#like Vesemir walks in one night and Jaskier is there singing

[frostedwitch]

When Jaskier is left alone to his own devices in Kaer Morhen he plays with the fantastic acoustics of the old keep. He wanders the cold empty corridors and rooms with high stone ceilings, singing and listening to his notes echoing back at him. On long sleepless nights he can be found alone in the great hall, his melodies surrounding him like a ethereal sirens song.

#jaskier #jaskier the bard #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher #kaer morhen #like Vesemir walks in one night and Jaskier is there singing #Jaskier is sat alone on top of the long dining table letting out these straight up ethereal ooohs hmmms and ahhhs #First off Vesemir thinks fuck is that a wraith? a siren? #but no his brain clicks and he knows its the bard #but its so beautiful and he understands Geralts obsession with the human #another night Eskel finds him #Jaskier's voice sounds like the sad call of a long dead lover calling for their love to come back #and Eskel finds a way to get Geralt to go to the great hall the next night #Geralt just stands around the corner peeking at his bard #the sound so mystical #that he goes straight up like his under a spell and hugs the bard #have you seen that video of a girl singing the titaic theme in a stairwell??? #you need to see it #thats Jaskier

[witcher-and-his-bard]

Love Letters

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): none Rating: general

Fic Summary: Jaskier writes down all his feelings in a letter he never expects Geralt to see - only for Geralt to arrive shortly after, snowed out of Kaer Morhen.

For @jackironsides 💜

My beloved Geralt

Dear Geralt

Geralt, my love

No matter what he writes, it sounds wrong. Too intimate, too casual, too... much in one way or another. Jaskier hasn't even gotten past the introduction and he already wants to give up on the letter. It feels so easy over the summer, when he and Geralt spend long, muggy days walking side-by-side. Jaskier sings and Geralt rides, and occasionally, Geralt will even sing along with whatever he's playing.

Now, in the dark of his room at the academy, those feelings feel dull and distant. Not Jaskier's feelings, of course, but the potential reciprocation. These days, he finds himself thinking about Geralt's relationships with Eskel or Lambert, or even Vesemir. He wonders how different those relationships are to the one he shares with Geralt. Maybe those gentle things Geralt says to him in the comfort of their shared inn rooms are just things Geralt would say to anyone.

Ugh. Jaskier flops backward in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wishes there was an easy way to know these things, and for the first time in a long time he finds himself envying Yennefer. She could just read Geralt's mind, she could just know. And Geralt? He can smell emotions or something like that; at least, he always seems to know when Jaskier is upset about something. Maybe he took the wrong path in life. Maybe he should have tried to get into Ban Ard and become a mage. Surely there is some chaos in him, enough, at least, to be able to read minds.

Briefly, Jaskier considers contacting Yen. They've had a better relationship as of late, and she might be able to give him some insight, if nothing else. But he doesn't want to drag her into something that isn't really any of her business. Not because he's afraid to tell her, but because she might not want to know. She's happy now - travelling with Triss and Istredd last he heard - but there might be some leftover feelings there and he doesn't want to bring up Geralt in a romantic setting if he doesn't need to. Plus, he doesn't want to feel like more of a burden than he already does.

Jaskier looks down at the half-started letter in front of him and angrily crumples it up before blowing out the candle and shoving his chair back. He flops forward onto folded arms, looking out into the blue of the night sky, speckled with snow. Normally, he would take comfort in a view like this, but tonight, it just reminds him of how far away Geralt is.

Is it even worth beginning a relationship when they spend so much time apart? Would Geralt even be interested? Even if he was madly in love with Jaskier, would that be enough? What's the point when you have no one to cuddle with and watch the snowfall? But then maybe Geralt would want to visit some winters if they were more.

Gods, he wants that more than he can even properly comprehend. The idea of falling asleep in Geralt's arms feels like the height of romance. Already, Jaskier treasures the moments he falls asleep listening to Geralt's voice, even if he does feel a bit bad about it in the morning. Despite himself, a dopey smile spreads across his face at the thought. He misses Geralt more than he can say while they're apart in the winter. It's only a little into the season and already the long, dark winter feels endless.

Jaskier inhales deeply, sighs, and sits up to write. He's determined to finish this letter, even if it never reaches its intended audience.

Geralt,

I know it's barely been a month since we parted, but I find myself longing again for your company. Teaching is hectic as always, and my students love a tale of your heroism. I know you don't consider yourself a hero, but I do. Though lately, I find myself recalling different moments from our travels. I find myself thinking of the evenings after a contract has been completed and paid. I think back to the ale or tea and the stars hanging low in the sky. The way the firelight flickers on your face. I miss that. I miss the way your hair falls in your face when you take it down to sleep. I miss how stubborn you are about that awful headband. And I regret to tell you now that I've grown... rather fond of it, actually.

Rather rarely do I find myself at a loss for words, but they escape me when I try to nail down all the things I feel for you. I know I am a mere mortal, doomed to die years or even decades before you, but given the chance, I would happily live out the rest of my life at your side. Perhaps even in your arms.

I know love is not a word you use often, but the way I feel it could very well become something so all-encompassing. I can't promise that love is how I feel now. I find myself mixed up in a way I've never felt before. That's not to say that I don't love you, because I do. As a friend, as a companion, as something more. Perhaps one day, even as a lover. Even if you don't feel the same, I want you to know that you are deeply cared for in every way one person can care for another. I don't mind if you don't want to see me again, so long as it is your wish, and one borne out of intention rather than fear. Because although I've never spoken the words, I've longed for you for days and weeks and months and years, silently staying by your side. Perhaps one day you will have me there on purpose - despite, or maybe even because of, my feelings for you.

Until then, I remain yours, as always.

Jaskier.

Jaskier looks over the letter once more and, feeling an uncomfortable swell of emotion, folds it neatly and tucks it into an envelope that just reads Geralt. He's only just finished hiding the evidence when there's a knock at his door.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Sorry to interrupt so late," the voice on the other side of the door says. Jassa, Jaskier thinks, his assistant at the university. "You have a guest."

"A guest?" Jaskier asks, perplexed. Who on earth would brave this weather just to visit? The only guests he normally has are students or his fellow professors, either of whom would just come to his room and knock themselves.

"He says he's a friend. Geralt? I think," Jassa says.

Jaskier's heart somersaults.

"Right," he says, "of course. Send him up. I'll leave the door open."

"Certainly," Jassa smiles. "I'll send him right up. Have a good night, Professor."

"And you," Jaskier finishes, barely aware of what he's saying.

What is Geralt doing here? Of all the years they've known each other, he's never once come to visit over the winter, so why now? Jaskier turns around, leaning on the door, and is struck by the state of his room. For the last two days, he's done nothing but lie around and sulk, and it shows. He absolutely cannot let Geralt see his room like this.

Given he has roughly four minutes, maybe a few more if Geralt stops to talk to Jassa before coming up, it's not going to be easy. So Jaskier starts with the worst of it: the clothes and things laying all over the bed and floor. There is a surprising amount of mess considering Jaskier is the only one residing in the room, but he manages to get the worst of it tidied before the knock at the door. A final glance tells him only the desk and table are still cluttered, but that much is acceptable so he crosses to the door.

As he pulls it open, Jaskier is struck by Geralt's smile. He always is when they haven't seen each other for some time, but this feels more. Maybe it's because he's been considering his own feelings lately, but looking at Geralt, here and in person, makes his legs weak.

"Hi," he says shakily.

Geralt gives him an odd look, but it quickly turns into a half-smile and he steps into the room when Jaskier moves aside.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he says gently, "it's no trouble to find a room at the inn if-"

"Not at all," Jaskier interrupts. "I'd be happy to host you if you're staying.”

"I had hoped to," Geralt says.

"What brings you?" Jaskier asks.

"The route to Kaer Morhen was snowed over by the time we arrived in Kaedwen," he explains, "I thought this might be the best place to stay."

Part of Jaskier is delighted at the thought, though when he considers it further, Oxenfurt is further than any of the other places Geralt would be more than welcome to stay over the winter. There's no good reason for him to have travelled all the way to the coast, when surely Yen would have taken him in without question. Their relationship may not be romantic anymore, but Jaskier knows there is still a deep love between them. And he's happy for it, which makes it all the more confusing why Geralt is here. He thinks to ask, but reconsiders.

"Please," he says, remembering his manners, "make yourself at home. I can have a bath poured if you're tired? Was Roach properly cared for? Shall I call for supper-"

"Jaskier," Geralt says gently, "Roach is fine. A small meal would be nice, but there's no rush. Right now I'd just like to relax."

Of course, Jaskier thinks. He must have been travelling for weeks if he first attempted the path and then had to turn back. Jaskier had left him just north of the Pontar, between the mountain ranges, so that must have been-

"Jaskier?" Geralt asks, cutting off his train of thought. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Jaskier assures him. "Just wasn't expecting company and I'm not prepared for it- Not that you're not welcome!" he corrects quickly, and with a little too much vigour.

"Perhaps you're the one who needs a rest," Geralt says, half-teasingly.

"Just to get my head on straight," Jaskier assures him. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll go fetch something warm for you to eat."

Jaskier slips from the room, only stopping one he's far enough away that Geralt won't hear him. He stops and sighs, pressing a hand to his chest as if to stop the mad beating of his heart. Surely Geralt has heard it already and he’s given himself away, but he was hardly expecting to be visited like this out of the blue.

He takes another few calming breaths before continuing on down to the kitchen. He's close with the chef - with most of the staff if he's honest - and has more than once helped him out of a sticky situation with less-than-edible herbs, so his request for a private supper is granted with a smile. In the meantime, Jaskier makes his way back up to the room, holding his breath for a moment before opening the door.

Geralt is standing over the desk in the small room, mumbling quietly. As Jaskier approaches, slipping up behind him, he realizes Geralt is reading the poetry he'd been working on. Jaskier has never been so relieved to know how little Geralt thinks about his poems, as these ones are nearly explicitly about him, the only relief being that his name is not used. Wolf, he uses once or twice, but it's a metaphor and Geralt always says he doesn't care for flowery things like metaphors.

"This is... lovely," Geralt says, though he sounds a bit off as he does.

"Thank you," Jaskier says quietly, slipping around to Geralt's side to see which one he's reading.

"You- your narrator sounds sad."

"Ah, yes. Been a bit of a downer lately, I suppose."

Jaskier tries to laugh it off but Geralt turns to look at him, something like concern in his expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing's wrong," Jaskier assures. "I've just not been feeling myself."

"Can I help?"

Jaskier is taken aback by the blunt suggestion and his head jerks up to meet Geralt's eyes.

"I'm not sure you could, love," he says gently.

"If someone has hurt you-"

"No," Jaskier says quickly.

"You reek of heartache," Geralt says bluntly.

"Right. Well." He considers for a moment before deciding against lying to Geralt. "Unrequited love, I'm afraid."

"How do you know it is?"

"Unrequited?" Jaskier laughs, "oh, my darling, he'd have to be the stupidest man alive not to know. Or perhaps the most oblivious. I'm sure he would have said something if he felt the same."

"You haven't," Geralt counters.

"Right, well- He wouldn't want someone like me, surely."

"Perhaps he feels you think the same of him."

Jaskier had considered that option, but it seems unlikely.

"Either way, it's best just to tell him. I'm sure he'll be flattered if nothing else."

The mere suggestion of it makes Jaskiers stomach turn and he nods slowly. Thankfully, at that moment, supper is delivered to their room and he is spared the thought of confessing his feelings - out loud - to Geralt.

His relief is short-lived as supper is finished shortly, but he makes an excuse about taking the dishes away and dashes out the door with them. Jaskier wants to cry. He can't believe he's gotten himself into a mess like this and he can only hope Geralt doesn't continue to bring it up.

He's so distracted thinking about it that it seems like seconds before he's standing back in front of his door. He hesitates before opening the door, keeping his eyes closed until the last possible moment.

When he opens his eyes, Jaskier's heart jumps into his throat. As Geralt turned to see him, a piece of paper had fallen from his hands and Jaskier can't take his eyes off it. He'd been so preoccupied worrying about the mess when Geralt showed up that he'd forgotten to hide the letter. And it was addressed to Geralt, he had every right to read it, but-

"Jaskier?"

Jaskier scrambles across the floor, reaching for the letter, but Geralt catches his wrist, holding him still.

"Is this just another one of your poems?" he asks quietly.

Jaskier shakes his head. There's no use denying it.

"It's… me. I'm the one you were talking about earlier."

Jaskier half wishes he could fall through the floor and never have to finish this conversation. Sadly, despite how hard he wishes, the floor refuses to open up beneath him. He nods.

"I want to hear you say it."

Jaskier's tongue feels heavy in his mouth but he manages, "I don't know what to say. I don't want to make any big confessions I can't live up to."

"Then how about this?" Geralt says.

He leans in, taking Jaskier's face in his hand, and softly presses their lips together. For a moment, Jaskier forgets to breathe and has trouble believing this is real at all. But when Geralt pulls back again, he's smiling, his cheeks a faint shade of pink. Jaskier's first thought is that it's quite a pretty colour on him before he presses forward and kisses him again.

"Yeah," he breathes, barely pulling away to speak, "I think that's a good start."

#rex writes #i just barely managed to sneak in a fic in January #first one of the year #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher

[glwstic]

Rec List 9: The Witcher

-  all that I've been taught and every word I've got by sugarybowl

“You know,” the old man says with a knowing smile, “if ever there was a place where you could recite and sing of Kaer Morhen, it is within her walls. Perhaps your stay will bring some lightness to all of us and not only the child and Geralt.”

Jaskier hides the stab of pain at the implication that Geralt might be glad to see him, instead he offers another simple bow and thanks Vesemir for his hospitality before fleeing into the room.

“Oh, you fool,” he whispers to himself as he falls into a nearby seat, “you bloody heartsick fool, you should have run. Why don’t you ever run?”

- - -

After a year of training Ciri in monster-hunting and Chaos, Vesemir and Yennefer agree that her education needs a boost of court politics and wordplay, which means bringing an angry heartbroken master of the seven liberal arts to Kaer Morhen.

9/9 Completed,  12,779 words

-  animal instinct by leodesic

Despite Jaskier's hard work, there are still plenty of people who hate witchers. They think they're monstrous, inhuman, only held back from violence by a thin veneer of control. One mage has a plan to spread his views by capturing a witcher and bewitching them to remove their control. When the Butcher of Blaviken walks into his hideout, he's convinced he's found the perfect candidate - and a convenient way to get rid of the pesky bard that's been singing his praises.

Jaskier is forced to agree witchers are not human, but that doesn't mean they're dangerous. In fact, he's astounded by how many of Geralt's uncontrolled impulses involve touching.

Oneshot,  13,091 words

-  from what i've tasted of desire by asweetepilogue

Jaskier's coat as a hole in it.

Oneshot,  4,727 words

-  Skin Deep by sospes

“What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

Oneshot,  8,135 words

-  I'd Be the Choiceless Hope by lesdemonium (winnerstick)

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

16/16 Completed,  45,188 words

-   Silver and Copper by Heronfem

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

5/5 Completed,  56,263 words

-  The Fairest of Them All by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG

On a quiet winter's night, a king and a queen had a child.

