#the witcher crash course

[emdashingly]

here's the first of two pieces i did for this year's daisuga big bang!

you can read the fic it was for, guardians of a rare thing, on ao3 here.

[heytheredeann]

I had a MFU Witcher AU thought: in the setting where Napoleon is a Witcher, I'd say he still interacts with people a lot, so he knows a lot about humans and how they operate. But! In the setting where Illya's a Witcher, I'd say he avoids any comunication and interaction with people as much as possible, so he knows next to nothing about humans. So, when Napoleon starts following him and, for example, falls ill, Illya freaks out because: what's happening with my bard; is he dying?? And then Illya gets embarrassed about his lack of knowledge and tries to sneakily observe what Napoleon needs and how he reacts, etc. And after a while, Napoleon would be just like: Peril, why are you looking at me like that all the time? I think it'd also work if Napoleon got hurt and Illya'd be like: hm, it'll heal quickly, he'll be alright. But the wound would in fact be serious for a human, but Napoleon wouldn't say anything (because he only complains about the inconsequential stuff. why should he complain about something serious?). And only after Napoleon passed out from bloodloss or something, Illya'd be like: oh shit! Human = fragile. Must protect my bard better!!

Well, it took me only two months to get to this LOOOL Sorry (and sorry to everyone else who sent prompts that are still sitting in my inbox), I've been very busy and I'm kinda writing at snail pace. ..........also I didn't do a great job at following the prompt LOL. I went with the premise of Napoleon being sick, and I meant for this to be fluffier and funnier but uuuuh Illya started overthinking and angsting so. here you go LOL, thank you for the prompt and I hope it's enjoyable!

When he steps back into the room, Illya is expecting him to be, if not already packed and ready to go, at the very least awake.

Napoleon is not really a morning person, that much he has already had a chance to learn about him even though they haven’t been travelling together for all that long, but Illya did make sure to wake him up before leaving, informing him that he’d be going to the market to buy some things and that they’d leave town upon his return. The purpose of getting a sign of life was precisely to make sure that Napoleon would know to start dragging his ass up in his absence.

Yet, when he gets back to the inn, Napoleon is not, in fact, awake. Instead, he is still lying in bed, hidden under the blankets up to his nose and still, Illya notices with a frown, shivering pretty evidently.

“What are you doing?” Illya asks, stepping closer and eyeing him dubiously.

Napoleon opens one eye, which is distinctly reddened. “Sorry,” he mutters, hugging his pillow tighter. “I don’t think I can travel. I’m sick. Thought it would pass, but—nope. I’m sorry.”

Now, Illya has precisely no framework of reference for how bad this is. He can feel, even before his hand reaches Napoleon’s forehead, that he’s radiating heat, which indicates an high fever, he can see that he’s shivering and miserable, he can hear that his voice is hoarse and tired and that he sounds genuinely regretful about his inability to travel. Napoleon may complain left and right about the dirt and the blood and the monster innards, but he is always trailing after him anyway. Illya is pretty sure that he couldn’t keep him away if he tried. So if he’s saying he can’t travel—

He isn’t sure how durable humans are when it comes to illness, he just never had a reason to ask anyone and it hasn’t been any of his business since way too long ago to remember properly, but he knows that he, as a witcher, could travel with a simple fever. He assumes Napoleon probably could too, that he would have at least tried, especially since he knows that Illya is supposed to go—if he didn’t, it means he can’t get up and leave. If he can’t, then the illness must be somewhat severe, right?

[More on Ao3]

[samstree]

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Jaskier asks in wonder, the golden sunset casting long shadows behind them.

They sit side by side on the beach, toes buried in the sand. There is no one else on the coast for miles, only the two of them. They could be the only two people in the world.

It’d be enough, Geralt realizes.

He looks back at Jaskier, turning away from the sunset. Jaskier wears happiness well, his cheeks round with a smile, eyes flowing with warmth. It’s a state rarely shown around anyone else. A bard performs to an audience, but never to Geralt, never when it’s just the two of them.

“Yeah,” Geralt whispers, “it is.”

Jaskier meets his gaze, the crinkling around his eyes deepening. He looks at Geralt like this, like he’s seeing his favorite person in the world, the one that makes it all better.

“Don’t be cheeky, witcher,” Jaskier says, putting his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. “You are supposed to be watching the sunset.”

“Rather watch something else.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you know?” Jaskier’s grin stretches. He pokes Geralt’s cheek so he turns his attention back to the sight in front of them. “But this is fleeting.”

“Hmm.”

The sun dips into the horizon, where the crashing waves blend into the sky, the clouds painted with an upturned palette.

“Close your eyes,” Jaskier says softly, “just for a moment. Go on.”

And Geralt does. He lets the sun kiss his eyelids.

Jaskier sighs happily, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder. “The sun will set today. Tomorrow it shall rise again, but never the same. This moment isn’t meant to last, and for the rest of our lives, we can only live with the knowledge that this sunset has been lost.” He pauses, breathing in, and out. “Keep your eyes closed for me, dear, because right now, it’s like you are already living it. You’ve already lost this sunset. It only exists in your memories now, and yet…”

“And yet?”

Geralt nearly melts into Jaskier’s voice.

“And yet,” Jaskier continues. “Open your eyes.”

Geralt opens his eyes, and the incandescent light spills into his vision, nearly blinding him. His breath catches at the beauty of the same sunset.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Jaskier agrees. “Just like that, you’ve briefly experienced the joy of finding something that is long lost.”

They sit in silence until the sun completely disappears, the golden orange fading into a blue canvas, illuminated by the stars.

There are tears in Geralt’s eyes. He blinks them away before turning towards Jaskier again. The stars are in his eyes too.

“It’s lost anyway,” Geralt says, chest heavy with a grief he cannot name.

“Not the same.” Jaskier shakes his head. “You found it once. It will always be with you, right here.”

When Jaskier presses a hand on Geralt’s chest, his touch is warm, like the sunset lingering in Geralt’s heart.

☆

Brokilon forest is quiet when Geralt wakes up from the pain, his back covered in cold sweat.

The aches flare up at night, deep in his bones, when the air is cold and the dew is heavy. There are wounds magic cannot heal, like Yen said. He groans against the discomfort, breaths coming out erratic.

“Hey, Geralt. It’s alright.” Jaskier is next to him in an instant. “You are alright.”

Cool fingers brush away the hair on his forehead soothingly. Jaskier sits beside the bed with soft words and gentle touches, his presence steady and calming as Geralt slowly breathes through the throbbing pain.

“Jask—” he reaches out, catching Jaskier’s hand in his. “I’m fine.”

“I know. I know. All healed, as you claim.” Worry still strains Jaskier’s voice. “I’m not quite convinced. Are you sure we shouldn’t stay for a few days more? Just a bit longer.”

Geralt pulls himself up on the bed with Jaskier’s help, leaning against the bark and the leaves. He winces at the way his knee pops.

“We need to leave tomorrow,” Geralt says, his brow still tight.

Jaskier looks away, but Geralt can make out the hesitation in his movement, in the way he seems to want to say something, but thinks better of it.

“Of course,” he says, in the end.

Geralt stays there, waiting for the pain to fade. It doesn’t for a long time.

“Jask,” he asks tiredly, tugging Jaskier’s hand, “will you come here?”

Jaskier doesn’t move. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Just… let me look at you.”

Geralt moves to the side, leaving room for Jaskier to sit side by side with him. He opens his arms when Jaskier carefully climbs into bed, curling into his side. Something clicks into place when Jaskier fits into his body like this. Too many things are going wrong, but this…

This is right.

“Hey,” Jaskier says softly. He guides Geralt to look at him with a hand on his cheek, eyes bright like the fireflies in the forest. “I’m here.”

Geralt closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s. There’s too much lost in too little time. He doesn’t dare to think about losing Jaskier too, the last person by his side. He shudders to imagine being here alone, injured and dying, with no gentle hands holding him.

But Jaskier is here, with his lute and his songs, his unconditional loyalty. Jaskier found him.

Geralt opens his eyes with an exhale.

“You are here,” he says. “You found me.”

In the moonlight, under the canopy of the forest, Jaskier lets Geralt rest on his shoulder, a smile under his breath.

“I always will,” he whispers the promise. “I won’t lose you, Geralt, not too often, not for long. You see, I found you once, all those years ago in that terrible tavern. I’ve kept you with me since, right here.”

He takes Geralt’s hand and presses it over his fast-beating heart. A human’s heart, fragile and breakable, but unbelievably strong at the same time.

Geralt is tired. All he feels is the rhythm of Jaskier’s heart under his fingertips.

He sleeps with Jaskier next to him, the last piece of his home, murmuring soft things to ward off the faint echoing of his injuries.

They sleep in the quiet forest, when their family is out there somewhere.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise, but never the same. Because tomorrow, Geralt will find the rest of their family too.

[ccghastly]

Trainee Geralt & The Advanced Obstacle Courses

A little oneshot I just had to write out. It's only about 1k words long.

I hope you enjoy it!

The trainers grew frustrated with Geralt after he'd finished his trial of the grasses(both of them), as he'd slowed down on the obstacle courses.

He used to run the trainee courses with the frantic reckless hope that all the trainees did. Pushed, as they were, by their trainer's harsh words and expectations.

He now plodded through the advanced courses, pausing on every obstacle to watch how the next moved, even after having completed the same courses over and over again. The trainers had tried shouting and beating and bribing and threatening and cajoling and scorning, but still he crept through each course. 

The trainers went to Vesemir, as he was leader of Geralt's Cohort, and Vesemir tried to encourage a bit more confidence into Geralt; he knew that Geralt could run those courses just as fast as any of the other trainees, if he'd just apply himself. 

But still Geralt refused to speed up. 

There came a day that Vesemir was headed to the library and, while crossing a walkway, spotted Eskel running the third advanced course. Curious, and knowing the trainees rarely went anywhere alone, he stopped to see what they were up to. 

The trainees weren't forbidden from running the courses independently, but they rarely chose to with the rare bits of free time they had. 

Eskel seemed to be trying to improve on his speed record, sprinting as hard as he could through the obstacles, and getting summarily knocked off for prioritizing speed over caution.

Vesemir winced as Eskel tucked into a hasty roll to break his fall and crashed into a support pillar of the neighboring course,

"Doing better, Keli." Came a soft rasping voice, 

"Yeah," came a more acerbic voice "Last time you took way longer to fall there."

Vesemir looked over and wasn't surprised to find Geralt and Lambert stood nearby, they were a trio none had seen pairing up, but they hadn't yet had a spat bad enough to permanently split. 

Geralt was tallying up the marbles from the counter; a contraption of turning gears and popping ropes the mages had put together to accurately time things. Marbles dropped out of it at specified intervals, the more marbles, the more time had passed. 

The record for the third advanced course by a full witcher was set by Naumir at eight marbles, the trainee record was fourteen. Eskel seemed to have run about three fifths of the course in eleven, which was about where he should in his training. 

Eskel groaned as he disentangled himself from the pillar and pushed himself to his feet, the many scuff marks and skids of dirt on his clothes showed that he'd been at this for a while. Lambert looked to be only a touch cleaner, so the pup must have given it a few tries as well. Vesemir studied Geralt, hoping for even the smallest smear of dust, but was dissatisfied to find he showed no signs of having fallen from the course. 

Vesemir didn't know where the boy's sudden fear of falling had come from, it wasn't a large fall, and he didn't seem to fear heights when running the walls or during climb training, but still he refused to take risks on the obstacle courses.

Vesemir shook his head and began to walk away, but paused when he heard Lambert pipe up through Eskel's plotting and self chastising,

"Will you run it, Geralt?"

Vesemir turned back and watched Geralt study the course with a pensive look in his eye, he seemed about to decline when Eskel spoke,

"Would you? Show me how it's done, Wolf"

Geralt gazed at the course for a moment more then tilted his head to eye his brothers, Eskel and Lambert stared back with pleading eyes, and Geralt finally nodded a slow agreement. Lambert broke into cheers and Eskel clapped him on the arm with a beaming grin.

Vesemir watched with trepidation, and a small amount of hope, as Geralt clambered to the start of the course and stared it down while he waited for Lambert to shove all the marbles back into the counter and Eskel to set everything moving again.

"Ready… Go!" Shouted Lambert as he pulled loose the starting cord of the counter.

Vesemir felt his heart sink in his chest, when instead of launching forward Geralt slid into a crouch, his eyes unwavering from their lock on the course's first obstacle. 

