[chicaneryatelier]

Started reading “The Witcher: Crossroads of Ravens” and felt motivated to draw some beats!!!!

⚔️🐺⚔️

[fanficideasupforgrabs]

Imagine if Jaskier self-soothes by singing to himself. He does it after nightmares, when he’s sick, when he’s hurt, and it’s always the same lullaby his nursemaid who raised him used to sing to him (until he was five and his parents decided he could look after himself, that he was too old for comfort).

He remembered the warmth behind the words, and though it’s not quite the same, singing the song to himself is…grounding, at least. It reminds him that, at some point in his life, there had been someone to care for him in his pain, to make him feel safe.

And then he is tortured for Ciri’s whereabouts, and the lyrics play in his head like a wheel, round and round, his mind trying to provide solace while his mouth is occupied by wordless screams. It helps, and it keeps him together, prevents him from breaking.

It isn’t until he gets to Kaer Morhen that he has a nightmare filled with flames and his nursemaid’s voice in the background, that he realizes what he’s done. He wakes with a shriek in the back of his throat, heart thudding out of his chest, and he opens his mouth only for nothing to come out.

There is nothing left that has not been tainted by fear, pain, hopelessness—

And Geralt is oblivious about many things, but he sees the way the shadows under Jaskier’s eyes grow darker, how his bandaged fingers tremble with exhaustion. So when the bard almost passes out in his stew at dinner, he forces himself to stay awake in his room once everyone has gone to bed, listening intently to the inhabitant of the room next to his.

He is unsurprised to hear the frantic rustle of sheets not two hours later, and wonders idly what is haunting Jaskier’s dreams. He frowns, though, at the lack of singing, waiting for seconds, minutes, hours for a sound that never comes.

Geralt tells Jaskier the next day that he can sing his lullaby if he wants to, that the others won’t judge him for it. He doesn’t miss the way the bard flinches, as if the witcher had slapped him, before nodding and hurrying away. Geralt doesn’t know what to make of it though, and finds himself feeling intensely unsettled when there is rustling the next night but again no song.

It isn’t until the third night, when Geralt hears heavily muffled cries, that he finds himself knocking on the bard’s door, barging in when there’s no answer.

And Geralt has seen the bard in many…compromising, positions, but stepping into the freezing room to find the man tucked into a trembling ball under the furs makes Geralt’s heart ache in ways he didn’t know it could. He lights the fireplace with an igni, followed by a quicker aard at the noiseless panic Jaskier exudes at the sound of the fire.

He carefully slides into place behind Jaskier, sharing heat with him as they have often done on cold nights under the stars. He holds him close, uncaring for the wet patch slowly growing on his shirt, his mind screaming wrong, wrong, wrong at the noiseless sobs wracking the younger man’s body.

The next morning, it takes more prodding than Geralt has ever had to use to make the bard talk, before he gets the full story. And Jaskier, fearing judgement, is pleasantly surprised when the witcher simply pulls him into a fierce hug.

But acknowledging the problem doesn’t make it go away, and so the following night, when even Geralt’s embrace isn’t enough to lull the bard back to sleep now that he’s not so utterly exhausted, well—

Jaskier finds out the white wolf could have easily been singing his own praises for the last twenty years, if he so desired. And the bard may or may not fall asleep wondering just what he’s got to do to make this a repeat occurrence.

[fanficideasupforgrabs]

Imagine Warlord! Jaskier and Bodyguard! Geralt. Except neither of them know that’s what they are.

Jaskier is a viscount, and he inherits the estate shortly after meeting Geralt. He makes a few changes that first winter in Lettenhove, firstly being setting up a council to make decisions in his stead that will serve the people, made up of trusted advisors and peasants he can personally vouch for. Secondly, having no need for the coin himself, he insists that the majority of the collected taxes be invested into the education and support of his people, as well as put towards increasing the reward for the services of any witchers that need to be hired.

(Okay, so maybe he’s a bit biased, but he’s seen how much Geralt is paid on average to risk his life on contracts and finds it offensive that he can make double that some nights playing his lute in a warm, safe inn. It’s not right, and he refuses to encourage such backward practices.)

Jaskier returns the next winter, surprised to hear that he’s apparently gained new land and citizens. Apparently, the people of the neighboring estate practically begged to be taken in under the viscount, something about nasty lords who steal their food and money, and hearing that Lettenhove never lost loved ones to monsters.

Which was…not what Jaskier was planning when he put in the orders he had last year. But he should have considered the fact that most nobles were utter pieces of trash, really, and that it wouldn’t take long for word to spread that Lettenhove warmly welcomed witchers of all sorts. And he can’t exactly fault his advisors for sort of going to war with the nearby estate, especially considering it was a rather peaceful affair.