Oneshot,  46,256 words

-  the roads we walk are winding by shellybelle

Jaskier doesn’t actually know how much time has passed since the black-cloaked Nilfgaardians grab him after a performance in a shitty tavern in the backcountry of northern Kaedwen. He’d assumed--foolishly, apparently--that he was far enough north that any Nilfgaardian soldiers would be few and far between, likely just scouts or even deserters. It would have been hard to actually get any further north--the little backwater town where he’d been singing was just a day from the mountains. Anymore travel, and he’d find himself skirting the Trail up to Kaer Morhen, the Warlord’s Keep, and, well. He’s brazen, but not that brazen.

(or: a wandering bard bites off more than he can chew with the political ballads, accidentally makes friends with a princess in exile, and finds the Warlord of the North in his debt.)

7/7 Completed,  67,217 words

-  The Flower of the Court by aileenrose

The dream is not, Jaskier thinks, good foreshadowing for his plans tonight. The dream, after all, is about a man who King Emhyr decided had betrayed him, and subsequently had him killed. Killed in front of the court, no less, as a reminder of how quickly their fates could change according to the King’s whims. Tonight, after his performance, Jaskier plans to do just the same. Betray his king.

Jaskier, the so-called "Flower of King Emhyr's court," does not think himself a brave person. Still, he attempts to escape the King's volatile, violent court, and in doing so, stumbles into the Warlord's lands. There, he tries to determine if he is captive, pawn, or something else entirely.

6/? Ongoing, 44,605 words

-  To know you in all the ways that count by dat_carovieh

This year, Geralt doesn’t want to spend winter apart from Jaskier so he invites him to Kaer Morhen. Until he got a letter from Eskel, he did not know his whole family thought him and Jaskier are together. He can’t bring it over himself to disappoint them. They are so happy he finally found someone. So, Jaskier suggest they will pretend to be in a relationship, because there is no ways for that to go wrong.

Oneshot,  6,049 words

#the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fic rec #the witcher rec #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfic rec #jaskier #witcher jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt #witcher geralt #geralt of rivera

[bijuui9]

Growing like a Weed

One day Dandelion comes down with an illness and ends up passing away in the middle of the night, in his bed at Kaer Morhen. A distraught Geralt, buries him beneath a tree. Next spring a giant weed, with the bulb of an unbloomed flower, grows on the bards grave. Recognizing it as a Dandelion weed Geralt leaves it were it is, no other witcher dares to touch the grave of the Warlords consort.

A week later on a sunny day, the day of the bards birth the keep is startled by the cry of a baby. Alarmed the witches spill out of the keep and flock to the bards grave. The Warlord gets there first and finds to his astonishment a tiny, squaling, baby with cornflower blue eyes and blone hair resting on top the biggest Dandelion ever seen, easily capable of fitting a newborn baby at its center.

Confused but awed Geralt takes the baby into the keep, to Triss and Yennefer who both examine the child. Finding nothing wrong but an healthy child they decide to raise the baby boy and name him Dandelion. Raising the boy proves to be both easier and harder than expected, for the boy grows like the weed he is Names after. Literally. With each passing day he looks a month or so older than he is supposed to be. As time passes, he continues growing like a weed.

Soon he is 24 days old, looking to be two years of age, walking, talking as a particularly intelligent toddler is won’t to do but above all he is singing. Songs no witcher has heard or utterd a word off since their beloved consorts passing. Figuring he must have heard it from the servants the witchers don’t think anything more of it and instead focus on their daily tasks and go about their lives.

Eskel and Milena work on the various diplomatic letters, reports and other papers being sent, Geralt signs whatever he’s told to sign with the sort of grumpiness one excepts of a bad mannered dwarf, he hadn’t been the same since his Jaskier had died, neither had Eskel been the same as he was before the bards passing. No one at the keep had been really, though most had stopped fully mourning.

Still no one had been in the mood for music, they hadn’t played any nor sang since Jaskiers passing. Which is why it had been odd to hear little Dandelion singing their Jaskiers songs in a clear and sweet ringing voice. But since they had heard the humans in the keep still on occasion humming the songs, whenever they thought the witchers wouldn’t hear, they passed it off as the boy having picking it up from them.

As he grows older both Triss and Yennefer give him regular check ups, both concerned with his astonishing and quite frankly worrying rate of growth. They never found anything, other than a somewhat abnormal appetite for a human child. But then they figured he wasn’t human, was he? He had been found lying on a dandelion of all plants, a tiny newborn baby crying his tiny lungs out. He still had the same hair color and the same cornflower blue eyes. It was strange but every test they preformed came out as negative, the child appeared to be human. Well and part elf if the elegant arch of his pointed ears were anything to go by. And so they let the boy leave to play and sing and learn with Vesemir in the library.

He was remarkably intelligent, capable of full sentences by the time he was twelve days old, speaking like a six year old would have. He was already learning how to read, though he couldn’t write yet. But he was learning extremely fast, worrying if it wasn’t for his excellerated aging.

And so little Dandelion continued growing like a weed. Being raised by his papa Geralt and daddy Eskel and being cared for by aunties Triss and Yennefer and his many witcher uncles and aunts. He played with the other little children at the keep and with his big sister Ciri. He sang songs both his own and Jaskiers, learned to read books from uncle Vesemir and drew pictures of two different families. One of what had to be a father and a mother with what could only be three children, each one slightly bigger than the other. The other was clearly a family of witchers for the eyes were a bright cheerful yellow.

He continued to grow, soon looking like he was four and being able to write words and short sentences, learning how to play the lute and a little wooden sword. Then one day he woke up looking six with scars on his back and Aubry, having volunteered to bathe him that morning, took him straight to Triss. Who, upon seeing the scars, called in Yennefer who’s Curses of rage alerted every witcher in the keep. They preformed several diagnostic spells, finding nothing but genuine scar tissue, red and raised but healed and slightly painful to the touch. Finding nothing else wrong, they applied a salve and informed Eskel and Geralt. Both men were utterly horrified at the sight of their little boys scarred back and spent the rest of the day hovering over him.

The scars on his back didn’t bother him, neither did all the ones that appeared on his skin in the following days. Nearly each day a new scar would appear, some big, some small but nearly all off them appearing to be from lashings done by a whip. They never bothered Dandellion much and he always squirmed whenever the bad smelling salve was applied. He never complained though. He continued learning, playing with the children, playing the lute and singing his songs.

But then one day he turned 144 days old, looking to be twelve and puberty set in. His baby fat began to gradually dissappear, his voice lowered and it was Eskel who first began to notice the similarities in the boys face; the similarities between his face and that of the late Jaskier. Disturbed by the similar features, Eskel took Dandelion to Triss and Yennefer again, who both insisted there was nothing to be found, the boy was hale and healthy. Though even Yennefer agreed that he did look a little similar to their beloved bard. But he had come from a weed growing atop said departed bards grave, so perhaps it had to do with that. Though they had no idea what exactly the cause for the somewhat disturbing similarities could be.

And so it was pushed aside and ignored, though it became harder and harder to look at the boy with each passing day. They child continued to learn from the library, trained with the witchers at the keep, played his lute, sang and danced and helped with the tending to the plants in the greenhouse. He continued drawing pictures, each one more detailed than the last. He wrote poetry and songs and preformed in the great hall once he started looking like a fourteen year old.

There was life in the keep again. Music and laughter and warmth. But then one day little Dandelion woke up with a scar that very much wasn’t an lash mark. No this one looked to have been created by ropes, ropes around the wrist. It was then that suspicion began to set in with Eskel and once he shared with Yennefer and Triss they to began to grow concerns. But not Geralt. No, the Warlord refused to see the similarities between his lost lover and little Dandelion, refused to see the scars that matched those the deceased bard had, had, refused to think of how the now young man’s voice sounded exactly like Julian’s, how he looked the exact same but younger.

And then one day he couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t deny it. For one day Dandelion woke and remembered.

He remembered not being Dandelion, son of the Warlord and Eskel Amber eyed. Oh he remembered those days but he also remembered more. He remembered being Julian Alfred Prankratz de Lettenhove, remembered being the son of a count, rememberd having two sisters, remembered being consort to the Warlord of the North. He remembered being Jaskier.

And as Aubry entered his rooms to pick him up for training he stared at the wolf witcher and whispered, “Brother.” And he cried. He cried long and hard, entire body trembling, hands grasping his chest as he remembered his life as Jaskier. Remembered being ill and wasting away in bed and remembered dying. He remembered the pain in his lungs, the agony caused by breathing, how it had felt to feel himself growing sluggish with fatigue, how it felt to cough up blood and how it felt to breathe his last; his breath rattling in his chest and stopping. The lack of panic as he was pulled under by a heavy darkness as he forgot the faces around him, lost his hearing and went. As he had died.

Aubry held him, shocked at the word Dandelion had uttered, never had he called him brother. Ever since little Dandelion could talk it had been Uncle Auby and nothing else. To hear brother coming from the one who looked exactly like his little brother, the late consort Jaskier, was unnerving. And then the words came and Aubry went still and pale.

“Melitelle! I died!” Jaskier cried out and it was Jaskier. “I died, I died, I died!” He screamed, burying his head against Aubry’s chest, sobbing and clutching at the others armor. “I remember how it hurt to breathe more and more, how I felt so tired and couldn’t get out of bed. How cold it was, how hard it was to move, to talk, to play, to sing. I remember breathing becoming so hard.” He wailed the words to Aubry’s growing horor. And not just to his, other witchers, drawn in by the scream and the scent of utter terror and grief, overheard as they entered the hall to his room. “I remember the coughing, the blood and the pain. It hurt, it hurt so bad brother! I died! I remember it, I remember trying to call for Eskel and Geralt, for Triss and Yennefer, but I couldn’t talk, couldn’t get a noise out. I just coughed and coughed and then I just stopped breathing after a final breath and it just felt cold. I was so tired and everything went dark and silent and then I was…I was.”

He couldn’ talk anymore, gasping in panic at the onslaught of memories, clutching at Aubry’s armor as though it was a lifeline. He cried and gasped and sobbed and couldn’t stop. Aubry was still and silent, unable to speak himself, the shock and disbelief of what he had heard was too much.

There were footsteps, loud and hurried in the hall, then the door slammed open and Eskel ran inside, followed by Geralt, Triss and Yennefer. It took them half an hour to calm Jaskier, Dandelion, down. When he could finally breathe properly he haltingly repeated what he told Aubry. The shock hung in the room and no one blamed her when Yennefer, shaky and upset, touched Jaskier’s temple and searched his memories. When she came out of his mind she was pale, shaking and her eyes were wide with shock. “It’s him, it’s our Jaskier.” She said finally, after a moment of silence

“I don’t know how or why, but it’s him. He has all the memories of our bard.” Silence permeated the air and then Eskel and Geralt were hugging Jaskier to their chestst, sobbing his name. They touched him, kissed his hair and his mouth, needing to affirm to themselves that this was real. That he was real.

His miraculous return was announced at dinner and while many were concerned at first, it didn’t take long for people to cheer. Genuinely happy their bard was back. And over the next days and weeks they got used to their bard being back. Soon it was as if he hadn’t been gone at all. All that was left was a grave with a patch of dandelions growing atop.

#Jaskier #Geralt #Eskel #Aubry #Yennefer #Triss #Witcher AWAU #rebirth

[dapandapod]

In the light of the stars

HAPPY SUPER BELATED BORTHDAY @kuripon ripon​ MY DARLING!!! I am so sorry this one took me, what? Three months?? to finish?? I am so sorry my love, I hope you like it!! Please enjoy this smol offering of love, my love! <3

Warnings: Uh, emotional hurt/comfort? lonely jaskier, but geralt fixes it.

On Ao3 here

Time passes in a blur while walking the path. Seasons come and seasons go, especially when you have so many to spend.

But some days carry more weight than others. Not that Jaskier cares much about his birthday, usually. It’s just that it is the first time in a long time he has had anyone to tell about it.

The first day of the new year, when Jaskier was little, he used to pretend that all celebrations were just for him. He always looked forward to them, even if most people were still hung over from saying goodbye of the old year.

But eventually, it too faded and became a day like every other. New Year’s Eve took over, and Jaskier was alright with that. The nights he spent in Oxenfurt, counting down the hours, are still very precious to him.

This year is different. This year, he is spending it up in the cold mountain. This year, he knows that somebody knows.... And he thought, hoped, pretended, maybe... that he would care.

But as Jaskier opens his eyes on the first day of the new year, everything is the same. Quiet. Cold.

The breakfast in the big hall is leftovers from the small feast they made themselves the day before. Lambert nods at Jaskier as he sits down and Eskel looks like he drank another bottle of gull when the others went to bed. Smells like it too. Vesemir and Coën are cleaning up in the kitchens, but Geralt is nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier's heart sinks. Most likely he is with Yennefer and Ciri, it makes sense. He'd just hoped..... it doesn't matter. He said it a long time ago. It is not important, he has had so many birthdays, it is not like they are special anymore.

Though if he is honest with himself, they were only special because he had someone he cared for to spend the day with. It's enough.

These people are his friends, some of them even closing in on family. They do care, in their own way.

Jaskier does what he always does. He sits down on a balcony, scribbles and sings in the cold sunshine, his lute safe inside from the freezing winds. A bottle of wine keeps him warm, and he sips on it as he sketches the rolling hills and roaring wyverns in the distance. It is peaceful.

As lunchtime closes in, he sees Geralt cross the courtyard. He knows better than to hope, but his heart is betraying him.

Running down the stairs, taking the steps two at the time at breakneck speed, he catches Geralt in the door.

But the witcher only smiles, asking if he is hungry, and Jaskier... well, he doesn't want to push.

Their relationship is still fragile. There is still a metaphorical kikimora in the room, blocking all steps forward. Jaskier is a little afraid to poke it, to wake it, even if it is to ask it to leave. Who knows what havoc it will make if set loose.

So Jaskier smiles back, tells Geralt he is ravenous, the shell of a man, starving, possibly wasting away from lack of nutrients. No one can ever accuse him of not having a dramatic flare.

Lunch is a humble affair, mostly noticeable because Ciri only joins them as the others are finishing up. Her hair is tied back, she has a smudge of soot on her cheek and something that looks like white dust is covering the sleeves of her arms. Curious, but she refuses to tell him what she is doing, just wolfing down her hare stew and then she is gone again.

That afternoon Jaskier spends in the library.

There are a great many books he would like to take a look at, but most of them are so damaged from time and moisture, the latter of which is hard to keep out in an old keep like this, especially with the damages it has sustained.

He has taken it upon himself to transfer what he can from those books that still are readable, onto new pages. First he used his spare notebook, but when Vesemir noticed, he supplied him with more materials.

Journals, letters, lore and school books. Religious texts from near and far, songs and languages forgotten as the world passed them by. Jaskier tries not to linger on that thought, tries to think about the now. For the first time in almost 80 years, Jaskier has found a family that, for once, has time on their side.

