#dandilion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-doctor-3000 · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 {The Witcher x F!Reader}

2: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 (pt. 2)

The people in Lower Posada were strange. They were weirdly kind. Too kind actually. They gave the three of them - Dandilion, y/n and Geralt - some stew to eat. Y/n looked down at her bowl with evident disgust but reluctantly took a few bites. She looked at Dadnilion who was licking his fingers. She then spared a glance at Geralt.

"Thank you for the spread." said the white haired male, he licked his bone spoon and dropped it into the now empty bowl. "A hundred thanks, dear host. And now, if you permit, we'll get down to business."

Nettly, that was the man's name, nodded his head in agreement. "Well, that we can. What say ye, Dhun?"

Dhun turned out to be the elder of Lower Posada. He had a gloomy expression on his features and nodded to the girls who removed the dishes from the table and then left. Dandilion looked quite regretful since he was grinning at them and they were giggling at his gross jokes. Y/n though was mostly intrigued at the conversation that was about to follow. What kind of business?

"I'm listening." said Geralt, he looked out of the window. Y/n tried to see what he was looking at but she could not make out much. "Tell me how I can be of use to you."

Dhun cleared his throat and said, "There be this field hereabouts--" Y/n heard Dandilion slightly groaning, she looked underneath the table to see that Geralt had kicked him. "--A field." Dhun continued. "Be I right, Nettly? A long time, the field there, it lay fallow, but we set it to the plough and now, 'tis on it we sow hemp, hops and flax. It be a grand piece of field, I tell ye. Stretches right up to the forest--"

Dandilion chimed in, "And what? What's on that field there?"

"Well," He scratched himself behind the ear. "Well, there be a deovel prowls there."

Y/n's eyes widened as she raised her head and listened carefully. "What?" snorted Dandilion. "A what?"

"I tell ye: a deovel."

"What deovel?"

"What can he be? A deovel and that be it."

"Devils don't exist!"

"A devil?" y/n asked, pipping into the conversation, suddenly interested. "Can you describe him? Do you know where he came from? What exactly did he do to bother you?"

Dhun fiddled with gnarled hands, he then folded his fingers and looked at the female as if he now acknowledged her presence. He turned to Geralt, "Quite the curious lass you have there." Y/n knocked on the wood in order to get back to the main subject. "Right. Well, it be like this. He looks, ma'am, like a deovel, for all the world like a deovel. Where did he come from? Well, nowhere. Crash, bang, wallop and there we have him: a deovel. And bother us, forsooth he doesnae bother us overly. There be times he even helps."

"Helps?" Dandilion cackled as he tried to remove a fly from his beer. "A devil?"

Y/n shushed him. "Stop being rude." She scolded him lightly and turned her attention to Dhun. Geralt did not speak as he watched the female curiously. "But you have a good point. Devils don't help. But if that be true, what exactly does he help with?"

"Why are you so interested, ma'am?" Dhun asked her. "Are you perhaps a lady witcher?"

"I am a Shadowhunter." Upon the looks of confusion she received, she went on to explain. "Shadowhunters are also called the Children of the Nephilim. Our job is to hunt demons. So, honourable Dhun, I'll ask again and I'd like your response to be related to the main subject of this conversation. What does this deovel help with?"

He gulped anxiously. "Well, this be how he helps: he fertilizes the land, he turns the soil, he gets rid of the moles, scares birds away, watches over the turnips and beetroots. Oh, and he eats the caterpillars he does, they as do hatch in the cabbages. But the cabbages, he eats them too, forsooth. Nothing but guzzle, be what he does. Just like a deovel."

Y/n heard Dandilion cackling again, her eyes focused on Dhun with an incredulous expression, and she could not blame the troubadour. It was quite amusing - they were hiring Geralt to get rid of something which was helping them. Dandilion flicked a beer-drenched fly at a sleeping cat.

"Nevertheless, you're ready to pay me to get rid of him, am I right?" said Geralt. His voice was scarily calm, the h/c haired female thought with a shiver. "In other words, you don't want him in the vicinity?"

"And who would care to have a deovel on his birthright soil? This be our land since forever, bestowed upon us by the king and it has nought to do with the deovel. We spit on his help. We've got hands ourselves, have we not? And he, sir, is nay a deovel but a malicious beast and has got so much, forgive the word, shite in his head as be hard to bear. There be no knowing what will come into his head. Once he fouled the well, then chased a lass, frightening and threatening to fuck her." Y/n shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "He steals, sir, our belongings and victuals. He destroys and breaks things, makes a nuisance of himself--"

"Sir, you said that he was helping you. This sounds the complete opposite from your previous claims and it's getting exhasuting." The girl's voice was cold, starting to get annoyed by this mundane. "Just answer this simple question: does he bother you or not?"