Apparently the lord paid his soldiers so pitifully that they simply refused to fight for him, and simply handed him over to be executed, his kin banished upon pain of death. Which, Jaskier thought was a bit extreme, until he heard exactly what the noble was spending so much coin on that he’d left his people starving.

Face pale and visage hard, Jaskier agreed to let his advisors do what they saw fit with those brought to them for punishment, on the grounds that adequate evidence was found condemning the guilty party.

And every year Jaskier returned, he grew less and less surprised to see that his once small estate had grown even larger. It got to the point, eventually, that Jaskier had to assign vassals to the farthest portions of his land. Not to mention he was forcibly plied with a xenovox from one of his mages—and since when did he have mages?—that he may continue to provide council and wisdom while on the Path for the other three seasons of the year.

It was rather annoying to have to do viscount work year-round, but he supposed if it was for the sake of his people, then it was a responsibility worth bearing. And while it did eat into his song-writing time, he found it wasn’t that much of a hassle to simply use the communication device when Geralt was on his hunts. The result was he wasn’t just sitting around bored while he waited for the witcher to be done anymore, and he didn’t come home in the winter to a mountain of paperwork. Really a two birds with one stone situation, if he thought about it.

And he was vaguely aware, in the way said bird adds twig after twig to make a nest, that he was accumulating a rather…large, amount of land. But what was he supposed to do? Start turning people away who were in desperate need of aid? Begin treating his own citizens like little more than cattle for slaughter, which is how most other nobles seemed to see peasants?

No no, there was really nothing for it. If those other lords wanted to keep their people, they should have been nicer.

Meanwhile, Geralt wasn’t completely oblivious that something had changed with his bard. He figured it had something to do with the new Warlord of Kerack, who had taken over enough of the kingdom for the king to have considered it an act of treason. He’d heard nothing definitive yet, but there were rumors of a war, of the king fearing his own soldiers would turn on him no matter how much money he promised them. Apparently, money didn’t do much good when it wasn’t enough to support the soldiers’ friends and families, who had suffered greatly at the cost of extravagant banquets and gaudy decor.

Geralt knew that Jaskier was some lower noble from the kingdom, and that he was likely worried about how his people would fair if the warlord targeted them next. The witcher also knew that while Jaskier didn’t care to live the life of a noble, stuck in a manor all day and being forced to sit through meeting after meeting, he did truly care for his people, if the eyebags and satisfied smile he wore every spring said anything.

Thus, Geralt was unsurprised when he had to defend the bard from more and more attacks, assassins and kidnappers intent on harming Jaskier, likely so that the warlord would have an easier time with taking over the man’s lands. After all, Jaskier had no (legitimate) children or siblings, making it far too simple for the warlord to control the bard’s lands as soon as he was gone.

Still, after the fourth attack in two weeks, by a particularly skilled group of hired mercenaries that almost got the better of the witcher, he decided that enough was enough. He couldn’t risk leaving the bard alone at this rate to take contracts, and he needed to know who he was dealing with to better protect his traveling companion.

So he used axii to interrogate the man he’d purposely left alive. Geralt actually gaped as the mercenary explained that he was hired by the king to take out Jaskier, who was apparently the very warlord Geralt was worried about harming the bard.

And Geralt was extremely pissed off that the bard had neglected to give him some very vital information about his identity, until a rather high pitched voice squeaked:

“I’m WHAT?!”

And the witcher had to move quite quickly to catch the bard as he passed out.

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

Definition of whumping the bard ^^'

[naumaxia-art]

[ao3feed-jaskier]

by RitzWrites

Jaskier couldn’t die. Some people are willing to take advantage of that.

or

an immortal jaskier is kidnapped and tortured, and geralt comes to save him

Words: 4381, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Blood and Gore, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Implied/Referenced Torture, Temporary Character Death, Blood, Minor Character Death, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Can be read as slash or platonic

[darkverrmin]

Geralt arguing with Jaskier, trying to convince him not to do something incredibly stupid.

Jaskier, naturally, refuses to listen.

So Geralt decides to shut him up the only way he can think of: by kissing him.

There has been enough sexual tension between them for a while that Geralt wanted to do it anyway. This just happens to be a convenient excuse. It stops Jaskier from doing something reckless and gives Geralt exactly what he’s been trying very hard not to want.

What Geralt should have remembered, though, is that the only thing this petty bard loves more than Geralt is winning an argument.

So Jaskier simply puts a hand over Geralt’s mouth, pushes him away, and says:

“I am absolutely going to react to that later. But we are not done here.”