Vesemir might have left then, but there was something about this that felt different, so he stayed and watched his boy watch the rhythm of course.

For the first time Vesemir was able to have his full attention on Geralt as he faced a course and he realized that the gleam in Geralt's eyes wasn't fear, but a fierce calculation.

Geralt's head started a small sway in time with the first pendulum and then, all of sudden, he was off.

Vesemir felt his jaw slacken, he'd never seen a trainee run this course that fast, or that fluidly. It was as though Geralt knew exactly what was going to happen an instant before it did, he swung around pendulums, under bars, leapt gaps, and dodged spikes without a single toe misplaced. Not a move was wasted.

Vesemir found himself holding his breath as Geralt approached the final stretch, it was designed to force Witchers to use their signs, the obstacles unnavigable without them. 

Geralt threw himself into the fray without a single beat of hesitation. His fingers flowed through his signs, but he left them half powered, giving them the bare minimum of the strength that was needed to let him eel through the great moving pieces, that could and would break any limbs they caught.

Geralt was nearly out when a piece moved a touch faster than he'd anticipated and clipped his heel, sending him tumbling madly into the last set. Vesemir wouldn't be surprised if he left an exact imprint of his fingertips in the balustrade he was clutching, with how tightly he was strangling it. 

Geralt bounced off one clapper into another, and kicked off a third to tumble desperately over the finish line and, blessedly, off the obstacle course. 

Only then did Vesemir register Lambert and Eskel's screaming whoops and howling. Geralt's brothers rushed to congratulate him and Vesemir sagged to the floor of the walkway.

As he calmed, Vesemir began to make out words over the thunder of his heart in his ears,

"TEN!" They were screaming "TEN! GERALT!" and Vesemir felt a grin creep onto his face.

I do have more on this, so if you have any questions feel free to ask!

💝 Thank you for reading 💝

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"May I have this dance?" Eskel asked offering Ciri a hand, causing her to stop bobbing around in her seat to the song Jaskier was currently debuting for them.

"Yes!" She cried out, grabbing the proffered hand in both of hers to drag the large Witcher to the open space behind them, the adults smiling and chuckling at her enthusiasm. Geralt and Yennefer were the next two to get up and join them after a wordless conversation which seemed to involve many head tilts and eyebrow raises.

Lambert raised his own in surprise when Aiden stood and gave him a borderline mocking bow,

"How about it?"

Lambert swallowed down his mouthful of White Gull. He wasn't anywhere near drunk enough for this (he wasn't even tipsy), but everyone else looked to be having fun. Yennefer and Geralt seemed to be treating it like it was some sort of courtly affair whilst Ciri was balancing on Eskel's feet, her delicate, tiny hands looking comically adorable in the Witchers huge paws.

"Sure, why not." He slapped his own hand down into Aiden's open palm, "But no way am I letting you lead."

"Do you know the steps?"

Lambert shook his head no as they made their way over to the others. It was a song Jaskier had come up with three days ago, there weren't any steps.

"Then who says anybody has to lead?"

Give them a couple of swords and it was almost like they were working a job together - moving completely in synch, able to predict the others next move without so much as a glance as they stepped and twirled. Of course, their jobs didn't usually require this much touching. Even when sparring, any holds were for effectiveness - disable your opponent as quickly as possible - they had a purpose to them. These holds...very much did not.

There was absolutely no reason for Lambert's hand to linger on Aiden's side, but linger it did, feeling the muscles flexing as the Cat moved. Aiden's own hands were resting on Lambert's biceps, feeling the heat of the others skin through the thin shirt - had the Wolf's arms always been this toned?

The outside of their thighs momentarily brushing together as they side stepped one another felt far more intimate than the action warranted before Lambert pulled Aiden into a spin, catching the Cat around his waist as he pulled him towards him. Aiden's hands found a new home on Lambert's shoulders and he was suddenly struck with the urge to wrap his arms around the Wolf's neck to bring him that little bit closer. He couldn't be sure, but for a moment it felt like Lambert somewhat hesitantly caressed his hip bones as he adjusted his hold before lifting Aiden off the ground and spinning them both.

Their bodies sliding together was a new form of torture as Lambert set him back down, their chests heaving despite the dance being nowhere near rigourous enough to warrant it. Both of them hyper aware of their hands on one another's hips but neither one pulling away.

"Uncle Lambert, dance with me!" Ciri yelled, breaking the moment as she crashed into his legs, grinning up at him. Neither of them knew when exactly Jaskier had started a new song but it definitely wasn't the one they'd started dancing to.

"Sure thing, Kid." He answered, not taking his eyes off Aiden until his niece started tugging at his sleeve impatiently.

"Save a dance for me, Princess." Aiden said, ruffling her hair, "I'm going to grab a drink, I think."

He moved back to his original seat and filled his glass to the brim from the jug of Gull before downing half of it, ignoring the bards too knowing smirk as he tried not to think about how Lambert holding him like that would feel without the barrier of clothing.

[geraltyen-of-corvobianco]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 [ⱽᵃˡᵉⁿᵗⁱⁿᵉ'ˢ ᴰᵃʸ ²⁰²⁴ 💕] (Expand to read the entire story)

-

It all started as a gentle cruise down the little stream,

A book in his hands, the Witcher reads.

'Twas just a simple fairytale, the usual action and love,

But his Sorceress beside him sat engrossed, her eyes filled with mirth.

But underlying that mirth is a hint of excitement, glistening with wonder,

And the Witcher is left to speculate, what would happen if he intentionally makes a blunder.

No doubt the excitement would intensify,

Sexual desires, fervent passion and much more,

But wouldn't that be too early, he wondered, as he glared at the still-blue sky,

If only it were night, so he could open the door.

"Door?" the sorceress purred in his mind.

Oh dammit! It's too early!

The sorceress leaned closer, a subtle smirk on her lips - she's certainly putting him in a bind!

Fingers quivering, the book at risk of falling into the river -

The setting sun unexpectedly saved it, as the Witcher, with his deft hands,

Made a swift turn and flicked the book onto the deck, while at the same time gently, lovingly, pulled the sorceress onto his chest.

How had the setting sun save the book you ask?

Well...

"Well played, Witcher. Well played."

"Hmm, what do you mean?" the Witcher said, feigning innocence.

"Sunsets are always so gorgeous, aren't they?" Yen replied, deciding to spare her adorable Witcher.

"Forever radiant and gorgeous, just like the lady beside me."

"Oh stop it, you."

.

.

The sky inevitably darkened, and as the stars come out to play,

Dinner was served, with the candlelight as their only sunray...

.

.

"Please tell me you didn't make everything yourself." Yen teased.

"Oh, but what if I did?" Geralt said, pretending to be hurt.

Yennefer chuckled with amusement, her violet eyes glistening in the moonlight. At that moment, all Geralt could think about was how gorgeous she looked. What else does he think about except that; but yes - she's so beautiful.

Yennefer put a hand out and stroked his face, her amused eyes gradually softening to one of gratitude. No words or explanation were needed. It was a jest; they both knew it. And they both know if he were the real chef, Yen would still eat it all. With lots of teasing and jesting about how badly he cooked but, she will never reject him. She will never hurt him.

Later, before they reached their destination, they toasted for their love. And happiness. Because what is love without happiness?

. . The boat finally rocked to a stop,

And without warning, the sorceress leaped!

Clothes begone and goblets overturned,

The Witcher was flabbergasted,

As he sat amidst overturned plates, crashes and messes.

He heard her delirious, playful laughter,

Taunting him relentlessly to chase her faster.

He leaped to the pier after, obliging her wishes,

And tried to catch her, but dammit, he misses!

"Oh Witcher, Witcher, why are your clothes still on?"

So this was what it's about was it?!

"Of course it is, what else do you think it was?"

Of course it had to end that way.

"Of course, of course. Now come here Witcher...come closer to me..."

The sorceress let herself be caught, cornered between a Witcher and a tree,

The Witcher smirked, and let his clothes be dropped,

Then he held her close, lest she flees,

And they made love under the moonlight this valentines' day,

Deeply, fervently, blissfully - to the extent that no words can ever convey...💜

~

Thank you for reading till the end! Happy Valentine's Day 🥰💜

P.S.

Also, here's an aesthetic shot of the boat painstakingly made just for the background/setting of this post :')

[icarustica]

⁠♡ wip wednesday

summary: angsty, whumpy, no real resolution, 700ish words

♡♡♡

“You will do what you are told!” shouted Geralt. 

“There it is,” Jaskier said quietly, stepping back, leaves crunching under his foot. The forest was quiet as he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. The silence was suddenly deafening, the peace in the dappled light of the forest like an unwelcome, scratchy blanket.

Geralt’s breath came short and fast in his chest, a rabbit’s pace that matched the speed of his heart. “What?”

“I will do what I’m told,” chuckled Jaskier. He flickered between Geralt’s eyes like he was searching for something. “I really am your whore, huh? For everything except… well, except whoring.”

Geralt blinked, anger rising up in him again. “I don’t–”

“If not, then one step above,” Jaskier snapped suddenly, fire flaring back up in his eyes. “You know nothing of friendship. Friendship is not this, this…” he spluttered for a moment. “Weighted give and take. I give you everything, Geralt, my care, my coin, my humiliation, all for what? A couple of songs? I could write a dozen ditties about the Countess and be brimming with riches within the week.”

Geralt’s face heated. He’d pondered that before, how attractive the thought of running off to some noble must seem to Jaskier, being surrounded by lovely adorers every minute, draped in fancy clothes and fed with all the fruit and meat he desired. How dismal travelling with Geralt must seem compared to that reachable paradise. 

“You think saving me from your monsters is payment,” Jaskier spat. “And perhaps it is. For playing at bars where every drunk blacksmith paws at me like a whore just to pay for our meals.”

Geralt flinched.

“And maybe your protection covers the work I’ve done to fix your reputation,” he continued, eyes blazing. “And if we’re being generous, it probably also covers the beatings I’ve taken for what I couldn’t fix.” 

Beatings. Geralt had never thought… sometimes Jaskier would come back from a night somewhere away from their shared room covered with bruises and stumbling like a drunk. Oh, I just found a convenient ditch to rest my head in for the night, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Lying. He’d been lying. 

“But what your protection does not cover, Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, “is the things I have paid to earn your friendship instead. Cleaning your armour. Stitching your wounds. Buying you things at the market just to cheer you up.”

Geralt swallowed. He opened his mouth.

Jaskier’s eyebrow quirked up, a challenge.

He shut it again. It was unfair, asking him to battle words with Jaskier, a man who played with them for a living. Especially when he couldn’t figure out the feelings to inspire the words in the first place. 

“The witcher’s whore,” Jaskier repeated quietly, like he was testing the words in his mouth or telling a story. “Does what he’s told.”

Geralt stepped closer, growling under his breath. "Stop."

Jaskier would have normally backed down. De-escalated things with a joke, but today his chin jutted upward. Today fire brimmed in those blue eyes. "Yes sir," he bit out.

“Jaskier," he warned.

"General Geralt, sir," he continued. "My most excellent warlord!"

"Stop."

"Oh great Butcher-"

Something snapped, the words torn out of him: "Fucking stop!"

“Oh, yes, master,” mocked Jaskier, equally as loud, hand flourishing like he was about to bow.

Geralt’s face heated even more, helpless anger clawing at him. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong - the skin on his body, the woods crashing with wind around them. “Jaskier, I am not your master, you are not my whore, I–”

“You like it,” he snarled, bitter like gin. “You like being the man in charge, the martyr at the head of the battle. So much responsibility, and oh, only you can bear it.”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier snapped down into a full bow, hand across his pleated red chest. “Yes, sir! Am I dismissed, sir?”

“Stop it.”

“Yes sir, of course sir,” he mocked, looking to the ground as if chastised. 

Geralt let out a frustrated growl, somewhere between a cry of anguish and a sob.

“Shall I clean your boots, sir?” Jaskier snapped, eyes glinting through his hair as he looked up, still half-bent into a bow. “Your armour? Shall I find you another whore to spend the night with?”

Geralt marched forward, vibrating with anger. “Fucking stop,” he growled, close to shouting. “Just– just stop–”

“Apologies, sir, I’ll do better, shall I take your belt for lashings?”

“Fucking hell, Jaskier!” Geralt grabbed his shoulders, determined to shake out whatever the fuck was making him talk that way. 

Jaskier pulled his collar into his hands and kissed him.

