#tallqueen

[prettitallprincess]

hi i’m new here. my name is kin, im 6’3. what are your kinks?

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Flightless Bird

(cross-posted to my AO3 where this is the latest installment in my soulmate au. if you get injured your soulmate receives a mark where your scar is; Jaskier is born covered in dandelions)

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The inn room they'd booked for the night was small and rather dingy and smelled faintly of rotting fish; but none of that mattered right now. All that mattered was the soft, sweet-smelling man curled atop Geralt’s chest, gently drooling into the curly silver hair that grew there. This man who had barely been walking the earth for twenty years, who had been following a feared and hated Witcher on the Path for two of them, who had wintered twice at Kaer Morhen, who could make any person laugh or smile after just a moment of conversation with them, and who was his soulmate. His darling Jaskier. His Beloved. His little lark. His Dandelion.

Destiny had shown Geralt great favor by bestowing the loyal and headstrong bard to him as his Beloved and the Witcher certainly wasn’t about to complain.

Jaskier shifted his weight up Geralt’s body and released a snuffling breath. His long, calloused fingers trailed up the skin of the Witcher’s pale jaw and curled gently against the base of Geralt's neck. The very tips twisted their way into his hair and managed to tangle there without pulling.

“Flower,” the bard sighed happily. The Witcher’s slow heart nearly burst in his chest at the dreamy quality of his lover’s sleep-addled voice; he could tell from the younger man’s breathing that the bard was still asleep. It made his Beloved’s unconscious mutterings of his favorite pet-name all the more special. The hand in his hair slid ever so slightly down to cup the base of Geralt’s skull supportively, Jaskier’s fingers still carded through those long white strands. His darling bard often held him like this when he was about to initiate a kiss. His shining pink lips parted and he murmured against the Witcher’s collarbone softly, “Oh, my sweet Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

The way the pale, thin light of the morning sun was bringing out the red-gold highlights in Jaskier’s hair made the younger man seem even more angelic. More fragile. Geralt knew that Vesemir’s potion had lengthened his Beloved’s life and given him incredible healing capabilities, but he couldn’t help his naturally protective (and possessive) nature. It was part of him.

Even now as they lay undisturbed in their rented bed, one of the Witcher’s large hands was spread protectively at the base of Jaskier’s spine and the other had settled between the bard’s shoulder-blades. This positioning secured him atop Geralt’s chest while also keeping him from getting a crick in his neck.

His darling Beloved had left behind a life of luxury to travel at his side, camping in ditches and sleeping in rainstorms. Keeping him from being mildly injured was the least Geralt could do. After all, he’d been actively avoiding the boy while Jaskier had left his parent’s grand estate to find the Witcher and be by his side.

“I stole one of my father’s largest traveling maps, you know,” Jaskier had told him once. “It was ancient and dog-eared. There were scribbles about cheap inns and warring factions along the edges; valuable information for a merchant Lord but useless to his adventurous son. I was crossing off every city I didn’t find you in as I worked across the Continent with my lute and my shiny new degree in the seven liberal arts. If I made it all the way to Skellige without finding you, my plan was to turn around and do it all over again. All the way to Kaer Morhen if I had to.”

“You would have found me,” Geralt had replied then. He’d taken a sharp breath in, as if he was surprised. As if he didn’t already know that Jaskier would have found him and claimed him come the nine hells or high water.

“Of course, my Flower. I'll always find you. I couldn't stop thinking about you. You’re all over my skin.”

His little lark lay caged in his arms at the moment, flightless and breathing so, so sweetly into the crook of Geralt’s neck. When he woke it would be different. He would be talkative and animated and his face would scrunch its way into all sorts of different expressions and his arms would weave through intricate gesticulations to emphasize his emotions. He would whirl through the room like a summer storm, sweeping up their belongings and sorting their packs as he went. He would order them breakfast, pay for it with the coin he earned as last night’s entertainment, and beam so brightly that Geralt’s heart would surely skip a slow, lingering beat.

For now, though, his hand rested gently against the back of Geralt’s head and his fingers moved lazily to pet his Flower as he slept. For now he was just a flightless bird in the Witcher’s loving, solid embrace.

[theechocolatewaves]

Have you had your dose of chocolate yet? 🍫

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Can I just say, I love Thomas the Rhymer! It's one of my favourite fics. I didn't realise you wrote it too! If you don't mind taking another prompt from me, then maybe Aine meets Vesemir/the other Wolves? And of course, I hope you have a good birthday! May you always be happy and healthy

“So you’re telling me,” Lambert continued, eyes narrowed suspiciously at his elder brother, “That your bard was working for the Queen of the Faeries the whole time?”

“Correct.”

“And this is her?”

“Yes.”

“My Lady,” Eskel bowed respectfully. She waved her hand at him.

“I’ve had quite enough of the bowing and the kneeling from you Witchers,” she rolled her eyes affectionately towards Geralt. “You horribly formal brutes.”

“Never heard us described that way before,” Vesemir smiled. “Thank you for the unusual compliment, Your Highness.”

“Really, my dear Wolves, Aine is just fine.”

“And you made Jaskier into a dryad?” Vesemir asked.

“Aye, in return for his services as musician and party host.”

“It was great fun,” the bard beamed from his place beside the Queen. “I do miss those parties. Midsummer was always wonderful.”

“You’re all welcome back again this year. I’d love to have you perform again. Perhaps your darling husband can join you for a dance or two?”

