the darling @mawbwehownets and I did a couple half-hour prompts today. he drew and I wrote. this is what came out of the prompt/song ‘You Drive Me, Crazy’ by Orville Peck.
truckers are cool people and deserve more love for the work they do. shoutout to y’all for being the real mvps.
tw: horny lite (Jaskier has thot thoughts but nothing happens between them)
—
Jaskier loves night driving. He loves to open the driver’s side window and the sunroof all the way and blast his tunes as he speeds down the long, lonely expanses of desert highway. He loves the way the stars look and the way the cacti seem to stand at attention, outlined by the dying sunlight. He loves the feeling of the warm, dry air whipping his brown bangs out of his face as the radio helps him pour his feelings into the darkening sky.
He’s nearly halfway back to town after one such drive when his engine suddenly sputters and dies, sending him careening towards the shoulder of the sand-dusted road. He skids to a stop, heart pounding and lungs bursting with his held breath. He sighs it out slowly, letting his shoulders relax as he takes in the darkness around him. His hazard lights won’t even turn on. Fuck. He grabs for his cellphone and glares when he sees there is no service. He flings back his head and screams to the silent heavens: “This is only supposed to happen in movies!”
The empty desert does not answer.
But Destiny does.
Coming up behind him down the long stretch of pavement, headlights glaring in the near-pitch darkness, is an eighteen-wheeler with no actual trailer attached. So a six wheeler, for now.
Jaskier jumps up and down, waving his arms in a frantic effort to catch the driver’s attention. Luck is on his side… sort of. The semi pulls to the side of the road and Jaskier takes a long look at the silver logo painted on the large maroon door. Kaer Morhen Trucking & Hauling - Specializing in Long Distance Large Animal Transport. Huh.
The driver’s side door swings open and a pair of dark leather boots hit the pavement. The trucker comes around the nose of the semi and stops in front of the suddenly paralyzed Jaskier. The strange, white-haired man is six feet tall and built of nothing but pure, unadulterated muscle. His black jeans grip at his thighs as if desperate to stay sewn together and Jaskier fights back the urge to lick his lips and bat his eyelashes; he’s in trouble and he has no idea whether or not this guy is dangerous.
“Car trouble?” the stranger rumbles. His voice is… Fuck, fuck, and double fuck!
“Yeah. Uh…. just kinda… died.”
“Did it make any strange noises before it suddenly died?” the trucker asks, gesturing at the hood of Jaskier’s stationary car. The brunette suddenly realizes that he’s been standing there like an idiot and jumps into action, scurrying to open the driver’s side door and pop the hood.
Except that the stupid car had locked behind him with the keys still in the ignition, trapping him outside with the handsome but completely unfamiliar truck driver. He turns on his heel and smiles nervously. “So, I may be in a spot of trouble…”
“That was the issue before, wasn’t it?”
“The keys are locked inside.”
“No problem,” the stranger shrugs, opening the passenger door of the truck and stepping onto the support bar to peer inside. Jaskier does not let his gaze linger on the driver’s gloriously round ass. He doesn’t. The man, whose blue uniform shirt reads Geralt in heavy white embroidery, returns after a moment with a thin piece of metal clutched in his hand. “I can pop it back open with this and then we can get you on your way.”
“Do you break into cars often?” Jaskier giggles anxiously, stepping aside and allowing Geralt to approach his door.
“No, but I’ve had this kind of thing happen more than once. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
“Oh, yeah. That seems logical.”
“I’m not going to eat you, you know. Or bury you alive. I didn’t stop because this is an episode of Criminal Minds and you’re about to be my new hood ornament; I just don’t like leaving people stranded,” the trucker smirks over his shoulder. “So you can stop shaking like you’ve been cast as the Final Girl in The Redanian Chainsaw Massacre.”
Jaskier rubs the back of his neck with his hand and stutters out some kind of an apology. Geralt merely rolls his eyes and leans through the unlocked door of Jaskier’s car, cranking the keys in the ignition.
Nothing. Not a sound.
“Well fuck,” the trucker laughs humorlessly. “Guess you’re coming with me, then, buddy.”
“Huh?!” Jaskier cries. “What do you mean I’m coming with you!?”
