#witcher answers

[spielzeugkaiser]

I’m so sorry but every time I see Bear!Jask (the dearest of bard-Witchers), I excitedly go “the Bitcher!”

SAME. And it fits him!! He bitches like nobody else-

but Geralt only goes !!! if he stops.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride 🌈!!!

Jaskier or anything Hades, please?

a continuation of 1 2

Jaskier lies back in the bed of goose feathers, the brazier crackling merrily, the walls of the enchanted tent blocking out any other sound. "I really do love traveling with you."

Yennifer rolls over so she's partially splayed across his chest and he automatically raises a hand to press his fingers into each knob of her spine. "Because you value my company so terribly."

"I do value your company," he says, affecting a wounded tone of voice. "I would be partial to your sharp wit and talented tongue and scathing worldview even if you were not a sorceress or a beauty."

He means that sincerely, but he says it as if it's a joke. Yennefer hates sincerity. It makes her itch.

"Can you two shut up?" Geralt grumbles. "Some of us have work in the morning."

"Not everything is hitting the big scary monster really hard and really fast," Yennefer says dryly.

Jaskier hums in agreement. "Wining and dining the local count, and perhaps reporting him for corruption and maybe writing my brother about it, is an important intermediary step."

"It really isn't," Geralt sighs at the same as Yennefer says, "I still can't believe you're actually a noble. I thought you were joking."

He pouts, offended. Before he can launch into a speech about noble airs, Geralt says, "I thought he was lying too. It made the wedding a little awkward."

He thought their wedding was great fun, actually. He'd been very drunk for a lot of it and had made Geralt carry him.

"How'd your family react to you bringing home a witcher?" she asks.

"Well," he says, and almost lies, but Yennefer's a lot better at catching him at it than Geralt. "Not the strangest partner of mine they've met, to be honest. And they like Geralt far better than my sister's husband."

"Would I be the strangest partner of yours they've met?" Yennefer asks in interest.

Gods. They'd love Yennefer. "...Maybe? Certainly the most powerful."

Geralt clears his throat.

"That's just speculation and we're not counting it," Jaskier says firmly.

She frowns at him, turning her head just enough to glare at Geralt. "What are you talking about?"

"Interesting, isn't it," Geralt says blandly, "that Jaskier hasn't really aged since you've know him."

Yennefer starts studying his face with the intense sort of scrutiny that never leaves him sure if he's going to get dissected or laid. "It's my multi-step skincare routine."

[thedemonofcat]

Don't get me wrong, I love the fics where Jaskier walks up to witchers and demands attention/protection.

But where are my fics where Geralt plops Jaskier in another witcher's camp with a list of care instructions and a promise to be back in a week?

I love this idea, and the detailed list of steps for taking care of Jaskier is impressive.

1. Make sure Jaskier gets at least three meals a day. Keep snacks handy, or he’ll end up chewing on random plants found along the way.

2. To ensure a better morning, Jaskier prefers sleeping in a tavern bed. If you're staying at one, make sure the bard gets to bed before midnight—watch out for encores.

3. When camping outdoors, give Jaskier the softer pillow for a more restful night.

4. Jaskier thrives on attention and conversation. Engage with him frequently, or he'll sulk. He loves telling stories, even if they're exaggerated—just play along.

5. Keep a close eye on him in crowds. He has a habit of causing trouble or flirting with the wrong people. If he starts a brawl, get him out of there quickly.

6. Don’t let him wander off alone—he has a knack for getting lost or into trouble. Always keep him within sight.

7. Jaskier might be immortal, but it’s best not to test that theory.

[thebabygronckle]

i need a geraskier fic entirely from cirilla's perspective thats just abt her discovering dadlore in the most nonchalant situations and losing her shit about it

[inexplicifics]

Hi. I was rereading the fashion asks about using monster parts, and thinking about the conversations about Witcher armor Cahir had in Flung to Catch a Star, and the two between them got me thinking.

