Work Text:
Geralt had put this class off until his last year of school and now he was sorely regretting that series of decisions. He could have been dedicating this entire four month span to properly editing his thesis, which still needed a few more sources and better transitions, but alas; he found himself sitting in the back corner of some unfamiliar classroom in the English department instead. He was fifteen minutes early, as always, and decided to use the time to organize the contents of his weathered green Jansport. It had been a windy ride today and he was worried that water may have spilled onto his notebook.
Just as he’d pulled out his (thankfully dry) notebook and began fishing around the dark bag for a pen, a group of four wandered their way into the room. Geralt noted three girls of varying heights and ethnicities and one skinny white boy; all of them deep in conversation at a volume that Geralt could easily overhear, even as they found seats across the aisle and towards the front. “It was quite possibly the worst date I’ve ever been on,” the boy stated, flicking his brown bangs out of his eyes.
“What did he do ?” the tall redheaded girl asked.
“Yeah, how bad could it have been, really?” asked the girl with dark, curly hair. Geralt noted that her arm was wrapped around the waist of the tall one rather possessively.
“He didn’t even bother trying to make it to the end of the movie,” the guy rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, Yennefer. You have all the good luck. I want a Triss of my own! But like, if Triss were a guy and also into guys.”
“I just got really lucky,” the dark haired one, Yennefer, shrugged.
“Aww babe.”
“Love you, Trissy-Kissy.”
“Gross,” the third girl finally piped up. “Is this what all graduate students are like?”
“No,” Yennefer asserted. “Just us.”
“Speaking of which, don’t be afraid to hang out with other people, Ciri,” the boy urged. “I know it’s only your first semester but we’re all very friendly in this department. I’m sure you’ll meet a few students in this class that aren’t in Horror Lit with us.”
“Yeah but I already know that you guys are cool . I don’t need to shop around for more friends just yet.”
Geralt wasn’t even sure they’d seen him sitting there, too wrapped up in their own little world to be bothered. “Did you hear that, Jask? you’re cool now.” Yennefer teased. What kind of name is ‘Jask’? Is it short for something?
Before their conversation could get any further, another handful of students trickled into the room and began choosing seats. The noise level grew too high for Geralt to pick up on any more of what the friendly foursome were saying, so he sat back and merely observed. The blonde was reserved, quiet, and only spoke up when she got too excited to hold back any longer. The dark haired girl and the redhead were clearly dating based on the way they constantly angled their faces towards each other and shifted in unison to stay comfortable. The brunette guy, whose gestures were flamboyant and whose voice carried snippets of full sentences over the noise of the busy classroom, was 'clearly bisexual as all hell'. Or at least that's what he kept insisting to the redhead, who merely shrugged in reply and said something too quiet for Geralt to hear.
At exactly 6pm, a severe-looking woman with an unusually sweet smile breezed through the doorway carrying a leather messenger bag in one hand and a thermos of coffee in the other. “Hello all, and welcome to Linguistics 605!” A girl in the back quickly grabbed her bag and booked it out of the room. The professor chuckled, “There’s always one who ends up in the wrong spot. Anyway class, welcome once again. My name is Dr. DeVries. I’m the head of the Linguistics department and co-chair of the English PhD program here at Oxenfurt. We have twelve beautiful weeks ahead of us, during which we will meet once a week in this room to discuss the cultural impact of language on a multitude of different societies, including our own. I will also ask you to write me one short, three hundred word or less summary of an important linguistic event every two weeks and submit it online. They can overlap, so if five of you write about the same topic, you’ll still all receive credit. Any questions so far?”
Nobody raised a hand.
She continued going through the syllabus, breezing through the rules against plagiarism, the information on Oxenfurt’s mental health and accessibility services, and her attendance policy (you must be in class in order to get credit for that day’s assignment, unless you had a doctor’s note or a family member called to confirm your emergency). So far, Geralt was really liking this professor. Her rules were fair but firm, her assignment list contained no busy work, and she didn’t even make them play a stupid first day ice-breaker game.
“Alright, then. I know it’s only seven in the evening and normally we’d go until nine, but syllabus day is always a little shorter. I’m sure you were all hoping for something like this to happen, so I’ll see you all next week.” Her announcement was met with a short round of applause and a few calls of 'you're the best'.