Jaskier is not even sure Geralt has noticed that Jaskier barely ages, despite Yennefer's pointed remarks and jokes. And he would like to keep them.

The afternoon drags by, and as soon as Jaskier moves around the keep, Geralt is gone.

Even if nobody congratulates him, or gifts him something, just anything, he would have enjoyed some company. This solitude is fraying on his nerves, throwing all kinds of unwanted thoughts into his mind. Like he has worn out his welcome, that Geralt doesn't care anymore, that nobody would notice if he left.

That isn't the case, of course it isn't. But the thoughts are still there, despite how Geralt actually took the time, took the care, to apologize about his outburst, admitted that he wants Jaskier around, despite that charging energy that remains between them every time they part to their own room.

The thoughts are still there, and right now it is so hard to fight them.

Jaskier makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to drown his sorrows in Eskel's hidden stash of sweets he is keeping on the top shelf and pretends nobody with a nose can't sniff out.

Instead he finds a young princess furiously whipping something in a bowl. When she notices him, she gives an angry squeak and chases him out again. Ah, so it was flour, not dust, on her sleeves.

Instead, Jaskier goes looking for the lab, Lambert always has something hidden away that he shouldn't have, mostly meaning Yennefer's minty treats. But there too, he is unwelcome. Lambert is cleaning out his bottles, fumes and suspicious liquids making the room terribly ill suited for bards.

Maybe he should just go to bed.

Maybe he can pretend like today never happened, that he never hoped to get just a little bit of attention.

So he does. Jaskier skips dinner in favour of crawling into bed, curling around a book on monster psychology he's been struggling to decipher all day.

No one comes knocking. No one seems to wonder where he is. And Jaskier pretends it is alright. Many hours later, Jaskier actually managed to get some sleep.

There is a light knock on his door, and then another when he doesn't immediately reply.

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls through the door. "Are you there?"

That makes him bolt upright, blinking blearily into the dim room.

"I'm here." He croaks, rubbing his eyes and trying to wake his mostly still dreaming mind.

Geralt steps inside, looking all too warmly dressed to be indoors.

"You missed dinner." He says, hiding his arms behind his back.

"Oh. I must have fallen asleep reading." Jaskier says, only half lying. He did, but it was also his intention.

"Do uh.... Hmm. Want to come with me for a bit?"

Jaskier tilts his head curiously.

"Do I need as much clothes as you?"

"More." Geralt smiles teasingly. "I want to show you something."

Jaskier dresses slowly, Geralt's eyes on him as he rebuttons his chemise and stuffs it down his trousers. When he puts on his cloak, Geralt mutters under his breath, steps in close and puts his own cloak around him too.

"It's going to be cold," Geralt says when Jaskier looks up at him. Jaskier's heart is trying to beat out of his chest, the witcher can probably hear it clear as day, as close as they are standing.

"What about you?" Jaskier asks softly.

"I'll grab a spare on our way out. You are more sensitive to the cold."

Then Geralt leads them away. He steals Vesemir's cloak on the way, and then grabs Jaskier's mittens hand in his.

With this much clothing Jaskier is expecting to be led outside, but instead, Geralt leads them up. Up, up, up, all those blasted stairs of this keep, but the view is stunning.

The sky is stretching out in every direction, stars bright against the inky black. It is beautiful.

He is lost in it for a moment, his eyes drawn to constellations and tales found up there.

Geralt brings him back to the present with a gentle nudge, and then he notices the balcony itself.

It has blankets and pillows, a few candles lighting up a basket and a suspicious little box.

"What's this?" Jaskier asks quietly. He feels like he knows, but he wants to, needs to hear it....

"I'm sorry it took so long. Ciri was struggling with the cake she wanted to make you, and Yennefer refused to get the wine. I hope you like it."

Jaskier stares, first at the scene, and then up at Geralt.

"I do." He whispers, and Geralt's smile is small and satisfied.

They sit down together, Geralt is pouring them some wine and they try the cake that Ciri made. It is a little crooked, but it tastes very cake-like, so they count it as a success.

Jaskier shivers again, but this time it is from more than just the cold. He sits stiffly at first, barely daring to believe he is allowed this.

Maybe the kikimora in the room doesn't need to be poked. Maybe he can just inch around it, and leave it behind...

Building up his courage, he allows himself to relax, lean into Geralt's body, lean his head against his shoulder.

Geralt shifts, but only to make them more comfortable. The blankets are pooled in their lap, their free but incredibly gloved hands inching towards each other.

Jaskier feels like flying, like singing, like crying, when Geralt lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to his gloved knuckles, and leans his head against Jaskier's.

"Happy birthday." Geralt whispers, and Jaskier lets out all the tension he's been carrying all day.

"Thank you," he whispers back, afraid to break the moment. "I thought you had forgotten."

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to surprise you."

"You did. I didn't expect it. Thank you."

"Jaskier, look at me."

It takes another moment of gathering his courage, until he can lean back enough to meet the witcher's eyes.

"This past year has been.... the worst, in a long time. I'm sorry I pushed you away and hurt you. All of us being here at the keep, it has been... It's been the biggest blessing life could give me."

"Geralt..."

"I would like to fix it. Everything I broke."

"You didn't do it alone."

"No. But I threw the first punch. Twice. And I shouldn't have."

Jaskier tightens his grip around Geralt's hand and leans against him again.

"You are also working on fixing it. Thank you for making tonight special."

"This isn't all. Good thing you slept a little, because it might be a while."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever seen the northern lights?"

#birthday fic #immortal jaskier #geraskier #emotional hurt/comfort #metaphorical kikimora in the room #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #i never posted this outside ao3 #huh #dapanda writes #light angst #getting together #eventual fluff #ish #star gazing #post mountain breakup #everybody lives #that is enough tags #good night

[popcorn1989]

I just had another idea 😅

How about the Witcher boys and how they would be with a mute s/o ( or friend)

Difficult question, had to think first. I'll take everyone that's in this picture. I don't see Ciri, neither do you? Good.

Lambert:

- Lambert is funny, he never understands a Hand sign of your sign language.

- He always tries, but fails.

- He starts a topic and if you want to say something about it, he just laughs and starts another topic.

- Sometimes he says yes or no, to your Hand signs, it confuses you sometimes.

+ Funny thing: The other day you asked him if he could pass you the sauce, he laughed and said he would cut your hair later.

Eskel:

- Eskel is grumpy, and you don't really like him, but you still try to talk to him.

- He has an attention span, like a donkey, and never really looks at your sign language.

- If he asks you something, he waves his hand away, most of the time he forgets that you are mute.

- Actually, you hardly ever see him, and sometimes you're glad about it.

+ Funny thing: One night you tried to explain to him that there was a rat in your room. He looked at you, nodded, and gave you a piece of paper to make an salve for infection.

Geralt:

- Geralt isn't very talkative, but he'll watch you intently as you use your sign language.

- He nods, you have no idea if he understands what you're saying.

- For yes and no questions, he answered yes or no, no big deal, but you're not sure if he would really slaughter his horse, even he said yes.

- You find him very patient, even if he sometimes looks at you, like he wants to butcher you.

+ Funny thing: You asked him once if he and Jaskier have a deeper connection, a yes and no answer. A 50-50 chance and he said yes - you walked away grinning.

Vesemir:

- You love Vesemir because, he understands you without any problems.

- Sometimes you get goosebumps, when your conversations reach a depth that you don't have with anyone else.

- You can tell him anything, he is like a father to you.

- He translates your Hand signs, to the other Witcher boys, and you are always sad, when he is not around, when you want something from the others.

+ Funny thing: You can even "sing" him something in sign language, and he'll hum a tune.

Coen:

- Coen is really nice and tries hard.

- Sometimes he learns some Hand signs from you, he points to an object, and you show it in sign language.

- Every once in a while, he really manages to figure out what's on your mind, but with a lot of asking and Hand moves.

- The first thing he learned from you, was swear words and insults, so he could tease Lambert.

+ Funny thing: You approached him the other day, a little closer, when you wanted to correct his Hand signs, he thought you wanted to kiss him.

#vesemir #witcher geralt #lambert #witcher coen #netflix eskel #witcher netflix #geralt of rivera #i find it funny #writer things #witcher x reader #witcher #request are open #the witcher netflix #thoughts of mine #mine own #thanks for reading #maybe idk #let me do it #female writers

[eggscommunicate]

jaskier assumed geralt was gruff with everyone. that was just who he was. tough, strong witcher who didn’t need or want anyone in his life. that was why he treated jaskier so churlishly. the grunted replies. the irritated eye rolls. the tight grip on his arm to bodily shove him away. jaskier has seen it time and again. to him, to aldermen, to innkeepers. 

but not to yennefer. no, yennefer was different. she was greeted with a smile not a snarl. an uptick up lips and a softening of eyes not a scowl and furrowed brow and a tired, “what now, jaskier?” she receives soft touches and whispered caresses and stolen kisses. heated moments behind pillars in grand banquets that jaskier would have received a flat “no” to should he have been the one to invite the witcher. jaskier is big enough to admit he’s jealous. maybe not specifically the kisses and touches (though he would never turn geralt down). but the way geralt seems to want yennefer’s presence. to hold her by her side instead of push her away. but that was yennefer, jaskier thinks. she’s special. even jaskier can see that. surely she is the only one geralt is soft for. 

except for maybe ciri. the young girl so frightened after months of running. the way she holds tight to geralt’s hand as they walk through towns. the way she burrows into geralt’s chest on cold nights in the woods. the way geralt is so patient with her. teaching her to wield a sword and how to fight with just your fists. the way he rubs her back and whispers nonsense into her hair as she cries after bad dreams. but ciri is different as well. brought together by destiny herself. they must feel like whole after being apart for so long. even jaskier can understand that. 

and of course there’s eskel. geralt’s brother in everything but name. a difference in blood was no match for the two giants of men. the trials, the training. of course they would be close. who can be turned from man to witcher and not seek their own. from the meager stories jaskier has heard (from eskel only. geralt never speaks of his life) the two boys were often found together. wrestling, sparring, reading. so the weight of geralt’s hand on eskel’s shoulder makes sense. their quiet laughter while sitting by the fire makes sense. even the drinking makes sense. who else to let your guard down near than your brother? jaskier can count on one hand how many times geralt has had a drop to drink in his presence. but of course eskel would be different. they’re brothers. 

which is why geralt laughs loudly with lambert. the little brother. the troublemaker. the prankster. jaskier can hear the boisterous laughter of geralt and lambert and the angry calls of eskel. must have been a prank. they’re a regular occurrence at kaer morhen in the winter. after months on the path the witchers get to let out all the tension and frustration on each other. the sparring sessions between geralt and lambert can get quite vicious with geralt’s extra mutations and lambert’s additional training with the cat witchers. but what makes jaskier’s heart ache is the way they take care of each other afterwards. the application of bandages and salves should they need them. the cold mug of ale shared afterwards in the empty great hall. jaskier knows lambert doesn’t come home every winter. sometimes spends it out on the path earning extra coin or in the comfort of a whorehouse. jaskier feels jealousy tug under his ribs. he had to beg geralt to let him winter with him. and he knows geralt only agreed because ciri asked. but lambert doesn’t count. they’re brothers. 

so it came as no surprise when geralt greated vesemir with a tight hug the moment he stepped through the gates. the tension fled geralt’s face. his eyes relaxed. his mouth pulled out of the scowl. his brow flat. this was home. vesemir was home. jaskier felt like an intruder. to this moment. to this winter. to this keep. jaskier is told vesemir trained geralt. trained them all. and though jaskier knows geralt would deny it, he’s sure he sees vesmir as a father. so all that leaves is jaskier. 

jaskier who is never allowed to ride roach. jaskier who is told to stay back and go away. jaskier who is told his singing is like eating a pie with no filling. and jaskier who seems to always be shoveling shit. jaskier may not be the smartest man, but even he can see a pattern. it wasn’t who geralt was. it was who jaskier is. and jaskier can take a hint. 

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt #hurt no comfort #idk man i took a melatonin and then immediately had an idea #sleepy ramblings of a dumbass lol

[samstree]

The One with the Coastal Customs

Geraskier, 1.8k, Fluff, Crack, Secret Relationship, Kaer Morons at their best, humor, Jaskier takes one for the team

Inspired by Friends. Read on AO3

Breakfast at Kaer Morhen is full of chatter as always. With Ciri and Yennefer joining them a few days ago, loud arguing and laughter always fill those once empty halls.

Jaskier picks at the rye bread on his plate, not paying attention to Lambert’s clearly exaggerated monster story, though Ciri seems completely entranced, prompting him to go on with anticipation.

His mind is still full of last night’s visage of Geralt pressing him against the wooden door and kissing him senseless. The witcher had to come to his bedroom after everyone else turned in so no one noticed. After the whole mountain incident last year and Geralt’s following apology, they thought it wise to keep their blooming relationship in secret for a while.

Let’s not tell everyone in a rush. Geralt was the one who proposed the secrecy. Whatever we have here is ours, Jask. I don’t want them to interfere or mess it up. You are too important to me, He said. Besides, what could go wrong?

Jaskier, at the time, agreed to it whole-heartedly. The witcher was so sincere that day, his golden eyes flowing with adoration and vulnerability that Jaskier could not deny him anything.

Despite some inconveniences, Jaskier has to admit it does make things excitingly hot. He almost feels like a naughty student sneaking out of class to make out with a lover again.

Jaskier’s hand comes up to touch the skin on his neck, the same spot where Geralt nibbed and sucked gently last night and left him a sobbing mess. Next to him, Geralt catches his motion with a look before a faint smile quirks up the corner of his mouth.

“Grape juice?” the witcher passes him the pitcher with the most unaffected tone in the world but his other hand travels up Jaskier’s thigh teasingly.

He has to choke in a gasp.

“…and bam! The third wyvern drops dead.” Lambert ends the story proudly, “And that’s why I’m the best witcher at this table. You have a lot to learn from me, princess.”

Ciri giggles as Geralt and Eskel chime in to call out all the lies in that tale. The room erupts in jabs and loud arguments.

Yennefer is the only one who remains silent throughout the whole meal. Her violet gaze only falls on Jaskier once, piercing with intent, before looking away like nothing happened. Even though their exchanges are a lot more amicable these days, the sorceress tends not to acknowledge Jaskier’s existence very often.

From the corner of his eyes, Jaskier sees Vesemir leave for the library. The older witcher still has work for him to finish today.

“Right, duty calls.” With a screech of chair, Jaskier stands so he can leave too. “I’ll see you later.”

He rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder and leans in for a kiss. Geralt’s lips taste like the sweetness of grape juice and Jaskier revels in it for a moment before pulling away.

Everyone at the table is staring at him.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Jaskier freezes on the spot, a million thoughts going through his mind. Is it time to announce it to the world? They are ready for everyone to know and get involved, aren’t they?

But with one look at Geralt, he abandons the thought. The witcher has gone pale, and stiff as a statue. Panic starts to creep into those beautiful honey eyes, so subtly anyone else would have missed it.

Geralt is not ready.

Jaskier swallows. Well, there’s nothing to it.

He turns to Eskel, who’s holding a spoon mid-air and studying him with confused surprise.