Geralt had good reflexes and bad instincts. He pressed into it without a moment’s hesitation, drowning in Jaskier’s scent, the feeling of his soft lips opening to him, the warmth of his body pressed against his own.

Jaskier broke it, leaning back only an inch. “There,” he whispered. “Now you can take that from me too.”

♡♡♡

I'll probably never finish this, but i like where it was going!

⁠♡icarus

[waiting4inspiration]

Intoxicating (Geralt of Rivia x Reader)

Summary: Geralt comes back to you, covered in a fine layer of some kind of pollen that fogs both your minds and leaves you craving each other. The only way to subdue the pollen's effects is to let it run it's course and work it's way out of your body. But that might take some time...

Warnings: SMUT, +18 only, minors DNI, strong language, unprotected sex, sex pollen, I wrote this a really long time ago, this is not proof read or edited so apologies for any mistakes

Word Count: 2,751

Geralt of Rivia Masterlist II Witcher (Netflix) Masterlist

He came stumbling back into the camp he told you to wait in. He didn't want you to come with him because he told you he didn't know what the Elves would do and that it would be easier to talk to them if he was alone.

Neither of you knew that the person leading these Elves to their possible victory of overtaking the city nearby was a Nymph.

You jump up as Geralt crashes through the trees, sweat dripping down his temples as he breathes heavily. You look back over his shoulder, trying to see if maybe he's being chased to be killed, that maybe the talking hadn't gone well.

But it's quite behind him. A stark contrast to the muttering swears words that leave his lips as he fights in frustration at the thorned bush grabbing at his shirt, tearing it slightly with each rough movement he makes.

"Geralt?" Your voice makes his head snap up at you, his golden eyes are wide and he looks like a crazed man. The thought of what the Elves could have done to him makes you take a step forward.

As you do, he holds up his hand to stop you and takes a step back, stumbling over a rock. "Stay where you are, (Y/n)."

But you don't listen to his words. You're too concerned about him and you want to make sure he's alright and not injured to listen to him. Besides, you know that he tends to push people away, especially when he's injured and especially you because he doesn't want you to feel bad that he got hurt.

You walk closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him as you look in his eyes, trying to figure out what happened to him. The moment his eyes lock with yours, you notice how his pupils dilate. You can see the lust in his eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat in your chest.

"What happened? What did they do to you?" you ask in a whisper, your eyes scanning over the rest of his body to check for wounds. You don't see any.

All you can see is a thin coat of powder dusting his shoulders, chest, face, and into his hair. When you lift your hand, you can feel the powder on your palms and you rub it between your fingers. "What is this?" you ask yourself, moving your hand to dust it off his hair.

Geralt's hand snatches your wrist to stop you, his grip is rougher than usual, and when you meet his eyes again, you can see a small look of panic in them.

"They weren't going to listen to me," he begins, his grip loosening on your wrist, letting your arm fall to your side again, and he can't help stepping forwards to get closer to you. You're confused when he runs his hand down your arm like he does when you're both alone in an inn room and lusting after each other's body and touch.

But this doesn't feel the same.

"They wanted me to leave and I wasn't going to give in so easily. Their leader's a Nymph and she attacked me," he continues, his eyes dropping to run over your body.

His words only confuse you more because you don't see any signs of him being attacked. There's not even a mark on his armor. "I don't understand," you whisper, looking back at the shimmering powder on his shoulder.

The wind picks up a bit, enough to blow some of the loose dust on Geralt's body onto you. And you breathe it in, not knowing the effects it will have on you.

"I thought it was sand she threw in my face so she could escape. But when I tried to go after her, I started to feel..." he trails off, his voice dropping low as he steps closer to you, his hands resting on your hips, and he digs his fingers into them to pull you closer to him.

You breathe in more of the powder that falls from his hair as he leans in to try and kiss you. You stop him by placing a hand on his chest, leaning a bit back to look at his face. "Geralt, what did she throw at you?" you ask.

But there's no comprehension of what you said on his face. It's as if he's wavering between sense and lust. And you can see it in his eyes.

Then you feel it in your own body.

It starts like a buzz in your veins, making your thoughts hazy as your skin starts to burn under your clothing, burning after Geralt's touch. You see his lips move, answering your question, but you can't comprehend his words. Even so, you understand now. You understand what has him acting so.

It's something that's been created by Nymphs as a way to defend themselves. A kind of powder that when breathed in, elevates a person's lustful thoughts until it controls them. It's something you've only ever heard about. Of course, no one knows how to counteract this powder, this sex pollen as some call it.

You try to ground your thoughts, try to think of a solution, but you can't stop your hands from running up his shoulders, making more of this powder fly off into the wind for either you or Geralt to inhale.

"Fuck," he mutters as your fingers touch his neck. His breath across your face, the way his hands run down your thighs makes your knees tremble. He closes the gap between you, pressing his lips against yours.

You pull him closer, kiss him deeper to satisfy the burning need inside of you. As you weave your fingers through his hair, tugging it slightly, Geralt lets out an almost primal growl that vibrates through you. He turns with you close to him, pressing your back against a nearby tree as his hand runs up your side.

His head dips to the bend in your neck, the feeling of his lips on your skin makes you breathe out a content sigh. You shift on your feet, letting Geralt step closer, and place a knee between your legs as his hands start to pull your shirt up.

You're used to Geralt's seemingly high sex drive and it's not like you haven't fucked him before. That's what happens when you've travelled so long with him that not even he can deny that he feels some kind of a connection with you.

But somehow, this all seems uncalled for.

"Wait," you whisper, pushing him away from you so you can step away. "We just...need to think about this for a moment," you whisper, panting heavily just as he does.

You blink a few times to try and clear your mind of the provocative images flowing through your mind of what you want to do to Geralt and what you crave for him to do to you.

There's a layer of sweat over Geralt's forehead, his hands curled in fists as he tries to keep himself and his thoughts at bay. He would never dream about hurting you. All this time, his only interest has been to keep you safe, to protect you. That's why he didn't want you to come with him to these Elves. That's why he took so long to get back to you. He knew this pollen would affect you too much more than it would affect him. But in the end, he couldn't stop himself from seeking you out.

Now, teetering on the edge of self-control and carnal lust, he stares at you just as you stare at him, waiting for something to happen.

You're only a few steps away from him. All it will take from him is two long strides to get back in front of you. It's so tempting to do so, especially as he watches your body shake as you try to think straight. "(Y/n)."

You can't help the moan that escapes your throat at the sound of him speaking your name and you know it doesn't help him either. Your mewl at the heat spreading over your body urges Geralt to step further. And feeling his body close beside you makes you turn into him.

Fuck it, you think to yourself as your hand raises by itself to pull the Witcher in by his neck.

His hand cups your cheek, holding you close as his lips devour yours again, stopping you from trying to move away from him again.

All you can think about is melting into his kiss, reveling in the satisfaction that comes with his touch as he moves his hands over your body, slipping them under your clothing to touch your skin, making you tremble in euphoria.

You don't even recognize your own hands working to remove the construct of his armor so you can get more pleasure in touching his body.

And the moment you do, touching the scars over his torso, Geralt groans and it's as if you both melt to the ground.

Geralt can hear your heart pounding in your chest as he hovers over you, his kiss never leaving your lips as he steadies his knees on the leaf-covered ground. You pull him close to your body, desperate to feel his skin against yours as you bathe in the warmth radiating off his body, breathing in his scent that only seems to deepen your intoxication.

A moan slips into his mouth as he slips a hand down to the waistband of your pants, your nails dig into his back as a way to encourage him to go on. You want him to. You need him to.

Your fingers trace the curve of his spine, all the way down so you too can push down his pants that you have no relocation of loosening. As Geralt undulates his body against yours, you feel the fire of desire surge inside you, creating a slick to dampen between your legs.

Geralt can smell it as you lift your hips to aid him in getting rid of your pants. The sweet smell of your arousal is strong with this magical aphrodisiac. Whether it’s the effect it has on him or on you that makes it seem stronger, he doesn’t know. But it sends him spiraling farther, making him growl as he grips your hips tightly with a free hand. The other is situated beside your head to keep him steady.

Let’s see how long that lasts for.

“Fuck, you smell…” Geralt starts, resting his forehead against yours as you and he takes a couple of deep breaths.

Devine. The word travels over the air like a whisper that sends a shiver up your back. The leaves under your twist, brushing against your already sensitive skin making a breathy sigh leave your lips. “Geralt.”

He positions himself between your bent legs, running his hand up and down your thigh as he leans down to kiss you again, gently as he slowly pushes into you.

There’s no turning back now. The sex powder has got its claws deep in you and Geralt now.

You didn’t mean to bite his lip but the feeling was too much for your body to contain. He pulls away with a hiss, glancing down your back as your back arches against him, a loud moan leaving your lips that gets lost in the wind.

Fuck.

You’re sure the word utters in both your mind and Geralt’s. For you, it’s the feeling of being so close to him that he’s literally inside of you, the feeling of his skin touching you, rubbing up against you. For Geralt, it’s the feeling of your warmth around him, making you melt beneath him. It’s something he’s loved every time. But this time, with everything being heightened and amplified, it’s so much better.

He thrusts into you, pushing his body against yours until there is not a crack between you two. Geralt can already feel the release building up inside him.

You roll against him, meeting his every thrust with your hips. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you keep him close to you, afraid that he’s going to pull away and make this amazing burning in your body die. You don’t want it to die.

Geralt slips his arm under your hips, lifting your body up off the ground in one swift movement as he sits back, on the ground while keeping you close to his body. You kiss him, rocking your hips against him as you sink lower onto him.

With a hand on your lower back, he guides your hips in the pace he wants, trying to control your own desires. You fight against his hand, tugging on the roots of his hair as he breaks his kiss.

“Look at me,” he growls, taking hold of your chin between two fingers and lifting your gaze up to him.

Your eyes flutter open, locking with his eyes makes your heart skip a beat and a breath catches in your throat. It almost hurts to pause for a moment.

He moves his hand to cup the side of your face, making sure you keep eye contact with him as his other hand on the curve of your back starts to make you move again.

He thrusts his hips up. Your body trembles. But you follow his movements and it feels like it’s bringing you more pleasure than when you tried to chase your own desire.

As you move your body with his, rocking your hips with his, you can feel the swirling energy inside of you grow. It makes your muscles tense, your eyes struggle to stay open, and your movements become more rapid.

Geralt can feel your desperation grow, feeling his own well up inside of him. Now with you set in a rhythm, he allows you to break eye contact, dropping his head in the bend of your neck again to kiss roughly against the sweet spot he knows so well. He’s never forgotten it’s location.

You tense around him. He thrusts roughly up into you. You moan, and so does he.

It’s not long until that hot energy of desire breaks inside you, your walls clenching around Geralt making him dive into his release. He spills inside you, growling against your neck as his teeth bite into your skin. He holds you close, feeling your body tremble and shake in the aftermath of your own euphoria.

It feels like a plunge in a cold river on a hot day. The burning feeling in your skin dies down and the hazy cloud in your head disperses.

After a quiet moment, you find yourself panting, wrapped in Geralt’s arms as he keeps your body close to his. Almost as if shielding your body from any peering eyes in the forest; animals or spies from the near Elven camp to see if their attack against the Witcher had worked.

You lift your head, making him look up at you and his thumb wipes away a bead of sweat rolling down the side of your face. A small smile grows on your face as you lift a hand to push aside a strand of hair hanging over his eyes.

“Well, that was fun.”

Geralt chuckles at your words, his eyes glancing over to his discarded clothes and armor. He should be careful when he picks them up and probably wash them first in case there’s still traces of the powder on them. Unless…

“We should do it again. I’ve never gotten that kind of reaction from you before,” he mutters, looking back at you with an evil look in his eyes.

You look back over your shoulder at his clothes, smile to yourself when you understand what he’s getting at, and look back at him. “Obviously you haven’t tried hard enough, Witcher. I should feel offended that you think you need some magic powder to make me like clay in your hands.”

His stare becomes hard, just like his grip on your hips and his hold on the back of your head. “Don’t patronize me,” he growls, turning around with you still in his hold so he can place you back on the ground.

“Prove me wrong then.”

It’s a challenge he will happily accept. Especially because he knows there’s still traces of the powder in your system as well as his.

And there will be until dawn.

[hanzajesthanza]

what does dandelion (jaskier) look like in the books?