Cahir's mental commentary about the value of wyvern leather suggests that wearing monster-derived materials is already a thing of high status, but at the same time nobody has remarked on the Witchers' leather armor. Presumably this means that the finished product doesn't look much different from ordinary leather the way the Witchers work it. Meanwhile, any noble who was able to afford such a material would want everyone to know what they were wearing and display it accordingly.

So most such fashion would come in two main flavors, practical and aesthetic. One group valuing the material for its useful properties, and the other for the difficulty of acquiring it. (Until such time that the Witchers have the time to spare to start getting fancy about the things they make.)

That dual purpose makes me think that the White Wolf could make some very interesting statements with diplomatic gifts. Who gets something ostentatious and purely decorative? Who is given an object that is not only impressive but also more useful because of the properties of the material? Who goes home in an unremarkable leather vest that offers as much protection as metal armor…

In other words: Who is getting an expensive gift just because it would be a bad idea to upset them? Who is an actual ally they really do want to help or protect? And who do they want to support, without drawing attention to it with an obvious mark of favour from the Witchers court. If only their true allies know enough to tell what is useful as well as decorative it could form an interesting layer of subtext. (One that may have already been started with Milena's special hairpins.)

*chinhands*

Where's that "You, keep talking" gif?

I'm not sure I have anything useful to add here but damn is this some good worldbuilding fuel. Thank you.

[curious-trickster]

I love it when Jaskier is able to save Geralt, whether that be by sheer dumb luck and some guts or by immense skill like with people. Just anytime they both save the other is such a good time in my opinion.

How do you feel about it? Are you a Jaskier is the only damsel in distress or do you like them to switch off being the damsel in distress?

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

Oh gods, I LOVE competent/feral Jaskier, you have no idea.

I just think that there's so much potential for hilarious moments to ensue whenever someone makes Jaskier a little more dangerous than you expect him to be.

I think it's much more realistic to have Jaskier actually be able to defend himself from danger, seeing as he does travel across the continent on his own sometimes. Add in the experience he gets over the years from traveling with Geralt and you have a Bard that actually knows how to fight.

I take a lot of joy picturing Geralts disgruntled but reluctanty flustered face whenever Jaskier comes to his rescue or the small pleased smile he can't fight down whenever he sees Jaskier give back as good as he gets in a fight, surprising everyone around him because they assumed the Bard dressed in fancy clothing to be all talk with no real skill and Jaskier just flattened them.

Jaskier's face whenever he notices Geralts reaction is all smug and pleased, he can't help making some quips about it or sauntering up to Geralt, teasingly asking him if he liked the show, feeling even more pleased when Geralts face turns red in a deep blush that surprises both of them.

Like imagine them looking like this:

[the-bar-sinister]

Pal.

Pal.

You are at the hardware store, screaming at the cashier to give you soup for free.

You are not being civil or polite to the person you want something from.

You are demanding a service for free from a stranger.

the stranger you are demanding a service from literally is unable to provide you with the thing you want even if they wanted to.

You are demanding I write fanfic about a show/game/novel I've never engaged with.

About a pairing I've never seen before. With characters who I don't even recognize the names of.

That is how lost you are, pal.

You sound like you need to check in with a friend regarding your mental health. I hope you feel better soon.

previous interaction

[perseruna]

About the Witcher sex scenes I knew Henry was uncomfortable with them but I didn't know he was nasty to Anya about it. Is there a source for this?

the topic was initiated by the deuxmoi leak about his firing, which also alleges that his aversion to intimate scenes wasn't actually out of being uncomfortable but more likely out his "incel-y" beliefs. It was actually never stated that he was uncomfortable with the sex scenes in The Witcher. Sure, that might have been a factor, but it was never the reason given by him or the press. In S2 he refused two sex scenes because in his head "the characters wouldn't behave like that" which I discussed here, and I didn't agree with his stance.