As Geralt closed his notebook and opened his backpack to rearrange things within it, the brunette guy from earlier came bouncing towards his desk. He was wearing some of the tightest acid wash jeans that Geralt had ever seen, with a stylish slit cut over his bony left knee. His purple hoodie had the words ‘The Bard Life is a Hard Life’ layered over the outline of a 20 sided die. On his feet were a pair of beat-up checkered Vans with rainbow laces. Oh boy.
“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood. ”
“I figured that everyone would already pretty much know each other from other English or Linguistics classes,” Geralt shrugged. “The brooding was an accident.”
“Excellent touch, the brooding. Anyway, of course we all know each other, but we’d love to know you too. I’m Jaskier,” the younger man held out his hand. “English grad student and ukulele extraordinaire.”
“Geralt. Anthropology program.”
“Ohhhh, Geralt. That’s such a unique name! I love it!”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier fidgeted in place for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Instead he just flashed a peace sign and smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around. Let me know if you want to join our study group or something.”
“Thanks.”
Jaskier wove his way around the other milling students and back to his friends, who were now sending Geralt furtive glances from the corners of their eyes. Fuck. Rather than stick around and give them any more hints, he gathered his notebook and water bottle into his bag and quickly made for the parking lot.
“You haven’t even talked to this guy since the first week of class,” Yennefer rolled her eyes. It was nearly October and Jaskier still hadn’t shut up about the mysterious, sexy stranger in their Linguistics 605 class. Every time Geralt joined the discussion or asked a question, Yen could feel her best friend practically vibrate out of his chair. The past three hours had been particularly enlightening since one of Geralt’s favorite topics had come up during the lecture and he’d spent a good portion of the class period peppering Dr. DeVries with thoughtful questions. Jaskier was probably running high on hearing Geralt’s voice alone. “Listen, you dumbass twink, just ask him out or shut the hell up about him already!”
“I can’t do either because I am a fool and a coward,” Jaskier admitted, kicking a rock with the tip of his shoe as they moved from the concrete onto the grass of the Quad. “What I wouldn’t give to run my hair through those long white locks. I just wanna know if it’s natural. ”
“There’s no way in hell,” Yen asserted.
“I have an idea about how to solve this issue,” Triss interrupted. “Maybe we could invite him to play for a night. Probably two weeks from now? I could roll up a character for him no problem.”
“Are you sure?” Jaskier gasped, clutching a hand over his chest in shock.
“He doesn’t know the story! You've homebrewed this entire campaign! He’ll be completely lost,” Yennefer argued. “Plus we’ll still be in the middle of a dungeon in two weeks.”
Triss took her girlfriend by the hand and squeezed gently. “Jaskier is the one who got us together. The least we can do in return is let this hunky weirdo play a game of Dungeons and Dragons with us. Plus it gives us an opportunity to vet one of Jaskier’s potential romantic engagements.”
“Oh my god, is that him ?” Ciri suddenly gasped, pointing towards the nearby stoplight. The whole group turned to look. There, perched on the seat of a stunning maroon Harley Davidson with his silver hair poking from beneath the edges of a black helmet, was Geralt.
“He rides a fucking motorcycle? ” Jaskier practically squeaked. The young man dropped to his knees on the grass of the Quad and shook his fists at the sky like the drama queen he was, “God, why would you do this to me? How could you tempt me so? Why did you feel the need to make him so perfectly, stupidly fucking hot ?”
“I think he might have heard you yelling at God,” Triss teased, glancing over towards the light. Jaskier followed her gaze and saw the visor of Geralt’s helmet pointing in their direction. He quickly stood and brushed the grass from his knees.
“Fuck my life.”
Ciri patted his arm comfortingly. “Maybe he doesn't know you were talking about him?”
“Guess we’ll find out next week,” Yennefer shrugged. “You should try and add him on Facebook tomorrow after work. If he accepts, ask him about joining us for a session. It’ll take Triss at least a week to work his character into the story.”
The small group of friends watched as the light changed and Jaskier’s crush zoomed away into the night, streetlights practically glowing against the decorative studs on his leather jacket. “Oh, Melitele’s tits. I’m absolutely fucked.”
Ciri patted his arm again. He definitely was.
Jaskier didn’t think 'Geralt Gwynbleidd' would accept the friend request when he sent it, but he had to shoot his shot eventually; otherwise he’d pine himself to death over the silver-haired hottie in his Linguistics class. He glanced through all three of the older man’s public photos after hitting Add Friend , each one leaving him more intrigued than the last. He recognized the maroon motorcycle and enjoyed the simple photo of a rosebush, but the last photo was of a large brown horse. The caption read “Roach”.
