#meanwhile geralt's like 'you know I found him first right?'

[teatitty]

Okay no but I'm thinking more about Big Brother Eskel hearing about this fucking bard Geralt has picked up and all the mischief and mayhem he causes while also bringing back a light to Geralt's eyes and making his path so much less lonely [wolves were never meant to be alone and especially not Geralt] and when he does meet him he's just like. Fuck. Look at this thing. He's so small and wild and free. Is anyone going to fuss over him like he's an errant baby brother or do I have to do everything around here my-fucking-self. And then he does and Dandelion's incredibly confused but he's not, like, mad about it

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 8

Chapter 7

"Thank you," you say to Geralt, taking his hand in yours from the tub.

Geralt nods and stands up, fixing to remove his clothing so he could join you. Knowing what he was up to, you move up forward so he could get in behind you.

You lean into him, your back meeting his chest.

"I need to talk to Ciri," you say, "Let her know how sorry I am." "She's resting right now," Geralt says, "you can tell her in the morning. Besides, she probably already knows how sorry you are."

You sigh a bit, and turn to face the man, "if you don't mind, Geralt, I'd like to forget about all this at the moment."

Nodding, Geralt leans back against the tub, relaxing as he lets you get on his lap. You start feeling up and down his body, eventually one hand weaving through his hair and another reaching for his groin.

The witcher grunted as you started to work him. In return, Geralt took one hand and snuck it between your legs, rubbing circles where you would feel the most pleasure.

This continued until he eventually came, with you not following too far behind. You lean into Geralt's chest, relaxing from that little session.

He helps you out of the tub and to dry off, before he carries you to the bed.

Once Geralt was laying on his back, you rest your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around your, pressing a kiss to your head.

"You've been so good to me, Geralt," you mutter as you're about to fall asleep, "I love you."

Geralt's eyes widen a bit as this was the first time you ever told him that. It was this moment, he realized how much he's come to love you too; it was different from the kind of love he felt for Yennefer, it wasn't artificially constructed from a demonic magical monster, it was real and organic.

He was about to say it back, but noticed you were already deep in sleep. He sighed a bit, resting his head back on the pillow. He would have plenty of time to express his feelings in the morning.

----------meanwhile------------------

While you and Geralt were carrying on with your splish-splash sexy fun times, some people in the keep were off doing their own thing.

After putting Ciri to bed, Eskel, Coen, and Lambert went to the village down below to have their own fun at the taverns and/or brothels.

Vesemir had stayed to look into something.

After putting Aemma to bed, the elder witcher had retreated to the library for some extra studying.

There was something he needed to look into concerning the possible origins of your daughter's paternal side of the family, but unfortunately, no such books were available in Kaer Morhen. Even if the library was still intact from the sacking that took place decades ago, the School of the Wolf was never interested in educating its students in history, especially history outside the Continent.

Nevertheless, after that episode of yours earlier today, Vesemir had felt this was something that needed to be looked into.

Luckily Tris was able to help in that department by borrowing several promises texts from the library in Aretuza.

Vesemir currently had two texts before him, one that described the complete history of Westeros, and another on a history on the origins of dragons. The last one, Vesemir found to be an odd choice, but accepted it nonetheless.

He opened the fist book, quickly scanning through the first couple chapters until he got to the descriptions of the current ruling house of this particular realm. Pictures of people with silver blonde hair and violet eyes were scattered over the pages amongst the writing.

Silver hair and violet eyes...just like Aemma's, Vesemir thinks.

The old man didn't quite want to believe it, but if his suspicions were correct, there was a possibility your daughter may possess royal blood within her veins, and not just that, it was blood of a house whose origins could be traced to a place and time that was long gone. Remnants of a bygone era that was once ruled by dragons and dragon riders, as evident in the emblem of the three headed dragon. 

Vesemir then skipped to the last bit of the book to the present to learn more of the current ruling monarch of the Seven Kingdoms.

----------flashback: the Red Keep----------------

"(y/n)?" you hear Rhaenyra speak to you. You were educating her on the kingdoms across the Continent, and this was the moment you felt your stomach turn again.

You manage to shake it off once your heard the princess get your attention, "Oh, forgive me, princess," you tell her, "I uh, I was feeling nauseated, but I'm alright now. Where were we?"

"I believe we were discussing Redania," Rhaenyra answers.

"Oh right, Redania," you say, pointing to the map, "The eagle in a sea of red and gold. The current ruling monarch of that kingdom is Vizimir, but if a match was to be made, you would probably be betrothed to his brother, Prince Radovid." "Does he have a court mage?" the princess asks. "Ah, Phillipa Eilhart," you say, "from what I've heard, she specializes in polymorphism magic." Rhaenyra gave you a confused look, "she can shift her appearance," you explain, "like animals."

"Fascinating," the princess says, looking at the map again, "what about Cintra? Any prospects there?" "You really want to consider Cintra as a prospect?" you snort, "or would you see this as an opportunity to meet the Lioness herself?"

"...perhaps," Rhaenyra admits, averting her gaze, "She sounds like a woman to admire. She's fought in battles and wears armor like a man would. Much like the wives of my forebear Aegon the Conqueror."

"Well, Queen Calanthe I don't imagine would be looking for any matches right now," you admit, "it took years for her to marry off her own daughter and many more to say yes to her current husband from Skellige. Besides she doesn't have any sons. The Princess Pavetta died in a tragic accident years ago. The Queen is survived by her granddaughter, Princess Cirilla."

"Cirilla," Rhaenyra repeats, "A beautiful name."

"Yes, I suppose it-" you feel your stomach turn again. "Are you alright?" Rhaenyra asks with concern.

"Yeah," you say, standing, bending over a bit, "Excuse me, princess."

You rush over to the open window and hurl the contents of your stomach once more.

"Are you unwell, (y/n)?" Rhaenyra rushes over to pull your hair back as you hurl again, "If I recall, this is what got you in trouble yesterday."

You recall back to yesterday when you got sick. Then you think back to how long this sickness has been going on. It's been on and off for the last several weeks...now that you think about this had been going on for nearly two months, since the day Daemon left and Rhaenyra was named new heir to the Iron Throne.

"Perhaps I am not," you admit, wiping your mouth. Rhaenyra goes to pour some tea so as to help you rinse your mouth, "I don't feel well, now that I think about it." "You should go back to your quarters then to get some rest," the princess suggests. "I'll be fine," you assure. "No," Rhaenyra insists, "I won't have my personal bard fall over on me when she clearly needs rest. I'm ordering you to return to your quarters and do so. You're dismissed, (y/n)."

You see the serious look on Rhaenyra's face, "As you wish princess," you nod.

You go back to your room and put your lute on the table and lay on the bed. You look to the side and see the cloth you had placed out in case your monthly moon's blood was to start. You had been expecting it to start any day now, but you were still waiting.

Now that you think about it even more, it was like this last month; you had been waiting, but your moon's blood never came.

You haven't bled for nearly two months and you've been getting sick on and off for nearly that same length of time.

You sit up, your eyes widen as you consider the possibility. You instinctively place a hand to your stomach, it suddenly feeling fuller then it had been before. It was the same area Caraxes had placed his snout the day Daemon left, the day you broke away from him.

No, you shake your head in denial, this wasn't possible. You'd been drinking the moon tea the servants brought every other night or so during your little dalliance.

Well, maybe you weren't always diligent as you may have had a few cups of wine before those times and may have forgotten as a result....

Either that, or Daemon's seed is just as stubborn as he is.

You go to your wardrobe, where you find the sack of gold coins you keep hidden, and pull out a few. You were going to need to find a maester or a physician to confirm what you were suspecting...and you were going to need them to be discrete. Hence the reason why you take out a few more extra gold coins. 

-----------end of flashback-------------------------------------

The following morning, you stir a bit and stretch, keeping your eyes closed.

You feel Geralt wrap an arm around you, pulling you into him. You could also feel something else going on between his legs. You grind against him, teasing him further when you reach back to grab him and work his already hardening length.

Geralt grunted in response, you unable to suppress a giggle. He then coaxes you to lay on your belly. He kisses your shoulder as he slowly teases your entrance. You groan out impatiently, pressing your ass against him, hoping he'll get the picture and take you.

He sneaks a hand between your legs, rubbing circles like he did last night. You were a moaning mess by the time he pulled his fingers away and slowly slid into you, ravaging you from behind.

It was slow and lazy, just the perfect way to start the day, you think to yourself.

You were about to finish, when Geralt suddenly stops. "Geralt!" you whine, but he shushes you.

A few moments later, a knock was heard at the door.

"Oi, Geralt," you hear Lambert's voice, "some fucking nonce with a lute just arrived at the keep, he says he knows you. (y/n) too."

You groan a little, knowing who it was, "of course," you mutter, "leave it to my brother to spoil some morning fun."

Geralt kissed your shoulder again, "can you keep him occupied for a little while longer?" the man asks.

"We've been keeping him busy for the last hour or so," Lambert exasperates, "he's starting to get even on Eskel's nerves right now. Don't expect any of us to keep at it just the two of you can spend the morning getting your fucking leg over!"

You feel your face blush from that statement. You groan, hiding your face in the pillow. "Well be there shortly," Geralt says, getting up from the bed.

You weren't done yet, though. You sit up, sticking your hand between your legs. "What are you doing?" Geralt asks, chuckling a bit as he gets his trousers on. "I'm not about to let my idiot of a brother with poor timing stop me from getting what I want," you say with determination, working yourself, "I had every intention to get off, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

----------------------------

While you and Geralt were getting ready, Jaskier had been busy figuratively chewing off the witchers' ears off with random things.

There had never been a more collective sigh of relief from the wolves when you walked in fully clothed.

You were still a little miffed that your brother had ruined your morning fun, but were still happy nonetheless to see him.

"Hey," you rush over to give Jaskier a big hug. "(y/n), it's so good to see you again," Jaskier says, looking down, "and no baby in the belly this time. I assume my niece or nephew managed to come out alright."

"Your niece is doing just fine, sweet brother." "You have a daughter, congratulations," Jaskier smiles in joy, "where is the little tyke? I'm sure she's dying to meet her Uncle Jaskier." "Well she's only a few months old, so maybe not," you admit, "But I'll go get her."

You run past Geralt, whom you noticed was hiding a little around the corner. You had some idea as to why. He and the Bard hadn't exactly spoken since that time on the mountain, when Geralt basically told your brother to fuck off.

"You know you won't be able to hide from you forever," you point out. "I'm not hiding," Geralt scoffs. "Really? Looks like hiding to me," you smirk, "come on, Geralt, I've never taken you for the cowardly type, you've been more one to face your problems head on."

"Hmm," Geralt groans a little. "Just talk to him," you insist, "I'm sure he'll be forgiving. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get Aemma up so she can meet her uncle."

You walk down to where Aemma's crib was located.

To your surprise, you see Ciri by the crib with a strange look on her face. She seemed to be staring at your daughter, but her eyes looked blank, like she was really staring off into space.

"Ciri?" You get her attention back to reality.

"Oh, uh, good morning," she says, shaking her head and getting back on her feet. "Is everything, alright, sweetie?" you ask her as you go to get Aemma from her crib. "Yeah, I'm fine," she assures, "I uh, I just...never mind. I had some trouble sleeping last night."

"Was it a bad dream?" you ask her. "I...don't know," she admits.

Ciri didn't say anything to you, but she was still thinking back to last night when she had that vision. She saw a giant, slender red dragon flying in the sky, and she was pretty sure she saw a man in armor with a dragonesque helmet astride the dragon.

The young girl didn't know what this meant, but looking at Aemma in your arms, she had a feeling the two of you were somehow involved.

Ciri placed her hand on Aemma's back, which took you by surprise, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you," she whispers to your daughter.

You frowned in confusion by this girl's small declaration but shrug it off as you and her take Aemma to the main hall of the keep.

Chapter 9

Masterlist

[polis-fandom]

I'm actually gonna say it.

The heart of the Witcher story is the Found Family of Geralt-Yennefer-Ciri, so for the story to work, you have to get the dynamics and relationships between those characters right.

The Netflix show failed at every single one of them.

In the books, Geralt and Ciri meet for the first time as a total accident, when she's 11 years old and escaping Calanthe's marriage ideas to Brookilon. Geralt rescues her from some monsters, and without either knowing who they are to each other, they bond like a father and daughter, with Geralt telling her bedtime stories et all. At the end Ciri returns to Cintra, but conection between them stopped being "the destiny prophecy blablabla", it's personal now. When Cintra gets attacked by Nilfgaard, Geralt rushes there for Ciri, but he's too late, so he searches for her and destiny makes their paths cross again. When they meet second time at the farm, Ciri runs towards him, and he runs even faster towards her. The dialog that happens between them is one of the most poignant exchanges in the books:

Ciri: So it's true what they said? I'm your destiny?

Geralt: You are Something More.

This is a direct call back to something Borch the Golden Dragon said, "Destiny is not enough, you need something more" and it captures the theme of those books. Destiny is not enough, you need something more, and that something more is the will, the choice, and the active pursuit of it.

The show chose to make this scene Geralt and Ciri's first meeting, fine. But then they ruined it, by scrapping the dialogue. Instead we have Ciri asking : "Who's Yennefer?" One - this fails to establish the bond between the Geralt and Ciri, a mistake that has to be rectifyed the entire second season (and every attempt still falls flat for various reasons), and two - this puts an emphasis on the Destiny as the thing linking those three characters together, when I just pointed out that's not the theme of the books. The books are intentionaly subversions of the Chosen One and other classic fantasy tropes, meanwhile the show falls stright into the hole of them.

In the books, Geralt uses his Last Wish to bound his destiny with Yennefer, BUT! she is aware of this, she hears him making that wish, and is moved, that despite him knowing her for such short time, despite her using and manipulating him, he still chose to save her, he still chose HER. She enters the relationship with him at her own will, she consents to it. They have ups and downs, but she doesn't spend decades wondering why they keep running into each other, like she does in the show. Just for the drama, the show removed her consent and her awarness of the situation between them, and thus the entire relationship instead of just being complicated, became toxic.

And Ciri and Yennefer! In the books Ciri is aware that she's a valuable chess piece, that everyone wants to control and manipulate and use her, so she's distrustful. Yennefer, on the other hand is aware of that in Ciri, so the very first thing she does when meeting Ciri, the very first rule she establishes between the two, is total HONESTY. She promises to always tell Ciri the truth, to never manipulate her, never use her. This is the fundament of their bond.

What does the show!Yennefer do when she meets Ciri? She manipulates her and tries to use her, to sell her to the Demon, to gain back her own lost magic. A move, that she will have to "make up for to Ciri and Geralt" for an episode or two in season 3, according to the showrunner.

I really don't understand why they made all those choices, there's plenty of drama in those books, they didn't need to change those dynamics so bad.

