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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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Don’t Take the Money

(cross-posted from my AO3 and based on the Bleachers song of the same name; you should give it a listen ‘cause it definitely shaped this story)

-vomit tw, depression tw, lots of angst and emotional whump with a happy ending, of course-

Jaskier had received six urgent messages in three weeks, each delivered by a different exhausted messenger in the same oddly familiar livery. They showed up outside of inns, in the corner of taverns, and one of them even had to trek through the deep woods to find their hidden campsite; Geralt almost felt bad for them. Almost.

After the seventh strange man appeared with a scroll for Jaskier, the bard didn’t even bother reading it. He merely tossed the rolled and sealed piece of parchment into a refuse pile on their way out of town and didn’t look back. Geralt picked it up when the bard wasn’t paying attention, letting his eyes scan the fancy, swirling script of the Viscountess Pankratz.

Julian Alfred Pankratz,

Return home immediately! Your wedding cannot be put off any longer! Lady Ainsley will not wait another month for your foolish adventures with that Witcher to come to an end. If you do not return for your wedding in three weeks time then you shall be officially disowned and your name will be stricken from the family records.

With Urgency,

Lady Pankratz

Geralt swallowed hard. Jaskier was betrothed? He was to be married in three weeks? But they weren’t anywhere near Redania. Or Lettenhove. Jaskier had never mentioned anyone by the name of Lady Ainsley before, or anything about his past if he could avoid it. Did that mean...?

“Why aren’t you going?” the Witcher asked. Jaskier whirled around, his eyebrow already raised in confusion; he went three shades paler than normal when he saw the limp paper hanging from Geralt’s fingers. “We’re not even remotely close to your hometown and we’re traveling in quite the opposite direction.”

Jaskier made a face and waved his hand dismissively.

“I know. I don’t want to marry her.”

“Why don’t you want to marry her? They’re going to disown you, Jaskier. Isn’t this” - he shook the letter for emphasis - “the life you’re used to living, anyway? You should go home and be with...with someone like you .”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Geralt? You think I belong with someone foppish? Loud? Annoying?” The bard was spitting mad already. The Witcher had touched on a sore spot, apparently. “Should I be with someone more breakable and human and petty?”

“Don’t you want- aren’t you-”

“C’mon big boy, use that fantastic Witcher brain of yours. Figure it out.”

Geralt didn’t understand.

“Wouldn’t you be happier with her than on the Path with me?”

Jaskier looked...hurt. His expression changed from indignant to heartbroken in the measure of time that occurred between split seconds. It did something awful in the Witcher’s gut. Something unfamiliar and painful. The bard’s next words were barely above a whisper. Even with his enhanced hearing Geralt had to focus hard: “Would you prefer me to be married off and out of your way?”

“No, that’s not what I-”

“I don’t even know what we’re even getting at here, Geralt. I’m sorry. I can return home if you’d like. If I send a messenger first thing tomorrow then the family’s hired mage can portal me back in time for the wedding.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher was pleading. He didn’t know why or for what, but the pitch of his voice left room for no other possible interpretation. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“Then don’t ask me to marry her, Geralt.”

The Witcher dropped the letter back onto the refuse pile and shoved it deeper with the tip of his boot. Jaskier’s bright smile returned and the soft notes of his lute filled the air once again. For some inexplicable reason Geralt felt triumphant. As if he’d won a battle he didn’t know he’d been fighting against an enemy he’d never met before.

---

“Are you Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” a well-dressed stranger asked, approaching the table where the Witcher was seated. It had been a week since his and Jaskier’s argument over the summons. Neither one had brought it up again and the bard had seemed almost unusually affectionate since. The amount of casual touching they did had significantly increased, even when the sun set and it was growing close to bedtime. Jaskier seemed to be happy touching Geralt and the Witcher had no reason to complain; he liked knowing that his best friend wasn’t scared of him.

He regarded the messenger with a suspicious gaze, “Aye. I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“I have a contract for you.” The man slid a piece of paper across the table and folded himself into the chair across from Geralt’s. The pattern stamped into the red wax seal was familiar but the Witcher couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it before. His strange visitor smiled benignly, “It doesn’t even involve killing.”

“Then why hire a Witcher? That’s kind of our schtick.”

“This agreement is of a more personal nature,” the man shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Geralt to read his missive. The Witcher took the delicate stationary in his large hands and unfolded it until he could see the printed words:

To Sir Geralt of Rivia,

Witcher and Friend of Julian Alfred Pankratz

We, the Pankratz Family, come to you and offer this agreement:

Return Julian safely to our ancestral home within two weeks and you shall be paid the sum of 1500 crowns. Consider it a bodyguarding mission, if you so desire.

You are also formally invited to attend the wedding of Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove to the Countess Ainsley DeStael of Rinde, which will occur three days after your mission ends.

In order to complete the job and claim your payment, however, you must leave the wedding party without Julian at your side and return to your Witcher duties alone. He isn’t cut out for such a hard life on the road. He is of noble blood and has responsibilities here at home. Please return him to his kind of people and claim your coin in recompense.

Sincerely,

Francois Reginald Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove

Constantina Charlotte Pankratz, Lady de Lettenhove

Geralt glanced up from the contract and out into the main dining room where Jaskier was currently jigging atop one of the surprisingly sturdy tables. The bard’s smile was bright, his voice was strong and clear as he sang of lovers meeting in secret, and his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He loved the attention of performing. How could Geralt take that away from him, even if he would be safer at home? Even if he would be married to another, spending his time with another, caring for another…

But didn’t Geralt care about Jaskier? Isn’t that why he’d risked life and limb over and over to keep the bard safe? Because Geralt loved him? He pushed the thought away with haste and tried to keep his expression neutral. His amber eyes strayed to the upturned hat at Jaskier’s feet. People had been depositing coins there all night and a rather decent pile had sprung up but -

But he could be doing better, Geralt thought. He could be taking a warm bath every night and buying expensive oils from real apothecaries and not sketchy traveling salesmen. He could be dressing in silk every day and never complain about having to wear a woolen doublet for warmth again. He could sleep next to a fire in a real feather-bed. With blankets. He could stay healthy and safe and never go near another angry monster for all his days.

Something in the Witcher’s heart withered and died when he realized just how much he’d been holding Jaskier back; something important. Something the bard had helped him cultivate over six long years of traveling together. In an instant the Witcher had hidden it away in a dark corner to die.

“Alright.”

“Huh,” the messenger smirked. “They thought it would take more bribery to get you to agree, Witcher.”

“It’s not about the crowns,” Geralt shrugged, gaze flitting back up to Jaskier. The bard’s twinkling cornflower-blue eyes met with his and Geralt quickly glanced away, already ridden with guilt and shame over his decision. “It’s about making him happy and keeping him safe.”

“If I didn’t know any better about your kind and their lack of feelings,” the messenger snorted, “I’d say you might even love the Little Lord Pankratz.”

“If I didn’t know any better about myself,” Geralt replied, “I might agree.”

“See you in two weeks, then. Hope you can make it to Redania in time.”

“Why not just portal us there? Jaskier said his family had a hired mage.”

“Busy with wedding preparations,” the man shrugged. “Anyway, I must be going. The Viscount and her Ladyship are eager to hear your reply. See you soon, I’m sure.”

