#hurt-jaskier-dandelion

[eggcompany]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Omega Verse, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Stitches, Sick Character, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Anal Sex, Caretaking, Nurse Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sex Toys, Large Cock, Knotting, Knotting Dildos Summary:

Jaskier's always been a poorly omega, often need the Omegan Services to send someone out to help him. Geralt's known the omega for a bit, through Yennefer, but had been the only one to offer to work in the omega's neighborhood. He's gotten to know the omega much better since. However when he gets called out and Jaskier's and the younger man is sick? Well Geralt's always been a bit of a service alpha anyway. He'll chalk the way his heart flutters and his mind get all those good alphan hormones to that. But not for long.

(Tw stitches, medical, smut in the beginning)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 137

Jaskier and Geralt are imprisoned by some sort of foes of Geralt, Jaskier isn't sure. He and Geralt have been a bit rocky recently, to say the least. Jaskier is really only half-lucid. He's only just begun to hear and see, again. His head hurts quite a bit, and he's pretty sure his hands are chained, but he can't move his eyes down far enough to check. Geralt is chained like werewolves in storybooks, to the point Jaskier thinks it's a tad overkill. Geralt is sitting there, looking lovely as ever. His hair is falling into his face, poor darling.. Jaskier wishes he could tuck the strands behind Geralt's little pointy ears.. His eyes are extra reflective in their current dank housing. It's a wonder nobody kidnaps you to a lovely seaside manor. Jaskier would be much more interested in talking to someone in someplace nicer, perhaps with hor d'oeuvres and wine, but no. Instead he's slumped against stone, and the only lights are some torches and candles. There's a man in rather dull robes talking to Geralt. He's quite loud, Jaskier thinks, but he can't tell if it's his head or if the man really is of such volume. He can't quite make out the words, but he can tell they're beginning to make Geralt angry. He's doing that little 'I'm pissy' mouth quirk of his. Jaskier busies himself with dissociating, until the man talking to Geralt is suddenly the man yelling to Geralt. Very loud. Ouch. Jaskier tunes back into his surroundings, and funnily enough, he can begin to understand what they say now! Hooray! "If you won't speak when you're threatened, butcher, what if your greatest love was, instead?" Not hooray. The man dumps a bunch of colored glass onto the floor, making a horrible noise, but Jaskier can't even focus on why the man would be doing that, he's too busy thinking about the threat. Clearly Geralt's greatest love is... Regrettably, Yennefer. No matter how much Jaskier loves Geralt, he knows Yennefer is first in Geralt's book. Jaskier's thought long and hard about it before. He supposes it makes sense, they're both immortal, she's gorgeous, she's a woman, she's even snippy like Geralt. Sometimes he wonders if he was born a woman if Geralt would've fallen in love with him. Perhaps not. Perhaps he'd still be seen as his annoying little friend. Maybe if he was a meaner woman? Is the woman part the main issue? If he got bitchier would Geralt love him? Maybe he should try it one day. See if he can make Geralt love him. He'll never beat Yennefer, damned witch got a headstart, but he could at least be loved more, right? "Oh~" The man that speaks to Geralt suddenly coos, looking at the floor. And really, why must the man focus so much on Geralt? Jaskier knows he's the witcher, but he's a world famous bard! Why doesn't the man talk to him? He can't help but be a little jealous. Does the man not know who he is? Jaskier very well can't sing for the man, but he does think of doing so. Even for just a second. "What's this?" The man says with a cruel little chuckle, pointing to the ground, and Jaskier finally moves his head enough to see what they're looking at. The glass he threw earlier has magically rearranged itself to make a little portrait of.... Him. Jaskier. The man holds out some sort of amulet next, and if he wasn't gripping onto it, the amulet would've hit Jaskier in the face. Jaskier doesn't quite understand. These all seem like ways to track down Yennefer. He has an amulet that seeks her out, and the glass will provide him with an image of what she looks like. So why do both point to him? Geralt doesn't love him. Surely not as much as Yennefer. "Don't you dare hurt him." Geralt snarls, the first time he's spoken since Jaskier gained consciousness, he believes. Jaskier finds the protectiveness quite sweet. He'll be sure to thank Geralt for it later. It's nice to know that he's cared for. Apparently even loved! Could he truly be Geralt's one true love? His most beloved? His dearest one? He has so much to ask Geralt when he can make his mouth move!

The man begins stalking towards Jaskier and suddenly Jaskier regrets his earlier jealousy over the man not paying attention to him. The man is quite intimidating, and has a look of pure hate in his eyes.

"Will you speak up for me if I cut up your songbird, I wonder, butcher?"

The man whispers, as he looms over Jaskier. Jaskier tries his best to say 'I'm sure we can figure this out if we put all our heads together, no harming necessary' but all that comes out is a pained little groan. Great. Wonderful. Thanks, mouth. That was exactly what he wanted.

The man suddenly draws a sharp twisted blade, and holds it to Jaskier's neck. Jaskier can't see anything but the man's shoulder, but Jaskier can easily hear Geralt struggling in his restraints, growling. He liked when Geralt growled. It was either very cute or very hot, depending on the situation. Jaskier can't decide which one it is right now, however, as there was a knife to his neck.

The man withdraws the dagger from Jaskier's throat, and instead uses it to slice across his chest. Jaskier cries out in pain, and sounds rather pathetic. He'll be sure to write himself more stoic and… with-it when he writes about this experience later on.

There's a loud sound that hurts Jaskier's head, and suddenly the man with the knife is dead on the floor. Geralt stands above him, panting, covered in the man's blood. Gods, he was magnificent.