“Eskel. See you later too.” He cups the older witcher’s jaw and presses their lips together. Eskel, the sweet man, even holds on to his wrist by reflex. He ends it with a pop before going around the table, careful not to trip over a chair.

Lambert can only be described as dumbfounded when Jaskier leans in, and incredulous afterwards.

“Have a nice day, Lamb.”

Yennefer looks at him with the same scrutiny. Wait, why is she looking smug? Fuck, the mage is looking scarier than the day they met. This one he might regret the most later.

“My favorite witch. It’s so good to have you here.” Jaskier opens his arms dramatically before going in, the familiar lilac and gooseberries filling his senses. Oh, her lips are so much softer.

When he stands to straighten his doublet, the whole table is still looking at him in silence. Geralt is tense as a statue while Lambert’s mouth hangs slightly open.

“Right.” He pats Ciri on the back and runs away from the scene, keeping his footsteps as steady as possible.

 *

Ciri is the first one to break the silence.

“What the hell just happened?”

“Language.” Yennefer berates her, seemingly unfazed.

Geralt swallows a lump. If Jaskier is willing to go such length to keep the promise, he can try to look inconspicuous for a moment.

A blush is creeping up on Lambert’s face, but he tries to hide it with biting words. “Geralt, what the fuck is wrong with you bard?”

“Watch your language too.” Eskel’s voice is steady with amusement. “Why do you mind it so much anyway? He’s being friendly. It was nice.”

If Eskel wipes his lips casually with a pleased look, nobody mentions it.

“In what world is that friendly?” Lambert scowls.

“It’s –” Geralt clears his throat, “He went to the coast last year. In the south. Must have picked up some local customs. That’s…um…how they greet each other. In the south.”

Lambert stares at him. “Doesn’t feel southern to me.”

Geralt gulps down all the juice in his cup. When he puts it down, Yennefer is studying him like a predator might a prey.

“Interesting custom.” Her violet eyes sparkle with curiosity.

Geralt has never been more grateful for his witcher trials for allowing him to remain calm under extreme pressure. His heart still beats slowly without revealing anything.

They are fine as long as it doesn’t happen again.

 *

It happens again.

Jaskier sucks at Geralt’s lips with heated passion, drawing a soft moan out of the witcher. Neither of them pays any attention to the flurries of snow falling into the empty courtyard around them.

“I’ve missed you today.” He moves down to Geralt’s jawline, and then his neck. “Where’d you go?”

“Had to repair the wall at the back, or the whole keep crumbles.”

“Hmm. Should have let it.”

Jaskier captures those lips again just when he hears people entering the courtyard, and pushes Geralt away with force.

It’s too late.

Eskel and Lambert stare quizzically at Jaskier, their training swords in hand. Behind him, Ciri is also in full gears, ready for lessons. The way she tilts her head in bewilderment is such a spitting image of her dad.

“Well.” Jaskier pats Geralt on the bicep. “Thanks for helping me clean the stable. That’s…nice of you.”

Roach snorts in the stable behind them.

He walks towards Eskel and kisses him again, and then Lambert. Boy he’s just noticing how tall the younger witcher is. Jaskier has to tiptoe a little bit. “I’ll be off then.”

When he passes Ciri, the girl just moves out of the way like he’s the plague. “See you, uncle Jask!”

Jaskier nods at her, carrying himself as naturally as possible, and enters the building.

 *

The gwent is going great. It seems that Geralt is going to win again.

Jaskier yawns. He’ll never see the appeal of the game, so he just reaches over Lambert to grab the lute. Maybe a little practice will be good–

“Okay, bard. You need to cut it off.” Lambert stops Jaskier’s motion with a hand on his chest.

Jaskier blinks.

“I don’t care whatever–” Lambert gestures around Jaskier’s whole being. “– coastal customs you picked up from the south. It’s not…how we do things around here. We are not in the south and it’s fucking weird. So quit it.”

“Okay?” He blinks again.

“I know you like witchers more than the average man out there,” Eskel adds, “and you want to show us. I appreciate it, Jaskier, but it might not make us the most comfortable.”

“What now?” Jaskier looks around the room. Yennefer and Ciri are sitting by the fire with some magic book spread out between their knees, watching the situation unfold.

“Quit the kissing, bard.” Lambert scowls.

Eskel smiles politely. “Yeah, it’s best if you did.”

Oh.

Jaskier can see the two witchers are clearly not at ease. Lambert’s face is a ripe tomato and Eskel is acting way too formal with all the niceties.

“Okay. Of course.” Jaskier raises his hands in defeat. “I will stop assaulting you with the overly familiar foreign customs. Message received.”

“Thank the gods. It was disgusting.�� Geralt deadpans.

Jaskier looks into those golden eyes he loves so much and wonders if he can express ‘I’m gonna put a pillow over your face tonight’ with a neural glare. The bastard only raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“If you do need to let it out somehow, Jaskier, maybe your friends at that fancy academy of yours are open to it.” Yennefer says, chill as the winter sky, “Or some of your lovers.”

Maybe Jaskier’s eyes are deceiving him, but he swears the sorceress glanced in Geralt’s direction when she said ‘lovers’.

The ladies resume their discussion about spells and magic, and the gwent game continues. Geralt does end up winning.

Jaskier plucks his lute, imagining a million ways for his witcher to make it up to him later.

Oh the sacrifices he has to make for this ridiculous man.

 *

“The sacrifices I have to make for you, my dear.” Jaskier rests his head on Geralt’s shoulder, cuddling up to his witcher’s warm body.

“What sacrifice? I thought you were enjoying it.”

“They are quite good kissers though, especially–” He cuts himself off. It’s best not to discuss your lover’s brothers that way, or ex-lover, for that matter.

“Then what are you moaning about?”

“But my reputation!” Jaskier protests, “My name will be tarnished forever. Jaskier – barker and molester of witchers. None of you will ever let me sing your heroism anymore.”

“Hmm. Don’t you forget about Yen.” Geralt’s voice rumbles deep in his chest.

“Oh yeah. I’m surprised she didn’t turn me into a toad on the spot.” He plays with Geralt’s long hair. “By the way – I just have this inking – do you think, perhaps, Yennefer might know? About us?”

“Oh she knows.”

Jaskier bolts upright, looking at Geralt incredulously.

“Since when?”

“The day she arrived?” Geralt guesses, “I’m sure she took one look at us and figured it out. It’s not my fault she’s so smart–”

Jaskier picks up a pillow and throws it at Geralt’s smug face.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Geralt finally breaks out laughing. He catches the bard’s feral attack and pins him into the mattress. Jaskier’s angry little pout is too adorable Geralt has to kiss it away. Uninterrupted this time.

“Is it worth it though? All the sacrifices?” Geralt's breath ghosts over the skin at Jaskier's throat.

The bard only glares at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh long-sufferingly.

“For you, my dear. Always.” He pecks Geralt’s soft lips one more time. “As long as no one turns me into a toad.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #crack #fluff #i don't know what happened with this one #should i tag friends? #monica and chandler are the best friends #geralt of rivia #jaskier #kaer morons

[pillage-and-lute]

Hi, this is a Monday Evening Prompt: How about Jaskier coming to Kaer Morhen and bringing little presents for all the wolves? Could be his first visit or not. Have a nice evening!

Hi Petrificustotaluss! I really did some worldbuilding here.

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Geralt could smell the anxiety rolling off of Jaskier in waves all the way up to Kaer Morhen. The bard was practically vibrating out of his travel cloak. On the few stops on their way up the mountain he didn’t sing, choosing instead to pluck repetitive tunes on his lute. 

Their last stop before the keep was in a cave, long used by witchers returning home. This last haven before home always brought out something deep and maybe even proud in Geralt’s chest. 

The cave was not large, but deep enough that the weather didn’t permeate. Geralt lead Roach to the back, where centuries of hooves had worn a groove, and threw her blanket over her. Jaskier rubbed her nose affectionately, looking around in wonder, despite the fading light.

Geralt began setting a fire in the ring of stones left behind by one of his brothers. Two slashes were carved into the side of a larger stone. Lambert then, a sign left for whichever of his brothers cam behind.

Fire flared and Jaskier gasped. Every witcher who had stayed in the cave, since its presence had been discovered, had carved their name into the wall. Jaskier stepped immediately to the back of the cave, tracing names almost worn away with trembling hands. 

Geralt took his hand and guided his fingertips and his feet closer to the mouth of the cave. Jaskier brushed his thumb over the V in Vesemir. 

“Your name...?”

Geralt found it for him.

“I couldn’t read yet,” he whispered, when he found the marks he sought. “You know how the letters switch in my mind. Eskel told me what to carve.” 

The names were right next to one another and Jaskier pressed one hand against them, as if he was trying to reach into the past. 

“Lambert’s is here,” Geralt said, voice almost a whisper. It felt appropriate here. 

Jaskier traced it gently, too. 

They sat down to eat without much talking, unusual for the bard, but this much history could be oppressive for anyone. There were drawings among the names and Jaskier kept glancing at them. 

After dinner they huddled together, backs against one of the walls.

“That one,” Geralt said, pointing to the back of the cave, “That’s the first version of the wolf on my medallion.” He had smelled the anxiety rising on Jaskier’s scent again, and hoped talking could keep it at bay. 

“There,” he pointed again. “That’s Gawain of Ymlac’s  name, almost faded. He’s famous, bards wrote about his fight with a knight, Bertilak the Green.”

“I know the story,” Jaskier said, eyes wide. “But the way it’s always told, Gawain is a knight.”

Geralt shook his head. “Gawain was considered one of the best of us, but he was no knight. Bertilak visited here too, but he could not write, few could in those days.”

“So his name isn’t here?” Jaskier sounded disappointed.

“It is, the rough carving of the tree, beneath Gawain’s name, is his. It was the sigil on his shield.”

Jaskier’s eyes were so round he looked like a child at Yuletide.

“There,” Geralt pointed, “is the name of another famous visitor. I wonder if you know him.”

Jaskier stood and walked over. “Here?” he asked. “Taliesin, I’ve never heard the name, was he from another witcher school?”

“No,” Geralt said, walking to Jaskier’s side. “A sorceror and a bard. I think you would know him better by another name.” He couldn’t resist the dramatic pause. Jaskier looked up at him, hanging on his words.

“I believe they call him...” Jaskier leaned in. “Merlin.”

“Never!” Jaskier cried, hopping back. “Geralt you’re pulling my leg!”

“I am not,” Geralt said. “He wrote notes in some of the books in the library.”

Jaskier was no longer nervous, hopping about in excitement. 

“Which ones? Do you know? I have to read them all. Geralt can you think of the stories!”

Geralt chuckled. 

“This one,” he said. “Is Aiden’s signature.” It was hard to read, the rock was soft, but carving was still difficult work.

“Lambert’s friend?”

Geralt nodded. “From the cat school. I think you’ll like him.” The pair of them would probably manage to burn the keep down.

Jaskier looked around him with a stunned grin. Geralt pulled out the heavy work knife he kept at his thigh and offered it to Jaskier, hilt first.

“What?”

“Well you need to carve your name, don’t you?”

Jaskier’s eyes filled. “Really?”

“Of course, someday someone will point out the name of Jaskier, the Continent’s famous bard.”

Jaskier grinned bashfully. He sat at the wall of the cave and scratched out his name. It was slow going for a human, without magic or mutant strength, but he did. Then he began a new carving.

Geralt didn’t ask yet, but restocked the fire and waited. 

At last Jaskier pulled back, there was the carving from Geralt’s medallion, a lark, and a flower. 

Geralt felt his chest tighten, but in a warm way. 

That night, beside eachother in their bedrolls, Jaskier tossed and turned.

“Stop,” Geralt said. “Sleep, it will be alright.”

“The ground is hard,” Jaskier said. 

“They’ll like you,” Geralt said. “You’re my-” friend, he wanted to finish. The word couldn’t seem to break from between his lips. 

“Bard,” he finished lamely. “They know that, they’ll respect it.”

Jaskier gave a little twitch that was maybe a shrug under the layers of fabric.

“They’ll see what I see,” Geralt said.

“A fillingless pie?” Jaskier said jokingly. Some of the anxiety had gone, though. 

Geralt huffed. “Everyone knows the crust is the best part, anyway.”

He rolled over and went to sleep. 

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

They arrived at the gates of Kaer Morhen midmorning the next day. Jaskier was looking around in awe, taking in the crumbling architecture. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Geralt was about to respond but was tackled into a snowdrift by his younger brother.

Geralt laughed and tossed Lambert off him, only for Eskel to join the fray, the three of them scrapping and laughing, rolling about the courtyard. 

Vesemir pulled them apart by their collars. Then he nuzzled Geralt before gruffly ruffling his hair. “Welcome back, lad,” he said.

Jaskier was looking on wide-eyed, but Geralt didn’t have time to explain the odd greeting because Eskel was next. 

His brother gave him a rib shaking hug and roughly grated his cheek along Geralt’s, snuffling a little as he took in his brother’s scent. 

Lambert, still a pup, didn’t wait his turn and butted his cheek agains Geralt’s other one, then delivered a bit of a nip to Geralt’s ear. He pulled back looking a little embarrassed, but the brother’s understood, sometimes the wolf instinct was a little strong.

“Um,” Jaskier said. Four pairs of golden eyes turned to look at him.

“I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s bard...should I greet you like a wolf or....?” He stuck out his hand awkwardly.

“A handshake is fine, lad,” Vesemir said, taking the bard’s offered hand. Geralt watched Jaskier almost not wince as his fingers were, accidentally, ground together. “The wolf is just a little stonger in winter for my boys.”

Geralt noticed that Vesemir’s nostrils still flared as he took in Jaskier’s unfamiliar scent, but didn’t say anything.

Eskel and Lambert both somewhat sheepishly shook the bard’s hand. Then the little party unloaded Roach and continued into the great hall.

Jaskier gratefully warmed his hands at the fire before sitting at the table with the rest of the witchers. He began digging in his pack.

“I, uh, I brought gifts,” he said, pulling out packages. “Since I’m your guest and all.”

Vesemir huffed good naturedly “still put you to work, guest or no,” he said.

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He looked around. “I have one for Aiden too? Is he here?”

“Eavesdropping,” Lambert said. A witcher slunk around a doorway and sat next to him, not even bothering to look ashamed. He was of a leaner build than the wolves, more wiry.

Aiden extended a hand to Jaskier, who took it politely. 

“I’ve heard good things,” he purred. 

“Thank you.”

“Heard you’ve tamed Pretty Boy.”

Geralt snarled, mostly playfully.

Jaskier smiled. “I get him to take a bath once in a while, I’m not sure it counts as tame.” It got a chuckle from Aiden, and Geralt felt his sanity slipping away already as he pictured their friendship. 

“Um,” Jaskier said, proffering a package to Vesemir. The old wolf took it with a nod and pulled at the rough twine. 

“Candles,” Vesmir said, looking at the slightly misshapen lumps in front of him. Four of them, in waxed paper, and an odd color, a pale, pale green. Geralt realised it first, but Vesemir said the name before him.

