I get more desperate, reconciliatory feelings from this one but it's sweet nonetheless. Well as close to a confession as you can expect from them. UwU💖
Wow the event is already over! The only one prompt I was able to do on time lmao. Anyways I enjoyed it very much. I did have a few bad days in-between so had to skip them. But I think I made quite some improvement in my art (referenced the pose from Pinterest) and this has helped my art block. I do wish to participate if it's held again! 💖
Title: Give The Bard A Sword (for @whataboutthebard)
Prompt: Monster attack
Pairing: JaskierxGeralt
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, blood, minor gore
Notes: Read it on AO3 here. <3
GIVE THE BARD A SWORD
By Senashenta
Jaskier had no idea if he had the right sword or not, and that was a problem. That was one of many problems, not the least of which was the fact that Geralt was sprawled out on the forest floor a few feet behind him with his guts attempting to vacate his body. So while Geralt desperately downed vials of Swallow and Kiss and shoved his intestines back where they belonged, Jaskier was left to hold the fucking sword and he was a fucking bard for Gods’ sake!
But he would be damned if he did nothing and watched Geralt die in these fucking woods! The man was the love of his Godsdamned life and that simply wasn’t going to happen! So he’d picked up one of the Witcher’s ridiculously heavy swords, held it tight in both his hands, and turned to face the werewolf that had already literally gutted it’s real opponent.
Geralt was calling him back, calling him off, calling him all sorts of creative names, but Jaskier ignored him because he couldn’t do anything else.
He was going to die here, tonight. He had already come to that conclusion and made peace with it. As long as he could buy Geralt time for his potions to do their job, that was the important thing—that Geralt made it out alive. Because he was the one who would shape the fate of the Continent, not Jaskier, not a simple bard, that much he was sure of. The White Wolf was the important one, not him.
He wasn’t thinking about what it would do to Geralt, to lose him. He wasn’t thinking how the Witcher would grieve and rage and become a thousand times the cut-off, distant man he had been when they’d first met.
All he was thinking was about saving Geralt’s life as the werewolf rebounded from the Witcher’s last Aard and came sprinting toward him.
Jaskier braced himself and swung the sword, managed to clip the wolf in the side but exposed himself in the process. The werewolf swiped at him, claws slashing across his ribs, cutting deep ribbons of flesh that gushed blood instantly. Jaskier cried out, but spun and brought the sword up again, barely blocking another slash of razor-sharp claws.
He was used to his dagger. He was good with his dagger. But a dagger against a werewolf might as well have been a toothpick.
The sword was too heavy for him, unwieldy, and who knew if it was even the silver one or not? He couldn’t see well enough in the dark to tell. If he was holding the steel sword he might as well have been holding a candlestick for all the good it would do.
Geralt was still yelling behind him, cursing. Jaskier tried to block him out as he braced for the next strike from the werewolf, which swung around from the left and knocked him sideways into a thick oak tree. Jaskier hit hard enough to knock the air from his lungs—and felt something snap in his arm, pain flaring outward from the same spot.
He hissed between his teeth and pushed through the cracked bone, shoving off the tree and turning to face the wolf again, though his grip on the sword wasn’t as firm as before, wavering along with the strength in his broken arm.
When the werewolf struck again, it was to knock him backward into the same tree—but he at least had the sword up, one hand on the hilt and the other palming the blade, to hold it back as it snapped at him, an inch or two from tearing his face off. His broken arm screamed at the exertion and blood continued to pour from his side. This wasn’t sustainable.
Grunting with the effort, he tried to shove the creature back and off himself, but he simply didn’t have the strength to do so. It continued snarling and snapping at him, but reached past the sword with one paw to claw at his stomach, drawing more blood—and that was when his arm gave out, collapsing back against the tree with a thud.
Seizing it’s opportunity, the werewolf lunged forward and clamped it’s jaws down on Jaskier’s shoulder, biting down fiercely. Jaskier screamed, a raw, agonized sound—
That didn’t last for long.
One second the wolf was savaging him and the next it was being yanked backward, shoved to the ground, and the sword was being pulled from Jaskier’s weak grasp. Standing over the beast, heaving, Geralt took the sword and beheaded it in one clean strike, a low, vicious growl in his throat the entire time. Jaskier watched with wide eyes, even as he began sliding down the tree until he was half-crumpled on the ground.
“I did it…?”
“Fuck. Jaskier.” The sword was discarded without a second thought, and Geralt was kneeling at his side, looking over his wounds, eyes and veins still black from his potions but obvious concern on his face nonetheless, “I told you to run.”
Had he? Jaskier hadn’t really been listening. “Couldn’t leave you. What would the world do without you?”
“You asshole.” Geralt gathered him up in his arms carefully, picking him up and carrying him over to a better location, where there was more light, where Jaskier could lay out properly while he tended to his injuries. “Fuck the world. What would I do without you?”
curse causes funny results (although one could argue this is a deadly serious matter) written for @whataboutthebard
Jaskier/Valdo, G
“You just had to go and upset the scary sorceress!” Jaskier snaps, futilely trying to yank his hand away from Valdo.
“How was I supposed to know who she was? She wasn’t appreciating my ballad!”