"Female writers and directors were suddenly being completely ignored on set, unable to do their jobs. Every department head was complaining. He started making comments—it wasn’t a sexual thing, he wasn’t grabbing anyone or being lewd, but it was disrespectful and toxic all the same. He was distracted, he was late, he was obsessive, and a lot of people think the misogyny came from gamer world. [...] Eventually his disrespect escalated. He would rewrite scenes without even alerting the other actors in the scenes until it was time to shoot. He decided that he didn’t want any romantic scenes at all—no kissing scenes, no shirtless scenes, et cetera. He wanted complete control of storylines but really had no idea of the limitations of TV, structure, budget, et cetera."

He also just has a very weird way of talking about women when in comes to sex scenes. During his Tudor days he refused to wear the appropriate harness underway and this is what he had to say:

"It's only happened to me once, and it was very embarrassing," he admits to the magazine. "A girl had to be on top of me, she had spectacular breasts, and I hadn't rearranged my—stuff into a harmless position. She's basically rubbing herself all over me and, um, it got a bit hard."

Like, I don't really have an unbiased explanation, but his answer is giving me the biggest ick.

He's also gone on record that he "doesn't understand" sex scenes. And everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and it's totally okay to like or not like sex scenes, but to say, as a creative professional, that you don't understand them is embarrassing and weird in my opinion.

And when it comes to him being nasty to Anya, this was commented on reddit which correlates with the deuxmoi leak.

[thislotuseater]

I hate myself for not being able to get over tissaia de vries like... it's been years

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 23

Jaskier wishes on dandelions every time he sees one. He wishes for inspiration, his hair to look nice during this next performance, his rivals to lose, Geralt to be unwounded in his next fight, he wishes, he wishes, and he wishes. One day, he wishes that Geralt would love him back. When Geralt starts being nicer to him in what Jaskier can only assume is his awkward attempts at flirting, Jaskier begins panicking over the possibility his wish came true and he unintentionally brainwashed his friend into feeling romantic feelings for him. Geralt, meanwhile, is wondering why Jaskier has flirted with him for a decade at the least but suddenly seems so confused at Geralt's courting attempts.

[artistsfuneral]

I'm always a sucker for Witcher fics where someone comes to the keep really young (maybe Eskel?) and they don't speak the common language at ALL and it's even more terrifying and confusing what's happening to them. Cue lots of friendships and learning how to find their place!

ohohohohohohoho yesssss ❤✨ also isn't it canon that Eskel came from "mountain people"? It would make sense that toddler Eskel only speaks Norwegian Northern (also I started learning norwegian for no reason whatsover, so I am going to use my 100 words)

deaged!Eskel, shy toddlers, softe Geralt and awkward Lambert

It was common knowledge that most of the collected artefacts in the dungeons of Kear Morhen were cursed in one way or another. So it wasn't all that surprising, when one of them started to omniously glow once Lambert got too close to it by accident. It also wasn't very surprising that the youngest wolf was quickly shoved away by Eskel, kind, protective Eskel, who promptly ended up at the center of the curse's magic.

The tiny toddler that appeared where the full grown witcher once stood, was unexpected though. Lambert had been prepared to fight a monster, but his drawn sword prooved to be rather counterproductive when it was noticed by big brown baby eyes that immediately turned teary at the sight of danger. The loud crying that followed strangled Lambert's heart painfully.

"Oh, no, no, no! Please don't cry, I don't know what to do, when you cry!" Panicking, Lambert did the only thing that came to his mind and he reached out to pick the tiny toddler up. The witcher looked helplessly around the room, as if any of the artefacts could provide him with the secret knowledge of childcare. Eskel didn't stop crying.

"Uh- Let's get you to Geralt, okay? You like Geralt right? You're best buds, he will know what to do."

Alarmed by the sounds of a crying child, Geralt was already halfway down the keep, when Lambert reached him. The - currnetly not - youngest wolf hastened his steps and practically shoved tiny Eskel into Geralt's arms. "Lambert, what on earth?" Adjusting his hold instinctively, Geralt started to rock the toddler in his arms, one hand gently petting the mop of unruly brown hair. "Uh- that's Eskel," Lambert managed to blurt out.

"Eskel?"