“Strydwen wax,” he said approvingly. “Burns without smoke or heat. Never goes out or melts away. Thank you.” 

The ‘thank you’ was said with a resonance that Geralt had never been able to master. It sort of took up place in your chest and stayed there. Jaskier fairly glowed with it.

“For Eskel,” he said, handing another package over. 

Eskel smiled at him and pulled apart the wrapping to reveal a large, leatherbound book.

“Poetry,” Eskel said delightedly.

“Newly published by a former professor of mine,” Jaskier confirmed. Eskel examined the cover.

“You studied under Rumi?” Eskel looked impressed.

“Six semesters,” Jaskier said ruefully. “He isn’t an easygoing grader.”

The final two gifts were dispensed at the same time, and Lambert and Aiden tore into their packages to find twin daggers, balanced for combat, not throwing. 

Lambert admired the round stone set into the end. Geralt, trained in the same school, figured he was picturing bludgeoning someone with it.

“Twist it,” Jaskier suggested. Lambert gave it a go.

The stone on Aiden’s dagger glowed faintly. 

Aiden twisted his and Lamber’s glowed, both fading after a few seconds.

“To communicate?” Aiden asked.

Jaskier nodded shyly. “I thought...for when you separate on the Path.”

Lambert grinned at him, his smile all teeth. “It’s perfect, I’ll annoy him with it constantly.”

The table descended into cheerful bickering and Jaskier sat back, smiling. He looked at Geralt and a furrow laid itself on his brow.

“I should have given you a gift.”

Geralt looked at his cheerful family, thought of a song that made witchers’ lives easier like a magic spell, a companion. He thought of a cave full of stories, with his and Jaskier’s carved together.

“You have.”

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Some history notes! Because I’m a nerd! Gawain of of Ymlac and Bertilak the Green are of course a reference to the Arthurian legend of Gawain and the Green Knight. 

Taliesin is also a reference to Arthurian legend, being a famous 6th century Welsh bard, one of the first bards we know of who told the tales of Arthur (although many of the stories are based in pagan sun god myth). Over centuries, the name Taliesin sometimes appears in Arthurian legend as another sorcerer, a wise sage, a poet, a demi-godly figure, or another name for Merlin. I picture Jaskier’s story sometime much later becoming something like Taliesin’s on the Continent.

Jaskier’s former professor is  Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, a 13th century Persian poet.

Also, I couldn’t resist having our wolves greet eachother as such. It’s too cute and I’m taking this headcanon as canon. Permanently.

#I'm a nerd your honor #the witcher #geralt #jaskier #vesemir #eskel #lambert #aiden #lambert x aiden #geralt x jaskier #could be platonic ig #i think they wanna kiss tho

[asweetprologue]

feel the turn of rotation (and stop)

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​

Prompt: Date Night Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt ask Jaskier to go to the Yule festival with him. Jaskier misunderstands his intentions.  ao3

“There’s a festival happening tonight.”

Jaskier looked up from where he was working on his latest composition. Geralt was leaning against the doorway to his bedchambers, which Jaskier tended to use as a study as well so that he could reserve the main space for entertaining. He took a moment to set down his quill and wipe his sweaty palm on his trousers. It was almost overly warm in the room, the fire blazing at full height to fight back against the chill of his outward facing chambers. The single, tiny window above his desk ran with moisture, the frost melted away by the heat of the room. 

“Yes,” he answered, turning in his plush chair to face Geralt fully, one ankle coming up to cross over his knee. “There’ll be a procession at sunset starting at the main gate, to light the lanterns. And then dancing and such in the main square. Typical Yuletide celebrations.” As he spoke, Jaskier allowed himself to observe Geralt in full, briefly sweeping a glance over his companion. It was exceptionally rare for them to spend winters together; Geralt almost always chose to spend the colder months in Kaer Morhen with his brothers, while Jaskier returned to civilization. This year they had been deep in southern Sodden when the first snows unexpectedly hit, and by the time they’d made it back to Redania they’d received word from Vesemir that the pass to Kaer Morhen was closed. Jaskier had been offered a position teaching for the winter semester, along with a fairly lucrative retainer with a local lordling, so he’d offered Geralt a place to crash while they waited for the witchering season to start up again.

The downtime suited Jaskier’s companion nicely. Geralt’s hair was pulled back into a customary knot behind his head, but it was clean and soft looking, free of dirt and monster guts. His skin shone in the firelight, and the dark circles that always seemed smudged beneath his eyes were faded after weeks of consistent rest and food. He’d taken to walking around without his armor on, content after a few days with the knowledge that Oxenfurt was populated by nothing more threatening than overenthusiastic academics. At the moment he was wearing a pair of old black trousers and a dark blue shirt that stood out against his white skin like a splash of wine on a silk tablecloth. It had cost Jaskier a small fortune, but it was worthwhile to see it clinging to Geralt’s shoulders.

He looked good. Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up as he realised he’d been staring. Snapping back to the conversation at hand, he realized that Geralt had been speaking. 

“- if you wanted to.”

“Sorry, what?” Jaskier asked, blinking. Geralt rolled his eyes, used to Jaskier’s lapses in attention. The motion carried annoyance, but when his eyes fell on Jaskier again there was fondness in them. 

“I asked if you’d planned on attending. Seems like the kind of thing you’d be working.” Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, stretching the dark fabric across thick biceps. Jaskier swallowed. 

“Ah, well, typically I would indeed be regaling the crowds with my sonorous melodies. But considering I had company, I thought it might be better to leave myself, uh.” He cut himself off, feeling suddenly exposed in the admission. While he had taken the time off initially hoping he might be doing something with Geralt, he hadn’t truly expected the witcher to want to do more than maybe get drunk on overpriced Redanian wine. “Well. You’re here, after all,” he finished lamely. 

Geralt blinked at that, something odd crossing his face before he looked away. Staring at the fire across from Jaskier, he said, “You could still go.”

Something was off about his tone - overly flat, which he only did when he was trying to muffle some kind of emotion. What it could be, Jaskier had no earthly idea. Confused, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you all by yourself on Yule, Geralt. That wouldn’t make me a very gracious host! I’m entirely content to spend the evening with you here, if that’s what you would prefer.” And he was, truly. While he typically spent Yuletide amongst the people, dancing and singing and visiting with friends, he imagined it would be just as rewarding to spend the evening with Geralt, in the cramped comfort of his quarters. The two of them tipsy on ale and spirits, sitting before the fire, trading stories back and forth like they usually did on the road. Cuddled beneath a blanket, pressed up against each other despite the warmth of the hearth, drink making Geralt’s face flush as it almost never did…

Yes, Jaskier imagined he would be perfectly content to spend the evening right here. 

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, we could go. If you want. I - We should go. Together.”

It was choppy work, even for Geralt. He still refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze, staring with absolute focus at the fire. His shoulders were braced, tense as if waiting for a blow. It was baffling. 

“Well, of course, if you’d like to go I’m amenable to that,” Jaskier agreed. “More than, actually. It’s great fun, you’ll see.” 

Geralt finally turned to look Jaskier in the eye. A shiver traveled down his spine at the intensity there, but then again, that was how he often felt under that golden gaze. “Together,” Geralt said again.

“I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else,” Jaskier said with a dismissive wave, laughing a little. It was typical to attend the festivities with a spouse or sweetheart, but he’d not taken a paramour of any kind in several months, and nothing serious in years, if he was honest. His attention was unfortunately captured elsewhere. He spared a single moment to mourn the private evening he’d envisioned with Geralt, but he was already warming to the idea of attending the festivities. He’d already shown the witcher around Oxenfurt, but it was exciting to think of showing the city off again in a new light. Geralt had probably not attended many Yule festivals, he realized, having always spent the winters in the mountains. Something released in his chest even as his stomach dropped in disappointment as he realized Geralt probably didn’t even recognize the romantic implications of his offer. 

Geralt, at least, looked relieved. The tension dropped from his shoulders, and he gave Jaskier a soft smile. Jaskier’s traitorous heart skipped in his chest, and Geralt’s grin suggested that it may have been audible. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with himself, hands fluttering across his desk to meaninglessly straighten papers and notes. “Good,” Geralt said, the grin softening back into that disorienting smile. “I’m assuming you’ll want to change.”

“Ah, yes, can’t very well go out in this,” Jaskier agreed, still feeling slightly unmoored.

“Of course,” Geralt said seriously, but his eyes danced with mirth. “I’ve got some things to do in the market before the stalls close. Meet you at the gate at sunset?”

“Perfection,” Jaskier said, and Geralt nodded before peeling himself off of the doorframe and disappearing into the other room. A moment later Jaskier heard the telltale sound of the exterior door opening and closing, the rusty hinges creaking. He sat for a moment in the empty room, going over the encounter in his mind and trying to determine what had made it feel so off.

“Strange,” he said to himself, and began packing up his things. He had a festival to prepare for. 

***

Dressed appropriately in his finest woolen tunic and the thick fur lined cloak Geralt had gifted him the previous year, Jaskier set out from his abode to meet Geralt. An hour or so had passed since their conversation, and the sun was lying low and languorous on the edge of the horizon. Its dying light rippled across the Pontar where it split around the island, the light layer of snow that covered the landscape transformed into gold dust. Already he could see the crowd gathering on the far side of the bridge, led by the priestess of Melitele, returning from the temple outside of the city. Jaskier stood inside the city gates, scanning the faces around him for familiar features. 

After a few moments he saw him - highlighted against the backdrop of the setting sun, his hair turned to fiery gold in the dying light. Geralt smiled when they made eye contact, and immediately began to push his way through the crowd towards Jaskier. He too had dressed for the weather, his own wool cloak muffling his form. As he stepped into Jaskier’s space, he said, “You ready?”

Jaskier had the feeling that he didn’t know exactly what he should be ready for, but he nodded anyway. “They’re just beginning,” he said, waving towards the group approaching on the bridge. It was slow going, the procession stopping every few meters to wait while the priestess lit the lanterns lined up along the walls. They would be at it for the next hour at least, making their way around the circumference of the city to light the protective lanterns and then returning to the bridge, where the large crowd would release their own floating lanterns to carry their prayers for the new year to Melitele. 

“There’s music in the square,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could just barely hear it as well. Normally he would be amongst the performers, but tonight he was there as the audience. 

“The flutist is off key, I can tell already,” he said with a grin, though he could hear no such thing from this distance. Geralt huffed out a laugh and took Jaskier’s arm, just above the end of his glove. Geralt’s fingers were bare, his witcher metabolism keeping him warm enough without them, and they were a cold shock against the skin of Jaskier’s wrist. He let himself be led into the square, which was packed with people. Tables had been set up with food and drink around the edges, while the far side was dominated by a low stage. In the center, couples and groups danced, circling each other in common folk movements. The tune was jaunty and fun, a lively song to help fight back against the dark that threatened the edges of the gathering. Defiant in the best of ways. 

“I don’t suppose you know any of the local dances?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer. Geralt confirmed it with a shake of his head. “Well then be a dear and get us some ales, hmm? We can still watch.”

Geralt, for once, did as he was bid without comment, probably just as interested in the alcohol as Jaskier was. He found them a spot to stand near the mouth of an alley, where he hoped the noise of the crowd would be a bit reduced. Geralt was sometimes bothered by the bustle and murmur of a large group of people. 

Geralt rejoined him shortly, offering him a mug of mulled wine. Jaskier took a grateful sip, feeling the hot liquid settle in his gut and warm him from the inside out. It was very good - spicy and strong, just how he liked it. Geralt hummed appreciatively when he took his own drink. 

They stood watching for a while, Jaskier making the occasional snide comment about a bad dancer or an overplayed tune if he thought it would make Geralt laugh. And it did, more often than not; Geralt was open and affectionate this evening, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially in Jaskier’s ear as they watched a couple sneak away from the dancefloor. Jaskier laughed into his glove, quickly beginning to feel light and soupy from the drink. 

“I know this one,” Geralt said suddenly, drawing his attention back to the band. It was a slightly slower song, a couple’s dance. Bright gold eyes turned in Jaskier’s direction. “Want to dance?”

Jaskier gaped. “With you?”

Geralt’s eyebrow quirked upwards, betraying only exasperation. “Don’t see anyone else here making an offer.”

“Well, you - I - Alright,” he said, finally, swallowing his confusion. Geralt offered a hand, and Jaskier accepted. 

They moved out towards the dancers, Jaskier feeling his heart rise in his throat. When they reached the edge of the pack, Geralt turned and gave Jaskier a short bow, overly formal for the setting. With an incredulous laugh, Jaskier returned the motion, and when he raised his head again Geralt was in his space, hands coming up to rest lightly on his waist. 

It shouldn’t have been able to take his breath away so easily, but it did. 

The motions of the dance were simple, basic circular pathways as they stepped out and back in together. Their hands never parted, but every time the steps pulled them apart Jaskier found himself missing Geralt’s warmth beside him. Slowly, the tempo picked up speed, until they were twisting and whirling around without pause. When the song ended, Jaskier was panting for breath. Geralt looked winded himself, though his chest rose and fell at the same rate it always did. 

They made their way off the dance floor once again, ceding their spot to another couple. Geralt’s arm curled around Jaskier’s waist and he leaned into the touch, feeling more drunk than he should be. “You’re good at that, witcher,” he said, accusatorily. “I could have been taking you dancing all this time! How many balls have we been to?”

Geralt flushed faintly, the color staining his ears a fetching red. “The Wolf witchers use techniques that are similar to some dances,” he said. “The pacing, some of the moves, are familiar.” 

“I’m never going to let this go,” Jaskier warned as they shuffled back towards the mouth of their alleyway. “You’re going to have to dance with me at every festival, ball, and banquet we ever attend from now on.”

Geralt smirked at him. “I don’t know that I mind.”

And what was that supposed to mean? Jaskier felt a flush spread down his cheeks, his throat, even his chest felt warm. Geralt didn’t mind dancing? Or didn’t mind dancing with Jaskier? Panicked, he said, “I’m going to get us more drinks!” 

By the time he returned with more warm wine, he had managed to wrestle his emotions back into place. He passed Geralt one of the mugs, giving him a wide grin that he hoped would cover for his accelerated heartbeat. 

As they drank, Jaskier found himself at a loss for words. He was happy to be here, truly. It was always enjoyable to spend time with the object of his affections, but at the same time, he felt something cold settling in his stomach that the wine could not touch. He glanced at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man observe the dancers. His hair was in slight disarray from the dancing, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Jaskier wanted him so badly it felt like a wound. He wished he could lace their fingers together as other couples around the square were. Wished he could sit in Geralt’s lap and feed him sweetmeats and honey cakes as the festivities melted away around them. It was difficult to be so close, and yet so far from what he actually desired. 

Geralt glanced over at him, and something in Jaskier’s face must have betrayed his sudden turn into maudlin, because he didn’t look away. “Should we go?” Geralt asked, concern drawing his brow together. 

Jaskier cursed himself, plastering on another smile. “No, no, dear heart, I’m enjoying myself plenty. The lanterns will probably be lit soon, don’t you think? Maybe we should go find ourselves a spot before the crowd arrives.”

