#dark jaskier

[z0mbie2b0y]

I'm back on geraskefer bullshit- but mostly Jaskier centric-

Creature Jaskier but add horror. I've always imagined that if I ever made a fic were Jaskier was a creature I would like it to be one of the creatures I've made. Of course, I'll only ramble a bit so let me know if you would like to see little one-shots or like how I'm planning a little journal-type setting.

I can imagine Jaskier being a part of my little fake species of winged fae called Constellations, as you can probably guess they are based on the stars I can imagine Jaskier being noble or even royal when it comes to the court of Constellations!! But that's for another rant-

So let's say that the Constellations have soulmates. So let's say one of the ways they can find out who their soulmates are is when they play a melody only their soulmates can hear. Of course, ones who aren't their soulmates are near/ are intruding they will use their body parts for their instrument. (bone for flutes and guts used as strings for lutes-) So imagine Jaskier shock when both Geralt and Yennefer can hear his haunting melody!!

[geraltgwynbleidd]

Nothing unusual. Just Dandelion being Dandelion and Geralt being Lambert!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 70

Jaskier is the worst roommate Geralt could ever ask for. He comes home at odd hours of the night, constantly makes noise and chatter, and he brings home random strangers almost every damn night. It'll be three in the morning when Jaskier stumbles in, drunk off his ass, heeled shoes loudly clicking against their floor as he meanders about, squinting and knocking things over. At least he has the decency to mumble "Sorry" every time he breaks something, but is he apologizing to Geralt, or apologizing to the damn mop? He talks to himself, he sings to himself, he sings as a hobby, he sings as a job, he plays his lute/guitar loudly all throughout the day and night, he even talks in his damn sleep. Constant humming, singing, talking, muttering, whispering. Hookups and flings and fuckbuddies galore, both women and men. Not that Geralt cares, it was just something he observed. They'd steal his food, or use up the shower when Geralt was meant to be getting ready for work, or they'd leave and keep the door unlocked. The worst was when Jaskier's bachelor of the night mistook Geralt's bedroom for Jaskier's bedroom and very happily cozied up and went to sleep in Geralt's bed. Naked. Geralt didn't even care if he was high, drunk, or just dumb, he threw him out all the same. When Geralt's girlfriend, Yennefer, breaks up with him, he is comforted by Jaskier of all people. Coming home tipsy and without a shirt, and yet still sitting down next to Geralt and giving him a thoughtful, long, deep pep-talk. Maybe he isn't all bad, after all. Geralt is the worst roommate Jaskier could ever ask for. Don't get Jaskier wrong, Geralt is unbelievably easy on the eyes, but that's pretty much all he has. Geralt always looms silently in the dark, offers brutal remarks at best and grunts at worst, and for some reason always has a little blood on him. It'll be three in the morning when Jaskier stumbles in, drunk off his ass, and Geralt will just walk out of the shadows with an insanely deep "Did you remember to lock the door?", scaring the bleeding daylights out of him! He walks quieter than a damn cat! He should wear a bell like one! Fuck's sakes! Geralt's ~lovely~ comments are always harsh but sadly never truly unprompted. Jaskier will get stuck on a line and ask aloud for help, momentarily forgetting his only recent company has been Geralt, and Geralt will sometimes oblige him with an answer, such as "Can you shut up for five minutes?" "It's too late for this shit." "I hate it." So on and so forth. Jaskier learns to stop asking... Mostly. Jaskier went to shave one time, and found blood in the sink. He looked over at Geralt and asked him if he had cut himself shaving. Geralt said no. Jaskier REASONABLY asked why there had been blood in the sink, and got the answer "Work." WORK?????? "And your job is what?! BLEEDING INTO SINKS!?" and yet Geralt was already walking out the door. But then one night he comes home, to find Geralt waiting for him - Silently, alone in the dark, just sat there. Like always. Weirdo. - demanding his half of the rent. Fuck. Fuck, Jaskier completely forgot- Jaskier starts panicking. He explains how he doesn't have the money, that some of his latest gigs have backed out on him or refused him pay for bullshit reasons and he didn't earn as much as he expected to, and begs to not be kicked out. He's surprised when Geralt calms him down from his spiral, and tells him to take a deep breath and wash away his tears - Shit, when did he start crying? - He comes back and Geralt sits him down and explains he'll cover the entire rent this month, his work had gone extra well recently. He knows what it's like for people to pull out pay or suddenly ignore your deal, and won't hold it against Jaskier, but expects him to be able to pay next time. Jaskier is so overjoyed he hugs Geralt. And Geralt lets him. Maybe he isn't all bad, after all.