Dhun was momentarily shocked by the female's bossiness. He shook his head. "Nay. He doesnae bother us. He be simply up to mischief, that's what he be."

Her left eye twitched but gave him a collected smile. Dandilion turned to the window, muffling his laughter. Nettly spoke up then, "Oh, what be there to talk about. Ye be a witcher, nae?" He addressed Geralt who kept quiet. "So do ye something about this deovel. It be work ye be looking for in Upper Posada. I heard so myself. So ye have work. We'll pay ye what needs be. But take note: we don't want ye killing the deovel. No way."

"Interesting," Geralt spoke, his head raised and nasty smile. "Unusual, I'd say."

Dhun frowned, "What?"

"An unusual condition. Why all this mercy?"

"He should nae be killed. Because in this Valley--"

Nettly cut it, "He should nae and that be it. Only catch him, sir, or drive him off yon o'er the seventh mountain. And ye will nae be hard done by when ye be paid."

Geralt remained quiet, still smiling. Dhun then asked, "Seal it, will ye, the deal?"

"First, I’d like a look at him, this devil of yours." replied Geralt.

"It be yer right," said Nettly, then stood up. "And yer will. The deovel he do prowl the whole neighborhood at night but at day he dwells somewhere in the hemp. Or among the old willows on the marshland. Ye can take a look at him there. We won't hasten ye. Ye be wanting rest, then rest as long as ye will. Ye will nae go wanting in comfort and food as befits the custom of hospitality. Take care."

Dandilion jolted up from his stool and looked out into the yard at the freemen. "Geralt. I can't understand anything anymore. A day hasn't gone by since our chat about imagined monsters and you suddenly get yourself hired hunting devils. And everybody--- except ignorant freemen obviously--- knows that devils are an invention; they're mythical creatures. What's this unexpected zeal of yours supposed to mean? Knowing you a little as I do, I take it you haven't abased yourself so as to get us bed, board and lodging, have you?”

"Indeed. It does look as if you know me a little, singer."

"In that case, I don't understand."

"What is there to understand?"

"There's no such things as devils!" yelled Dandilion, shaking the cat from sleep once and for all. "No such thing! To the devil with it, devils don't exist!"

"True." Geralt smiled. "But, Dandilion, I could never resist the temptation of having a look at something that doesn't exist."

"Excuse me," y/n's voice was shaking a little as she now spoke directly to the 'witcher'. "I'd also like to take a look at this, uh, devil. I can help."

"I don't need it."

"And I didn't ask. I just wanted to let you know."

《♤》

"Bloody hell!" groaned y/n as her hair and clothes were now tangled with leaves and small branches. "I hope this nasty little creature is close!"

Geralt then muttered, ignoring the girl's comment. "One thing is certain" He swept his eyes over the tangled jungle of hemp. "This devil is not stupid."

"Good for him," Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "But how did you deduce that?"

Dandilion was also curious and added, "From the fact that he's sitting in an impenetrable thicket? Any old hare has enough brains for that."

Geralt answered them, "It's a question of the special qualities of hemp. A field of this size emits a strong aura against magic. Most spells will be useless here. And there, look, do you see those poles? Those are hops - their pollen has the same effect. It's not mere chance. The rascal senses the aura and knows he's safe here."

Dandilion coughed and adjusted his breeches. "I’m curious." He scratched his forehead beneath his hat. "How are you going to go about it, Geralt? I’ve never seen you work. I take it you know a thing or two about catching devils—I'm trying to recall some ballads. There was one about a devil and a woman. Rude, but amusing. The woman, you see—"

"If you finish that sentence I'll kick you where sun don't shine." The female spoke with an irritation that she had not experienced for a while. She saw the startled look on Dandilion's face and regretted her choice of words. "I'm sorry. That was rude. But I beg you, refrain yourself from making crude comments."

"As you wish, my fair lady. I only wanted to be helpful, that's all. And you shouldn't scorn ancient songs. There's wisdom in them, accumulated overgenerations. There's a ballad about a farmhand called Slow, who—”

"Stop wittering. We have to earn our board and lodging." Geralt interrupted the troubadour.

"What do you want to do?"

"Rummage around a bit in the hemp."

"That's original," snorted Dandilion. "Though not too refined."

"And you, how would you go about it?"

