#lyricaltales

He’s here for one reason and one reason alone. Festivities like this are the best way to get the information he needs. Except, there’s also a downfall to this. A rather large downfall. Sometimes he can ignore it, other times he can’t. This is one of those times where he can’t. 

The smell of booze is heavy in the air. It mixes in with the metallic smell of blood and the smell of fisstech on someone. Do they not search those that come in here? It’s a nasty drug, the last thing they want is someone overdosing right here, and god that smell is horrible. Someone else smells of dog. A terror, by the smell of it. Someone else smells faintly of sex.

There are too many smells, it’s overwhelming his senses, and the booze in the air burns his nose. Nostrils flare and eyes flutter shut as he breathes in and out, chest rising and falling with the force of it.

Then there are the sounds. Constant chatter and voices overlapping each other. Some couple fighting, someone else whispering about things they want to do to their lover. There is talk of war, there is talk of daughters and mundane things. The music is loud, too loud, it sounds like it’s beating in his ear. There’s an altercation in the hall. Something he might have gone to stop if he hadn’t been so overwhelmed.

The White Wolf of Rivia they call him. After that day he’d been found, mortally wounded, at the gates of Kaer Morhen, Geralt remembers nothing other than the fact that he is a Witcher. So he clings onto that, he clings onto walking the Path and searching for a way to restore memories.

He’d forgotten how awful Witchers were treated (it still catches him by surprise every time someone spits at him or says something harsh) but his skills as a Witcher had remained intact. Many thought him to be dead, killed by humans from what he recalls being told. He was defending nonhumans, another thing he’d been told.

They don’t tell him much, the other Witchers. Any ties he may have had over the years are long forgotten. They’re hiding something from him, that much he knows, but Geralt doesn’t know what.

Sitting here in some tavern, though, the look on the man’s face when she stops mid-song, Geralt realizes it must have something to do with him. Why is it that the man they call Jaskier seems so familiar? He feels this pull towards him, as if he is meant to meet him in this fateful moment. 

Does he know him? Maybe he has answers for him, maybe he doesn’t but judging by the look on Jaskier’s face, he can tell that there was once a strong bond between them. He may have lost his memories, but he is no fool, that is a look of confusion, surprise, and heartache.

@lyricaltales​ sent  dance : my muse holds their hand out, waiting for your muse to come out and slow dance with them. (lyricaltales)

Oh, the things Jaskier has him doing. They’re at some party, some noble party that Geralt doesn’t even want to be at. It’s different this time, he’s not protecting Jaskier (though he will, if need be) but instead here because Jaskier insisted there would be gossip here, he’s a little strapped for coin, and they need a contract or some way to get coin.

Before Jaskier, this is no way he’d find himself, offering his hand out to someone to dance. However, here he is, expectedly looking at Jaskier. This is something that doesn’t happen often, Jaskier better take the chance while he has it. 

“Dance with me, Jaskier.” It’s spoken softly and his lips curl up into one of those rare genuine smiles that sometimes appear around Jaskier (more often than not, Jaskier is the only reason he smiles). “Might as well blend in, hm?” And it isn’t as if he doesn’t know how to dance. The Witcher can be quite sophisticated when the situation calls for it.

@lyricaltales sent  [ bloody ] for your muse coming to my muse with blood stains (from Jaskier / lyricaltales)

word prompts

The sight before him hurts him. It tugs at heartstrings and sends a flare of panic into Geralt. He’s used to associating blood with bad things. With injuries and death, not simply fights and Gods - he hopes it’s something like simple fights. 

It is in moments like this that Geralt is reminded just how human his lover is. His usually slow heart rate picks up as he stares at Jaskier with golden eyes, gauging him, trying to figure out how hurt he is. If there are any injuries he needs to worry about, if it is Jaskier’s blood or someone else’s.

He seems to be okay. He doesn’t look like he’s going to pass out from blood loss and he doesn’t see any visible wounds nor can he smell the heavy scent of blood. No matter what his mind tells him, though, his heart still has him panicking.

This is what he gets for falling in love.

It’s fine. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.

It repeats in his head like a mantra, like some sort of prayer to some higher power he doesn’t believe in. Like if he says it enough, it will make it true.