(jaskier (buttercup) also translated as dandelion, marigold, larkspur, and lovage...)

this post is a third installment in my "witcher character descriptions in the books" series.

physical appearance

physical build

Bounds of Reason, Pt. III: Beside him, a slim man with a fanciful little plum hat pulled down over his eyes, adorned with a silver buckle and a long, twitching heron’s feather, was reclining, gently plucking the strings of a lute.

Eternal Flame, Pt. I: A slim man in a little plum hat with a white feather jumped aside like a scalded cat, and the flowerpot crashed onto the ground just in front of him, shattering into pieces.

Something More, Pt. VIII: He looked down. A slim man in a cherry jerkin and a little hat with an egret’s feather was jumping up and down and waving his arms on an abandoned cart loaded with cages which had been shoved off the highway.

dandelion is slimly built.

a good start to this post would be to remember that n*tflix is only one in a line of adaptations, and it's not the first where jaskier's appearance has not matched that of the books - from an interview in 2001 where sapkowski answered questions from fans, one fan explained all the reasons for why he did not agree with the hexer's casting for jaskier. in his opinion, zbigniew zamachowski was, quote...

Kaszycki Nestor: Next - troubadour, Jaskier - he is pretty, young, popular with women, he is athletic (jumping on the roof in "Blood of Elves" and entering through the window to find Geralt and Shani). And unfortunately Mr. Zamachowski, in my humble opinion, does not have all these features. I know that the film does not have to be a true reflection of the book, but please, have some limits! The stories are really of the best quality, I wish you further successes and I hope that the film will be released soon, staying true to what you really wrote.

sapkowski, of course, replied that it was not his fault because the adaptations are not his to meddle in:

AS: All comments - especially requests - are directed at the wrong address. After all, like all vain artists I consider my work the only creative material. Sapkowski answers the questions of the active users of "Sapkowski Zone" (2001)

the fan is, of course, referring to this scene, which, to his credit, is indicative of a degree of dandelion's athleticism, likely gained over the years from escaping out bedroom windows of his various fiancees when their husbands arrived home:

Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: He slipped unseen into the garret, clambered out by the window vent, slid down by way of the gutter onto the roof of the library, and – nearly breaking his leg – jumped across onto the roof of the dissecting theatre. From there he got into the garden adjacent to the wall. Amidst the dense gooseberry bushes he found a hole which he himself had made bigger when a student. Beyond the hole lay the town of Oxenfurt. (...) He merged into the crowd, then quickly sneaked down the backstreets, dodging like a hare chased by hounds. (...) He climbed the ladder to the thatch and leaped onto the roof (...) Gripping the moss-covered roof tiles, he finally arrived at the window of the attic he was aiming for. An oil lamp was burning inside the little room. Perched precariously on the guttering, Dandelion knocked on the lead frames (...)

it's also worth mentioning that dandelion is able to pick up and swing around essi "little eye", who is like a sister to him. she is described as a young woman, not older than eighteen, and very slim.

A Little Sacrifice, Pt. III: "Ech, Puppet." Dandelion seized the girl around the waist, picked her up and spun her around so that her dress billowed around her.

although he does, i won't mention the part where dandelion picks up yennefer because it's spoilers for the very end of the saga and it's insinuated that he had help in doing so... but also for context, yennefer is "short, even in high heels" (the last wish) and "willowy, slender" (a shard of ice) so she, like essi, also likely doesn't weigh too much.

i'll also mention that dandelion sometimes exercises good judgement in quickly dodging or leaping aside when he needs to, but is not prone to bouts of athleticism or agility. he just seems... pretty average.

if you want more specifics, just think of a poet who spends half of his time writing, half of his time in brothels, half of his time in restaurants, and half of his time starving alongside an equally starving witcher. and none of his time at the gym :)

hair and eyes

Eternal Flame, Pt. IV: Tellico straightened up abruptly. His face’s features, still those of the Witcher, blurred and spread out, and his white hair curled and began to darken.

Note: The context for this scene is that Tellico (otherwise known as Dudu), a doppler (also known as mimic - a shapeshifting creature), has taken Geralt's form but is now taking Dandelion's, so the description here is of comparing Geralt's features to Dandelion's. White is the absence of color, so changing it to any color at all would have "darkened" it... though this passage was misleading before Season of Storms (which explicitly calls Dandelion blond) was published in 2013, and led many to believe Dandelion has dark hair.

however, he is also stated to have fair hair on his chin in the story following eternal flame, a little sacrifice:

A Little Sacrifice, Pt. III: The troubadour looked down at the ground and scratched his chin, which was covered in light, soft stubble (jasnym, miękkim zarostem). Drouhard, mouth gaping, moved closer.

i've also seen this translated as "peach fuzz".

and in the mentioned season of storms, he's blond:

Season of Storms, Ch. 4: (...) A dandy in a fanciful hat with an egret feather stuck into it, with shoulder-length blond hair curled with irons.

it's also mentioned in the original saga that his hair is long and curly:

Baptism of Fire, Ch. 2: As for Dandelion the dandy, he had already been mistaken a few times for an elf or half-elf, especially since he had started wearing his hair to his shoulders and occasionally used curling irons.

dandelion has shoulder-length hair blonde hair, which he often curls with irons.

Bounds of Reason, Pt. III: A pair of cheerful cornflower-blue (modre) eyes shone from under the bonnet, now shoved back on his head.

dandelion has blue eyes.

age

Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: "I know you’re almost forty, look almost thirty, think you’re just over twenty and act as though you’re barely ten."

Tower of the Swallow, Ch. 3: "You, Dandelion, are still not forty. Writing was drummed into you in the temple-cliff school with a cane in the butt when you were eight. Even if we assume that you have written rhymes ever since, you’ve served your mistress poetry no longer than thirty years."

dandelion is in his mid-to-late 30s during the saga and "looks" to be in his late 20s or early 30s.

and yes, he was at least in his 20s when he met geralt. here's why:

he is already a famous poet during the time in which he first met geralt in edge of the world:

Edge of the World, Pt. I: “Eh, famous witcher? Haven't you wondered why?” “I have, famous poet. And I know why.”

he only became famous after studying for four years, then did a fifth year teaching, and had to gain fame over at least "several" more years of travelling:

Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: (...) considering he had studied there [at Oxenfurt] for four years, then had lectured for a year in the Faculty of Trouvereship and Poetry. The post of lecturer had been offered to him when he had passed his final exams with full marks, to the astonishment of professors with whom he had earned the reputation of lazybones, rake and idiot during his studies. Then, when, after several years of roaming around the country with his lute, his fame as a minstrel had spread far and wide, the Academy had taken great pains to have him visit and give guest lectures.

and he only "seriously" began poetry when he was nineteen:

Tower of the Swallow, Ch. 3: "(...) But I don’t have to assume, because you yourself have frequently said that you started seriously rhyming and composing melodies when you were nineteen, inspired by the love of Countess de Stael. That makes one less than twenty years of service, Dandelion."

though it's worth noting that shani, a medical student at oxenfurt, is seventeen years old and in her third year, and it's also referenced in other areas of the series that novices at aretuza also begin their schooling around 14 years of age, if dandelion began his schooling at oxenfurt when he was 14, the comment about him seriously beginning poetry at 19 would make no sense because he would have already graduated by then. so perhaps there are different starting ages for girls and boys?

it can be estimated that dandelion started his education at the academy of oxenfurt when he was 18-20 years of age, due to the specific reference that he seriously became involved with lady poetry when he was 19 years old.

i'll say 18, and adding 4 years to this, he would have been 22 when he graduated, and 23 as a lecturer. now let's say "several" is around 3 to 5 years of travelling. he would have been in his mid-to-late 20s by the time he became famous, and in his late 20s by the time he met geralt. (and if you indeed want to have him enrolled in oxenfurt at 14, he would still be in his mid-20s by the time he meets geralt).

"that doesn't make sense because of the amount of time that passed between the short stories and the saga—" and i'm telling you, it doesn't need to. i may write a longer post about dandelion as a litmus test for geralt's character development throughout the series at some time, but the fact of the matter is that sapkowski likely just forgot about dandelion's age being a plausible thing, because it mattered so little in relation to the actually important parts of his character.

clothing

buckle up, buttercup! i've decided to chronologically structure this section of the post because dandelion features a myriad of outfits throughout the saga and he's described as wearing something different almost every time we see him; however, there are also some steadfast articles of clothing of his, which i'll make note of at the end. but these are all the times in which i can remember his outfit being mentioned.

edge of the world, pt. i

They climbed onto the cart. The witcher stretched out comfortably on the straw. Dandelion, evidently afraid of getting his elegant green jerkin (kubrak) dirty, sat on the plank. Nettly clucked his tongue at the horses and the vehicle clattered along the beam-reinforced dyke.

the last wish, pt. vii

“That's all. And now…” Dandelion pulled himself up, brushed his jerkin, adjusted his collar and fancy—if dirty—jabot (żabot). “…perhaps, gentlemen, you'd like to tell me the name of the best tavern in town and where it can be found.”

the voice of reason, pt. 5

A peal of laughter and the strumming of a lute resounded in the corridor and there, on the threshold of the library, stood Dandelion in a lilac jerkin with lace cuffs, his hat askew. The troubadour bowed exaggeratedly at the sight of Nenneke, the heron feather pinned to his hat sweeping the floor.

season of storms, ch. 4

Geralt didn’t know who he [the person who had intervened] was. But he knew perfectly well who the noble-looking man’s companion was. A dandy in a fanciful hat with an egret feather stuck into it, with shoulder-length blond hair curled with irons. Wearing a doublet the colour of red wine and a shirt with a lace ruffle. Along with his ever-present lute and with that ever-present insolent smile on his lips.

bounds of reason, pt. viii

Dandelion tried to trip Gar (, but ineffectively; Gar clung to the bard’s rainbow-hued jerkin (tęczowy kubrak) and thumped him between the eyes with his fist. Yarpen Zigrin, leaping from behind, tripped Dandelion, hitting him behind his knees with the haft of a hatchet.

eternal flame, pt. i, pt. iv

‘You don’t keep up with the fashion,’ the bard grimaced, brushing a chicken feather from his gleaming, cornflower-blue kaftan (chabrowego kaftana) with puffed sleeves and a serrated collar. ‘Oh, I’m glad we’ve met (...)’

‘Phew,’ sighed the bard, springing up, ‘I’ve got it. It’s fine, Geralt, we can go now. Admittedly my cloak with the marten collar is still there, but too bad, let it be my grievance. Knowing her she won’t throw the cloak down.

‘Dudu,’ he said to Dandelion’s strangely deformed cordovan boots sticking out of the rolled-up kilim. ‘Copy Biberveldt, and quickly.’

EDIT: note that the polish word kaftan does not refer to the same garment as it does in english, the long robe-like garment, but rather something like an elongated kubrak, (jerkin), reaching below the waist but coming up to above one's knee, long-sleeved or sleeveless. this was specified by @karanfile 💖 thank you!!

a little sacrifice, pt. ii

They had already sold Geralt’s gold signet for food, and an alexandrite brooch the troubadour had once been given as a souvenir by one of his numerous paramours. Things were tight. But no, the Witcher was not angry with Dandelion.

something more, pt. viii

A slim man in a cherry jerkin and a little hat with an egret’s feather was jumping up and down and waving his arms on an abandoned cart loaded with cages which had been shoved off the highway.

blood of elves ch. 1

He got to his feet, fastened his belt and pulled on his jerkin, all the while looking at the nobleman standing at the threshold.

baptism of fire ch. 2

Dandelion dogged Zoltan's company. He wore a quilted jacket he had acquired from the dwarves, and he had replaced his crumpled feathered hat for a marten fur cap that made him look like a scoundrel. In his wide brass studded belt, he had planted a knife he'd been given as a gift, giving him the look of a true rogue. The knife had a bad habit of pricking him in the groin every time he bent forward. Fortunately, he soon lost the roguish dagger and didn't have another to replace it with.

it's worth mentioning that this outfit is likely what he wears for the next month during his travels with geralt through to tower of the swallow / early october.

baptism of fire ch. 5

dandelion is injured in an escape and has to have his head bandaged.

Geralt took off his jacket and tore off a sleeve. The tip of the arrow had scratched Dandelion’s ear, leaving a cut that reached to his temple.