The stranger stood, bowed, and disappeared back to Lettenhove with the signed contract. Geralt swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He hated himself. He really did. But this is what’s best for Jaskier.

---

“Who was that, earlier at the table?” the bard asked. He was lounging on the bed with a tin of lute polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Did he have a contract?”

“Yes. In Redania, actually.”

“Oh, lovely! It’s almost time for the summer festivals to begin; I can show you the best alehouse in all of Novigrad while we’re there.”

“My job is near Lettenhove. Do you want to go with me?”

“Sure. Might be fun to swing by my old stomping grounds. This doesn’t have anything to do with my canceled wedding, does it?” the bard shot him a pointed look. Geralt schooled his features into some sort of passivity and shook his head.

“Vampires rarely attend the weddings of minor nobility,” the Witcher lied through his teeth.

“Vampires, huh? Nifty. Haven’t had one of those to write about in awhile.”

“Hmm.”

---

“Geralt, help! Geralt, please! GERALT!”

The Witcher tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept hearing Jaskier’s raw, heartbroken voice ringing in his ears. He could still smell the desperation and panic that clung to the bard’s soft skin as he struggled to get away from his captors. To get back to where the Witcher stood with Roach and the gatekeeper. Geralt kept imagining those eyes, those fucking beautiful eyes, brimming with tears of betrayal as a liveried servant handed him a velvet pouch stuffed fat with crowns. Oh gods, the way his bard had looked at him…Geralt shoved his head out the window and vomited. There was nothing but the sour sting of bile against his tongue and the back of his throat. He heaved in a breath but choked back the sob threatening to come with it.

“Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-”

The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of hatred and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could understand.

Jaskier’s love wasn’t unrequited.

The bard stole the very breath from Geralt’s lungs every time their eyes met. Every time Jaskier crowed with pride after finishing a new song about their adventures together the Witcher felt his icy heart melt a little more. Each casual brush of their hands as they walked side-by-side sent his emotions reeling. The way his exuberant bard looked as he strolled beside Roach, the sunshine bringing out streaks of dark red in his chestnut hair and lightening the embroidery on his travel jerkin, it was ethereal. Magical. Overwhelming in all the best ways.

And he’d given it all away for a measly pouch of a coin and a slightly clearer conscious. Or was it?

Geralt retched again as he came to another realization.

He had forced Jaskier into something he didn’t want. Geralt had always given his friend free reign. The younger man came on and off the Path like a bee between flowers, visiting and traveling with the Witcher when he pleased and leaving again for odd jobs or festivals when Geralt wasn’t in the mood for company. But he’d given him no choice about the marriage. No, he’d wrestled Jaskier to the ground and bound his hands. He’d gagged him. He’d flung the bard into Roach’s saddle and tied his crossed wrists to the pommel so he couldn’t pick the knots free and escape. He’d passed Jaskier off to the guards and watched them drag him away as he spit out the gag and started yelling.

As he confessed his love to Geralt after six long years on the Path together.

Fucking hells, what have I done to him?

The suddenly panicked Witcher tumbled from his rented bed and reached for his boots. There was no time to spare. There was no time to waste.

There was only Jaskier.

---

Jaskier couldn’t believe it.

After all this time. After all their adventures. After all the songs he’d written and rooms he’d gotten them at comfortable inns, this is how the Witcher repaid him. Trading him back to his parents for a bag of coin like he was some sort of slave or whore.

He was a bard.

He was Geralt’s bard.

Well, he used to be Geralt’s bard. Now he was going to be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and Lord of Rinde by marriage.

He wished he could just stop breathing and disappear. His heart thudded dully in his chest and it felt as if he was floating several feet below the surface of deep water. He was unable or unwilling to surface; maybe both. There was no point anymore, really. Geralt, the only person he’d ever really loved, had trussed him up like a market goose and traded him for silver.

The food his family’s servants brought him laid mostly untouched. He knew how to eat just enough to keep from dying. He’d been in plenty of dungeons and bandit camps before. Jaskier had spent six years following the Witcher’s Path and surviving off of whatever Geralt caught or he traded for. There was no reason to eat any more than what he needed to keep his body alive. There was no reason to get out of bed. Or bathe. Or change clothes. These clothes still smelled like the road. Like lute polish and chamomile oil and Roach and mud and Geralt.

“Please,” his mother begged, clasping his limp hand in both of hers. She’d been sitting at his bedside for maybe an hour, watching him stare listlessly up into the green velvet canopy above him. “Just eat something substantial. Say something. Do something, Julian. We know you aren’t happy with us or our decision but you can’t just lay here all day and wallow in self-pity. You have responsibilities to take care of; Ainsley has grown worried and her father is impatient.”

“The wedding is tomorrow,” he’d replied. There was no emotion in his voice and the monotony was soothing to his own ears. Geralt didn’t like it when he got too excited. Best to be calm and quiet like a good little noble. “I will be presentable. I will be at the altar. I will do my duty for the family.”

“Thank you, Julian.”

“But I will not love her.”

“You never have to love her,” his mother smiled. She gave his hand another small pat before standing and moving towards the door. Her job here was done, after all. “We only need you to marry her.”

---

Geralt pounded up the steps of the keep two-at-a-time. His usually slow heartbeat was now pounding in his ears like a warlord’s drum. He had to save Jaskier, he had to - the door slammed open and something hard went flying into his chest, knocking him back a step. The Witcher reached out a hand to steady the person he’d collided with but his amber eyes were still focused on the castle’s front door. He moved to step around the stranger and into the building when they suddenly spoke. The bard’s voice was pitchy and low from crying all morning: “Geralt?”

“Jaskier?” the Witcher gasped. His grip tightened around the younger man’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Jaskier looked truly flabbergasted. His expression shifted from shock to anger quickly, however, and the hurt in those blue eyes nailed Geralt to the ground where he stood. “Am I OKAY? You absolute fucking moron; of course I’m not okay. The love of my life tied me up, handed me over to my horrible fucking family like a Beltane offering, and disappeared into the night with a fat bag of crowns. The one person I love most in this world, the only person I’d ever trust with my life or my lute, treated me like a transaction of some sort. I am very much not okay, Geralt of Rivia! Now pick me up, take me to Roach, and get me the fuck out Lettenhove before I have to marry that horrible, terrible, hideous woman!”

The Witcher cracked a smile. Jaskier jabbed a finger into his chest and frowned even more deeply. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Witcher?”

“Because I missed the sound of your voice.”

The bard blushed, his righteous anger faltering.

“I love you too,” Geralt added. Jaskier’s eyes somehow grew even rounder and more watery. “I’m so fucking sorry but I didn’t know how else to protect you. I thought that maybe after coming home and seeing how much nicer it was than being on the Path you might want to stay here and be safe. Live your life normally. I thought you’d be happier here than you were with me. You’d certainly wouldn’t be hurt as often.”

“Did you just say that you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me say that I love you, mere moments ago?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck would you try to get rid of me?” The Witcher tried not to flinch when Jaskier placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He’d expected a slap. A kick to the shin. A knee to the groin. Screaming. He hadn’t expected that look of soft understanding to dawn on Jaskier’s boyish face. Despite the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the bard’s voice was sad. “Caged birds never sing, Geralt. What an awful cage it would have been; I'd never see my handsome Witcher again. I'd never attend another royal wedding as entertainment. I'd never write another line of song, much less be able to sing it. I would have been miserable Geralt. I probably would have died much sooner here than I would on the Path.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“As soon as you do as I say and get me the hell out of here, then yes, I’ll consider forgiving you, Witcher.”