“Well I’m not just going to leave you in the desert to freeze when the wind chill hits,” Geralt scoffs. “Get in the cab and I’ll take you to a gas station or something, Mister uh…”
“Jaskier!” the brunette says, jumping forward to shake the no-longer-stranger’s extended hand. Triple fuck, Jaskier groans internally. “Just Jaskier is fine. Nice to meet you. Geralt, I’m guessing?”
“Correct,” the driver smirks again. “Nice to meet you.”
Jaskier needs help getting up into the cab, and tries without success to tamp down the rush of attraction he feels when Geralt’s warm, impressively large hands wrap around his waist and lift him almost effortlessly up into the seat. Quintuple fuck, actually.
“So, where am I driving you?” Geralt asks. His voice is practically a growl and Jaskier feels thirstier than an incubus in mating season. He’s an awful person, really, to be attracted to this man for almost no reason at all. Except for his chivalric tendencies, his wide-ass shoulders, and his gloriously defined-
“Crazy,” the younger man jokes. Then he slaps his hand against his forehead and moans in embarrassed agony. “I’m so incredibly - I’m so sorry, that was- I’m a nervous talker, and I’m so sorry. Thank you for helping me, I’m-”
“So listen here, Jaskier, and listen calmly. First we’ll go to a gas station and you can call someone to tow your car. Probably to a junkyard, because that thing is fucked. Second, we’ll drop off my truck and I can take you to McDonald’s or something in a normal car. Then you can call a cab or a friend or something and get back home. Is that alright? You seem really shaken up.”
“No need to bother with all of that, dear heart. I’m fine, really. I’m just-”
“Jaskier,” the trucker interrupts the oncoming stream of babbled apologies again. “Calm down and breathe for me, okay? We can figure this out when we get back to civilization. Look at that road marker for me, the tow truck is going to need that information to find your poor vehicle.”
Jaskier notes the destination labeled on the road sign and types it into his phone to make sure he can’t forget or lose any valuable information. Geralt hums along to the radio, his voice low and scratchy and thick. Jaskier likes it; he could probably listen to Geralt hum forever and be content with that alone. “I like that song.”
“Me too.”
“What’s your favorite band?” Jaskier asks. The corner of the trucker’s mouth lifts a bit, like he’s suppressing a smile.
“You’ll laugh at me if I tell you, kid.”
“I am absolutely not a kid! I’m twenty-seven. And since you’re being a spoilsport, I’ll go first,” Jaskier offers. “Mine is pretty good, actually.”
“No, really, I can go first; it’s just kind of juvenile. I really like-”
“My favorite band is-”
“My Chemical Romance,” they announce in unison. Jaskier bursts into laughter, bright and ringing; he’s joined shortly by Geralt’s low chuffing chuckle.
“Favorite album?” the driver queries.
“Oh jeez,” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck again, like he always does when he’s nervous around hot people. Then he gestures around, like he’s too flabbergasted to gather his thoughts. “I can’t answer that kind of question, Geralt! That’s like asking someone if they have a favorite kid!”
“Most people do have a favorite kid,” Geralt rebuts. “My favorite album is probably Bullets, or Three Cheers.”
“I liked all of them… but the Mad Gear and the Missile Kid EP is a banger.”
“You’re just showing off,” Geralt huffs. It’s a good-natured huff and Jaskier relaxes completely. He’s made a new friend. “Referencing their hidden tracks and bonus content like some kind of fucking emo kid.”
It sounds flirtatious and Jaskier lets himself hope.
“I just like the line lick my battery,” the brunette argues. “It’s just such a fun, weird, sexy image. Very Gerard Way. Very science fiction. Very… slutty 2011 energy.”
“Oh my god you’re a twink!”
“Shut up,” Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest in mock annoyance. “I’m a twunk.”
“You’re an idiot, is what you are. And pretty cute. Maybe I could take you to McDonald’s after you call for a tow anyway? Maybe I could… give you my number?”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” Jaskier blushes and lets himself bat his eyelashes now. Geralt has been nothing if not a gentleman. The driver is clearly less prone to poetic thoughts and ramblings because he interrupts Jaskier’s half-composed song about The Glorious Hands of Fate and Truckers when Geralt asks him:
how about some soft "good morning" geraskier smooches? 😘
Answer:
here you go!! some soft modern au morning feels.
