I posted 1,057 times in 2022
108 posts created (10%)
949 posts reblogged (90%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@julek
@samstree
@fawnnbinary
@d-andilion
@mosaicscale
I tagged 1,054 of my posts in 2022
#art - 414 posts
#witcher stuff - 212 posts
#fic rec - 134 posts
#answered - 58 posts
#self rb - 48 posts
#twn spoilers - 46 posts
#mywriting - 41 posts
#about writing - 33 posts
#<3 - 28 posts
#oh my god - 27 posts
Longest Tag: 76 characters
#🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
so back when the year started, @srapsodia gave me the best birthday gift i could’ve ever asked for (my boys being Soft and In Bed) and i forgot to share them with the world. thank you, raps, for thinking of me and giving me Them <3
992 notes - Posted November 20, 2022
#4
read on ao3
When Geralt sees the body on the table, he shakes his head with something akin to fondness.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” he tells Jaskier, whose eyes haven’t opened yet, whose skin still shines pale and unblemished. “One day I’ll really dissect you.”
“Mm,” Jaskier grunts, displeased.
Geralt takes his apron off, given his services won’t be needed with this particular costumer, and leans back against the sink of the mortuary to wait. It usually takes Jaskier a few minutes to regain movement of his limbs, a few more minutes to get his words back.
“What was it this time?” Geralt asks conversationally, mostly because he knows Jaskier won’t answer him. “Jealous husband poisoned your meal? Didn’t look where you were going and shared a kiss with the local transport vehicle?”
“Hng.”
Geralt nods, reaching for the cabinet door. “I know it’s cold. I’m sorry. You know how it is.”
He lays a blanket over Jaskier’s still-rigid legs, and checks his pulse. Faint, but there.
“Just a few more minutes,” he says, watching blood slowly color Jaskier’s cheeks, flowing down the purple-blue veins under his eyes. His arms are twitching. “You want coffee or tea? I got croissants from the bakery you like.”
“‘ea,” Jaskier manages.
“Okay,” Geralt says. “We can breakfast upstairs. I know you don’t like the smell in here.”
Geralt does, though. There’s something about the smell of formaldehyde and antiseptic that soothes his mind. He’s surprised, really, that, for someone who’s visited his mortuary so many times, Jaskier still hasn’t gotten used to it.
Some things aren’t for him to know.
“Ah,” Geralt murmurs, Jaskier’s blue eyes blinking hazily at him. “Welcome back.”
Jaskier glowers at him. It looks more cute than menacing.
Geralt pushes Jaskier’s hair back, presses a kiss to his forehead. Ice cold, as usual.
“When I said I couldn’t do date night because work was busy,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean for you to literally show up at work.”
Jaskier raises his eyebrows, as if to say well, and immediately grimaces. Expressive facial gestures right after waking up mess up with the slow progress his body makes, and now he’ll be stuck with an inquisitive expression for a few hours.
Geralt definitely doesn’t laugh at him.
(He does). (A little). (He also makes some horrible puns). (Jaskier will make him pay, later).
Jaskier’s hand intertwines with his own. A weak embrace, but Geralt can feel the warmth of his touch in his soul.
“Roach missed you,” he tells him, linking their fingers together. “She’ll be delighted to see you.”
Jaskier’s head turns slightly.
“Well, maybe not delighted. Amused, at least.”
“Mm.”
Finally, Jaskier’s legs regain blood flow, and he shakes them out a little. Geralt helps him sit up on the table.
“How are you feeling?”
Jaskier nods. He looks tired, as he often does after waking up, but everything else seems normal.
“Okay,” Geralt says. He presses his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Still like your tea with four sugars, then?”
See the full post
1,000 notes - Posted May 28, 2022
#3
“Jas,” Geralt calls, not taking his eyes off his journal.
Jaskier stops strumming his lute with a palm on the strings. “Yes?”
“Would you pass me an orange from our pack?”
He hears Jaskier murmur an assent, and goes back to the ardent task of drawing a cockatrice that resembles the one he’d fought the week prior. There’s a rustling sound as Jaskier rifles through their things, a triumphant little ah-ha! as Jaskier, presumably, finds the orange, but then, there’s silence.
Geralt sketches the final lines of the cockatrice to his satisfaction, and takes a look behind him to see what could be taking Jaskier so long in the simple delivery of the fruit.
He finds Jaskier poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed in concentration as he picks at the orange between prying fingers.
“What are you doing?” Geralt asks, coming to crouch beside him.
“Oh!” Jaskier says, his eyes snapping up, as if he’d forgotten Geralt was there at all. “I was just getting all the white stuff out for you,” he says, and presents his palms to Geralt.
It’s a small orange, halved, bright and plump in Jaskier’s hands, and all the white tendrils have been carefully removed.
For him.
The orange almost flies into the other direction when Geralt surges to kiss him.
“Oh,” Jaskier says when they break apart, flustered and a little dazed. “What brought that on?”
Geralt smiles, taking one half of the orange into his hands.
“You.”
1,046 notes - Posted July 9, 2022
#2
“Yen,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. “It’s not wearing off.”
She peers at him across the table. “What isn’t?”
He growls. The potion, he wants to say, the stupid potion that had been innocently placed among his own elixirs, wearing a nondescript label and looking innocuous enough. The potion that is making his every thought escape through his tongue and jump out of his mouth, into the world of the living.
That potion.
“Mm,” she nods. “It’ll go away soon enough. The urge.”