‘I will give you a few stitches,’ Regis said, still not paying any attention to the witcher or his sword. ‘Be brave, Dandelion.’ Dandelion was brave. ‘I’m finished,’ Regis finished his treatment. ‘Between now and the wedding, as they say, you’ll heal. A wound is perfect for a poet, Dandelion. You will walk as a war hero with a big bandage on his head and the heart of the girls who look at you will melt like wax. Yes, truly a poetic wound. (...)’

baptism of fire ch. 7

Behind Regis and Geralt rode Dandelion on Pegasus with his head bandaged like a war hero. Along the way the poet had composed a heroic song, in which military rhymes and melodies resonated and was reminiscent of their recent adventures.

we don't hear anything about his bandage in tower of the swallow so i assume it healed over the course of the month of september

tower of the swallow ch. 3, 5, 7

in september 1267, dandelion has a leather tube of manuscripts which was the first draft of half a century of poetry.

‘From these notes’ – Dandelion showed them a tube filled with papers – ‘my life’s work will be created. Memoirs under the title Fifty Years of Poetry.’

Dandelion pressed the tube with the manuscripts to his chest. He had not separated from it recently, even for a moment. You could tell that he was struggling with his thoughts. And the thoughts were winning.

‘And just in time!’ Dandelion shouted, coming up together with Angouleme and a small group of pilgrims, lute in one hand and his trusty tube in the other. ‘And not a second too soon. You have a sense of drama, Geralt. You ought to write works for the theatre!’

he loses it in anna henrietta's closet sometime in april 1268 when he cheated on the duchess with baroness nique.

‘Dandelion!’ Geralt had only just noticed what he should have noticed much earlier. ‘Your priceless tube! Your centuries of poetry! The messenger didn’t have them. They were left in Toussaint!’ ‘They were.’ The bard nodded indifferently. ‘In Little Weasel’s wardrobe, under a pile of dresses, knickers and corsets. And may they lie there forever.’

lady of the lake ch. 3

The man who greeted them was Dandelion, coiffured and arrayed like a prince.

lady of the lake ch. 4

He found Dandelion in the knights’ hall. The poet was wearing a crimson beret, as big as a loaf of sourdough rye bread, and a matching doublet richly embroidered with golden thread. He was sitting on a curule seat with his lute in his lap and reacting with careless nods to the compliments of the ladies and courtiers surrounding him.

lady of the lake ch. 11

‘You are free to go, Viscount.’ ‘And my property?’ yelled Dandelion. ‘Eh? You can keep my chattels, copses, forests and castles, but give me back, sod the lot of you, my lute, my horse Pegasus, a hundred and forty talars and eighty halers, my raccoon (szopami) -lined cloak, my ring—’

A ducal messenger caught up with them almost at the very border of Toussaint, from where one could already see Gorgon Mountain. He was pulling behind him a saddled Pegasus and was carrying Dandelion’s lute, cloak and ring. He ignored the question about the one hundred and forty talars and eighty halers. He listened stony-faced to the bard’s request to give the duchess a kiss.

his hat

up until baptism of fire ch. 2 / mid-august of 1267, dandelion wears a plum hat with an egret or heron's feather, a sight which is iconic:

Geralt knew this little hat (kapelusik) and this feather, which were famed from the Buina to the Yaruga, known in manor houses, fortresses, inns, taverns and brothels. Particularly the brothels. ‘Dandelion!’

it's called a "bonnet" in the official english translations, but this is somewhat misleading as it is called "kapelusik" in polish, translating to "little hat" because it's just the diminutive of hat (kapelusz), likely indicating that it's a hat that is not a wide-brimmed hat.

"bonnet" is not completely out of line with the character, because it likely refers to a tudor bonnet (as opposed to, like, a milkmaid's bonnet), and at this point is just a feature of the translation. as you can read above dandelion also wore a large beret in toussaint, which is essentially what a tudor bonnet is without the brim.

in season of storms, it's clarified as to what shape and material dandelion's hat is made of, as geralt compares the hat of frans torquil, a constable of gors velen, to dandelion's:

The constable took off his hat and brushed needles and seeds from it. His headgear was of identical cut to Dandelion’s, only made of poorer quality felt. And instead of an egret’s feather it was decorated with a pheasant’s tail feather.

we can infer from this that dandelion's hat is made of a high-quality felt, and is like a hunter's cap (i've had this reference saved for a while)

though make note that his hat has an egret or a heron's feather:

his lute

dandelion received his lute as an apology from the elf toruviel who broke his previous one. her lute was a work of elven craftsmanship.

Edge of the World, Pt. VIII: “By the gods, Geralt.” Dandelion stopped playing, hugged the lute and touched it with his cheek. “This wood sings on its own! These strings are alive! What wonderful tonality! (...)” (...) laughed Dandilion, carefully turning the delicately engraved lute pegs.

Time of Contempt, Ch. 5: He removed a lute from the saddle’s pommel. It was a unique, magnificent instrument with a slender neck. This was a present from a she-elf, he recalled, stroking the inlaid wood. It might end up returning to the Elder Folk . . . Unless the dryads leave it by my dead body . . .

his horse

he has a horse during the events of the short stories, but during the massacre of cintra and the flight from the jaruga, this horse is stolen:

Something More, Pt. VIII: ‘What are you doing here, Dandelion? How did you get here?’ ‘What am I doing?’ the bard yelled. ‘You want to know? I’m fleeing like everybody else, I was bumping along on that cart all day! Some whoreson stole my horse in the night! Geralt, I beg you, get me out of this hell! (...)’

in blood of elves, he's gotten a new bay gelding, and in time of contempt and baptism of fire it's revealed this horse is named pegasus.

Blood of Elves, Ch. 5: Dandelion smacked his lips at his bay gelding and rode on, making his way through the crowds roaming the streets.

Time of Contempt, Ch. 5: The ravine was sombre and damp, and the wet clay and carpet of rotten leaves lying on it muffled the thudding of his dark bay gelding’s hooves. He’d called the horse ‘Pegasus’. Pegasus walked slowly, head hanging down. He was one of those rare specimens of horse who could never care less.

Baptism of Fire, Ch. 5: She [Milva] first recovered Pegasus. The poet’s gelding was ignoring the kicks to the ribs and the cries of the peasant who was riding him. He would not gallop and walked among a birch grove sluggishly, lazy and slow. The peasant was left far behind the rest of the horse thieves. When he heard and saw Milva approaching from behind, he jumped off the horse (...) Milva (...) jumped into the saddle, ringing the lute strings strapped to the saddle. Familiar with the horse, she was able to force the gelding to a gallop. Or rather a sluggish run, which Pegasus considered a gallop.

tl;dr

his physical appearance: blonde, long-haired, curls hair with irons. blue-eyed. slim. looks to be in his late 20s, though he is mid-30s. ever-present insolent smile.

his usual outfits: jerkins and doublets in a vertiable rainbow of colors, including rainbow! his "basics" or undergarments worn underneath include shirts with lace cuffs and ruffles. he also has some jewelry and fur-lined cloaks.

his outfits change during the travels with geralt in august - september of 1267, and during his stay in toussaint in october 1267 - april 1268. see baptism of fire, lady of the lake sections for more.

his hat: plum hat with egret or heron's feather. see section. he doesn't have it after mid-august of 1267.

his lute: elvish. see section.

his horse: a lazy dark bay gelding named 'pegasus'.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern Au) - Ransom

Geralt has always had a love for horses. For many decades, his only companions on the Path were horses. He grew up around them in Kaer Morhen, and was a total Horse Girl. Decades saw the horse decline as the main method of transportation, but Geralt stayed a Horse Girl.

Yennefer almost had a stroke the day he brought home a dwarf miniature pony. She was the tiniest, fluffiest, fattest little thing Yennefer had ever seen. Geralt had named her Roach, and from the way he had holding her in his arms, Yennefer knew there was no way she could ever ask him to give her up.

And of course Geralt's bedroom is horse themed. Blankets, posters, plushies, and various selfies of him with horses litter the room.

He even has a few stick horses he commissioned from a local artist. Each one has its own removable bridle and decorative leather chanfron. He and Jaskier sometimes take them out, jump on their hoverboards with them, and glide around the house.

Yennefer takes pictures and videos every time because one of them always crashes. It's usually Jaskier because he's too busy making jokes or giggling about the word 'cock horse' to pay attention to what he's doing.

And there's just something funny about a massive, hulking Witcher, straddling a stick horse and gliding around on a hoverboard.

Geralt's pride and joy is his horse figurine collection. He has a set of floor to ceiling shelves a little over half-filled with figurines.

70% of the figures are rare collectibles and special editions. Geralt has them arranged by color, pose, and collection. The other 20 % are custom scuplts and paints that he has done himself. He's very proud of them, and they are very well done. His favorite is the bay stallion that he made custom tack for so it would look like a black winged alicorn.

Geralt is almost neurotically protective of them.

Mostly because a certain someone keeps coming into his room and f***ing touching his horses!

Every once in a while, just for sh*ts and giggles, Jaskier will go into Geralt's room and mess with his figurines. The first time he did it, he just moved some of the horses just a tiny bit to one side.

It had taken Geralt a few days to figure out why it looked like there was something off with his collection. He'd been pretty annoyed, but there had been no harm done, so he'd let it slide.

He'd been a little more vocal about his disapproval when Jaskier switched some of the horses around on the shelves.

Geralt had been on high alert after that. He had a special set of shelves that looked like a little tower of miniature stables. There was a horse in every stable box. These were different from the other figurines. Each one was custom made by Geralt. One for every Roach he'd shared the Path with.

After a few more times of suddenly noticing that one of his horses had been moved, dressed up in a little costume, or replaced by a random a** object, Geralt realized that Jaskier was not going to harm his precious collectibles, and that he was blatantly leaving his special collection alone.

Jaskier never, ever when anywhere near that shelf, and never even thought about so much as breathing on one of its horses. He knew how much they meant to Geralt, and he was not going to risk damaging one in any way.

The bard always took great care to never do anything that would damage the figurines in any way, and he even left a little note on the bottom of the random object with the location of the missing horsie. He always left the swapped figurine in a safe place, where no harm would befall it.

It was now routine for Geralt to come in, and immemdiately start looking for what was out of place when it smelled like Jaskier had been in his room. Or even if Geralt just suspected that he had been.

In spite of knowing his collectibles were in safe hands, there was nevertheless a small amount of aggravation and anxiety that Geralt felt when he discovered Jaskier had f**ked with his horses, or worse, kidnapped one.

The kidnapping was the worst. Jaskier would kidnap a horse and have Geralt go on a quest or pay a ransom of some kind. The things he had to do to get his "baby" back were sometimes simple. Sometimes Geralt would have to make dinner, do a prank call, or spend the day making some kind of random noise whenever Yennefer or Jaskier said a certain word. They were things Geralt could do from the comfort of his own home, where it was just him and his family to witness the f**kery.

But sometimes, the quests or ransoms were just diabolical.

The last ransom he'd had to pay had demanded that he walk up to a random stranger and say, "Excuse me, Daddy, can I get a picture with you for my wives?" That had been incredibly awkward, to say the least.

Jaskier seemed to favor making Geralt embarrass himself, and this time was going to be no different.

Geralt's throat went dry as he anxiously read the note. His hands were not shaking, it was just the breeze from the open bedroom window! Yeah, that was it. He was definitely not shaking. Witchers didn't shake!

The demands were simple. Absurd, but simple. Dread settled in his belly. This was definitely a joint effort from the Chaotic Siblings. The demand was cleverly designed to cause him the maximum amount of discomfort by putting him in a public space, and purposfully doing something to draw attention to himself.

A**holes! No wonder they were nowhere to be found!

Geralt considered searching the house for the missing figurine, but decided that the two idiots would not have simply hidden it. No, they would have it with them. The thought made Geralt's heart skip a beat. If they had it with them, and anything happened....

Geralt rushed to Van Roach and headed for the place the ransom note instructed him to.

The door chime jangled, cheerfully announcing Geralt's arrival to the enitre shop. Conversation died an instant death as everyone in the shop turned to gawk. Nothing could kill conversation faster than a Witcher.

The man at the counter stared. The customers in the waiting area stared. The people sitting in the chairs in the work area stared. The employees stared.

Geralt slapped a sticky note on the refrigerator of his mind and started his mental list of Things Those Two Kn*bs Are Going To Suffer For.

Geralt rumbled to the man behind the counter that he was doing a walk-in. The man nodded nervously and put him on the list, then politely asked him to have a seat in the waiting area.

Geralt could feel all the silent eyes on him as he waited. He carefully sat in the fancy chair that looked woefully inadequate for the task of holding a Witcher. He held his breath, thinking light thoughts, and praying that it didn't collapse.

