#jaskier has dementia

[flowercrown-bard]

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

Oh tthat's sweet, thank you! It's been a while since i thought about my fics, let's see

Always Lose-Lose: an 125k Geraskier fic following two timelines. It's the second fic i wrote and still my favorite one. Also one of my most ambitious ones

I follow the path you choose: now this one is THE most ambitious one. Why? Because it's a choose your own adverture fic with 16 different endings, each story line being between 7k and 17k. I wrote it as a birthday gift for myself and it surw was self indulgent

Birds still sing when they fall from the sky: 86k of old!Jaskier/Geralt. It's about the beauty of living a quiet life, dementia, grief and healing. Most of all, it's about hope. This fic is kind of personal for me and i treasure every comment I got on this so so much

A New Us Will Begin: 134k, reincarnation AU. I had so much fun coming up with all the different versions of Jaskier (Dandy, my beloved)

If it all can be stolen away: 34k, fairytsle vibes, Jaskier has to get Geralt out of the Faeworld by solving three riddles/tasks by the cruel fae queen. kind of an Orpheus AU, very very self indulgent

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Old Wild Whims of Fancy

ow. ow ow ow why did i sign up for an angst cardddd????? This is ‘memory loss’ for @thewitcherbog bingo event. i hurt myself.

pairing: romantic jask/priscilla, best friends geralt and jask

warnings: memory loss, dementia/Alzheimer's, Geralt comforts Jaskier in his last days as he declines, MCD- major character death and i mean it (also unbettaed)

__________________________

The letter Geralt had received from Priscilla was heartbreaking. The idea of Jaskier losing his memory and not remembering the partner he’d adored so much for so long, even before meeting Geralt, made Geralt absolutely ache for his best friend. But seeing him was much worse. 

It had only been a year… right? Maybe two? Geralt coudln’t be sure. He’d never been great with time and he’d always had Jaskier there to help him keep track… But looking at his friend now was like looking at a completely different person. A cousin maybe. Certainly not the bright vibrant bard he knew. 

Priscilla had told him Jaskier had asked for him. Asked for ‘that witcher bloke I wrote a song about’ with a cheeky grin. That song was going on sixty years old now and the look on Priscilla’s face said that she was already grieving the loss of the love of her life. 

Geralt only nodded and swallowed hard and knelt down next to Jaskier where he sat in a plush chair surrounded by books. Other than looking rather older and a touch too frail for Geralt’s memory, he looked peaceful; just a professor’s brain at work plowing through his favorite books. But Geralt noticed all the titles all too quickly. They were Jaskier’s favorites that he’d talked about over the years, and one or two that he’d written himself.

“Geralt! Hello dear witcher! You look well!”

Choosing to ignore how his friend’s voice wobbled so much more than it should have, Geralt forced a smile and answered like he always would, “And you look pompous as ever. How was your winter Jaskier?” 

A wily grin spread over Jaskier’s face as he wiggled his eyebrows, “I think I’ve finally won my dear Priscilla’s heart for good. But I can bore you with the details later. I’ve recently found this book about you-” he held the book up and wiggled it slightly, but Geralt saw Priscilla had scratched out the authors name on the cover, and he assumed on the inside pages as well, “-and this bloke seems to think you, Mr. Cantankerous-And-Broody, are actually rather forthcoming with details. That, or he made a shitload of it up.”

“Probably half horseshit,” Geralt quipped, trying to keep the wavering out of his own voice as he recalled the adventure they had shared that Jaskier had turned into that book. 

“Makes me wonder if you’ve collected another bard?” Jaskier played it as a tease, but Geralt knew he was probably hurt by his own writing. That story in particular had been one of Jaskier’s favorites, what he called ‘a turning point in our relationship, dear witcher’. 

“Only a straggler with too much vigor and wild whims of fancy.” Geralt forced his words out over the lump forming in his throat. That’s exactly what he’d thought of Jaskier in the beginning, now he was one of the most important people in Geralt’s life. And he knew he’d stay and watch him waste away as his mind slowly left him, even if he had to introduce himself every time he walked into the room. He couldn’t leave his best friend in the world alone in his last days, “I could never replace you, Jaskier. Not ever.” 

“Now, now. Didn’t you say that emotions are for drunks and those with time and money to spare? Lets save the dramatics for the tavern,” Jaskier teased, setting a far too frail hand on Geralt’s shoulder, “Tell me how this fool got it wrong.” 

And so he did.

Geralt told him every detail he could recall from their twenty-some year old adventure, pulling some from the book in Jaskier’s hands on memory, and some from the first draft he’d thrown back at his friend with an eye roll at how dramatic he’d made it all sound. 

He did the same thing every day until Jaskier passed. He had to introduce himself a few times near the end, and for a while that would jog Jaskier’s memory enough to talk like old friends.

But the last few weeks, Geralt would introduce himself and Jaskier would stare at him with a little wonder, but no recognition in his eyes. After the first day this happened where Geralt had to leave and go for a long tear soaked ride, he started asking Jaskier’s help. He would kneel at Jaskier’s side and ask for his esteemed bardic talents to repair a witcher’s reputation. Jaskier would get excited and though he couldn’t form full sentences he would indicate for Geralt to tell his tale. And Geralt would tell him everything.