"Intelligently." Dandilion sniffed. "Craftily. With a hounding, for example. I’d chase the devil out of the thicket, chase him on horseback, in the open field, and lasso him. What do you think of that?"

"Interesting. Who knows, maybe it could be done, if you took part—because at least two of us are needed for an enterprise like that. But we're not going hunting yet. I want to find out what this thing is, this devil. That's why I'm going to rummage about in the hemp."

"Hey!" The bard had only just noticed. "You haven't brought your sword!"

"What for? I know some ballads about devils, too. Neither the woman nor Slow the farmhand used a sword."

"Hmm. . ." Dandilion looked around. "Do we have to squeeze through the very middle of this thicket?"

"You don't have to. You can go back to the village and wait for me. Take the girl with you."

Her brows shot up in surprise. "Excuse me? I am not scared of the woods! Mister poet could go back if he's not comfortable but I'm staying."

"Oh, no," protested Dandilion. "And miss a chance like this? I want to see a devil too, see if he's as terrible as they claim. I was asking if we have to force our way through the hemp when there's a path."

He is quite brave, for a mundane. She thought with a blush dusting her cheeks. She shook her head. No! Mother and father would be disappointed if they found out that I may be developing a crush on a mundie. She looked at the troubadour. Though I might be mistaking his foolishness for bravery.

"Quite right." Geralt shielded his eyes with his hand. "There is a path. So let's use it."

"And what if it's the devil's path?" Y/n asked the witcher.

"All the better. We won't have to walk too far."

"Do you know, Geralt," babbled the bard, following the witcher along the narrow, uneven path among the hemp. "I always thought the devil was just a metaphor invented for cursing: 'go to the devil', 'to the devil with it', 'may the devil.' Lowlanders say: 'The devils are bringing us guests,' while dwarves have 'Duvvel hoael' when they get something wrong, and call poor-blooded livestock devvelsheyss. And in the Old Language, there's a saying, 'A d'yaebl aep arse,' which means—"

"I know what it means. You're babbling, Dandilion." Y/n raised her hand sheepishly. Geralt sighed in exasperation which caused her to tense up a little bit. "Yes?"

"I am literally new around here. What-- What does it mean?" She asked. "I can only understand one word because it sounds like the English one."

"English?" Dandilion questioned, his head tilted to the side innocently. "Is this a language?"

She nodded. "Yeah? You speak it right now."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "No, my lady. You speak the common."

Y/n simply stared at him. "Let's just agree to disagree." She shook her head. "Anyway. What does that phrase you said earlier mean?"

He chuckled. "It means 'Into the devil's--"

"Dandilion." Geralt groaned.

"What? The lady asked!" The bard protested. "And who am I to say no to a lady so beautiful?"

She let out a small flustered giggle. "Beautiful? You're flattering me."

"I'd never lie! I'm merely stating what's obvious!"

"Will you shut it?" hissed the witcher.

Dandilion and y/n stopped talking. The former took off the hat decorated with a heron's feather, fanned himself with it and wiped his sweaty brow. The humid, stifling heat, intensified by the smell of grass and weeds in blossom, dominated the thicket. The path curved a little and, just beyond the bend, ended in a small clearing which had been stamped in the weeds.

"Look, you two." In the very center of the clearing lay a large, flat stone, and on it stood several clay bowls. An almost burnt-out tallow candle was set among the bowls. Geralt saw some grains of corn and broad beans among the unrecognizable pips and seeds stuck in the flakes of melted fat. "As I suspected, they're bringing him offerings."

"That's just it," said the poet, indicating the candle. "And they burn a tallow candle for the devil. But they're feeding him seeds, I see, as if he were a finch. Plague, what a bloody pigsty. Everything here is all sticky with honey and birch tar. What--"

The bard's next words were drowned by a loud, sinister bleating. Something rustled and stamped in the hemp; then the strangest creature Geralt had ever seen emerged from the thicket.

The creature was about half a rod tall with bulging eyes and a goat's horns and beard. The mouth, a soft, busy slit, also brought a chewing goat to mind. Its nether regions were covered with long, thick, dark-red hair right down to the cleft hooves. The devil had a long tail ending in a brush-like tassel which wagged energetically.

"Uk! Uk!" barked the monster, stamping his hooves. "What do you want here? Leave! Leave or I’ll ram you down. Uk! Uk!"

"What the bloody hell am I watching?" the h/c haired female questioned, her look was one of a surprise rather than horror. If she wasn't shocked, she would probably laugh and if Jace were with her, there would be a high chance for him to join her. "Is this the o so fearsome deovel everyone has been talking about? He looks like a sad goat."