EDIT: I came across a youtube video essay by Alien Platypus that says all this so much more clearly and well detailed, here's the link

[veryace-ficrecs]

Hey! Could you do another daemon rec list? Your other list got me in the mood

Absolutly! d=====(￣▽￣*)b

More Daemon Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Star Trek

Ni'Var by WerewolvesAreReal - Rated G

Humans have daemons. Vulcans have katras. Spock, born of both, has neither. Which he's fine with. Really. Meanwhile, James Kirk is a little curious about this whole daemon business, because how the hell can he have two souls - ?

a resilient touch by kurgaya - Rated T

Jim’s daemon used to be a wolf and Leonard’s not sure how he feels about that. Used to be. [STID Missing Scenes - Jim sleeps. Leonard worries. Someone unexpected talks some sense into them both].

Daredevil

Down to the Bone by SpiritsFlame - Rated G

Everyone always wants to know why his daemon isn't a bat. As though being blind is all that there is to him, the center point of his character.

Spiderman

of things unknown (but longed for still) by aloneintherain - Rated T

Peter Parker can’t walk around with the same daemon as Spider-Man. But she’s going to settle one day, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

The Witcher

Two Halves of a Whole by penguistifical - Rated G

Geralt doesn’t take much notice at first when the small brown bird alights on his table.

one for sorrow by Emamel - Rated T

There were other rumours, older and more persistent, that Jaskier hadn't been able to make a dent in. Witchers don't have souls. Witchers are no better than beasts. How could they be civilised, intelligent, compassionate, human, when they don't even have daemons. What was Jaskier supposed to do about that?

interconnected strand to strand by Hirikka - Rated G

Turns out Jaskier isn't the first person who loves Geralt to be driven away by the witcher. After The Mountain, Jaskier is found by Geralt's daemon. They adopt each other.

The Adventure Zone

a thousand points of no return by anonymousAlchemist - Rated T

Since wizard's daemons often settle as birds and urban legend says that elves are separated from their daemons, no one looks too closely at the fact that Taako and Lup are both single entities, missing the other halves of their hearts. They walk like people, they talk like people, and if they're hard to read because their daemons aren't fluffing up their feathers or swatting playfully with their paws, well, elves are notoriously enigmatic anyway. This lasts until their first death. All deaths on the Starblaster are strange. When Magnus first died on the animal planet, I'morko followed right after, both of their bodies dissipating into golden sparks, a strange inversion of the natural order. The pattern holds. Year after year, person and daemon alike dissipate into a fine mist of dust, knit together by the bond engine in the new plane. During their fifteenth year, Taako is shot through the heart with a well-aimed magic missile. Lup screams and casts one last firebolt, spell-sculpting around their bodies, before unspooling into a fine golden sand.

Yuri on Ice

hollow ground by Piyo13 - Rated T

There's no rules regarding where a daemon has to be in relation to their skater, only that they aren't allowed on the ice. This has always seemed a little unfair to Yuuri. After all, he loves skating like he loves his own soul; why can't he have both?

Batman

I know you won't leave by Speechless_since_1998 - Rated G

Jason was thirteen, adopted for over a year, and he was at his first gala. He expected the rich snobs who looked down on him, judging his daemon. What he didn't expect was to find a child hiding as his daemon took shape. Nor that Ace would adopt him.

everything you lose is a step you take by oceanofchaos - Rated T

“Tim,” she says, hesitant in a way that she never is, not when it’s just the two of them, “About settling.” Thirteen is hardly unreasonable to be unsettled, but rare given their night activities, and Tim’s been thinking hard about what Hestia will choose. “I don’t think I want to settle,” she says quietly, interrupting his train of thought, “Maybe not ever.” “Okay,” replies Tim, stroking a careful finger over her soft brown snout, “Not if you don’t want to.” ------------ Dæmon AU, the life and times of Tim Drake and his dæmon Hestia, before, during, and after Robin.

Fullmetal Alchemist

the lives of wild animals by ohmytheon - Rated G

military - but what people don't realize is that his daemon is just as wild as Mustang's in the end.

In the Shape of a Soul by redketchup - Rated T

Ed says, “Stupid Colonel Bastard.” “Brother, what are you thinking?” Alphonse asks evenly, which is his way of saying, Please, for the love of god, brother, the colonel is not responsible for every terrible thing, but hey, it ends up Alphonse is still loyal to his big brother, because he also adds, “I’m surprised he didn’t make an effort to call us. It sounds like something we could help with. Maybe the first lieutenant has been out recently.” Which conveys how little faith Alphonse actually has in Mustang when he acts outside Riza Hawkeye’s influence.

East City has a new string of murders and, much to a young alchemist's annoyance, his superior officer insists that the Fullmetal Alchemist's expertise is not needed. This leads to more trouble than anyone would expect.

talents of the souls by ohmytheon - Rated G

Edward's hand shakes as he draws the soul bonding transmutation circle on the inside of the armor. Alethea has to hold his arm up to keep him steady. “I won’t let you take them!” Ed screams. “Take my arm, take my heart, take my soul!” Alethea cries out as she buries her face into his stomach. He can’t feel her. He almost gets sick. Oh, god, why can’t he feel her? (Or, Fullmetal Alchemist with daemons, focusing on Edward, Alphonse, and human transmutation. Companion piece to "rummaging in our souls", which focuses on Roy and Riza.)

[noonaishere]

Masterlist of Older Works

These are all fics I wrote in 2020 and before.

I have tumblr versions of these on my main blog, symphonyofmars, but something happened with one of them where I fucked up some formatting or something and like half of a chapter repeats itself. I fixed it on AO3 but not here, so I'm only putting the AO3 links and I recommend reading them all there.

The works that are 18+ are clearly marked.

Redemption [Deucalion] (18+)

2016-2018

🌶️🔥Smut🔥🌶️

Fic type: traditional style

Pairing: Deucalion x fem!OC

Genre: Teen Wolf, canon complaint (mostly), AU (that starts after season 4), OCs

Warnings: paranormal violence, SMUT

Status: Finished

Ever since being let go by Scott and Derek, Deucalion has been in hiding. Except for the mercenary Braden, he hasn’t had contact with anyone in months and no one knows where he is.

Meanwhile, Scott and his pack are enjoying one of Beacon Hills’ rare quiet periods, but that is about to change. A grisly corpse is found and the hunt is on to figure out who – or what – the killer is before they can kill again.

House of the Dead [Malachi]

2018

Fic type: traditional style

Pairing: Malachi x fem!OC

Genre: Riverdale, AU, flashback, character past

Warnings: (none really, since it ended before things really got started)

Status: Unfinished but abandoned

This fic takes place after season 2. Malachi seemed like he was spiraling further out of control, but there was a time in his life where he wasn't. What was missing that made him so unhinged? How did the Ghoulies form and who formed it? And anyway, who doesn’t want to be the most powerful woman in the room?

[Sorry, this one is never getting finished. I liked writing this, but it was an experiment to see if I could return to a work every week to update it and the conclusion was: I can't. Writing a fic all at once like a book is the way to go, for me. It was also originally going to have smut, but I was editing Cold Hands Warm Heart at the same time as writing this, and that one ended up winning all my attention in the end. I do want to repurpose some of the OCs for an original book (and maybe even this version of Malachi since he's so OOC per the show), so they at least won't go to waste.]

Cold Hands Warm Heart [Loki] (18+)

2018-2020

🌶️🔥Smut🔥🌶️

Fic type: traditional style

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Genre: MCU, Marvel Comic Universe, AU, heroes (and characters I like) never die

Warnings: assault, extraterrestrial violence, copious amounts of fashion descriptions, raging against the machine, existential crises/angst, sass, SMUT, BDSM

Status: Finished

From my AO3 descrip: "This fic takes place in some weird space after Infinity War in which Loki didn’t die and had just faked his death AGAIN, because I refuse to believe he’s dead." So it's canon compliant up until a certain point lol.

Three Weeks [Henry Cavill]

2020

Fic type: traditional style

Pairing: Henry Cavill x fem!reader

Genre: real life AU

Warnings: none, mentions of quarantine and coronavirus

Status: Finished

The Reader is a script writer on The Witcher 2 and begins a budding romance with the lead actor, Henry Cavill. However, coronavirus is going around and no one is prepared. Love in the Time of Corona?

[This is partly inspired by all the footage of people finding ways to deal with the quarantine I saw at the time, and partly by the way the first season of The Witcher was told where; Geralt was in the past and Ciri was in the present (did I get that right? lol) and the two timelines overlapped at a particular point. It left me wanting to try doing that, you can be the judge of if I succeeded lol.]

Anyway, that's them. If you decide to read them, please comment 😊 I know they're old, but I still like hearing what people have to say, it gives me motivation 😊

Enjoy! 🥰🥰🥰

[hanzajesthanza]

Hello! For the "send a character" ask, could I request my favouritest guy Percival Schuttenbach? Or Lydia van Bredevoort, whichever you are more inclined towards :0

percival

send me a character and i will tell you my:

first impression

didn't care at first. you see from this long post that that changed

impression now

i find him utterly relatable... his excitement about metallurgy is just so special to me... and this bit, when he's too obsessed with admiring the technology that it doesn't register to him that he's being offered a drink for recreation, rather than being asked a question about how something works:

‘Moonshine,’ Zoltan corrected him gently. ‘And what moonshine! Try some, Percival.’ ‘But I’m not an expert in organic chemistry,’ the gnome answered absentmindedly, examining the details of the alchemical furnace’s construction. ‘It’s doubtful I would be familiar with the ingredients…’

favorite moment

it's a tie... my first-favorite moment is when percival and zoltan are showing sihill to geralt, and percival just keeps getting so excited about the technology behind the blade:

‘(...) my sihil’s blade was forged from a refined alloy containing graphite and borax…’ ‘It’s a modern technique!’ Percival burst out, a little excited, since the conversation was moving inevitably towards his field of expertise. ‘The blade’s construction and composition, numerous laminates in its soft core, edged with hard–not soft–steel…’ ‘Take it easy,’ the dwarf said, reining him in. ‘You won’t make a metallurgist out of him, Schuttenbach, so don’t bore him with details.

my second-favorite moment is when they're all freaking out about the alleged witch-girl allegedly cooking her cat in a stew, and percival points out that the cat is sitting right there... and he specifically points out the cat, using his own vocabulary:

‘It’s a shame about that cat,’ Percival Schuttenbach suddenly said in a loud voice. ‘It was a fine beast, sleek and fat. Fur shining like anthracite, eyes like two chrysoberyls, long whiskers, and a tail as thick as a mechanical’s tool! Everything you could want in a cat. He must have caught plenty of mice!’ The peasants fell silent. ‘And how would you know, Master Gnome?’ someone asked. ‘How do you know what the cat looked like?’ Percival Schuttenbach cleared his nose and wiped his fingers on a trouser leg. ‘Because he’s sitting over there on a cart. Right behind you.’ The peasants all turned around at once, muttering as they observed the cat sitting on a pile of bundles. The cat, meanwhile, utterly unconcerned about being the centre of attention, stuck a hind leg up in the air and got down to licking his rump.

idea for a story

i want to know about him and the grail... that was a fun joke from sapkowski, pointing out his namesake, but i want to know about this...

‘A cup…’ Percival Schuttenbach jabbered. ‘A goblet, I mean… Carved from a single piece of milk opal… This big. I found it on the summit of Montsalvat. Its rim was set with jasper and the base was of gold. A sheer marvel…’ ‘Don’t give him any more spirits,’ Zoltan Chivay said. ‘Hold on, hold on,’ Dandelion said, becoming interested, also slurring his words somewhat. ‘What happened to that legendary goblet?’ ‘I exchanged it for a mule. I needed a mule, in order to transport a load… Corundum and crystalline carbon. I had… Err… Lots of it… Hic… A load, I mean, a heavy load, couldn’t have moved it without a mule… Why the hell did I need that goblet?’

unpopular opinion

it's easier to avoid antisemitic caricatures when drawing gnomes than people think... though this is a complaint i've had for-just-about-ever, that artists need to be more aware of racial/ethnic caricatures so they don't replicate them in their work

another unpopular opinion maybe since i've seen no one's opinion on this yet, but i hate his voice in the chrzest ognia audiodrama, oh my lord...

favorite relationship

asides from his friendship with zoltan, i think his potential friendship with regis would be really fun. my intense special interest-having guysss... my mule-owning guys... nerds <3

another favorite moment, between them:

At the sight of the stove Percival Schuttenbach first stared goggle-eyed, then gaped, and finally sighed and leapt up in the air. ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ he called, unable to conceal his delight. ‘What do I see? That’s an absolutely authentic athanor coupled to an alembic! Equipped with a rectifying column and a copper condenser! A beautiful apparatus! Did you build it yourself, master barber-surgeon?’ ‘Indeed,’ Emiel Regis admitted modestly. ‘My work involves producing elixirs, so I have to distil (...)’

favorite headcanon

ern's design for him is the bestest and most supreme in my opinion

---

lydia

send me a character and i will tell you my:

first impression

also didn't care at first. and you see again from this long post that that also changed

impression now

i already wrote a little bit on how lydia and rience are the "as above, so below" between vilgefortz's reveal as antagonist, but:

i think lydia's relationship with vilgefortz and the way he treated her was the first sign, actually a bigger sign than more 'obvious' things like his repeated phrases, research of the elder blood, and attempted tracking of yennefer..., the first and biggest sign that vilgefortz was a bad, bad person.

his way of treating lydia is to use her as a tool, an assistant who will serve him blindly and literally not say a word against him. in other words, total control.

‘Have you ever wondered what happened when Bekker forced the water to gush from the rock? It’s generally put very simply: Bekker tamed the Power. He forced the element to be obedient. He subdued nature; controlled it . . . What is your relationship to women, Geralt?’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ Lydia van Bredevoort turned with a whisper of silk and froze in anticipation. Geralt saw she was holding a wrapped-up painting under one arm. He had no idea where the picture had come from, since Lydia had been empty-handed a moment before. The amulet around his neck vibrated faintly. Vilgefortz smiled. ‘I enquired,’ he repeated, ‘as to your views concerning the relationship between men and women.’ ‘Regarding what respect of that relationship?’ ‘Can obedience, in your opinion, be forced upon women? I’m talking about real women, of course, not just the female of the species. Can a real woman be controlled? Overcome? Made to surrender to your will? And if so, how? Answer me.’

the way it is introduced all makes sense, then:

Everyone knew that Lydia van Bredevoort was in love with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, that she had loved him for years with a silent, relentless and stubborn love. The wizard, it is to be understood, also knew about this but pretended not to. Lydia made it easier for him by never betraying her feelings to him – she never took the slightest step or made the slightest gesture, transmitted no sign by thought and, even if she could speak, would never have said a word. She was too proud. Vilgefortz, too, did nothing because he did not love Lydia. He could, of course, simply have have made her his lover, tied her to him even more strongly and, who knows, maybe even made her happy. There were those who advised him to do so. But Vilgefortz did not. He was too proud and too much a man of principle. The situation, therefore, was hopeless but stable, and this patently satisfied them both.

vilgefortz knew she was too proud to ever say anything, so he used her love for him to control her.

favorite moment

we don't see it happen, but the attack and then suicide she commits to buy time for vilgefortz is the most tragic thing...