Did he name his horse after the world’s grossest bug? Is it even his horse? Also, what the fuck? Why did he need a horse if he already had a motorcycle?!
And what the hell kind of name was Gwynbleidd? Welsh? That cannot be his real last name. Although, I guess I don’t really go by my real name either. Jaskier didn’t particularly care about what Geralt called himself either way. He had more important things on his mind, like playing Dungeons & Dragons and getting laid.
He was surprised when, halfway through his and Yennefer’s second bowl of weed and their third season of Gilmore Girls, his phone lit up with a Facebook notification.
Geralt Gwynbleidd has accepted your Friend Request.
Jaskier thought he was going to die. Instead of shuffling off this mortal coil, however, the MA student took a deep breath and pulled up the Messenger app. Yen heard his steadying noise and shot him a knowing look. He pretended not to notice, eyes focused on his glowing phone screen.
Jaskier: Hey! I have a weird question to ask you, if that’s cool?
Geralt: Hm?
Jaskier: My friends and I are playing Dungeons & Dragons next Friday night. If you’re free, we were wondering if you’d want to join us for a game?
Geralt: Do you ask the saddest looking person in every class to play? Is this like that episode of Community?
Jaskier: No, only you. We enjoy broody over sad. It's just personal interest really.
Geralt: Hmm.
Jaskier: You don’t have to let me know right now. I just have to tell my DM by Saturday. No pressure, no worries. I won't hate you if you say no.
Geralt: Sure, I’ll join you if I don’t have to work. It’s been awhile since I’ve played D&D but I can probably find one of my old character sheets in time. Which version? What level?
It took everything in Jaskier not to squeal out loud like a thirteen-year-old girl meeting Maile Flanagan at an anime convention for the first time. This man was too perfect. Jaskier was going to die. Yen raised an eyebrow to see how things were going. He didn’t want to give too much away, so Jaskier shrugged noncommittally and went back to typing.
Jaskier: We’re playing a 5e homebrew rn. Level 7.
Geralt: I can do that. Here’s my number so you can send me more info…
After which he’d sent his number and a peace-sign hand emoji.
Jaskier: Cool, thanks. See you in class.
Geralt: Yeah, see you.
Jaskier was practically hyperventilating by the time he set the phone back down.
“Well? What did he say?” Yennefer prompted from across the couch. She poked her black-painted toe into the side of his ass to emphasize her question.
“Pass the pipe first, bitch. I need a fat rip after doing that.”
“Alright,” she rolled her eyes, passing him their small glass pipe and their favorite rainbow lighter. “You big baby.”
Jaskier plugged the pipe’s shotgun hole with his thumb and tipped the opposite lip into the flame, igniting the little green flakes of ground weed. He inhaled slowly, held it for a few beats, and released a swirling blue-grey cloud back into the room. “He’s going to try and dig up one of his old characters to play with us...and he may have given me his number.”
“Jas! That’s awesome! You’ll have to tell Triss as soon as she gets home.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he sighed. “It’s Dungeons and Dragons, not Date Night and Dragons. His reason for joining might not have anything to do with me; maybe he thinks Ciri is cute.”
“Ciri is twenty-one and a first-semester student in the program, there’s no way he’d go for her. He’s gotta be what, twenty-nine or thirty?”
“You’re probably right. But it’s definitely not a romantic thing, right? There has to be a fatal flaw somewhere. He cannot be this perfect; I’m pretty sure it would be illegal.”
“Shut up and pass the pipe, bitch. I wanna watch Gilmore Girls.”
Geralt hadn’t been involved in a solid campaign for at least five years, which was tragic. He’d been into D&D as both a player and a Dungeon Master since high school, but after he’d graduated with his Bachelor’s degree there hadn’t been much time to pick up his favorite hobby again. There were conference papers and dissertations to edit and fellowships to apply for. Now this adorable little fuck from Linguistics, who always had a ridiculous amount of bubblegum Lipsmackers smeared across his stupid pink kissable mouth, was inviting him to join a homebrewed campaign? And they were already level seven? It certainly wasn’t coincidence, in Geralt’s experience.
He pulled up the folder on his laptop containing his many character sheets from over the years, scrolling through them until he could find one that would fit Jaskier’s requirements. Too violent, too boring, too prudish, too stupid… he didn’t want to play any of his joke characters; that would be disrespectful to Triss, whose DMing he’d heard wonderful things about from his seat in the back corner. He couldn’t play a more personal character because it would reveal too much too quickly and he knew they’d be paying attention (again, the timing of his invitation to join was not a coincidence).