They spent hours by the fire, Geralt telling story after story of their adventures, of how this delightful and vibrant young bard had changed his life and helped him become a man worthy of the family he had now. 

Jaskier’s last day, Geralt spoke of the time they met. How foolishly endearing this bard had seemed, how innocent yet devious, and how wise beyond his years. Geralt left Jaskier and Priscilla’s cottage that day knowing he’d never see his best friend again. But it had been worth all the pain to give back to Jaskier some of the comfort he’d always given to Geralt.

[seidenbros]

“Geralt!”

It's a good day, Geralt figures, since Jaskier recognises him. There are good days like today, but also bad days, where the dementia hits harder, where more of his brain is fogged. Geralt had known that it would not be easy, growing old with a human, but he could never have stepped away from Jaskier. After all, this was the man he loved, that he still loves, that he will do anything for.

Jaskier's hair is grey by now, nearly white, and it rivals Geralt's, only that it is not as long as that of the Witcher. He's not as quick as he used to be, but that's okay, because there are days when his bones feel weak. Especially in winter, his knees and his back hurt more than in the summer, but he still gets around quite well considering his age. But it's not his body, it's his mind that troubles Geralt more, the loss of all these beautiful memories they've created together.

“Tell me again...” Jaskier says when Geralt sits down next to him on the sofa, reaching for his husband's hand. “Do Witcher's ever retire?” It is one of Jaskier's favourite questions, always has been since they settled down. He asked Geralt that same questions years and years ago for the first time, but ever since then, his answer has changed.

“When they slow and get killed,” Geralt answers, intertwining their fingers. “Or when they marry the person that means the world to them.” He raised their joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to Jaskier's knuckles.

And Jaskier does. Mean the world to him that is. Geralt needed some time to realise it, but once he'd done that, he wasn't able to live without Jaskier anymore. They travelled for years, but at one point, they wanted to spend the time they still had in peace and quiet together – be happy. The other Witchers, Yennefer, Ciri, they visit them quite frequently, but Geralt enjoys the time they have alone still the most.

He loves all the little things that have carried on through the years. Jaskier still reaches for his hand when they go somewhere – and he still says that it is so that they won't get separated, but Geralt knows better. He loves the way Jaskier sings when he dries his hair and doesn't even realise it, and even on bad days, he still does that. They still share a bottle of wine and talk until the sun comes up like they did when they had their first real date. That night, he confided in Jaskier, told him about his fears which he'd never done before, and ever since, he's trusted the Bard with everything that is going on in his head, everything that worries him.

Lately, it's been getting worse and worse with Jaskier forgetting things. It's most of the time his short-term memory that is affected, that he forgets about something they had planned, but by now... he even forgets about Geralt. He doesn't let it show, but it hurts Geralt so much, that he doesn't know what to do. He could and would never abandon Jaskier, because he is after all the love of his life, and he will be by his husband's side until the day he dies, but he know that it is not going to be easy, not at all. He knows that it will get even worse, that Jaskier might not remember anything they have experienced together at one point. Yennefer tried to help them, but it only slows the process down a little bit. They don't even know if he'll forget everything or if it will stay like this, that he had more good days than bad, but one thing is certain: Geralt loves him and will be by his side.

“What's this?” Geralt asks looking through the open door at the kitchen.

“Ah well... I don't know,” Jaskier admits, confusion shining in his eyes. Geralt gets up to look at what Jaskier has done, and his husband follows. The look on Geralt's face is all it takes for Jaskier to apologise profusely. “I really don't know what came over me.”

“It's okay, Jaskier.” His features soften, he even smiles at Jaskier before taking his hand again. “We don't need a table to eat dinner, and I can make a new table out of the wood that's in the stable.”

“Are you sure?” He almost looks like a little kid again, even with all the lines in his face, the grey hair, the crow's feet.

“Of course. I never liked that table anyway.” Geralt leans in to kiss Jaskier. It's a little white lie, but he doesn't want Jaskier to worry about it. It's just a stupid table, nothing to spend too much time worrying about.

“What are you up to?” Geralt asks with a laugh when he feels Jaskier's arms come around his body, and he starts swaying with his husband to music that only the Bard can probably hear in his head.

“We used to dance all the time, don't you remember?” Jaskier chuckles and Geralt chimes in. It's easier to joke a little, to laugh than to dwell too long on the memories that have been taken away from Jaskier. So Geralt cherished everything Jaskier does remember – as for the other things, he'll never get tired of telling Jaskier, of reminding him of their wedding ceremony and the way Yennefer of all people wept that day because she was so happy for them.

“Of course I remember,” Geralt eventually say quietly, leaning his forehead against Jaskier's, savouring the moment.

“I know this is not easy...” Jaskier says, still swaying to the non-existent music with his husband. Geralt stiffens, but before he can say anything, Jaskier opens his mouth again. “I understand if you want to leave, if it's too much. And I don't want to burden you with this, but I'm scared of being alone in the dark all of a sudden.”

“You won't be,” Geralt stops him right there and then, framing his husband's face with his hands. “I'll always be right here. And if you find yourself in the dark, I will be the shining light to guide you home, okay?”

Tears well up in Jaskier's eyes, but he nods. It is a gentle kiss they share, one that makes them both taste their tears, because even Geralt cannot keep the tears at bay. It is not easy, and running away, leaving Jaskier behind, never occurred to him. He loved Jaskier, and he will still love him when he is no longer alive.