‘How did it happen, Radcliffe?’ asked Triss, withdrawing her hand from the gilded haft of the dagger which was embedded beneath Lydia’s sternum. ‘How could it have happened? This was supposed to be bloodless!’ ‘She attacked us,’ muttered the sorcerer and lowered his head. ‘She attacked us as Vilgefortz was being escorted out. There was a scuffle . . . I have no idea . . . It’s her own dagger.’

idea for a story

the way she lost her face...

Four years ago, on Vilgefortz’s – her master’s – recommendation, Lydia had taken part in experiments concerning the properties of an artefact found amongst the excavations of an ancient necropolis. The artefact turned out to be cursed. It activated only once. Of the five wizards taking part in the experiment, three died on the spot. The fourth lost his eyes, both hands and went mad. Lydia escaped with burns, a mangled jaw and a mutation of the larynx and throat (...)

i'd like to explore how vilgefortz manipulated her while she was recovering, espousing (manufactured?) grief and regret, enough to keep her feeling that he cares for her...

unpopular opinion

sometimes characters are just devices to show something about another character. this is the case with lydia and vilgefortz.

favorite relationship

tissaia and lydia's friendship...

Lydia van Bredevoort, delicately conjuring up a tiny flame between her thumb and index finger, lit the candles in the candelabras. Tissaia saw traces of oil paint on her hand. She filed it in her memory so later, after supper, she could ask the young enchantress to show her her latest work. Lydia was a talented artist.

favorite headcanon

lydia was intelligent enough to guess what vilgefortz had planned. she knew, in the back of her mind, how wicked he was, she had figured it out. but was too loyal to him to reveal anything.

[rebrandedbard]

Hi! Can I ask for 30. “It’s not what it looks like…” from the drabble list?

Oh, it’s you! Welcome back! Here for another order at McDrabble? Very well then, I am obliged to use the good serving platter for the sake of continuity:

30: “It’s not what it looks like…”

wc: 1991 (Wow! That’s a year!)

No Modesty Among Thieves

Geralt finds Jaskier tied up in their room after returning to the inn and all their things have been stolen. He has an unexpected family reunion when he goes to find the burglar.

-

Kidnappers would have been easier, Geralt thought, than dealing with burglars. Had Jaskier been kidnapped, someone would have left a note and ransom. They would be waiting somewhere easy to find. A burglar did not want to be found, which meant he’d have to track them down, which meant more work. He’d had a long day and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. The moment he’d opened the door of their room, those lovely plans of rest and relaxation had flown out the window, and he was suddenly wide awake, his heart racing, for he found Jaskier tied to the bed frame, completely bare, blindfolded, with a gag in his mouth. He gaped a moment before the smell of fear hit him, then he hurried to the bed and tugged the blindfold from Jaskier’s eyes.

Jaskier sagged with relief at the sight of him. As soon as Geralt removed the gag, the words came flooding out. “It’s not what it looks like…” he sighed, knowing very well what Geralt’s first impression must have been. He shifted uncomfortably, glad of the pillow thrown over his lap. At least the burglar had been thoughtful enough to provide that before clearing out.

“What happened?” Geralt asked. As he worked the knots above Jaskier’s head, he cast eyes about the room. It was completely empty; all of their belongings had been taken.

“Burglar caught me in the bath, blindfolded me, tied me up, and gagged me. Took all of our stuff and booked it.” He rubbed his wrists and shook them out to get the feeling into his arms again. “I’m so glad you got home when you did; my arms just about lost all feeling. I’m already sore from the fight with the gargoyle last week. The second-hand blast knocked me halfway across the room, remember? Burned the doublet right off my back! Singed my shirt, too.”

“I remember,” Geralt replied. He inspected Jaskier’s arms with care. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Only my pride. I thought I could tell you from the sound of your footsteps, but evidently, I was wrong. The way the fiend came striding in here, confident as anything like they belonged—well! I thought it could only be you,” he grumbled. “Anyone else would have tried to sneak up behind me instead. They strode right in! And I know, I know; I ought to have kept the door locked, but I swear, Geralt, that I had locked it. It’s a faulty lock, that’s what I think. This inn is cheap and ready to fall to pieces when the wind next blows, and that’s the truth.”

Geralt tossed the blanket over Jaskier’s shoulders for modesty’s sake. “Stay here. I’ll take care of it.” He sniffed the air and announced, “There’s only one trail; pretty strong, too. Likely another patron somewhere down the hall.”

It was an easy game, stealing from other travellers. There were plenty of rooms to hide in. All one had to do was pretend to flee out the door, hood down, pass a few witnesses, then sneak back to their room calm as anything. It was a play Geralt had encountered before.

His brow creased as he scented the room again. It smelled … familiar. He crouched, following the scent from the bed over to the bath, to the corner where he’d left their bags. Meanwhile, Jaskier stumbled out of the bed, the blanket wrapped clumsily around him. He peeked beside the bed and circled the tub. With a huff, he dropped onto the bed once more and sat grumbling.

“Might have at least left the pants, if not my trousers. Not any money in selling those. Rotten thieving bastard.”

Geralt turned to look at him. “They took your clothes?” he said.

“Not that I blame them, really. People are trying to get in my pants all the time,” Jaskier quipped. He resumed his sulking after when he considered how much they’d cost him to buy in the first place.

The smell was stronger as soon as Geralt opened the door. He groaned, the pieces clicking into place neatly. “I’ll be right back,” he growled.

The door slammed shut behind him as Geralt stalked down the hall. He followed the scent to the every end and thrust the door open. And there the prick was, sitting on the floor, Jaskier’s stupid hat on his head, flipping through Jaskier’s notebook with one hand and helping himself to one of Geralt’s dried apple slices with the other. Lambert didn’t even bother to look up as he entered, merely smiling as he popped the slice into his mouth.

“Still hiding your snacks among your potion kit,” Lambert said. “A wonder your bard hasn’t found them yet. His smell is all over your things; one would think he’s always in and out, fetching things for you.”

“Pack it up. I’m kicking you out of here as soon as you’ve helped me carry this shit back.”

Lambert ignored him, rolling over on his back as he flipped to a page closer to the front of the notebook. “Is this one about you? ‘What amorous sight I scowling see, the sweet delights he flares in me, with eyes the gods have wrought of gold, for men to weep and thus behold?’”

Geralt snatched the book from his hands, ears burning hot. “You’ve no right to be prying into others’ things,” he snarled.

“Ah, so you haven’t read his poetry, I take it.”

Lambert hovered over Geralt’s shoulder as Geralt started shoving things into Jaskier’s bag. He grabbed the hat from Lambert’s head and gathered it with the rest, careful not the bend the feather. Of course he hadn’t gone snooping. Jaskier’s notebook was private and Geralt respected privacy, unlike some who felt entitled to anything not bolted and locked.

“How did you like my present?” Lambert asked, flopping onto the bed. He raised his arms above his head in a mockery of the position he’d left Jaskier in. “Oh, what an amorous sight!” he cried, smirking. “Did you weep? I know you to be a weeper; heard enough whores gossip about the white-haired witcher crying in their arms after a tumble. Or did you not unwrap my present? He smelled pretty good for a minute there—aroused by danger, is he?”

Geralt picked up a pillow and smacked him with it. “Don’t go sniffing my bard,” he said.

For once, Lambert made no retort. He only raised one cocky brow at him and smiled.

Geralt found Jaskier’s clothes folded messily on a chair. He put them away carefully in Jaskier’s bag piece by piece. He was about to put the chemise away when Lambert plucked it from him. He flapped it in the air, gave it a light sniff and said, “Kind of smells like you, you know. You two share a bed or something?”

The speed with which Geralt snatched it back was all the answer Lambert needed. In addition, Geralt took back his bag of apple slices. He shoved them in a bag and collected the rest of their things. Last of all, he slung Jaskier’s lute over his shoulder.

Before leaving, Geralt seized Lambert’s own bag and stole from it a package of dried cod. Lambert hated cod. And Geralt knew why he had it. “Stay out of my room and away from Jaskier,” he said, “Or I’ll find your cat and shave him.” He tossed the bag back at Lambert and slammed the door in his gaping face.

The very first thing Jaskier did upon Geralt’s return was check his lute for damage, forgoing his awkward wrap in his hurry to get to it. His cry of relief filled the air and he cradled the instrument close. Geralt waited until Jaskier had put it safely away in its case before tossing his trousers at his head. Jaskier laughed and hugged them close, but rather than dress, he resumed his bath, the water warmed by courtesy of Geralt for his troubles. Geralt sat on the other side of the room, reordering their things as he told Jaskier the truth behind his unpleasant encounter.

Dinner was ordered to their room a half hour later, an apology sent along with it in the form of two baked pears. They ate it together on the floor, Jaskier in a towel, and Geralt kept his eyes on his food, trying in vain to forget the bit of poetry Lambert had sung for him.

“I’ll have to repay him one of these days and run his clothes up a pole,” Jaskier said. “If he’s ever in Oxenfurt, be prepared to spot them flapping below the university’s flag.”

“You’d get nowhere near them,” Geralt replied, cutting himself a bite of pear.

“I don’t know. He seemed eager enough to get my clothes off earlier. Should be easy to tempt him to do it again, then scoop his up while he sleeps.”

Geralt quickly abandoned his pear, apatite gone. He offered Jaskier his plate and returned to his organizing.

After eating, Jaskier stood. He stretched and dropped his hands to his hips, then swayed back to where he’d left his trousers. As he dressed, he looked around, humming to himself.

“Geralt?” he called. “Do you know what became of my undershirt?”

“Lambert doesn’t have it,” Geralt answered.

“Fuck, did he lose it? I haven’t got one spare.”

After another minute of rummaging, Geralt cleared his throat. “You can wear one of mine,” he offered. He produced a large black shirt and held it out to Jaskier at arm’s length.

Jaskier beamed and made a grab for it. “You’re a dear! I shall not wander cold and bare on the road, thanks to your generosity.” He pulled it over his head and smoothed it down. “Hm, very worn and soft. It’s quite comfortable, actually. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Can’t have you walking around half naked,” Geralt grunted.

“Quite right. It may take some time to get to a decent tailor. Be warned: by then I may be disinclined to return it to you. You know how attached I get to my clothes.”

Geralt shrugged. “I can get another,” was the only reply he offered.

Jaskier smiled and bounced happily into bed. “In that case, say your goodbyes now. I’ve never owned anything black but for my hat—it’s quite an attractive color. I’m sure I look as raffish as you! Perhaps more so for the novelty of it. What do you think?”

Whatever it was that Geralt thought, Jaskier was not to know. Geralt gave no answer the next morning, even as Jaskier pranced in front of him, fishing for a compliment. Geralt kept his opinion buried in his throat, almost as secret as his bag of dried apples. And tucked beneath them, he kept another secret folded neatly at the very bottom of his bag. He’d forgotten it in his haste to leave Lambert’s room that night. But Jaskier looked well in his shirt. So the chemise remained where it was, tucked away. After all, if Jaskier intended to keep his, it was only a fair trade.

Jaskier danced another turn in front of him and bowed, the shirt billowing at the end of his arms. He stood upright once more and posed. “Come now, Geralt. You’ve got to admit it makes for a pleasant change.” He flicked the end of one feather from his hat and winked. “What say you? I think we go perfectly together.”

Geralt looked at him, bathed in the early morning light, the very picture of radiance. He nodded, giving Jaskier a small smile. “We do,” he whispered, so soft that no human could ever hear.

“Did you say something?”

“No,” Geralt replied, a startled blink. “Nothing.”

Jaskier looked at him a moment, then shrugged, striding the path ahead. They would get there, he thought privately to himself. They had all the time in the world.

-

Send me a drabble prompt!

[jaskicr]

some witcher!jaskier thoughts

alright so suddenly i had some ideas for an alternate version of i have often dreamed of a far off place (you don’t need to have read the fic to understand this)

basically, witcher!jaskier asks tissaia to cast a spell to make him live a full human life without his witcher memories, and the spell breaks and returns him to a witcher when his human body dies, and all his memories are returned.

instead of being killed right after the mountain, what if jaskier instead led a full life with geralt, raising ciri with him and yen and died of old age?

so geralt and ciri and yen mourn him because they lived a full life with him and watched him grow old and die.

geralt and jaskier were in a relationship and geralt was by jaskier’s bedside as he took his last breath

meanwhile, jaskier (now julian) isn’t actually dead but he’s been returned to his witcher body, so he’s out there panicking

he fears that his family won’t want him because he’s a witcher, so he avoids going to find them and revealing that he’s alive

he’s terrified of them hating him and he doesn’t want to taint their memories of human bard jaskier, so he stays away even though he just really wants to go back to them and tell them that he isn’t dead

and gods, what if geralt hates how he looks as a witcher? jaskier the human bard had been, well, human, with handsome human features, with brown hair and blue eyes that geralt had always found beautiful

but julian the witcher has silver hair and golden eyes, ugly scars scoring across his face, and he looks nothing like jaskier

so julian tries to avoid his family, but one day, he unknowingly stumbles upon the same contract as geralt.

geralt, who’s still devastated over jaskier’s death, is fighting the monster in a grief-fuelled haze and he’s losing

julian arrives just in time to save geralt from the monster, but geralt is badly injured so when he sees julian, he thinks he’s hallucinating jaskier

he’s floating in and out of consciousness but he can see jaskier’s face above him, looking at him worriedly and tending to his wounds and it’s so familiar

but then jaskier’s face is wrong, the hair and the eyes and the scars are wrong but jaskier is here and geralt has missed him

meanwhile, julian is furiously patching up geralt’s wounds, and it’s a routine he knows too well

‘you stupid witcher,’ he grumbles. ‘i wasn’t even gone for a year, can’t you stay out of trouble without me?’

when geralt finally heals, he wakes up with a vague memory of seeing jaskier and his heart aches, because he must’ve been hallucinating but it felt so real 

then he realises that there’s an unfamiliar witcher next to him, whose head is laid on the bed as he sleeps 

and gods, why does this witcher look familiar? is that why he’d dreamed up jaskier? and why is there a witcher here?

then julian wakes up and sees geralt awake. ‘oh thank the gods, geralt, you’re awake,’ he breathes in relief

he starts fussing over geralt, looking over his bandages

and geralt is so goddamn confused because this witcher is a stranger and yet he’s taking care of geralt like they know each other

and there’s a painful familiarity in the way he tends to geralt’s wounds that makes geralt’s heart ache for the bard that he’d lost

he pushes julian away. ‘who are you?’

at first, julian is hurt, but then he realises geralt probably doesn’t recognise him.

after all, it’s been decades since he’s looked this young, not to mention the more witchery aspects of his appearance that make him look different

but julian is also so fucking happy to see that geralt is alive that he just leans forward and kisses geralt on instinct

and geralt is shocked because this strange witcher has the audacity to kiss him out of nowhere, but also... 

there’s only one person who kisses like that

but jaskier is dead,  so he pushes julian away, furious. ‘who gave you the right?’ he demands

but his mind is in turmoil, still full of thoughts about jaskier because he misses his bard so goddamn much

and it doesn’t help that he’s almost certain that he saw and felt jaskier earlier, and this witcher kisses exactly like jaskier, and his emotions are a maelstrom of confusion and grief and devastation, because what’s happening?

and julian is stammering out apologies as he backs towards the door, inwardly cursing himself for being so careless.