[mountainsinaboat]

Jaskier, what are you doin' here?

Joey Batey - In The Dark (BBC, 2017)

[fandomlake]

[thedemonofcat]

In the final trial to become a witcher, their dæmons are severed from them. Geralt recalls his dæmon, Dandelion, looking at him and promising to return one day. Elsewhere in Lettenhove, a baby named Julian was born.

Julian Pankratz, better known as Jaskier, had always been different. He was born without a dæmon, a rarity that marked him as unique. Perhaps this peculiarity drew him to Geralt, the witcher who found the bard's lack of a dæmon intriguing.

Unknown to either of them, Jaskier is actually Dandelion, keeping his promise.

[relar-fela]

I consider gazing into the abyss utter foolishness. There are many things in the world much more worth gazing into.

- Dandelion, Half a century of poetry

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

“What do you want, warrior?”

The man soaked in blood grinned. His eyes were black, his skin was snowy, and the veins in his face and exposed hands pulsed with dark power; but he was no witcher. He couldn’t be. His grip on the silver-bladed sword was awkward, unused to the weight. He did not have the build of a monster-killer. If not for the magic, and the blood, he would look weak.

“I want my witcher, of course,” he rasped.

The lord scoffed and sipped his wine. “You cannot have him, and you will die if you continue this foolish quest,” he said flatly. “You may have cut your way through my men to reach here, but you are human. Humans cannot contain witcher magic. Do you want to die?”

The man laughed. It was a hideous sound, loud and rough and mad. The lord frowned, and squinted, looking closer. It was hard to tell, when the man was so far away, but…

The cup slipped from his suddenly cold hand.

“Yes,” the man soaked in blood said, his grin that of a madman who died a long, long time ago. “But it will be by his hand, and no one else’s. No one said I was human.”

“Jules,” the lord gasped.

“No. My name is Jaskier. Now give me my witcher, Father.”

~

Geralt pressed his fingers to his eyes again, gritting his teeth. He still wasn’t used to the hazy shadows where his vision used to be. Luckily the torturer was inexperienced; Geralt wasn’t fully blind. Yet.

His fingertips brushed gingerly against the raw, puffy scar at the corner of his right eye. He knew it was only a matter of time before they gouged the organs out of his head. He would fight, of course. He would kill. But his eyes were less important than--

The stench of blood. Metal and sweat. Rage. Witcher potions.

Linseed oil. Buttercups.

The sea.

Geralt attempted to stand, but his feet were still healing. His heart was beating too fast. He turned his head, towards the dim square of light that was the window of his cell. Surely not…

“Jaskier?” he whispered.

The lock clicked. The door opened. Geralt took a deep breath, and tasted the flat, salty-sweet tang of blood and offal. Under it was Jaskier, though—unmistakably his bard.

“Jask,” he repeated, and lurched to his feet. The form in the light gasped, then rushed forward to embrace him. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him too tightly, trembling with relief. Alive. Safe. Maybe the gods existed. Maybe Destiny had taken pity on him.

But… why did Jaskier smell like witcher?

Pulling away, Jaskier pressed a vial and a sword hilt into Geralt’s hands. Geralt sniffed the bottle as his fingers curled into the familiar indentations of the leather grip. Swallow. Potent. Too potent. It would make him sick to drink it.

“I need you to kill a monster,” Jaskier said.

Geralt felt a feral grin spread across his face. “Give me a scent,” he replied, “And their head will be yours.”

Jaskier held a piece of fabric up to his face. Geralt breathed in deeply, and growled in hate and anticipation. He knew that scent. It was carved into his memory as deeply as the voices of his brothers.