Dandilion laughed at her comment and could not help himself but add. "Has anyone ever kicked your arse, little goat?"

"Uk! Uk! Beeeeee!" bleated the goathorn and y/n could not tell whether it was in agreement, denial or just for the sake of it.

"Shut up, you two," growled the witcher. "Not a word."

"Us?! He"- she pointed at the creature -"is the talking goat!"

"Blebleblebeeeee!" The creature gurgled furiously, his lips parting wide to expose yellow horse-like teeth. "Uk! Uk! Bleubeeeeubleuuuuubleeeeeeee!"

Y/n made a sound of disgust and muttered silently. "Someone is in serious need of a dentist."

"Most certainly"- Dandilion added -"you can take the barrel-organ and bell when you go home--"

"Stop it, damn you," hissed Geralt. "Keep your stupid jokes and your sarcastic remarks to yourselves---"

"Jokes!" roared the goathorn loudly and leapt up. "Jokes? New jokers have come, have they? They've brought iron balls, have they? I'll give you iron balls, you scoundrels, you. Uk! Uk! Uk! You want to joke, do you? Here are some jokes for you! Here are your balls!"

The creature sprang up and gave a sudden swipe with his hand. Y/n jumped out of the way quickly but Dandilion wasn't so fast or lucky and howled and sat down hard on the path, clasping his forehead. The creature bleated and aimed again. Something whizzed past Geralt's ear.

"Here are your balls! Brrreee!"

An iron ball, an inch in diameter, thwacked the witcher in the shoulder and the next hit Dandilion in the knee. The poet cursed foully and scrambled away, Geralt running after him as balls whizzed above his head.

"Uk! Uk!" screamed the sylvan, leaping up and down. "I'll give you balls! You shitty jokers!"

Another ball whizzed through the air. Dandilion cursed even more as he grabbed the back of his head. Geralt threw himself to one side, among the hemp, but didn't avoid the ball that hit him in the shoulder. Y/n mentally admitted it to herself that, for a sylvan, he had a really good aim and, unfortunately for them, a good amount of balls. The witcher, stumbling through the thicket, heard yet another triumphant bleat from the victorious goathorn, followed by the whistle of a flying ball, a curse and the patter of Dandilion's feet scurrying away along the path. One of the iron balls hit y/n when she was distracted. She winced in pain and ran with the others.

And then silence fell.

《♤》

"Well, well, Geralt." Dandilion held a horseshoe he'd cooled in a bucket to his forehead. "That's not what I expected. A horned freak with a goatee like a shaggy billy goat, and he chased you away like some upstart. And I got it in the head. Look at that bump!"

"That's the sixth time you've shown it to me. And it's no more interesting now than it was the first time."

"How charming. And I thought I’d be safe with you!"

Y/n searched through her jacket for her stele.

"I didn't ask you to traipse after me in the hemp, and I did ask you to keep that foul tongue of yours quiet. You didn't listen, so now you can suffer. In silence, please, because they're just coming."

The female ignored the two as she removed the stele from her pocket. To Geralt and Dandilion looked like a long, slender twig but made out of silver or some metal. She took off her jacket and pressed it against her skin. A small light appeared in the tip and she begun making something. Black ink came out of it. She did a rune on the place she had been hit and then did another one.

Dandilion could not help but stare in amazement which followed up by him voicing his thoughts. "My, what kind of sorcery is that? It looks like art!"

"These are runes. They aid us and sometimes even give us special abilities when we kill demons." y/n said shortly, her eyes on her arm as she was being careful

"We?"

"Shadowhunters. I mentioned it earlier." As she finished, she put her jacket back on and the stele on her pocket. "Also, now I understand why you all can see me."

"Shouldn't we?"

"No. All Shadowhunters have a rune which keeps them hidden from the sight of the mundies." She adjusted her jacket. "The reason why you can see me is because all my runes have disappeared." Nettly and Dhun walked into the dayroom. Behind them hobbled a gray-haired old woman led by a fair-haired and painfully thin teenage girl. "I'll go check the place."

"Huh?" Dendilion blurted, baffled by her decision. "Is there something wrong?"

Y/n did not respond. Not at first. She looked at Nettly and Dhun, then to the old woman and the young girl. There was something off with this place and she was in no good mood for another discussion with them. "I'll be back soon."

And she left before anyone could stop her.

《♤》

She returned to the field, this time she had taken some precautions by marking herself with runes that would enhance her speed and protect her.

"Hey!" Y/n shouted, cupping her mouth. "I know you're here! Show yourself!" A rustle, an angry 'uk' and the snapping of stakes, reached her ears from the thicket. "Coward!"