"H'llo d'r'ling, 'Love y'."

Jaskier manages to croak out, smiling at Geralt, even as his eyelids start to droop. Geralt stares at him for a moment, and that just makes Jaskier smile bigger. He likes seeing Geralt.

"Jaskier, you need to stay awake. Stay awake for me."

He snarls out, and Jaskier pouts a bit. He thinks not. He thinks it's a lovely time for a nap. Geralt will get them out. He's a hero.

[myrkky]

Don't worry, this is only moments before Geralt busts in to kick some ass! And then he nurses Jaskier back to health and everything is fine and nothing hurts 🥲

[jaskier-more-like-saskier]

The fandom is currently split into

1. Radskier stans who are so happy for Jaskier

2. Those who are fearing the worst and that its gonna crash and burn

[hannibard]

I'm just a tad obsessed

[oonoturna]

Art inspired by the wonderful fanfic Behind Blue Eyes. It's inspired by a scene from the fanfic. It's full of angst, intense feelings, hurt Jaskier... wonderful. I'm loving every word!

[annmarcus63]

Litte Julian was lost, utterly and irrevocably lost. He just wanted to look for flowers for his mom, lilies, lavender, daffodils and of course dandelions but he got lost somewhere along the narrow path. It's getting dark, he forgot his coat so he's cold and yeah a little bit scared. His parents say that there are drowners and big insects out here. That's the main reason why he can't wander far alone.

After a while, when it is already dark, he finds a tree with its roots raised to sit on. That's when the growls started. Little Julian walked very fast among the trees, trying with all his might not to cry, to be brave. Something lunged at him, on the ground, Julian spun around in a valiant effort to escape whatever was holding him. And then a blaze of fire lit up the space. The arachnas cried painfully, some died on the spot, others ran to the trees. Julian saw a big man in a black armor with his arm raised from where the fire was coming and a big scary sword on one hand.  

"You shouldn't be here," said the man with an odd voice. Just in that moment Julian saw the most fascinating thing in the whole world. 

The man had black eyes, deep black, like the night sky.  Julian jumped with his hand raised "My name's Julian, what's yours?"  the man laughed perplexed but oddly charmed. He walked past Julian and said "Come on, I'll take you back to your house."  On the way back, Julian tells him about mom and dad, and mom sickness and that the reason he got lost was because he wanted to pick her flowers. 

"My favorites are dandelions, yours?" The man doesn't reply but Julian doesn't mind. He concludes he likes the man with night sky eyes.  It didn't take long for his house to appear in the distance. "Is it here?" Asked the man, Jaskier smiled and nodded. 

"Come! I'll show you my room" exclaimed Julian grabbing the man's hand. 

"No." Julian stopped and turned to look at him. 

The man crouched down to his level, he had a soft smile on his face "I can't, I'm sorry" 

"Oh, ok" replied Julian, quite saddened.

"You're very brave back there. Here." The man took a handful of dandelions from somewhere on his back "For your mom."  

Julian smiled, took the flowers and threw himself to the man's neck in a quick and joyful hug. "Thank you, sir." 

The man laughed softly, "Go." Julian walked back to the path "Will I see you again, sir?" 

"No." replied the man sincerely. 

"Ow." he keep walking, until "But why?" 

"I travel a lot, I won't be here by tomorrow." 

"Then take me with you." 

"No." 

"Ow." Julian kept walking, until "But, why?" 

"Maybe when you're older" replied the man to reassure him.

In that instant little Julian swore to himself that he'll find this man, one day, he'll see those night sky eyes again.

[podcastenthusiast]

It's perfect, for a while.

They have a home at Corvo Bianco, far away from politics and ghosts. A garden, too, because Geralt still likes to keep his potion-brewing skills sharp and Yennefer has found she enjoys making her own perfume. They have room for a few horses in the stables—retired racers and warhorses. Roach pretends to dislike their company, but Yennefer can tell it's just an act.

Yennefer finds a quiet life suits her more than she ever expected. They drink excellent wine. Take walks together, in the fields or by the stream, and she listens as Geralt talks at length about various plants and creatures. They hold each other at night. They read in bed. Eat breakfast in bed. They do many things in bed.

Winter, though... winter is hard. At times, Yennefer has to remind herself that this isn't Aedd Gynvael.

Geralt starts sleeping in late. Not the gentle, lazy rhythm of unspooling days they enjoyed together in the seasons before. He stays in bed like he can't bring himself to face the day. Sleeps like he's running from something. Barely speaks. He doesn't eat enough, especially for a witcher—even an idle one; Marlene frets over it constantly.

When he does rise, he works himself beyond exhaustion for no reason she can understand. The winter chill is mild here in Toussaint, and they have staff now, yet still he chops firewood himself until they've run out of room to store it all, as if he's preparing to heat a whole castle—

Oh.

It is about a castle, isn't it. She suspects he misses Kaer Morhen. His family.

"Talk to me," she says one night. One could almost call it pleading were she a different woman.

"Just read my thoughts, if you're so insistent."

"I know that isn't your preferred method of communication, nor mine."

Not to mention she's a little afraid of what she might find in that poor tormented mind of his. Yennefer rakes her fingers through his long hair. Geralt, head resting against her breasts, says nothing at all.

"We're too old for this. We agreed to stop running from things. Talk to me, Geralt."

"I'm tired, Yen." He speaks like each word pains him. "I don't know what's wrong with me. You're happy. Roach is happy."

"Roach is a horse, love. She would be content anywhere as long as there are apples in it for her."