No one in the lobby did anything so rude as getting up and moving, but Geralt did notice the way they non-chalantly leaned away from him.

He wondered if it was because he was a Witcher, and they were scared of him, or if they just didn't want to be too close in the event that the tiny little chair gave out.

The lady that came to get the next client made a valiant effort to not look like she was terrified when Geralt was given to her. He couldn't blame her. This was probably the first time a Witcher had ever come in here.

The lady had regained her mental footing as she listened to Geralt stumble through his request. It was kind of hard to be afraid of him when he was sitting there, looking completely lost and uncomfortable.

He grudgingly explained the situation to the young woman, and was pleasantly surprised when she offered him a clever option that he would have never thought of.

Geralt sat stiffly in the chair as the woman started working, feeling awkward and out of place with all the eyes that he could feel on him. He felt a little less like he was on display once the chatter picked back up again. It meant that the novelty of his presence was wearing off, and everyone was turning their attention back to their own business.

He was f***ing aggravated about the ransom, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was kind of cheating his way out of it. The instructions hadn't been terribly specific, and he was going to expoit it to his advantage. He smiled a little to himself, knowing that it was going to p*ss the Chaotic Siblings off.

Geralt had nervously looked at himself in the mirror when he was done. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. The other clients seemed to like it, judging by the admiring looks and shy compliments he received as he was ushered back to the front counter.

The man at the counter informed him that the bill had already been paid. Geralt 'hmm'd and nodded. Well, at least Jaskier had had the decency to pay for the bullsh*t he'd just put him through.

Geralt took a deep breath, and after two hours of sitting in a chair and being stared at by everyone that came in, walked out of the salon with hidden rainbow hair.

The sylist had been kind enough to give him a much needed trim and put his hair back up in his usual style. He had wanted to walk out with his hair down, so the colors wouldn't show, but he knew Yen and Jaskier would want to see proof that he'd acutally gone through with it.

He forced himself to calmly walk back to the safety of Van Roach. Running would have only drawn more attention to himself. It was the longest walk of his life. He felt like everyone and their d*mn grandmother was staring at him.

Okay, there was only a handful of people, but still!

He spat a steady stream of expletives the whole way home.

His return was heralded by the front door being flung open and a snarl of "Okay, you little f**kers, I did what you wanted, now give back my Sparkle Galaxy Kelpie!"

The figure had promptly been returned after Yennefer and Jaskier had stopped laughing at Geralt's dramatic entrance.

Geralt had the satisfaction of seeing Jaskier pout when he realized that the rainbow hair wouldn't show if Geralt left his hair down. Served him right for f***ing with his stuff, the little b**tard!

Geralt got used to the dye job after a bit, and wore his hair up so it would show. He got lots of compliments when he was out walking around, or walking with Wee Roach. He decided he liked it so much, that when the mood struck him, he would go get his hair dyed in some hidden rainbow/kaleidoscope variation.

And it ruined Jaskier's fun. Now he couldn't use 'dye your hair' as a ransom, or punishment for loosing a dare.

[teecupangel]

So, I'm watching The Witcher: Wild Hunt gameplay - it's amazing and I want to cry because in total it's almost 30h of videos and aaaaAaaaaaaaAAAAAA - and I noticed that when you use the witcher's senses, things glow red, gold and silver (?) according to importance, functionality and usefulness. And my ADHD brain immediately: hey, doesn't that look like eagle vision?

Me:

So! Witcher Desmond, anyone?

Here’s the Desmond (and some more characters) gets isekai’ed into the Witcher world ask I got before for more Witcher AU idea.

Witcher 3 is one of the greatest RPGs. Honestly, the main reason why I haven’t finished it is because it keeps crashing my PS5. XD

So a witcher!Desmond has been knocking on my head for quite a while now.

Of course, we are taking a lot of liberty from Witcher lore in this one, mainly to ‘preserve’ some of the core elements of AC lore.

Now, Witcher is known to be made so, in this setup, Desmond came to the School of the Eagle in mysterious circumstances that only their leader, also called the mentor, knows. Some say he was sold off by his parents. Some say he was a bastard son of a high-ranking noble that wished him to be striken off the ‘records’.

Regardless of the reason, Desmond grows up to be a witcher with three other kids.

Altaïr is an orphan who was sold off to them, supposedly of unknown origin. He’s quite close to a veteran witcher named Umar who treats him like his own son. (You decide if Umar dies in this one or… just goes on his own Witcher travels)

Ezio had a family. Or… he believed he had a family. His memories are fuzzy but he believed he had siblings once but he’s not sure if it’s real or if he was dreaming them. Giovanni, an older witcher and one of their training instructors, found Ezio as a small child near their headquarters with a letter saying that the child’s name is Ezio. That’s all he knows about Ezio’s past.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was actually taken from his mother when he was young and was supposed to be sold off when Bayek, one of the oldest witchers in their school, got into a fight with the slave ‘traders’ and Bayek had tried to bring Ratonhnhaké:ton home, only for them to find his village gone. Even with the witcher sense, the villagers’ trail ends by the nearest coast and Ratonhnhaké:ton decided to become a witcher to become strong enough to find his village (and his mother).

The four of them develop a close bond with one another, one which the other witchers don’t really try to push because folks get testy with just one witcher… four witchers traveling together? It’s unheard of and, frankly, would get them more in trouble than it’s worth. They do tend to find one another even though they usually travel alone, usually because they decide (on their own) to hunt the same monster or follow the same rumor.

Unorganized Notes:

Altaïr is the most proficient in signs in general and uses them regularly with his regular attacks. It’s normal to see him use Igni in close combat after striking his opponents with his sword or Aard to keep other enemies back while he’s focused on one of them.

Among the four though, Desmond has the highest mastery over Axii and he has no qualms about using it to calm down other people or make them do what he wants. During battle, Desmond usually uses Axii to confuse his opponents and create an opening.

Ezio rarely uses Axii as he feels uncomfortable manipulating other people’s minds. He usually cast Quen before charging into battle, just to be safe.

Ratonhnhaké:ton prefers to use Yrden as a trap for his opponents and also uses a bow with specialized arrows (poison, silver, etc). He’s also the most skilled in hunting his target and sometimes doesn’t even need the witcher senses to find clues.

Among the four, Ratonhnhaké:ton’s the one to mostly use potions and decoctions. Altaïr mostly just creates them out of curiosity and experiments with a lot of possible combinations but rarely uses them, most of the time just giving them to Ratonhnhaké:ton or the other two if they meet and his inventory is getting full. Ezio tends to only use them if he has no other choice and Desmond… uuuhh… Desmond mostly forgets them. They oil their swords liberally though. That’s just good sense. (“Good sense would be drinking-” “What’s that? I don’t hear you. I think you’re too far away.” “I’m right beside you.” “Huh? I might be getting something with my witcher senses. Please wait.” “That… that’s not how it works.”

Cristina and Sofia are two sorceresses that Ezio has… past dealings with. The other three don’t want to know the details.

I was contemplating if Leonardo should be their Dandelion but I think it’s better if we keep him as he is, the multitalented mad man we all love. He’s also a very avid Gwent player who taught the boys how to play Gwent. Most of the time, he provides information and rumors to them.

All witchers of the School of Eagles have a Hidden Blade made of silver. It’s mostly not used because, as veteran witchers say, “If you’re close enough to use it, you’re too close to death itself.”

Honestly, the plot is more or less ‘witchers doing witcher stuff and finding each other in the big world for some reason’.

If you really want a more solid plot, Desmond’s parentage has been left a mystery so we can play it with later. Making him the Ciri with William Miles being king would lead to an actual plot of the most powerful people in the world looking for him.

And hey, if Desmond is meant to be Ciri, he would have elder blood in him that has been mutated by becoming a Witcher, making him more powerful even if the powers of the elder blood should only be activated by women.

Or… you know… Desmond is an anomaly all by himself not because he’s the Ciri of the plot but because he’s the actual Desmond Miles from AC world that got deaged and transported to this world after the Solar Flare and he has no memories of it. The Wild Hunt is after him because he doesn’t belong in this world and becoming a Witcher granted him more powers than he should have.

… there was also this vague idea I had of Desmond being sold off to become a witcher but he ran away before he could become one then things happened and he became a sorcerer instead. Then he meets up Altaïr who is now a witcher and remembers him as the boy who ran away. But… that’s as far as I got. XD

[thewitcheress2389]

It’s Only Natural

When one’s expecting, it’s only natural to have some fear. However, Eskel takes it to a whole other level

I really love the Witcher 3 Eskel💖(sorry, but not fond of Netflix Eskel, they did him dirty and it still upsets me) I love sweet Eskel, so I’m writing this because I miss him. Enjoy some worried Dad Eskel as I try to write for him for the first time :).

You figured he was allowed a drink with Geralt and Lambert. He’s seemed so on edge lately; you knew he needed a break. Every time you tried to ask him; Eskel would just shut down. So, you figured the boys could calm him down a bit, get him to talk.

After all, your pregnancy was rather unexpected.

Vesemir always said “witchers are sterile as rocks” but it turns out the chances were just extremely low. I mean, how many witchers try hard for a kid when they’re told that it’s impossible? I guess all it took was one slim chance for you and Eskel.

And just like that, a true miracle was created.

Of course, he doubted you at first. Eskel never accused you of cheating. He could never do that. The witcher just figured that you were sick or something because there was absolutely no way that he managed to get you pregnant. It was impossible.

But then you guys went to a oneiromancer, who confirmed not only that you were pregnant, but that Eskel was indeed the father. Since this was proof enough for him, he took you straight to Kaer Morhen. In his mind, it was the safest place for you and the baby.

After all, a baby like this has never been born before.

Vesemir was speechless but supportive, Lambert teased Eskel, and it was just a reminder for Geralt to go and find Ciri. However, that in turn had him brining back a being called Uma, and a lot of other things before this evening where all the witchers were drinking together.

You and Yen decided to sleep. Well, she was upset, and you were just tired.

After telling Eskel that you would leave a candle lit for him, so he could see when he came into the room, you went up. Of course, he offered to walk you up, which resulted in teasing from the other two. Eventually, you convinced him to stay, and that was that.

Several hours later...

You weren’t sure how late in the night it was, but you heard something crashing and falling in your room before another thud followed suit. You would be worried if you didn’t hear the light swearing that identified the intruder as Eskel.

“That is why I left a candle going Eskel...” You mumbled sleepily, barely catching a glimpse of his figure as he stood up in the darkness.

“Sorry...but it was so bright...made my head hurt...” The witcher mumbled before stumbling over to the bed.

He was drunk. You should’ve guessed this would happen.

“It’s one candle...” You said with a slight giggle as you sleepily moved yourself to a sitting position. Before he could hurt himself, you grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the bed, where he fell rather dramatically on.

“Eskel, Eskel...you’re gonna regret this in the morning.” You said with a smile while moving to help him take off his boots and jerkin. However, he was not smiling, even in his drunken state, he appeared solemn.

“I’m sorry...” He said in a tipsy manner, but it was still sincere.

“Eskel, love, it’s okay...” You told him, but he just shook his head and covered his eyes with his hand. It was hard for you to make out, but it sounded like he was about to cry.

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, moving to rub his shoulder.

“What if...What if the baby turns out looking like Uma...or some other horrible looking monster...all because of these mutations...” He said, his voice sounding like a whimper behind his hand. 

There you have it.

That’s what’s been bothering him this whole time.

Perhaps a little of his behavior could be blamed on the fact that he never thought he could conceive a child, but a majority of it came from guilt. Eskel was guilty over the fact that his mutations could cause abnormalities in the baby. 

The very thought tore him apart inside, but he hid that behind the stoic face of a witcher. 

“Eskel...hey...” You gave him a slight hug as he tried his upmost hardest to hide behind his drunken tears. As you did this, you felt the slightest movement in your 7-month pregnant belly. You placed your hand there before moving to grab Eskel’s hand, placing it there as well.

“Feel that...feels like a normal healthy baby to me...” You told him softly, moving his hand around as the baby kicked. Eskel just stared, calming down slightly as he took in your words before smiling slightly. You were glad to see he was feeling a bit better.

Even though you knew he would not remember your words at all tomorrow.

“There...now, let’s get some sleep.” Was all you had to say before he collapsed beside you, still with one boot on. You shook your head before quickly removing it and snuggling in beside him.

And, of course, when he woke up the next day, he was utterly confused as to why you were smiling at him. Eskel just shook it off before acting like nothing was bothering him, kissing you in the morning and walking off to see what Vesemir wanted him to do today.