“He’s wounded,” Jaskier told him. “Not enough to slow him down, but enough to cause upset. Can you smell him, Wolf?”

“I smell him,” Geralt hissed, popping the cork from the bottle of Swallow.

“He’s all yours, my dear. I’ll clean up the trash behind you.”

Geralt growled again, drank the potion, and darted around Jaskier. A monster to slay, for his bard. There was no task better suited to him.

~~\0/~~

Ten Years Previously

It was a fine thing, to be free and untethered. Truly he was meant to exist this way.

But Jaskier had tasted the stability of love, and now he could not be satisfied with the adrenaline of lust. So he waited at the inn for Geralt to finish his latest contract, instead of leaving for the nearest court or brothel—one and the same, truly. Full of rich men paying for the use of others’ bodies. And Jaskier was tired of it all.

Nilfgaard had fallen. Cintra had been restored. That didn’t mean there weren’t still monsters to clean up—both beast and man. Whilst Geralt specialized in the former, Jaskier concentrated on the latter. Like now, as he wrote a letter to a contact in Redania containing coded and magicked information. The old men who called this backwater village home were good at hiding, but their soldiers were not. Jaskier had seen them, and their weapons, and their fine steeds. And their sorceress.

She was good, but Yennefer was better. And with the entire force of her Lodge behind her, she could easily sway the woman to give up her lord and his sons. Jaskier allowed himself a small smile as he signed the letter with a tiny bird. Yennefer still wasn’t his favorite person, but only because she wasn’t Geralt. Other than that small detail, there was no one he trusted more.

With the three of them on the trail, Ciri wouldn’t have an enemy on the entire continent within a decade.

Not that she knew the extent of her parents’ goals. The last time Jaskier had seen Ciri, she had laughed that they were all too protective of her. She was a woman grown, with a wife and a place as a weapons-teacher. It didn’t matter how grown she was, though. Not to them.

Jaskier frowned. It was wrong of him to be so protective of her, when he wasn’t even her father. But he would still burn the world to the ground in her name. Was this how her grandmother had maintained her station? This blind loyalty that ensnared the hearts of the powerful until they couldn’t imagine a world without her?

Did it matter? They would root out every speck of conspiracy, to keep her safe. They would kill everyone they had to.

Jaskier pushed himself to his feet abruptly and paced the room. These thoughts, though frequent, and often quite logical, frightened him. He had asked Yennefer to poke about in his head to find any seed of madness in him, but she had said there was nothing other than what all men had. Jaskier had not been violent when he was younger.

When he was ignorant.

He sighed, and sat again. Nothing for it. He’d have to hope Geralt came back without wounds, so they could spar, or fuck, or both.

“I do so wish I understood what’s happened to me,” he murmured, leaning his chin in his hand. “There’s so much beauty and delight in this world, and yet the one thing that doesn’t move me is death. Hmm.”

“Is that so, little one?”

Jaskier shot to his feet and whipped around, his hand going to his dagger. In the corner was a shadow, undulating, covered in eyes of green fire. The lights of the candles and setting sun seemed to leech away into the inky dark of the shadow. The scent of ancient blood on cold stone filled the room.

Jaskier scowled and took his hand from the dagger’s hilt. “Mother,” he said dryly, and bowed. “Stop sneaking around like that.”

A wet chuckle, like a drowned person choking, and the shadow resolved into a tall, broad woman clothed in rags. She smiled, baring her fangs endlessly stained in blood. “But it is so fun, my dear boy,” she cooed, cupping Jaskier’s face in her sea-cold hands. “You are just as easy to frighten as your father. What funny creatures, men.”

“What do you need, Mother?” Jaskier asked. “We’re quite a ways away from the sea. A goddess of sirens should be with her people, in the waters.”

Her smile grew soft, her enormous wings mantling around them both as she pulled Jaskier into a gentle embrace. He hugged her back immediately, breathing her salty scent deeply. He’d missed her. Only a year, and he’d missed his mother, the daughter of Storms and Death.