“Well I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.”

Geralt flung the bard up and over his shoulder and took off back down the steps at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let those people have his darling Jaskier back. Not if they tried to cage him and take his voice. He knew better now. He understood.

They loved each other.

The bard was laughing brightly, bouncing along as Geralt made for the stables. He could see his family exiting the Great Hall and making their way in his direction. It didn’t matter. They’d never catch up with his Witcher. He shot them several naughty hand gestures and grinned widely when Geralt swung them both up into Roach’s saddle. “Sorry girl,” he apologized. “Time for our daring escape into the woods.”

---

"Fifteen hundred crowns, huh?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the hefty purple velvet bag.

"Actually there are only fourteen hundred left," Geralt shrugged. He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a small leather pouch, which he handed to Jaskier. The bard opened it, peered inside, and gasped in very genuine surprise.

"Geralt..."

"Do you like it?" the Witcher was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the cutest way. Jaskier wanted to answer but his heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach so he couldn't quite form words. He nodded.

"Can you help me put it on?"

"There's no clasp. They aren't meant to have clasps."

"I know."

Geralt's heart soared as he lifted his gift for Jaskier out of the bag and lowered it over his head. The medallion rested just between his collarbones, framed by a tuft of the bard's chest hair. It was a copy of Geralt's wolf medallion, only this wolf held a flower in its mouth. Gently, as if unwilling to break the stem or let it go.

"It's perfect," the bard beamed. His eyes were watery and he blinked the tears free to keep staring at his new jewelry. "Thank you."

"Hmm."

"What do you want to do with the rest of the money?"

"I don't know," the Witcher shrugged. "Maybe go to the coast?"

"I've always wanted to go there!"

Geralt pressed a tender kiss against Jaskier's lips, reveling in the sensation of his bard melting against his chest. They'd spent the last few nights wrapped around each other, whispering secrets and stories into each others mouths until sleep overtook them. Tonight would be no different, except that now Jaskier felt truly safe. He felt loved. He felt utterly surrounded by the happiness that came with being on the Path next to his Witcher. "What are you thinking about, little lark?"

"I'm glad you came back for me. I'm glad we're together now."

"Hmm. Me too."

#geraskier fic #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier whump #geralt of rivia whump #jaskier whump #geraskier hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #geralt/jaskier #emotional hurt/comfort #h/c fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher netflix

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restmyheadatnightcontent · 4 years

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we’re alright together

Geralt knows something is wrong when he comes home and there’s no music playing. Usually as soon as Jaskier is home, he commandeers the speaker and puts one of his many, many playlists on. He can hear muttered Polish coming from the door of the office. Ah. That means that Jaskiers parents are on the phone which means they have an interesting evening ahead of them.

Dropping Ciri’s schoolbag down by the sofa, he watches as she runs up the stairs chatting gleefully about the toy she has to find because her and Dara are going to play a new game tomorrow and it has to be the red horse, the horse is really important, Dad.

He walks and cautiously pushes the door of the study open to find Jaskier slumped with his head in his hand whilst the other holds his phone up to his ear. Even from here he can see the tension in Jaskiers shoulders and his normally well styled hair dishevelled from no doubt running his fingers through it in frustration. From here he can also hear the shrill voice coming through the phone which means its Jaskiers mother on the other end. He’s learnt that trying to interrupt these calls to check if Jaskier is okay is not as helpful as he thinks, so instead he backs away and quietly closes the door. It’s rare that Jaskier talks to his parents, but Geralt knows from the few past experiences that it is better to wait and be ready to listen to Jaskier vent about whatever bullshit they’ve said this time.

He busies himself by starting to prepare dinner and grabbing all the vegetables he needs out of the fridge. Luckily Ciri isn’t too fussy with food and will eat most things, but he finds that he can sneak even more in if he hides them in a tomato sauce along with some pasta and cheese. If he’s being honest, he has to sneak them in more for Jaskier than Ciri. He’s pretty sure if he gave Jaskier free reign of the kitchen, they would live off of nothing but frozen pizzas and McDonalds.

As he’s just finishing off the prep and about to start the washing up, he feels a pair of arms wind around his waist and a kiss is pressed against his neck.

“Hey” murmurs Jaskier into his neck.

“Hey yourself” replies Geralt, turning his head so he can place a kiss of his own on Jaskiers cheek “everything ok?”

Jaskier just hums and tightens his hold around Geralt. This conversation must have been worse than the other ones as Jaskier has normally started ranting about something by now. Geralt knows that he just needs to be patient and Jaskier will tell him what was said eventually. But still hates not knowing what’s going on in Jaskiers head and how he can make it better. While he waits, he just places his hands on Jaskier arms and rubs small circles on Jaskiers forearms and lets his boyfriend take the comfort he needs right now.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there but they are eventually interrupted by the timer sounding, alerting them to the fact that dinner is ready.

Jaskier unwinds his arms and moves away but before he can go too far, Geralt turns and gently grabs his wrist. He looks into the blue eyes that he knows so well, and his heart drops at the troubled look he can see there. Raising his hand to Jaskiers face and softly running his thumb across his cheek, he feels slightly better when Jaskier gives him a small smile.

“What did she say?”

There’s no point in trying to pretend that he didn’t hear the phone call and he hopes that the sooner he finds out what the call was about, he can start to help.

“It was-she said that he-I should-“ Jaskier sighs frustratedly and then takes a deep breath “I’ll tell you later, I just need to sort it all out in my head first.”

Geralt hums in response and pulls Jaskier closer so he can press his lips to his forehead until Jaskier squirms away from him with a small laugh.

“I’ll go get the monster for dinner” he says before turning up the stairs.

Geralt is putting the plates on the table when he hears Ciri giggling and looks around to see his daughter hanging over Jaskiers shoulder, swinging as he moves from side to side, exaggerating his movements every time she squeals in delight.

“Jas! Put me down! Stop it!” she laughs whilst smacking her hands against his back.

“As the lady wishes” he says and then promptly drops her face first onto the sofa. She’s up immediately and runs to the table sitting her seat and sticking her tongue out at Jaskier.

He can’t find out anything more during dinner as conversation is dominated by Ciri, who is excitedly sharing the story of her day. As much as he wants to find out what has upset Jaskier so much, it is hard to be annoyed when he sees the smile on his daughters face as she excitedly describes the game she had played today with Dara and all the facts she learnt in science. Sometimes he worries about this whole parenting thing, but looking at the huge smile on Ciri’s face right now, he feels that he must be doing something right. After dinner he has to get her bathed and settled in bed and Jaskier is summoned for a bedtime story because I’m sorry Daddy but he does the best voices.

It’s not until later when he and Jaskier are stretched out on the sofa with Jaskier leaning back into his chest that he finally gets his answer.

Jaskier pauses the show that neither of them had really been watching anyway and takes a breath.

“My Dad is ill” he says quietly, “like really ill. Something to do with his heart. Mum was trying to persuade me to go see him. Apparently the doctors are saying he’s got a week at most.”