—
Geralt turns off his alarm and slips silently from his queen-sized bed, which has started to feel a little cramped recently. The reason for that cramped feeling reaches out after him, two lightly tanned arms stretching from beneath the covers accompanied by a quiet groan of protest. A smooth tenor manages to slur, “G’r’lt?”
“Shhhh,” the Witcher croons. “Go back to sleep, babe.”
“Kisses first,” the musician grumps, glaring out of his warm nest. When the taller man seems to ignore his pleas in favor of pulling on sweatpants, Jaskier begins to whine: “Geraaaaalt.”
“Fine.” Geralt leans down over his boyfriend and smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to his warm, sleep-chapped lips. “See you after my run, sleepyhead.”
“Mhm,” Jaskier yawns. He’s safely back in the realm of dead-sleep before his mouth can even close all the way again. Geralt envies how easy it is for his partner to stay in bed after sunrise, but he also knows how terribly difficult it is for Jaskier to fall asleep in the first place. Even with his medication, the musician’s mind seems to be a constant whirlwind of thoughts, feelings, ideas, and memories that all beg to be given attention. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with it when they first started dating, but now they’re like a well-oiled machine: Jaskier sews up Geralt’s injuries and massages his sore muscles after a contract while Geralt reminds Jaskier to eat lunch and take a shower between gigs or events.
As Geralt plugs in his headphones and swings a left out of their driveway to start his usual morning jog, the Witcher wonders how he got so lucky in the first place. He and Jaskier should have been like oil and water based only on their general personalities and aesthetics, but they aren’t, they’re more like shadow and sunlight. There couldn’t be one without the other. They’re always together, even if they’re not stuck to each others’ sides.
Geralt loves their relationship and their history together, even the painful parts. Those bits remind him, even now that they’re living together and planning to get married, that relationships take work and communication; he’s great at the first one but the second one had taken time to build.
But still, at least there was a decent meet-cute, unfortunate as the circumstances had been. They had crossed paths when Jaskier was booed off the stage at a public music festival by some friends of his ex and Geralt, a stranger, had turned and glared them down like a man possessed, teeth bared like a wolf. He hated bullies. Wouldn’t stand for rudeness. Jaskier had given him a nickname that day, thanking him from between quiet, smothered sobs. “My hero, the mysterious White Wolf. How can I ever repay you?”
Geralt had given the younger man his number, which was incredibly out of character, and asked for a coffee sometime, whenever convenient. He hadn’t expected anything to come of it (people very rarely went for guys with weird scars, white hair, and a glower like his) but Jaskier had called the following evening. His voice had been so bright and gentle, Geralt couldn’t have said no even if he’d wanted to, which he hadn’t.
When he gets back from his run, Geralt stops in his (now their) bedroom doorway for a moment. Jaskier has his head buried in the center of Geralt’s pillow, his arms thrown around it like a shipwrecked sailor with a life preserver. The Witcher smiles softly to himself and pads forward, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible. He crouches next to the bed and observes his boyfriend.
His hair is worse than a haystack, more likely the product of a natural disaster, and a thin line of drool connects his mouth with Geralt’s pillowcase. He can wash it later; for now, he’s happy to let Jaskier abuse it to his heart’s content. “G’ralt.”
“Hmm?”
Jaskier rolls over, and Geralt realizes that his name has been murmured in sleep; his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. He stands up and leans forward again, his hand smoothing over Jaskier’s shoulder and upper arm. The musician leans into it, humming happily and sighing a little. He squints one eye open after a moment and regards Geralt with an imperious look. “Go shower and then come snuggle me some more.”
“Are you giving me orders? You know only Vesemir can do that.”
“Vesemir be damned,” Jaskier huffs. “Only not really, I like him. But I am your boyfriend, and I overrule Vesemir any day of the week.”
“Is that so?” Geralt asks, leaning forward a bit more. Jaskier sits up a bit to meet him, their lips now only a hair’s breadth apart.
“Yes. And you can tell him I said that, too. I’m not afraid of him.”
“You should be.”