“I need you to promise not to hate me,” she murmured.

“I could never hate you, Mother,” Jaskier replied.

“Not even if I granted your wish to know?”

“No. Your blood is in my veins. You know I want more than is good for me, always.”

She laughed again. “The sea takes, and takes, and takes, and gives but rarely. It is time I tell you.” She pulled back enough to tilt his face up to look into her eyes of storm-fire. Her expression and voice were gentle as she said, “My blood is in your veins. It is awakening. I am fading, and soon you will take my place, the lord of death at sea.”

Jaskier went cold. “Mother…”

“Hush. I am losing power. It is a cycle, like the tides. I Saw your coming fifty years ago, and that is why I seduced your father, married him in the way of humans, and bore you. Now you are coming into your own. You will take my place and feast on those who trespass in our beloved ocean. Do not be sad, my pearl. I am not dying. I will simply go where the ones before me went.”

“Mother.” Jaskier licked his lips, gathering his courage. “Mother, I can’t leave Geralt.”

His mother smiled indulgently. “You needn’t leave him. You can keep him in the depths, like my father kept my mother. You can even let your little sorceress friend visit once a moon. But you must come home when I fade. You must take up the chalice. There are too many humans who seek to tame the sea. They must remember why they worship us.”

“I’m not god material.”

“Neither was I. It comes to you. Don’t you feel it, my pearl? That jealous love. That lust for the blood of those who hurt those closest to you. That is the sea within you. Answer the call of the sea.”

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: When Geralt finally learns Jaskier’s secret, nothing changes, except everything does. Worst of all, they need to learn to communicate.

Author: poselikeateam

Note from submitter: HigherVampire!Jaskier :D

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

thought for a minute about how ridiculous the drama about kallmekris judging/tearing apart Dark Romance Booktok was and then I was like. wait a minute I like whump they'd drag me through the dirt too

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Chapter 2: The (not so) calm before the storm

Summary: Jaskier settles into his new life as things get progressively worse.

The first few months at the Redanian court weren’t too bad all things considered, (especially in comparison to what was to come, the bard thought wryly). One of the first things Jaskier had to do when he arrived at the palace was surrender his travel-worn clothes, together with his beloved leather jacket, and shave his patchy beard. The clothes were replaced by silk garments in various colors, made to fit Jaskier’s exact taste and measurements. He was also given a haircut, his hair now longer than when he first met Geralt but still relatively short. Apparently Radovid wasn’t a fan of his most recent hairdo. (Truthfully, neither was Jaskier, but he refused to voice that opinion.)

Radovid kept Jaskier on a tight leash, never letting him stray too far during their time together, but he was allowed to perform at banquets and the like. Those were his favorite moments while in Radovid’s presence. He could almost pretend he was a normal court bard when he was prancing around, dancing on tables and entertaining an audience. He had done this plenty of times in the past, but he always found courts stuffy, no matter how much he enjoyed the lavish balls, and usually tried to limit his stays to a season or two. It was the main reason he’d abandoned his noble birthright and became a traveling troubadour that ended up broke more often than not. Courts were only tolerable in small doses.

That’s also what the nobles knew him as. Radovid’s court bard. There were rumors going around, gossip being one of nobles’ favorite pastimes, and many suspected the true nature of his relationship with the king, but none of them knew the specifics. It’s not like they could just up and ask about it without evoking the king’s wrath.

Radovid’s physical changes were nothing in comparison to those in his personality or the way he appeared before others. The façade of the irresponsible naïve prince that only cared about the pleasures of life and knew nothing about politics was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a ruthless and commanding leader that ruled his people with an iron fist. ‘Radovid the Stern’ they called him.

Apparently, in the time between his enthronement and the present, Radovid had engaged in a long and intricate power battle with the spymaster Dijkstra and the court mage Philippa and had come out on top. Now both of them had been demoted to mere advisors, without any real say in the inner workings of the kingdom and forced to comply and assist the king with all his whims.

