Hi I'm Laura/ 20/ Germany. This Blog is mostly about Fandoms but also personal. If you have any questions you can read my "about me" site and ask me everything you want to know. I love Supernatural, Arrow, The Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Supergirl, Sherlock, LOTR and Disney movies/ animated movies. Feel free to ask me anything ;)
a little drawing to show my love for amazing story by @yoursummerfrost -
you’re only brave in the moonlight (stay til sunrise) in which Jaskier and Geralt are roommates, who pine very beautifully
Could I possibly prompt some feral buffskier? Or inhuman Jaskier? :D Congrats on 3K!!!
Thanks for sending in a prompt! I decided to explore some nonhuman Jaskier that’s fully feral. I haven’t seen a whole lot of nonhuman Jaskier stories using Celtic mythology so I’m going to be a little self indulgent for this, but I hope you like it! (Bonus points if you can guess what Jaskier is before it’s revealed!)
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The sound of a fight stirs him from his slumber.
Even trickling through the still waters of his lake, the sound of flesh meeting flesh is unmistakable. As is the soft, gritted noise of pain.
He shifts, body fluid and inky black as the waters around him. The water parts like a lover before him and he revels in the familiar sensation of power and control. These are his waters. His home.
So why was someone hunting in his territory?
Another sound--a scuffle and another grunt of effort--and Jaskier scents blood in the air, beginning to seep into the shallow waters on the shore. He drifts closer, the predator inside of him writhed beneath his skin. Eager. His mouth opened to run the tastes over his tongue as the water passed through the gills at his neck.
At the surface, he was careful not to create any ripples that might give away his presence, but he needn’t have bothered.
Two muscular forms were rolling across the ground at the shore sending mud flying and breaking the rushes that grew there. His ears pricked, equine head rising up out of the waterline when he saw the flash of steel dart through the air to land among the bushes farther back. Humanoid features twisted in a grimace of pain that matched the scream of triumph from the creature atop the warrior.
He didn’t need to scent the fire and ash in the air to know what beast was hunting so close to his home. Caorthannach, his lips shaped on a subvocal growl. A creature of heat and anguish that reveled in the agonies of others, relishing violence for violence’s sake. It never tired. All it knew was hunger and the desire to spread its own fury and pain into others.
Even worse, it had attracted a Witcher.
This, at least, was an exciting enough development to justify being disturbed from his sleep. Jaskier had heard the legends of the humans who’d been experimented on by their own kind to become monsters of their own. Faster, stronger than their kin and capable of standing against the darkest shadows that lurked in the night. His mother--before she’d chased him away from her nest--had warned him often not to ever attract the attention of humans and their terrifying guardians.
Now there was one only a few yards away, struggling to avoid the claws and flames of the demon above him. He should be afraid, angry even. The Caorthannach’s presence has ensured his relative peace in this remote lake was in danger. He should sink back into the depths and stay quiet until the Witcher left. Instead, he found himself moving closer, breathing in air filled with the scent of blood and more enticing notes of leather and sweat.
Something primitive within him stirs at the strength lingering in each block and shift beneath pale skin. It spoke of power, of promise.
Mate, his beast purred. Mine.
The thought was enough to make him go still. His kind weren’t known for their pairs except in rare occurrences. They were too wild, too territorial to risk allowing their kind to get close. Tales of true mates, of soul bonds and love, were just that--stories to cling to when the water’s cold seeped too far into your bones and your thoughts felt brittle enough to break under the strain.
The Caorthannach shrieks and lunges forward, teeth jagged and eager. The Witcher hisses out a breath full of pain, blood pooling in the dark mud. That quickly, any hesitance Jaskier feels disappears beneath the roar that rips free from his throat.
He rushes forward, shedding water like he sheds his skin in favor of legs designed for running over the earth. The demon has enough time to look up in surprise before Jaskier is on top of him. He lashes out with sharp hooves, connecting bodily and throwing the other beast away. He barely takes the time to glance back at his Witcher to ensure he was still breathing before he focuses on his prey.
It screams in rage at him, spitting a blast of fire like a wipe that burns the hide along his flank and adds to Jaskier’s fury. He bugles like a stallion and rears up to lash out with his front hooves, herding the beast towards the water where the mud slows its movements. The Caorthannach flounders, instinctively wanting to avoid the element that was so contrary to its own magic, but pinned by its furious attacker.