"I love it here with you. Really, I do. It's better than I deserve. Thought I might even be the first witcher ever to die in his bed. Imagine that."

"I'd rather not," she mutters.

"I was—I thought I could be happy. But maybe I don't know how. Maybe I'm not capable of it anymore, only able to feel a brief shadow of contentment. All they left me with is anger and sadness. I'm sorry."

Yennefer cannot bear to hear this. She hates when Geralt talks about himself like a thing, and a broken one at that.

She takes his face in her hands.

"Now you listen to me, Geralt of Rivia. Never apologize for what you feel. Your feelings are as real and important as mine or anyone else's."

"But—"

"Listen, I said! If you're sad, then be sad for as long as you need to. I am not leaving. And neither are you. We're done with all that nonsense. Aren't we?"

"...Yeah."

She pulls him close.

While the witcher sleeps in her arms, Yennefer devises a plan.

--

Jaskier and Zoltan are the easiest to find, of course. The bard doesn't take much convincing at all either. She need only say that Geralt needs him.

Ciri is much the same, immediately willing to help and (ironically) easy to locate; the imprint of magic she leaves in her wake still shines bright as a beacon.

She tracks Lambert down to an inn at the foothills of the Blue Mountains. It's easy enough; he never has been quiet or subtle a day in his life.

"You're here and Geralt isn't," he says, white-knuckled grip on his mug of beer. "So is he...dead, or—"

"He's alive," Yennefer says before the witcher can spiral any further. "He's safe. Unharmed."

"Then what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you. Heading to Kaer Morhen for the winter?"

"No, I'm fucking not," Lambert snaps. "Wouldn't be any point."

"Yet here you are in Kaedwen."

"Yeah. Old habits. I don't know."

"Come to Toussaint."

"Why the fuck—"

"Because I'm starting a new tradition, one that requires all the remaining witchers of the Wolf school to gather at Corvo Bianco immediately. And because I asked nicely."

"Gonna turn me into a frog if I refuse?"

She smiles dangerously. "We shall see."

Eskel is a little more difficult to find because he isn't slowing down for the winter. In the end, she follows a trail of dead monsters from town to town, inquiring about the witcher who slew them. At least his scar is distinctive.

"Geralt is fine," she says this time instead of a greeting, and the witcher's tense shoulders relax slightly. "Alive and uninjured, anyway. But it would do him good to see his brothers."

"Sentimental old wolf," Eskel says with unrestrained fondness. He pats his horse's neck and does not look at Yennefer. "He asked me to stay. After... after Vesemir's funeral. But I just. I couldn't go back there, y'know? It'd be too quiet."

"It's too quiet," Geralt had whispered one cold night when she was drifting off to sleep beside him.

"Been worried about him," Eskel continues. "Hoping he isn't in the keep, all alone. Or out on the Path taking stupid risks."

"Is that what you're doing?" she asks.

Eskel shrugs. "Didn't know where else to go, I guess."

"He's not alone," she says. "But I think he also needs more than I can give."

"...Are you all right?" Eskel asks, and Yennefer realizes she'd begun to sway somewhat alarmingly.

"Fine. Just tired. I've simply...expended too much magical energy in a short time. Portals, and such."

"You're really doing a lot for him."

"Surprised?"

"Well...no." Eskel apparently is the only tactful witcher the Wolves have, but he's a shit liar.

"Perhaps I find his moping dreadfully irritating. Let that suffice if it pleases you all to think of me as a selfish witch who ensnared your brother."

"What's the truth, though?"

"I love him," Yennefer says. "And he would walk through a hundred portals for me, I'm certain. This is the least I can do."

--

Upon seeing Yennefer, Jaskier, Zoltan, Ciri, Lambert, Eskel, and Regis—the vampire having appeared out of thin air—all gathered together at Corvo Bianco, Geralt's immediate response is: "Damn. Am I dying?"

"Of course not," Ciri says, embracing him.

"It's about your Gwent addiction," Jaskier quips.

"I can stop whenever I want."

"You sound like Lambert when Vesemir locked the wine cellar," Eskel says.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"You started mixing up White Gull with random herbs and any half-empty bottles you could find."

"A lesson in creativity," Lambert says.

"Seriously, what are you all doing here?" Geralt asks.

"It was my doing. I invited them."

"Why? Is it Ciri? Is--"

"There's no danger. Everyone is all right," Yennefer assures him. "It's winter. Time for rest. And to be with your family."

They all stay until the pull of their own lives becomes too great to resist. For a while, their home is filled with life and laughter and music.

"Thanks, Yen," Geralt murmurs into her hair later that evening.

It doesn't fix everything. There are still those who should be here but cannot be, whether due to death or simply life's demands. There are still days when the icy tendrils of grief and pain seize Geralt's heart, and even the warmth of everyone who loves him isn't enough to break its hold.

But Yennefer knows it helped when she sees Geralt smile more. She can almost feel the ice in him beginning to melt.

[irrlicht-writes]

awhole beneath the ice

Sometimes, he almost remembers something, he thinks.

Before his eyes, there are flowers flying by, ever-changing seasons and songs that would simply never end. And next to him, there is a horse, always trotting, always following. And there’s more but it hurts to lift his head. Maybe it’s the sun, maybe it’s the moon.

Whatever it is, it feels like a soft, precious thing.

And yet, it hurts.

When he blinks, the flowers and the sun are gone.

It’s so cold.

Where has the sun gone?

~*~

“Jaskier.”