Finally his eyes settled on the one that would be just right.
His Eldritch Knight, Geralt of Rivia.
The second character he’d ever played and certainly one of the least talkative.
Jaskier would love the voice but hate the silence; perfect.
When Geralt approached the front door of a warm-looking townhouse the following Friday evening he could hear music playing from inside. Loud music.
He knocked on the door and seconds later the slim blonde girl answered, beckoning him in with a finger over her lips to signal silence. She shut the door quietly behind him and whispered close to his ear, “I’m Ciri, nice to meet you. Don’t say anything, just follow me upstairs. Trust me, it’ll be hilarious if we catch them in the act.”
Geralt nodded his understanding and followed her up the short flight of stairs as quietly as possible. Ciri grinned widely when she set eyes on Yennefer, Triss, and Jaskier and elbowed her guest to make sure he also saw. He nudged back in affirmation. Geralt's three hosts were dancing in the kitchen to a loud EDM song in Spanish, shot glasses held firmly in their hands. “It’s a tradition,” Ciri explained softly.
“Shots and dancing?”
“Yeah. They’re getting hyped up to play. Jaskier is getting into character.”
“Bards.”
Ciri agreed with a quiet nod.
I'm definitely going to get along with this one, he decided. Like the little sister I never had already.
Geralt leaned against the banister and crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Jaskier threw his slender hips around with the ease of a seasoned belly-dancer. His unusually bright blue eyes were clamped shut as he mouthed along to the lyrics:
“Qué calor, qué ca'
En la discoteca.
Qué calor, yesca
Para las muñeca'
Por favor, qué ca'
En la discoteca.
Qué calor, yesca
Para las muñeca', por favor.”
“I love Major Lazer,” Geralt spoke up eventually, “'Bubble Butt' is a classic.”
“Holy fuck!” Triss shouted, tossing her shot glass at Geralt’s head on instinct. He caught it easily and offered it back with a dramatic bow.
“My apologies, DM, I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”
Ciri crossed the room and turned their speaker down. “My bad, guys. I thought it would be funny if Geralt saw you all in your natural habitat.”
“You’re a douche,” Yen chuckled. “But at least he stuck around.”
“Actually...” Geralt teased, backing towards the stairs. Jaskier hid a crestfallen look very poorly and the Anthropology student suddenly lost his will to joke around. He took a step forward again. “Actually, you guys seem great. I’m very honored that you invited me to play.”
“Just this once,” Yennefer insisted. Jaskier and Triss rolled their eyes at the exact same moment and Geralt had to stifle a grin.
“As you command,” he agreed.
“Alright, into the dungeon,” Triss ordered, setting her glass on the counter. Yennefer and Jaskier followed suit. Ciri grabbed a can of beer from the fridge and offered one to Geralt.
“I don’t do hard liquor,” she said, “But you’re welcome to have a shot if you don’t want one of these.”
“I’m good on the drinking,” he shook his head. “But thanks for the offer. I have to drive home after this and motorcycles are already a bit of a risk in the dark.”
“Smart,” Yen spoke up. “I like that.”
“Why not just ride the horse?” Jaskier asked, fishing a set of sparkly, baby-blue dice out of his hoodie pocket. Of fucking course, Geralt hid another grin. What other set could he possibly own?
“Roach is for dressage events only.”
“ Dressage? You mean like competitive horseback riding?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit. That's...that's really...”
“Breathe, Jask.”
“Okay, so, we should all introduce ourselves,” Triss interrupted, setting up her laptop and unfolding her hand-drawn (and hand laminated) map onto the coffee table. Jaskier shot her a grateful look that she ignored. The DM produced three small figurines and set them down in the middle of a valley. “I’m Triss. I’m an English graduate student specializing in both anti and regular transcendentalism. I’m twenty-four and I’m also the DM.”
“I’m Yennefer. I’m twenty-four and I’m a Linguistics graduate student currently focusing my studies on teaching Common as a second language. I hope to study abroad someday, maybe in Aedirn. I’m playing Jenny, the Horsewoman of War. I’m a level 7 quarter-elf sorceress and I am here to kick ass and win treasure.”