Geralt nodded, still looking a bit worried. It was flattering, that he was clearly concerned about whether Jaskier was having a good time, but it only made him feel more wistful. Not looking to see if his friend was following, Jaskier began to pick his way out of the square, doing his best not to jostle any of the other partygoers. Geralt dogged him like a shadow, and they both emerged some minutes later in the silvery moonlight of the river walk. 

Already Jaskier could see the bridge, some ways away to their left, dotted with lantern lights. The procession had made its way back. He stepped up to the edge of the river, leaning against the low wall that held the city back from its edge. Geralt stayed a step or two behind him, arms crossed against the chill. “This will be a good spot,” Jaskier said, leaning over the railing to point. “They’ll release them there, so we should be able to see them as they go up.”

“They do this every year?” Geralt asked, voice a low rumble. Now away from the noise of the crowd, it shook Jaskier’s bones. 

He nodded. “For the last, hmm, thirty years, I think? The lanterns carry wishes, you see, requests for Melitele. They go up into the heavens, and when they come down they carry her blessing. So they say.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. They stood together in silence as the little pinpricks on the bridge became a sea of candlelight, and slowly, one by one, began lifting up into the air. Soon the sky was awash with golden sparks, hovering above them. 

Jaskier leaned against the wall, watching the lanterns make their way skyward. “Wish I’d thought to make one ahead of time,” he said wistfully, watching their lights twinkle in the darkness. “I didn’t know we’d be -” He turned to look at Geralt, who was rummaging around in his bag. “What are you doing?”

With a triumphant huff, Geralt found what he was looking for. He presented it to Jaskier with a sheepish looking grin, an unusually bashful look for the witcher. In his palm was a small square of paper and wood, maybe half the size of the other lanterns being set loose from the bridge. “I found someone selling them earlier,” he said, setting the little thing on the ledge of the wall in front of them. “Thought you might want to join in.”

Jaskier clapped his gloved hands together, delighted. “Oh, it’s just adorable,” he said, feeling his grin pull at his cold cheeks. He picked the thing up, cradling it delicately in his cupped hands. The paper sides were decorated with a floral pattern - tulips, or maybe buttercups. Jaskier reached forward towards Geralt. “Would you light it for me?”

Geralt reached out and snapped, the clean sound cutting through the still air. Immediately the paper in Jaskier’s hands began to warm, the little lantern glowing merrily. Carefully, Jaskier made his way to the edge of the river wall and leaned over the side, letting the lantern rest on his flat hands as it grew lighter. After a moment, it lifted gently off of his palms and started to drift skywards.

Geralt stepped up to join him, their shoulders pressing together as they leaned against the railing, watching their little lantern float up to join the sea of others. A wave of golden light blanketed the city, giving the river an otherworldly glow as it reflected the sky. Jaskier sighed happily, allowing Geralt’s constant warmth to wash over him. He turned to comment on the spectacle, but his words died on his lips as he found Geralt already looking at him. The warmth of the lanterns reflected in his eyes as well, making them glow with their own light in the darkness. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, his cheeks warming. 

“This was nice,” Geralt said, his voice pitched low. The rumble of it sent a shiver up Jaskier’s spine. They were so close together, and Jaskier found himself turning into Geralt’s heat like a flower to the sun. 

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, a beat too late. “It’s always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, my friend.”

Geralt hummed, a distracted noise, and lifted his bare hand up to Jaskier’s jaw. “Oh,” Jaskier said, surprise and confusion and clamouring hope blossoming in his chest, and then Geralt was kissing him. 

It was a chaste little thing, but Jaskier felt himself light up at the touch. His own hands came up to grasp Geralt’s hips, the gloves or the shock making him clumsy. Geralt hummed again, a wickedly satisfied sound that made Jaskier shudder embarrassingly. He tasted like mulled wine and cinnamon, the taste lingering on Jaskier’s lips as they pulled away. 

He stared at Geralt for a moment before clearing his throat. “What, erm. What was that for?”

Geralt gazed at him fondly, a thumb skating over Jaskier’s cheekbone. He knew it must be warm to the touch. “I wanted to,” he said, shrugging. “And it’s the customary way to end a romantic outing, I’m told.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Romantic outing?”

Geralt’s head tilted to the side, giving Jaskier a confused look. “What did you think this was?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said again. “Oh!” He pulled a hand away from Geralt’s side to slap over his own forehead, feeling both extraordinarily foolish and giddy. “God’s above, this was a date?”

Geralt’s expression shuttered slightly, and his fingers slipped from Jaskier’s cheek to his shoulder. “You didn’t realize.”

Jaskier leaned forward, desperate to wipe the nervous look from Geralt’s face. He wrapped his own hands around Geralt’s neck, squeezing the base of his skull slightly. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t, but I am delighted. Ecstatic, overjoyed, elated, euphoric, exultant -”

Geralt laughed, cutting him off. “Alright, I get it. You’re happy.”

“More assuredly so,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. He felt lighter than he had in years, floating on a bubble of joy. “Though I will say, we will probably need to go on another ‘romantic outing’ to be sure we do it right. I won’t have our first real date be one I wasn’t even aware of.”

Geralt leaned back in, his lips ghosting over Jaskier’s. The bard shivered, anticipation making his breath come faster. “I don’t know that I would mind that either,” he said, and then his lips found Jaskier’s once again. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, and knew that there would be many more chances for the perfect date to come. 

#geraskier #the witcher #witcher #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt #fan fiction #fanfiction #fic #my work #witcher fic #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #sugar and spice #s&s

[witcherthingies]

The White Stuffed Wolf

Rating: G

Pairings: None

AO3 Link Here

What if Ciri got a stuffed animal. That's it. That's the fic.

The two days following the attack of Voleth Mier were busy with repairs, burials, and burnings. The Witchers spent the first day burying their fallen brothers, with the remainder cleaning up and fixing what mess they could. Geralt and Vesemir hauled the basilisks corpses to where the white one lay in the courtyard, lighting the three bodies as night fell.

The second day, while a bit more normal, was nonetheless as melancholy. Pairs broke off, each with tasks on what to repair: from splintered tables and chairs to repairing swords and axes.

The dinner that night had all those in the keep eating together, and slowly some normality returned, very slowly.

Ciri figured part of that normality was the nightmares coming back, harder than before. The first night she had them, she woke up in the middle of the night with a scream in her throat, sweat drenching her face and back. After ensuring she truly was awake, that her dream was just that, she laid back in bed hopelessly hoping for sleep to return.

But the next night had her being awakened abruptly, screaming and thrashing against the mysterious hold on her. 

“Cirilla!” The harsh and familiar voice called out to her, thick arms around her body, holding her close. “You’re okay, Ciri. Breathe.” She followed the voice, sucking in as much air as her spasming lungs could handle before exhaling. There was silence for a few moments, her body finally calming, and she took stock of the room.

Geralt was beside her, hugging her to his chest, listening to his slow heartbeat. Lambert and Coen were also in the room, swords out, chests heaving like they’d run all the way from their rooms.

Finally, Vesemir was behind them, coming in slowly with a cup of tea, extending it to the shaking girl. “You’re alright, girl. Yennefer made you some tea.” Geralt took the cup, pressing it to her hands, making sure she had a good grip on it before letting go so she could drink.

She let the warm tea slide down her aching throat, her eyes focused on the cup. “Sorry for waking you...”

“It’s alright,” Geralt quickly comforted. “I doubt any of us were getting any good sleep.” Ciri didn’t reply, just leaning into him further, drinking the tea.

After that Geralt thought it would help for Ciri to sleep with him, thinking having his presence there would help calm her mind and prevent the dreams. It succeeded for a few nights before her mind deemed the presence not safe enough, and she was screaming and thrashing in the night once more.

She had just calmed down from said nightmare, the fifth one in a row, Geralt held her as she sobbed into his chest. The others had tried other ways to help, Yennefer brewing all sorts of teas with any herb she thought would help, Jaskier sung lullabies, stroking her hair. Even Coen and Lambert took turns sleeping on the floor in front of the fire, thinking an added guard would do it, but nothing helped.

That next day had Ciri trying, and failing, to go through training. After her third failed lunge Geralt declared her too exhausted to train, which didn’t help her mood in the slightest.

She enters the main keep in a huff, a yawn in her throat and she wants to rip it out with her bare hands.

“Oh, Ciri!” Jaskier’s voice echoed through the keep as if singing in a courtroom. “My dear princess! I have a gift for you!” Her curiosity got to her, as well as his voice. She let out a chuckle and walked towards him, the others were getting their dinner, watching the exchange with curiosity.

“Is it scissors so I can finally cut your hair?” She teased, trying to peek around his back where his hands were.

He gasped, “No! And it will never be that because my hair looks downright sexy like this!”

“You look like a rat!” Lambert shouted, earning several laughs.

Jaskier stared at the Witcher with hard eyes, “I am not taking advice from a man who doesn’t even know how to wash his beard.” More laughter, Coen shoving Lambert playfully, who shoved back harder. The bard turned back to the princess, “No, it is not scissors, princess. I believe I found something that will help you with your nightmares.” He smiled broadly, and once again the focus was back on him.

Ciri blinked, hesitantly speaking. “R-really?”

“Indeed!” He straightens. “I remember performing for some of your name-days when you were little, and you carried around this adorable little stuffed lion. Never left your side, King Eist said you got it after you started having bad dreams and it worked like a charm. Soooo,” he dramatically revealed the present, extending it like it was a precious jewel.

Ciri stared at the white... animal before her. The hair was sticking out all over the place, with two black pebbles for eyes, one ear was further back than the other.

“What... is that?” She asked cautiously, hand reaching out for it.

“It’s a wolf! Oh don’t you laugh, Geralt I’d like to see you do better!” He huffed at the man who now came next to Ciri. “I worked all bloody day on it, and yes my sewing skills are a bit rusty, I still think I did a fantastic job!”

Ciri could see the wolf now, it was decently sized, the length of her forearm. The fur was soft as she stroked it, her cheeks tinged with slight embarrassment. “I- thanks Jaskier, but I think this would’ve worked better if I was still a kid.”

“Oh nonsense,” Jaskier waved a hand. “For one, you still are a kid. And second, well... I think it’s at least worth a shot, no? I mean he’s just a smaller, fuzzier Geralt. Even talks as much as him!” Geralt rolled his eyes but made no comment, prompting Jaskier to point at the White Wolf. “See!” Ciri laughed, eyes fixated on the stuffed wolf, smoothing the hair down.

“Thanks, Jaskier.” She smiled and gave him a quick hug, which he gladly reciprocated.

That night, for the first night in five days, she slept throughout the entire night. Geralt watched with a smile and a light heart as Ciri was snuggled up to the toy, her hand mindlessly stroking the fur.

#thingywritesthingies #the witcher #twn #best dad geralt #geralt of rivia #best dad jaskier #jaskier #ciri #fic #ficlet #the witcher netflix

[julek]

jaskier had been working on his newest song for months, as geralt had reluctantly been a witness to his creative process. and what a process it had been: humming for hours on end walking next to roach as they approached their next town; repeating the same line over and over, trying to think of the next rhyme; getting up in the middle of the night, scrambling for his quill and notebook because that’s the word i was looking for, geralt!

so when jaskier triumphantly announces that his ballad is done, and just needs to be written down, geralt feels some tension leave his shoulders. it’s funny, really; as much as he loves to deny even listening to the bard’s musings and constant chattering, he’d been subconsciously rooting for him. geralt’s come to understand how important jaskier’s singing is to him, how his lute is basically an extension of himself and his embellished speech is not hyperbolic, it’s natural. the bard’s good at what he does, too; he’s seen it firsthand. the way he can have a tavern full of people dancing around with just a flick of his wrist one moment, and have them quietly shed tears as he sings of longing, and heartache, and lust the next.

they get to a clearing in the woods, and geralt starts setting up camp. jaskier gets his notebook and quill from roach’s saddlebags, sitting on the ground next to the pile of firewood. he was eager to finally give his ballad the finishing touches, and get it on the very expensive and scarce pieces of paper he’d managed to acquire while geralt had been hunting the bruxa that’d been terrorizing the town they were passing through. the townsfolk were poor and there was no inn for them to sleep in, so they had to settle for another night of sleeping under the stars.

“i can’t believe my masterpiece is complete! they’ll be singing my praises everywhere across the continent, you’ll see”, jaskier says, as he sticks his quill in the small bottle of ink he’s precariously balancing on his thigh. “of course, jaskier, they’ll adore you and queen calanthe of cintra herself will request your presence at every banquet. why, thank you geralt, for your precious and incredibly accurate comm—”

jaskier gasps and geralt turns around to face him and see what could have possibly diverted the bard’s attention from— well, himself; only to find him gaping and staring at his lap, where he’d spilled his ink. his doublet sports a big, black stain on the side, but jaskier is more preoccupied with the ink that’s covering the majority of his fine paper.

fuck, geralt’s never gonna hear the end of this.

he braces himself for an unending stream of cursing and fussing, but instead, he is met with silence. jaskier looks at the ruined paper for a moment, his expression blank, and tosses it into the fire. geralt breathes in the sour scent of disappointment, but there’s no anger attached to it.

they eat in silence, and jaskier lies on his back on his bedroll, but geralt knows he isn’t asleep. he can easily imagine why the bard is upset; he’d heard all about the man that had tried to charge him way more than the paper was actually worth, i may like the finer things in life, but do i look like a fool to you? wait— don’t answer that. he also knows how eager jaskier’d been to immortalize his song in paper, not only for aesthetic purposes, but also because this particular ballad was worthy, in jaskier’s opinion, of being sent to oxenfurt, for his professors to critique. 

suddenly, the peace and quiet geralt had been praying for since he met the bard falls flat. he’ll feel better in the morning, geralt thinks, this isn’t such a big deal. he’ll live.

and yet.

 geralt knows what a life devoid of comfort is like. for a long time, it’d been the only life he knew. walking the path, getting a contract, collecting his coin, and moving on; that had been his daily routine for a long time. if he had nothing to look forward to, little could disappoint him. the less people he let in his life, the better.

and then jaskier came along. 

jaskier, who’d sing every night, even for uninterested crowds who would only heckle at him, just to secure a bed for geralt. jaskier, who’d spend a ridiculous amount of coin on chamomile oil, because he knows it’s the only one geralt’s sensitive nose can tolerate. jaskier, who’d go out of his way to get a new brush for roach, who’d lash out at people for talking shit about witchers, and detangle geralt’s hair after a contract gone sideways. jaskier, who gives, and gives, and gives, and never asks for anything in return.

and the truth is, he deserves more. so much more than geralt could ever give him. and even if he could never afford to give jaskier the highest luxuries in life, he has to try. 

 geralt keeps some pieces of parchment in his pack, for the rare occasions he has to write to vesemir. they’re rolled up and tied with a small leather band, but geralt figures it’ll do. he grabs jaskier’s notebook from where he left it, abandoned, next to their fire. geralt knows jaskier keeps early drafts of his songs in it, but never the full piece — what if someone steals it, geralt? what if some half-assed, poor excuse of a bard comes across my precious lyrics, and steals my songs? so he tries to remember the little details jaskier had left out, while attempting to decipher jaskier’s calligraphy. in the end, he gets the entire song out on the parchment, and he feels it’s decent enough. 

at last, he falls asleep.