‘i’m just... gonna go,’ he whispers.

he can’t be around geralt, because if geralt realises who he is and rejects him, julian will break. ‘i, uh... you don’t need me anyway, i’ll... see you around.’

then just as julian is about to step out of the door, something clicks for geralt 

‘... jaskier?’

and julian freezes. since his death, he’s worked to convince himself that his family would reject him if they ever realised

he never thought someone would call him by that name that ever again, but geralt recognises him

meanwhile, geralt’s one (1) brain cell is working overtime as he tries to connect the dots.

this witcher has the same face as jaskier, bar the scars, but... jaskier is dead so why does he share a face with this witcher?

but what if - but if jaskier is alive?

and julian is frozen in the doorway as he watches realisation dawn on geralt, and fuck, geralt is going to reject him now, isn’t he?

and he bolts

geralt is stunned, but forces himself to follow after julian despite his injuries, and manages to catch onto julian’s arm once they’re outside 

‘wait,’ geralt pleads, and julian stiffens, but doesn’t turn around

‘jaskier, please,’ geralt begs, tears building in his eyes. ‘is that - is that you?’

and slowly, so slowly julian turns around, and geralt drinks in his face and thinks, oh. so that’s why he kissed like jaskier

he pulls julian into the tightest hug and they’re both crying.

neither of them thought they’d ever get to have this again, but they’re here

when geralt finally pulls away after like an hour of tearful hugging, he asks quietly, voice broken, ‘how?’ 

julian tries to turn his face away, wanting to hide his scarred, inhuman face from geralt, but geralt puts his hand on julian’s chin and turns julian to face him

then geralt kisses him and lets his hands roam over the raised scars on julian’s face, relearning the lines of his face and his body

and geralt is confused but so in awe, because jaskier is here and he’s alive even if he’s somehow a witcher

then julian spills his story and talks about the spell, but all geralt can focus on is that jaskier is alive and won’t be leaving him 

and julian expects geralt to push him away because he’s so different now, he’s not jaskier anymore and he looks nothing like jaskier

but geralt just puts their foreheads together tenderly and murmurs, ‘i love you, jaskier, gods, we have forever.’

then geralt brings julian to ciri and yen and everyone in kaer morhen and there are many tearful reunions as everyone realises that jaskier is alive and won’t be leaving them anytime soon

but even then, julian has a fuckload of extra trauma - he had a life without geralt, a long life filled wth violence and pain, and it’s something they need to work around

yes, jaskier lived a full human lifetime with geralt, but julian had decades/centuries before that, and he isn’t the same person as jaskier

but geralt learns to love this new version of jaskier

and ciri is so goddamn happy that her other father is here with her, and she smacks jaskier a bit for not finding them earlier and making them mourn

but he’s forgiven when he pulls ciri into a crushing hug. ‘i love you, cub, i’m so happy to have more time with all of you.’

yen gives tissaia an earful for not telling them, but tissaia just gives a small, mischievous smile.

she always knew that it would work out eventually, and julian needed to get his dumb head out of his arse

this is a spinoff of this witcher!jaskier fic on mine, so if you liked this, please do check it out!💓

[kuripon]

let me fall

Written for @thepassifloradiscord​ Team Bingo Event for the ‘date night’ space. Check out @dapandapod​ and @fawnnbinary​ for their spaces on the card!

– Geralt/Eskel | 788 words | G | Geralt and Eskel are going out for their first date. Yennefer and Jaskier offer their help. –

Geralt looks into the mirror, straightening his collar. He didn't often wear button up shirts, but for Eskel he'd dress as nicely as he could tolerate. Jaskier sits on the bed behind him, a glass of wine in his hand.

"It looks good, Geralt, stop fussing," Jaskier pipes up.

Geralt huffs, making sure his cuffs are buttoned and set just right around his wrists. "I don't know why you're so nervous. You've known each other for ages. You practically grew up together!"

"That's not the point, Jask." He turns away from the mirror, and goes into his top drawer, looking for the perfect cologne. Eskel's nose could be just as sensitive as his own, so he knew to pick something subtle.

"Really?" Jaskier is clearly amused at Geralt's fit of nervousness, Geralt can tell. "Then what is the point?"

"Well, we... It's just..."

"It's just?"

He hears snickering as Yennefer re-enters the room, her glass of wine refilled. A glance in the mirror tells him that she probably found that bottle of Toussainti red that he had hidden. He loves his two best friends, with all of his heart, he swears.

"He still hasn't admitted he's nervous?"

"Right on the money as always, dear witch."

"Poor Geralt," she says, perching next to Jaskier, forming some sort of evil, catty peanut gallery. "Imagine what Eskel would say if he saw you now."

"I mean, we'll find out soon, won't we?" They snicker together.

"Did you text Lambert or Aiden to check in on Eskel?"

Jaskier shakes his head, pulling out his phone to scroll through his notifications. "I haven't heard from them though, so I imagine it's the same exact experience over there."

Meanwhile, Geralt is tuning them out, so used to their chatter. He pulls out several ties, wondering which would go best with his shirt. He considers asking the two behind him for their opinions, but he knows that'd only be adding fuel to the fire.

"Neither, Geralt. Put them back." He can feel Jaskier standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. It's times like these that he's so conveniently reminded that he and Jaskier are of a height.

... He and Eskel grew up at almost exactly the same rate. He was only taller than him for about four months when they were 15 years old.

He lets out a soft sigh.

Yennefer laughs behind him. "That was definitely his 'I'm thinking about Eskel' sigh."

Jaskier takes the ties from his hands and sets them aside. He takes Geralt by the shoulder and leads him to the bed, placing him between Yennefer and himself.

"We've teased you long enough, darling. Let's go over the facts again," he says and nods to Yennefer. "You've known Eskel for...?" she prompts.

"Forever."

"You've seen all of the good...?" Jaskier takes his turn.

"The bad, and the awkward," Geralt finishes.

"You've loved him since...?" Yennefer takes a sip of her wine after asking.

"At least middle school." Geralt smiles softly.

Jaskier strokes the back of his shoulder, sharing a smile with Yennefer behind Geralt's back as he feels Geralt relax between them. "But...?"

"Friends for so much longer."

"Bravo, Geralt. Passed with flying colors," Yennefer offers, her voice fond as she leans against Geralt's shoulder.

"So, in conclusion, you are head over heels in love with him, we're ninety percent sure he's the same for you-

"One hundred percent, and you know it!" Yennefer interjects.

"Hush you," Jaskier says, reaching over to tug at her hair. "Now, as I was saying, your friendship is solid as a rock, you've been through thick and thin with and for each other already. You two talk almost everyday, so you know each other's minds well. A failed attempt at romance will not ruin what you already have, I know this."

Geralt nods, glad for the unconditional support of his best friends. "And... And if this doesn't go perfectly, it'll be something to laugh about in our future."

"Exactly," Yennefer says, raising her glass to Jaskier for a cheers.

Geralt laughs as they down their wine in sync.

The doorbell rings. He's here.

Almost instantly, Geralt feels himself tense up again, but he shakes his head and takes a deep breath. Feeling the new tension drain out of him, he makes his way to the front door as Jaskier and Yennefer hang back.

He takes another deep breath and opens the door. Eskel is standing there, a small bag from Geralt's favorite bakery clutched tightly in his hands. Geralt can see Aiden and Lambert waiting a bit further down the sidewalk out of the corner of his eye, but he can't take his eyes off of Eskel.

And honestly? Won't ever want to.

"Hi."

"Hi."

[havenoffandoms]

Home (Wolfpack/Jaskier)

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list.

Prompt: "Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin."

Pairing: Jaskier/Wolfpack

Content Warning: Witchersexual Jaskier, Wolfpack, inappropriate (non-sexual) use of Igni

Read on AO3.

“Melitele’s tits, is it always that cold this time of year?” Jaskier asks, his teeth chattering despite being buried under a mountain of furs and blankets. Eskel huffs a chuckle at those words from where he’s stoking the fire. 

“I’m sorry, sweet thing. The others will be here shortly. We’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

Eskel’s bedroom at Kaer Morhen is always freezing during winter. For one, his room is one of the biggest in the keep, and features high ceilings as well as two outside facing walls. Heating Eskel’s room is challenging at the best of times, but his bed is the only one in the keep that can hold the three wolves and their bard at once. While the witchers’ mutations make them less sensitive to the cold, Eskel, Geralt and Lambert all have to work twice as hard to keep every fire in the common rooms and bedrooms going so Jaskier doesn’t freeze to death. 

It’s a small sacrifice they’re happy to make if it keeps their songbird happy. 

“What are Geralt and Lambert up to, anyway?” Jaskier’s tone turns slightly petulant as he demands to know his wolves’ whereabouts. Eskel puts down the poker before heading to the bed, discarding his leathers, gambeson and undershirt on the way until he’s down to his smallclothes. 

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing,” Eskel croons as he slips under the covers, biting back a surprise hiss when he feels Jaskier’s cold body huddle against him, cold hands soon nestled in the pit of Eskel’s arms, “they’ll be up here soon. And while we wait, I know just the way to keep you warm.”

“Oh?” Jaskier looks up at Eskel through dark eyelashes, vibrant blue eyes flashing with that familiar spark of mischief that the wolves have come to love so much, “Well then, witcher, I suggest you get to work, because at this rate I’m afraid I’ll have no toes left when the others join us.” 

Eskel dips his head down to capture Jaskier’s lips in a chaste, tender kiss which pulls a content sigh from the bardling. While Jaskier is distracted by the feeling of Eskel’s lips moving against his, the witcher casts a controlled Igni that leaves the tip of his fingers and the palms of his hands feeling pleasantly warm to the touch. Without breaking the kiss, Eskel slips his hands under Jaskier’s sleeping shirt, letting them rest just over his lover’s ribs. Jaskier breaks the kiss and lets out a startled gasp of surprise at the sensation of Eskel’s heated hands warming his skin. 

“Oh,” Jaskier exhales huskily, his breath ghosting over Eskel’s lips, “oh, that feels lovely, dear heart.”

Jaskier dives in again for another kiss, this one a lot less innocent than their first exchange, and uses the element of surprise to his advantage to slip his tongue into Eskel’s mouth. The witcher rumbles deeply in his chest at the action, the sound coming dangerously close to a purr. Neither of them know how long they stay like this, kissing each other breathless while Eskel runs his heated hands over the expanse of Jaskier’s chest and stomach. The two are so lost in each other that they fail to notice the creaking of Eskel’s bedroom door as someone pushes it open. 

Lambert slips into the room first, quickly followed by Geralt who shuts the door behind them after the two witchers let themselves in. Jaskier breaks the kiss long enough to wink at his two other lovers over Eskel’s shoulder, while the latter latches onto Jaskier’s neck instead. Geralt and Lambert are quick to join Eskel and Jaskier in bed - Lambert, the cheeky shit, manages to wiggle into the space between Jaskier and Eskel so he, too, can enjoy the older witcher’s heated hands on his body. Lambert always did hate the cold. Meanwhile, Geralt presses up against Jaskier’s back, effectively bracketing the bard between the three of them. 

“No fair,” Lambert mutters indignantly, shooting Eskel a reproachful look, “you started without us.” 

“Our songbird was getting impatient,” Eskel offers as an explanation, though he appeases Lambert’s moodiness by kissing the spot between his eyebrows, which is currently scrunched up in irritation. Lambert huffs in response, but doesn’t shy from Eskel’s attention. “Don’t worry, lil wolf, I can take care of you as well.”

Before Lambert can come up with a snide retort, Eskel’s hands are on him. The effect is instantaneous - Lambert melts under the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he seeks more of Eskel’s touch. Lambert has always been more sensitive to the cold than the rest of them, though they never found out why. His witcher mutations didn’t seem to have made him very resistant to the harsh elements in general. Not that Eskel minds, of course. He’s more than happy to be Lambert and Jaskier’s personal heater. 

“Settle down, pup.” Eskel throws an arm across both Lambert and Jaskier’s bodies. Once he’s sure that both Lambert and Jaskier are comfortably warm and have stopped shivering, Eskel settles down for the evening and pulls the furs over his lovers’ bodies. Lambert and Jaskier, now hugging each other in the middle of their nest, are out like lights. Geralt and Eskel’s eyes meet over their lovers’ sleeping forms, the two witchers sporting matching smiles. 

“You should start using that trick more often with Lamb,” Geralt rumbles deeply in his chest, his gaze dropping to stare fondly at the two men between them, “sends the pup right to sleep.” 

“I probably should,” Eskel muses as he intertwines his fingers with Geralt’s so that their hands are linked protectively across their lovers, keeping them safe even in their sleep. Eskel feels something warm unfurl in his chest at the thought. Geralt heaves a contented sigh as he rests his head on the pillow. 

“Sleep tight, Kel.” 

“Rest easy, Wolf,” comes the whispered reply as Eskel feels his eyelids grow heavier by the second. This, right there, is his own very slice of heaven, his sunshine after a particularly vicious storm. This, his lovers all together in one bed - warm and safe and sated - is exactly why Eskel makes sure to return to them every winter in one piece. 

The life of a witcher on the Path may be lonely and filled with danger, but Eskel knows that his pack will always be waiting for him when he finds his way back home. 

[twiistedgalaxies]

Three Times Jaskier Didn’t Seem Quite Human

(And one time Geralt asked too many questions.)

      “Jaskier isn’t human,” Yennefer stated bluntly, swishing a wine glass in her right hand.

      Geralt blinked, “What?”  This gave Yennefer pause. She knew that her on and off again lover was oblivious, but she hadn’t realized it was quite to this extent. Jaskier gave her a pained, pleading look from the other end of the table. She ignored him.

      “You seriously haven’t noticed?” she continued with a huff.

      “...No?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together in confusion. The nerve of these idiots. Yennefer had half a mind to just state the obvious, to keep these two from continuing to dance around the subject, possibly until the end of time.

      But it was much more fun to gently direct Geralt to the answer and watch his bard squirm. Yennefer took a sip of her wine, mentally cursing her high alcohol tolerance, “You’ve been travelling with the man for decades,” Geralt’s face was blank, the puzzle pieces not fitting into place, “He hasn’t aged, Geralt.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested, though from the way his eyes shifted towards his companion he was clearly thinking it over. If they were not at such a high profile party Yennefer would have strangled him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that exact moment that Jaskier decided to pick up his lute and perform for the crowd - granted, it was what he had been invited to do, but Yennefer sent him a withering glare anyways. She was met with a cheeky wink. Oh if looks could kill. 

      “I could prove it to you, you know? A few well placed detection spells and-”

      Geralt shook his head, “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

      “You two are hopeless,” Yennefer sighed.