“Ciri next!” the blonde piped up from her place next to Yennefer. She turned to beam at Geralt, “I’m Ciri. I’m twenty-one and I just started my Master’s in English. I’m playing Fionna, a human rogue. I’m debating multi-classing into sorcery next level, but we’ll see.”
“You guys have this down to a science,” Geralt said. “I’m a little intimidated.”
“Don’t be. We’re all nerds,” Jaskier shrugged. “You know me. I’m Jaskier. I play Dandelion, the half-elf bard. I chose the College of Lore, no surprise there, and I love to break out my lute at the worst of times.”
“He really does,” Yen sighed.
“Remember that time with the merchant?” Ciri asked, already stifling a giggle.
“Penis candle for your troubles?” Triss replied, deepening her voice to mimic an NPC.
“I have a lot of catching up to do,” Geralt smirked. “And I’m only here for this week.”
"So, introduce yourself and your character," Ciri urged.
"I'm Geralt Gwynbleidd. I'm twenty-nine and I'm just about to finish up my Master's in Anthropology. I have a focus on ancient animal husbandry in nomadic societies. I'm playing Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf. He's an eldritch knight with a deep love for animals."
"I like him already," Ciri decided.
“We’ll see,” Triss shrugged. “If everyone gets along, we may invite you back. If you’d like.”
“Well we can’t figure out if we like each other if we’re all just sitting here with our thumbs up our asses,” Jaskier stated, rattling the dice in his palm. “Let’s roll, shall we?”
“He’s right. Let’s begin. When last we saw our adventurers,” Triss began, a storyteller’s lilt already in her voice, “They were deep underground, exploring the Skeleton King’s abandoned armory. Now, as they pass through one of the familiar cursed hallways once again, they see a strange statue that wasn’t there before. It’s the statue of a tall man, with broad shoulders and long hair. He has two swords crossed over his back and he’s crouched into a fighting position.”
“I investigate the statue for traps or magic!” Ciri called.
“Roll investigation.”
Ciri closed her eyes and rolled her expensive metal D20. “Yes! It's a natural eighteen!”
“I don’t even need your modifier for that. Just as you suspected, Fionna, this is not a normal statue. You sense faint magic coming from the medallion around the stone man’s neck.”
“I use Mage Hand to touch the medallion,” Jaskier decides.
“As soon as your magic touches the medallion, it starts to shake.”
“Oh, nifty!”
“I cast Dispel Magic at level three,” Yennefer adds. She rolls her dice and shrugs. “Passable, I suppose. It’s a seventeen with modifiers.”
“That barely makes it,” Triss sighs dramatically, “But it works. As Jenny’s spell settles over the statue the man begins to change from stone to flesh before you. His eyes open, and the irises are yellow and cat-like. His hair is white and his neck has a long scar on it, probably from a sword.”
“Speaking of,” Yennefer interrupts, shooting Geralt a curious look. “Is it natural? The hair?”
“Yeah,” Geralt nods. “I have a genetic thing. My Dad’s went white in his late teens. Mine went white in middle school. It wasn’t super great for my self confidence but now that it’s in fashion I can’t complain.”
“Damn,” Jaskier murmured. He was practically salivating, now. “That’s amazing.”
“Alright, well,” Triss got them back on track. “Geralt is now a person and no longer a statue.”
“Who are you?” Dandelion asks. Geralt notices the slight affectation in Jaskier’s character voice and smiles internally. There was no doubt this twink was flirting with him.
He lowered his voice half an octave and deepened the gravelliness to nearly a rumble as he spoke for Geralt of Rivia, “The better question is where am I?”
From the look on Jaskier's face, Geralt of Rivia's character voice was doing horrible things to the brunette's imagination (and probably his dick); Geralt was somewhat proud of himself for that. Yennefer took mercy and brought her sorceress in on the action, “Don’t play games with us, stranger. Jenny readies Hold Person at level two, just in case. Who are you, and why were you turned to stone?”
“I am the White Wolf of Rivia,” he said. “And I’ve merely come to seek Renfri’s Amulet.”
“That’s one of the sacred items!” Ciri hissed through her teeth, shooting Triss a glare. “You totally planned on Geralt sticking around.”
Triss shrugged. “Roll and find out if he’s lying or not, then we’ll see what happens.”
The game went on for a long time, until nearly one-thirty in the morning, and nobody noticed until Geralt said he had to get some sleep before work in a few hours.
“Oh yeah,” Triss smiled as she snuggled up to Yennefer in their shared bed a little later. “He’ll definitely be joining us again next week.”