 -

geralt wakes up to the sound of anxious pacing. he rubs a hand over his tired eyes, and opens them to see a very flustered bard at his side. 

“you— last night— you did this for me!”. jaskier gestures to the parchment splayed out on his bedroll, his expression unreadable. geralt can’t tell if he’s pleased or not, but at least he doesn’t smell upset anymore.

“i know it doesn’t look very good, and it’s not real paper”, geralt says, looking away. “i guess… i— you were upset.”

“i was”, jaskier says, and his is voice soft. geralt feels a hand cup his chin, and he looks up at jaskier. his blue eyes are as clear as the morning sky, and geralt finds himself staring a little too hard. “thank you, geralt. it means a lot to me. really. and i mean, your handwriting is far more legible than mine, they’ll love this at oxenfurt!”

at that, geralt smiles, and receives a goofy grin in turn. 

“well, i’m famished. breakfast?”. jaskier holds his hand out for geralt, and he’s about to turn him down, about to grunt something about how he’s a witcher, strong enough to get up on his own, thank you very much, but he takes it, instead. 

he feels jaskier squeeze his ink-stained hand as he stands up, and he should let go. he should let jaskier enjoy the life that’s so clearly laid out for him; the finest of wines and the fairest of ladies, the softest of silks and the most adoring of crowds. but jaskier looks at him, and he smells like honey and something else he can’t quite place. home, geralt decides, and nods. 

“breakfast.”

#this started out as a small headcanon inspired by my pen exploding on my notebook #i hope you like it! :) #i'll probably post it on ao3 tomorrow #witcher stuff #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fluff #mine #mywriting

[katthekitkatlord]

Jaskier/Werewolf Witchers

Prompt List.

If you are interested in any of the below and will like for me to expand on it, let me know. I do both writing and drawing request^^

1- Jaskier finds out Geralt can turn into a werewolf.

a. It all happens one night while the two are settling down for camp.

b. Before this point Jaskier didn’t know, he just chalked everything up to Geralt being secretive and weird.

c. Geralt wants to run away and Jaskier cries.

2- Jaskier meets Eskel.

a. Geralt and Jaskier are walking along a trail when Jaskier announces he needs to pee and heads off in the bushes for privacy.

b. Jaskier returns to see, or what it looks like to him, a stand off with an enormous black/brown werewolf.

c. Jaskier’s fear subsides after Geralt informs Jaskier this is his brother. They decide to set up camp together.

d. By morning, Jaskier has fallen for the larger wolf.

3- Jaskier meets Lambert.

a. Jaskier is with Geralt when the witcher asks an alderman about a hunt. Jaskier is disappointed when he hears the contract has already been taken, but he intrigued when the man tells them the witcher has been missing for three days. He knows this because the witchers horse is still in the stable.

c. Geralt doesn’t tell Jaskier anything. Instead, he runs away. Jaskier notices Geralt left his silver sword behind. Jaskier tries to follow Geralts trail, sword in hand.

d. Jaskier gets lost.

e. Jaskier finds a cave when it begins to rain and crawls inside. That is when he is met face to face with a reddish-brown werewolf.

f. Jaskier learns this Lambert after then man changes back to his human form.

g. Jaskier helps Lambert tend to his wounds. Geralt finds them both.

h. After a week together Jaskier doesn’t want Lambert to leave but he knows he must.

4- Jaskier meets Vesemir.

a. Geralt invites Jaskier to Kear Morhen.

b. On their way up the mountain Jaskier spots a grey wolf further up the trail watching them. Geralt tells him that is Vesemir.

c. Jaskier is nervous when he meets Vesemir but Eskel and Lambert distract him.

d. That night Jaskier is left alone, the three boys going on a hunt together. He spends his time wondering the halls but finds a spot to curl up in front of a fire and strum on his lute.

e. Jaskier doesn’t notice Vesemir until the giant wolf curls around him.

f. The boys come back to find Jaskier sound asleep with Vesemir.

5- Jaskier loves all four wolves and over the winter he gets to learn them.

6- Eskel.

a. Enjoys his ears rubbed as much as he enjoys his paws rubbed.

b. Eskel is larger than the others in his wolf form and human.

c. Eskel enjoys cooking bread, reading in front of the fire, and star gazing.

7- Lambert.

a. Lambert enjoys a head scratch no matter the form. He won’t ask for it, but Jaskier knows when he wants one because Lambert will look at him from the corner of his eye with an angry pouty face, that is actually Lamberts begging face.

b. If Lambert lets you touch his paws, it’s for a reason and Jaskier knows to get his med kit ready.

c. Lambert is a snuggler.

d. Lambert also enjoys playing more than the others.

e. He is honestly an overgrown moody puppy.

8- Geralt.

a. DO NOT TOUCH HIS PAWS!

b. Geralt likes to whittle wood, sharpen his blades when he’s nervous. In his wolf form he licks.

c. Geralt enjoys nesting. The others don’t say a word when they notice new furs appear on their bed.

d. He howls at the stars and sings to the moon when he’s goes on lone hunts. No one says anything about it. They all do it. Especially on lonely nights.

e. Geralt is freer around his brothers. He smiles more, laughs more.

9- Vesemir.

a. Vesemir keeps to himself, but he is always watching. He is writing letters or reading books most of the time, but he comes down regularly to watch the boys and enjoy their company.

b. Vesemir has the saddest howl out of the boys. When he howls, Jaskier feels as if the old wolf is singing to the dead.

c. Vesemir enjoys listening to slow songs on the lute. He can care less about the words though.

d. Vesemir is the unspoken alpha, but Jaskier can see the puppy in his eyes. Especially when he aids Jaskier in pulling a prank on the boys.

#the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher books #the witcher wild hunt #the witcher games #werewolf witcher au #werewolf witcher #werewolf #werewolf au #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #jaskier x eskel #jaskier x lambert #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #eskel #eskel x geralt #eskel x lambert #werewolf geralt #werewolf eskel #werewolf vesemir #werewolf lambert #the witcher lambert #lambert #the witcher eskel #vesemir #the witcher vesemir #art request #art request open

[abluescarfonwaston]

The wolves all go out of there way to bring home a few books every winter. Just whatever they can find and fit in their bags. They won't ever be able to replace the library they lost during the sacking but the slowly growing collection does give then something else to do during the long winter nights.

It also becomes a bit of a competition- as it always does between them - to bring the best book, the book with the most interesting story of how they acquired it, and the most Valuable book (the definition of which changes every year).

Lambert makes it his goal every year to bring the most indecent romance novels he can. I'm talking novels labeled Erotic. I'm talking Porn with just enough plot to get published. Sometimes the others will try to one up him by bringing something even steamier. No one has ever beaten Lambert though.

Much to Vesemir horror the new library is a majority erotic novels (which they do try to hide from Ciri when she arrives).

One year Lambert brings home a story about a wandering knight and his faithful squire. He likes to read excepts to the wolves to get back at them for insulting his cooking, ripping the fancy blanket he won last year, beating him at qwent. Any opportunity really.

And the first few chapters are them going to brothels and wooing ladies. the standard stuff.

But then. Then they start sharing beds and brothels and the other partners just. fall away and they're Only with each other.

Lambert LOVES reading this to Geralt especially cause it can Actually make Geralt blush and run from the room. He's NEVER managed that with Geralt. Fuck YEAH.

And Geralts Dying. Because he recognized the prose during the First Chapter. and the pen name the writer used.

Dandelion.

Jaskier had written a gay romance novel about the two of them. Chocked full of the squires effusive praise for the ‘knight’.

And then one day Lambert stops reading it. Seems even shorter than normal with everyone.

"Lambert you wanna stop being a prick and read your dumb gay romance novel to us? Promise to only throw food at you this time." Eskel said.

"No. that was a shitty Fucking book and I hate it."

"Oh did the gays die again? Lambert you know they won't get published if they have a happy ending. Just rip the last pages out like always."

"No! The knight went and rode off into he Fucking sunset with that damn princess! Left the squire behind without a Fucking word!!!! I hate that Fucking knight and wanna rip his Fucking dick off!"

"Oh. Huh. Well they didn't die for once. happy ending."

"It's not a happy ending Eskel how -

"The knight and the princess were Fated to be together Lambert! all the foreshadowing was there!"

"The princess treated him like a moron! The squire Actually knew him and cared about him!"

"The squire caused him nothing but problems Lambert! Of Course he went with the princess who loved him and could give him the peaceful life he craved! Not every damn bi man has to end up with the guy Lambert!"

Eskel and Lambert continued their Screaming match. Vesemir appear to be regretting his every life decision. Ciri popped in the earplugs and continued reading her book. Geralt stared into his ale, frozen.

"What happens to the squire Lambert?" Geralt asked his drink quietly.

"THATS THE WORST PART. HE SMILES AND SENDS THEM OFF. LIKE HE ALWAYS KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN AND WAS HAPPY FOR THEM. AND YOU CAN JUST TELL HOW HEARTBROKEN THE MOTHERFUCKER IS AND WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY WITH THAT."

"This is why we told you not to bring gay novels Lambert. You always get upset with how they end."

"It's not Fucking fair."

Geralt’s chair screeches against the stone as he stands up - an oddity since they all Hate that noise and actively avoid making it.

"Where are you going?" Eskel questioned as he stroad to the door.

"I need to talk to Jaskier."   

"And how do you intend to do that? Gonna ride down the mountain in a Fucking blizzard Geralt?"

"I." The door slammed closed behind him.

"Should." Ciri started. "One of us check on him?"

"No." They all said in unison.

(They did all at some point check on him)

Ciri was first. with a timid and then assertive knock on his door before she entered. Crawling into his arms and burrowing into his chest.

"We can go find him as soon as the snow melts. Okay?"

"I don't think he'd be very excited to see me." He mourned tucking her closer and burying his nose in her hair.

"It's Jaskier." She said simply about a man she only knew from their stories. "He's always excited to see you."

"You going to Brood all winter or do you actually want to figure out how to apologize wolf?" Eskel asked dragging him to the courtyard for a spar.

"There's nothing I can do. He'll never forgive me."

"Oh like he'd Never forgive you for the Djinn? Or for ripping his favorite doublet? Or telling him his singing sucked?" Eskel landed a hard jab. "And what happened every one of those times he'd Never forgive you?"

"That's different." He said returning the blow.

"Uh huh. Guess we'd better make sure you've got a damn good apology ready then?" Eskel smiled easily like he knew the punchline to a very funny joke. "Tell me what happened."

So he did.

Vesemir eased into the spring water across from him with a groan. He wondered how long he had before Vesemir started making fun of how long he spent in the bath again. Longer than if it was Eskel or Lambert at least.

They sat there and a question curdled in his belly until it forced its way out.

"How are we supposed to not get attached?"

"I think we're well past that point lad."

"But How? I can't. All these years and I still can't." He buried his head in his hands so he couldn't see how he'd failed Vesemir yet again.

"If I knew I'd tell you Geralt." Vesemir said, exhausted.

He glanced up and was Viscerally reminded how much Vesemir had lost over the long centuries of his life.

How he'd seen the school founded and fall. How he'd known every child who'd walked these halls and died in them.

How he knew exactly how many had died in the raid.

He remembered how Vesemir had fallen to pieces when the last Witcher he'd ever teach, Leo, had died.

And he remembered how Vesemir put himself back together for them.

"I can't. I can't Vesemir." If Ciri or Eksel or Lambert or Vesemir or Jaskier died. "I'm not as strong as you. I Can't."

"You will. You are." Vesemir squeezed his shoulder as he stood. "Make it worth the loss Geralt."

He sunk into the hot water and wondered how it could be.

He was half asleep when the door Slammed open and only had half a second before Lambert was cannon-balling into his chest.

"FIXED IT!"

He breathed through the pain. "Fix my ribs ass."

"You're fine whiny old man." Lambert shoved a book under his nose. the scent of barely dried ink filling his nostrils. "Read it!"

"Just tell me what happened. I'm not reading your handwriting in the dark." He said shoving it back.

"It's better than yours!" It wasn't. "The knight gets his head out of his ass and tells the squire he loves him and they go on countless more adventures." he puffed up proudly.

"And the princess? what happens to her?"

Lambert scowled at him. "Who gives a fuck about the princess?"

‘I do.’ He thought. "The knight does." He said.

"Ugh. uh. she meets another princess and they go ride off into there own sunset. okay? Happy you ungrateful prick?"

He smiled in a way that made Lambert gag. "I think that's a much better ending Lambert."

"Of course it is!" He preened from atop Geralt. Toes digging into his abdomen painfully.

"Now get out of my room or I'll throw you into the snow bank Lambert."

Lambert tried to call him on the threat so he made to make good on it. Lambert dashed from the room with a crass gesture.

That did sound like a better ending. He gripped his medallion and hoped that in the spring they'd get that ending.

An ending that lead into a very very happy beginning of something new.

#geralt #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier #vesemir #eskel #lambert #If you're wondering how the Jaskier/geralt reunion actually goes its like #Geralt finds Jaskier Jaskier He says the name holding far to much in it #Jaskier: *Pained and happy smile* Geralt #*Hugs* #If you think i'm going to let you get away with that shit #i know you won't #I'm going to hold it against you for the next decade #..... #Of course i forgive you you ass don't do it again #the squires tale had a terrible ending #Everyone's a critic #Lambert wrote a better one #want to hear it? #.... sure. #I love you said the knight to the squire #Jaskier: I love you said the squire to the knight #Geralt: And they lived happily ever after #Did they? #Let's find out Jaskier. Let's find out. #writing

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Jaskier Effect

Also on ao3

The first time that Eskel noticed things were changing, he was collecting the payment for a contract on a wraith in Velen. The alderman handed him a leather coin pouch with a wink, saying “Toss a coin to your Witcher,” and then proceeded to hum some tune as Eskel turned to leave.

Not every interaction was as odd, or as pleasant, but he did find that over the following months there was generally a slightly more tolerant attitude whenever he walked into a village or town, and less people tried to cheat him out of the coin he was owed for his work. If he hadn’t spent the better part of a century being shunned or ridiculed for being a Witcher, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But he still kept his guard up. Aired on the side of caution. People don’t just change, and he was suspicious about this new growing respect for his kind.

It was in a tavern in Redania where he heard the song in full for the first time. He was perched at a table in the corner, thumbing a tankard of piss-poor ale when a young female bard started up and one of the patrons requested it.

It took Eskel a good few minutes to process that the song was about Geralt.

He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that his brother in arms had let a bard tag along on a hunt, or that he had allowed a song to be composed about him after the fact. Then again, he knew how much the title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’ upset Geralt, so maybe being sung about as a hero wouldn’t be so bad after all. Eskel had certainly noticed how this one song had started to affect people’s perceptions of Witchers, however subtle.

After the performance, Eskel had approached the female bard and asked if she was the one who wrote it. Essi, he later found out to be her name, had humbly thanked him but told him that a dear friend of hers had composed it. A bard called Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Eskel was very intrigued.