“You know...” Jaskier says after a moment, reaching up to cup Geralt's face with his hand. “The more I forget, the more you'll have to tell me stories and sing me to sleep, and at the same time... I will get to meet you for the first time every single day.” Jaskier smiles at his Witcher, runs his thumb across the stubble on his cheek. “And fall in love with you over and over again.”

“You're an idiot.” Geralt leans into the touch, a smile on his face. It hurts to think about it, but the way Jaskier phrases it, is so poetic – as per usual – that he can only focus on how beautiful his words are.

“But I'm your idiot.”

Yes... yes he is.

Inspired by: Keywest - The Little Things and TAD - Marbles

[trashbaggage]

POSSIBILITIES FOR IMMORTAL!JASKIER

The Picture of Julian Alfred Pankratz

dicked and ditched the wrong person; cursed to remain youthful until true love’s kiss, at which point he will start to age rapidly :(((

dick too good to die - he’s slept with quite a few gods/goddesses and they wanna keep him in prime shape

unknowingly stumbled on a fountain of youth when he was wandering through some woods one day; he has no idea and never thinks to connect his suspiciously youthful looks with that lovely bath that one time

is the personification of chaos just here for a gr8 time; this greatly pisses yennefer off when she finds out

he’s like a shark - if he stops moving he’ll die; can’t stay in one place for more than a few months before he starts looking a little ragged

only has one very specific weakness that no one has figured out yet

emotional vampire

made a deal with death where they meet up once a year and jaskier has to entertain them with stories and hot goss for the entire night to renew his life subscription

actually a grim reaper

simply refuses to acknowledge the authority of time

body took a screenshot when he sneezed with his eyes open once - he’s actually died many times but he just keeps returning to that biological save point

he is the Beginning of all things and he will be their End when he gets bored please keep him enriched

as long as there’s one person still singing his songs he keeps on kicking

he’s eaten so many açaí berries. so. many. all the berries. his immune system is jacked. any form of disease or deterioration even looks at him funny and they’re immediately consumed by antioxidants

imaginary friend geralt accidentally called into being because he was so lonely :(

blood of his enemies face masks

exchanged his self-preservation instincts for immortality; when he fills up his ‘almost died again’ punch card the universe gives him a free smoothie and ages him one month; the smoothie is worth it

literally gave away his heart in a small posada inn

cheated in a game of cards against the fates and buried his thread of life deep where no one will find it

destiny’s pawn that keeps trying to circumvent her plans and break free but everything he does is like a self-fulfilling prophecy straight from a greek tragedy :(

is actually ebony dark’ness dementia raven way and everybody is in love with me and why couldn’t satan have made me less beautiful?? im good at too many things! WHY CANT I JUST BE NORMAL? IT’S A FUCKING CURSE!

is allergic to dying

(now with part 2)

[imnotwolverine]

The Wolves Return - Part 4

<Part 3 | Part 5 > 

Summary: Evil is looming and old memories are blooming in the keep of Kaer Morhen. 

Word count: 2005 (7 min read) 

Disclaimer: old and brittle Jaskier, dementia, blood and gore, a melancholic Geralt (but also a touch of fluff stuff) 

Author’s note: Sorry for being MIA my loves! Life’s been crazy busy with long workdays and social events (FINALLY). So writing was kinda pushed on the backburner. Hope you enjoy this one ❤

--

‘Remember that time in Velen, Geralt?’ Jaskier’s voice sounded brittle with age. 

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. His friend no longer talked as much like he used to. With thoughtful blue eyes the bard looked out over the vines that outstretched the autumnal valley of Corvo Bianco. Their shared home for some time now. 

Geralt sighed. 

‘Which time is that? The one when I saved your ass from the Duchess?’

Jaskier squinted, as if thinking. ‘No no. The time..The..’ He started to fling about his hands as if searching for words. ‘The one time I had nearly eloped with the butcher’s daughter, remember that? The one in..’

‘You mean the time you told me you’d be a father?’

‘Yes..’ Jaskier's voice quieted. ‘Oh Geralt!’

‘What’s that, Jaskier?’ 

Jaskier remained silent until yet another of his bloody coughs came up. With a bony hand he raised a kerchief to catch the red stains that had parted from his lungs. 

Geralt gritted his teeth. It was all going so fast all of a sudden. His lifelong friend whom he had travelled up and down the Trail with, would soon be no more. Jaskier’s hair had gone grey years ago. And his once nimble fingers no longer played the songs they used to. Which, for a time, had been pleasant, Geralt had to admit that. 

Looking at the slumped form that was his friend, the Witcher felt his heart crumple with fear. He didn’t like goodbye’s. Never had. But he knew that with the falling leaves and the arrival of winter, the days were growing shorter for his friend, too. 

It felt too soon. 

‘I’m a father.’ Jaskier let the bloodied kerchief fall to his lap. ‘Ha..’ Jaskier’s lips turned into a little smile. ‘She must be nearly grown now.’ 

Geralt tried to smile along. The unsteady motion of his heart was however difficult to contain. Jaskier had been with his daughter for years, but the way he spoke of her made it feel like his friend could no longer remember. Like he couldn’t remember many things now.

 ‘Well, let's hope she’s not as talented at getting herself into trouble as her father was.’