-@~*^*~@-

      It had been after a particularly difficult hunt, when Jaskier had to dress his companion’s wounds for the umpteenth time. Geralt sat upon a stool in the center of their tiny room at the inn. He looked more irritated than usual as Jaskier gave him what was essentially a sponge bath around where a kikimore had stabbed his shoulder with one of it’s spindly arms. Jaskier winced, it was too close to important organs for comfort. Humming as he worked, Jaskier tried to stitch shut what he could and thoroughly bandage the rest. The wolf medallion on Geralt’s chest thrummed contentedly each time the bard’s delicate hands drew near.

      “Where did you learn?” he asked suddenly, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful quiet.

      “Hm?” Jaskier hummed, ignoring the Witcher’s grunt of pain as he applied one of his many salves to his shoulder, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dear.”

      “The salves, the stitching, all of it,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but Geralt continued, “It’s a very odd skill for a bard to have.”

      A laugh, Geralt had to bite back a hiss as Jaskier’s touches grew less gentle. He clearly wanted him to drop it. “What? Do you think that I was helpless before you came along with your bulging muscles and witchery glares?”

      The witcher shook his head, silver hair sending droplets of water in the air, “No it’s not that,” the bard had certainly proved capable and skilled many times over, “It’s just, were you a healer before you became a bard?”

      Jaskier froze, seemingly caught in a memory, “Something like that,” he began to bandage Geralt’s shoulder, “This kikimore did quite the number on you, didn’t it?”

      Geralt gave him a look of disbelief because obviously.

      “Come on, come on, give me the details, I can’t write my ballads off of just grunts and intrusive questions now can I?”

-@~*^*~@-

      Jaskier had tagged along on what was supposed to be a minor contract. Nilfgaard had stormed a small town, leaving destruction and countless corpses in their wake. Corpses that were perfect for every Alghoul in a three mile radius. 

      He and Geralt were engaged in their usual banter (which consisted mostly of Jaskier rambling about whatever was on his mind, punctuated with the occasional grunt from his witcher), when a sudden, piercing screech rang through the air. It was high pitched, shrill, and caused Jaskier to clutch his head as he let out a groan of pain. 

      Meanwhile, Geralt immediately leapt into action, drawing his silver sword as a pack of the necrophages surrounded them. He was able to take out several, his sword and the ghouls creating a smooth, gory dance. It all seemed to be going well before an Alghoul caught Geralt off guard, leaping onto his back while extending its spines. This sent Geralt off balance, and he was quickly overwhelmed. His sword got knocked out of his hands in the scuffle and he thought that this, however stupid it may be, would be what would kill him. 

      A cry of rage. Slashing, tearing. Suddenly the weight that was dragging Geralt to the ground grew lighter. He felt something wet and sticky. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier standing over him, holding Geralt’s silver sword, out of breath, and covered in Alghoul viscera.

      The bard looked down at himself, annoyance on his admittedly handsome features, “That was my favorite tunic too!” The tunic in question, once baby blue (like his eyes which were now flashing gold, what the fuck?) was now stained red and black. Jaskier brushed a bit of entrails off his shoulder, visibly disgusted.

      “Huh?” Geralt said, intelligently.

-@~*^*~@-

      The pair was making their way north, Jaskier strumming on his lute and Geralt sat atop Roach. The dirt road was a tunnel bordered by a wall of towering trees, whose orange and red canopies blocked out the sun, casting the duo in dappled shade. 

      Jaskier strummed a few chords in the major key, before he spoke, “Geralt, are you doing alright?” His face was soft and forget-me-not eyes distant like they often grew when he was lost in thought. Geralt shot him a confused look. “It’s just that, you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”

      “Hm?”

      “I,” Jaskier sighed, collecting himself, “It’s just with the kikimore and the alghouls, and just last week when you forgot your potions in Roach’s saddlebags. I’ve never seen you get like this before, what’s going on?”

      “It’s nothing.” Geralt replied, gaze sliding to anywhere but his bard.

      Jaskier reached up, intertwining his lithe fingers with Geralt’s own, “I’m worried about you, Love.”

      Geralt huffed, he could never resist the man’s pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes, “Yen and I had a conversation at that party a few months ago.”

      He felt the bard tense, “Is that so?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Jaskier must have realized Geralt, man of few words that he is, wasn’t going to elaborate any further, so he spoke, “What did you two talk about?”

      “She said you aren’t human and I just thought about it more and… it makes too much sense,” Geralt began, feeling awkward as he tried to find the words to explain, “The way you don’t age, your medical knowledge (even of witcher potions!), how you know your way around a sword and how your eyes gleamed-”

      “Geralt, as you know I have an impeccable skincare routine and-”

      He frowned, “Don’t give me that shit, bard.”

      Jaskier sighed, “You really want to know?” A nod. “Okay, well, here goes nothing.” The bard let go of the witcher’s hand, and pulled off a golden ring that, now that Geralt thought about it, he had never seen the man without. A shimmer fell over the bard’s body, like a statue being unveiled. The first thing Geralt noticed was his eyes, they were a sickening, piercing yellow. His face was marred by countless scars, from claws, burns, knives, and magic. Jaskier’s build underneath the glamour more closely resembled Geralt’s, though he retained his shorter stature. The bard smiled sardonically at the witcher’s shocked expression, “Like what you see?”

      Geralt’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, “How?”

      “You’d probably know me better as Julian,” Jaskier’s eyes got that distant look to them again, his face was downcast, an unusual expression for someone who typically embodied sunshine, “I was in the Griffin school, before we were attacked,” a joyless laugh, “I had never wanted to be a witcher, ya know? Wasn’t cut out for it. But my father, Viscount Pankratz himself, couldn’t pay a witcher for his contract, so he offered me up instead. I failed as a noble, so maybe I wouldn’t fail as a witcher. He was wrong, of course, I spent most of my time writing poems instead of studying Signs. Singing instead of sparring. After the trials I spent a few years on the path before I grew sick of it and returned to Kaer Seren.”

      Geralt hummed, encouraging Jaskier to continue.

      “I was made to look after the students, I had to patch up their wounds and keep them from blowing themselves up with alchemy. I loved the little rascals, which is why..” Jaskier trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves in his lute.

      “It’s okay,” Geralt said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

      He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no I want to, I have to,” his voice cracked, “I left after the trials killed them. All of them. I couldn’t bear to be a part of it. A part of everything. So I ran, like a coward,” He spat out that last word like a curse.

      The pair stopped. Geralt placed his gloved hand on the bard’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection and reassurance.

      “Eventually, I found a mage and spent my life’s savings on a well-made glamour and the lute the elves at Posada so lovingly destroyed. It wasn’t until I had graduated from Oxenfurt that I found out what happened in Kaer Seren.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asked, his voice gentle.

      Jaskier’s face flushed red with shame, “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me. That you’d hate me.”

      Geralt frowned, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

      At that, Jaskier laughed, “Just look at me! I’m an ugly fuck-up.”

      “No,” Geralt said resolutely.

      “Huh?”

      “I said no. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Made long nights on the path easier to bear? I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Geralt continued, looking Jaskier directly in the eyes. He didn’t reply to that, just slipped his ring back on and hugged his arms to his chest.

      The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence.

A/N:  I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback. I had one hell of a time writing this, I originally had only written the first scene, and it took a few months for my single window's screensaver brain cell to finally hit a corner and figure out how to continue and finish the story.

Ao3

[multific]

Wind of Change (Part 3/3)

Jaskier x Enchantress!Reader

Summary: One day two men come to your castle, just when you were already done with love, a certain bard catches your eye.

Leaving with Jaskier was possibly the best decision you ever made. 

But you did notice how careful he was around you. Deep down he knew you knew more about him than he shared. And the fact that he watched you move a mountain with a movement of your hand, did remind him just how strong you were.

Geralt went back to the village and told them the witch is gone, he never specified if he killed her or what happened, but he was paid handsomely for it.

Meanwhile, you followed Jaskier wherever he went. 

Since you traveled from one place to another, you hid your true identity. You chose to wear clothing women wore no more headpiece, jewels, and even changed the aura around you. When you changed yourself, Jaskier had a moment when he didn't recognize you. Geralt said he knew it was you from the smell for which you accused him of being a hound. 

Your admiration and obsession for the bard was quite obvious. You weren't even sure yourself why he intrigued you so much. 

You heard many people sing in your life. You heard many beautiful songs. 

But his were special.

Jaskier's songs were different from any other. The passion he put into his songs was admirable and whenever he sang of a woman, you felt that jealousy in your blood boiling. 

The fact that he was a very handsome man also added to the list. 

In the beginning, Jaskier was oblivious. He thought your kindness was because you were alone for such a long time. 

"You should be forward with him. He doesn't understand signs," said Geralt as he gave you a bowl of stew and some bread. You thanked him. 

"But I'm not even sure what I want."

"What do you mean? You are always confident."

"I look confident, but I'm not. You know my story, Geralt."

"Jaskier is not like that." was what Geralt said before Jaskier joined the two of you at the fire. 

He plopped down and started talking about what the people in town told him.

You could only stare at his profile. You thought to yourself what were you doing here.

You could do anything, literally, with your powers everything was possible. And yet you were like a teenage girl having their first crush.

And Jaskier was so oblivious.

He didn't notice when you scared a young woman away who dared to look at him two seconds too long.

He didn't notice how you dealt with the monster that wanted to bite his head off.

He didn't notice the way you looked at him.

But Geralt did.

Geralt saw just how true your feelings were. If he was honest with himself at the beginning when you joined the two, he was skeptical, but you proved yourself. 

And now, he was getting very frustrated with how the two of you danced around but didn't say anything to the other.

Oh, yes, Jaskier wasn't the only one who didn't notice the other's true feelings. 

You were just as blind.

Geralt noticed how Jaskier stopped flirting with women. Geralt noticed how Jaskier would silently sit and watch you do anything and he would let out that longing sigh.

And Geralt saw the songs, oh so many songs that Jaskier wrote about your beauty, kindness, and power. Geralt saw it all. And he knew he needed to act, do something so the thickness would finally disappear from the air whenever both of you were around. 

Passing through a particular town seemed to cause trouble, although you wore a hoodie, you could still hear people whisper behind you.

"Two rooms." said Geralt as he placed the coins on the table in the tavern, your head whipped towards him and so did Jaskier's. 

"One for me and two for my friends here, they are married." said Geralt when the man in front of him started to question him. IT surprised you but you went along with it, holding Jaskier’s hand to stop the man from asking further questions. 

This is how you found yourself in a room with only one small bed. 

"I will sleep on the floor." said Jaskier.

"No, you take the bed, I won't sleep tonight."

"Don't be silly, you need to rest." argued Jaskier.

"Actually, not really. I usually just 'sleep' to give you and Geralt the illusion, but most of the time I'm up. I don't need as much sleep as you two do." you said as you sat down on the windowsill, looking up at the sky as you saw clouds gather.

"It will rain soon."

"I love you." your eyes widened at the voice behind you. You slowly looked at Jaskier who stood right next to the bed. 

As if he was struck by lightning, he realized what he just said. He didn't mean to say it out loud, it was meant to be just his thought.

But in that split second when you looked at it and then he realized what he just said, he knew he couldn't hide it any longer. He quickly walked over to you and grabbed your hands, he knelt down in front of you and placed one of your hands on his chest, above his heart while he held the other. 

Jaskier looked into your eyes.

"I love you." he took a deep breath before he continued. "I know I'm only a mortal, while you are a Goddess. But my feelings are true and they come deep from my heart. I know you can feel it."

"I do. But I'm worried. Last time I fell in love... it didn't end so well." 

"I'm nothing like that idiot. He was a fool for not realizing the amazing woman that you are." you looked into his eyes, searching for something that would suggest he lied, anything to give you doubt but you found nothing. Jaskier was telling the truth and it made you very happy. 

Jaskier watched as you moved to stand up and so did he, his eyes never leaving yours. He was taller than you as you looked up at him. You offered him a smile which he returned.

"I love you too." you whispered and leaned up to kiss him.

He didn't need to be told twice, his lips met yours in a sweet and slow kiss.

You damned the lungs of a mortal for he needed to pull away to get some air into them. He placed his forehead against yours and he slowly started to sway you in his arms.

Even though you were one of the most powerful beings on the planet, you felt so fragile but safe at the same time in his arms.

You knew that your relationship will face a lot of difficulties, there will be a lot of arguments and uncertainty. But you also knew that there will be even more happiness. Even more kisses and declarations of love, longing gazes, and holding one another. 

But in that very moment, as he leaned in to kiss you one more time, all you could think about how perfectly his lips molded with yours. 

And how much you loved this man.

He came into your life and turned it upside down, for the better. He was the wind of change in your life which you so desperately needed, and you didn't even know about it.

The End

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this short story! I hope you enjoyed it.

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[jaskiersvalley]

Themme Fatale

Moving from the army to intelligence wasn’t something Cahir ever thought he would do. But the opportunity came up and he’d hoped he’d be able to leave behind the hyper-masculine environment. That had been difficult to fit in with and he had to keep parts of himself under wraps so tightly, he sometimes worried he’d forget who he was. Stepping into the office on his first day, his heart sank a little as he took in the people he would be working with. The men were muscle bound, jostling and laughing much like those in the army had. Meanwhile, the women were all terrifyingly beautiful, feminine and almost otherworldly. Despite the warm welcome, the firm claps to the back and handshakes, Cahir wondered whether he would ever truly fit in.

“We’ve got the morning briefing then we’ll do introductions properly,” the man who introduced himself as Geralt said.

From across the room, someone hollered, “Hey Wolf, your Magpie back yet?”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt turned to yell back. “Ask Yennefer, she’s the one who sent him out.”

“Well, Witch?”

“He’s getting coffee if he knows what’s good for him,” one of the women growled back, glaring. “And if he wants to come tonight, he’s not getting you any Lambert.”

The morning meeting involved having Cahir stand at the front of the room and smile awkwardly while he was introduced to the room at large. It was a blessing to be able to sit back down again and try to become one with the chair so nobody stared at him curiously anymore. It was almost like they could sense his otherness, at least, that was what it felt like to Cahir.

All of a sudden the door to the meeting room flung open and a whirlwind of colour and chaos bundled in.

“Sorry I’m late! I brought coffee to make up for it.” Cups were distributed with winks and grins. “Who am I kidding, I wanted coffee, knew I was going to be late so got everyone else coffees so I wouldn’t get into trouble. Oh hello, who is this cutie?”

Cahir stared up at big blue eyes from where he had slid down in his chair. Obviously he’d found the token employee who had let his fingers linger on Yennefer’s as he passed her a cup before sitting down next to Geralt, pressing obnoxiously into his space to stare at Cahir.

“If you’d been here on time,” Vesemir sighed, “you would have met Cahir, the newest member of our team.”

It was only when he pinched the bridge of his nose that Cahir thought he saw a hint of nail varnish, subtle but there. It gave him a tiny bit of hope, along with Jaskier’s bitchy fawning over Yennefer and Geralt. It was Eskel who spotted his staring and beckoned him over.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say anything about them. It’s a sure fire way to not make friends around here.”