Well shit. Geralt hums and pulls Jaskier closer to him asking “Do you want to go see him?”

“Not really. I mean I know I probably should but I really don’t think that he is going to have had a sudden change of heart. He has made it perfectly clear how he feels about me and every life choice I’ve ever made and he literally told me that I’m getting fuck all in the will so I’m not sure what she thinks will happen. There’s not going to be some dramatic reunion where we hug and start crying.”

Jaskier slumps back into Geralts chest, seemingly exhausted by the outburst. He turns to look up at Geralt and asks “What do you think I should do?”

“I think its your decision and whatever you decide will be the right thing to do” he replies “I’m sorry I know that’s not helpful and that you want a proper answer” he presses his lips to Jaskiers temple “But whatever you decide and whatever happens, you’ve got a family right here with me and Ciri and Yen and my brothers. We’re here.”

He flushes, a bit embarrassed as he rarely says so much at once, but despite all the words Jaskier says Geralt knows that sometimes he just needs someone elses. Judging by the way Jaskier turns and wraps his arms around Geralt shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss, these words seem to have done the trick.

They part and Jaskier rests their forehead together, Geralt tightens his arms around him seeing the glint of tears in Jaskiers eyes.

“Thank you” Jaskier whispers.

They decide to abandon to the TV, neither of them really up for trying to focus on anything right now so they make their way upstairs. Lying in bed, Geralt can still feel the tension in Jaskiers body. The other man is unlikely to sleep tonight, too many thoughts running around in his head. Geralt presses a kiss into his shoulder and tangles their legs together, hoping that his solid presence will be of some reassurance.

He wakes the next morning to find his head is now resting on Jaskiers chest, with the other mans fingers running through his hair.

“I’ve decided.” Jaskier states, no hint of tiredness in voice so he’s clearly been up for a while “I’m going to go and see him. I’m not expecting anything but I think I’d regret it if I didn’t go.” He looks down at Geralt with a fond smile “And its like you said. No matter what happens, I have a perfectly good family right here.”

______________________________________

can also be found here!

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ciri #cirilla #my fic #modern au #my writing

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heytheredeann · 4 years

Text

45 ways you found me

5/45: Wide awake, unable to sleep without me. Well, sometimes I write little ficlets, sometimes I write 2k words of working through misunderstandings LOL. Enjoy!

Jaskier is still a little mad.

He thinks he has a right to be, it’s not humanly possible to get yelled at like that and not be left with some anger lingering afterwards, but it’s easily ignorable, with the way guilt is quickly choking him.

Gods, he’s an arse.

Which is not exactly news, but—he hadn’t meant to, this time, all these years, and that makes it so much worse.

Geralt lost his temper today, which doesn’t happen nearly as often as people assume and did nothing to make Jaskier concede even just an inch, because the first time he laid eyes on Geralt he only saw adventure – at least, as soon as he realized who he was, before he was just a very attractive man brooding in a corner—a potential adventure in his own right, in a way – and the years did nothing to teach him to fear him.

He isn’t sure what turned their usual bickering to a full-blown fight. Maybe it was nothing of importance, because Geralt has been having highly annoying mood swings since that whole mess in Cintra and he was probably just waiting to blow up on him, but—Jaskier thinks he was boasting about how the innkeeper was unusually friendly, taking credit where credit was due, given that the man happily hummed Toss a coin under his breath as they headed for their room.

Geralt doesn’t usually get angry at him for that, and Jaskier can’t really summon the trajectory that their fight followed, but he knows that Geralt thinks that he’s been using him just for his songs, that he protested that if Jaskier has decided that he is indebted to him it’s his own problem and he can fuck right off, because Geralt has no intention of paying up, not slitting his throat for being insufferable will have to do as payment—Jaskier was very offended. He was offended and he grew awfully defensive awfully fast, shouting back at him about how much of a brute, insensitive asshole he always is, and he didn’t really—he didn’t stop to think long enough to put things in order in his head. He just fucked right off, as Geralt wished, making sure to get the last word in.

Now, having undergone the torturous process of cooling down, having actually thought about what Geralt said—he feels a little like shit.

It’s been a decade, and this whole time Geralt thought that his friendship wasn’t genuine, that it was only a business deal and there was an ulterior motive behind each one of his gestures.

It seems so stupid to him, because of course that’s not all that there is to it, of course he enjoys Geralt’s company, of course he’s his friend—Geralt’s reluctance to acknowledge him as such makes a lot more sense now, though Jaskier only wishes to go back to the sweet embrace of easier days, when he thought it was just an attempt at acting aloof, for show, out of habit.

Gods, all those jokes—they often bicker, they often poke fun at each other, and Jaskier—Jaskier is beginning to think he’s joked a little too often about Geralt owing him for making him known as something other than a butcher. He’s positive he did it when asking him to come along at the banquet in Cintra too.

At the time, when Geralt had accepted, he’d been delighted, he’d thought he’d only done it as a nice thing for him, as a favour—now he wonders if he didn’t feel obligated. If his joke didn’t lend as a joke at all and Geralt thought he was actually coming to collect his due.

And, well, that whole thing turned out great, didn’t it?

[More on Ao3]

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #not spn #my fanfic #the witcher #45 ways gj

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tossjaskier · 4 years

Text

swords & saints | one

Jaskier and Geralt receive a summons. [geralt x reader]

Geralt meets Jaskier in Oxenfurt when the spring season sets in, no more teasing bouts of warmth interspersed with grueling cold fronts. He’s changed – not by a lot, but enough to be noticeable – since Geralt seen him last, when the chilly autumn season was on the cusp of giving away to the frigid bitch that winter was.

His hair is longer, curling against the highest point of his jawline and he’s actually began to grow facial hair. It’s sparse at best, but it’s there. He still holds the same agonizing, cheerful disposition. And he still dresses like a child first learning to dress himself – bright blue doublet opened to reveal the thinnest undershirt Geralt has ever seen; the whole ensemble is paired off with pants of the same color, and a gaudy purple hat sat atop his head.

“You look ridiculous.” Geralt tells him, rolling his eyes as Jaskier merely beams. They’re sat at an inn that Jaskier’s became a regular performer at over the winter. Jaskier slides him a mug of ale.

“I’ve missed you, too, ornery bastard.” Jaskier says. “But enough with the pleasantries. We’ve been summoned.”

“We’ve been summoned?”

Jaskier reaches inside his doublet, pulling out a single piece of parchment. He slaps it down on the table with no lack of dramatic flourish, sliding it over with a smile. Geralt picks it up warily, dreading the worst.

The summons mentions both Geralt and Jaskier by name, requesting their appearance before the Duchy in Toussaint. The duchess’s daughter is to have a celebration for her nineteenth year in a weeks’ time. Jaskier has been invited to perform for the week-long celebration at a hefty sum per night.

Geralt, on the other hand, is wanted for protection purposes; he is to be the girl’s personal bodyguard for double of Jaskier’s pay. But the duchess makes it explicitly clear that they are to be a unit. She does not want one without the other.

Her name is signed at the bottom with that annoying flourish to her handwriting that every person from Toussaint seems to have. The golden seal next to it stands out like a taunt.

“Effective tactic.” Geralt mutters. He looks up to find Jaskier staring at him expectantly. “What?”