“And you, Mr. Witcher,” Jaskier grins playfully, sliding his hands up into Geralt’s sweat-damp hair and brushing their mouths together as he speaks, “Should be afraid of what will happen to your perky Witcher ass if you don’t get clean and get under these covers in the next ten minutes.”
“Fifteen.”
“Fine, fifteen minutes. But you’d better let me be the big spoon!”
Geralt presses their lips together and kisses Jaskier deeply for a long, slow moment. When he pulls away there’s laughter in his voice and joy in his gaze, “Fine.”
“Now you’re down to fourteen minutes”
Geralt gives a loud, barking laugh of pure happiness and makes his way into the bathroom.
So I wanted to redraw a doublet that features in the upcoming sequel to ‘Greensleeves’ since my art has matured this past year. The backgrounds have absolutely nothing to do with the fic—I just wanted to try out a bunch of brushes lmao. ‘Black Silk’ ought to be finished (hopefully) by the end of the month.
#it's art day on my blog I guess #not complaining in the slightest #LOOK AT THIS #geraskier art#horny tw#so gorgeous #all the colors #I can practically see the holographic bits of the doublet #the shiny parts #oh god i love it #and i can't wait to read the spicy spicy fic that goes with!!! #ahhh!!!!
fun hack for timeskipping in real life: just start drawing bard titties and you will lose track of time and suddenly realize you spent two hours on it and its 7 am now
#i love this joke #i love this artist #signe you kill me every time with these sketches #I get sniped in the middle of the night #it's amazing#11/10#artist rec#art rec #bad video intros
sorry to hear about your injury. maybe some jaskier giving geralt forehead kisses will make you feel better?
Answer:
Jaskier smiles softly and glances down at the man whose face is pillowed on his chest. He can feel the warmth of Geralt’s broad palm stretched across the expanse of his ribcage, the fingers splayed out to cover as much skin as they can. Strands of white hair are tangled with the dark, matted curls of the hair on his arms and chest; it’s adorable, really, how calm the mighty White Wolf looks as he sleeps.
He never snores.
“Witchers don’t snore, Jaskier. It’s a tactical thing.”
Jaskier snores terribly, but Geralt never seems to mind. So the bard doesn’t mention his lover’s occasional drooling.
“Sweet dreams be yours dear, if dreams there be. Sweet dreams to carry you close to me. I wish I may, and I wish I might So goodnight, my someone, goodnight.”
Geralt snuggles impossibly closer, a wall of heat against Jaskier’s right side. His arm is looped across the Witcher’s broad shoulders, and he revels in the way Geralt’s muscles slide and shift beneath his pale skin. He’s a wonder. A fallen star in the arms of one foolish, mortal bard. Jaskier is a lucky man and he knows it.
“I love you,” the bard whispers. He tilts his chin down and presses a kiss to the Witcher’s forehead. “Always have, always will.”
Through the power of magical shenanigans: Geralt and his little fairy wife end up meeting Lost Boy Jaskier and terrifyingly grumpy Fairy Geralt. How do you think they would react to their counterparts?
Answer:
I think Jaskier Pan would be delighted by Fairy Jaskier. They’d get along like a house on fire. Shenanigans out the wazoo. Dangerous levels of chaotic potential here.
Witcher Geralt and Jaskier Pan would warm up to each other after awhile, I’m sure. It’d definitely take a minute.
Fairy Geralt and Fairy Jaskier have a tenuous truce, since neither of them want to give up their Taller, Human-Shaped Person. They won’t actively spend time alone together but they can get along as a group.
Fairy Geralt is exceedingly protective and possessive, and since fairies can only have one feeling at a time, he detests Witcher Geralt. Unless the bigger version of himself stays far away from Jaskier Pan, in which case he’s fine.
new icon feat. Fraggleskier from the lovely, oh-so-talented (not to mention incredibly sweet) @mawbwehownets!!! Go buy his art!