Jaskier is fierce with the knowledge that his mate is injured and still in danger only a few feet away. He wants to draw out the battle to repay the blood debt, but he is eager to see for himself that his Witcher is alright.
So he uses his size to his advantage. He kicks out, again and again, ignoring cuts and burns from when the demon strikes back. He herds it back into the water until stumbling in the knee-high waters. It flounders, trying to get back to shore, but it’s already too late.
Nothing can escape a Kelpie in its own waters.
The sounds of splashing slowly drown out the rush of fire and roar of the Caorthannach. Then there was only silence.
Slowly, Jaskier pulls himself up out of the water and stand at his full height. Water drips over dark hide and makes his muscles gleam in the moonlight. He watches the Witcher’s eyes widen and preens.
Like all Kelpies, he shifts between forms at will based on his needs. To his victims, he appears as a dark horse with a dripping mane with wild eyes. He prefers to target the bandits that prey on unwitting travelers on the main road, only occasionally going into town to find men and women whose homes were filled with muffled screams and cries of pain from small voices. He likes the stories that warn others to avoid the main roads at night.
When he’s bored, he appears as a lean man with dark hair and the same pale blue eyes that follow him between forms and visits the taverns. He likes the humans and their quick laughter and cheerful songs. It’s so different from his own lonely life, even if he feels like an outsider lurking among them.
Jaskier lets his human form step forward out of the water, uncaring that he steps out naked aside from the cuts left behind by his battle. They’ll disappear within a few days and he relishes the proof that he’d protected his mate.
The Witcher sits up, his fingers pressed against his side where blood is darkening his armor and his golden eyes wary. “Kelpie,” he murmurs quietly.
Jaskier tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Witcher.”
His voice is hoarse from lack of use, but the Witcher seems to enjoy it judging by the way his pupils dilate. He smiles and risks taking another step toward the man.
“Are you going to kill me too?” his mate asks and Jaskier feels pride war with instinctive horror at the bravery displayed.
“I would never hurt you.”
The Witcher frowns at the obvious honesty and runs his eyes over Jaskier in a cursory sweep for weapons. They both know he doesn’t need them, but Jaskier recognizes the habit for what it is. “Why did you help me?”
“The Caorthannach was in my territory,” he says, dodging the truth easily, “I would have killed it even if you did not.”
“No one told me there was a Kelpie in this region.”
“I avoid humans whenever I can.”
“But you chose to help me,” the warrior frowns at him and Jaskier buries a smile, “Do you know what I am?”
Mate, his beast growls.
Mine.
“A Witcher,” he says instead.
His mate looks more confused by the answer. His eyes flick to the silver sword Jaskier can smell in the bushes nearby. “I could kill you.”
Jaskier’s grin is quick with promise. “You won’t.” The Witcher shifts, wincing when the movement tugs at the wound he’s favoring along his side. Jaskier takes another step toward him, hand outstretched in a placating gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you either,” he promises.
“Why not?”
The derision is obvious in the man’s tone, but it’s the lingering weariness that makes something inside Jaskier want to reach out and wrap himself around the Witcher like a protective shield. He knows the Witcher has no reason to trust him at this point.
“The world has been unkind to you, Witcher,” Jaskier finally says, “but I have no quarrel with you. You smell of death and heroics--not cruelty.”
“Hmm.”
He smiles at the disgruntled sound, daring to close the distance between them and take a closer look at the wound in the other man’s side. “I’m Jaskier.”
For a moment, he thinks the Witcher will ignore the silent question in his eyes, but then:
“Geralt.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats, enjoying the way the syllables taste. “Will you stay here? At least until you’re healed?”
Geralt watches him for a long, lingering moment. “I’ll stay.”
“Good.” The grin he gives him is near feral with excitement. “When you’re feeling better, I’ll give you a ride you’ll never forget.”
Okay, but imagine Geralt's brothers discovering a whole new side of Geralt thanks to Jaskier?
They're on the path again, after a long winter at Kaer Morhen and they're stopping at Oxenfurt. Geralt is supposed to meet Jaskier there. They all heard of Geralt's human lover, the well-known bard who praises Witchers in his songs. They already liked him, just for that. But they couldn't imagine how could such a lively and cheerful bard be in a relationship with Geralt. Geralt was mostly cold and distant, even to his brothers, whom he loved very much.
"Poor thing must be chasing Geralt around all day, begging for attention" Eskel snorted while they were untying their things from the horses. "You can get more affection from a horse, than you can get from Geralt". "Maybe he's impassive, too" Coen suggested. "I highly doubt that".