“We’re going to Toussaint, right?” Jaskier asks. “We’d be insane not to for that kind of money.”

Geralt scowls as he mulls the idea over. The last time he stepped foot in Toussaint was around three decades ago, when the former duchess was still in power, her daughter but still a child at the time. She would still be in power had she not let her daughter succeed.

“What do you know about Toussaint?” Geralt asks in turn.

“Toussaint is technically Nilfgaardian domain, but it’s mostly independent. The Duchy is the governing body of Toussaint, which operates very much like a monarchy, thanks to the efforts of the former Duchess. She essentially ruled as a queen after the death of her husband.” Jaskier spews the facts out quickly as if he’s been tested. “The current one lost her husband in battle and never remarried. She has one daughter.”

Geralt nods, sipping his ale. “Anything else?”

“It’s a beautiful place in the south, with a culture that appreciates everything fine and fancy. They don’t have a formal military, just a knights’ guild.” Jaskier pins him with a look, then. “Toussaint is one of the few places that is tolerable towards your kind.”

“That would be her former highness’ doing.” Geralt says. “I met her.”

Jaskier props his head on his hand, one brow raising when Geralt offers no further explanation. “Well? Don’t be stingy on the details.”

With a sigh, Geralt leans back in his seat, thinking back on his time there. He remembers being there in the hottest part of the year, the cobblestone street being so scorching that it would melt the soles of a man’s boots off. Armor was too unbearable to wear even to Geralt. He felt naked the entire time he stayed.

“About thirty years’ ago, I received a summons not unlike this one.” Geralt waves the parchment in the air for emphasis. “There weren’t many details. Just a request that I appear before the Duchy. I almost didn’t go, but, like this, a large sum of money was being offered. Only a mad man would have turned down the offer.”

The duke was alive at that point in time. He was unnerved by Geralt’s appearance in his court; the man smelled bitterly of fear every time Geralt interacted with him. Luckily, he didn’t have to often. The duchess was the main reason for his summons. An assassination attempt had been raised against her.

“But you deal with monsters, not politics.” Jaskier points out when Geralt reveals the nature of his order.

“Everyone else had died trying to solve the problem. So, she turned to me.”

The woman was one tough crone, and Geralt found it hard to say no to her.

“After a few months’ work, we found out that her husband was trying to kill her. She challenged him to combat, which was unusual in Toussaint. Women are not expected to be fighters there. But the duchess is of Skelligan blood, and you know how they are.”

“It’s a miracle she made it in Toussaint.” Jaskier notes.

He has a point. Geralt spent a while working with her closely. Her disdain for Toussaint was not a secret. To be taken from a place like Skellige – a rough, seafaring country – to come to a court-obsessed, “proper” place like Toussaint was a change she never wanted. And to find out the reason she left her home – her supposedly loving husband – was trying to kill her? That was the ultimate betrayal.

“As you know, the duke was killed by his wife. She reigned as a pseudo-queen before putting her daughter on the throne.”

“Did she give you anything for helping her besides money?”

Geralt nods, scowling at the thought. “Her daughter’s hand in marriage when she came of age. I obviously didn’t accept it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Geralt merely shrugs. Jaskier sighs, frustrated. “Well, I see you’re done being chatty now.”

They sit in silence, sipping on mead for a time. The mead this time of year is laden with the turn of the season, tasting brighter. Geralt savors the taste, eyeing Jaskier over the rime of his mug.

“We leave the day after tomorrow.”

Jaskier smiles at him knowingly.

#the wticher #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #blade writes

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years

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The Boy who Ran: Chapter 2

Whumptober prompt 15: Magical Healing

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/ Jaskier

TW: Injuries (no detailed description)

part 1

Leaving the Feywilds had been scary. Jaskier has had a rough start back in the human world. After spending who knew how much time with the Fae - eating their food, singing their magic-filled songs, living carefree amidst the chaos that swirled through their realm– it had been strange to come back to a world where everything could be a threat. It had been scary, intimidating and oh so exiting.

Eventually, Jaskier had found his footing in the human world. Or rather, he had found Geralt of Rivia, who dragged him back to his feet when he misstepped. The witcher always did so with an annoyed grunt, with threats that the next time he would leave Jaskier to deal with the consequences of his actions alone.

And yet, despite his words, Geralt would always help him and make sure nothing bad happened to him until their paths separated for the winter, when Geralt would go back to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier would once again breathe in the chaos of the Fae court until it was time to find Geralt again.

“Jaskier” a barely noticeable smile tugged at the witcher’s lips, as Jaskier finally caught up to him. “How is it that we keep running into each other?”

Jaskier let out a bright laugh. “A strange coincidence, really.”

Except it was as far from a coincidence as could be. It wasn’t hard for someone who had lived with the Fae to find who they were looking for as long as they knew their name. “It’s good to see you again, my friend.”

Geralt hummed and Jaskier’s smile brightened. So they have finally reached a stage where Geralt wasn’t denying their friendship any longer.

“So where are you going?”

“Hunting.”

“What? I never would have guessed.” Jaskier huffed and bumped into Geralt’s shoulder good-naturedly as he walked alongside of his friend. “But it is very convenient. I desperately need new inspiration.”

“You’re not coming with me” Geralt grunted, but this time it lacked the bite Jaskier had learned to accept in the earlier years of their travels. “It’s too dangerous.”

A sly smirk stole onto Jaskier’s face. “You care about me.”

The grunt was answer enough.

Jaskier didn’t have a problem staying back while Geralt hunted. In fact, he much preferred it. While Jaskier knew that what Geralt did was important work, he still couldn’t find it in him to watch creatures get hurt, no matter how much time had passed.

So no, he didn’t have a problem not having to witness a fight.

He did however have a problem with the boredom. Jaskier had hoped that he could at least spend an evening drinking and exchanging stories with Geralt, before his friend would need to get back to work. He had looked forward to it.

Instead he watched Geralt disappear from his sight to chase some monster.

Jaskier sighed. It was just so boring without him around. What was Jaskier supposed to do while he waited? He had already sung so much that flowers had started to blossom around him.

It was nice to see that he still held some of that chaos he from the Feywilds within him. It wasn’t nearly as much as a born Fae held, but it was a part from the home Jaskier had found.

If only he could share the wonderful things he could do with Geralt. He wanted to show him how his songs could summon sunshine and how flowers could bloom where he danced. He imagined the wonder in Geralt’s eyes when he showed him all he could do.

In his heart of hearts, he knew it was an improbable fantasy. Geralt had no use for flowers and magic songs. Jaskier didn’t need to show him those things for Geralt to like him. The witcher might not ever say it, might even deny that they were friends, but Jaskier knew the witcher liked him as he was.

He sighed once more and stood up. Surely, Geralt must be done with the fighting by now. He should go after him and see if there was anything Geralt needed.

A screech behind him, made him pause. He turned around, a smile parting his lips as he saw the beast. The creature was magnificent. Sharp talons, even sharper teeth and wings that blocked out the sun. Jaskier had never seen such a creature, but he recognised it from Geralt’s descriptions. A forktail.

And it was headed straight for Jaskier.

What had Geralt always told him? If he ever saw a beast that seemed even in the slightest threatening, he should run and call for Geralt.