There was also another reason Jaskier cherished the time he spent performing, something that had nothing to do with the love for his profession. Being at the center of attention, unnerving as it could become occasionally, even for a seasoned bard like Jaskier, also doubled as a shield of protection. When everyone’s eyes were on him, Radovid kept his distance.

Many would argue that there was no better way of cementing a monarch’s reign than the birth of an heir, and since Radovid had yet to take in a queen, him having a male lover wouldn’t exactly be met with applause. Moreover, the king didn’t want any of his remaining family members to get any ideas in response to his sexual preferences. He had bigger problems to deal with petty attempts to usurp the throne by his ambitious relatives.

When he was left alone with the bard it was a different story. Jaskier didn’t have his own quarters in the palace, he was obligated to spend every night in the king’s company. No one could protect him in these moments. Radovid may not have been ready to announce their relationship to the world but that didn’t stop him from leaving a myriad of marks on Jaskier’s pale skin. It was the bard’s responsibility to cover them up as best he could, regardless of their placement. He didn’t know which he hated more, the knowing smirks or the pitying looks he was met with by the servants that helped him wash up and dress each morning.

Radovid didn’t always touch him. Sometimes he just wanted to engage in conversation and bask in the bard’s company. These instances were almost harder than the alternative because Jaskier was forced to pretend to be his usual charming and witty self, when all he wanted to do was scream at the other man to let him go.

Most of the time he was also under the supervision of the not-so-kind fellow that brought the bard to Radovid in the first place, whose name he later found out was Blade. (a bit on the nose if you asked Jaskier, but he named himself after a flower so who was he to judge?).

They had short auburn hair, hazel eyes and a lean physique that allowed them to move nimbly and blend in with their surroundings. It was a true feat because they usually kept their signature hood on, yet somehow their presence was hardly ever noticed.

Blade wasn’t always visible to the bard, preferring to stay in the shadows, but Jaskier knew he was constantly being watched by the ever-present tingling sensation at the back of his neck. And also because all his attempts to escape were immediately squashed.

The first time he tried was about a month in. He had played nice with Radovid in order to lower the king’s guard, while secretly mapping the castle’s interior in his mind. When he deemed his efforts sufficient, he made a run for it during a set break at a banquet. He managed to bypass a handful of knights and almost make it outside when Blade suddenly appeared, blocking his path. They rolled their eyes in disapproval and pulled out a knife, which they pointed at Jaskier and nodded for him to walk back towards the banquet hall.

Despite Jaskier’s fears, the king didn’t mention his little blunder that night. He acted completely normal, being sweet with the bard and talking about his day, to the point where Jaskier assumed Blade hadn’t mentioned it to him yet. But when he was pulled to the bed, it was with far less gentleness than usual. The king had placed him on his hands and knees, whereas he usually preferred positions that allowed them to make eye contact, and entered him after little preparation. He set a punishing pace, his hands leaving dark bruises on Jaskier’s hips, and completely ignored the bard’s pleasure. After he finished, he went to wash up, leaving the bard unfulfilled and dripping with Radovid’s seed on the mattress. They didn’t exchange any more words until the next day.

Some of his other notable efforts to break free included when he tried to sneak in a noble’s carriage unnoticed (it was stopped and searched at the gates), or when he pleaded with an old classmate from Oxenfurt, that had recently inherited his father’s title and had traveled to Tretogor with the intention of pledging allegiance to the crown, to deliver a message to Geralt. (Blade had interrupted them mid-conversation and told the noble that the king wanted to have a word. Jaskier never heard from him again.)

It was failure after failure, so Jaskier’s disheartened attempts became few and far in between. A part of him had even started to feel guilty for wasting Blade’s time. Following the bard around all day was probably tedious enough on its own. Privacy was a concept long forgotten but there was something almost comforting in the knowledge that Blade was never far behind, even if the bard couldn’t see them. Jaskier was so starved for genuine human connection that he was starting to become fond of his captor.

During daytime, while Radovid was busy dealing with his kingly affairs, Jaskier was left to wander around with no real purpose.