When they ask him for his name, that’s the first thing he can think of. He won’t denounce himself, or his family – they’re still his, it still belongs to him – but this, this thing is just for him. Julian has no place here, doesn’t belong here. He still is Julian, yes, but he can be Jaskier and Jaskier can be anything he wants him to be, a free bird, not caught in cupboards, not behind the bars of a cage.

Julian picked buttercups outside, and Jaskier really wants to weave them into a flower crown. Yellow hasn’t really been his favourite colour until now, but it could be Jaskier’s favourite, he thinks.

“Jaskier,” they call him and to his surprise, it takes him no time to get used to it.

Maybe he was always supposed to be Jaskier.

The lessons, he skips as much as he attends them, because he is so much more interested in everything else. Lazy, they call him. Jaskier laughs and twirls and weaves more flower crowns. He’s free here, flying and without a tether. 

He’s truly a good little bird here, he thinks and howls with laughter. Valdo frowns but Jaskier giggles and takes his hand to drag him away. He’s quite glad there’s enough beds here and he doesn’t need to see another abandoned barn.

He visits taverns and dances, sings and claps and laughs. He won’t go back, he won’t. He writes letters, but as replies soon start to dwindle, so does he dwindle in sending anymore. Maybe they’re best apart.

Julian’s not important anyway.

Jaskier is so much better, so much more interesting.

If life could give me one blessing

When Valdo leaves, Jaskier is only slightly stifled. Valdo was a sleazy bastard anyway and Jaskier is pretty sure the last poem Valdo released was cobbled together out of verses he’s stolen. It was all okay though, because Jaskier is a free bird and now he can prance around again wherever he pleases.

He graduates with all the honours he could not care more about and he pockets the contract they give him for later use, or maybe kindling, he’s not sure yet. Jaskier nicks a lute from the storage room and skips town before anyone notices he’s even gone.

It is late spring and the audience outside of Oxenfurt sure is hard to please. He’s a free bird, yes, but maybe he’s gotten acclimatised to the crowd back in the city. The people he sang to now aren’t high-cultured in any way and some alliterations might go straight over their heads.

Apparently they like things they can easily understand.

And yet, when he sings of simple things, they still pelt him with hard bread. They’re a rude bunch, that’s for sure. Maybe he would have to find a balance.

He continues on, because he loves to roam and pick the flowers and breathe in the air. He darts out of windows and hops over fences and he laughs and the world belongs to Jaskier.

In Posada, he meets somebody. A broody, moody somebody but he’s oh so interesting. Jaskier skips and sings and dances and the broody moody Witcher can’t really get rid of him.

Geralt, his name is, Jaskier knows. Jaskier’s heard the stories and he’s enticed by the stories. He wants more, he wants everything. And where else to get everything than right here? Jaskier’s always liked a little bit of thrill, really.

Over a campfire, Geralt smiles at Jaskier for the first time. Jaskier laughs and chirps and sings and plays and the smile doesn’t go anywhere.

He puts his head back, stares up at the sky full of stars.

The song fades away on the wind, the fire stops cackling for a moment and when he blinks, he’s drowning.

The stars above him transform away, until all that is left is a singular one, a star in the shape of a broken hole, and it’s moving away from him, faster and faster. Julian wants to scream, for help, please, please help him, why isn’t his Nanny helping him but his voice fails him.

His legs are heavy and they drag him down and he drowns, drowns, and drowns.

He reaches a hand out towards the star-shaped hole above him but there’s nobody.

Julian is five years old and he dies here.

~*~

He’s lying on the floor and he’s counting the bricks in the wall. He keeps losing track and starting again but that’s okay. He should worry about his leg, he knows, but that’s okay too. It’s cold, so cold and he’s naked and there’s nothing he could use as a blanket. Hasn’t there been straw before, at least? He can’t remember, but then again, he also can’t remember how long he’s been here.

Oh... the bricks.

He’s lost count again. But that’s okay, he can start again.

It’s not too late to start again.

He can do it, he can do it.

...Who is “he”?

~*~

“Nobody is going to love you,” his mother says to his face, her hands cold on his cheeks. He blinks up at her, not knowing what to respond.

“You are too much – too loud, too annoying, too... you. Be a good little bird and just be quiet, will you?”

He blinks again and then she shoves him into the cupboard. She locks the door behind him and Julian sits down. He doesn’t understand. The birds outside his window are never quiet unless they’re sleeping. He looks down at his hands and turns them in front of his face.

Then he remembers – he’s seen somebody keep a bird at home, locked away in a cage. That bird had been silent unless it had been animated to sing. But Julian wasn’t in a cage, was he?

He looks up to the door and presses his hands on the wood. He pushes against the wood and it doesn’t give. Maybe he is in a cage, after all?

You are too much.

But – he’s himself, isn’t he? How can there be too much of him?

He remembers then, the tiny hole of light getting ever smaller. Julian reaches his hand upwards, ever upwards, toward the light even though his arm is heavy and his legs are dragging him down.

Save me, he wants to say, save me please save me, can you hear me?

His hand his reaching up and suddenly he can’t breathe and he’s not in the cupboard anymore and somebody, someone grabs his hand and pulls him to the light.

He coughs and sputters and spits out water, it’s in his ears, in his eyes, gods his doublet is soaked –

He stops.

A doublet?

He – what?

He blinks and looks around.

There’s a forest around him, but it’s cold and dark. Wasn’t there just the sun out? Where did the sun go? He looks down at himself and it’s not – it’s not him, is it?

Somebody grabbed his hand.

Somebody pulled him out.

He looks to the lake and it’s frozen over and he can see a tiny hole in the ice. It’s too small for him, isn’t it? And wasn’t it just summer? He’s cold and he’s freezing and he is heavy, so heavy and so weary.