#one of my bffs forreal #art commission#fraggleskier #bouncey's additional tags after 'submission' #bouncey's new icon #ahhhhhh it's so cute #and the bi flag roses??? #I love them #this really makes me feel more comfortable about my masc energy #the they/them really shows #thank you so much bb #you're a hero
What if Jaskier has a lil cold or something (minor) and is laid up in bed. He loves getting kisses from his Witcher, but he's like "aw man, I don't want to get you sick!" because that's happened with other lovers before? Good news though, he can't get Geralt sick. So they have some good long comfort make outs until he falls asleep and then Geralt just cuddles up with him to keep him warm.
Answer:
Jaskier gives a long series of loud, hacking coughs before falling back against the plethora of goose-down pillows on Geralt’s enormous bed. It looks even larger with a bard as its only occupant, frail and sickly as Jaskier is. His summer-tanned skin has taken on a greenish tinge. He’s covered by a thin sheen of sweat and his usually bright blue eyes are glassy and seem unable to focus; every Witcher in Kaer Morhen is worried that he will not last the week.
Geralt paces the length of his room again and adds another log to the already impressive fire. Jaskier smiles and rolls his eyes affectionately, “I’m not dying, dear heart.”
Some of the reassuring sentiment is lost when he punctuates his statement with another cough and a sneeze. Geralt growls low in his throat and settles on the edge of his mattress and reaches out to lay the back of his hand across Jaskier’s forehead. “You’re still burning up. Fuck.”
“Maybe if you and your pile of frigid Witcher brothers get in here with me, I’ll cool down.”
“Hmm.” Geralt seems to consider it before narrowing his eyes. “You’re jesting with me, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely, my love. I know you don’t like to share. Nor do I think the frame of your lovely bed could support all that…muscle.”
“You’re right that I don’t like to share,” Geralt nods. “But I will get into bed with you. I’m not leaving your side again until this fever breaks and I know you’re safe.”
“Will you hold me?”
“Of course,” Geralt frowns, slipping off his boots and trousers. He slides into bed behind Jaskier and wraps his arm around the bard’s middle. “I wouldn’t want you to be lonely or uncomfortable in your convalescence.”
“Mmmm, this is nice,” Jaskier rasps, voice giving out after all of his coughing and hacking. “Will you kiss me, too?”
“That seems…counterproductive,” the Witcher glowers. Jaskier feigns innocence, glancing up through his lashes.
“Please? Maybe it’ll burn the fever away.”
Geralt relents with another drawn-out sigh, gathering the bard into his embrace and planting a gentle kiss on his too-warm lips. Then another. And another.
Until the bard falls asleep smiling, his arm thrown across Geralt’s hips, his head rising and falling with each of the Witcher’s breaths. Geralt only follows his beloved into the land of sleep when Jaskier’s fever breaks near dawn. He presses another quick kiss to the bard’s tousled hair. “Hmmm. I love you, lark. You aren’t allowed to die on me yet.”
First commission! Yay! A fun Peter Pan Au for @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher! Turns out, we’re both absolutely wild for the original books. And lastly, a zoom on the original line art for our favorite tiny feral bastard:
I love them so much!! I’m so incredibly happy with how these two turned out.
Grouchy little Neverland fairy and his persistent lost boy.
In which Jaskier and Geralt watch the landing of the mars rover Perseverance. Jaskier gets emotional and Geralt is there for him. Modern AU with an established relationship, 900 words
This is a silly little fluffy fic and I did absolutely zero research for it, so I’m sorry if you find any incorrect stuff
CW: sex is mentioned without detail, Jaskier get’s emotional about the Rover being all alone on a foreign planet (but this is fluff with a happy ending!)
“What are you watching?” Jaskier asked as he walked into the living room. Geralt was sitting on the couch with a beer in hand.
“NASA live stream,” Geralt said - as always his taciturn self.
Jaskier rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.
“Anything interesting?”
Geralt huffed. He knew that his boyfriend found most of these things boring. The only thing that could mysteriously hold his attention were nature documentaries and (not so mysteriously) dating shows.
“The landing of Perseverance,” he said and turned his head to look at Jaskier. As the younger man lifted his eyebrows in question, Geralt continued, “the rover they send to mars.”
“Oh, that is in fact interesting,” Jaskier said, “move over.” He waved his hand at Geralt to make room on the couch and plopped down next to him. He drew up his legs to sit cross- legged, pressing his knee into Geralt’s thigh.
“Is the rover still in space?” Jaskier asked.