The library was, predictably, one of his favorite spots. It contained a vast variety of books that mostly focused on the politics of aristocracy and such topics, in contrast to those at the Oxenfurt Academy or the library in Kaer Morhen whose main subjects were poetry/sciences and encyclopedic knowledge on monsters respectively. Jaskier much preferred the latter two, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The kitchens were a precious place for the bard as well. The servants he usually encountered had at least some sort of idea of his importance to their king, while also being aware of Jaskier’s noble status, so their behavior towards him was strictly polite, maintaining a distance that none of Jaskier’s quips and jokes could manage to bridge.

The cooks and their helpers on the other hand, who were always steadfastly cooped up in their workspace, having no reason to venture outside of it as that’s where their responsibilities lied, knew nothing of Jaskier’s identity other than ‘renowned bard’. They had no clue what was happening outside their little bubble, and for that ignorance Jaskier was grateful.

The head chef, a kind older woman named Burneta, with distinct laugh lines visible around her eyes and messy braids wrapped in a bun, always welcomed him with excitement and treated him to bits and pieces of whatever she’d made that day, in return for a small exclusive performance that Jaskier gave with pleasure.

Her husband, Chleb, was more of the taciturn type, whose job was to help around with tasks that needed physical strength, like butchering entire cows and carrying in ingredients in bulk. He always glared at Jaskier and swiped at him with a towel when the bard made feign advances on his wife but the small grin as he did it gave his mirth away.

Sometimes Jaskier liked to take walks in the gardens. They were beautiful and well-groomed, containing hundreds of flower variations and a few rare species of birds that resided there. The sound of their chirping, the sun against his face and the light breeze that gently ruffled his hair made Jaskier feel alive.

Being outside gave him a sense of freedom, that though false, did wonders for his ever-declining mental health. Sadly, his access to the gardens had been recently restricted after yet another escape attempt. (He tried to jump over a fence only to find another, smaller garden on the other side. Blade was already there waiting for him unimpressed).

Nature had always been of big importance to Jaskier and being away from it made the fact that he was a prisoner all the more real. He couldn’t even look outside since most of the castle windows were decorated with stained glass illustrating Redania’s coat of arms, a crowned silver eagle on a red field, and other such designs.

Whoever created them was clearly skilled, every detail having been made with meticulousness. The colors were vibrant and yet the light that passed through them gave off an elegant glow without being blinding. Aside from their beauty they also served to inspire a sense of patriotism to the masses, while also showcasing the crown’s power and keeping the nobles in check.

When Jaskier was once dragged here by his father for official business as a child as the heir to the Lettenhove estate, he spent hours staring at them. It was the first time he was experiencing such awe. It inspired such powerful feelings to the young boy, the need to somehow captured them pushing him towards his first awkward attempts at poetry.

“I saw you back then.”

Radovid told him as they were lying in bed after a passion filled night. Jaskier had mentioned his long-time interest with the palace windows as a form of small talk, and he was surprised by the excited response he got. It almost felt like the king had been waiting for him to bring it up.

“I used to be a sickly child, and my brother was the heir, so I wasn’t allowed to venture outside my rooms much. My existence as a spare was rendered useless due to my poor health, with most considering the possibility of my survival to adulthood unlikely.” He twisted to his side in order to gather Jaskier in his arms. “Vizimir was nice to me though. He always made time in his busy schedule to come visit, even skipping his lessons on occasion.” He let out a wet laugh. “Though I suspect he was just using me as an excuse to avoid them.”

The king’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, his lips trembling. Vizimir’s death was obviously a raw subject still. This was one of Radovid’s rare shows of vulnerability that he only ever allowed in Jaskier’s presence. Those glimpses of his past self, the one the bard once fell in love with, made Jaskier’s heart swell despite everything.

Radovid shook his head to clear away the memories. “There was a council meeting that day and most of the servants were busy. Due to some sort of miscommunication, I was left unattended. When the hunger got too much, I stepped out by myself for the first time in search of food. The overall anxiety and the fear of being caught almost made me turn back on my heels.