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

Sweet friendship 🥰

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 158

Breathing is difficult. That's his first thought, as he is gently dug out from the dirt. His ribs sting, his lungs creak as they attempt to exhale, and his fingers grip the closest thing to them, digging in as hard as they can, but the arm never falters. His nails are dirty. There's still dirt under them. He can't even imagine what the rest of him must look like. The man who dug him out props him up, and rubs his back until breathing feels easier. More natural. Like something he's always done. The man who dug him out gently strokes his face, his hair, his body, and he lets the man do it. It feels nice. He thinks the man is checking for something, but he doesn't know what. "I know it hurts.." The man's voice gravels out. It didn't hurt, really. It was just kind of rough. "Do you remember how to chew? You need to eat." The man says all these confusing words, calloused hands running gently over his jaw. The man takes red little balls out of his bag of supplies, and begins gently pressing them into his mouth. He can taste. He has a bad taste in his mouth before the vibrant balls of red. Tastes like death. But now there's this explosion of colour and juice and sweetness. He forgot about sweetness. He likes sweetness. The Man fondles his jaw a bit, helping him to do the mysterious "chew" motion, but he quickly picks it up. It's not as hard as breathing. Breathing was very difficult at first. "There.. Fill you up, it's got enough moisture for you. Don't try to drink yet, you'll drown yourself." Oh, all those confusing words of his are back again. None of them make sense. "Let me help you get clean." The man is ripping his clothes off. It makes his fingers and toes go all numb. He tries to tell the man this, but only a little croaking sound comes out. The man is ever so tenderly rubbing a wet cloth all over him. "Is it cold?" It actually very warm. He felt very cold when he was in the dirt. The Man bends his fingers at the bowl of water, and that reminds him that he has his own! He looks at his hands, and slooowly tries to bend his fingers the same way. They struggle at first, but quickly get used to the repeated motion. "I brought you what I thought you'd like. You were always better at it." The Man shows off some clothing. It's nice. It's very bright. Very bright for such new eyes. But there's no dirt. He likes that there's no dirt. The Man helps him into the clothes, and stays with him a while more. He talks a lot. He seems uncomfortable, and like he's reaching for topics, so he tries to help. Slowly... Very slowly... His own words begin to be decipherable. The Man is overjoyed when he begins to blabber at him. The Man lets him talk until the sun begins to rise. "You will go into town. You will give the first building this sack of coin. You will say I want a room for the night." "I waant.. a rhooom... for the niht.." "You're getting so good. You learn so quick. My smart bard." He doesn't understand all of the words, still, but they feel nice. They make him feel warm. "You'll meet a witcher. Don't be scared. He's going to help you. His name is Geralt. He'll help. You have to let him find you."

That was the last thing The Man said before disappearing into the woods. Funny. He may not have remembered how to breathe at first. Or how to chew. Or how to move his fingers. But he remembers Geralt. He knows The Man and Geralt are one in the same. The little cloak he wears does nothing to hide that if you truly know him. He doesn't remember his name. He doesn't remember what a 'bard' is, at the moment. He thinks it'll come back to him, like the breathing, and the chewing, and whatnot. But he remembers Geralt. After all, this isn't the first time Geralt has "found" him after a miraculous resurrection.

[darkverrmin]

He paused, considering his words.

“I won’t lie,” he added. “I’ve been in love a ridiculous number of times.”

“I remember,” Geralt said dryly.

“Not the point,” Jaskier said, waving that off. “Those feelings came and went. They always did. They were loud, dramatic, occasionally ill-advised…”

Geralt huffed.

“But this-” Jaskier lifted their joined hands slightly between them, grounding himself in the contact, “-this stayed.”

Geralt stilled.

Jaskier met his gaze. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to and know I’ll be understood,” he said. “Even when you were pretending not to listen.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Jaskier cut in gently. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched faintly.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“And you stayed,” he added, quieter now. “Through all of it. Through the songs, the disasters, the questionable decisions-”

“Many,” Geralt muttered.

“-many,” Jaskier agreed. “And somehow you’re still here.”

A pause.

“So no,” he said softly. “You didn’t fail to give me the life I want.”

He squeezed Geralt’s hand. “You are the life I want.”

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/221839501

[kaz-langston]

Inspired by @limrx's swashbuckling au!

539 words

They’re three days out from port when Geralt’s shift on helm is disturbed by shouting from below. He hands over to a crewman, and half leaps down the steps to the main deck in time to see Eskel come up from below with a squirming body shoved in front of him, a fresh-faced lad in a doublet and breeches far fancier than anything usually seen on the Wolf.

“Mind the doublet, don’t pull, I’m going!”

The lad trips up the final step, helped by Eskel’s hand between his shoulders to send him tumbling to his hands and knees at Geralt’s booted feet.

“Ah. The captain, I might presume?” Wide blue eyes look up at him from a dirt-smudged face, and Geralt tucks the toe of his boot under the slim chest to nudge him up onto his heels. The boy—man, now Geralt’s had a chance to look at him—grins, and Geralt scowls. 

Eskel folds his arms, as imposing as ever. “Found this little rat behind the food barrels.”