"He got cursed. Down in the dungeon. I didn't know what to do, not sure he recognized me." Geralt hummed. "If it truly is Eskel, then we might have a small problem."

"What, why?" Lambert's eyes darted down from Geralt's to look a the small figure sniffling in the witcher's arms. "He's was born up north," Geralt explained slowly, "didn't speak a word of common when he first got here. It took him years to learn." Lambert's mouth went dry.

What Geralt didn't seem to know was that Lambert could in fact speak most northern dialects. But what on earth could he possibly say to a tiny child he already managed to bring to tears seconds after meeting him? He took a shaking breath, "Går det bra med deg?"

Eskel's reaction was immediate. His little head snapped up from where he had been hiding it under Geralt's chin and he stared at Lambert with wide eyes. "Hva?"

"Går det bra?" Lambert repeated, trying his best to ignore Geralt's confused stare. Between snotty sniffles a small voice that sounded nothing like the Eskel they knew, the child answered. "Ja, bra."

Lambert let out a sigh of relief. "He says he's alright, probably just got scared." Geralt's shoulders relaxed visibly. "Didn't know you speak northern."

"Wasn't exactly needed until now."

"Can you ask him, if he knows who we are? Does he recognize us at all?"

Lambert blinked at the other wolf. Angry, at himself, for not thinking about asking such an important question. He focused his gaze back at Eskel. "Vet du hvem jeg er?" A wide, toothy grin spread across Eskel's little face. His chubby little finger pointed straight at Lambert and he exclaimed proudly, "Ulv! Rød ulv!" The action was quickly followed by a similarly enthusiastic pointing, this time at Geralt, "Hvit Ulven!"

Lambert chuckled. "I think he'll be alright."

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

[yeraskier]

five times everyone questions jaskier's sanity, and the time jaskier realizes he was (sort of) right all along. [inspired by yesterday's events... you know the one]

also on ao3

Geralt looks… different. Very different. Like his entire fucking face has changed different. 

He looked just like himself at supper last night, but now it’s morning, and suddenly, he looks nothing like himself. It doesn’t even make any sense. Jaskier briefly considers that maybe he had a bit too much ale the night before, but he’s drunk more than he did last night and this has never been the result.

Geralt definitely looks different. Very different. Like a whole new face different. He looks a bit taller, too, which is completely unfair.

Jaskier eyes him suspiciously, and he’s probably completely losing it, but even the man’s Adam’s apple looks different when he swallows. Gods.

He doesn’t realize he’s reached out until the tip of his index finger makes contact with Geralt’s cheek. The witcher freezes, spoon stopping midway to his mouth before he slowly turns his head.

Jaskier pokes his cheek again, and then his jaw, and then his nose.

“What happened to your face?” He asks, sliding in closer to inspect. He pokes one of Geralt’s cheekbones, twice. Three times, for good measure.

“Do that again,” Geralt growls in a way that tells the bard he most definitely should not do that again.

Jaskier drops his hand.

—

“Has anyone else noticed that something's wrong with Geralt's face?”

Ciri lifts her head from the book she’s been scribbling in as Yennefer eyes him skeptically through the mirror she’s facing.

“What are you on about now, Jaskier?”

“Geralt. His face. It’s different,” he says, stepping further into the room. “And so is his physique.”

Yennefer arches a perfectly done brow at him.

“Not that I’ve been paying, or have ever paid any attention to his physique or anything,” he amends quickly, “because I don’t…”

Ciri’s snicker covers up a muttered, “right,” which Jaskier pretends to not notice.

Yennefer sighs as she turns to face him, “Geralt is fine. He looks the same as he did yesterday, and the day before, and last week, and the week before. He looks the same as he’s looked for decades. It comes with being a witcher.”

“But—”

“Geralt is fine,” she says with a level of finality that lets Jaskier know he is not winning this argument, “and you’re an imbecile.”

—

Jaskier’s not going crazy, okay? No matter what anyone says (fuck you very much, Lambert!) he is not going crazy.