It’s only a split second before he moves forward, before he’s closing the distance between them, and bringing his hands up to cup his cheeks in both of his hands. Golden eyes are wide, breath shakes, as if he thinks Jaskier might slip away at any moment. 

He knows, deep down, that it’s probably not even that serious.

It was always a nightmare finding each other, every time they reappeared. Usually it Parr tracking them all down. But Anne had taken to finding Kitty before anything could happen to her, the bond of being both cousins and beheaded superseded any petty cattiness they sometimes got into.

Half the Continent from Cintra, she followed the enchanted map she'd demanded of a mage. Kitty was in this village somewhere. The children playing at singing their song spoke to that, it always happened more when one of them was in the area. She watched with a grin, delighted at the little girl pretending to be Aragon before she joined in for her own part.

@lyricaltales​ sent  ⚡ // tug my muse’s hair . (lyricaltales)

AGRESSION//SEXUAL TENSION

acts  that  could  be  aggressive   //   or  a  little  bit  sexy   //   or  both.                    send  a  symbol  from  your  muse  to  mine.  feel  free  to  combine  actions  or  add  specifics  even  when  it  doesn’t  ask  for  it   !     can  send  non - sexually  as  well.

Moments like this are something they don’t get often. Moments where he no longer has to focus on his surroundings, where he doesn’t have to worry about monsters or even humans, where he can just lose himself in the feeling of Jaskier’s lips upon his.

These are moments he cherishes. Intimacy is something he craves. Affection, touch, he’s been deprived of it for so long that every time Jaskier’s lips connect to his, it is something that he never wants to stop. If there was a realm where peace was said to exist, it certainly wouldn’t ever be better than this.

The kiss starts out slow, gentle, but then suddenly it becomes heavier and Geralt isn’t complaining, he likes it. He likes the way the kiss turns hungrier. The kiss leaves his mind fuzzy, it leaves him breathless, it causes breath to ghost over Jaskier’s lips. Breath has to be caught before lips are back on Jaskier’s again.

And then fingers are tangling in his hair and Jaskier tugs. It’s surprising, it catches him off guard, it and makes him gasp out against his lover’s lips. A low laugh then rumbles against Dandelion’s lips, one of utter enjoyment, the sharp pain does not bother him at all. In fact, he likes the way he had tugged at his hair. He enjoys it, a lot.

@lyricaltales​ sent  💔 (lyricaltales; if you want!)

A  FUCKED  UP  KISSING  MEME  bc  who  needs  soft  kisses  when  you  can  have  This   !(   send  me   ‘  💔  ’   to  generate  the  angsty  way  that  our  muses  kiss.  feel  free  to  specify  a  number  or  who  is  kissing  who  if  you’d  like.   )

an   ‘  i’m  sorry  ’   kiss.

He’s an ass, he knows that. Sometimes he says things without thinking, sometimes he’s too honest, and sometimes he’s just in a foul mood and takes it out on others instead of confronting his feelings head-on.

He hadn’t meant to be so mean, hadn’t meant the words he said, but Jaskier had been driving him insane and he had eventually had enough. Being injured doesn’t help the Witcher with his mood, it makes it worse. That, of course, he hadn’t told Jaskier about. He doesn’t need to know about the claw-like gashes in his side, hidden underneath the armor he wore, from an earlier hunt. It’s all bandaged up, it’s fine. Though, given how quick he was to get annoyed, maybe it’s clear there’s something up.

After all, most times, Geralt has the patience of a saint.

So, when they’re alone, Geralt realizes he has some making up to do. It’s why his lips are on Jaskier’s, it’s why he’s got his hand against his cheek and eyes closed. Jaskier’s lips always do feel soft against his own, it’s always a nice feeling. The kiss is soft, slow, and somewhat pleading.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.

Once upon a time fairy tales weren't meant just for children, and neither is Angela Carter's Book of Fairy Tales. This stunning collection contains lyrical tales, bloody tales and hilariously funny and ripely bawdy stories from countries all around the world- from the Arctic to Asia - and no dippy princesses or soppy fairies. Instead, we have pretty maids and old crones; crafty women and bad girls; enchantresses and midwives; rascal aunts and odd sisters.