hi there! i am nat and i welcome you to my projection space! đ
you might know me from Tell Me About The Light Behind My Eyes and if you do, i am very gently kissing your forehead.
my favourite pastime is to make the bard hurt, but sometimes i also let him receive a liddle kiss to the forehead, so buckle up and join me where i am: right here and up in my feels â¨
i've been at it for a year now but am only now getting around to making an introduction and masterpost for my works â they keep piling up and i am losing track of them.
geraskier masterlist â yennskier masterlist â other pairings*
⨠Tell Me About The Light Behind My Eyes | tag
⨠jaskier & rience siblings au | tag
⨠high school au | tag
*this also functions as a list of pairings i will write for
â ao3 â writing tag â headcanons â tip jar â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Time smiles down at the figure that has made it to her doorstep. She gets many visitors, all of them eventually, but she didnât expect this one for a long while yet.
She smiles all the same, for thatâs what she always does when they come.
âYouâre early,â she says, holding out her hand, which he takes after a momentâs consideration. âBut welcome nonetheless.â
âThank you,â he says, and she finds that her brothers and sisters were right. His voice does sound like music, his fingertips twitching against hers in memory of what he used to do all his life. What he used to do before he came to her. âYouâre very kind.â
Another smile, for he is genuine. Not scared, though, not like the others. He chose this, after all.
âMost living things would not agree with you, little bard. Time is never kind, for in the end she takes them all.â
âOh, but what about the pain that time heals? What about the heartbreak, what about sour mornings after too much wine, or all those ailments small and big that matter when one is alive? No, my dear. Time, I say, is very kind if one allows her to be.â
Oh, he is lovely. Adamant. With a fiery passion and so much to say yet. She wonders, despite the flattery, why he is here.
âIs it not pain, then, that brought you here?â
The smile on his face dims, a sadness lingering beneath the surface that she fears he will carry within himself for all eternity now. But he shakes his head.
âNot pain, exactly. The absence of reason and muse that Iâm afraid not even you, my lady, would have been able to return to me. The absence of love where it matters. The absence of everything I knew I could find here. I have left enough of myself with them â perhaps too much, even. Enough to remain in the minds and the hearts; there is no reason to remain in the flesh.â
She nods, for it is true and she knows. She knew even before he arrived that he would linger, he would stay by her side and watch and sing, creating new melodies with new instruments far beyond the imagination of the living.
âCome with me, then, and stay. There is no going back, but there is so much yet to see.â
And so he does. He will wander and he will explore and leave in his remains a richness without compare.
He will find more with her than he did in his days, and she will keep him safe until he finds reason again to leave her.
And, oh, it will be serene.
Down in the world of the living, word of a bardâs untimely demise is spreading.
I have a feeling Vesmier would spend 3 minutes with Jaskier and instantly decide he's the favorite child.
Dear âNon,
I submit this sketch for the three-minute context under which Vesemir might decide that the bard his son never mentions and yet somehow always talks about is his new favorite.
"Geralt, I'm taking your jerkin, because mine is incredibly filthy and wet."
"Everything here is wet," Little Eye said sneeringly, nudging the articles of clothing strewn around with the tip of her shoe in disgust. "How can you? They need to be hung up and properly dried... You're dreadful."
"It'll dry off by itself," Dandelion pulled on Geralt's damp jacket and examined the silver studs on the sleeves with delight.
dandelion finding excuses to steal his boyfriend's sweater Geralt's jerkin
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Seeing Cavillâs departure itâs like. Yeah. This is what happens when you bring the dedicated weeb on set, then fool yourself into thinking he will sit there all obedient like a Good Boi as you mangle canon to fuck and back.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I feel like I am very predictable with this prompt, but how about (old) Vesemir and Filavandrel with âYou faintedâŚstraight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didnât have to go to such extremes.â? for that juicy h/c <3
G, 784 words, hurt/comfort but no major warnings
Drabble list here!
This is officially his least favourite time ever having Filavandrel in his arms. Vesemir supports most of the elfâs weight on his body as time slows down like heâs in combat, but the only enemy here is the unknown. He lowers them both to the warm stone ground cautiously, counting the seconds as they crawl by.