But then, I saw a boy standing in the hallway. He had beautiful brown hair and the most stunning blue eyes. He didn’t notice me in his trance, seeming fascinated by the window décor. I had never met anyone my age and I didn’t know how to approach him, so I settled to just watching him. I think I was as fascinated by him as he was by the stained glass. He made me see it a new light. For me it was just part of the background, something I never thought to pay close attention to, but I wanted to understand the boy, see the world through his eyes. And so I looked again with this new perspective as if it was the first time. The beauty I’d overlooked for so long almost made me tear up.”

Radovid looked softly down at the bard and caressed his cheekbones with his knuckles. Jaskier’s mind was reeling from this revelation, not expecting it in the slightest.

“I later found out, after some pestering, that his name was Julian and that it was unlikely I’d ever see him again. That didn’t stop me from thinking about him though. When I heard the phrase ‘love at first sight’ a few years later, I knew exactly what it meant.”

The king chuckled and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “I had never asked for much until that point but this wasn’t something I could stay quiet about. Vizimir promised me he’d keep an eye out for news about him and soon after I was informed that Julian had enrolled in Oxenfurt Academy. I begged and begged but my father wouldn’t allow me to attend. When I turned 18 I made up some excuse to visit the Lettenhove viscounty, but when I got there I was greeted by your cousin Ferrant. He told me you had relinquished your title to him and left, managing to slip right through my fingers…

After that instance I stayed out of trouble until my brother could safely ascend the throne, and then I started drinking, partying and the like. I developed an interest in music and poetry and frequently invited bards to perform for me and my circle. My favorite pieces were created by someone called ‘Jaskier’, but I never managed to contact him. Nevertheless, I continued revisiting his work because for some reason it was the only thing that made me feel anymore.”

Radovid pushed a shaken Jaskier to his back with a glint in his eye and gave the bard a long, open-mouthed kiss. “Then a miracle happened. Dijkstra and Philippa wanted my help, the war having left them with few options. I was going to refuse before they mentioned your stage name. They wanted me to use my royal status to convince you to bring them Princess Cirilla, but I didn’t much care for that. I was just excited to meet the person I’d been a fan of for so long.

When I caught your lute and we made eye contact, I instantly recognized you as the boy from my past. Our kiss that night at the Thanned island was one of my happiest moments. But then I fucked up. I tried to take the princess and you started to resent me. When we met again the next day, despite all I did, you gave me hope, and I wanted nothing more than to earn your trust. I returned to Redania and told my brother that I had found someone I wanted to be with and asked for his blessing to go to them. Vizimir agreed but I regrettably never got to depart for reasons you already know...”

Jaskier stared at him in shock. Radovid was going to abandon everything for his sake? That couldn’t be true, could it? No one would go to such lengths for him. Destiny had created an intricate plan ready to play out and Jaskier was but a mere storyteller, fated to follow the main characters around and record their heroic tales. He could help lighten the mood when things got tough and offer what little assistance he could as a weak mortal, but that’s where his role ended. His importance was insignificant in the grant scheme of things and to the people around him.

And yet Radovid held a different opinion. To him, the king of a powerful nation, Jaskier’s sole existence was valuable. He had never felt so wanted in his entire life. He didn’t even think it was possible.

The emotions he felt overwhelmed him. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it was about to burst through his chest. Jaskier grabbed Radovid’s head and pulled his face down, crashing their lips together. It was the first kiss he had initiated since their reunion.

The kiss deepened and Radovid’s hands moved lower down the bard’s body, his thrill at Jaskier’s response apparent. Jaskier’s senses were completely occupied by the man on top of him, he couldn’t see, hear, feel, smell or taste anything other than the king. That changed as soon as Radovid paused the kiss to start mouthing at his neck. With his eyesight back, Jaskier’s awareness started slowly creeping in. What was he doing? Why was he allowing this to happen? ...Was there even any point left in resisting?

Letting himself go would certainly be easier. He couldn’t get out of this situation either way so maybe acceptance was the best way forward. He could just pretend he was there willingly and ignore everything else… Jaskier was about to close his eyes and leave any rationality behind when Geralt’s disappointed face flashed through his mind. What would the witcher think if he could see him right now? If he saw how weak Jaskier was, how quickly he gave in? Besides, the bard didn’t choose this life and that’s not something he could forget no matter how much he wanted tried.