But there’s a hole in the ice.

“Don’t go on the ice, it’s dangerous.”

He doesn’t turn his head to a toneless, voiceless voice.

“I want to go ice-skating.”

His legs are shaking and when he blinks, he’s kneeling in front of the hole, staring into the water. He can scarcely see his face in it and it’s – it’s his face but it’s not a face he remembers. He doesn’t understand.

He – what’s his name, what’s his name – reaches out, grabs into the water and he seizes a small hand in his. Back then, who – who saved him?

Because he was five years old and he shouldn’t drown then.

He, he pulls and nothing comes up because he falls down instead and he screams, Julian screams inside the cupboard because he’s drowning because he’s five years old and he can’t – he can’t –

But nobody comes.

He looks up but there’s no hole in the ice.

He reaches for it anyway.

~*~

Somebody is crying and it takes him too long to realise that it’s not him.

He blinks awake and sees the bricks he didn’t count. Are the bricks crying? All the stains he presumed to be blood – that he knows are blood – are they tears? He shakes his head, as little as he can move still and there’s a hiccup.

Not the bricks then.

Owlishly, he blinks and tries to move himself more. The sound comes from above his head but it’s so, so difficult to move.

“I – I thought you were – were dead,” the unseen voice cries and he thinks, well, it’s not wrong. He ought to be dead, no? Can he even talk still? Maybe he should try.

Yes, he tries to say but nothing proper comes out. Maybe a sound, it’s so exhausting. The sobbing grows louder.

“P-please don’t die,” she begs and it’s a she it’s a she and he needs, he needs to see her, he has to he has to it’s important he has to –

shovel shit.

No.

No no no no.

What?

He can feel his heart beating in his chest and it hurts it hurts so much. He keens or whines or he doesn’t know but he just wants to – he wants to –

Does this please you?

He just wants to count the bricks.

~*~

He’s panting into Iwo’s mouth as they come down from their heights. Now, yes, Julian always imagined his first time in a more luxurious space than an abandoned barn, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Iwo is the tailor’s son and he’s been – courting Julian – for a good two years. Maybe courting is the wrong word, but Julian doesn’t know what else to say for it. He likes Iwo, he knows. The boy is three years older than him, true, but it can work out. Julian’s not important anyway, so it won’t matter much which whom he gets married, right?

Iwo huffs a stinky breath into his face and stands up. Julian feels slightly uncomfortable and very sticky. He hopes that Iwo will get some water to clean them both up because there isn’t really any river nearby. And Julian is not going to the village’s well still dripping, no thanks.

“That was nice,” Iwo says and Julian nods. He’s frowning though, Iwo says it with such a weird time.

“See you later, lording.”                                                   

“Wha – Iwo, wait!”

But Iwo is already out of the barn.

“Bring me some cloth at least!”

He doesn’t yell very loudly. While the barn is abandoned, it’s not all that far away.

He wonders, then.

As he lies there, he wonders.

And later, in later days, when they yell after him, he still wonders.

~*~

The girl, he remembers. Her white hair, her green eyes, her dirty dress, her tear-stained cheeks, he remembers.

She clutches his broken fingers and sobs, begs him to not die. He doesn’t know if that was what he was doing. What is he even doing here? Why is he counting bricks anyway? What had he done before, he can’t quite remember.

“He’s gonna come, he’s gonna come,” she whispers in-between broken sobs and he believes her. Who’s he, he wonders and he doesn’t know who he even means by that. He blinks and wishes he could squeeze her hand. Why is she here, he wonders.

He knows her, he knows her like he knew the sun, once.

The flowers, and the sun and that horse.

A song on the wind, he tries to remember but it slips through his fingers every time he tries to catch it. He wishes he could ask her to sing for him, one last time.

His legs are frozen, they drag him under.

He frowns.

That’s not right.

He wants to talk, to talk to her. But he’s in a cage and caged birds don’t sing and –

He blinks towards the door.

All he needs is a hole, his hole in the ice.

He curls his fingers around her tiny hand.

~*~

A long time ago, in a winter long since passed, Julian breaks through the ice. He had wanted to go ice-skating even though his Nanny had mentioned this to be a bad idea. But Julian hadn’t wanted to listen, so off they went.

His Nanny is with him, but she’s standing far away on the safe ground. Maybe she’s screaming but all Julian can hear is the water around him. At first, he doesn’t realise he fell through. This is scary, he thinks. Breaking through the ice is bad; it’s what his Nanny always says. And yet, Julian swims in this lake during summer so many times and it’s never a problem.

He can see the hole he fell through, he thinks. He reaches out a hand for it but it’s so far away. Julian sinks further towards the bottom. He wonders, briefly, if he’s ever swum to the bottom before. Can he even hold his breath for that long? He should’ve tested that before now. But it’s too late now, it’s too late.

Do I want to die here?

No, he decides. He doesn’t. He tries to kick his legs to go back upwards but it’s so difficult. His whole body is heavy, so, so heavy and it drags him down. But he has to try, he has to try, he has to –

Does he?

Why should he try?

Julian closes his eyes. Who’d miss him, even?

But he’s five years old and he shouldn’t drown here.

He’s five years old and he should be loved.

He opens his eyes again and looks back up. The small hole is getting smaller and his chest is burning. He kicks his legs again, trying again and again and again.

With a heavy arm, he reaches upwards again.

Who will save him? Somebody save him.

Who will save him? Somebody save him.

Somebody somebody somebody –

He punches his hand through the water.

It’s so, so cold.

He tries so, so hard.

He remembers flowers.