“We’ll see,” Geralt grimaced. Public adoration wasn’t really his thing. Neither was dancing. Both were very common when he visited the Faerie Realm with his well-loved wife. Jaskier thrived on it.

“Hmm,” Aine nodded. She turned her gaze to Geralt’s adoptive brothers and father. “Ah well. We can always convince the others.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

are you taking prompts for thomas the rhymer verse? if so, maybe geralt and jaskier meet aine again after the story ends?

(I really miss writing Thomas the Rhymer but that was such a fun fic! Thank you for this ask, it made my day to know people enjoyed my first Witcher fic)

When Jaskier woke one midwinter morning to find the courtyard of Kaer Morhen covered in flowers, he knew exactly who had come to visit. “My Lady!” 

“Huh?” Geralt asked, rolling over in their shared bed. One of the Witcher’s large arms fell across the bard’s torso, trapping him against the mattress. “Who?”

“Geralt, get up. It’s supposed to be freezing but the grass is green and there are daisies everywhere.”

“Aine.”

“Of course it’s Aine! Let me up!”

“Hmm.”

The bard pushed his husband’s arm out of the way and leapt out of bed. He tossed on his favorite shirt and trousers, which he’d taken with him from the Faerie Realm after his wedding to Geralt last summer. He flew down the stairs two at a time and out into the open mountain air. Standing statue-still in the middle of the greenery was the Faerie Queen, smiling widely. “True Thomas! How well you’ve taken to the mortal world.”

“I was a mere human not long ago,” the young dryad beamed, bowing lowly. 

“Ever the dramatist,” the Queen sighed fondly. “Embrace me, child, for I have missed your music.”

“Come inside! We’ll provide you a meal and I can play for you once again.”

“I’ve actually come to see the child,” Aine said. “I would like to meet the Lion Cub of Cintra truly and officially.”

“My daughter is quite the charmer.”

“Your daughter?”

“Papa!” 

“Cirilla!” Jaskier turned back towards one of Kaer Morhen’s many doors, which he’d left hanging open in his hurry to greet the Queen. Aine’s eyebrows lifted. She really does consider him one of her parents. “Come and meet My Lady, the Queen of the Faeries!”

“Call me Aine, child,” the redheaded woman insisted. She held out her hand, which Ciri kissed respectfully. The Queen hadn’t expected that and she grinned at the girl’s politeness. “I’ve come to give you a very belated birthday gift, dearest Ciri.”

“Don’t all Faerie gifts come with terrible prices?”

“Not mine.”

“Ciri,” her Papa scolded, blushing. “She has been far kinder to your father and I than we could ever have thought possible. I thought you knew better than to suspect such tricks from Lady Aine.”

“I’ve heard so many stories of Fae trickery,” the ex-princess apologized “I’m very sorry, my Queen.”

“You haven’t offended me in the slightest. My sister and her court have always been known for their mischief making and I very rarely leave the comfort of my own Realm to correct such tales. Anyway, you’ve more than earned this gift,” Aine smiled. She reached forward and pressed the heel of her hand to Ciri’s forehead, much like she’d done when taking Jaskier’s memories away so many years ago. This time, however, the girl’s face broke out into a placid grin. Her eyes shone with happiness and magic, her fair skin glowing slightly where it touched against the Queen’s. By the time Aine pulled her hand away, Geralt had joined them.

“My Lady,” he greeted with a short bow. Aine curtsied back and turned her attention to Ciri once more.

“I hope you enjoy it.”

“What did she give you?” Jaskier asked, ever the curious forest spirit. 

“Peace,” the Princess answered. Her eyes were full of tears but the smile threatening to split her face in two revealed her utmost joy. “She gave me peace.”

Aine spent the day with them, eating at their table and sharing in their happiness. She danced with Ciri before the fire in the Great Hall as Jaskier performed all of her old favorites from his time in the Seelie Court. Yen asked the Queen a few basic questions about being royalty and the finer workings of Fae magic but mostly just sipped at her wine and enjoyed herself quietly. 

Nobody in the room was a normal human; each had their own odd and special powers or enhancements. Somehow, though, she knew that this was the epitome of human nature. This room was filled with the purest parts of human existence.

Love. Family. Compassion.

The Queen of Faerie Land sent Jaskier a grateful look and felt her ancient heart settle firmly into her chest for the first time in a century. She’d be back to visit again. Soon.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

I was tagged by @221bsunsettowers to post the last line I wrote for a WIP!

“We know,” Rose calmed him, running her hands through his hair and plaiting it down the back of his neck. “And so you are being rewarded in equal measure, as our Lord commands.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher smiled. “To be with him forever...I am so incredibly blessed.”

Perhaps I have been working on the next installment of my god!Jaskier/sacrifice!Geralt smut series on AO3... perhaps.

I’m tagging @thecomfortofoldstorries (lemme see ur shit, boo, I’m thirsty for your content). 

Everyone is welcome to participate though; I want to read your stuff!!

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Idunno how many of you guys follow me on AO3, but the final chapter of “No Earthly Knight” is getting posted tonight. 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

i think i most remember you for thomas the rhymer and the pirate au! and just sweet fluff in general

Ahhhh! Thomas the Rhymer was my magnum opus. Truly, the most detailed and involved story I've done in years.

It got me back in to writing and I LOVE IT when people remember me for it. 😍🥰♥️ You made my day.