"Coward yourself.” The sylvan poked his head out from the hemp, baring his teeth at her. "What do you want?"

She ignored his question and answered with another. "You are not a devil. You're a sylvan, right?"

"And what if I am?"

"We got off the wrong foot. I am y/n Lightwood and I just want to talk to you."

Silence.

"Are you making fun of me or what? You are with that witcher these peasants hired to get rid of me."

"I assure you, I met that man today. I simply came along out of sheer curiosity. Please, let's talk."

"That's what it's called now?" The sylvan mocked her. "I've seen that fancy dagger of yours. The one that you're hiding in your boot!"

"I am not going to hurt---"

"Throw it away!"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me! If you want to talk, then throw your weapon away!" Y/n really did not want to do this, but the satyr was not making it easy. She sighed and with a heavy heart took her dagger out of her boot. She looked at it for a long moment and put it down. "What do you take me for, an idiot? Further!" She bit her lip and with her foot she pushed it away. "Further!"

She kicked it, mentally noting where it landed. "There. Let's talk, now." She looked at the sylvan straight in the rights. He surely wasn't a beautiful sight to behold. "You do cause the mischief the stereotypical sylvan does." She begun as she examined around with her eyes. "But I've noticed the offerings." The sylvan looked at her, weighing his weight from one hoof to the other. "Quite a lot for someone as small as you. So... let me ask you this one question, and you better answer it." There was a moment of silence. The birds were chirping but she could hear something else. Galloping from a horse. She wanted to assume that the witcher was coming but she had a feeling that lady luck wasn't on her side this time. "Who are you trying to protect?"

The galloping became louder. She sighed and ducked as she could feel something being swung at her.

She dropped the ground and saw a man on horseback. She could not distinguish his face due to him being hooded and the sun too bright. This certainly wasn't Geralt, or Dandilion. He dismounted his horse as he took out a blade.

Y/n stood on her feet and backed away before he could strike her. It looked like a lion ready to catch its prey. Not so much different from hunting a demon, y/n thought to herself. She had to get her weapon, fast. She spotted it. It wasn't too far away but it wasn't too close for her to grab it without the man chasing her.

Her feet moved swiftly to the side, pretending to go the other way at first so she could confuse the man before her.

The rider quickly caught on to her attempt to deceive him. He grabbed her by the wrist, blade under her neck. Y/n kicked the male between the legs and gave him a quick butthead.

He grunted in pain as he let go and instinctively dropped his weapon to hold his head in pain. Y/n wheeled around and ran. Right on time because the rider healed fast. Just as she grasped her seraph blade, she turned around and her blade clashed with his own.

They engaged in swordfight. He was very skilful, his skill with the blade could almost match her adoptive brother's. If it weren't for her runes, he would probably land a hit on her.

She tried to keep her focus on the man's blade, but she could faintly hear the sylvan saying something to the man. Something about not killing her.

The rider grew tired of this soon and tackled her on the ground. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them over her head. She squirmed as she tried to break free of his hold but he held her with an iron grip.

"Who the fuck are you?" She demanded of the man but he did not respond.

He did not respond. Instead, he collided his head against her own. Knocking her out.

#the witcher x reader #the witcher #geralt of rivia x reader #edge of the world #the witcher and the shadow #dandilion #dandelion #jaskier #torque #geralt of rivia

47 notes · View notes

fantasyqueen502 · 9 months

Text

"I am a husband now, a father, and damn good one."

A/N: Jaskier x male Y/N who is a Cyclops. Story idea that most likely has grammatical errors. Let me know. Feel free to comment, like, and enjoy.

Summary: Jaskier's time after the fight and separation with Geralt.

Rated: PG-13

Fighting, blood, swearing, injury and mentions of sex.

A hooded man carries barrels of ale on his shoulders like nothing. "Bout time. It’s a full 'ouse, and we’re running low!'' a very short and greasy man rants.

"Forgive me." comes from the pitch-black hole in place of his face shielded within the hood. Stocking the barrels onto the rack with each thundering step.

"Forgiveness," the small man scoffs.

"This is a bar, not Sunday school," he corrects. Scurrying out of the way as the large man walks to his horse with a cart of more barrels of his finest ale, whiskey, and wine "Brew too good for royalty". If only. This was the only bar that paid him; it was below any other winery, but he didn’t have the choice of getting what he deserved.

"Do you know how many others beg for me to do business?" he inquires. That was a lie. "I just might take up on their offers if you disappoint me again," he threatens.