Jaskier sucked in his lips, breathing deeply. His blue eyes had watered up as he watched two swallows duck down from the trees. They remained low, meaning cooler weather or perhaps even a storm would come. 

‘I should’ve been there for her.’ Jaskier said, sitting back up stiffly. 

‘Jaskier..’

‘No Geralt. I mean even you. In fact YOU. You’ve raised a kid. And what type of vivacious, vibrant young woman that has become!’

It made Geralt think. As the day came to an end, the bugs drew out from their sanctuaries, though today they didn’t fly high like usual. Geralt’s eyes followed the swirls and dives of the swallows as they feasted on their bounty. Swallows.. Hmm.. Ciri. Cirilla. Zireael. His little swallow. He wasn’t sure what to say in that moment as his friend slowly pushed himself up from the stone bench they’d been sitting on. With cracking bones Jaskier hoisted himself up by his walking stick. Should he tell Jaskier he had been a good father? Geralt couldn’t know. He had not been there at that time. Not for many years. He had not even met Jaskier’s daughter.

In a swift move Geralt stood up as well, arm reaching out to support Jaskier where he could. And then yes..Ciri. Watching the swallows up above, he thought of his own adoptive daughter. He had not heard of Ciri in some years now, either. Nor had he heard of Yen. 

Looking at Jaskier beside him, he wondered how well he’d do all alone. 

‘Well Jaskier. We both are fathers. And we have tried our best every day.’ 

Jaskier looked up, blue eyes lighting up with curiosity. ‘Me? Goodness Geralt..-’ Jaskier halted as his body started to rack up another bloody cough. The white kerchief was hit with a dark red gob of spit, before it was duly returned to a pocket. 

Geralt watched and silently inhaled the scent. The scent of looming death. As if it would help, he held onto Jaskier a little more tightly. 

Jaskier sighed wearily and tapped at Geralt’s paw, that was just about death gripping his arm. ‘Geralt..Geralt..Promise me one thing Geralt.’ 

Geralt released his grip. 

‘Treat her like you would have me.’

--

Palewhite was Isabella’s face as her finger pointed at the other side of the room. High up above, where the dark wilderness loomed through narrow windows, fluttered a crowd of dark shadows. Crows. Bats. Or something of the like. 

With little thuds the animalistic shadows started bumping into the glass panes, willing the windows to break. 

‘What the..’ Eskel gripped for his sword, and not far behind was Geralt who swivelled around with an awkward stagger, hand gripping for the nearest sword rack where some old swords were hung for decoration. 

‘Speak Isabella.’ Geralt growled beneath his breath. ‘Did you bring these?’ 

‘WHAT? No!’ Isabella started to furiously shake her head, eyes wild. ‘No, no..I..’ She pressed herself into a wall. ‘It wasn’t me I swear!’ 

Eskel squinted his eyes. ‘Transmutation you think?’ Eskel asked, studying the beasts that were now flying larger bouts so they could drive themselves with more force into the windows. 

‘Like fuck..’ Geralt sighed, feet shuffling to find a more comfortable stance. Above them the windows started to groan with the pressure. Dust was falling down. And not long after the inevitable break of one, became the breaking of many. Like crystal rain the windows shattered, shortly followed by a cloud of flapping wings. 

Behind the witchers, Isabella cried louder. ‘Not again!’ She cried. 

‘Again?’ Eskel slashed into the air, trying to keep the bat-like creatures at bay. ‘You best not be --’ He swiped right. ‘telling us you have ANYTHING to do with--’ He caught one with his hand and squeezed it to mush between his thick fingers. ‘this.’ 

On his left, Geralt was slashing with less grace, but more annoyance. Short, jagged motions hit and killed and before long a pile of beady eyed creatures had piled up on the keep’s stone floor. 

Outside the windows a strange voice called, but no more than two of the creatures managed to escape the Witchers’ assault. Flapping furiously they raced until there was nothing left but the carcasses of those that had been slain. 

Eskel tipped one of the leathery black creatures around with his shoe. It was shin-length and beneath all the black blood that was spouting from its innards, it looked like a regular, though slightly too large, bat. 

‘Start talking young lady.’ Geralt snarled. 

Isabella shuffled uneasily, eyes looking for the exits that were too far away to escape to. ‘I …’ She inhaled sharply. ‘There was this man at the inn. I thought he was one of youse. You know. Big ol’ armor, some Witcher-y necklaces on, swords on his back. We drank..and..’ She cleared her throat. ‘spoke of nothing special really. The weather and such.’ 

‘Necklaces? Plural?’ Eskel asked.

‘Yes.’ 

Eskel started to wipe the blood off his sword, frowning. ‘And they looked like Witcher necklaces?’ 

‘I think so. One of them looked like yours.’ 

Eskel shot her a warning glance, to which Isabella scowled even further back up into the wall. 

‘So he’s not one of yours then.’ She mumbled.

‘Did he follow?’ 

‘Of course not. I..I got too drunk. I slept for the whole day after, then the inn keeper warned me about the weather. That I best be on my way. So then I went..and..but..there was nobody. I swear. There was nobody else out.’ Isabella looked at Geralt, who had folded his arms in silent judgement. 

‘I swear! It was raining cats and dogs! I wasn’t followed!’ 

‘Hmm.’ 