In a way it was sweet how Eskel and everyone else seemed to support the trio but Cahir felt awful that it was assumed he would judge or say something unsavoury. That’s what he got for having an army background he supposed.

He had been warned that his hours could be erratic and sometimes he might be called in on a day off. What he didn’t expect was for that very thing to happen not a week later when he was dressed comfortably, not expecting to go out. His phone rang, Vesemir was summoning him in. There was barely any time to swap out the billowy shirt for something more traditional before a car turned up for him. Going in, Cahir didn’t expect Jaskier to squeal and jump in his way, heading him off.

“Oh I just love your eyes!” The eyeliner that Cahir had put on earlier, that he’d completely forgotten about, not like he’d have had time to wipe it off. Before he could make up any excuse, Jaskier had him by the arm and was dragging him towards Lambert. “Look! Lamby! His wings are even sharper than yours. Aren’t they amazing?”

A gentle hand reached for Cahir but waited for his nod before it gripped his chin, turning his face this way and that. Lambert let out a low whistle.

“You’ll have to teach me. It would drive the others wild.”

“If you could please not steal my operative,” Tissaia interrupted and beckoned Cahir away. “There’s a charity fundraiser tonight. I was going to send Renfri but they’ve come down with a cold. So you’ll have to take their place. It’s nothing risky, we just need to make sure it goes off without a hitch. There have been threats from the more narrowminded groups. Triss and Yennefer will set you up with your outfit and tech.”

Which was how Cahir found himself in a room full of clothes of every size and colour. While Yennefer rifled through the suits, eyeing him up, Triss was talking through the ear piece, how to change channels and the like. It seemed like pretty standard fare, what he’d used in the army before. Of course, as it seemed to be the norm for Jaskier, he bundled in just as Cahir was eyeing up some of the dresses.

“Yen, my darling, have you no taste?” He bounced over to her and looked at the black on black suit she was pulling out. “That’s so severe. I think we can go a little more native for the fundraiser.”

That made no sense and Cahir raised an eyebrow in question. It had Jaskier grinning. “It’s for an LGBTQ+ charity, didn’t Tissaia tell you? Pretty big deal, most of us will be there in some capacity. Lambert will make for a fantastic waiter, don’t you think? I had Aiden pestering me to make sure he’s in a classic bunny outfit, cute little tail and all. But sadly that’s far too crass for the evening. But there is a Lambert sized outfit now winging its way to their house now. Eskel’s good like that and helped me pick the right size.”

With so many words spouting out of Jaskier, Cahir barely could keep up until he realised that something silky was being pressed into his arms.

“Tell me if this isn’t your kind of thing.”

Cahir stared at the dress, a soft grey dress that promised to be figure hugging. It was gorgeous but Cahir was almost scared to put it on. He didn’t know how everyone else would react, because it wasn’t like he wanted to be seen as a woman. But he didn’t really like being seen as a man either.

“You can pick the suit, I just had a hunch. My apologies if I got it wrong.” Jaskier’s voice was quiet.

“Have you broken him?” Yennefer snapped, stalking closer.

“He is making a choice.”

Which was true, but it wasn’t the choice Jaskier thought he was making. Still staring at the dress, Cahir steeled himself.

“They. They’re still making a choice. And I think it’s the dress please.”

There was no dramatic gasp, no growl, no glare, not even a gleeful cry of “knew it” with demands for bets to be paid up. Instead, Cahir was allowed ushered towards a curtained off bit to get changed. As Yennefer walked them over, she turned and asked in a low voice, “want me to tell the others?”. Maybe it was a cowardly thing to do but Cahir nodded, not sure how the office would take it.

It shouldn’t have been a worry, it turned out. As Cahir shimmied into the dress, turned in the mirror to admire the lowcut back, everything felt right. Stepping out, there were a few more people in the room. Lambert was the one to let out a sharp, appreciative whistle.

Bounding forwards, Jaskier fussed a little with how the dress fell before stepping back with a wide grin.

“Everyone, please tell Sabrina to step aside from her usual role. The office now has a new Themme Fatale.”

[handwrittenhello]

do you take prompts?? I would love to see Geraskifer and cuddling 💕💞💓💗 Thank u!!

well i don't normally but this idea sprang into my head fully formed lol so here you go, i guess. me, projecting my writer's block and touch starvation onto my favorite characters? it's more likely than you think

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer Rating: T Warnings: none (ao3 link in reblog!)

--

Jaskier sighed, staring at the blank page in front of him. It seemed to mock him—master bard, he calls himself, and yet he can’t even put ink to paper and write something down. This manuscript was meant to be sent off to the Oxenfurt publishers in two days, and he’d barely made any progress on it. He was feeling the stress keenly.

Even more keenly, though, he was feeling the familiar claws of skin hunger closing around him. Geralt and Yennefer had forcefully made themselves scarce so that he could concentrate on his writing, but if anything, the low-simmering hunger had roared to life in their absence, until he could hardly think for want of yearning.

He jammed the quill back in the inkwell with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. The stress of writer’s block and touch starvation was getting to him, he could tell, because it felt like his skin was prickling, a restless energy making itself known throughout his entire body.

Perhaps some fresh air would help. He wasn’t much one for exercise, really, but he supposed that a nice brisk walk around the manor would get the creative juices flowing, so to speak. Besides, it was a nice day, and Geralt was sure to be found either with Roach in the stables or with Yennefer in the garden, if he wasn’t inside with Jaskier. So what if he stumbled across them? Coincidence, surely.

Jaskier chose to forgo his doublet, the weather warm enough and the garden private enough to make do with only his chemise. Besides, if one of his lovers just happened to see him in a state of undress and take advantage? Well, he wouldn’t complain.

Geralt wasn’t in the stables when he checked, but Roach was, and she whinnied, either in greeting or in threat. She was grudgingly tolerant towards Jaskier on the best of days, and he chose not to tempt fate by getting any closer without Geralt there to soothe her.

Jaskier made his way to the courtyard, where Yennefer liked to lounge in the shade reading on quiet days. The prickling feeling got worse as he walked, a yawning chasm inside of him that wanted nothing more than to sink into a warm embrace and just be held until the hunger inside of him quieted.

He managed to retain a little dignity by not breaking into a run when he entered the courtyard, instead strolling casually over to where Yennefer reclined on a bench, her head in Geralt’s lap as he ran a hand through her hair. Jaskier fought off a pang of envy.

Geralt noticed him first. “Finished?” he asked.

Jaskier grimaced. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “Thought it might be time for a break, you know, rejuvenate the body and soul.”

“I do hope you aren’t getting any ideas,” Yennefer interjected, not looking up from her book. “You know the rules. No sex until you finish.”

“Those rules are cruel and unusual and you know it,” Jaskier groused.

“You set them,” Yennefer reminded him. “What was it you said? ‘Don’t bother me on pain of death’?”

“I don’t remember,” Jaskier sniffed, absolutely remembering. “But I didn’t come out here for sex, you deviant.”

Geralt, meanwhile, was frowning at Jaskier, his nostrils flaring ever-so-slightly in the way that Jaskier knew meant he was scenting the air. “You smell strange,” he concluded.

“I just bathed this morning!” Jaskier protested, though he knew that it wasn’t anything physical that Geralt was smelling.

“No, it’s… you smell stressed. And sad,” Geralt replied.

“I wonder why,” Jaskier deadpanned. “It’s not like I have a very important deadline looming over me or anything.”

“No, you’re right, Geralt,” Yennefer said, sitting up. She was peering at him intently, and Jaskier suddenly realized that she was reading his mind.

“You know I hate when you do that,” he objected, though she had likely already plucked the issue from his mind like picking a ripe apple off a tree.

“Then why don’t you get to the point? Tell us what you need, or I’ll portal you right back to that desk and chain you there until you finish.”

“Kinky.”

“Jaskier.”

“Alright! It’s just, sometimes I get this—this sort of hunger, where I—gods, this is embarrassing—where I just want to be… held, I guess.” It sounded so strange when he said it aloud like that. “It’s not sexual, or anything,” he rushed to follow it up with. “I just—I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Geralt answered, holding out his arms. Jaskier gratefully stepped into them, almost falling into Geralt’s lap. “We all need touch sometimes.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Jaskier mumbled.

“You bothering us isn’t any different from usual,” Yennefer teased, and Jaskier let her words bounce right off him, as he was well accustomed to. She snuggled up close, though, betraying her affection that was normally so hard won.

With both of his lovers close around him, Jaskier finally felt the void inside of him start to fill, the prickling along his skin dying down as he basked in the embrace. The three of them lay there for a bit while the sun moved lazily across the sky and a slight breeze rustled the leaves around them.

Jaskier was just on the verge of slipping into a doze when Geralt shifted beneath him. “Better?” he rumbled.

Jaskier sighed. “Much. I suppose I ought to get back to work, then…”

“Look at it this way—the sooner you finish, the sooner you can have us again,” Yennefer suggested. “And as a reward, we can try out that new toy you seem so keen on,” she purred.

“And if you feel touch starved again, you can always take a break and come find one of us,” Geralt added on.

Jaskier smiled. “Thank you, darlings. You know, I’m feeling quite inspired after that—with any luck, I’ll be done by tomorrow morning!” He leaped off of Geralt’s lap, filled with motivation and buzzing with energy, as if he’d absorbed it just from their embrace.

“Good luck,” Geralt called after him, settling back against the bench again, but Jaskier was already gone.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

New fic!

The first chapter of a soldier (who carries a mighty sword), my Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier warlord(ish) AU is up! It can be found on AO3 or you can read the first two scenes below the cut.

Summary: Fifteen years after Kaer Morhen became an independent city state and refuge for non-humans, Geralt— who somehow got elected its leader, despite his best intentions— is bewildered when King Vizimir of Redania suggests an arranged marriage between Geralt and his nephew.

Eskel is a simple witcher who just wants to live out his retirement from the Path with Geralt. So when his lover gets betrothed to some Redanian viscount, Eskel dons a human disguise and decides to get away from Kaer Morhen for a while.

Jaskier has no interest in becoming the husband of the infamous White Wolf; he just wants to be a bard. When he flees the guards escorting him to Kaer Morhen, he’s lucky enough to run into Eskel, a hunter who agrees to escort him to safety. But after only a few days in Eskel’s company, he’s half in love.

When Jaskier is forced to go to Kaer Morhen to escape a bounty on his head, he finds the city nothing like the nest of monsters he expected. Meanwhile, Jaskier is nothing like what Geralt and Eskel expected.

Eskel has only met King Vizimir of Redania once, but the man never struck him as much of a jokester. A bit of a fool maybe, but that’s true of most of the rulers he’s found himself dealing with in the last fifteen years. So as he stares down at the letter resting on the table in front of Geralt, he finds himself thinking that this must be someone’s idea of a terrible prank.

Geralt seems to share his sentiments, looking around the table helplessly. “This is Lambert’s idea of a joke, right? Payback for breaking his collarbone during training last month?”

Not a single member of Kaer Morhen’s Council—consisting of two witchers, two sorceresses, two elves, a dwarf, a vampire, a druid, and a human—cracks a smile.

“Who the fuck would want to marry their nephew to a witcher?” Geralt demands.

“Apparently King Vizimir,” Yennefer says, sounding far less concerned than Eskel thinks the situation warrants. “His name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, the twenty-three year old son of the Earl de Lettenhove.”

“So he’s Lettenhove’s heir?” Eskel doesn’t know much about nobles, but he can’t imagine the Earl de Lettenhove being thrilled about sending off his firstborn to be married to a witcher.

“Perhaps his father and uncle would prefer a second son to inherit. Oh, look, they included a miniature.”

Geralt doesn’t even glance at the portrait. “What the fuck, Yenn?”

“It’s not uncommon for treaties to be sealed with a marriage contract,” Filavandrel says. “It’s a sign of good faith.”

Eskel has served on Kaer Morhen’s Council for fourteen years and trusts every single person in this room. Still, he suddenly wishes that it were just him and Geralt here right now, and maybe Yennefer. This seems far too personal to discuss with an audience.

But this concerns Kaer Morhen’s future, so it can’t be personal. Geralt—and by extension, Eskel—gave up the right to the personal when he was elected the head of Kaer Morhen’s Council fourteen years ago.

“It’s common with kings and nobles,” Coën says. “Not witchers.”

Filavandrel’s lips curl into a grim smile. “Geralt’s not just a witcher anymore. He’s the White Wolf.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s eyes meet Eskel’s, clearly searching for some kind of guidance. Eskel says nothing. There’s a sour, ugly feeling in his gut that can’t be jealousy. He’s too old for that shit.

“You really should hold out for one of the princesses,” Zoltan tells Geralt, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Or even the heir to the throne. What are you going to do with a viscount?”

Triss wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Geralt would be better off marrying a zeugl than any of Vizimir’s children, particularly Radovid.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Zoltan says. “I have been thinking the keep is missing something. Maybe a moat with a zeugl in it out front.”

“If you replace that lovely courtyard with a moat, I will throw you into it,” Triss tells him, though her eyes sparkle with amusement. “See how much you like having a zeugl then.”

“But then I’d have to go and make Geralt a widower. We don’t want that.”

Regis clears his throat delicately. When attention turns to him, he says, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Geralt, I find it interesting that Vizimir is offering a young man instead of a young woman as a potential betrothed. Unless Redania has grown significantly more open-minded since the last time I ventured there, I don’t believe that’s typical.”

“Doesn’t make much difference when Geralt can’t father children. Probably don’t want to waste a perfectly good daughter on someone sterile,” Toruviel says, then winces when Astrid, the sole human on the Council, swats her on the arm. “Sorry, Geralt.”

Geralt waves off the apology in a distracted sort of way.

“This just leaves me concerned that more of your private life is common knowledge than any of us would like.” Regis’s gaze flickers to Eskel. “It wouldn’t do for some of Kaer Morhen’s enemies to know the identities of those closest to you.”

The sour feeling inside of Eskel grows stronger at the thought of being a liability to the man who’s been his best friend and brother-in-arms for eighty years and his lover for seventy. But he leans forward with a small smile. “If you’re worried about me, Regis, don’t be. I have Ciri as a bodyguard.”

“Ah, of course.” Regis nods gravely. “I forgot you were uncle to the fiercest child in the north.”

“You joke, but you haven’t been on the receiving end of one of her roundhouse kicks,” Coën tells him. “She knocked Letho on his ass last week.”

“Are we truly considering this?” Astrid asks, cutting off Regis’ reply. The first human to seek sanctuary at Kaer Morhen, she arrived fourteen years ago with her infant son, Dara, strapped to her back after her husband, an elf, was killed in a pogrom in Cintra. Even after all these years, it occasionally seems surreal to see a human woman completely at ease in a room full of witchers, sorceresses, elves, and other non-humans.

“I believe we should,” Yennefer says.

“What?” Eskel and Geralt ask at the same time.