"Won’t happen again." The man grits his teeth, trying his hardest not to growl, imagining wringing his hand around the small man’s throat and giving him some peace. Hoisting two barrels onto each shoulder, whimpers sound, catching the small man’s ear.

"You brought that runt again," he groans. "All it does is wail and squeal, causing my patrons to leave because they can’t even hear themselves think. "Thing sounds like it’s dying. Half the--" the man chokes as the large man punches his arm clean through the barrel of ale. A stream pours from it as he fills a mug.

"This shipment is on me," he whispers, extending the mug into the small man’s trembling hands. "Ale’s on the house!" he bellows, the crowd cheering and rushing over to fill their pints. "I’ll stock the basement in peace if you don’t mind," he continues darkly.

"D-Don’t take too long," he tries to threaten.

"Wouldn’t dream of it,"

With the party going on above, the soft whimpers turn into loud cries. As the large man rolls his neck and shoulder.

"Shhhhhhhhhh," The hooded man says, taking off his cloak and looking over his shoulder at the red-faced babe. Balling her small fists into his back as she wailed. Loosening the sash and cradling her in his arms. "What’s the matter, Tola?" he calmly wondered.

Tracing the horrific scars that stretched across the left side of her face, he smiled as her cry stalled, taking his finger in her fist. The scars were even on her entire left arm. "I wish I could take the pain away." He holds her close. Resting his forehead against hers. She had thick lashes and a doe-brown eye looking up at him. A song starts, and she calms. He is in bewilderment as she seems to smile crookedly, tilting her head towards the strumming of a lute.

Walking up the steps, he looks at the stage and finds a man who is a personified peacock. Strutting about while belting out notes with so much passion, he hears a muffled coo from Tola under his cloak. He chuckles, feeling her snuggle her chubby face between his shoulder blades. Taking a seat in the back. She needed a good nap, and he needed a moment of peace. Folding his arms one over the other and resting his head on them.

With a yawn, he readies his horse, which whinnies and pulls away from him. "What’s wrong, girl?" he asks, stroking her snout. Following her line of sight, hearing pained grunts. Following them to a dark alley. Two men stand beside a man throwing up on all fours in the mud.

"Serves ya’ right!" one shouts, spitting on the man.

"Fucking! Cocksucker!" the other screams, winding up his foot and kicking the man in the stomach. Crawling onto his knees.

"I'm all for presentation and the art of building up suspense, but for my sake." He sways forward, stumbling back and looking up at the men. Groaning as his head pounded, he was sure his brains were knocked loose. "Get the fuck on with it!" He hissed. Tilting his head back to laugh. His teeth were stained pink from the blood that flooded his mouth. "Just… I'm begging you." His breath hitches, and his lips tremble into a frown. "Put me out of my misery." He sobs. "Just kill me." He begs, holding up his hands in prayer. The men snickered, exchanging looks with sick glee. Socking the bard in the face and laying him out flat on his back "Since you asked so nicely." Unsheathing a Buck knife, the cloaked man grabs the man by the back of the neck. The man yelps, striking his knife into the dark figure's shoulder to the hilt. He seethes, throwing the man into the brick wall, his head painting it red. The movement caused his hood to fall. The cloaked man grunts, yanking the knife from his shoulder and turning to face the second man, who trembles. He roars at the burn of his wound, causing the man to run away as fast as he could in fear. Calming his breath, he hears the bard's groan.

"I should have known." The man rants, struggling to his feet and holding his arms out to his sides for balance. "You don't have the balls to—" he trails off, trailing his eyes up from the worn boots. Meeting the giant that loomed over him in the moonlight. Jaskier gawks as he meets the giant man's eyes—well, one big eye in the middle of his face. "A cyclops." He gulps, his eyes widening in horror. The man grunts, waiting for the man to either run away screaming like humans normally do or lunge at him to attack. But the bard was just full of surprises. His eyes rolled back along with his body, which fell to the ground once more.

The bard groans as his hand goes to hold his head. Slowly sitting up from the couch he laid on. A warm fire; it was night, and he gasped at a steaming bowl and cup of water. Scooping the warmed potatoes and meat into his mouth.

"Didn't think you'd wake up."

He freezes, staring into the corner of the room, trying to make out the figure in the shadows. He gulps, tumbling as the stranger steps into the light, poking the fire.

"A-are you going to kill me? Use my meat for stew and my bones for bread."

"You're thinking of Giants." He corrects. "I'm a Cyclops."

"Oh." The bard sounds

"Humans are too gamy anyway." He chuckles at the bard's horrified eyes. The bard laughed awkwardly, not knowing if the one-eyed man was joking or not.