The man still walks like Geralt, and talks like Geralt, and acts like Geralt, and knows things that only Geralt would know (like the fact that Jaskier has also needed chamomile rubbed on his bum… more than once), so it must be Geralt, except for the fact that looks nothing like Geralt.

“Do you really not see a difference?”

Ciri groans from beside him, clearly irritated at her reading being disturbed. Oh well, she’ll have plenty of other chances to read during their little hiatus. “No, Jaskier, I do not see a difference.”

The bard sighs as he watches Geralt, or whoever the fuck that is, from across the library. It’s all he’s been able to do for the last three days, which, well… isn’t new since watching Geralt has become one of his favorite past times over the last decade or so, but that’s how Jaskier knows he isn’t going crazy. Something is different.

Jaskier has spent hours on hours taking in the man’s defined jaw, and his expressive brows, and his pouty lips. He’s spent so much time trying to depict the specific shade of yellow in Geralt’s eyes, and the curl pattern of his hair, and how long it takes his stubble to grow back after it’s been shaved. He’s spent far too long picking up on every little detail to be told that nothing about the man has changed, because so much has changed. 

“How could you not see the difference? Everything about him is different! I mean look at the shape of his face!” Jaskier exclaims, waving his hand wildly in Geralt’s general direction. “And look at his nose! Gods, look at that nose!”

Ciri blinks at him once. Then, again. She doesn’t blink for three beats and then, she blinks again.

“Look!”

She does look this time, and she even squints. Jaskier waits, watching her, mentally begging for that realization to dawn over her.

Her lips do a thing where they press together and push upward, almost like a frown. “I think you’re right,” she tells him.

Jaskier’s eyes widen, posture straightening in alert.

“His skin looks much more vibrant, I think that new soap Yen got him is working.”

His eyes narrow into slits, and Ciri turns to him with a cheeky grin.

“Very nice, Ciri,” he drawls, “very nice.”

Jaskier huffs as he slumps back in his seat, turning his attention back to Geralt.

She’s right, though, his skin does look more vibrant.

—

“Triss, you’ve got to believe me,” Jaskier whines.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Jaskier,” she says, “but I just saw Geralt, and he looked fine, same as he’s looked the last ten times I’ve seen him since I got here.” She continues her journey down the hall, and Jaskier is truly surprised by how fast the woman walks. 

“But he isn’t! He isn’t himself, Triss, I swear, and I’m the only one who realizes!”

Triss comes to such an abrupt stop that Jaskier almost crashes into her. When she turns around, her head rolls, along with her eyes. She looks as exasperated as Jaskier feels.

“Suppose Geralt’s face somehow did change, how would that have happened, Jaskier? Explain that to me.”

“Well, I don’t know how exactly, but it must have been the work of a mage. Or maybe one of his potions!”

Triss levels him with a flat look. “A potion? Really? Right, because witchers are running around making potions that can help them shapeshift.”

And when it’s put like that, Jaskier realizes how insane he sounds. “That doesn’t rule out the possibility of a mage!”

“You guys have been in Kaer Morhen for weeks now. Just you, Ciri, Yen, a bunch of witchers, and now, me. And last I checked, Yennefer warded this place so well Melitele herself could strike this area right now and everyone here would remain untouched.” She’s talking with her hands, something she does when she’s at her wit's end, something she does when she’s refraining from turning the person she’s talking to into a toad. “That, alongside the protections that were already set up, means that the possibility that any mage could waltz in here uninvited, or even come close enough to this place, to cast some face-changing curse on Geralt is absolutely zero.” 

“Yes, but—”

“You need rest, Jaskier. You’re starting to sound diabolical.”

With that, she turns on her heels and leaves him in the hallway.

—

“So… you and Geralt have known each other for quite some time now, huh?”

Vesemir looks unimpressed.

It’s an expression he’s becoming quite familiar with.

Jaskier flashes his most charming smile, “have you by any chance noticed any changes in his appearance?”

Dead silence. Great.

“Anything at all?” He presses on hopefully.