“Hmm.”

Leaning down Geralt grabs a handful of the expensively white chemise and hauls him to his feet, stalking resolutely towards the side of the ship with the lad stumbling backwards in front of him, opening the gangway gate one handed.

Behind him the crew whoop and holler, Eskel silent at his side.

“Ah, captain, I really think you’re being extraordinarily hasty—” Delicate hands flap ineffectually at Geralt’s large, scarred ones. 

“What do we do with rats?” Geralt calls back to his crew, not taking his eyes off his captive.

“Drown ‘em!” comes the roar, and Geralt bares his teeth.

The man goes pale. His heels are off the edge of the deck, nothing but air between him and the sea slapping against the hull below, and it’s only the tips of his polished boots and Geralt’s grip in his fancy chemise keeping him from going overboard. “Wait, wait! Let’s talk about this!”

“Talk fast, rat.”

He squeaks, arms windmilling, and Geralt reels him back in a scant half-inch. “Well—well, I’ll help out around the ship, you'll hardly notice me—I’m good with my hands, I can mend the nets! I can help cook?"

Unlikely, given the fancy doublet, but they’ve plenty of supplies to support one extra man. They can dump him at the next port, no harm done. 

"And I give really great head!"

Geralt snarls, and the nervous grin on the man’s face drops off, sensing a substantial misstep that might mean he’s for the drink. Long fingers wrap around his forearm, surprisingly strong. Not that Geralt would drop the little fool, but the suggestion of paying in, in favours, makes him ill. Oh, it happens on more ships than it doesn’t, but not on the Wolf. Not on his watch.   

“Wait wait wait, forget I said that, I’ll work and I can pay!”

Behind him, Eskel pointedly clears his throat. They might have food, but their coffers are low.

Geralt hauls him back in and throws their stowaway on the deck, a couple of the crew booing half-heartedly. 

“Give him a job,” he tells Eskel, and retreats to the peace of the helm, turning the ship into the wind to let it blow away the weight of responsibility.

[darkverrmin]

Geralt uses the gossip he gets from Jaskier to help him get paid for this contracts.

Jaskier likes to gossip and he has a lot of secret and compromising information about everyone and Geralt listens to him when he talks about it, even when he's pretending not to.

So when some noble or mayor refuses to pay Geralt for a job, because he thinks he can get away with it, Geralt is like:

"Oh, fine... Guess your wife won't mind to hear you slept with her sister".

And just like that, he gets paid.

***

Bonus: he tells jaskier about it later and jaskier finds it hilarious

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

I do love that yennskier and fiyeraba have a VERY specific overlap of "incredible amazing witch is deemed a fugitive for doing the right thing and there's some brunette dipshit who loves her to pieces and at one point the witch saves him from torture" but with elphaba saving fiyero she desperately cast a spell when she hardly knew what she was doing or where he was or what condition he was in and she ended up completely transforming his body and turning him into something non-human in an attempt to spare him suffering. and with yennefer saving jaskier she stumbled in pretending to be jaskier's drunk wife and they improvised until she burned half his captor's face off and they hauled ass out of there

[thedemonofcat]

I just love Jaskier having pre existing relationships with Witchers who aren’t Geralt.

“Wait—how do you know Lambert?” Geralt asked, the question slipping out sharp as a drawn blade, caught somewhere between suspicion and disbelief.

Jaskier blinked at him, entirely unbothered. “Oh, that? He’s my godfather,” he said, as casually as one might remark on the weather.

Geralt stared. Truly stared. His eyes widened until it seemed a wonder they did not tumble free and roll across the floor. “How,” he said slowly, “is that even remotely possible?”

“Well,” Jaskier began, with the air of someone about to recount a perfectly ordinary tale, “it all started when I was a baby, and a fae tried to curse me.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “A fae cursed you?”

“Tried,” Jaskier corrected, lifting a finger as though this distinction were sacred law. “Important difference. You see, the fae was hopelessly in love with my mother—tragic, really—who, inconveniently, was in love with my father. Then along came me, which did not improve matters. Jealousy, curses, the usual sort of thing.”

Geralt said nothing. He simply looked at him, face carved from stone, as Jaskier carried on, bright as birdsong.

“Anyway, it’s my first name-day, everyone’s celebrating, and this fae decides it’s the perfect moment for revenge. But—fortunate twist—Lettenhove had been dealing with drowners at the time, so my father had already hired a witcher.”

Geralt exhaled through his nose, the pieces clicking into place despite himself. “Lambert.”

“Exactly,” Jaskier said, beaming. “He dealt with the fae, saved my tiny, charming life, and my parents—being sensible people—rewarded him by making him my godfather.”

[brokimoon]

[yunabat]

Just a little more, just a little more, and I'll finish the picture!

[indigofyrebird]

He played until his fingers bled...