When Geralt nodded, he asked, “when will it land?”
“Probably in half an hour.”
“And what do all those people do?” Jaskier asked after a while. The stream showed the control room full of people on computers.
“Do you actually want to know?” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised.
Jaskier hummed non-committedly, reached for Geralt’s beer and emptied it one go.
Geralt sighed but didn’t complain and put his arm around his boyfriend.
After a sudden kick hit of inspiration caused by @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher I drew fairy!jaskier sitting on a familiar shoulder, holding his leaf umbrella
Hey Bouncey, you're my favorite witcher fic writer and it's my 22nd birthday today so may I ask for a prompt?
Geralt gets cursed by a mage that makes him split into clones of himself, each one being based off of a certain personality trait of his. For example there's Badass Witcher Geralt, Soft Pining Geralt that can only think of Jaskier (even funnier if they're not together yet), Horse Girl Geralt and more!
Or maybe they're all in love with Jask and fighting each other for his attention lmao
Answer:
Happy birthday!!!
tw: so many Geralts so little time
—
“Jaskier!”
The bard hears his name and whips around to face the section of forest the voice seemed to come from. “Geralt? Back already?”
“Hmm.” this is grunted at the bard in chorus, as not one, not two, but six Geralts come striding into the clearing.
One of them makes a beeline for Jaskier, arms outstretched and golden eyes practically sparkling with joy. There’s a wide, giddy grin on his face and when he reaches the bard he wraps Jaskier in a warm, comfortably tight hug.
“Jaskier! I’m so glad to return and find you safe. Are you injured? Hungry? Tired?” this strange Geralt presses a swift kiss to his mop of brown hair before continuing. “I was worried that I had to leave you here, with a witch in the woods. I was concerned. You are alright, aren’t you, Julek?”
Jaskier blushes and squirms. Julek!? “I’m-”
“Leave off,” another Geralt grunts. “He’s just a pain in the ass, anyway. Damned bard.”
Jaskier watches with wide and wondering eyes as five sets of matching gazes land on the most outspoken Geralt. The one holding Jaskier in his arms lets go slowly, lowering the bard back to his feet but keeping one firm hand on his lower back. The heavy weight of the Witcher’s gauntlet against the thin summer silk of his doublet lights a fire in Jaskier that the bard can barely fight to suppress. “What’s all this about my bard?”
Jaskier practically melts at the protective, almost reverent tone in this Geralt’s voice. The hand pulls him closer and the Witcher’s body folds around his naturally, like a cloak.
“I’d have you repeat it, knave.”
“He’s a pain. In. The. Ass.”
Two of the other Geralts charge the glowering one, who topples backward onto the ground with a shout of alarm. Two Geralts are, in fact, stronger than one, and they manage to hold the perpetrator down. “Fuck, Jaskier, help me!”
Suddenly the situation catches up to him and Jaskier gives a cry of alarm. “What happened to you!?”
“Mage,” choruses the… well, chorus of Geralts.
“Which one is, you know, the original?”
“Up to you to figure out,” says the fifth Geralt, who is standing over by Roach.
“Well it’s certainly not you, sadly,” Jaskier sighs, disengaging from the affectionate Witcher’s embrace. He points to the two restraining the mouthy one. “And not either of you.”
The three false Geralts vanish.
“That leaves you three,” he points to the remainder. There’s the rude one, lying on his back looking shocked, the one by Roach, and the final Geralt, who has been eerily silent. He waves at the one on the ground, “Not you either.”
Only two remain.
“So, which of you is my Witcher and which of you is a mirage?”
“She was right,” the one by Roach says. “He’s smart.”
“Hmm.” Sixth Geralt grumbles. He glances up sheepishly. “He is.”
“Do you love him, then?” Roach Geralt asks. Jaskier already knows which one is His, but he wants to know the answer.
“I think he already knows that,” Real Geralt says. Jaskier grins and points to the one by the horse. “Goodbye.”
“I knew you could do it,” Geralt huffs out a laugh. “Thought it would take a bit longer, though, what with the way you smelled when my doppelganger was hugging you like that.”
“No sense in making daydreams last longer than they should.”