The witcher’s expression goes from unimpressed to murderous.

Jaskier has never bolted from a room so fast in his entire life.

—

Jaskier knows this isn’t really the smartest plan he’s ever had, it’s probably in the top five of the dumbest, actually.

He doesn’t know what he has to gain from watching Geralt sleep, but it’s better than just sitting back and waiting for answers to come to him. And alright, he’ll be the first to admit that it’s kind of (really!) fucking creepy, but Jaskier has to get to the bottom of this. So, watching Geralt sleep has to hold some kind of answer.

Many years of sleeping alongside the witcher have taught him how to maneuver without waking the man up, he’s grateful for that now in a way that he’s never been before.

Despite what many may believe, Geralt’s quite the peaceful sleeper. He barely moves, he breathes softly, his face remains soft and pliant— he sleeps like… well, an angel. Even with this brand-new face, all of these little things still exist.

There’s always a certain level of alertness, though, something Jaskier realized early on, but that seems to be nearly nonexistent tonight. It must be Kaer Morhen. Geralt’s at peace here. It’s probably one of the few places, if not the only place, where he truly feels safe. The thought makes Jaskier’s heart melt.

For the second time this week, he finds himself reaching out almost involuntarily. The back of his fingers run along the side of Geralt’s face, and the witcher releases a hardly audible sigh. Jaskier smiles, allowing his fingers to wander a bit, lightly tracing the lines of Geralt’s face, both sharp and smooth.

Geralt’s nose twitches, and Jaskier taps a finger to it. Definitely number one on the list of the dumbest things he’s ever done.

The witcher startles awake, sitting up so fast he nearly headbutts Jaskier. He probably would’ve had the man not fallen off the bed, and flat onto his ass onto the cold, hard ground.

“Ow,” Jaskier groans.

“Jaskier?” And oh, fuck, that sleep-worn voice always did things to him, and right now is not the best time for any of those things to be happening.

Geralt’s eyes zero in on him, and Jaskier offers a weak smile and a wave.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jaskier?”

“Trying to figure out what happened to your face,” he responds, and it comes off as more of a question than an answer

Even in the dark, Jaskier can feel Geralt glaring at him. Then, the witcher lights up the candles beside his bed, and Jaskier can see Geralt glaring at him.

“This again?”

“Yes, this again.” Jaskier hisses defensively, dusting his buttocks off as he rises to his feet. “There is something incredibly wrong with your face, and no one else sees it, but I do.”

“Jaskier—”

“No! I’m being serious right now, Geralt. Your face has changed, alright? It’s completely changed, and I don’t know why I’m the only one who has realized but—”

“Wait—”

“I’m starting to feel kind of crazy over here, and I—”

“I think I know what’s going on. Yen—”

“...don’t understand how everyone else can just—”

“Jaskier, you’re not listening.” Geralt’s standing, now, and he’s all up in Jaskier’s space the same way Jaskier was in his mere minutes ago. And he’s shirtless, which is very, very distracting.

But not distracting enough, Jaskier is on a mission here, Godsdamnit. 

“No, you’re not listening. Your fucking face—”

“My face is fine. Yennefer—”

“Your face is not fine, Geralt. I mean, it’s not like you look like a gremlin or anything, but—”

“Yen, she—”

“You’re still beautiful—”

“Yennefer is fucking with you, Jaskier.”

“I don’t think any curse could ever make you less beautiful—” Wait.

“Wait.” That was Geralt’s voice, as if he’d read Jaskier’s mind.

“Yennefer’s fucking with me?!” Jaskier exclaims at the same time Geralt says, almost breathlessly, “you think I’m beautiful?”

“Huh?” The bard answers dumbly, “what? Yes, of course, I think you’re beautiful. Woo-hoo, this isn’t news to anyone. Now, what do you mean Yennefer’s fucking with me?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. He just stares. He stares for so long that Jaskier starts thinking that maybe Geralt’s the one fucking with him.

“Hello?” Jaskier snaps a few times. “Continent to Geralt?”