Geralt was standing a few feet away, concentrated on brushing Roach and ignoring their conversation. The chatter was cut off by sudden, high pitched exclaim.
"Geralt!"
The brothers looked up at the smiling bard, dressed in red, with a lute strapped to his back. The bard was grinning and looked totally unfazed by the presence of three other Witchers, which surprised them a little.
But what surprised them most was Geralt's reaction.
Geralt dropped his brush and launched at the bard, picking him up in the air and swinging him once. Jaskier giggled in his embrace, wrapping his arms around the Witcher's neck. Geralt lowered Jaskier back to the ground and tangled his fingers in Jaskier's hair, bringing him into a deep kiss. The bard smiled into the kiss and kept smiling as Geralt pulled away. "I missed you" Geralt muttered, staring at his lover's face. Jaskier stroked his cheek with his thumb. "I missed you too, dear". They spoke in hushed voices, but the other Witchers could still hear them.
They stared in shock as Geralt held Jaskier close, smiling at him softly. Jaskier turned his head to look at them. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your brothers?"
"You'll get to know them at dinner. After a day, you'll get tired of them".
"Now that's just fucking rude" Eskel frowned. "Yeah, you goddamn bastard" Lambert spat. "He has a point, though" Coen said with a cheeky smile, taking a step forward and extending his hand. "I'm Coen".
Jaskier smiled at him and shook his hand. "Jaskier, pleasure".
After exchanging names and a few words, the brothers watched Geralt as he led Jaskier into the tavern. The Witcher had an arm wrapped around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt's shoulder.
Coen turned to Eskel with a raised eyebrow. "The poor bard must be chasing him, huh?"
***
"Lambert? Why are you eating your breakfast outside?"
"Because those two twinks there can't keep their hands off each other. Why do I need to see that? For fuck's sake, a hundred years of Geralt being an apathetic son of a bitch and all it took to break that image was some dumb bard".
Shoutout to my beta @geraskier-hell and @choulatte for brainstorming with me about this drabble :D
After taking down a group of drowners, Geralt put away his silver sword with a huff. The prince he was supposed to bring back to the main town was still casually standing a few meters away, ogling at him like he was a piece of meat.
He was used to it. Humans perceived him as a freak or a muscle container, and at this point, he was okay with both. Although, this prince named Jaskier was different. He was perceptive, yet chatty and clumsy. He easily picked up on the fact that Geralt had been a witcher when he ‘saved’ him from the tower.
To his knowledge, Jaskier had been living in a secluded castle for the past couple of years. Had he been cast out? Did he choose this life himself? Did he suddenly have to come back for urgent business? Geralt didn’t know, and he was fine with that, always wanting to keep himself neutral in human affairs.
“That was magnificent,” Jaskier chirped, wide smile stretching across his cheeks.
Another thing Geralt had noticed was that Jaskier was honest and rather expressive in the way he held himself. This, this was what Geralt wasn’t used to. When non-witchers were nice to him, he still smelled the stench of fear on them. Jaskier was rather strange. He talked freely about whatever came to his mind, much to Geralt’s annoyance, and even touched the witcher like he had been his long lost friend.
Geralt hadn’t been hugged in months, maybe even years. He didn’t like to dwell on it.
After three weeks on the road, Geralt had found Jaskier whispering to a bird on his shoulder, a grin curling on his lips once the witcher made it back to camp.
“Found more wood, did ya?” Jaskier smiled, a pink hue coloring his cheeks in the midsummer sun, and was that a freckle on his top lip?
Geralt shook his head, putting the logs down near the fire. Jaskier was different, and he did even stranger things to the witcher’s head.
A week before they were supposed to reach the settlement where Geralt had picked up the quest, Jaskier put his head on Geralt’s shoulder when they were sitting in front of the fire.
Flinching involuntarily, Geralt tried not to think too much of it. Maybe Jaskier had had too much wine to drink. That would explain the crimson cheeks and red ears, Geralt thought, gaze lingering on Jaskier’s soft features.
When Jaskier peeked up through his eyelashes, Geralt was quick to avert his stare back to the crackling fire, blaming it for the rush of heat that spread through his chest, and an undeniable sweet smell of dandelions filled his nostrils. Jaskier smelled like flowers and honey, mixed with red wine on nights like this.