Now, Jaskier had neither a problem with running, nor with calling for Geralt. But absolutely nothing about this creature seemed threatening. In the Feywilds, children played with draconids, so surely this forktail wasn’t a threat.

“My, you are a beautiful creature!” Jaskier called out with a brilliant smile.

The forktail landed, squashing the flowers Jaskier had summoned before and bared its teeth. Its tail whipped to the side, like a cat readying itself to pounce on a mouse.

Jaskier furrowed his brow.

“That is no way to greet a friend.” If there was a certain power to his voice that no human should be able to possess than that was no one’s business but his own.

The creature let out a deep growl, but it hid its teeth away again and relaxed slightly.

Slowly Jaskier approached, hand outstretched and a soothing melody on his lips. With every step he took, the folktail seemed to calm more, until finally, he was touching the creature’s muzzle.

Jaskier’s smile could brighten the darkest night, as the forktail pressed gently against his touch.

“There you go. There is nothing frightening about you, is there?”

The creature’s belly rumbled with a sound that could almost be mistaken for a purr.

“Jaskier, get away!”

Violently, he flinched at the shout and whirled around. His heart skipped a beat.

Geralt was running towards him, the remnants of his last kill still on his armour and sword, which he held ready to strike.

“Geralt, stop!” There was no power behind his words. It would have been so easy. He knew Geralt’s name. If he wanted to, he could use the little chaos he had to make him do anything he wanted. He couldn’t. Not with Geralt. Not with his friend.

Something untameable flashed in Geralt’s eyes and he bared his teeth, eyes locked onto the creature.

The creature which had snapped away from Jaskier’s touch. The gust of wind that made Jaskier stumble was the only warning Jaskier got, before the forktail swung itself up in the air, ready to attack the witcher.

With growing terror Jaskier watched as the beast swooped down on his friend, claws outstretched.

“NO!”

He reacted without thinking. His feet carried him across the grass faster than a human should be able to run, the wind giving his heels wings.

The hard impact as he pushed Geralt out of the way left him breathless, but Geralt was safe. He wasn’t lying on the ground, speared by the forktails talons.

Pain. Why was there pain? It didn’t make sense, but it was unmistakable. It felt like fire racing up his side and something wet made his doublet cling uncomfortably against his skin.

He frowned down at himself. He had been sure that his doublet had been purely blue when he had bought it. So why was there so much red? He didn’t understand.

Panic gripped at Jaskier’s heart, making him unable to breath. Dark splotches blocked his view and his heart was racing.

Through the opal glass that Jaskier seemed to be looking through, he saw a blurry figure, clad in black wielding a sword, fighting a mighty beast.

Jaskier grounded himself in the view. Geralt was safe. Jaskier had protected him, now he only needed to make sure that he himself was alright.

He just needed to breath. He could do this; he could heal himself, he had done it before. Granted, it had always been minor injuries, scratches at the most, but he had healed them.

An unbidden voice fought its way into Jaskier’s mind. Did you though? Did you ever truly heal yourself?

The words sounded suspiciously like the mockery of one of the Fae who had never truly accepted Jaskier in their midst. You are not a real Fae. You are weak. Without the magic given to you by my sibling, you would be dead or still out there living a pathetic mortal life.

Jaskier clenched his teeth, willing the voice to go away.

He wasn’t weak. He had knit his own skin back together numerous times and he would do so again.

Still, the doubt lingered, couldn’t pushed away, try as he might.

He gritted his teeth and pressed his hands tightly against the gashes in his skin. Ever so slowly, a tingle spread across his side, replaced the fire that had been raging there before. He gasped as he felt the edges of the wound begin to close.

His vision swam, the colours of his surrounding blurring together. The sounds of the fight were drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears and the hammers pounding in his head from the inside. Any moment now, his head would split in half or Jaskier would burst from the unbearable exertion it took to grasp at the chaos.

It was too much. He couldn’t do this.

He panted as he felt his hands slip away from the wound.

The treacherous voice in his head had been right. He was weak. He was unable to do anything meaningful without the gifts of the Fae. Whenever he had called upon the Fae powers before, he had been in the Feywilds, where chaos reigned and Jaskier was free to take as much of it as he needed. He had never truly on his own.

Not as he was now.

No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t on his own. He had a friend here, one who always made sure that Jaskier was safe. He just needed to call for help. That’s what Geralt had told him. He needed to run and to call for help.

“Geralt…” The sound barely made it past his lips. The word was drowned out in the sounds of the fight. They were faint, far away, but Jaskier could make out a voice, calling for… for something. He couldn’t understand. It didn’t matter.

He needed to run. He tried to put one foot forward, but before it had even left the ground, his knees buckled.

Jaskier went to the floor with a strangled gasp, that went unheard. There he was again, that confused three-year old he had once been, crying and not knowing why no one came to comfort him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though not seeing the world could protect him from it. As though the exhaustion and pain in his head and side weren’t killing him.

A hand touched his face. Warm. Comforting. Geralt.

With the strength of a hundred men Jaskier pried his eyes back open. His comfort was looking down at him, fear written all over his face. There was something fundamentally wrong about it. It was too open, too vulnerable. Geralt should never have to look so afraid.

Geralt’s lips moved, but the rushing of blood in Jaskier’s ears was too loud to understand him. He concentrated, put all the focus he had on his friend hovering over him.

Slowly, as though through a mist the words gained in clarity.

“You idiot! Why did you do it?” The almost unnoticeable tremble in Geralt’s voice was enough to shake Jaskier fully awake. “I told you to run.”

Jaskier cracked a weak smile. “I did run, didn’t I?”

“You were supposed to run away from the danger.”

Jaskier tried to shrug nonchalantly to ease Geralt’s mind, but it ripped at his wounds, eliciting a gasp from him.

He blinked to vanish the dark spots that came back with a vengeance, obscuring his view of Geralt. Panic once again seized Jaskier’s heart. Seeing Geralt had grounded him, had made the pain slightly more bearable. Seeing him now disappear behind a wall of black turned Jaskier’s blood into ice. Blindly, he reached out for him. He needed to know that Geralt was still there.

Gerlat’s hand found his.

“Am I dying?”

“No.” Geralt’s tone left no room for argument or doubt. “Not while I’m here. I got you, Jaskier. Trust me.”

Something warm settled in Jaskier’s chest at the words, gave him the strength to fight against the darkness and slowly regain his sight. “You know I always trust you, Geralt.”

“Good.” A pause. “I need to look at your injury. It might hurt.”

“I trust you,” Jaskier repeated and squeezed Geralt’s hand. He needed him to know that he meant it.

Carefully, Geralt loosened his fingers from Jaskier’s. Jaskier held his breath as Geralt opened his doublet and lifted his shirt underneath. The fabric was stuck to the gash and ripped the partially dried blood away.

Jaskier couldn’t repress the startled outcry. The little healing he had managed hadn’t been nearly enough to ease the pain away.

“How bad is it?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“It’s bad.” Geralt gave a small sigh. Cold, steady fingers prodded at Jaskier’s skin and made him hiss. “But not as bad as I had thought. The wound isn’t that deep, actually. It shouldn’t have bleed as it did. How is there so much blood from such a small wound?”

“It’s for dramatic effect.”

Geralt grunted the way he always did, when Jaskier said or did something that some might consider stupid. The sound held fond exasperation. But more than anything, it sounded relieved.