“It’s a smart strategic decision. An alliance with Redania is vital. Having Kovir, Skellige, and Cintra as allies is well and good, but Redania is closer. They’ll be able to come to our aid faster if Kaedwen attacks.”

“I don’t plan to go to war, Yenn,” Geralt says.

“You may not have a choice, if the situation in Kaedwen continues as it is.”

Eskel shuts his eyes. Fifteen years ago, when Geralt gathered the witchers of the six schools at Kaer Morhen and sent letters to rulers all over the Continent proclaiming that no witcher would take a contract in their lands again until laws were put in place protecting them, none of them expected any of this. They were only hoping for laws that would put an end to the all-too common practice of refusing to pay witchers for services rendered and enact consequences on those who attacked and killed them for simply existing.

It was supposed to be a strike, not a revolution.

Instead, the King of Kaedwen took the presence of a hundred plus witchers in his lands as an act of war and led an army against Kaer Morhen. At the end of the day, the king was dead at Geralt’s hand, along with most of his generals, but half of Kaer Morhen was also destroyed and too many witchers had perished in the battle. The only plus side was that they’d proven what witchers banded together could do, leading the new king, along with several other rulers, to submit to the witchers’ demands.

And that should have been the end of their little experiment, until Filavandrel and his band of refugee elves showed up, seeking sanctuary from centuries of persecution by humans. They were followed by dwarves, then a group of Brotherhood mages recruited by Yennefer. Then an assortment of other creatures began to roll in—a few higher vampires, a coven of succubi, a doppler. And finally, humans.

Between the mages and the dwarves, the keep was rebuilt and an entire city built up around it. Kaer Morhen’s status as an independent city state, run by a democratically elected council, is a source of consternation to the surrounding kingdoms. They prefer to paint Geralt as a monster and a tyrant rather than someone who had been elected to head the Council twice now.

The first time Eskel heard Geralt referred to as the Warlord of the North, he was equal parts puzzled and amused. “But we haven’t conquered anyone,” he told Yennefer. “The only war was Kaedwen attacking us.”

She gave him the look she always gave him when she thought he was being painfully naive. “But the kings and queens of the Continent can’t have their people learn of a peaceful city with an elected leadership. That would be madness. Better for them to think Geralt eats babies.”

“They think Geralt does what?” Eskel’s amusement vanished.

“They’re also calling him the White Wolf.”

When Eskel passed on that tidbit of information, Geralt had to go and meditate in a cave for several days. When he came back and found out that the nickname White Wolf had caught on throughout Kaer Morhen— mostly thanks to Lambert— he returned to the cave until Eskel and Yennefer went to drag him out.

“The scouts we’ve been seeing on the mountain are just the beginning,” Yennefer says, drawing Eskel back to the present. “King Henselt is testing us and he’s being egged on by that fucking mage of his.”

A mutter of discontent goes around the table at the mention of Stregobor.

“Soon trade caravans will be disrupted and our people won’t be able to come and go safely,” Yennefer continues. “It’s only a matter of time until we go to war with Kaedwen. Having Redania at our back could make all the difference.”

“Yennefer’s right.” The look Mousesack gives Geralt and Eskel is full of sympathy, which is somehow worse than Yennefer’s matter-of-factness. “It’s not just witchers up here anymore. There are civilians in this city. Families with children who will be in the line of fire if Kaedwen attacks.”

Eskel knows that Mousesack is thinking of one child in particular, a twelve year old former princess who is probably in the training yard as they speak, terrorizing Lambert.

He looks down at the miniature of Viscount Julian. Most portraits of this type make their subjects seem flat-eyed and lifeless. Either this portrait artist was especially talented, or the subject was just particularly animated. Julian Alfred Pankratz looks like someone who’s about to tell a dirty joke. There’s a mischievous glint to his cornflower blue eyes and a sly curl to his lips. He’s lovely in an almost ethereal way and Eskel can’t help but think about his own scarred face, his bulky body, his stomach that hasn’t lain flat since he settled down at Kaer Morhen and started eating three square meals a day.

“I’ll think about it,” Geralt says.

Eskel has long had the reputation as the steadier, more level-headed one of the two of them. It’s a reputation that he’s never really minded. Geralt is the one who traveled the world for three years in order to gather all the witcher schools together. Geralt’s the one who accidentally formed a city state and became its leader. Geralt is the one who spontaneously claimed the Law of Surprise and acquired a princess as a daughter. Geralt is the one who falls into bed with sorceresses and bandit princesses and probably a couple of minor deities for good measure. Eskel is just a simple witcher, here to keep the people of Kaer Morhen safe.

Right now, Eskel doesn’t want to be steady or levelheaded. He wants to cast Igni and burn the letter and that fucking miniature to ash.

But Yennefer is right: King Henselt of Kaedwen is out for blood, looking to avenge his father’s death and make up for what he sees as his older brother’s weakness. And there are innocents on this mountain. Ciri is on this mountain.

So Eskel reaches out and covers Geralt’s hand with his. When his lover turns to him with a vaguely lost expression, Eskel gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You should at least think about it, Wolf.”

Geralt’s brows knit together. It’s clearly not what he was expecting Eskel to say.

“It’s not going to change anything.” The words hurt to say. “It’s not like political marriages are usually love matches. Don’t think the viscount is going to expect a husband in anything but name.”

Geralt watches Eskel’s face for a moment, like he’s trying to detect a lie. Then he turns to Yennefer, frowning. “What would this entail?”

***

Jaskier is in Novigrad when the royal guard finds him, happily performing an upbeat drinking tune to an enthusiastic crowd. He’s dancing on the bar, stomping his feet in time to the rhythm. His audience loves it; they’re clapping along and singing. He’s performed this song at this tavern enough times that they know the drill.

When the singing and clapping abruptly stops, Jaskier looks up, puzzled. He expects to find a brewing bar fight. Instead, he finds four guards in the livery of the Redanian royals standing in the doorway.

Redanian royal guards would be a strange enough sight in Novigrad under most circumstances. Novigrad is a free city, after all, and though what exactly that entails depends on King Vizimir’s mood, it normally means that the law is left to the local guard. What’s even stranger is that they’re all looking directly at Jaskier.

Jaskier mentally catalogs all the things he could have done recently to offend the crown. There have been some ill-advised affairs and perhaps some songs that bordered on critical of the king, but nothing worthy of royal guards being sent into Novigrad to find him. It’s been five years since Jaskier’s father cut him off and Jaskier left Lettenhove to wander the Continent as a traveling bard. Perhaps dear Uncle Vizimir is just concerned for his least favorite nephew?

Jaskier sees no point in playing the fool or trying to make things difficult, but he also doesn’t see the point in interrupting a perfectly good set. He finishes the drinking tune, not breaking eye contact with the guards as he sings. As they approach, he slides into the filthiest version of “Fishmonger’s Daughter” he knows. He normally wouldn’t even sing the tamer versions of this song in Novigrad—not with the ever-present Eternal Fire watching—but he’s already apparently pissed off the crown, so he may as well make an enemy of the Church as well.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz?” the man in the lead, who has a truly impressive mustache, asks as soon as Jaskier warbles the final note.

“That’s me,” Jaskier says. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“By the order of His Majesty, you’re to come with us.”

The haughtiness in the man’s tone causes Jaskier to bristle. “You’re in the free city of Novigrad. His Majesty has no authority to order me anywhere.” Perhaps not his best strategy, since Jaskier doesn’t intend to stay in Novigrad indefinitely, but strategic thinking has never been his strong suit.

“We’ve had a discussion with the city guard and the Hierarch. I think you’ll find we have the authority to do whatever we want.” The guard’s lips twist into an unpleasant smirk. “Bards aren’t popular around here.”

An understatement if he ever heard one. Jaskier hops down from the table with all the dignity he can muster. “What exactly is this about?”

“This will explain everything.” The guard reaches into his breast pocket and draws out a folded up piece of paper. There’s a royal crest stamped on the outside.

Most of the people in the tavern are studiously pretending that he and the guards don’t exist, but a few watch with curiosity as he reads. Jaskier is careful to school his face into a perfectly neutral expression, even as his heart begins to pound and bile rises in his throat. This cannot be real, he thinks desperately. Being married off is one thing. He thought he had escaped that fate when he was disowned, but he always knew there was a chance his father or uncle would find a use for him. But his worst case scenario was always a loveless, sexless marriage to a simpering noblewoman.

Not being thrown to the White Wolf.

Jaskier looks up with a tremulous smile. “So who put you up to this? Valdo?”

None of the guards crack a smile.

“Normally, I would assume the culprit was Priscilla, but this doesn’t seem like her style. Please pass my compliments on to Valdo for the delightfully mean-spirited prank and remind him that forging the royal seal is a capital offense. Now if you don’t mind—”

The mustachioed guard’s hand closes around Jaskier’s bicep. “We’re authorized to do whatever is necessary to get you out of the city, boy.”

When dealing with royal guards with the full weight of the crown behind them, ‘whatever is necessary’ could get ugly fast. Jaskier swallows thickly around the knot of panic in his throat. “Perhaps we could make some kind of deal, gentlemen.”

The grip on his arm starts to verge on painful. “Don’t think a whelp like you has anything to offer us.”

“I must disagree! How about a glorious ode to your mustache, sure to make the ladies swoon? Or perhaps—”

“Enough,” the guard growls.

Jaskier can see by the way the muscle in the man’s jaw jumps that he’s testing his patience. He takes a deep breath. “My things are in the inn across the way. Can I at least be allowed to collect them?”

“We’ll be joining you.”

“But of course.”

The guards flank him on all sides as they cross the street to the inn and all four crowd into his tiny room with him as he gathers his things. They don’t even let him visit the outhouse unaccompanied. Jaskier keeps trying to frantically think of an escape route. He’s fairly tall and well-built; he could probably take on one of them if he caught them by surprise. But all four of them? He doesn’t stand a chance. And he’s a fast runner, but he needs the opportunity to get by them to run.

“Back to Tretogor, I suppose?” he asks the mustached guard, whose name turns out to be Sven, as they leave the inn.

“No, we’re taking you straight to Kaer Morhen.” Sven smiles nastily when Jaskier isn’t quite quick enough to cover up his panic. “Sounds like the White Wolf wants to get his hands on his new toy as soon as possible.”

***

Read the rest on AO3!

[amazingmsme]

Tender Darkness and a Secret Touch

AN: This is the softest thing I’ve ever written, Geralt loves Jaskier so much. He’s so in love okay he just wants to touch Jaskier and make him happy and be sweet with him. This was longer than I thought it was gonna be, little over 4k, please enjoy this incredibly tender and loving fic.

It started out as an accident. No really. They had pushed their bedrolls together like they always do once it gets cold. At some point in the middle of the night, Geralt woke up to adjust himself, flushing internally as he realized he had been hugging the bard in his sleep. He shifted away, fingers brushing over his side. That's when he heard it: a quick, quiet giggle.

Geralt furrowed his brows at the sound. What on earth had made him laugh in his sleep? It could've been a dream, but it had been all too sudden... He had a theory, and it wasn't too far fetched. He reached out to test it, drumming his fingers over his ribs. The giggle returned, paired with light squirming. In his sleep, Jaskier spoke.

"Hehehey... that tihickles..." Geralt smirked to himself but backed off. They had been traveling all day and Jaskier made sure it be known how exhausted he was. It would be far too cruel to wake him in the middle of the night with such an attack.

He decided he would wait until the right time to exploit this weakness of his. Sometime when he was being just a bit too annoying or was complaining too much. He didn't plan on letting this information go to waste. Only what he didn't expect was how hard it would be for Geralt himself to initiate such a playful interaction. Gods, just the thought of seeing Jaskier flushed and laughing under him sent a wave of heat through his body. He himself was not a playful, teasing man, how would he even go about it? Dig his fingers into his side and watch him with his usual stoic expression? That just felt wrong. But if he let himself smile he knows he'd never stop, and he really didn't need to hear Jaskier's own relentless teasing and compliments about how nice his smile was.

"What's got you all smiley today?"

The question yanked Geralt from his thoughts so fast, he nearly choked on his spit. "What?" Jaskier looks up at him with a smirk.

"That nearly permanent frown of yours was turned up at the corner, an' honestly that's the closest thing to a smile I've seen from you in months," he teased. Geralt rolled his eyes. "So spill."

"Nothing, just imagined you tripping into a stream and ruining that outfit," he easily lied, knowing how worked up he'd get over that. It was one of his favorites after all. A loud gasp ripped itself from his throat.

"You take that back right now! How dare you cast such bad juju on me!" he scolded. What he didn't expect was for Jaskier to reach up and squeeze his knee. His body went stiff and he barely managed to suppress the surprised squeak that wanted to escape.

He could test it now. Could stop Roach right there in the middle of the empty road and pounce. But someone could walk up and see them. He'd rather die than have that happen. He could invite him to take a break and ride Roach in front of him, but that would be far too suspicious. Jaskier would know he was plotting something. Or he could let it slide.

Coward.

As they set up camp, Geralt made sure to push their bedrolls together. He sat close to him all evening, debating whether or not to man up and just do it already. But then it grew late and they were settling in for sleep. He waited until far after Jaskier's breath had evened out. He gently began tracing shapes over Jaskier's stomach, even slipping underneath his shirt once he got bolder.