That winter he waited impatiently for Geralt to join them at Kaer Morhen. He asked Lambert if he had noticed the change and, Lambert being Lambert, had jumped on the chance to use it as a new way of getting into people’s pants. Not that he needed any help with that in the first place, but this new growing respect for Witchers definitely had its advantages.

Vesemir, like Eskel, advised on the err of caution.

“It won’t last,” he had warned, “It never does.”

“All the more reason to reap the benefits now, right Eskel?” Lambert threw him a lewd wink.

Eskel had grunted but not really given Lambert an answer.

When Geralt eventually showed up, just as the first snows started to fall, Eskel quizzed him mercilessly about the bard. He wanted to know how on earth the young human had found himself in the prickly Witcher’s company.

Geralt gave a very stunted story of how he met Jaskier and the adventure that followed but Eskel knew him well enough to see that the bard and his songs had affected Geralt in more ways than one. The White Wolf held affection for Jaskier. His hard edges were slightly softer than they had been last time they met. There was a new warmth to his amber eyes. Geralt, usually so closed off to the world, had unwillingly, or unwittingly, let someone in.

Witchers don’t tend to have friends outside of their own kind, and even then, they usually stick to their own Witcher School, and even then, sometimes ‘friend’ was such a strong word, but Eskel could see that this Jaskier had the potential to help Geralt find that part of himself so many believed was stripped from him when he underwent the mutations.

Geralt of course, insisted that Jaskier was not his friend and, come spring, when Eskel asked him if he was going to travel with the bard again Geralt shrugged with a grunt.

“If our paths cross, our paths cross,” the white haired Witcher answered nonchalantly.

Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“Well thank him for me if they do,” he rumbled.

“What for?” frowned Geralt.

“For the good work he’s doing for all Witcher kind,” Eskel grinned with a wink.

Geralt scoffed, mounted his faithful mare and disappeared down the trail.

As the years passed by and more songs about the White Wolf emerged, Eskel found his job as a Witcher to be less monotonous and more interesting. People were actually willing to converse with him, even offer him better rates for contracts. One barkeep even gave him a free beer because he recognised the wolf medallion around Eskel’s neck.

“You a wolf Witcher? You know that Geralt? Drinks on the house!”

Eskel was sure he’d never get used to it.

And, as he expected, not everyone was keen on the new perspective of Witchers. Some still slandered him in the streets, threw stones, spat at him, tried to pick fights with him that he knew they’d never win. But, thanks to Jaskier and his influence, life as a Witcher had improved considerably.

When Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen each winter, he always brought more stories of his time spent travelling with the bard. Eskel could see the brightness in his eyes and the soft way he spoke about Jaskier. Geralt was warm and open and laughing and joking, and it had been a long time since Eskel had seen him like this. The affect the bard was having on him, it was nice. Good.

Lambert insisted that Geralt should invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt had laughed it off, saying that Jaskier would much rather spend his winters warm and cosy in Oxenfurt than freezing his balls off with the likes of them, but he could see the thought playing in Geralt’s mind and he really hoped that Geralt would introduce them to the bard next year.

Eskel didn’t have to wait that long though.

It was nearing the end of summer and Eskel was passing through Novigrad. He usually avoided the big cities, but he was running low on a very specific herb to brew his potions and he knew the herbalist off Hierarch Square was the only place for miles around where he could get it.

He had wrapped his travel cloak around himself, making sure his hood hid his face as he ventured into the city. The general attitude and acceptance towards Witchers was better than it had ever been but, in Novigrad, where the majority of the populace was still out to get anyone non-human, he couldn’t be too careful.

His transaction with the herbalist went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and he pocketed the small pouch of herbs carefully. By now though, it was starting to get late and his horse was tired from the long day of traveling so, he decided to stop off in a tavern for the night.

He left his mount in the capable hands of the stable boys and slunk into the ‘Kingfisher’ without drawing too much attention to himself.

The heat of the tavern hit him in a stifling cloud. The tang of alcohol and sweat swirled about him, and the wall of noise was a mixture of shouted conversation and singing along with whomever the entertainment was for the evening.

Eskel wove his way through the many patrons and quietly discussed a room for the night with the barkeep.

Wary of the Witcher, the squat man had warned him if there was any trouble, he’d be out quicker that you could say Gwent. Eskel accepted his terms and found a stool at the edge of the bar to inhabit as he nursed a tankard of ale.

Hood still drawn to shadow his face, he cast his keen eyes over the patrons and his attention was drawn to the musician in front of the hearth.

The bard was a few years shy of thirty. Dark brown windswept looking hair and bright blue eyes. He was stood on a stool and was stamping in time to the beat of his wild lute playing. His voice was rich and just as colourful as the teal doublet and breeches he wore, embroidered and patterned with navy blue.

There was something about him, like he was familiar somehow. Then it hit him. He knew exactly who this bard was.

“Ho Hey

But the Witcher knew

Took a Witcher’s brew

And the Witcher slew.

Ho Hey

And the village knew

That their beast was through

And tossed his way some coin and ale and stew.”

Jaskier beamed as he sang, the patrons around him joining in with this chorus, stamping and clapping in time.

Eskel couldn’t tare his eyes away. Geralt’s description of the bard had been spot on but he could never have been prepared for…well this.

The confidence, the elegance that came with his playing. The animated charm. The way he had everyone around him engaged and enjoying themselves. Eskel could understand why Geralt was drawn to him.

He was barely listening to the lyrics. Just staring at the man who had won over his brother in arms.

Jaskier sang the chorus again then finished with a flourish, grinning at the rambunctious applause.

“Thank you,” he winked at a passing barmaid who swooned, “I will be taking a short break but fear not. I will return.”

There was a mixture of cheers and protests as the young bard skipped through the crowd and leaned over the bar, very close to where Eskel was sitting.

Gods above, Eskel thought to himself, his scent!

Jaskier smelled like lavender and sandalwood, fresh parchment and woodsmoke. It was a scent that Eskel had picked up on many occasions throughout the last few winters. Lingering on Geralt’s clothing, on Roach’s saddlebags.

With a goblet of wine in hand, Jaskier thanked a woman who was excitedly complimenting his singing and when she finally melted back into the throng, he took a long drink and then rested his gaze on Eskel.

Amber eyes met blue and Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, well, well,” the bard crooned, voice thick with curiosity, “Dark and mysterious stranger who has been ogling me since he came in turns out to be a dark and mysterious Witcher.”

Eskel swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say to him. Not that it really mattered because Jaskier barely paused for breath before he continued.

“Let me see. Wolf Witcher,” Jaskier indicated the medallion just visible through the folds of grey cloak then narrowed his eyes at him, “You must be Eskel.”

Eskel absently touched the long scar tracking down the right side of his face. Of course Geralt had talked about his brothers with the bard, described them to his friend.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“No,” he smiled kindly, “It’s the eyes, the jaw. You look a lot like Geralt. Except, you know, he has white hair and you’ve got – is it dark brown? Black? Anyway. I’m Jaskier.”

Eskel hesitated before taking the offered hand and Jaskier shook it enthusiastically.

“I imagine Geralt has mentioned me. Though not all bad, I hope. So, what brings you to Novigrad? Some monster lurking about? You doing some Witchering?”

Eskel was baffled by this young man.

Jaskier talked quickly without much pause for thought, true, but he was talking to him like…they were equals. Friends even. The bard was warm and open and ridiculously handsome, though Eskel would never tell Geralt that he thought so. There wasn’t an ounce of the usual fear he experiences when talking to people. No guarded expression. No hidden motivation. Just an imploring gaze and friendly smile.

Eskel understood completely why Geralt had given in to allowing Jaskier to travel with him. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t see the Witcher, the monster, the savage killer. He saw Geralt. And now, he saw Eskel.

“Thank you,” Eskel heard himself say.

Confusion twitched in Jaskier’s expression and he tilted his head slightly.

“For what?” he hummed.

For what? Eskel bit his cheek. For helping to improve Geralt’s image? For being Geralt’s friend? For changing how people see Witchers? For increasing the payment prospects of contracts for Witchers across the continent? For everything?

“For your songs,” he settled on.

Jaskier flashed him a dazzling smile.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked.

Eskel realised that Jaskier had no idea how much his songs had actually affected the Witchers and their place in the continent. He had no idea that singing about Geralt was just the start of a ripple that had spread across the lands and changed people for the better. He had no idea of the legacy he was building, for himself, for his friend, and for all the working Witcher’s who used to struggle to get a decent price for even a few Drowners.

The fame of Jaskier the bard wasn’t exclusive to the high courts and bustling taverns. Jaskier had no idea how big his impact actually was.

And Eskel didn’t have the first clue on how to start telling him.

“You staying in Novigrad long?” Jaskier asked breezily, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Not if I can help it,” the Witcher shrugged.

“No jobs enticing enough to make you change your mind?”

“Unfortunately no one puts out contracts on Priests of the Eternal Fire,” Eskel grunted.

Jaskier snorted into his wine and Eskel felt his lips pull in a small smile.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier composed himself, eyes blazing with mirth, “We can’t always be so lucky.”

“What about you? How long are you here for?” being drawn into conversation with the bard was easy. It felt natural and relaxed and safe.

“Meh, who knows? Until I bore of the markets and politics and need to get back out there on the Path,” Jaskier frowned at the dregs lining the bottom of his goblet and Eskel flagged down the barkeep to order more drinks.

“Going to look for Geralt?” Eskel glanced at Jaskier over the top of his tankard.

“I might,” Jaskier shot him a playful grin, “Unless you want the company on the road for a while.”

It was Eskel’s turn to choke slightly on his drink.

“A new muse could be just what I need. How about it Eskel? Not all my songs have to be about Geralt, you know.”

Eskel caught those blue eyes and held them for a moment.

“Sure. Why not?” he rumbled.

“Excellent,” Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully, “You and me Eskel, we’re gonna change the world.”

You already have, Eskel thought to himself, and I’m going to spend whatever time we have together making you see it. Making you understand. Showing you what you’ve done for us. For me. And for Geralt. The affect you’ve had on all Witchers and the world you have created for us. Just you wait and see.

Impalaloompa on ao3

#my writing #jaskier #eskel #geralt #geralt of rivia #joey batey #the witcher netflix #netflix the witcher #the Witcher

[witchersjaskier]

aNOTHER FUCKING ONE

inspired by an anonymous ask for @im-weak-my-love-and-i-am-wanting about jaskier meeting other witchers. i had to.

||

Okay, alright. Jaskier is absolutely fine and not close to crying at all. He’s fine. His heart is whole and not broken at all and he doesn't feel like he wasted 22 years of his life on a man who apparently fucking hates him.

Great.

Strangely, anger is more prominent than sadness but Jaskier knows that it’s a matter of time before he starts crying himself to sleep.

For now, he walks and composes utterly rude songs that are just catchy enough to have everyone singing them, about moronic Witchers and brick-for-brains men who can appreciate nothing. His greatest achievement is a song about a man who somehow lives with a rare condition of having rock for brains.

All in all, Jaskier is angry and a mere mention of Geralt is enough to have him fuming and cursing and, on one occasion, hacking a tree with his new sword. Great.

Then, because Destiny is a bitch, he walks into a tavern only to see a fucking Witcher there. Not Geralt, not even from the School of the Wolf, but Jaskier spent 22 years with Geralt and he knows how to recognize a Witcher.

Jaskier takes one good look at the man and promptly turns around and walks well into the night, looking for the next village.

After that, it's like Fate or Destiny or whatever decided to take a piss on Jaskier’s life.

22 years of travelling with Geralt and he saw not a one other Witcher but now it seems like they’re popping around like daisies.

Taking a bath in the lake? A Witcher. Singing in a tavern? Talks about a Witcher. Buying a dagger? A Witcher looking at swords next to him. 

Finally, he has enough.

“Are you fucking stalking me?!” he demands of a poor Witcher with facial scars and a nasty smirk that's standing just behind him.

The man, apparently surprised, rears back and frowns. “That’s a bit self-absorbed.”

It just makes Jaskier angrier and his fangs drop until he’s almost hissing. “I saw one fucking Witcher in 22 damn years but now all I see are fucking Witchers! Are you like, spawning somewhere now or what?!”

The Witcher shakes his head. “Nope, sorry to disappoint. Maybe we just smelled Geralt’s onion stench and decided to go the other way,” he snorts and Jaskier lights up.

“Fucjking onion,” he mutters. “Fucking Geralt of fucking Rivia.”

“A right bastard, that one,” the man agrees. “Lambert.”

Jaskier eyes him, suspicious. “Aren't you his brother, good sir?” he asks, noticing the wolf medallion.

Lambert laughs sharply. “Aye, we are, and who better to offend than your sibling?”

“Fair enough,” he agrees. “Want to get drunk and complain about Geralt?”

“Oh bardling, we’ll be the best of friends,” Lambert almost purrs.

They part a week later with Jaskier still partly drunk and in a good mood so when he stumbles unto the next Witcher, Coen, he laughs and offers to compose the man a song in exchange of some good stories.

Somehow along the way, 7 months pass and Jaskier doesn’t hear about the White Wolf at all. Yet, in those 7 months, he gains his fair amount of Witcher friends, more than he ever thought he'd have.

Jaskier still greets them with, “Another fucking one,” but it’s more joking than serious.

He stays with Vesemir for the longest. The old Witcher is a decent conversationist and he has stories even Geralt could only dream about. Besides, there’s something almost fatherly in the man, and some part of Jaskier enjoys being reminded that he’s not the oldest one around.

“Winter is coming,” Vesemir states one day, as they’re riding North.

Jaskier snorts. The cold doesn’t bother him at all, actually the colder it is the warmer he feels, but winter is hard in other ways. Food and money are scarce, and people less welcoming, it always is that way.

“That’s why we’re headed for Kaer Morhen,” the old man continues giving Jaskier a pause.

“You want me there?” he asks in disbelief. 22 years with Geralt and the man never offered.

“The boys like you. And a dragon inside a keep in the mountain is something that’s integral to you, hm?���

Jaskier snorts but doesn’t deny it and they’re in the keep soon enough. There’s a lot of work to be done but Jaskier enjoys it. The more animal part of him really really likes old keeps and castles.

The other Witchers start arriving soon and they’re all strangely happy to see him.

“Eyyyy, look it’s the bardling!” Lambert announces with a laugh and they cheer. Jaskier snorts but launches into a raunchy tune about fucking in a tavern and the keep is loud and happy and bright for once.

2 weeks later, Jaskier is in an argument with Lambert about who stabbed more men as a warning, when the keep opens again and he sees familiar silver hair. Jaskier’s breathing catches, his heart starts racing and suddenly, he’s just as hurt and angry as he was almost 2 years ago.

“Another fucking one,” Eskel announces suddenly, and the others start laughing.

And well, now Jaskier feels better because he isn’t alone on a mountain. He has his Witcher friends and a Witcher almost-lover who has some grovelling and begging to do.

#witcher #jaskier #geralt #vesemir #lambert #eskel #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #friendship with other witchers! #dragon jaskier #just mentioned lmao i couldnt help myself #love me some witcher friendship