Despite the sharp pain, Jaskier held still as Geralt cleaned and bandaged his wound, talking softly to him to distract him from the pain.

Jaskier might be far away from home, he might not have as much power, as he had gotten used to over the years, but he had Geralt. He had a friend that would take care of him.

The human world was gritty and dangerous, but as long as he had Geralt, it was the most beautiful place Jaskier could imagine.

#whumptober2020 #no15 #magical healing #the witcher #fic #injuries tw #Geraskier #fae!jaskier #well #kind of?#my writing #not sure if this is whumpy enough for whumptober #but alas

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tarithenurse · 4 years

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If I succeed - 5

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Pining, glimpses of past sexual escapades, emotional idiocy, an amused bard. Really really bad attempt at a sonnet/ballad. A/N: Thanks to all the rebloggers. Thanks for the comments and likes. I guess a lot of tumblr thirsts for Geralt ;) Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever - I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

5 – Hate to say I told you so

... Geralt ...

The life as a Witcher has taught Geralt to trust his guts and accept the likelihood of any worst case scenario, particularly if it prevents convoluted schemes. All in all, he reasons, people are simple. Some are content with happiness while most want influence – be it through wealth, knowledge, or power – and can be appeased if convinced they have achieved the epitome of this. Few are truly evil or good; everyone is predictable.

With one exception.

Geralt would be loathe to admit how weak he feels as he clambers back into the alcove. His legs are shaking, cold-sweat is tickling along the spine and beading on his forehead already...but it is none of these nuisances he pays attention to as he sinks into the pillow, haphazardly dragging the cover over his body. There is a faint scent of honey, of spruce, and fresh grass. There is a memory of the sun beaming onto sweat slicked bodies in a field of wildflowers while the mountain lark sings. Mostly, though, there is an ache in the Witcher’s chest similar to the one he felt when he was a boy and was missing his home. No, more than that. No sudden element is causing the dull emptiness but rather something within him. He may have shrugged it off to be an effect of the venom if it had not been a sentiment nagging the edges of his consciousness for weeks.

...

Rushed voices reaches the White Wolf, dragging him from the depths of sleep without making sense at first while he orients himself.

The sun must be low in the sky because the shadows are long and the light is soft with the colours of peaches. One of the two windows in the cottage has been opened to allow the gentle breeze a final chance of clearing the air and Geralt can see Roach as a silhouette against the hazy mountains beyond the valley.

“You heard him yourself, Ruben.”

The familiarity of the woman’s voice functions like a lantern in the night, drawing the focus of the waking mind towards the present. She sounds annoyed.

“Do you speak for him?”

There is a snort which confirms the theory of her mood. “I most certainly do not!” Someone else interjects a mumbling comment, too faint to make out although it seems to soothe [Y/N]. “Fine. Wait here.”

Naturally, Geralt has already swung his legs over the edge of the bed and is looking for his boots when the woman enters. Wordlessly, she picks up the footwear which she (perhaps logically?) had placed by the door and hands them to him before stepping back to assess his motions. Keen eyes sweep over him, noting the slight tremor of hands and the generally dishevelled appearance. Still she makes no attempt to meddle.

Only once he is ambling towards the door does she speak, “Y’heard them?”

“They wanna pay me to solve the problem.” He knows she nods from the silence. “No one leaves?”

“One of the vineyard boys’s insisting on riding to Beauclair.”

“He better hurry,” Geralt sighs, but he goes to talk with the few villagers who have come to bargain.

...

Listening in the silence of the night, the sounds of the sleeping mountain, valley, and Jaskier snoring next to him is not what keeps the Witcher awake. Time and again, he has tried to collect his thoughts on the looming task.

Idiot. The unkind word is laced with a certain adoration as it retains to Jaskier who has refused to sit this quest out and remain in relative safety in the village. The young man insists it is of utmost necessity that he accompanies to witness any heroic deed, thus ensuring odes or ballads of highest accuracy – an excuse he vindictively upholds despite Geralt pointing out the artistic freedom of previous songs.

Yet...it does soothe the Witcher to know that someone, even a person as inept as the bard, will be able to care for Roach should worst come worst. They can then return to [Y/N] and warn her and the rest of the villagers.

[Y/N]. He can see her for his inner eye, skin glowing in the heat of the setting sun, and eyes full of lively challenge.

As if summoned by his stray thought, he hears her slip from her alcove. Geralt keeps his eyes closed but hears the light footfall bring her to the door where a rustle tattle tales of a shawl being grabbed and wrapped around unyielding shoulders. The latch whines enough for Jaskier to grunt in his sleep...then she slips out of the door.

I’m not spying, the silver haired man informs himself as he too slips from under the warm covers. At the very least, he knows better than to follow her this time, choosing instead to wait in the shadows by the window. Immobile, he may as well have been carved from the very rock of the mountains.

Waiting. Watching.

Clouds sail swiftly past the waning moon, inadvertently plunging the interior of the little home in complete darkness though the stars and thin air lends an ethereal light to the slopes and valley below.

... Jaskier ...

The summer was sweeter than honeyed wine,

yet love turned to heartache with passing of time.

Now that you see her

- tangible, clearer -

the longing for summer’s perfection returning

you dare not give in to the rekindled yearning

Although the bard knows his work is cut out for him, he cannot help but pride himself of being the one to witness, and proclaim the (if only due to an artistic spin) epic ballad of the Witcher and his soulmate.

If only they would DO something about it! It is clear as day that the two are tiptoeing around each other and the memories of (ahem) shared experiences which, obviously, Jaskier has no idea about because no one could guess what Geralt and [Y/N] were doing out in a secluded field that could lead to a particular disarray and soft intimacy reserved between just the two of them. Noooooooo one.

And there it is. Lying in the darkness of the alcove, listening to the subdued sighs of longing from his friend standing by the window, Jaskier promises himself and any greater forces of the worlds to aid the lovers. Not blatantly, of course. But slight nudges, hints, maybe giving them a few opportune moments with each other. I’ll give them space. Make myself scarce by...walking the horse! Or...getting firewood. Yes!

For the second night in a row, the bard falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

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adventuresoftheordinarysort · 4 years

Text

A List of My Fics (By Fandom and Ship)

Hi all! Thought I’d make a list of the fics I’ve written over the years. I’ve done Kingsman, Witcher, and Merlin.

Merlin

Merlin/Arthur

Protect You Anyway

Merlin accidentally reveals his magic to Arthur. It goes about as well as he can expect. Only Arthur is still furious about the lies between them, and refuses to let Merlin back into his role as manservant. So Merlin requests to be made a knight. If Arthur can't trust him to be a friend, at least Merlin can continue to save his life. Their friendship hangs in the balance, and it is unclear whether they are going to come through on the other side stronger than ever, or broken beyond repair.

Across a Dream

Arthur repeals the ban on magic almost as soon as he becomes king, but things don't really change for Merlin. He knows that if Arthur ever found out about the lies, he'd never be forgiven. So he keeps his magic hidden just like he did before. Then to mark the one year anniversary of the repeal, Arthur hosts a ball. Merlin decides to disguise himself, and go to the ball as Emrys to keep an eye out for his friend. The idea is only partly motivated by jealousy.

