And today for things nobody asked for... Witcher Wolfwalkers au!
Plot rambling under the cut
so geralt is the leader of his wolfwalker pack (I didn’t draw them but that prolly includes eskel, lambert, etc) ciri is adopted or something idk she’s a wolfwalker too. One day ciri’s bored cuz she can’t go to any of the villages (dangerous) so she decides to mess w this traveling bard in her wolf form. Shenanigans ensue, and she ends up biting him on accident, making him a wolfwalker. She tries to fix it with magic and fails like in the movie. Eventually geralt does find out n he’s pissed/feels guilty cuz way back when he accidentally bit yen when they were together n she never forgave him.
Jaskier sighed longingly and watched as his sexy neighbor with the cute white man-bun tugged frantically at the door clearly marked PUSH in three different places.
The Greek god in gym clothes was enormous. He was built like a brick-fucking-wall and seemed to be just as broad. He got home from his job at the gym every afternoon at 5:45pm on the dot and Jaskier loved to quietly observe from the safety of his own apartment as the stranger walked down the sidewalk between their buildings. His ass was always swathed in a pair of gloriously tight joggers and his arms always looked like small tree trunks no matter what style of shirt he wore.
Jaskier watched him struggle with the door for another moment, a dreamy look on his face.
Eventually the adorable hunk figured out his issue and blushed scarlet before slipping quietly into the maintenance building. “Cute,” Jaskier muttered to himself. “So cute and so fucking stupid.”
Hey darling! Sorry this prompt took me forever and day to get around to! I hope you enjoy <3
#3 from this list was “I’m sorry I yelled at you”
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Jaskier stood inside the upstairs hallway of the inn he and Geralt were to be staying at that evening.
If Geralt was willing to share a room with him, that was.
Taking a deep breath, Jaskier turned the handle and pushed the door to his and Geralt’s room in. Geralt stood stock still on the other side of the room, still in his armor, staring out of the window.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asked softly, closing the door behind him but moving no further in the room.
“Hmmm.”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” And Jaskier was truly sorry he’d yelled at Geralt. They’d been travelling all day and Jaskier was having trouble with a new verse, focusing more on writing than eating, and he’s just snapped.
Argh sometimes I hate you! He hadn’t meant the words, but he’d said them, none the less.
“It doesn’t matter, Jaskier.” Geralt responded tersely, not removing his gaze from the window.
“It does!”
Geralt hummed and turned away from the window, finally turning from the window and meeting Jaskier’s gaze, “I’ve had worse.”
Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, instantly fired up at the idea of Geralt being mistreated, “You shouldn’t have!” Jaskier was emphatic with his movements, waving his arms around as he continued ranting, “You deserve better than the way people treat you, Geralt! I want to give you better!”
“Jaskier, it’s fine.”
“No! I was an ass. I was being fussy, and I hadn’t eaten enough when we stopped and then I just snapped on you. You didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry, Geralt. It wasn’t fair to you.”
Geralt walked over to the bed and sat at its edge, his mask of indifference finally slipping.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asked again softly, walking to the bed and taking a seat next to Geralt, close but not quite touching. Geralt shook his head, not looking at Jaskier.
“Geralt, I wasn’t truly mad at you. I just… let my emotions get the best of me. You know I don’t hate you, don’t you?”
“It’s okay, Jaskier. You can be honest.”
The earnest look on Geralt’s face floored Jaskier more than the words themselves. He loved the witcher with every inch if his being but how could he make Geralt believe it? Especially after his cruel words.
“I am being honest, Geralt. I don’t hate you, I don’t think I ever could.”
“Jask-”
“No!” Jaskier cut Geralt off, “You are my best friend and I love you! I couldn’t hate you if I tried. Can you believe me?” Jaskier implored. He’d do anything to make the witcher understand he was loved.
“Maybe. One day, maybe.” Geralt responded uncertainly, looking away from Jaskier.
Jaskier sat a hand on the witcher’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, “Well then, I’ll keep saying it until that day comes.”
“She’s Got You” and “Sure as Hell Not Jesus”, both by Cosmo Jarvis
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The guy playing some tiny stringed instrument and singing into the bar’s beer-scented microphone is surprisingly cute. Geralt feels a pang of guilt when he takes a moment to listen to the lyrics that fill the room up to the rafters with heavenly sound:
“I don’t care what you do,
She says she’s in love with you
But I know the devil wears a thousand faces.”
Geralt orders himself a straight whiskey on the rocks and moves closer to the makeshift stage to better hear the words. It feels as if they’ve been crafted especially for him; especially for the situation he’s come to find himself in.
“So what you telling me,
That you found love truly,
But let go or you’ll forget the basics...