Eskel cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to check out what’s going on. You stay here with this one.’ He pointed at Geralt before leaving the hall. 

Geralt clicked his tongue, yellow eyes looking out into the broken windows. ‘You’re not telling us everything little bird.’ 

Isabella looked down at her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t think I was followed..’ She brushed away a tear. ‘My father’s maps weren’t really clear anyway. Got lost and all.’ 

Geralt kept his eyes up and out to the windows, so Isabella continued with another sniffle. 

‘I’m sorry Geralt. I really am.’ 

Finally his gaze lowered. He looked disappointed. 

‘I’ll leave -’ Isabella said, sighing and sniffling. 

‘Did this man have a name?’ 

‘The man? Eh. Something..’ She searched for the words, but they didn’t come. ‘Mm..can’t remember. He was Redanian though. Quite odd so far up North.’ 

‘Redanian.’ 

‘Yea.’

‘The paths are blocked off. And can’t have you knowing any more of our..secret..pathways. Which by the way are NOT on our maps.’ Geralt raised an unamused eyebrow. ‘So we’ll see to this in the morning.’ 

Isabella sighed in quiet relief. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Oh and Isabella. We’d like ALL our maps back.’ 

Isabella blinked up at him, cheeks blushing a deep red. 

‘Now.’ Geralt reached out a hand. 

‘Really see it all, huh?’ 

Geralt stepped in closer, forcing her to flatten herself to the wall. ‘I see..’ He looked deep into her eyes - cornflower blue, just like her father’s. He wanted, in that moment, to teach her a lesson. To perhaps frighten her. But his resolve melted away with the hue of her blush and the rise of her bossom. 

Argh. 

Growling inwardly he turned away, pointing at the table, where she could place the “borrowed” map she was keeping in her skirts. ‘Right there. Just put it there.’ 

It took a long night of waiting before Eskel returned. With blood caking to his rugged clothes, he spoke of a number of monsters that had run rampant around the keep. A short magical imbalance, it seemed. Though Eskel and Geralt both continued to be wary. Not in a long time had unwelcome visitors come ‘round. The last time actually having been the Night Hunt, who had come to look for Ciri. 

Ciri. Geralt wondered where she was right now. If ever she’d return to Kaer Morhen, even if just for a day or so. Was she even alive still? 

Holding guard in the hall, he watched out into the night where stars sparkled like the glass they had swept to a side of the hall. The bat bodies were burning in the fire, all purple and gooey and obviously not quite natural. 

In the corner two of the old cots had been returned to their function of beds. Both Eskel and Isabella were out cold after the eventful night. Geralt, however, did not feel the least bit tired. He could feel something else. Melancholy. Loneliness. Immortality. The ever grinding passing of time. The ticking of the clock on the wall behind him. The washing and waning of the moon in the sky. The drifting by of clouds and birds and before long it was another day, followed by another night. Though hopefully, by that night, the fuss that was Isabella would be gone. He was thinking of blindfolding her. Getting her out through the crypts. But even then it would be a difficult thing to get out. 

With half an eye he looked at the two sleeping forms in the corner. Eskel, though terribly annoyed with the young woman, had hushed Geralt when he had made another attempt of showing her who’s boss. Geralt didn’t know why he did that. Lashing out to Isabella the way he did. Perhaps the lack of grip on the situation had bested him. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of.. 

He felt his eyes water and just like that all the frustration he felt slipped down his cheek in the shape of a tear. Gods he missed Jaskier so much. He’d take it all back. The mischief. The saving the bard’s arse over and over. Even the annoying songs. Yes, even the songs. His stiff lips turned into a melancholic smile. 

‘Treat her like I would you, hmm?’ He sniffled. ‘Fine.’ 

--

Part 5 > 

--

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[geraskierficrecs]

More Florist AU

New chapter here.

Here’s a teaser:

The last of their group arrives in a flurry of bright pink tie dye and a beaded vest, her pale blonde hair curling wildly around her face.  “What’d I miss?”

“Jaskier was just sighing over that florist again,” Helen says, shuffling the deck of battered cards expertly.

“Oh,” Vivianne replies with a bright smile, “nothing new then.  Is he still talking about his ‘dreamy eyes?”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests, flushing a little.  “I do not talk about Eskel that much!”

“I thought Karen was the one with dementia.”

A woman a table over turns and flips them the bird.  Vivianne and Helen don’t bother acknowledging her, continuing the conversation as though they hadn’t noticed.

“Has he managed to ask him out yet?” Vivianne asks.

“‘He’ is sitting right here,” Jaskier pouts.

“Well?  Have you?”

He slouches down in his chair, scowling.  “No.”

[xthefandomequestrianx]

Are you the main character?

It’s a question that many people have been asking themselves lately. Am I special? Does the world revolve around me? If you’re like me, then you’re thinking the answer is no. Maybe a few tiktok “put a finger down: main character edition” videos have you feeling like you’re not. Or you’ve realized your best friend is really the one with the spotlight. Some people just don’t fit the description of what we call being the main character.

Well first, we can argue that we’re each the main character in our own story. And that’s perfectly true. Every person is living, growing, and experiencing life in a way that no one else is. Everyone has their own story to tell, starring themselves.

But an equally valid way of thinking of it, is this:

Maybe you just aren’t the main character.