Merlin/Morgana

Look Out for Her

Merlin makes a different choice. He teaches Morgana himself. It takes them to a little cottage, and for nearly two years the two of them keep Arthur safe. Together.

Witcher

Geralt/Jaskier

All Unwoven

Jaskier cares for Geralt after they are attacked by bandits. Geralt knows he isn't getting the full story of how exactly they escaped, but Jaskier isn't ready to talk about it yet. But when a bard at a tavern sings a song recounting the events, Geralt gets the full story.

Curse is as Good as A Kiss

Jaskier insults a creature he really shouldn't, but thankfully she is amused by it. In return she grants him a rather interesting gift.

What Happens at the Coast

Before the final trial to become Witchers, the entire class of Witchers is allowed to spend two moths away from Kaer Morhen. It gives them a chance to explore the world around them, and gives them one last chance to back out of training. It is Geralt's turn to explore, and he rides to the coast, and he meets someone.

It’s Been Thirty Years

Geralt and Jaskier have been traveling together for almost thirty years. Jaskier has been flirting with him since day one. Geralt is oblivious to it all. It's really rather annoying.

Navy Blue Isn’t a Color

Yennefer and Jaskier get invitations to attend the masquerade wedding of a royal. Unfortunately, Jaskier slept with the bride several years before, and he is worried about her intentions for hiring him as an entertainer. He brings Geralt for protection, but Geralt doesn't quite grasp the concept on anonymity. A joke goes too far, and Geralt's feelings are hurt. Thankfully Jaskier knows how to make it up to him.

Black Sun Princess

Geralt tells the tale of Renfri to Jaskier, and Jaskier does what he does best. He writes a bop.

That’s Not How Kissing It Better Works

A faerie queen has sex with a human. Almost fifty years later Geralt, and Jaskier have sex. This leads to Jaskier learning something rather interesting about his heritage.

Gen

Friends... Sort Of

Geralt leaves Yennefer and Jaskier alone while he goes on a hunt. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, and chances are they'll kill each other. In the end, it is much worse. They become drinking buddies.

Kingsman

Merlin/Eggsy

Unexpected Inheritance

Merlin inherits a large estate in the Scottish Highlands, completely out of the blue. In order to renovate the property he must leave behind London. Doing so, also means he has to leave behind his daughter Abby's nanny. Eggsy gets kicked out when Dean blames him for a deal gone south, and now he needs a new job so he doesn't spend the rest of his life on Jamal's couch.

Harry/Eggsy

By the Sword and Ring

The last thing Eggsy expects upon being chased out of his village, is to wake up in a nomadic village. Soon he finds himself in a world of magic as he trains to be Lord Hart's battle mage. With war brewing on the border, he is drawn inexorably closer to evil itself.

Eggsy/Jamal

We’re Getting Married

Eggsy gets it into his head to make a quick buck by sending out wedding invitations to local millionaires, and billionaires, and selling off the expensive wedding gifts he's given. Jamal agrees to be listed as the husband-to-be on the invitation. All is going according to plan until Harry Hart RSVPs yes. Then Eggsy, and Jamal are left scrambling to pull a wedding out of their asses.

Might Need Glasses

Eggsy gets a job at Kingsman tailors, but can't get passed the point in his training where he needs to thread a needle. Harry suggests he might need glasses. Jamal has a particularly strong reaction.

One Day

Growing up Jamal and Eggsy always said they would move out of the estate and live together. Maybe in a house made of cheese. Eggsy intends to make it happen.

Harry/Merlin

Why a Toad?

Harry and Merlin’s twenty-seventh anniversary is fast approaching. Merlin knows exactly what to get his husband as a gift this year. It just takes a little adventuring to find it.

A Thief at Hand

The enterprising Dean Baker has started butting into Kingsman territory. While it would be fairly easy for the Kingsman to wipe out his network it would be messy and expensive. So they host a peace summit in the hopes of distributing territory enough to keep Baker out of their hair. In the process, a young thief is traded over to Kingsman.

Harry/Merlin/Eggsy

There Go the Lights

Eggsy is home late because of a rain storm sweeping through London. When he gets home, the power goes out. Thankfully he has Harry, and Merlin to keep him warm.

Devil Makes Three (High Seas Pt. 1)

Merlin was betrayed thirty years ago. Now he has finally caught up with the man who betrayed him, and the crew they worked with. When he gets taken prisoner, his world view is challenged by a young man he meets, and things get complicated.

Getting Back what was Lost (High Seas pt.2)

Merlin has been with the Kingsman Pirates for some time now. His relationship with Harry, and Eggsy is strong. Eggsy wants to give Merlin back a piece of what he lost during his time in the Navy. (You do not need to read part one to understand this part.)

Days of Future Flowers (co-author @anarchycox)

Set sometime in the future, Eggsy's implants and mechanical body parts need upgrades and care that he just can't afford. He does a few shady things and catches the eye of the cops. He runs and eventually hides in a flower shop of all places.

It will be the best mistake of his life.

Roxy/Gazelle

Climbing the Social Ladder (Social Season Pt.1)

Lady Roxy is destined to marry Princess Gazelle’s cousin, a dreadfully boring man. Despite this her visit to the kingdom has been quite pleasant. Except for that dreaded heat.

For the Love of a Country

Roxy is ready to take her rightful place on the throne, now that her grandmother is stepping down. The catch? She must marry first, and there's another woman coming for the throne. Can she navigate the political coup, and emerge with her heart intact? (A Princess Diaries 2 AU).

Roxy/Gazelle/Tilde

A Celebration of Marriage (Social Season Pt. 2)

Princess Tilde was once dear friends with Princess Gazelle when they were children. Although they eventually drifted apart, Tilde can't turn down an invitation to the upcoming wedding of her dear friend Lady Roxy and her old friend Princess Gazelle. However, Gazelle's 'traditional celebration' the night before the wedding is more than Tilde bargained for.

Tequila/Eggsy

A Time-Like Curve

When Eggsy is little he sees a painting in a gallery that looks oddly like someone he knows. When he grows up he learns about Kingsman. An agency of time travelers intent on keeping history from being destroyed.

Eggsy’s First Rodeo

Roxy drunkenly participates in the office's holiday party raffle. Her prize? An all expenses paid trip to a Kentucky Rodeo. She drags Eggsy with her, and as he finds out; Tequila does more than get you drunk.

Merlin/Roxy

The Fire of Winter Nights (ao-author @anarchycox)

English lady Roxy finds herself kidnapped and sold but the people who buy her are very different than the ones who took her. With the new people she finds friendship, hope, and maybe romance with the Chieftain Merlin.

Merlin is very enamoured of Roxy, but he has promised to return her to England come the spring. But each day he knows that it will be harder to let go.

Harry and Eggsy are so desperately in love with each other, and neither says anything sure the feelings aren't mutual.

It is going to be a long winter.

Roxy/Tilde/Eggsy

Tiny Dancer

Eggsy has been out of the whole dancing scene for a while and has very little intention of ever getting back out there. No matter how his friends and mother push him. When Roxy needs a partner for a performance at a charity event, Eggsy finds his good nature leading him back to the stage.

Gen

Bound by Your Word

Roxy runs afoul of a demon-worshipping cult. When she’s caught trying to dismantle the organization, they attempt a summoning ritual. Nothing goes as planned.

#bbc merlin #the witcher #kingsman

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