Maybe he remembers more.

it would be to take you off my hands

~*~

He’s panting and his heart lies hard in his chest. He can’t feel his legs, can’t feel his body, but he screams, screams underwater and he won’t die here, won’t die, not here not yet.

The girl sobs and tries to stop and Julian waits. The door. He needs a hole, that’s all. When it opens, he is ready. His Nanny is standing on the sidelines, screaming and his mother is double-locking the cupboard. Julian grabs the man with the food and slams him against the wall. His legs are heavy but he is strong enough to save himself.

Something cracks and maybe it’s bone, maybe it’s wood but the door is open. She is breathing hard but she jumps up, next to him and she understands, she knows. Julian won’t let her drown, he won’t let either of them drown.

“We save ourselves,” he says and thinks of a hand that pulled him out of the water. He can’t remember if it was real or not.

On frozen legs, he leaves the bricks behind, their blood, and their tears.

He doesn’t know where to go. His adrenaline is fading fast and he doesn’t know how much time he has still.

“Which way do we take?”

The girl tries hard not to let her voice tremble. Julian doesn’t know. Then, there’s chirping and he turns his head. Down the left path is a child he knows, a child he’s left behind. It chirps and sings and it’s free and Jaskier turns, following it.

Away from the cage, away from the cupboard. Towards the open road, the open path and all the world beyond it. The girl grips his pant leg and follows him. Maybe she questions him, but she doesn’t say. It doesn’t matter. How could he not follow the chirping outside his window?

He walks, and she follows.

“They’re behind us!”

She screams, she panics but Jaskier doesn’t look back. He knows where the child leads and he’s ready. “Trust me,” he says, and he grabs her and picks her up. She squeals and protests and she is scared but that’s okay.

Jaskier isn’t afraid.

He runs.

He runs, like he used to do so long ago.

When he was Julian still, when he’d run across a field all by himself.

When he was young still, when his Nanny hated him but couldn’t leave him alone.

He runs, like he once ran away from home, picking buttercups on the way.

He runs, like he once ran away from his other home, strumming his stolen lute.

He runs, like he once ran from that mountain, listening to the wind taking him away.

He runs, he jumps, and then they fly for just one moment.

The girl screams and Jaskier leaves Julian behind.

They hit the water and they drown, drown, drown but there’s no ice, no hole to grow smaller.

Holding the girl tight, he looks up.

Jaskier can see the sun, the flowers. He knows what he’ll see when he gets up.

His legs are frozen, his legs are dead and done, but he uses them still, a remnant, to kick them both up, towards the sun, towards the light.

~*~

When he breaks through the surface, he breathes.

He turns and sees his Nanny in the distance.

He blinks and sees the horse in the distance.

He blinks again and both things seem to exist at once.

There’s Julian, and there’s Geralt.

He breathes and he’s Jaskier.

He’s Jaskier.

[mistywitcher]

eyo want some gerskefer angst/whimpers/hurt/comfort? heres my newest fic:

[eggcompany]

To travel from a heart to heart and back again (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/337084087-to-travel-from-a-heart-to-heart-and-back-again?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=EggCompany&wp_originator=zT4zo6yMwne%2F3EHhTdHiSNVmsHc8YQTJHl7WBvlk4NOnmb1iLcjBJx6KdoXx%2B%2B6D%2BwBWSc0L3SEjyhNyWLmL2x3Q%2B3xFkDAVY%2B%2Byz2OtM95zD0wZwCTJPjMRN1EYsG3Y Count Julian Pankratz, a chronically ill man who has more love than he knows what to do with with his short life. That was until he met his new nursemaid, a mysterious new man in town, Geralt. They grow to love each other, each thriving off each other, each learning to love, to live, to truly feel alive because of each other. Geralt had been around for so long he didn't even know he could love. Julian had been convinced no one would ever love him. Soulmates, they were crafted for each other at their very cores. But unfortunately destiny had other plans. Julian gets sick, he grows weaker and weaker, and he leaves Geralt. The white haired man doesn't know what to do with his empty heart, empty hands, and wish only to bring his one love back. There was only one person for him in life. Julian. And he was dead. Or is he...? One stranger's trek up a mountain a few hundred years later might just change Geralt's mind.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 17

"Jaskier, no! Keep your eyes open!" "I'm- I'm getting so tired, Geralt..." "You can rest soon. Now, talk to me." "G'rlt..." "Talk, damn it!" "..." "Jaskier, please, PLEASE. Stay awake! Fuck- Sing for me. I need you to sing for me, Jask." "...You want to hear me sing?" "Yes, yes, I've never wanted to hear you perform more than now."

If Geralt wasn't currently stitching up Jaskier's profusely bleeding wound, he'd find the time to sob in relief at the sound of fucking Fishmonger's Daughter.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ ~!PROMPT FILLS!~ @the-mightier-pen https://archiveofourown.org/works/56575861

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

[jaskier-more-like-saskier]

Things that hurt

[hannibard]

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

Pairings: Geraskier, Radskier

Summary: "There's too much at stake Geralt, it's not worth it. Go back to Kaer Morhen and forget about me."

"You're more than worth it Jaskier and I'll do anything in my power to get you out of this hell. Melitele help anyone who stands in my way."

Jaskier is taken by Radovid in the midst of his travels with Geralt and Milva. The Redanian king, changed from his recent ascent to power, is determined to get everything he wants, with Jaskier having the misfortune of being on top of the list. Jaskier spends time serving Radovid in the Redanian court, drowning in despair and losing parts of himself in the process, his only consolation being the knowledge that his friend was safe from the Redanian army due to his sacrifice.