And really, that’s fine. Because there’s so many equally important characters in a story, who can bring even more to the table than the main character. AND, main character does NOT equal favorite character. In fact, of all the shows, movies, and books you fan over, in how many of those stories is the main character your favorite? I’m guessing not many. In many cases, the front-and-center character is not the one everyone is in love with. Elena Gilbert from TVD is hardly an audience favorite compared to the others. How many people watching Avatar say Aang is their favorite? Even Harry Potter is overlooked in favor of his friends.

The point is, the fan-favorite character is usually NOT the main character, for whatever reason. So who is?

Most of our favorites are actually secondary characters, who are not in the titular role but offer even more to the story by way of intelligence, humor, wit, friendship, interesting story-lines, relatability, etc... 

Ok, still not sure? Let’s look at some non main characters who have become highly integral parts to the story, maybe even moreso than the main characters themselves simply by possessing the traits I’ve mentioned:

Fred&George&Draco&Castiel&SpencerReid&JJ&PenelopeGarcia&Jaskier&Katara&Sokka&Toph&Zuko&Azula&Hermione&SteveHarrington&BuckyBarnes&Loki&EliCardashyan&HarleyQuinn&PhilCoulson&Shuri&DustinHenderson&RonWeasley&Enzo&Bonnie&Yennifer&WandaMaximoff&SamWilson&&&

so much more but I’m really tired so that’s all I will type out right now. But do you think any less of these characters because they’re not the “main character?” Does it make them any less significant? Don’t think so.

Just because you don’t relate to the Harry Potters or the Bella Swans, doesn’t mean your story is any less important.

The important part is that you’re the character you would want to see yourself as. Be that person.

And if anyone with main character syndrome picks on you, kindly remind them that Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way was also a main character :)

[yadds]

Another Geraskier Fix-it Fic, Part 2 Jaskier tells Geralt to fuck off, Geralt is forced into some self-reflection.

Part 1

I was going to wait until I finished this to post the rest, but that’s gonna be in approx. 3 million years at this point, so here’s part 2 if anyone is still interested.  Should only be one part left after this since I actually have an ending in mind!

.

Geralt was jostled from his meditation by a foot to the side of his head. He whirled around and caught the ankle, yanking until the perpetrator fell to the floor with a squawk. He had a knife to a throat before he realized it was Jaskier, hands up defenselessly and eyes wide. 

He tsked and released him. 

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said indignantly as he sat up, wincing, and brushed his hands across his bare back, which had been dragged across the dusty floor in the scuffle. “You’re annoyed at me? I don’t even rightly know what’s going on right now! I woke up and was just trying to get out of bed! What did you expect to happen when you took up post there like some looming lurker?”

“You seem to be feeling better,” Geralt muttered. 

“I can’t even tell; my bladder is about to explode and I literally cannot even think about anything else. So if you would kindly move your arse, I would like to fix that particular problem.”

Huffing, Geralt shifted to the side to allow Jaskier to go and relieve himself. 

Jaskier was soon collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh. “In answer to your non-question, yes, I am feeling better. Thank you for pretending you care. You’ve fulfilled whatever bizarre obligation you seem to have felt so please feel free to leave. Preferably without soul-searing insults this time, but that’s honestly up to you.”

Geralt scowled as he watched Jaskier watch the ceiling, one arm thrown over his forehead and partially obscuring his view. 

“You never answered me,” he said gruffly. 

Jaskier’s head tilted minutely in his direction. “You’ll have to remind me what exactly I didn’t answer. My memory of our conversation while I was bleeding out is a bit vague,” he said acerbically. 

“Those men,” Geralt clarified. When he saw Jaskier open his mouth with an expression of exasperation, Geralt continued. “You said they were after me.”

Jaskier nodded, peering through his fingers up at the ceiling again.

He didn’t offer any more information. Gritting his teeth, Geralt mustered all the patience he could and asked for it. “Why? And why are they after you?”

“Oh yes, I’m starting to remember now - I told you already that I. Don’t. Know,” Jaskier sneered.  “I have no idea who those men were.” 

“Stop the bullshit!” Geralt finally barked. “You also implied this was a regular occurrence. What the hell is going on, Jaskier?”

Jaskier continued glowering. Just as Geralt was ready to start physically demanding answers, Jaskier suddenly turned so that he was fully facing Geralt. 

“Okay. Fine. You want to get into this? Alright. This has been going on for years, Geralt. People have been trying to kidnap, kill, or maim me to get to you for years. Not the same people - sometimes it’s hired hands for rich people you’ve pissed off, sometimes it’s people that don’t want you stopping them from doing something, and sometimes it’s random folk that just don’t like you.”

Geralt felt as though he had ice water coursing through his veins, freezing the breath in his lungs and slowing his heart to a sluggish crawl. 

“Most of the time, I don’t have a clue who or why unless they’re successful,” Jaskier continued. 

Suddenly the ice in his blood was seared to steam by the raging fury that overtook him at the thought. “The fuck does that mean?” Geralt growled. 

“Oh, yes, I’ve been in some pretty precarious situations, my friend,” Jaskier pressed cruelly, noting how each new piece of information wound Geralt tighter. “Been attacked more times than I can count. Although, to be fair, I don’t know how many of those were just because I am such a delight to all those around me and how many were thanks to you. I’ve been kidnapped at least 3 or 4 times. That’s never enjoyable but has ended up being surprisingly relatively benign,” he mused. 