Following the squealing cries up the stairs, pushing open a cracked door to a nursery. Peering over to see a screeching infant. The bard couldn't help but coo, his brows furrowing with concern. Half of her face was scarred.

"You want your daddy?" He asks. "He should be back soon." He hushes. "How 'bout a lullaby? Works on all the ladies." He swings his lute from his back to his front. Strumming a tune.

"If you're happy and ya know it, clap your hands." He sings and claps his hands. "If you're happy and ya know it, clap your hands." He does so, making a face and causing the infant's cries to soften just a bit. "If you're happy and ya know it and you really wanna show it, If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." He finishes looking at the babe to see her quietly whimpering. Poking her bottom lip, her big brown eye with her thick lashes soaked with tears. The moment is interrupted by thundering footsteps.

"What are you doing?" He demands in a growl.

"I heard her crying and you weren't around," he tries to explain being shoved as the father inspects the babe, who resumes crying.

Trying to console her as she screams louder than before. Looking at the fallen lute, he picks it up, shoving it into the bard's unsuspecting arms.

"Play!"

The bard couldn't hear the father over the piercing wails, but he could easily read the desperation in his eyes. He cleared his throat, strumming his strands to find everything in tune.

"If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." He sings with an ear-to-ear grin, and the small babe's screams soften. Her big doe eye watched him with curiosity. Ending the silly children's song, her heavy eyelid closed as she fell asleep with a crooked smile.

---Years later---

Downing the remnants of his drink and passing the glass off to a barkeep. The last of the drunken parents now vacated the pub that was with life moments ago.

"Bard." causes him to whip his head, and a scoff leaves his lips. "Witch."

"What are you doing here?" he sneers. "And what fresh hell did you just crawl out of?" he gestures to her disheveled appearance. Damp hair and dirt smudged her face and apparel.

"Sewer," she answers plainly, taking the first step. "What’s your excuse?" she jabs back, quickly closing the space between the two.

"A sewer," he cackles. Never in a million eons did he find himself in better standing than the witch that terrified him. He took his chance. "I always knew you were a blood sucking, joyless—" he bites his tongue as her tiny frame pulls him in for a hug.

"--hugger?" he states in confusion. "Hugging. We are hugging," he announces, trying to convince himself that what was happening was indeed happening.

"Oh, gods," he sighs, holding him at arm's length. "I missed the days when my biggest problem was an ever-present sing-songy twit," she smiles.

"Uh, drink? I’m gonna drink," he stammered, squirming out of her grip. "I’m not having this conversation unless I’m drinking." He makes his way around and behind the bar. Placing two pints onto the counter, looking to the witch who takes a seat.

"You’re the Sandpiper."

"What? No. Yes. No," he yelps, frantically trying to play it off. "How do you know that name?"

"You pick up a thing or two when you’re in hiding."

"You’re in hiding?" He snorts, his brows quickly shooting to the skies. "Because you’re part elf… Yennefer, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry," he says genuinely. "I would not wish that fate on my worst enemy, and, yes, you are…" he searched for the right words. "Firmly lodged in that category, it has to be said, but… What they’ve done to you and your people is… Unspeakable."

"But some people are speaking."

"There are anonymous benefactors working behind the scenes, helping me, helping us, helping us make this right. I was at the great oak, Bleobheris, when it was raided. The Seat of Friendship, as the druids called it. Where every free thinker was welcome, no matter their race, their creed…they come for the elves, Yennefer. They’ll come for the dwarves. And sooner or later, they will come for everyone." He stares off, swallowing thickly. "Anyone that they deem the "other," so… Eventually… No artist is safe."

"Why help? What’s in it for you?"

Opening his mouth to answer the creak of the front door. The bard's face lights up at the sight of who stepped through. Yennerfer turns to see a small child. In a powder pink shoulder cloak. Hood up as she took each concentrated step.

"My heart." He smiles, kneeling before the child, who lifts her hands high to be picked up. He does so resting her on his hip. "Where's daddy?" He asks, pushing her wild bangs from her eye. She coos, snuggling into his neck and playing with the lace of his blouse. She points to a far window as Jaskier nods. "Want. Coin. Want. Coin," She babbles.

"Whose this?" Yennerfer couldn't help, but smile.

"My heart, Tola." The bard smiles. "My daughter."

"Pleasure to meet you, Tola." She extends her hand as the small girl takes it. "I'm Yennerfer." She smiles.

"She's usually quite shy," he comments, somewhat impressed.