“You’re hard to read. You know that, witcher?” Jaskier said lazily, sly smile curling on his lips as he nuzzled his head against Geralt’s shoulder.
“So I’ve heard,” Geralt said, throat feeling dry. He took another swig of red wine. “And it’s Geralt.”
Two days later Jaskier explained his real name was Julian. “It didn’t really feel like me, so I changed it,” the brunet said casually over dinner. That was also something Geralt had noticed. Jaskier liked to bring up new topics over dinner or when the sun was starting to set.
Geralt didn’t think much of it.
“What’s your actual name?”
Geralt looked at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye, roasting a piece of meat on the fire with a raised brow. “Geralt.”
“Ah, I see.” Jaskier looked disappointed for a moment before his face settled back into its usual beaming smile. “Well then, Geralt, how about another round of that sweet wine we brought along?”
With a huff, Geralt shook his head and filled Jaskier’s mug to the brim.
The night ended with Jaskier’s head lying on his lap, looking as if he was fast asleep before he sat up and looked at the witcher right in the eyes. “Do you see in the dark with those?”
“Definitely not if you poke them.” Geralt took Jaskier’s prodding hand between his palms. This time, there was no denying the rush of heat that coursed through his chest and the sound of Jaskier’s heart beating loudly in his ribcage.
Another thing Geralt had noticed about Jaskier was that the brunet was bold. He had never quite met someone like him before; sweet, caring, yet upfront about what he wanted, and Geralt had a hunch about what Jaskier was after at that moment when he twisted the front of his hunting attire.
Without a word, Geralt let him press their lips together. They both tasted like wine, and Jaskier’s lips were a little chapped but soft and pliant, and his voice sounded like music to Geralt’s ears when a soft chuckle left his lips.
The next day, Jaskier had set his heart on riding Roach ‘as a prize for their journey together’.
Geralt barked out a laugh at that. “Not a chance.”
“Oh come on, darling witcher.” Jaskier nudged him in the side. “For old times’ sake?”
“We’ve known each other for a month,” Geralt argued back, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Alright, then I must ask for something in return,” Jaskier said determinedly, straightening his back when he stopped Geralt in his movements and swiftly stood in front of him. “What do you say?”
“Fine.” Geralt rolled his eyes, putting Roach to a halt.
A grin curled on Jaskier’s lips. “What’s your name?”
“Geralt,” the witcher said, sighing as Jaskier prompted him to continue by putting his hands on his hips. “Geralt of Rivia. Happy now?”
“Overjoyed,” Jaskier beamed. “I need to know my companion’s name after all.”
“Right.” Geralt raised a brow at him but continued in his steps nonetheless. Jaskier was an odd fellow, Geralt thought, eyes widening when he felt his medallion hum.
A shiver ran down his spine as he heard wings unfurl behind him. “Jaskier?”
Geralt regrets parting ways with Jaskier after the mountain, realizes he has feelings for him and decides to find him.
He finds Jaskier in a small town by Oxenfurt, the bard stares at him in shock. Geralt doesn't know how to apologize with words, so he shows his regret with something he feels more comfortable with- and kisses Jaskier.
Jaskier complies at first, melting into the kiss, before pushing Geralt away.
Geralt:
Jaskier: Oh no, no, no. If we're doing this, we're doing it my way. I saw the way you treated our friendship and dear gods. So listen here, you big himbo- first you will properly apologize, with words, and promise to work on you nasty outbursts. And also, bring me flowers.
Geralt: Why do you need flowers?
Jaskier: I don't need flowers, I need you to bring me flowers.
Geralt: Okay.
*the next day*
Geralt *bringing Jaskier a clump of weeds with an improvised ribbon*: I swear I searched the whole damn forest, I didn't find any fucking flowers. Also, I'm sorry for... For... Y'know.
Jaskier, tearing up: Oh, Geralt! I knew you had a romantic side in you!
The first commission (of oh my god 15. I don’t know when to say no) is for Chuck! Who wanted to see a sleepy Crowley being carried back to the cottage by Aziraphale. He’s worked very hard, he deserves a rest 💕
Geralt: A path of a Witcher is no place for a bard. You will face death everyday, hideous monsters, even more hideous people who will hate you because you're with me. You will walk hundreds of miles, sleep on the forest floor, eat whatever we could find and bathe in a stream, if we're lucky to find one at least once a week.
18 yo Jaskier imaging a shirtless Geralt bathing in a stream: yeah cool where do i sign
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