Geralt was trembling, strung tight enough to snap. 

“Oh relax,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “I never tell them anything.” He rolled back to stare at the ceiling again, arms folded behind his head, appearing to tire of his game. “I can withstand a lot more than you might think.”

“Why?” he rasped. 

Jaskier shrugged. “Well most of the time I actually don’t know anything since you usually just ditch me with not a word of where I could find you again even if I needed to. But also because I’m not a heartless bastard; I used to consider us very good friends, you know. I would never do anything that might cause you harm. You do so much more good in this world than I do so if I had to sacrifice you to save myself…well, I’m not that kind of selfish.”

The sound that punched out of Geralt at the thought was choked and miserable. “Jaskier,” he croaked, then stopped, unable to find the words to continue. 

Jaskier turned his gaze back to Geralt again, a delighted, malicious grin stealing across his face. “Oh, my,” he crowed. “Does it hurt, Geralt? To know someone has suffered for you?”

“Yes,” he hissed, eyes narrow and intent on the bard perched above him. His hand lifted briefly towards Jaskier before he dropped it to fist in his lap. 

“Good,” Jaskier replied simply. His clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes belied the casual tone.

Geralt flinched slightly before lashing out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Jaskier quickly rolled back towards him, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Geralt, still seated on the floor, with contempt. “My problem?” he parroted incredulously. “You rip out my heart and tear it to shreds for no gods damned reason and I’m the one with the problem? I’m sorry, was I supposed to just roll over and take it? Beg for more?”

Geralt’s glare intensified.  “What bullshit are you spouting now?  I haven’t even seen your godsforsaken face in a year.”

“Were you dropped on your head sometime in the past year?  Gotten amnesia or dementia of some sort?  I feel like I should ask because this could be a legitimate issue before assuming -    No?” Jaskier asked facetiously before continuing.  “Okay, so you’re just willfully misremembering the way you very sincerely wished me out of your life?  I’ve done my part and stayed out of your way!  Yet here you are, still...maligning me.”

Geralt scoffed, immediately knowing that was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop.  “That’s not anywhere near the worst thing I’ve said to you.”

He saw the muscle in Jaskier’s jaw jump repeatedly, accentuating the slight tremor in his chin as he took a long moment before responding quietly.  “True.  But that was the first time I knew beyond a doubt that you really meant it.  Also, the fact that you think that’s a justification just proves what a fool I was to follow you for as long as I did.”

The silence that followed was oppressive and suffocating.

When Geralt made no move to refute, or even acknowledge, the accusations, the renewed expression of disappointment on Jaskier’s face hit him like a forging hammer to the chest.  

Jaskier’s mouth opened as if to say something, but all that came out was a heavy sigh before his lips pressed together tight.  He pushed himself off the bed, face drawn and shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Well, thanks for saving my life yet again.  I hope you don’t mind if I steal a drink before I’m off,” Jaskier said with forced nonchalance as he stumbled the two steps across the room to a pitcher on the small table.  

Geralt looked up when he heard the clangor of the cup clattering against the pitcher, both trembling and unsteady in Jaskier’s grip.  As water sloshed against his front, Jaskier slammed them both back down onto the table, breathing sharply through his nose in frustration.

Standing silently, Geralt stepped close and gently grabbed the cup from Jaskier.  Before he had grasped the pitcher, Jaskier snatched the cup back.  “I can pour my own damn drink, Geralt!” he snarled.

“Of course,” he agreed as he stepped back.  His eyes traced the tense lines of Jaskier’s back as he fumbled to get enough water into the cup for a long draught, somewhat surprised by the definition of hard muscle just visible beneath a shallow layer of softness.

Jaskier turned and brushed past Geralt to get to the door.  Geralt grabbed his arm.  “Jaskier.”

“What?” he replied curtly, still facing the door.

��Stay,” he said gruffly.

“No.  I don’t wish to add to my debt to you.”

“Since when do you care about such things?” Geralt asked mockingly.

“Since we’re not friends,” Jaskier bit out.

Geralt’s grip tightened with the pang of annoyance that pierced through him.  He quickly released his hand when he heard Jaskier hiss softly.

“You’re in no condition to be out there alone,” he said, frustrated with Jaskier’s stubbornness. 

“Who says I’m alone?” Jaskier replied. “Believe it or not, there are others who don’t find me so despicable.”  He watched as Jaskier stopped briefly to rummage through Geralt’s saddlebags to take one of his shirts, turning and showing Geralt quite pointedly that he was taking it, daring him to say something about it.

For once, there were many things Geralt wanted to say, ranging from groveling apologies to scathingly cruel remarks that made his previous ones sound like fucking love letters. But he remained silent as Jaskier turned and opened the door, jumbles of jagged words clamoring against the back of his teeth, shoved down his throat until he could scarcely breathe. 

Pausing, Jaskier looked back once more, eyes tracing Geralt’s features. “Goodbye, Geralt.”

Nothing had ever sounded so devastatingly final. 

.

Geralt left the inn with the rising sun, body still humming with pent up tension. 

Not knowing where Jaskier was or who he was with became Geralt’s newest form of personal torture. 