"Children are great judges of character."

"Coin!" She continues.

"Again?" He asks with an overdramatic expression, holding her high above his head. She nods adorably.

"Toss a Coin to your Witcher." He smiles as she giggles. "O’ valley a plenty."

Seated in a jail cell after a failed transport and an interrogation with a man wielding fire. Escape with Yennerfer only to be caught and interrogated again by guards.

He now stood before the Witcher himself, who tore out his soul and left him on a mountain, asking for his help.

"Jaskier---" the brute grumbles.

"No, Geralt!" He cuts off, surprised to see the white-haired man meekly biting his tongue. "I am a husband now, a father, and a damn good one!"

Walking out of the jailhouse, taking cover through alleyways. Geralt stops, and the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"What's the matter?" Jaskier asks.

"Quiet!" He hisses, throwing the bard behind himself and readying his sword as a familiar figure steps from the shadows. The figure roars, charging.

"Ger---" Jaskier reaches, but the Witcher bellows and charges. "NO! STOP! STOP!" he shouts, his heartbeat in his ears, as Geralt swung his sword, and the figure dodges and knocks the sword away with sparks from his metal bracers on his forearms. Lifting his arm, Jaskier holds it back.

"Fuck off, Jaskier!" he growls, shoving him onto his ass. The dark figure looks at the fallen bard with concern. Taking the opening, the Witcher drives his sword into the beast's shoulder. With an exclamation of pain, Jaskier scrambles to his feet. Geralt yanks back his sword, lifting his sword high for the finishing blow. Swinging it, he stops. The Witcher's sword nicked the bard’s neck, standing between him and the beast. He swallows, and fear holds him stiff.

"If you want to kill my husband, you'd have to go through me."

His yellow eyes narrowed. Gritting his teeth Jaskier slowly raises his hand, moving the sword away.

The Witcher growls, sheathing his blade.

"Y/N, Geralt, Geralt, the love of my life." He smiles as the pet name dampens the flame of seeing the bard’s teeth stained pink and the scabbed-over cuts on his lips and brow.

The men both grunted their greeting.

"I do have a type, don’t I?" He mumbles to himself.

At home, Jaskier demands that Geralt watch their daughter. The cyclops growls at the thought of his precious gift in the hands of a Butcher. "I trust him." He assures him with a hand on his chest. "He's a right softy with children."

Running a bath, the bard returns with an armful of rags and a bottle of alcohol. Assisting his husband with his cloak and shirt, his eyes watered at the grunt of pain from lifting his arm. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles, holding the alcohol-soaked rag to the wound. The hisses and guttural groans from his chest "This is my fault," he croaks.

"My dandelion." He coos, holding his cheek, forcing him to look into his eye. Reading the bard like a book. "Who do I have to make suffer?" He growls. His bruised temple and stained smears of dry blood around his nostrils.

"I'm fine." He assuredly swatted away his husband's hands, going to test the temperature of the bath. Hissing as he shakes his injured hand that touched the warm water. Stepping out of his trousers into the bath, Y/N takes his hand and ignores his recoil, finding it covered in red blisters and giving each finger a tender kiss.

"Little Tola won't have nightly lute lullabies." He sighs.

"Your voice is music enough." He assures.

"Must you always shower me with compliments?" He breathes. Y/N chuckles, locking his strong arms around his waist and forcing him into the bath, joining him fully clothed in the water. Jaskier exclaims, but laughs, sighing with content eyes flickering from his husband's eye to his lips.

"What of me, my dandelion?" He whispers huskily. The bard rests his total weight on him.

"Hmmm." He hums in thought, running his nose along the scruff of his jaw. Looking with big eyes. "Make me forget." He pleads.

Sitting up and holding him close.

Geralt stoically sits in the living room. Slowly closing his eyes to block out the sound of squeals from the bard and rhythmic banging. Spending his fair share of nights at brothels and whorehouses that seemed not to be so loud. Water begins to drip from the floorboards.

Feeling a tug at his pants and looking down to see the small, one-eyed girl. Black hair in a messy bob. Staring up at the ceiling as the bard's pleas for God rode the air.

"Suppa'. Suppa'." She babbles.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He stares back.

She points to her open mouth, causing the Witcher to exhale through his nose. Walking into the kitchen with the girl holding onto his leg. Giggling, he makes her a simple loaf of bread with butter. Handing it to her with hesitation. She gingerly takes small bites, hopping happily in place.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier x reader #julian alfred pankratz #Jaskier x male Y/N #dandilion #imagine #geralt of rivia

42 notes · View notes