“Who says it had to be a daydream?” Geralt stands, slowly approaching is bard. Jaskier drifts in his direction as well, like two ships listing in the tide. His arms wrap around the bard’s slender waist, drawing him in. Jaskier allows himself to fall against the Witcher’s broad chest, his hands coming up to cup Geralt’s jaw on either side.
That message you got about Fairy Jaskier in the rain made me picture him using a leaf like a little umbrella like in a studio Ghibli movie. Just, holding the stem of his leaf umbrella, maybe sitting on Geralt's shoulder talking to him. Writing a rainy day song to sing as they go.
Answer:
This is the cutest image and I appreciate you sending it so much.
The dopamine…
Geralt can’t understand the song cause it’s in Fairy but it sounds very sweet and soft so he’s happy to listen to his little wife jingle and chime. It sounds so pretty with the rain for percussion…
That message you got about Fairy Jaskier in the rain made me picture him using a leaf like a little umbrella like in a studio Ghibli movie. Just, holding the stem of his leaf umbrella, maybe sitting on Geralt's shoulder talking to him. Writing a rainy day song to sing as they go.
Answer:
This is the cutest image and I appreciate you sending it so much.
The dopamine…
Geralt can’t understand the song cause it’s in Fairy but it sounds very sweet and soft so he’s happy to listen to his little wife jingle and chime. It sounds so pretty with the rain for percussion…
Update on my 1.5k celebration fic!! I have hit my follower goal so amazing yay thank you!!! Problem is it’s longer than I anticipated so it’s gonna be a little wait for it!
But the results of the Poll! (Thanks to everyone who voted)
Second Place was Soulmates! (So I’ll probably write a little thing for that too because it was very close)
First Place was OnlyFans!!! 🥳 I currently have 7k written and it should be 4 chapters in total once I’m done! It’s umm… pretty filthy so congratulations on your choice, darling followers!!
Further update: the draft is finished!! I just need to polish it up! Thanks to the ever wonderful soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for giving it a once over 😘😘 first chapter should be up later today!
I’m so excited! Y'all it’s amazing and filthy and amazingly filthy!
🥵🥵
My darling soulmate has knocked it out of the park!
You’re gonna love it!
(And if y'all don’t follow Wolfie then… why not? Hop to!)
listen. i gotta write at least one fic per quarter centered around my psych class. this quarter is abnormal psych so yall get some psychiatrist Jaskier and neurology professor Geralt arguing over Conversion Disorder. I- i have no excuse. I am just this way. I don’t know what to tell you. Actually no, blame @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde and @dani-dandelino for enabling me
Fun psych fact! Conversion Disorder is a malfunctioning sense or loss of voluntary motor abilities without a medical/neurological cause. Used to require a preceding stressor but the DSM-5 got rid of that and I’m no expert but im defs giving them some side eye for it. Think John Watson’s leg in the BBC Sherlock series, but it can be blindness or loss of hearing or any kind of voluntary motor skill.
Warnings: i mean, they swear? it’s them debating the causes/diagnostic requirements/ possible faking a disorder. it’s not something that would be a common trigger that i can think of but it’s worth mentioning?
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“No, you’re not listening to me. The patient wasn’t consciously feigning it. I’m not saying they were just in there to fuck with me,” Geralt huffed, setting his cappuccino down and glaring at Jaskier across the tiny café table.
Jaskier’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he took a deep breath for his rebuttal. The psychiatrist was adamant that he was right and damnit he would argue his point until he turned blue in the face, “But that would go against your theory of a physical root to the disorder! If there’s something neurologically wrong then malingering isn’t possible, Geralt! If you distract the patient from the problem and suddenly it’s gone then it must be psychological!”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear to Melitelle- you had better back that up with a reason,” Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, doing his best not to get angry at the neurologist’s blunt style of… well of everything.
#im high as shit and i love my wife #john Mulaney Voice 'thats my wife!!!' #thank for this comfy #very cute #very accurate tenure argument 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 good touch #comfy's tag#comfy's corner
#i want it tattooed on my body #this would be perf for the peter pan sleeve tbh #i too id heavily with the narrative of peter pan #i have j m barries signature tattooed on my arm already #lets be friends #amazing art usual hnnnnng
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