He would have stayed with Jaskier, traveled with him again, kept him safe. He didn’t like feeling responsible for Jaskier’s hardships. But apparently Jaskier’s pride was more important than his safety. Fucking idiot. 

He grit his teeth, hands clenching. Roach snorted and shook her head, making Geralt loosen his too-tight grip on her reins. “Sorry, girl,” he murmured. 

He dismounted and prowled beside her, unable to stomach sitting idle with his fuming thoughts. 

What right did Jaskier have to punish him? For all of his extravagant overtures of devotion, Jaskier was the one who left. And all it took was a few unkind words.  It certainly hadn’t been the first time he’d lashed out at Jaskier when his frustrations had lain elsewhere.  He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted, but it was far from the worst thing he’d done in the decades that they’d traveled together.  What kind of ‘friendship’ could be shattered by something so trivial?  

Geralt spent the next mile attempting to force his mind into silence.  He was unsuccessful like he hadn’t experienced since he’d first become a witcher all those years ago, his thoughts roiling and ranting violently.  

Geralt was not stupid - he knew that a distraction such as this would only result in a quick, needless death while on The Path. Fortunately, he was also not a coward.  If this required putting thought to the...feelings he was experiencing, he would do it.  

Geralt mounted Roach, trusting her to keep the path and warn him of any conspicuous threats.  He squared his shoulders as he turned his focus inwards.

Putting a name to the emotions that were clamoring below the surface was a trying task for one who only experienced pale shades of their human counterparts.  He approached each tangle of sentiment marring the dreary landscape of his inner mind, prepared to unravel it, acknowledge it, and move the fuck on. There was anger, yes, that he was all too familiar with.  Some hurt, he supposed, if he had to admit it.  But the biggest beast was a deep-seated sense of betrayal.

The realization made him snarl; betrayal to this extent wasn’t possible without a level of trust that he thought himself incapable of. How could he be so fucking stupid?  Geralt was forced to acknowledge that Jaksier had, despite his valiant efforts to keep him at arms length, insinuated himself as the closest anything came to a permanent fixture in Geralt’s life.  He’d trusted Jaskier in a way he’d not done since he’d been a boy, been so unquestionably sure of Jaskier’s loyalty.  

And he fucking knew better.  Nothing was permanent and nobody could truly be trusted.  How many times must he learn that gods damned lesson in his endlessly long life? Apparently at least once more, it seemed. 

Fury reared its head once more, searing through his nerves until he could think of nothing else. Partially at Jaskier, at destiny, at this shithole of a Continent. But mostly at himself.

But self-castigation was of no use to him. He drew a deep breath and pushed through it, finding that he was once again placing his misdirected anger firmly on Jaskier’s shoulders, something he’d been doing so long that he didn’t even think about it.

Perhaps he’d been needlessly cruel for too long. Jaskier was an easy target, one who would take a beating with nothing but a cheeky comeback or sullen silence. And wasn’t that on Jaskier, not standing up for himself? Perhaps a little, but no, he had to admit that this was his own shortcoming. It only incensed him further to realize just how much he’d taken advantage of...yes, his friend. If he had ever had a single friend in his life, it would have been Jaskier. 

But despite his self-involvement and constant reparation of the thick stone walls protecting his inner self from the rest of the world, Jaskier had grown like weeds through any cracks in the mortar. Though he’d stopped the spread, the sprouts of greenery stubbornly remained in the endless brown and gray of dirty stone, demanding his attention.  And as the mulish weeds started to finally die, the color fading, Geralt was forced to recognize the beauty of a bit of color in a colorless life.  

Just another story of too little too late.

_______________________________________________________________________

So you’d think quarantine would be the optimal time for writing, but I’m finding I have less time/energy than ever between keeping up with a 3 year old and a 1 year old that are cooped up inside while trying to work from home and not neglect our little bit of husband/wife time.  

Not having any time to myself is the hardest part of all this for me (for which I’m so incredibly grateful, that that’s my biggest problem) and makes me want to just curl up and do nothing the few moments I’m able to steal for myself.  So, plan on me being EVEN SLOWER THAN USUAL.  Yes, that’s possible.  And it’s happening.

Despite my complaining, things in general are good for us - Husband and I have job security, are continuing to get paid normally, and have bosses that understand our need to juggle family/work balance, and we’re all in good health.  

Stay safe and well out there, y’all, both physically and mentally, as much as you can!  

[seidenbros]

I was listening to this song on the way home and it made me think of Geralt and Jaskier. After they've settled down ("Do Witchers ever retire?" - "They do with the right person by their side") when Jaskier has gone grey already, but they still banter like they've always done. Maybe Jaskier even tends to forget a lit of things, early stages of dementia, and Geralt has to remind him of everything, especially about the little things he loves about Jaskier, because it makes him REMEMBER. Geralt tells him how much he loves the way Jaskier sings when he dries his hair, the way Jaskier still holds his hand after all these years when they go somewhere, or even just when they sit in the garden. He loves the way Jaskier laughs when Geralt acts like a fool.

When you're old and your bones feel weak

I will sing to you until you fall asleep

When it's colder and it gets hard to move

I will dance with you right there in the living room

Especially these lyrics made me conjure up that image of the two of them with Geralt taking care of an aging Jaskier, making him enjoy the last days he has, even though it hurts to even think of that loss, but still... Geralt will be there till the end.

Thanks, I hurt myself with that