier doubts his bravery and strength, he has no choice but to face Rothbart when the sorcerer appears and transforms him into a swan. Protected by the Crystal from magical harm, Jaskier can only return to his human form at night.

In the forest, Jaskier encounters a witcher named Geralt, afflicted by a different curse. As their bond deepens, Jaskier searches for a way to break his curse and save the forest. However, Geralt’s secretive curse threatens to drive them apart as they struggle to find a solution.

[k-laconia-bug1]

Gerakier prompt

Based From cursed Geralt au by @swan--writes

Once upon a time

A Witch cursed Geralt. Why did the witch cursed Geralt you may ask?

Well this Witch so happen to stumble in a Tavern where Jaskier was meeting up with His Sister

"Julie" The Bard began "Geralt won't eat enough he won't sleep enough he maybe sleeps 4 hours at most.. AT MOST! Julie and he's wearing clothes that He hates!"

Julie Tried to calm her brother down "perhaps bring him to home see if he can resist our baby sister puppy eyes?"

The Witch decided that she would help the Bard with many names. Witchers do need to take care of themselves more perhaps this would help?

---

So basically Geralt didn't anger a Witch

Witch just decided she liked the Bard and wanted to help

The curse last about 3 weeks and it's just full of Geralt getting luxury treatment wondering why the Bard isn't abusing this for other things the only commands Jaskier gives Geralt benefits Geralts wellbeing and as much as Jaskier wants to he won't ask any questions untill after the curse is lifted

Plot twist the witch is Julie girlfriends

[irrlicht-writes]

the greatest gift

“I’ll stay behind; I have to tune my lute.”

Yennefer wasn’t sure if that man truly meant his lute, or his lute. He did have to perform this evening at the inn they were staying at, so maybe he really meant his instrument. Such a shame. She would have liked it if he had accompanied them, he was fun to gossip with at the vendor stalls. Neither Geralt nor Ciri truly had that required fashion sense.

“Geralt, is this my colour?”

The Witcher just hummed without really looking. Yennefer sighed.

“I think you’d look lovely in it, Yenna.”

Yennefer smiled at Ciri; bless her for trying.

“Thank you, duckling,” she responded and put the cloth back.

She itched for Jaskier’s company, but she could never let him know, his head would explode.

“It’s sad that Jaskier didn’t come with us,” Ciri said and Yennefer agreed. “You think it’s because of what that woman said? She was so rude, I wanted to smash her stupid crystal ball.”

Yennefer nodded again.

They had come to this village originally because they had heard rumours that there was a wise woman here that could tell them more about the Wild Hunt. They had indeed found this wise woman, but when they had entered her hut, she had pointed at Jaskier immediately and screeched: “He does not belong; destiny has no place for him!”

It spoke of years of self-restraint that none of them burned her hut down right that second.

Later, Jaskier had played it off, his usual laugh, but Yennefer knew it had stung. In their party, Jaskier was constantly wondering why he was here, and if he had a place among them, when in truth; without him, none of them would be here.

He brought her and Geralt together, and he brought Geralt and Ciri together. Without Jaskier, would Geralt even be able to properly care about Ciri? Would she?

She picked up a little wooden toy, a small duck, and turned it in her fingers. Jaskier would gush about it and insist she buy it for Ciri.

“You call her duckling all the time, Yennefer!”

“Perhaps I should buy it for you, the ugly duck of our group?”

“How dare you! I am the most magnificent swan this world has ever seen! But how would a water hag know beauty when it flew past her, true?”

She grumbled and put the toy away. The bardling could never know that she was able to envision entire conversations in her head.

Jaskier was nobody special, no magic, no fighter, no nothing. All he had was that lute of his and that notebook he took everywhere.

He was the stupidest man she’s ever met.

She’s rarely known a braver man.

“Magic could never be done with the likes of you, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

He had not been aware of it then, and was not aware of it now, but in that time, he was the only one to believe in her. Because he had that unshaken faith, she could borrow it from him. She could believe in herself that she was still worth something, because he did.

Ever since then, Jaskier had become... important, to her.

He would never know, not with words, not like that, but it was Jaskier. He knew. He knew, but maybe he didn’t truly believe it.