But you were just glad you knew what was bugging him.

Now you can spend the coming days convincing him that the baby was going to be just fine.

[whereplotbunniesgotodie]

Here's your blessing Geralt

Geralt said his blessing would be to not have the bard around anymore? So be it. Jaskier would do just that, he would take himself off the witcher's hands... But apparently the mountains and her more monstrous inhabitants have other plans for the bard.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries from a monster attack. I mean nothing more than canon, in fact probably less so than canon but still.

Angst with a happy ending

Cross posted here and on ao3

'If life could give me one blessing…' 

Jaskier let out a shaking breath as he picked his way down the slope. So Geralt wanted him gone?  Well fine... Jaskier would just go ahead and take himself off Geralt's hands then. 

His lute jostled on his back with each step and he did his best to steady it, it wouldn't be good to have the instrument damaged.

Blue eyes glanced back up the slope, searching for movement, for a sign of Geralt on his way down. When Jaskier saw nothing and his heart sank further to his stomach, he looked away. Of course he wouldn't come. The witcher had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of the bard, how little Jaskier meant. Jaskier wanted to be angry, to storm back up the mountain and yell at the Witcher, but instead he felt nearly numb. 

Jaskier was trying to be careful as the path narrowed even more than he remembered from the way up and he briefly wondered if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, he should have hit their campsite by now.  He was heading towards the sunset though and he was sure they had headed away from it on the way up.  Too distracted by his thoughts, and the ever growing hole that seemed to be taking over his entire chest, the bard didn't hear the step behind him until a growl alerted him to how close whatever it was, well, was. 

He turned just in time to catch a sharp claw across his cheek, pulling a pained yelp from his throat. He hit the ground with a crash, his lute splintering beneath him. He reached up a shaking hand and ran it over his cheek, frowning when it came away slick with blood. He looked up as the creature lowered itself towards the ground in a crouch. He realized too late what it was doing, though he tried to back away. His hand shot to his hip, where a dagger lay hidden; gifted to him by Geralt 

The breath was knocked from his lungs when the creature lunged and set all its weight on him, laying him flat on his back, his hand yanking the dagger from its sheath in his pained flailing. It took a moment but he gasped desperately to get the air back into his lungs before he pushed at the creature as hard as he could and swung his other hand, the knife slicing a sizable gash in its chest. It growled in pain as it fell away, it's legs kicking wildly as it attempted to right itself, and Jaskier immediately scrambled to his feet. 

He didn't hesitate a moment longer, turning on his heel and bolting. He could hear whatever it was getting back to its feet and, before he knew it was chasing him, gaining on him. He cried out when it leapt onto his back and both of them collapsed into a heap. He registered the knife slipping from his grip and sliding down the path and he could feel the white hot pain as claws dug into his shoulders and his lower back. He tried to struggle, to shove it off again but the pain as it sunk its teeth into his flesh pulled a scream from his throat. He felt them moving, sliding, but he didn't know where exactly they ended up. 

  He didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean to call out for him but his mind latched onto the vain hope that the Witcher would hear him.

"G...Geralt! Geralt Hel-" The creature putting its weight on the back of his neck cut off any sound he could make and he gasped desperately. Black spots began to swirl in his vision as the pain began to fade, though he could still hear the growling. Oh… he just couldn't feel it anymore. That probably wasn't good. 

He couldn't move his arms and his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He tried though, and managed one last look at the pink of the setting sun over the horizon. 

He couldn't breathe but the pain of claws dug into his back seemed to have vanished. He wondered briefly if Geralt had come and gotten rid of the monster but he cursed himself for hoping. 

"Geralt…" he said, though he had no way of knowing if he even made a sound. His vision swam and faded to black. 

~~

Geralt stood, fists clenched and shoulders tensed as he took in the empty camp. Jaskier was nowhere to be found, though his bedroll and small pack still lay in the remains of the camp. The sun was setting and darkness was creeping over the pink horizon.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose as he realized that any scent or trace of Jaskier was old. The bard hadn't been in camp since that morning. That wasn't normal and Geralt tried to ignore the concern he could feel rising in his chest. The bard, no matter how upset he had been, surely knew not to run off down the mountain alone. 

Geralt swallowed the concern and converted it into anger. 

"Jaskier!" He yelled. "Jaskier get up here!" He knew he was loud enough for the bard to hear no matter where he had stopped for the night.  "Jaskier!"

He heard no movement, no mumbled curses; not even a distant call of 'fuck off!' Any of which he expected. 

He glanced around before he shook his head. It was far too late to go out tonight and when the bard had left he'd been angry. He was probably just ignoring Geralt and the Witcher would come across him in the morning, cold and complaining. He sat down by the corpse of the fire from the night before to meditate. Closing his eyes he almost swore he heard a sound in the distance but when it didn't come again he ignored the urge to check it out, brushing it off as an animal.

The sun rose and Geralt arose with it. He couldn't help the frown that took to his lips when he saw the bard hadn't come back. The lingering scent from the day before had faded and now it was as if the bard hadn't been to the camp at all.  He quickly packed up the few things that had been left at the camp, including Jaskier's bedroll, which he hefted over his shoulder with his own and started down the path. 

It was at least a few hours of walking before he saw splinters of wood staggered around the path and thought little of them. Whatever it was looked to be destroyed and it was no concern of his that some traveler had been unlucky enough to break some possession of theirs. 

He glanced around as he walked, eyes searching for any sign of the bard, ears straining for the sounds he constantly made. Neither sight or sound alerted him to anything abnormal. In fact it was the sticky, iron scent of blood that pulled his attention down a nearby slope. He peered down and caught sight of a creature laying dead at the bottom of the small but steep incline. 

He almost walked away, almost turned his back to the corpse before he caught a glimpse of something just up the path, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight. That was the knife he had given Jaskier, the knife that was no longer in his possession and was tinted copper at the tip. He looked back down the incline with a start and finally noticed something red just beneath the creature. It was too bright and solid to be blood and too textured to be a trick of the light. 

No. No! 

He started down, trying to keep his expression from morphing into distress. He slid most of the way and stopped just a foot from the body… no. Bodies, it was bodies. He could see now, the lithe form of the bard curled beneath the monster. He didn't hesitate to throw the monster body off of Jaskier's limp form, not caring as it slid away down a steeper incline to the left. 

"Jaskier!?" Geralt felt his legs give out and he hit the ground with a thud. He reached out, hands hovering over Jaskier's cheeks, his shoulders. Finally Geralt steadied himself enough to grasp the bard by his shoulders, pointedly ignoring the ripped and shredded fabric that he felt beneath his palms, and hauled him up to lean against Geralt's chest.  The bard, limp in his grasp, with eyes closed, could too easily be confused with a doll or a corpse.

 One arm slid to wrap around Jaskier's back to hold him and Geralt's other hand cupped Jaskier's cheek to tilt his head towards him. The witcher almost yanked his hand away as his heart fell to his stomach. The bard was so cold, his skin sickly pale. A deep cut marred his cheek, dried blood crusted across his skin. A gash, no, a bite, where his shoulder and neck met stood out in angry blistered red. Geralt laid a hand over it shakily. The wound should have been bleeding! Why wasn't it bleeding? Not that Geralt wanted Jaskier to be bleeding, but bleeding meant his blood still flowed, his heart still beat… He still lived.

"Jaskier!" Geralt hissed as he gave the bard a small jostle. The bard didn't react, didn't respond and Geralt growled. He had to stay under control; had to calm down. The blood rushing in his ears and the growl low in his throat kept him from hearing Jaskier's heartbeat. The shaking of his hands, that had to be why he couldn't find a pulse. 

"Jaskier, wake up!" He couldn't let the bard die, not when he was the cause of it. He had sent him away, sent him waltzing down the mountain on his own… and he had been the one not to go looking after dark. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt tried again, his hand cupping nearly Jaskier's entire neck. He tried to calm down, to relax enough to be useful again. Finally, he managed to quell the blood roaring in his ears and the shaking of his hands. Then, blooming just beneath his fingertips was a pulse. It was nearly as sluggish as his own and did little to give Jaskier the appearance of life, but it was still there. Jaskier's heart still beat in his chest and Geralt still had a chance to make this all right.

He frowned as he eyed the bite on Jaskier's neck. He didn't have anything for it, not at the moment; but he could make something if he got to roach. He looked up the incline, he couldn't climb it with Jaskier in tow, not completely comatose anyway.

"Jaskier, come on. You've got to wake up just a little." He tried, voice quiet and far too soft. He tapped gently at the bard's cheek in an attempt to rouse him. "Jaskier, please." He said, voice nearly a whisper. He couldn't help but lower his head, pulling Jaskier closer until his nose was buried in brunette hair. Beneath the smell of blood and old fear was the overly familiar scent of cinnamon, blueberries and summer flowers, with the softest of vanilla undertones lingering beneath them all. Geralt found the scent terrifyingly comforting.

The scent gave the distinct feeling of…Home… One that so very few places and people gave him. It was warm and familiar, and caused Geralt to realize he might never get that again. Geralt had sent Jaskier away, told him that his absence would be a blessing. Now… Now, Jaskier was barely clinging to life and Geralt could do little to help him. 

His grip on the bard tightened slightly and he felt, for the first time since he was in training, truly overwhelmed. He couldn't carry the bard up the steep incline, couldn't leave him and come back, couldn't wake him. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, stuttering breath. Geralt felt useless and the feeling was so overwhelming he didn't notice the Bard's pulse get slightly stronger as he kept the other close. He didn't feel the heat slowly returning and the color bleeding into pale cheeks.  

He did hear the sharp, sudden and deep intake of breath from his arms and his eyes snapped open. Lowering his gaze, he found himself looking into open but glassy blue eyes. 

"Jaskier!"

"...Ger't?" 

The Witcher couldn't find the words he wanted, not surprising really, but he didn't really try too hard to find them either. He instead pulled Jaskier close, resting the bard's head against his shoulder as one hand curled tighter around Jaskier's back and the other cupped the back of his head, tangled gently in his hair, nose buried in Jaskier's neck. 

"You're alive..." He breathed, so quietly it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud. 

The bard didn't respond and for a moment Geralt feared he had passed back out, but when he leaned back enough to see Jaskier's face, he saw the still glazed blue eyes wide in shock. 

"Jaskier." He said again, his tone sharper than he meant for it to be, but he couldn't let Jaskier fall back into shock. Especially now he could see the bite had started bleeding sluggishly.

"Geralt…" Jaskier said slowly, reaching up and running his fingers down Geralt's cheek, the touch feather light. "You're… Really here." He cringed as the move caused the bite to pull, bleeding more steadily and a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. 

"Don't move your arm. You'll hurt yourself worse." Geralt murmured, watching Jaskier's expression curl in confusion. 

"So I am dead?" The bard questioned quietly. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're worried about me…Telling me how not to get hurt worse…But Geralt said he didn't care so I must be dead and you must be a figment of my imagination." His voice was strained, as if stringing so many words together was hard.

Geralt didn't answer him, didn't immediately assure the bard that he didn't hate him, because Geralt couldn't put into words what he was slowly realizing  the other meant to him. 

"I need you to stay awake so we can get back to Roach, alright?" 

Jaskier frowned but gave a small curt nod, eyes closing. Geralt maneuvered him to his feet and, though he had to do most of the work in pulling him along, Jaskier was able to follow his lead when the pair headed to the incline. The bard opened his eyes a few times but seemed unable to keep them that way for long.

"Stay awake." Geralt snapped when he felt the bard start to sag against him. "You have to stay awake, Jaskier."

Jaskier mumbled an apology as he tried to straighten up. Geralt looked up the incline and then at the nearly unconscious Jaskier and thought. He had an idea but knew he would have to be quick about it.

"Jaskier." He said, pushing the bard to face him and hold him at arm's length. "Listen. You need to stay awake enough to hold onto me. Can you do that?"

Jaskier swayed in his feet but nodded, eyes still closed. "Think so…" he muttered.  Geralt eyed the bite again, it had started bleeding in earnest now, worryingly so.

Geralt let go and quickly turned his back to the other and just as he'd thought, Jaskier sagged weakly against him. Geralt knelt and used the momentum to get Jaskier onto his back. As if by instinct, Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and held on.

The witcher brought Jaskier's legs to wrap around his waist before he released him. Trusting the bard to hang on, and keeping in mind the shallow but steady breaths against his neck, he started to climb. 