The king’s story may have sounded romantic at first but his actions spoke of something different, something darker, and Jaskier couldn’t allow this false narrative to override the truth.

Having made up his mind, Jaskier pushed Radovid off with as much strength as he could muster. The king was caught off guard and he stumbled backwards until he fell off the bed. It would have been a funny sight if it weren’t for the way Radovid immediately stood up, eyes blazing, and grabbed Jaskier’s hair to drag him close.

“What the hell was that?” All the sweetness from mere seconds ago had vanished.

Jaskier looked at him defiantly. “Something I should have done long ago. What you felt for me both in the past and present isn’t love. It’s obsession. You used the idea of me to help you get through hard times, I get it, and your feelings may have been genuine once but I fear that time is long gone. If you cared about me even a little bit you wouldn’t have fucking kidnapped me! All you care about is yourself and I’m done keeping quiet just to appease you!” he yelled, releasing all his pent-up frustration and misery. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was making him light-headed combined with the overwhelming surge of gratification.

Radovid’s jaw clenched but his expression was eerily calm as he moved his hand from the bard’s hair to wrap around his neck. He slowly started squeezing.

“If that’s what you think then there’s nothing I can do. You’ve had months to come to terms with the situation, and I’ve gone above and beyond to make you comfortable. I’ve been so fucking patient and this is how you repay me?!” Radovid’s harsh voice gradually got louder as he spoke. “I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.”

In the blink of an eye, he had maneuvered Jaskier on his back against the bed, choking him still. The grip was tight enough that the bard’s airways were completely closed, and he was left desperately gasping for air. He tried to claw Radovid’s arm away, which didn’t budge an inch.

“But there’s something you’re forgetting darling. Remember what I said to you at our little reunion when you refused to join me?”

Jaskier’s vision was beginning to blacken, but even then, the memory flashed clearly through his mind. He let out what was meant to be a whimper but came out as a choking sound.

Radovid understood the recognition in the bard’s eyes and he smirked cruelly in response. His free hand came up to stroke Jaskier’s torso, running through his chest hair and pinching a nipple when it came into contact with it. He leaned close to give a teasing little bite to Jaskier’s lower lip before hissing in his ear:

“If you won’t come with me willingly, I’ll just have to take you by force.”

That was the last thing Jaskier heard before everything went dark.

[chixkencxrry]

some of y’all shit be reading like character ai…not suspicious at all…

[jurassic-cunt]

vespula smoking a pipe next to her pet parrot while jaskier chats about his crush in the bed? queen. in love with her

[pop-punk-jaskier]

As It Is // The Fire, The Dark

[showmethesneer]

🎃 Spooky Season 🎃 Halloween-themed fics

10 Things I Hate About You/The Dark Knight

For Kat - crossover Joker origin story

Gotham

Cupcakes - Butch/Tabitha/Oswald torture smut

Jagged Little Pill - Harvey Bullock/Edward Nygma smut

A One-Man Cult - Oswald/Jerome angst

The Haunting of Hill House

When The Party's Over - Hugh Crain/Olivia Crain/Poppy Hill fix-it fic

Helluva Boss

A Sensation - kinky Fizzarolli/Asmodeus smut

Once Upon a Time

A Different Cage For Every Beast - Belle/Ruby fluff

Heartless Animals - kinky Regina/Emma/Huntsman smut

Lycan Subscribe - Belle/Ruby fluff and smut

Pinned Down By The Dark - Ruby/Dr. Hopper smut

Swear Not By The Moon - Ruby/Dorothy/Mulan angst

Voice Of Reason - Belle/Ruby angst; Ruby/Dr. Hopper smut

Stranger Things

Master Of Finger Puppets - Steve/Eddie fluff

A Queer Reading - analysis of queer themes

True Blood

Blood and Rain - Jessica Hamby fix-it fic

The Witcher

The Garlic Bread Song - kinky Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer/Istredd fluff and angst and smut

[gimmygiamblanco]

Jaskier