Jaskier's shoulders bounced with soft giggles. He wiggled slightly, pressing back against Geralt to escape from his hand. That certainly sent blood rushing lower than it should've. He controlled himself and pulled away, dreaming of bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

~~~~

Once they reunited in the spring, Geralt made a point to frequent more inns. Jaskier might think it was weird if they continued to push their bedrolls together every night, but if they so happened to be shacked up in a room with only one bed, well they didn't really have a choice now did they? Except for when Jaskier went to order them a nice meal or set up for a performance, Geralt would ask for a room with a single rather than a double. After the first few times, Jaskier made note of it with an almost sly smile. He hoped he didn't catch on. (Or if he did, that he didn't mind.)

Geralt continued to let his hands roam over the sleeping bard's body, listening to the sounds of his sweet chuckles. He found that if he hit a particularly sensitive spot, a snort would mix in with his soft snores. Each noise he'd make was the most beautiful sound to ever grace Geralt's ears.

He settled in first, Jaskier following suit and pressing right up against his body. "Mmm you're warm," he hummed. It was a myth that witcher's couldn't blush, and that comment sent color straight to his cheeks. He was glad Jaskier's eyes were closed. Melitele knows his teasing would only make it worse. Geralt woke up after some time. Jaskier still slept peacefully. Geralt pressed closer, inhaling his sweet scent. He couldn't help but feel guilty doing this. Jaskier was asleep, he didn't know what was going on. He was abusing this information without his knowledge. But he wasn't guilty enough to stop.

Meanwhile, all this time, Jaskier had spent weeks, months even, wondering why he was in such a desperate, needy mood. He craved a certain kind of touch, and it had been years since he'd actually had it. Of all his wants and desires, tickling was the one thing that was impossible for him to admit he craved. He just wanted to feel happy and out of control again. To trust someone enough to let them completely unwind him. And then the dreams started.

Sometimes it would be the loving touch of his mother, cheering him up after a bad day, or a playful fight with an old friend. But mostly he would dream of Geralt. Quite silly, he knew. He would never engage in something so childish, especially if he thought there was any chance at retaliation. Oh well, the dreams would just have to suffice. He began looking forward to going to sleep because it meant he could have Geralt looming over him, hands roaming his body and making him come undone. Sadly, that's all it would ever be. A dream.

Geralt began tapping his sides. He heard the first gentle puff of air and saw the twitch of his lips. This only encouraged him. He moved his hands over his stomach and ribs, blunt nails lightly scratching the skin. His sleepy snickers grew to soft laughter in his slumber. He could feel Jaskier's belly shake under his fingers, and that made him crave a more wild laugh. But he didn't dare give up what he had now.

A finger circled over the quivering tummy, subconsciously closing in on his bellybutton. When it dipped inside, he felt his body jerk as he barked out a quick laugh and a snort, jerking himself awake.

Geralt froze.

The tickling in his dream became too much and he jolted awake, eyes flying open with a laugh. He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, afraid he might wake Geralt. He'd kill himself if the witcher knew he'd been dreaming about... that. That was strange, even though he was awake he could still feel the tingling after effects on his skin. He looked down, seeing his arms wrapped around him. And how convenient for his hands to be placed where they were...

Geralt decided his best course of action was to play it off like he was twitching in his sleep. His fingers pressed into the soft skin, wiggling and twitching slightly. Jaskier sucked his stomach in with a bubbly laugh, louder than when he's sleeping.

"G-Geheralt?" he asked into the darkness to see if he was awake. When he didn't answer, he tried again, having to suppress a snort. This couldn't actually be happening, could it? The, perhaps unrequited, love of his life was snuggled next to him tickling him in his sleep. He gives a giggly sigh. "M-muhuhust be dreheaming," he whispered to himself. "Luhucky mehehe."

Jaskier's words filled Geralt with immense joy. His tired voice laced with snickers was like a drug, and he couldn't get enough of it. He allowed an eye to peak open a crack, just to watch the way his features scrunched adorably and his body squirmed. Did he mean "lucky me" in the sarcastic sense, or... was he actually enjoying this? Melitele's tits please let it be the latter. And then he felt his hand being moved. He let out a sad sigh that he masked as a soft snore but then he noticed his hand wasn't being moved away... In fact, it was being switched to a different spot.

Jaskier shrugged. "Since I'm already awake..." He slowly trailed Geralt's hand up his side, freezing when he snored a little louder before continuing. He stopped once he reached his underarm. Jaskier felt incredibly giddy and nervous, like he was doing something bad and was about to get caught. The thrill made it all the more exciting. "You don't mind if I borrow this do you?" he quietly asked Geralt's "sleeping" form. The witcher couldn't believe what was happening... Jaskier did like this, basically confirmed it. It was so incredibly hard not to pounce now. He let his fingers twitch and drum against his hollow.

Jaskier tucked his arms behind his head, biting his lip to contain the squeal that begged to escape. His body wiggled slightly and he struggled to remain still. He had to clamp his other hand over his mouth as Geralt's fingers picked up speed, and Jaskier just knew the bastard had to be aware of what he was doing... The thought made him redder than a tomato.

His nails scratched the center of his armpit and Jaskier's arm came crashing down with a loud squeal. He immediately clamped his hands over his mouth. If he pretended to continue sleeping, it would look too suspicious. He sat up on his elbow. "Jaskier? You okay?" Even in the dark, he could see the bard's deep blush.

Jaskier nodded all too quickly. "Mhm! Just, um, bad dream is all," he lied, hoping it was convincing. Geralt looked him up and down with what seemed to be concern. Even in the dark, he could see the witcher's mischievous smirk.

Geralt licked his lips, staring in his eyes. He could hear the man's heart pounding in his chest. "Well... I'm here if you need me," he says. Jaskier's eyes sparkle with such admiration that it makes Geralt want to toss everything to the wind and kiss him right now. But... there was a chance he didn't feel the same way and he couldn't risk losing him for good. Jaskier nods and settles back under the covers, pressing his body closer than before.

~~~~

Jaskier has a theory. He knows what Geralt's like when he's sleeping; he's watched him rest many times to know he's almost always still when he's resting. (It's not creepy he swears! They've been traveling together for years now, he's bound to see the man sleep.) And his hand movements were too calculated, too precise for him to be asleep. He was sure of it. That's why he insisted they stay another night at the inn, to test his theory. That, and to sleep in an actual bed for once. They had started to do it more often, thank the heavens.

He made sure to drink a cup of coffee at dinner to help him stay awake. After a rousing performance, he played up his exhaustion, yawning and stretching quite a few times. Each time he raised his arm above his head, he caught Geralt eying him almost hungrily. Finally, he smirked and purred, "See something you like?" He could've sworn he actually turned pink.

Geralt flushed and looked away with a growl. "Shut it, bard."

Jaskier's smirk grew. "Make me, witcher," he sassed back. Geralt should've pounced right then and there, but what if he actually didn't like it? What if he somehow made him uncomfortable? He'd rather continue his secret teasing not knowing than test it now and risk giving it all up. This was so stupid, he'd never over think this if it were Eskel or Lambert sassing back. He wouldn't think twice about putting them in their place each time they smarted off. Then again, he didn't want to wrap them in his arms and shower them with kisses and rip off their clothes. He figured those feelings might be the source of his hesitation.

When Geralt failed to act, only offering his signature "Hmm," Jaskier sighed. Perhaps he really had been asleep and had no clue about his giggly weakness. He was sure that if he knew, he wouldn't think twice before turning him into an incoherent mess, if only to tease him for it later and hold it over his head each time he acted out.

Or maybe, for whatever reason, he was in it for the long con. Heh, wouldn't that be something. "That's what I thought," he tried to sound smug but it was more of a fed up huff. With another fake yawn, he laid down in the bed and snuggled under the covers. "Whoo, I'm beat. Good night Geralt."

He gave a soft chuckle. "Good night Jaskier... Sweet dreams," he added. He knew he didn't really have a nightmare last night, but he wanted to say it anyway. The quick flutter of the other man's heart was definitely worth it.

Jaskier stuttered, "T-thank you." In all their years traveling together, Geralt had never been this, well, sweet was probably the best word for it, as he had in the past few months. It made him want to swoon.

He settled down and tried to slow his heart enough to hopefully trick Geralt. He was really hoping for a similar event to last night. He thought of boring things, but nothing too boring. He didn't want to actually fall asleep, because he needed to prove something.

Geralt followed suit soon after and climbed under the covers. He wraps an arm around his middle, smiling when he feels Jaskier lean into the touch. 30 minutes pass... An hour. That's funny, his heartbeat is still slightly faster than it usually is when he's asleep... He must be dreaming. He hopes it isn't a real nightmare this time.

He reached up and gently cards through his hair. "So soft," he mutters to himself. His voice is soothing and barely even a whisper.

Jaskier does an excellent job keeping his heart rate in check. The affectionate touch is so unlike how Geralt normally is and he can feel himself falling even deeper for the man.

His hand caresses the back of his head before scratching the nape of his neck with blunt nails. Jaskier's lips can't help but twitch in a sleepy smile. Geralt smiles back and targets the hairline. The spot is surprisingly sensitive and he has to refrain himself from slapping a hand over his mouth to conceal the small snort that leaves him. He hears Geralt's soft snickers. That beautiful bastard.

He traces his fingers over the shell of his ear, and giggles are flowing more freely from Jaskier's lips. His shoulders shake ever so slightly. He's feeling particularly bold tonight and nestles his face in the crook just behind his ear and between the back of his skull. He takes a deep whiff of his scent. Sandalwood and fresh blackberries with a hint of lavender.

Meanwhile Jaskier's trying hard not to lose his mind or blow his cover. Right now he couldn't be more thankful that he was turned away from the man. The growing heat between his legs would've surely given him away and Geralt would've never spoken to him again. His warm breath tickled him lightly and breathy gasps of laughter left his lips.

He began nipping and nibbling the very back of his neck and Jaskier's giggles raised in pitch. His hand fluttered under his chin and scratched maddeningly along his jawline. He kept it up for a few more minutes before stopping as he himself settled in for sleep.

Jaskier couldn't feel more awake.

~~~~

Twice in a row could be a coincidence, but three would make it a pattern. They left the town and set out on the road, traveling as they normally do. Jaskier's mind was reeling from the night before. He could still feel Geralt nuzzling into his neck and he craved more. That night, when he set up camp, Jaskier pressed their bedrolls together. Geralt gave him a strange look but didn't protest. Maybe he was just as excited about going to bed as he was.

After dinner, they laid on their backs and stared at the stars. They pointed to different constellations and shared the stories they've heard about them. When a shooting star streaked across the sky, Jaskier shook his shoulder and pointed up.

"Did you see it? Come on, make a wish!" he closed his eyes and silently asked for the last two nights not to be a fluke. That it would happen again because that would mean Geralt liked it too. And that meant he liked him.

Geralt rolled his eyes but complied. His lids slid shut and he wished that for once emotions came easy to him. That he could let Jaskier know how he felt. They continued their stargazing for a little while longer before settling in for the night.

Jaskier again stayed awake, hoping for a repeat of the last two nights. And again, Geralt continued his secret routine of hearing Jaskier's sweet laughter before he dozed off. Though this time, Geralt starts lower, scratching the backs of his knees. Soft snickers fell from his lips as he curled up. Geralt's hand scratched up the backs of his thighs and Jaskier kicked in his "sleep."

Meanwhile Geralt wore the fondest smile on his face. His hands drew idle shapes over his hip and along his back. Jaskier arched away and squirmed like mad. His fingers tapped out rhythms to songs, his songs. That made him practically melt in his arms. He really had been listening... both hands traced the soft muscle on his stomach and made circles over the soft skin. And then he added that torturously light, incredibly teasing nibbling at the back of his neck and it was just too much to bear. The closeness of it all. The overwhelming fondness he clearly felt but was afraid to share. The touches so light they drove him completely mad and he was begging for a firmer touch that would send him straight to utter insanity.

He couldn't bear it anymore. He needed something more; he needed things like this to happen during the day, when he didn't have to pretend. He needed Geralt to know it was okay and he needed to know how he felt because he was sure he'd explode if he had to endure another night of this incredibly torturous, overwhelmingly tender moment that he couldn't enjoy to its fullest extent. So he finally snapped.

"Fuck Ihihi cahan't do this anymore!" he quietly exclaimed and turned around to face Geralt. Said man looked like a frozen deer. Jaskier thought it was rather adorable. His eyes were wide in shock, mouth slightly agape and his cheeks puffed out in embarrassment. Though his face couldn't exactly blush, his ears would turn red and his normally warm body temperature would rise even more. But he didn't need to blush for Jaskier to know he was incredibly flustered.

Fuck. Geralt was left speechless as Jaskier turned around and snapped at him. He'd blown it: had gone too far and woke Jaskier and upset the other man. He probably thought he was weird and a creep and- wait... I can't do this anymore. What did that mean?

"I'm sorry. I thought you were asleep," he managed to choke out but didn't meet Jaskier's gaze. He rolled his eyes and gave a small, amused huff.

"Yeah, I figured as much. But it's okay, really, you don't have to only do this when you think I'm asleep," he assured softly.

Geralt nodded, still unable to look directly at him. "So uh, how long have you known?" he dared to ask. Jaskier shrugged.

"Just the three nights, including tonight. Wait- how long have you been doing this?" he asked, furrowing his brow. Geralt muttered something, barely audible. "Speak up dear, we don't all have witcher hearing," he teased lightly.

Geralt turned away so he didn't have to look at him. "Few months." Now it was Jaskier's turn to gawk, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"A few months?" he asked incredulously. Geralt curled in on himself. He'd gone too far, he knew he should've never done this, should've just let him be. But he was selfish and secretly needy.

No wonder Jaskier had been having those teasing dreams! It was all Geralt. "You're telling me that you made me suffer for months dreaming of you turning me into an incoherent mess while I could've had the real thing?" he asked before he could think better of it and promptly snapped his mouth shut. Geralt turned back around at those words, curious and hopeful.

While Geralt wasn't capable of blushing, Jaskier was not so lucky. His cheeks glowed bright red, even in the dark. Now it was his turn to look away. Geralt let his lips quirk up in a tiny smile. "So... you're not mad?"

Jaskier scoffed and crossed his arms. "I'm a little fed up that you thought you could only do this in my sleep, but no. I'm not mad," he said, and a soft smile of his own found his face. "What I want to know is why. I mean, I tried to make it clear that it was okay for you to, y'know, be affectionate if you so wished. Clapping my shoulder, holding my hand, touching my hair, I never once shied away from your touch. I thought I was doing a rather fine job domesticating you-" Geralt scoffed and Jaskier glared playfully.

"I'm not domesticated," he said. Jaskier chuckled.

"Believe me, I know. But, I liked to think you were warming up to me, that you would just do something if you felt like it. And I mean, I know I can be a handful and you could've very easily put me in my place with that knowledge. Most people wouldn't think twice before using that to their advantage. So why didn't you?" he asked gently.

Geralt grunted as he thought of a sufficient answer. "I found out one night by accident. You told me in your sleep after I pressed against your side. I thought about doing it, but it just. It never seemed like the right time to test it. I'm not really... playful or funny, I guess. I wasn't too sure how to go about it," he admits. Jaskier scooted closer, eyes glistening in the pale moonlight streaming in through the trees.

"But something made you continue. What was it?"

Geralt tilted his head down, as if to hide. "I'm not sure. You just seemed so happy. And I liked that I was the one making you happy. You just seemed so peaceful when you were sleeping, and then you'd smile and uh, you have a nice laugh."

Jaskier's heart was fluttering, and he was sure Geralt could hear it. "Geralt? Do you... like me?" He looked at him.

"Of course I do."

"No I mean, do you like like me?" he asked nervously, biting his lip and trying not to sound too hopeful, too desperate.

Geralt nodded after a moment of tense silence, giving a gentle hum. His lips quirked in a slightly teasing smile. "I suppose I do. Do you... like like me?"

Jaskier couldn't help but giggle at his adorable awkwardness. "I've only been following you across the continent for years and years. What do you think?"

"So that's a yes?" Jaskier tilted his head back with a bright laugh and nodded.

"Good." He hugged him close and they settled under the covers. A beat, and then realization dawned on Geralt. "Wait, so when you said I made you suffer for months without the real thing, does that mean you like it?"

Jaskier went stiff and his blush deepened. "No comment." Geralt's smile widened.

"I think it does."

"Shut uuuuup!" Jaskier whined and playfully smacked him.

Geralt chuckled deeply. The sound sent a pleasant chill up Jaskier's spine. "I'll take that as a yes. It's too late for us to make a ruckus, but you should know that I plan to test the extent of my knowledge tomorrow."

Jaskier was already giggling and squirming away. "C-can't wait."