Sometime after Geralt has united the north under his rule, he decides to pay a visit to Redania in the hope of reuniting with his bard. But Jaskier is not as he remembers, his psyche having been fractured in their time apart. Will the witcher be able to help him escape his tragic fate?

Inspired by the song "Poison" from Hazbin Hotel

Click here to read on Ao3

---

Chapter 1: How it all started

He had been traveling together with Geralt and Milva for a few months when they took him. The three had made good progress on their way to Nilfgaard, occasionally adding other skilled individuals that were willing to aid in their cause to their group, like the high vampire/surgeon Regis, and the possibility of reaching Ciri was becoming more apt with each passing day. Jaskier was, despite the sharp worry in his gut for the girl he had come to consider something akin to a daughter, relatively content.

Things were in no way easy, but at least he was (finally) at Geralt's side again. Plus, this time around he was actually able to pull his weight. Gone were the days of him being barely more than a burden that slowed the witcher down and made his life harder, as his role had been for the majority of their acquaintance.

(If life could give me one blessing-)

He had been by himself in some backwater village, because they needed to make money somehow and Jaskier was, despite all his faults, an excellent bard. His ability to be useful, even amidst such impressive individuals, filled him with pride. The others had made camp a few miles away in order to not draw attention. It was risky enough for Jaskier to make those semi-frequent appearances in the public eye, even with the new moniker he had adopted in his attempt to pass as different person. He had rarely traveled this far south in the past, so he wasn’t too worried about being recognized.

(it goes without saying that he avoided performing any songs from the vast repertoire he had created centered around his greatest muse, the White Wolf.)

His set was coming to an end, and he was looking forward to drinking an ale after gathering his earnings, before starting his long way back to his companions. He was in the middle of just that when he was approached by a hooded figure. They moved gracefully, weaving skillfully through the crowd before sitting down across the bard.

“Beautiful voice you’ve got there.” Their face was hidden in the shadow created by the hood, which was dark and modest, not carrying any identifiable markings.

Jaskier didn’t let his alarm show. “Thank you friend, I’m always one to appreciate compliments.” He took a long sip from his tankard methodically in a show of nonchalance.

The hooded figure cocked their head to the side and reached their hand out. “With talent such as yours, it’s a wonder you’re not more well-known Master…?”

Jaskier gave a bright grin, subtly wiping the sweat making its way down his forehead, and shook the stranger’s hand. Their grip was firm, and its hold lasted a bit longer than was considered socially appropriate. “The name’s Dandelion. And you are…?”

“A beautiful name to match the beautiful voice.” The figure avoided the question and tilted their head back so that their matching grin could be visible to the bard. Jaskier couldn't see their eyes, he had a nagging impression that he was being checked out from top to bottom. “Of course I can't neglect mentioning the beautiful appearance. Though if you don’t mind my humble opinion, I’d say there’s another name that would suit you more fittingly.”

The bard’s grin twitched ever so slightly. “And what would that be my dear fellow? Do say so.”

The stranger leaned forward. “Jaskier.” they said almost conspiratorially.

The bard’s smile fell all together, and he looked around with the corner of his eye. None of the inn’s patrons seemed to have heard, too busy drinking, eating and chatting loudly with each other. The innkeeper himself was curiously missing from the room.

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“If you want to find out then follow me and don’t make a scene. It wouldn’t benefit either of us.”

Jaskier gulped and slowly stood up. He made sure to grab his lute and not to let his nervousness show. “As you wish.”

They made their way outside, and as soon as they were out of people’s sight the stranger grabbed his arm with a strong grip that left no room for resistance, no matter how much Jaskier tried to pull away. They reached a building that stood tall in the periphery of the village, and the hooded figure surveyed their surroundings before opening the front door and pushing Jaskier inside. The force made the bard fall to his knees and he hissed in pain, his lute thankfully tucked safely against his back. He vaguely heard the door close and lock behind him just as he looked up, his mind too busy short-circuiting at the sight he came across.

“Hello darling.” said Radovid as he stood up from a makeshift throne, making his way to the bard and dropping to one knee in front of him. The newly-crowned king took Jaskier’s chin in one hand and gently stoked his cheek with the other, smiling gently. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” He said wistfully and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Jaskier was left speechless, his brows furrowing together in confusion. He hadn’t seen Radovid since that fateful day in Aretuza after the Thanedd ball, in the midst of all the chaos. Their parting had been hopeful but it didn’t take long for Jaskier to hear about Radovid’s sudden enthronement, so he had resolved himself to the reality that their story would remain forever unfinished. His regret lessened more and more with the time he spent at his witcher’s side.

“Radov-, Y-your majesty, to what do I owe the honor of this, ah, sudden summons?” he said when he finally managed to make his mouth move.

Radovid’s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly at the bard’s term of address. He let out a defeated sigh and hung his head low. “I never once stopped thinking about you my dear, every day we spent apart was pure torture, and now that my reign has stabilized I though it was the perfect time to pay you a visit." He looked up and stared unblinkingly into the bards blue eyes. "Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jaskier swipped his lips with his tongue, a motion that Radovid tracked hungrily. “Oh, I uh, I’m elated to see you, truly, but I’m just a tad confused. You see, your buddy over there that escorted me here, let’s just say they weren’t very gentle in their approach. In few words and with no offense, it left a lot to be desired. I was expecting to encounter some sort of Nilfgaardian general ready to chop my head off and not… you.”