“Like who’s your friends, you know,
The ones you always told you trusted;
But you’re a double agent.”
The singer has soft, feathery brown hair that sits against his forehead like something out of a 2007 emo calendar shoot and eyes the color of... well fuck me, Geralt thinks, those are the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.
Whoever this guy is, he’s at least five years or so younger than Geralt, still with a babyish roundness to his face, but his hands move across the strings with the confidence of a seasoned performer. He’s been doing this awhile and he loves it. Geralt can tell by the way his voice wavers and pitches through the lyrics like he’s living every word for the very first time.
“Yes everybody tries,
To run two perfect lives,
But you’ve changed and boy I cannot take it.
“Minute by minute,
A love sweet love,
I don’t get why you haven’t had enough.
Second by second,
It wears you away and you’re gone.”
After this particular section the musician glances up into the crowd to make solid eye contact with Geralt. He plays a series of descending notes with perfect clarity and winks. The white-haired biker ducks his head and takes a sip of his drink, flinching at the strength but appreciative of the smoky notes nonetheless.
“When will you just learn she’s got you
Wrapped round her little finger?
When will you just learn she’s got you
Wrapped round her little finger?”
He glances up again. Was this guy stalking him or what? The only reason he’d stopped in for a drink at all was because of Yen’s constant arguing over the past few days. He loved her, sure, but things weren’t really working out. Every tiny issue seemed to explode into a fight. Every possible way to talk things through went ignored because she wanted a chance to prove her independence and strength; what was the point of having a significant other if you constantly made them feel so horrifically insignificant?
Geralt often wondered why he’d gotten together with the gorgeous but impersonal spitfire in the first place. She wasn’t even really his type, all things considered; but he loves her, he knows.
The rest of the song finishes out and Geralt sits in his comfortable chair still staring into his half-finished glass of mostly melted ice and some whisky. He downs the rest of it in two gulps and heads back to the bar to order a glass of beer. He doesn’t want to remember what’s waiting for him at home. Doesn’t want to think about Yennefer for the rest of the evening; not with those blue eyes boring twin holes into the back of his leather jacket.
A new song starts up, soft but insistent. It demands his attention. The musician demands his attention without saying a single word to him directly. Geralt feels drawn to him and cannot fathom a reason why.
“Here I sit;
If I didn't need nobody, I'd thank God for it,
There'd be nothing that'd stop me getting on with it...
“It'd be me and my brain
And my pain
And my shame...”
No but really, has this kid been following Geralt around with a notepad, jotting down every failure and misstep to write these songs? Geralt sits even closer to the stage this time, at a table so near to the performer that he could reach out and touch the handsome musician if he wanted to. He does want to, but he also knows that it would be incredibly strange and rude to do so without consent (or even introducing himself).
The man on stage just looks so soft. Soft and tender in a way that Yennefer refuses to be. Can’t be, maybe.
“Guess I am
No big and strong Goliath, I'm a wandering man;
And sometimes I get tired and I'm glad a hand
Comes and slaps me and then
It goes again.
I guess you're my friend...”
Geralt listens to the rest of the song with a thoughtful look on his face; every word that spills from the singer’s gorgeously pink lips hits him in a new and different way. This is exactly what he’d needed. He gets out his phone and shoots the violet-eyed demon in his living room a quick text.
To: Yen
We need to talk tonight, but you should pack your shit just in case.
When the little ‘read’ notification popped up he nearly cried with relief. It felt amazing. It felt freeing. He felt like he might sleep for the first time in fucking weeks without her icy presence beside him in the bed, her back turned to his in a show of obstinate, personally enforced loneliness.
Geralt is a cuddler by nature and Yen always makes him feel so weak for needing to be touched. To be loved. She doesn’t need it so why should he? But he does. He really does.
“You're sure as hell not Jesus, but you're saving me!
Thank you very much for putting faith in me,
Reminding me a light was once so great to be.
I'm glad I made a friend that doesn't pray for me!”
After the song is finished, the musician sets his instrument aside and wanders over to Geralt’s table, plopping himself across from the scowling man with incredible ease. He gestures vaguely at the bartender, who sets a strange purple drink in a martini glass before him almost immediately. He stirs it absentmindedly before smiling guilelessly up at Geralt, “You look like shit.”
His voice is somehow stronger when he’s not singing and Geralt loves it. He wants to listen to this man speak and sing and laugh all night; he doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want to face the future yet. He wants this moment to last forever. Instead of saying any of that, Geralt shoots the stranger a half-cocked smirk and says: “I’m doing my best.”
“That’s really all we can do. My name’s Jaskier, by the way.”
“Geralt.”
“Cool. Very old-fashioned. Like something out of a storybook,” the brunette, Jaskier, grins. “You like my music?”