It was slow going, Geralt mumbling to Jaskier to keep holding onto him and Jaskier trying to do just that. At least once, Geralt was sure the bard had passed back out fully, but his grip didn't slacken. It took three sharp calls of the bard's name to get a mumbled response. 

They reached the top of the incline and, with a small amount of aid from Jaskier, Geralt pushed the bard to lay on solid ground and then followed up himself. As soon as he was no longer clinging to Geralt, Jaskier let his body fall limp. Geralt sat for just a second, just long enough to calculate how far from roach they were before he shuffled to Jaskier's side. 

"One more time Jask, wake up and stay awake." Geralt said sharply, the only tone that seemed to really snap Jaskier to attention.

Jaskier made a small noise, possibly an objection, in the back of his throat but his eyes did blink open blearily. Geralt glanced up towards the path and then back at Jaskier. Decision made, he stood and then leaned down to scoop up the bard quickly. Holding him in a bridal carry, he jostled the bard only enough to secure his grip on him. Jaskier, despite the manhandling, stayed worryingly silent. He glanced down and saw that, while Jaskier did indeed still have his eyes open, he was far too busy staring intently, or as intently as he could seeing as his eyes were still glassy and far away, at Geralt's face. 

Geralt decided he would question that later, they didn't have time now, and started down the mountain at a pace that couldn't be called a run, but only because of how careful the Witcher had to be.

He reached Roach even quicker than he anticipated, and quickly laid Jaskier into the grass beside her before immediately digging through the nearest saddle bag. 

Roach, for her part, seemed to sense Geralt's unease, as she nickered softly at him. As he searched she leaned her head down towards Jaskier and nosed at, and then gently lipped his cheek, pulling a soft, worryingly wet laugh from the bard that had Geralt freezing in place for a second. 

"Roach?" Jaskier murmured. "Hello darling girl. When did you get here?"

Geralt couldn't help but feel his chest lighten slightly. Jaskier was talking, he was laughing, he was staying far more awake than he had for Geralt, and even if it was because of Roach, Geralt found he couldn't be upset. Roach huffed a breath at the bard before looking back at Geralt, almost as if to say 'Hurry up you absolute buffoon! He's hurt!"

Geralt decided the other thing he would question later would be how the hell his horse had given him such a look, shelving that particular question in the back of his mind. 

Once he had gotten what he needed from his bag, he knelt beside Jaskier, on his other side seeing as Roach nipped and refused adamantly to move when he'd tried to ease her aside. With Jaskier still talking to the horse, even if it had at some point careened into less talking and more absently mumbling about Roach's lovely coat, Geralt got to work. 

The first application of salve,enchanted thanks to a very smug Yennefer last time they'd met, had Jaskier hissing through his teeth, eyes clenched shut and all playful mirth about his ode to Roach immediately vanishing from him. 

"I know…" Geralt found himself murmuring. "I know. But it'll help Jaskier. It's going to help." 

Hurts…" he hissed, bleary eyes opening for only a moment before he clenched them shut again. They didn't open the rest of the time that Geralt worked. 

Once the bite and gashes on his cheek and lower back, he had to turn him to his side for that, much to Roach's apparent disapproval, were covered in salve and then bandages, Geralt laid Jaskier gently on his back again. The bard, having passed out again, looked too worryingly close to how Geralt had found him earlier and Geralt couldn't help but reach out and run his fingers through the bard's hair, down his unmarred cheek, coming to a stop over his pulse point. Roach, for her part in this strange happening, slowly knelt and then huffed as she laid down beside the bard and her Witcher, laying her head gently across Jaskier's stomach.

Sitting there, the sun now high in the sky, Geralt couldn't help but fall into a light meditation, his hand never leaving Jaskier's neck, never leaving the steadying heartbeat beneath his fingertips. 

That's how Jaskier awoke, with a gentle press of fingers at his throat, a tightness from the skin where bandages were wrapped tightly, and the feeling of something warm and heavy across his stomach. Opening his eyes, he couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face as he saw both Roach, and then Geralt, sitting so close to him. 

The uptick in his heartbeat had Geralt snapping his eyes open only seconds after the bard and when honey met cornflower, he all but shoved Roach's head aside and pulled the bard to him in a hug, blatantly ignoring the horse as she let out an angry nicker and climbed slowly to her feet. He buried his nose against Jaskier's throat, taking the place of his fingers, and his hands wrapped around the bard's shoulders and tangled in his hair. 

Jaskier was so taken aback that he didn't even have the state of mind to question what Geralt was doing, instead, raising his arms to wrap them back around the Witcher. 

"Jaskier… You're alright.." he heard Geralt murmur against his neck, the movement of his lips and the warmness of his breath pulling a gasping shiver from Jaskier, despite the uncalled-forness of the timing. 

"Geralt?" 

Geralt tightened his grip slightly, cutting Jaskier off before he could speak again. "I'm sorry. Gods Jaskier I'm so fucking sorry." His tone was tight, angry, and Jaskier tensed at it. Geralt was quick to smell the change in his bard's emotions, the strangely citrus scent of confusion giving way to the sickly sweet scent of fear. 

He leaned back, golden eyes wide as he looked Jaskier over, and then met his eyes. "I'm sorry." He repeated, using as much willpower as he could to keep the self hatred and anger from his voice, leaving it instead soft and broken. "I never should have let you leave like that…What I said was just…" 

Jaskier watched him struggle to find the words, to speak more than three at a time and felt his lips curling into a soft, tentative smile. 

"You've so rarely apologized that I have half a mind to test you with silver." He said, attempting to joke with Geralt, but frowned when the statement pulled a look of hurt across Geralt's face. "Geralt… No, I know it's you…" he amended quickly, reaching out to cup Geralt's cheek. 

Geralt absently leaned into the touch, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he did. Gods, the surprise on the others face at the movement, the soft smile that slowly returned, made Geralt's heart skip a beat. " I'm sorry." He repeated instead of doing what he wanted to do and pressing a kiss to Jaskier's lips. 

Roach, apparently having had enough of whatever it was her two men were doing and the dancing around each other, huffed and stomped her foot before slowly circling around to stand behind Geralt and pressing at the back of his head with her nose, leaning him closer to the bard. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked, tone soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the other. 

"Jaskier… Can you say you forgive me… please?" He found himself whispering. 

Jaskier's eyes widened and he fumbled over his words. "What? Of course I… I mean you apologized and… I knew you didn't mean what you said, but I mean I'm still a little upset at you and…" the bard was stumbling over his words and Geralt had the urge to quiet him. Realizing that Jaskier was continuing to try and fumble out an acceptance, Geralt took a deep breath and leaned forward, capturing the bard's lips with his own and silencing the other man. 

Pulling back a moment later Geralt couldn't help but smile at the soft 'oh' the other let out. He had half a mind to say something else, something more, but didn't have a chance as Jaskier surged back to him and pulled him into another kiss. 

Geralt had the feeling it would still take some time for him to fully apologize to Jaskier, even if Jaskier himself denied the need, and he was already attempting to plan out more apologies for the future. For now though, he simply pulled Jaskier close, deepened the kiss, and for once, didn't ignore the spicy scent of arousal that surged from the bard. He did, subconsciously take note of the sweet, honey scent that lingered below the arousal. 

Love, he realized belatedly, the soft vanilla scent was love. 

[shy-urban-hobbit]

The first thing that Aiden was aware of was that he was no longer lying on the hard ground (although the matress he was currently on wasn't much of an upgrade). The second thing was that he was alone if the lack of any additional heartbeats was an indication. He took a moment to catalogue the various aches and pains whilst wishing painful and embarassing venereal diseases on any and all Mages.

It wasn't bad enough that they'd walked straight into a trap (although to be fair this one was using children as bait, what else could they do?). Oh no, he'd decided to do the whole 'one of you drink from the mystery chalice and I'll let the other one go' thing, not even trying to disguise its contents. Aiden hadn't thought twice about knocking it back before the Mage had even finished monologuing, shooting a smirk at Lambert before collapsing to the ground in pain as his guts tried to claw their way out of his body.

Speaking of, the door opening accompanied by Lambert's unique scent informed him that his fellow Witcher had returned. Aiden started counting down from five in his head, knowing that his heart rate would give away the fact that he was awake, even if he wanted to avoid opening his eyes for a little longer. He got to three before he felt a fist clench in the front of his shirt, pulling him upwards and into a solid chest.

"You fucking twat!"

Aiden winced, "Indoor voice please, Love." He said hoarsly, burying his nose in Lambert's collar bone, "Loud noise bad right now."

Lambert adjusted his hold so he was now cradling Aiden against his chest, "You stupid fucking Cat." He whispered, "What were you thinking?"

"That I'd rather chug poison than carry on listening to that arsehole."

"I'm serious, Aiden." Lambert tightened his hold, "I had to watch you basically commit suicide and fucking smile about it?!" His voice was getting louder again, but he was too angry to care, "You absolute prick! I had to watch you writhing on the floor in agony whilst I tried to force an antidote into you which I wasn't even sure would work, and then I had to practically sprint back to the inn with you, praying the entire fucking time that I wouldn't have to listen to your heart stop. I was...you..."

Aiden felt guilt start to gnaw at him. Lambert didn't need to say any more for Aiden to know he'd scared him, and scared him badly.

"I'm sorry Lam." He reached up to run fingers through his Wolf's hair, purring low in his chest in an attempt to both comfort and self soothe. Lambert allowed the gesture withought complaint.

"I know this doesn't make it right but, for what it's worth, I was never going to die."

Lambert snorted, "Don't talk shit. We could both smell what was in it. That stuff's fatal when combined with mutagens."

"When combined with wolf mutagens."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"The initial reaction is the same but, for Cat Witchers," Aiden shrugged, "After that wears off. For us, it just feels like a really bad White Gull hangover. On that note."

Aiden pulled back and proceeded to puke on the floor, luckily avoiding Lambert's boot.

"You deserve that." Lambert said dryly, wiping Aiden's mouth with his sleeve.

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"For not telling me that sooner, scaring me half to death or puking on the floor of the room we're sharing?"

"All three. I swear I would've told you about the poison thing if I'd had the chance. Only there wasn't a lot of time between downing it and, you know..."

Lambert couldn't smell any trace of a lie through the guilt and misery.

"As soon as you're well you're giving me a fucking crash course in Cat mutagens." He said, moving to lie on the bed and pulling Aiden on top of him., "You're also cleaning that by the way." He gestured with his head to the puddle of vomit.

"Be nice to me, I'm sick!"

[eponymous-rose]

One of the funniest Witcher 3 moments has got to be walking up to Yennifer and Ermion arguing about this super-dangerous magical mask Yen wants to use to find Ciri, and Ermion turns to yell at Geralt about how the mask could create these incredibly dangerous natural hazards and they get into it for a bit, risks and rewards, and finally there's a giant crash of thunder and Geralt looks around and goes "...wait, where's Yennifer?" and of course while they were busy arguing she just strolled ten feet away and started using the mask anyway.

[smolalienbee]

geraskier // inspired by The Oh Hellos’ In Memoriam

Well, it's a long way out to reach the sea,

But I'm sure I'll find you waiting there for me.

"There you are, love."

In front of Geralt, on the dirt road leading towards the very edge of the coast, stands a familiar figure. He seems thinner, now, brown hair turning to grey, but still those blue eyes sparkle in much the same way they used to.

Geralt stops at the sound of his voice and Jaskier takes that as his cue to move. His arms swing wildly as he approaches, slow at first, then faster and faster until he comes crashing into Geralt's chest, like a wave, like the sea crashing into the rocks, unafraid of how they might split themselves open on the jagged edges.

And Geralt feels the walls around his heart tumble down.

"I knew you would come," Jaskier says as Geralt's arms wind themselves around his middle.

"Did you?"

"Of course. Eventually, I knew you would find your way back to me. I've been waiting for you."

Geralt doesn't know what to say to this. Doesn't know what to say to Jaskier's unwavering trust and loyalty. He hums and presses his nose into the bard's hair. He hopes that he will understand.

"I've missed you," Jaskier continues. "Do you know? My treasured witcher. I've missed you so much."

He pulls away and as he looks up at Geralt, a wide smile spreads across his face.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he adds, always the one with more than enough words for both of them. “I just wanted you to know.”

“I won’t leave again.”

“I’d hope not!” Jaskier exclaims and finally he untangles himself completely from Geralt, though reaches for the witcher’s hand as soon as he does. “Come along, now. Let me show you home.”

Home.

Without a word, Geralt follows him home.