The witcher seems to blink out of it and huffs a laugh.

“Remember last week when you replaced the soap Yennefer uses for her hair with an ink of sorts?”

Yes, Jaskier does remember. Vividly. It’s one of the best pranks he’s pulled on the sorceress since they started their little game. “And it turned her hair red.”

Geralt hums in confirmation, “well, you know Yennefer. She said she’d do something about it. I didn’t know what, but… seems like it was this. She casted a beholder spell on you.”

“A what?”

“It’s a spell that makes whoever it’s put upon see whatever the caster wants them to see. In this case, it was… my face.”

Jaskier gasps. “That witch.” She’s a genius. Evil, but a fucking genius. “Do you know how long until it wears off?”

“How long did it take Yen to get her hair back to black?”

“Five, maybe six days.”

“That’s probably your answer.”

Jaskier groans. Knowing Yennefer, it’s probably double that. “Gods.”

Geralt hums, thoughtfully. And then, “so…”

Jaskier doesn’t know where this is headed, but he doesn’t like it.

“About you thinking I’m beautiful…”

He gulps. Right. “I said that, did I?”

The witcher takes a step forward, and it was a big step, and there wasn’t that much space in between them, to begin with, so that single step has them toe-to-toe. “You did.”

“Well, everyone thinks you’re beautiful,” Jaskier grins, nudging him as he tries to play it off. 

Geralt tips his head to the side with a slight furrow in his brows, “not everyone.”

“Everyone who isn’t an idiot, I mean,” says the bard, “or a jealous prick, or a prejudiced waste of space. You’re beautiful, it’s hard to look at you and not see that. Most people see that, it’s not just me, ask anyone in this keep. I may not have had anyone on my side about your face looking different, but they all agree about your face being beautiful trust m—”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing that thing you do when you get nervous.” Geralt smirks when he says it, the prick.

“What thing?”

“The rambling thing.”

“I’m always rambling,” Jaskier tells him, “and I know this because you’re always telling me to shut up.”

“No, you’re always talking,” Geralt corrects, “and when you talk, it’s controlled. Whereas when you ramble, it’s hardly coherent because you’re going a mile a minute. You only do that when you’re nervous.”

Fuck.

Geralt leans in closer, lips stretching even further, “am I making you nervous, Jaskier?”

Fuck.

“I—”

Gods, they’re so close. They’re so close, and they’re only getting closer because Geralt is still leaning in like he’s going to—

“Stop.”

They’re not close anymore. Geralt is suddenly several feet away from him. He no longer looks smug, he looks confused, and… small.

“I know where that was headed,” Jaskier begins, licking at his lips and realizing how dry they’d gotten from Geralt trying (and succeeding!) to seduce him, “and trust me when I say I am on board, like all the way on board.”

Geralt cocks a brow, as if to say, then why aren’t we already naked?

“But, I want my first kiss with you to be with you.” At the witcher looking confused again, he continues, “I know it’s you, but I want you to look like yourself.”

The witcher sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been irritated by Yennefer more than I am at this moment.”

“I feel your irritation, believe me,” says Jaskier, “and I promise once this wears off I’m all yours, but in the meantime… we can still sleep together in a completely clothes-on kind of way.”

Geralt smiles.

And that’s how the two end up spending the rest of the night cuddling while plotting how Jaskier’s going to get Yennefer back.

—

The spell wears off a day later, and by the time Jaskier emerges from Geralt’s room the following day, he forgets what he was getting Yennefer back for in the first place.

He ends up baking her a chocolate cake as a thank you, with the words THANK YOU, THE SEX WAS GREAT on it.

The look of mortification when she sees it is priceless. Unintended, but priceless.

As it turns out, the best revenge is a bit of kindness.

[thedemonofcat]

When Jaskier's angry or upset, it's always "Don't touch me!" "Get away!" "Hands off!" And then the bard will be gone for hours or days until he calms down.