âFil,â the witcher tries, uncertain and wavering. âFilavandrel!â The elf doesnât react, lids still drawn shut and mouth still gently parted. Only a moment ago he had been as sharp as ever, cracking jokes despite his racing heart. Vesemir had foolishly assumed that his loverâs heart was beating fast due to himâ a vain mistake he now direly regrets.Â
He moves the arm braced under the elfâs shoulder and turns his head with a free hand, frantically examining his body for signs of life or death or some evil limbo. Ciri has gone cold like this in Geraltâs arms before, but always recovered (usually after having some cryptic, awful vision of peril to come). And Vesemir has cradled others both young and old as their exhaustion or injuries overtook them, but never in his long life has he felt this helpless.
Fifteen seconds pass, then twenty. âCome on,â Vesemir insists, raising his voice in frustration even as he gently brushes the pad of his thumb over his loverâs cheek. âCome on, Filavandrel. Not like this.â
The words strike a strange memory in his mind from another century, when he and the elf had been young carefree men ignorant to their higher callings. There was a festival of some sort; he doesnât remember the name, nor the location, only bundles of pink flowers tied to every fencepost and doorknob in town. Something to do with fertility, or true love, two alien concepts to an elf and a witcher. Couples and friends and youth alike had all kissed in the street, a new chorus of cheers erupting every time they did. Vesemir had begged a kiss from Filavandrel who had spurned him over and over and over, until the teasing grew plaintive and the refusal grew sharp. âNot like this,â Filavandrel eventually barked at him, wearing a strangely honest expression as he shoved Vesemir away.
In the here and now his lover stirs, perhaps roused by the blunt pressure of Vesemirâs fingersâ or by his witcher shaking him silly, which he stops immediately. He pulls Filavandrel close, unwilling to admit how scared he had been. The elf, still queasy, takes advantage of the new angle to gag and spit something out over Vesemirâs shoulder.Â
Vesemir doesnât give a damn; heâd let Filavandrel throw up right on his favourite boots if it meant the elf was okay. He strokes his loverâs back, still holding him tightly enough to bruise. âAre you alright?â
âYes,â replies Filavandrel, quiet and wobbly. âWhatâŚâ
âBeats me,â Vesemir says, trying to summon his old braggart attitude to hide his fear. âYou were fine one moment, and the next, you faintedâ straight into my arms, I might add. If you wanted my attention you didnât need to go to such extremes.â
âI think I need to rest,â the elf mutters, slumping forward against Vesemir. Vesemir is of the opinion that Filavandrel actually requires close care and definitely not more sleep, but heâs hardly going to fight with the most stubborn person he knows when said person is clearly unwell. So he lifts the man into his arms, reassured by the strength with which Filavandrel grabs hold of his neck. âAnd my face is burningâ why is my face burning?â
âLike a blushing maiden,â Vesemir tries. Filavandrel shoots him a glare that is one hundred percent pure unadulterated Fil, and it reassures him greatly. As he carries Filavandrel towards their rooms, he rambles, âI think youâve been out in the sun for too long, my love. I need to build you a shaded area in the courtyard; I wouldnât want to deprive you of the sight of me training. What do the elves call it again? A veranda?â
âPerhaps I fainted so as to catch a break from your unending tirade of bad jokes,â Filavandrel deadpans. Vesemir squeezes him closer, smiling despite how concerned he still is. Some amount of worry must show on his face because Filavandrel reaches up with shaking hands to rub the wrinkles between his eyebrows, smiling oddly at him. âIâm fine, witcher.â
What he wants to do is reprimand the elf; they arenât young men anymore and maybe they need to start acting more responsibly. But Vesemir canât bring himself to be stern when Filavandrel is watching him like that, so he just nods and adjusts his grip on the elf. âVeranda it is.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
jaskier: Itâs called Jaskier or Roach. I give you actual quotes Iâve heard Geralt say, and you guess if he was talking to me, his husband, or his horse.