“And now I’m the one who has to suffer?”
“Don’t act like you haven’t wanted an excuse to hold my hand for a year straight.” Valdo’s chest heaves when he gets done speaking, and Jaskier stares at him, a blush creeping up his face.
“Apparently she cursed you to always lie, too, because that’s the opposite of the truth.”
Huffing a breath and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, Jaskier tries to think. He can’t very well just walk around with his hand in Valdo’s all the time. He has his reputation to think about!
“Well, who are you going to be find to fix this, then? Because this is possibly the worst curse I can think of.”
Valdo shoves him. “Is not.”
“Is too!”
Looking down at their intertwined hands, Jaskier sighs. It’s going to be a miracle if they both survive this.
I will be forever late.... anyways I have always wanted to draw this AU for Geraskier and this was the perfect opportunity! Ngl struggled with this one but it came out alright in the end. I am happy. 💖 ON TO THE NEXT PROMPT!
I just got to know about this event like yesterday hence late to the party! I am sorry I wanted to really wreck the bard but this turned into post heat cuddles. 😩 ON TO THE NEXT PROMPT!
Witcher boyfriend patches up his Bard. *Don't worry Geralt took care of the problem*
I cannot believe I haven't made any whumpy bard for the event! So this is an okay attempt I guess *cries* I am not totally satisfied but I am also not unhappy. 👍
Yes there was another prompt about werewolves, yes this is not the best drawn werewolf on the internet *cries*, yes the uncensored will be on Twitter (@ yorozuya_mandi) Tumblr doesn't allow dick pics. 😭
I wanted to draw a little belly bulge but it can be mistaken for belly fat lmao. But yes Jaskier is having a grand ol' time. Now where's that brute of a Witcher? I think Jaskier would rather enjoy his audience!
Geralt, I want you to know that I treasure our friendship very much.
Jaskier stared down at the sentence he’d just written, blinked a few times, then dipped his quill in the inkwell and quickly scribbled it out again. Couldn’t use the word “friendship” in a letter declaring his love, couldn’t use that sentence structure at all, it sounded too much like a break-up letter, which he had an unfortunate amount of experience with.
He was currently sitting in their room at the inn in whichever little town they were in (honestly he lost track sometimes), doing his absolute best to ruin his current notebook in the process of writing a love letter. To Geralt. Who was off on a Contract right now.
…why had he thought this was a good idea?
Right. The pining. That needed to stop, one way or another. So he would tell Geralt how he felt, and if Geralt felt the same way then great! If not, well… he’d tried. And he would know. He could move on. Closure and all that.
Frustrated, Jaskier did one big scribble over the whole page of Beginnings Of Love Letters and then dropped his quill, leaning back in the chair and letting his head fall back with a groan. He was a Bard for Heaven’s sake! He was supposed to be good with words and prose, but here he was, failing to write one stupid letter…
Okay, maybe the letter was the problem. Geralt wasn’t a letter kind of a man. Maybe Jaskier would be better served to just tell him how he felt! …that was a terrifying prospect. What would he even say? How would he start? Just “Geralt, I’ve been in love with you since fucking Posada?” Noooo no no no. No. Bad idea.
Hunching forward now, Jaskier thumped his forehead against his notebook, completely forgetting that the ink there was still wet, and when he sat up again he came away with black smears across his face without even knowing it.
Maybe he just needed to practice.
Standing, he paced over to the window to look out into the night and took a few breaths as he composed his thoughts. “Geralt,” he said to the room finally, completely missing the door opening and Geralt himself stepping in, closing it behind himself; “we’ve been travelling together for a long time. We’ve been friends a long time. But over that time my feelings have… they’ve changed. When I look at you now I feel… longing and yearning. I watch you in secret when you’re not looking because it’s impossible for me not to. I’m afraid I’ve… I’ve fallen in love with you, Geralt. With the person you are and the code you live by and the sense of humor you claim not to have. Truly, deeply, I love you. And I… I just thought you should know…”
Trailing off, Jaskier sighed and looked down. It all sounded wrong to his ears, but—
The floor creaked behind him and he whirled around, freezing mid-motion when he saw Geralt standing there. Blue eyes widened hugely. “H-how much of that did you hear?”
Geralt shifted and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Most of it, I think.”
Jaskier flushed red and looked down. “I’m sorry, I was just—”
“You’re not a filling-less pie.”
“I—what?” The bard looked up again, confused.
“You’re not a filling-less pie.” Geralt repeated as he moved farther into the room, approaching Jaskier like he would a spooked horse. “I’m sorry I said that.” And then, gently, “you’ve got ink on your face.”
“Wh—” Jaskier scrubbed at his face blindly, still beet red, and inched backward as Geralt moved toward him, until his back hit the window.
“I was wrong about that,” Geralt continued as he stepped closer into Jaskier’s space, “just like I was wrong when I said that Witchers don’t have feelings.” Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed a few times when Geralt reached to carefully cup his jaw—and then leaned in to kiss him, just lightly and gently. “Because I definitely have feelings for you, Jaskier.”
“You do?” The words were breathed out.
“Hmm. I do.” The Witcher smiled faintly, “now to get a cloth and I’ll get the ink off your forehead.”