Now, Geralt understands this kind of reaction. He himself doesn't want to talk to/be around others when he's angry. Much less let anyone touch him. The thing is...Jaskier acting that way never fails to make Geralt feel like shit. Jaskier is usually so affectionate that the sudden cut off is jarring. The first few times it happened, Geralt had been sure that Jaskier was fed up with him and leaving for good.

However, Jaskier always returned. They would make amends, and the bard would resume his touchy, affectionate ways.

One day though, they had their worst argument to date. And although he had always come back before, Geralt was certain that this was the time Jaskier would leave forever. If Jaskier walked out that door, Geralt was sure he would never see him again.

So, unthinkingly, Geralt caught the bard's wrist.

Jaskier's eyes widened, anger replaced with pure panic. "Geralt! Let me go! Let me go right now!"

Geralt loosened his grip reflexively in response to Jaskier's panic. Did the bard think the witcher would force him to stay? He opened his mouth to try to explain.

Only, the world was...spinning. And Geralt's tongue was heavy. And everything was warm. Oh, he felt so very sick.

Then, the world went black.

An unknown amount of time later, Geralt woke. He felt kind of hungover but was otherwise fine. To his relief, Jaskier was sitting at his bedside.

When the bard notices Geralt is awake, he inquires after his health. At Geralt's reassurance that he was fine, Jaskier launched into a tirade about the number of times he had told Geralt "NOT TO TOUCH HIM WHEN HE IS MAD! AND THAT INCLUDES RIGHT NOW, YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH, YOU BASTARD!!!"

Geralt is a bit confused about how Jaskier being mad and his fainting spell were connected.

Two things are revealed that day:

Jaskier is part fae

Some fae become toxic to touch when they are extremely upset or angry or scared. It is a magical trait, so it wears off when Jaskier calms down; nevertheless, it is dangerous.

This puts some things into perspective. Like how Jaskier, who seems to feel entitled to his emotion/reactions no matter how inappropriate they may be, is very skilled at controlling his temper. Or how when he does lose it he chooses verbal slander over physical violence. Or how when there IS a physical fight Jaskier wraps his hands in cloth and tries uses blunt instruments.

Bonus: Geralt tells all of the witchers not to touch Jaskier when he's mad, and Lambert takes that as a challenge.

When a fae is startled enough by touch, it can shatter their Glamour.

That’s exactly what happened when Lambert was goading Jaskier, determined to rile him up, resorting to poking the Bard. But when Lambert finally made a remark about Jaskier’s feelings for Geralt, something inside Jaskier snapped the moment he felt the poke.

A surge of magic erupted, sending Lambert hurtling backward. He crashed against the wall, clearly injured. Everyone turned to stare at Jaskier, who now stood transformed—his fae nature fully revealed. Pointed ears, delicate horns sprouting from his head, and his bright blue eyes glowing even more intensely than before. To top it all off, Jaskier hovered a few feet above the ground, wings unfurled.

Geralt had never seen his Bard look so otherworldly, so undeniably fae. It was both mesmerizing and terrifying. He knew Jaskier hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, but Lambert had pushed him too far.

As the anger faded and Jaskier glanced around, he was met with wide-eyed fear. They looked at him like he was a monster. Overwhelmed, Jaskier shrank himself down with a flicker of magic and flew away, disappearing into the air.

[inanoldhousewrites]

ohhh my god just thought of the comedic potential of Jaskier telling Geralt about his lover Ves (meaning Vespula) and Geralt getting all worked up about it because he thinks Ves is short for Vesemir

[inexplicifics]

I finished Must Brave the Thorns earlier today, and the bit in the last chapter about wyvern blood producing a rich purple dye got me wondering if anyone in the main AWAU has done any experimenting to see if dyes other than ichor black could be generated from monster remains. And if no one has, is it possible that they might pick up someone wanting to do so while on the Progress? Maybe inspired to do such by Ciri's outfits ornamented with monster parts?

Ooh, yeah, that would be fun!

A whole line of dye-colors that you can only get from Kaer Morhen would be quite the profitable side-line for the keep. And also emphasize who has the Warlord's favor and who does not.