They both follow Jaskier’s moving figure with their eyes, the bard prancing around the tavern floorboards with practiced ease and a salacious grin on his pink-bitten lips. They watch as he belts out a high note, sweat clinging to his skin, pooling in the hollow of his throat, uncovered now that he’s shed his doublet on the back of a chair.
Geralt tries very hard not to imagine what it would feel like to put his mouth there, because it’s a stupid thing to think, and because the filter that usually keeps stupid thoughts at the back of his mind where they belong is broken, and it would be very unwise to let such imaginings out in the wild.
But—
“Seems our bard has found himself some company,” Yennefer says, a smug smirk on her lips, as she waves in his general direction. “Such a handsome fellow, too.”
And, because he’s weak, Geralt tears his gaze from a knot on the wooden table and finds that Jaskier’s singing has stopped, and he’s now animatedly chatting with a patron. A broad-shouldered, heavy-handed man, with charming brown eyes and curls that bounce on his head every time he laughs that musical laughter at something Jaskier’s said, and a well-trimmed beard that frames his face ever so nicely. A man whose hand is resting on Jaskier’s forearm, his thumb rubbing distracted circles on it as Jaskier draws closer and closer.
Geralt’s tankard creaks ominously in his hand.
Yen has the gall to look amused. “Anything on your mind, dear?”
Geralt tries to ignore the way his mind is screaming at him, but it doesn’t work, of course, because that godsdamned serum is still coursing through his veins, still making him— “I want to draw my sword and place it on that man’s neck and watch him sweat, and when I’ve made sure he’s gone I want to take Jaskier back here and have him sit on my lap and show everyone who he belongs to.”
It all comes out in one breath, so fast that he doesn’t have time to feel ashamed, and he feels as though he’s never talked so much in his life. He probably hasn’t.
“Interesting,” says Yen, watching Jaskier saunter back to their table. “Very interesting.”
1,213 notes - Posted March 26, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Jaskier turns in his bedroll again.
“—fucking winter and its wintery fucking— cold as balls, ice frozen—”
“Jask?”
“—good for nothing— oh.” His tossing stops. The ground is so fucking cold. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
One golden eye peers at him. He would say Geralt looked annoyed, but he can’t see most of his face, tucked as it is under his cloak, so he chooses to interpret it as friendly concern. “Your muttering did.”
Jaskier smiles sheepishly at him, even though Geralt probably can’t see him either, with his scarf tied around his neck and covering most of his face. “Sorry. Just...”
“Can’t sleep?”
Jaskier shakes his head. It’s their fifth year on the Path together, the first one Geralt’s invited him along to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen with him — and Jaskier’s excited, really, but sleeping on the forest floor with a thin bedroll and definitely not enough blankets kind of dampens his spirits a little.
They’ve laid their bedrolls side by side, the fire keeping their feet warm, but still Jaskier can’t fend off the chill that’s seeped into his bones. He would blame it on his frilly, beautifully impractical clothing, with its soft but thin fabrics, with its stunning trim but no insulation, but if he did, he’d basically be agreeing with Geralt, and he can’t have that. Not even in the privacy of his own mind.
(He still hasn’t ruled out the possibility that Witchers are mind-readers). (Geralt is awfully quiet whenever Jaskier brings it up, and, well, one can never be too careful).
So he’s been tossing and turning and singing lullabies to himself in a feeble attempt of finally succumbing to a warm, deep sleep. Not that it’s worked, anyway.
The single golden eye looks considering, now.
“Wha—?” Jaskier manages before Geralt stands up, the bare skin under his sleep shirt immediately reacting to the cold air of the forest and erupting in gooseflesh.
Then, a blanket is being tossed to his face.
(It smells like horse).
“There,” says Geralt, not unkindly, his voice a bit rough. “That’ll help.”
“Well,” Jaskier replies, trying to adjust the blanket without taking his hands out of his bedroll, which proves impossible. “Thanks.”
Before he can sit up straight and, like a sane person, rearrange the blanket on top of himself, Geralt’s doing it for him. His hair is a mess from where he’s been laying on it and he’s squinting, but his hands are warm as they reach for the ends of the blanket and he tucks them into Jaskier’s bedroll, making sure his body is covered.
“You’re tucking me in,” Jaskier whispers, something that suspiciously feels like love standing on his heart a little.
Geralt smiles. He smiles his soft smile, the one where his lips stretch over his face and they’re pink and pretty and there’s a shine in his eyes.
“I guess I am,” he replies, checking no corners have been missed. “We’ll reach the mountain soon. No more cold nights after that.”
Jaskier smiles. He doesn’t know what it might look like on his face, lips chapped and slightly cracked. He hopes it shows his gratitude for him.
Geralt sits back on his haunches. The smile is still there. Fonder, somehow.
“What, no kiss goodnight?” Jaskier murmurs, because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself.
“Mm,” Geralt says, and for a second, Jaskier thinks he’s getting up to leave, but then Geralt leans forward and there’s a gentle, sweet kiss being pressed to his forehead. His smile is bigger when he turns away. “There. Goodnight.”
Jaskier can feel the warmth on his skin, the skin Geralt pressed a kiss to. He can feel it seeping into his bones.
When he turns around, blanket firmly secured, Geralt is watching him from his own bedroll.
“Goodnight,” he mouths at him, and Geralt closes his eyes.
His cloak is covering half his face again, but Jaskier can see the smile he’s hiding anyway.
1,612 notes - Posted May 4, 2022
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