“FIRE!”

All three of them lifted their heads.

“No,” whispered Geralt and started running.

“Jaskier!” shouted Ciri and ran after him.

“Julian,” Yennefer whispered and she took running.

The smoke was coming from the inn.

Geralt, Ciri and Yennefer came to a screeching halt in front of the inn. Jaskier wasn’t here. He couldn’t be inside still, could he? No, he couldn’t. Not in the fire, Jaskier was scared. He wouldn’t have stayed.

Yennefer’s heart was beating too fast, she couldn’t think. A portal. Yes, a portal. No. No she couldn’t do a portal. It was too dangerous in the fire.

“Where is he? Where is the bard?”

A shaking woman was answering, her voice waiving: “H-he’s still inside! He – he told us to get out, I didn’t look, oh gods.”

“I’m going inside.”

One look at Geralt and she knew he wouldn’t take no as an answer. So she just nodded. “Hurry,” she said and he took off.

“We should go too,” Ciri said and Yennefer shook her head.

“No. The smoke is too dangerous, Geralt will be faster than the two of us.”

“But –“ Ciri started to protest, and Yennefer pulled her into a hug. If the girl noticed her faint trembling, she didn’t say. Jaskier would never let her live it down. Instead, Ciri hugged her tighter.

“He’ll be okay,” she whispered and by gods, Yennefer wanted the girl’s words to be true. If not – If Jaskier was beyond saving – she –

No.

No, she wouldn’t think about that.

Jaskier was going to be fine.

He’d make a joke about having to live up to his damsel in distress status.

When Geralt stormed out of the fire, Yennefer would later tell Jaskier that there was a big explosion of fire behind them. In truth, there was just more smoke and Yennefer had no eyes for it. In his arms, Geralt was carrying an unconscious Jaskier, with his head lolling. Geralt didn’t stop running, he jogged over to a place without smoke.

Yennefer’s stomach dropped and she hurried after them, leaning over Jaskier as Geralt put him onto the ground.

“Julek,” she whispered into his face, begging him to wake. “Julek.”

“He’s not breathing, Yen, he’s not –“

He was right. Jaskier wasn’t breathing. Yennefer could barely breathe herself.

She closed her eyes and kissed his forehead, on all the soot from the smoke and the fire. “I’m not losing you, Julek, I’m not.”

She pressed her lips on his, breathing into his mouth. Her hand searched for his chest, feeling his heart beat. Yennefer swatted Geralt’s hands away, as he wanted to start pumping.

“It’s beating,” she said between breaths.

She kept breathing for the bard, and determined that he could never know. Jaskier could never know that she almost lost it today.

Ciri was next to her, talking to Jaskier softly: “You gotta wake up, Dandelion. You promised me you’d show me how to play the lute, remember? And you were writing a song we could sing together! We wanted to surprise Geralt and Yenna with it, remember? So you gotta wake up, please.”

Yennefer’s heart broke for the tone of Ciri. It was so easy to forget that she was still just a child.

As if hearing the girl, Jaskier started coughing heavily, and Yennefer helped him into a sitting position. The bard was coughing out a lot of phlegm ad the sorceress gently rubbed his back.

“Julek,” she whispered so softly nobody heard her.

“Jaskier!”

Still coughing, the bard looked up, completely and utterly confused.

“Ge-Geralt? What?”

His voice was hoarse, and she only now noticed that most of his beard got singed. He was shaking, and looking around himself.

“Wha-what happened? I, I.”

He sounded close to tears, and his breathing got worse.

“Shh, little bard,” Yennefer cooed, “it’s all good now. You’re safe, you’re safe. We’re all safe, you stupid, stupid man, we’re all safe.”

He leaned against her and sagged, and Yennefer gently brushed through his hair. There was ash in his hair, and she knew this wouldn’t be shaken off so easily.

But he was alive.

He was alive.

As Geralt and Ciri took each of Jaskier’s hand, she pressed a kiss on his head.

“Julek,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

Right here, between them all, right where he always ought to be, his shaky puffs of breath on her collarbone were the greatest gift she could ask for.