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  1. Public Bookmark 38

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    They were called knights, though there was nothing chivalrous about what they did. The witchers were first created to kill the spawn of the many Conjunctions, a job they were remarkably good at. Decades and then centuries passed, and humans created new technology to satisfy their lust for magic. Eventually the delicate wires and currents became so complex that the Chaos in the witchers’ marrow interfered too much for electronics to function in their presence. Thus, witchers were renamed knights, and each was burdened with a squire.

    Squires were intended to be liaisons, intermediaries between knights and humans, who could pick up and turn in contracts without causing localized power outages. They were trained in field medicine and basic outdoorsman skills in hopes that they would help keep their valuable knights alive. In practice, squires were bossy, nosy, ignorant thorns in a knight’s side, and best avoided at any cost.

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    03 Nov 2021

  2. Public Bookmark 67

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    Lambert’s nostrils flare and Jaskier’s feels his own cheeks darken. “You weren’t kiddin’ about my hands, huh?” he slurs a little. “S’not pity.”

    Though Jaskier is a bit inebriated himself, the words cut through the haze of alcohol and simmering arousal. “No,” he replies, confused. “Why would it be pity, darling?”

    Lambert blinks at him—confusion, shock, and scowling resignation in quick succession. “Because you’ve got a fucking rabbit’s libido and my dick doesn’t work.”

    Jaskier is feeling acutely more sober even if the room sways when he sits up on his elbow. “Lambert, I’m not a bastard, if you’re too drunk—”

    “S’not ‘cause of the fuckin’ Gull,” Lambert snaps, in the particular growl he usually only takes with Vesemir and Jaskier—gets it, then.

     

    (Jaskier is obsessed with Lambert’s hands. This works out for an unexpected reason.)

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    02 Nov 2021

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Someone clears their throat and Eskel swivels his head to find a witcher leaning against the wall of the barn, holding the reins of a little bay gelding and watching Eskel with an amused expression. Eskel’s mouth goes dry.

    “I hear you have a griffin problem,” the witcher says. “But I see you have more fearsome beasts to contend with.”

    Lil Bleater bleats her agreement.

    When Eskel, a goat farmer living in Velen, puts out a contract for a witcher to deal with the griffin terrorizing his livestock, he’s not expecting Jaskier, a pretty witcher with mismatched eyes who likes to sing. When he takes the contract, Jaskier isn’t expecting the reclusive farmer who hires him to be a kind man who talks to his goats and is willing to let Jaskier stay the night. Neither of them expect the other to become a friend, and maybe something more.

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    27 Oct 2021

  4. Public Bookmark 11

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    “I’ve done some… research.” Somewhere in the distance, Geralt snorts. Research, yes. “It would seem as though many omegas have reported great success in relieving the pain from their cycles with… orgasms.” Jaskier blinks at him dumbly, and Eskel continues, “I wouldn’t do anything without your permission, of course. But, if there’s a chance it might help… I don’t mind a little blood.”

    Jaskier proceeds to choke on the air. He’s done a great many things in his thirty-nine years, and not once did it ever cross his mind that he would find an alpha who was willing to—“You would… really?”

    “Why not?” Eskel shrugs, as if they’re discussing the weather, rather than— “It’s easily the most pleasurable way to find oneself covered in blood, no?”

    Jaskier still cannot quite breathe, “I don’t know that I-I can… take your cock… right now…” He confesses meekly.

    Geralt rolls his eyes, “He wasn’t talking about his cock, bardling.”

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    24 Oct 2021

  5. Public Bookmark 7

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    “There ain’t no way to catch it, Geralt. You think you can catch a thing like this?” The elf finished wiping out the glass he held, set it on the bar, and leaned in close. "Look. You do this, there ain’t no tellin’ what you hell you’ll raise. And I want no part in it, ya hear?”

    “I understand.” The hardened lines of his face fell and Geralt’s eyes softened.

    Filavandrel sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “You’re gonna need a bottle of ol’ No. 7, a steel-string guitar, and a whole lot o’ blood.”

     

    WHUMPTOBER 2021 - No. 23 - “You Break It, You Buy It” - Auction | Ransom | Pursuit

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    24 Oct 2021