Radovid huffed and offered a hand to Jaskier, helping him up. Now that Jaskier was somewhat over his initial surprise he was able to take in the king’s appearance. There were some subtle changes, like the short beard that had replaced his previously clean-shaven face, his once lean body seemed to have filled with muscle, but the biggest change, the one that made Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat, was in his eyes.

Before, Radovid’s eyes were like a window to his soul that only Jaskier had a key to, full of intelligence and softness, specifically towards his person, but now… Now his gaze was guarded. The only thing Jaskier could detect besides the current show of the king’s emotions, was darkness. It was something he was only able to decipher after his years of experience performing in countless courts and dealing with all sorts of people in his travels. It caused a chill to run down his spine.

“You don’t have to worry about Nilfgaard any more my love, you won’t have to deal with them ever again.” Radovid said as he patted down the outrageously large fur that hung from his shoulders.

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that Your Majesty?”

Radovid looked at him as though he’d asked a very stupid question. “Redania’s power has grown vastly in recent months as I’m sure you’ve heard. Nilfgaard wouldn’t dare take a single step towards us. Also please cut all the ‘Your Majesty’s, our relationship has evolved beyond such formalities.”

Jaskier nodded tentatively “I’ve certainly heard about your accomplishments, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

Radovid rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “You’re coming with us silly.”

Jaskier’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He had been bombarded by shock after shock in such quick succession that he hadn’t been able to calm his racing mind in a minute.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, Your Majes- Radovid.” the bard quickly corrected his words after seeing Radovid’s face twist in displeasure. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. You see, I’m currently in the middle of a very important quest that I must see through to the end.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. “So you’d choose that witcher over me? Even after everything he’s put you through? I could give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams, but you’d seriously rather continue following that monster like a lost puppy?”

The bard wasn’t happy with the name Radovid used to describe his dearest friend, but he let it go, choosing to focus on the matter at hand. “I’m sorry Radovid. It is what it is.”

A glimpse of hurt flashed in the king’s eyes and his shoulder’s slumped as he turned away from the bard. He took a few deep breaths before he straightened up again. When their eyes met once more, Radovid’s hardened gaze was filled with resolve. Jaskier waited with bated breath for his response.

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

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Before he was able to do anything, two guards surrounded him and grabbed his shoulders from each side. He thrashed wildly but it was for naught, the bard being much weaker than his captors. “No-, Radovid- please don’t do this, I’m begging you!” He asked desperately.

The king looked down at him with his chin up and an air of confidence surrounding him, for the first time appearing as ruthless and regal as his title implied.

“I’m afraid I can’t listen to you darling. One of the perks of being a king is that I can do and have whatever I wish for, and nobody can stand in my way.” He waved his hand towards the bard nonchalantly as he addressed his followers. “Bring him a pen and paper. Have him write a letter to the witcher and deliver it to the innkeeper. He’ll know what to do.”

The guards dragged Jaskier towards a desk and deposited him in a chair, writing tools bring placed on the surface before him a moment later. His hand was shaking as he picked up the pen. A tear slid down his cheek as he tried one last time to change the king’s mind. “Please Radovid... Let me go.”

The king crossed his arms and his mouth formed a tight line. “That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you.”

Jaskier let out a sob and stared down at the paper, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his blurry eyesight. His mind was racing trying to find a way to leave some sort of secret message to alert Geralt of his situation. Radovid seemed to read his thoughts however, because he gripped the bard’s nape tightly and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t even think about pulling any tricks or your dear witcher and the rest of your group will leave their last breaths at the camp they’re currently stationed on. My soldiers have the place surrounded as we speak.”

With those words the bards last hope was extinguished. The last thing he wanted to do was put his friends in danger. Even with their combined extraordinary strength, he didn’t want to chance either of them getting seriously injured. If obedience was the price to pay for their safety, then so be it.

“At least promise me you’ll leave them alone.”

Radovid gave a chaste kiss to the bard’s neck and ran what would be considered under normal circumstances a comforting hand down his back. “You have my word. I didn't care about them in the first place.” He gave the bard one last squeeze and went to sit back in his throne.

Jaskier took a deep breath and started writing. The single tear that hit the paper, while certain to be identifiable with the witcher’s heightened senses, would probably be assumed to have been a product of Jaskier’s typical sentimentality and nothing more.

Dear Geralt,

You’ll find me dearly saddened to inform you that our long-standing companionship must come to an end. You see, I’ve had time to think while staying in this lovely little settlement away from you lot, and I've come to realize what it is I truly want. That of course being king Radovid of Redania. I’ve talked to you about our ill-fated relationship before as you might recall. Somehow, things for us two don’t seem as bleak as they one were. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and thus I’ve decided to go to Redania and try to build a future with him. Love conquers all and the like.

For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself before you. I’m choosing my own happiness. I hope you’re able to achieve your goals and manage to locate Ciri safe and sound. When you do, which I've no doubt you'll achieve, give her all my love. Please inform the rest of our group about my decision. I’m sorry for doing this so suddenly but you know how matters of the heart can be. They leave no room for patience.

Ever your affectionate friend,

Julian Alfred Pankratz.

[tossacoinifyoucan]

It had been an incubus, of course. It should have never been anywhere near Ciri. It should have been him. He would be fine. He could have probably even remembered it with longing, if he was subjected to Geralt’s or Yennefer’s touch due to it. But it was Ciri there. She was the one under the curse. She was just a girl. Barely old enough to know the pleasures her own flesh could offer her. It had to be him. The owner of the cottage was dead. The nearest village was too far away for her feverish, collapsing body to endure. Any possible way to break the curse beyond their knowledge. And they couldn’t trust anyone else, besides. It had to be him.