#jaskierwhumpweek

[beth--b]

All Fall Down

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Prompt: Exhaustion

Tags: Exhaustion, jaskier whump, post season 2, post relationship but also pre relationship

Word count: 1355

Chapters: 1/1

Completed: yes

Summary: After the fight with Deathless Mother Jaskier is exhausted but ignores his own needs until he can't ignore them anymore.

Link: read it on ao3 here

@jaskierwhumpweek

Jaskier felt like he could sleep for a fucking year.

He had never been so utterly exhausted, so thoroughly wrung out in his life.

The sleepless nights helping elves as the Sandpiper, the fucking torture, going to prison, and let's not forget the Deathless Mother and Ciri's possession. The terrible loss of so many Witchers from a place that should have been safe, from their home.

Yet, he knew he could not rest, not yet.

There was work to be done and he needed to pull his weight. The Keep had already been half ruined even before hell had been unleashed upon them, now the main hall of the Keep was almost destroyed.

So he pushed aside the way his limbs felt so heavy he could hardly hold himself up, the way his eyes burned even when closed, and set about helping wherever he could.

He found himself helping Lambert move broken furniture, helping Coen collect medallions from the fallen witchers. He found himself on hands and knees scrubbing blood from the floor. Until finally, he found himself face to face with a Cintran Princess, turned Witcher trainee who was looking as though she would burst into tears at the slightest provocation.

" Ciri?" Jaskier asked after a few moments silence, "Ciri are you alright? Actually, of course you aren't. Stupid question to ask you at a time like this. I know there is no way that you could possibly be alright my dear, but is there anything I can do to help you?"

Ciri looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together in what must have been a nervous habit. Finally she seemed to steel herself and faced him once more.

"Could you sing for me?"

Jaskier gave the girl a tired smile and nodded.

"Of course. How about we head to your room and I'll sing you a song or two to help you sleep?"

"Thank you, I'm not sure I can sleep after…well, after all that, but thank you."

She led Jaskier further into the keep until she opened a door to a small, freezing cold room.

Jaskier looked appalled at the freezing room and shook his head in mute horror.

"This is your room?" he finally asked, the words hard to get out from sheer disbelief.

Ciri just nodded.

"Right, we are going to find GeraIt." 

Jaskier set off back towards the hall where he had last seen Geralt. By the time they found him, Jaskier was feeling his exhaustion deep within his very bones, his vision beginning to go hazy around the edges. But he was determined that Ciri would not spend another night in that freezing closet of a room.

"Geralt we need to talk about Ciri's sleeping arrangements," the bard said, coming to a stop before the white haired witcher.

"Not really the time Jaskier," Geralt replied as he hefted more broken stones into his arms to be moved to a pile with other rubble and debris from the fight.

Jaskier followed Geralt, determined to help Ciri in any way he could.

"No Geralt, that girl has been through enough, please do not tell me you think her room is acceptable?"

Geralt sighed and turned to face Jaskier knowing the bard wouldn't let this go if he didn't. 

"Ciri is sleeping where all trainee Witcher's have stayed, Jaskier. It's what she wanted."

Jaskier ran a hand down his face, his exhaustion forgotten momentarily in exasperation. 

"My dear, she may wish to be a Witcher now but she was a princess up until recently. A very fucking traumatised one at that. The poor child needs a room that is not half filled with snow. How she hasn't fucking frozen to death I don't even know. Now tell me where she can sleep?"

Geralt looked guilty for a moment as though he realised he should have done better. He simply nodded once then turned on his heel and left the room, Jaskier and Ciri following.

Jaskier wasn't really aware as he followed Geralt down various passageways, lost in exhaustion he only came back to himself when Geralt stopped to open a door to a bedroom. 

The room was cold, because of course it was, but the windows were intact and there was a small hearth. Geralt set about lighting a fire while Jaskier helped Ciri into the small bed, the girl looked ready to fall asleep on her feet.

Once Ciri was settled Jaskier tucked her in and promised her a song the next day. 

Ciri nodded sleepily, murmured a thank you and closed her eyes.

With Ciri as good as asleep, both men left the room quietly.

Back out in the hall Jaskier's own lack of sleep caught up with him, the bard stumbling as he tried to set off back down the hall.

Strong arms caught him around the waist, stopping him from falling face first to the stone floor.

"Jaskier, you alright?" GeraIt's voice rumbled in his ear.

Jaskier tried to answer but he couldn't seem to find the words, his ears were ringing and his vision had gone fuzzy. He faintly registered Geralt's startled cry of 'fuck' before everything went dark.

When Jaskier woke he was not in the room he had commandeered when he arrived at Kaer Morhen. No, this room felt far more lived in. He was covered in warm furs, there was a fire crackling in the small hearth and there were a few personal items around the room, a few books and some very familiar swords hanging on the wall. He was in Geralt's room.

Just as he reached this conclusion the Witcher in question opened the door. He had a tray in his arms with what appeared to be a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge.

"Geralt? What happened?"

Instead of answering, Geralt just sat the tray on the bed within easy reach of the bard then moved to sit in front of the fire.

He watched in silence as Jaskier drank his tea and ate his breakfast. When Jaskier was done Geralt retrieved the tray, placing it near the door before coming to sit beside Jaskier on the bed.

"What happened is that you pushed yourself so far past your limits that you passed out. You were out for the rest of the day and night," Geralt paused as though he was debating whether or not to say something more. Finally he seemed to reach a decision, reaching out for the bard's hand and giving it a light squeeze. "You scared the shit out of me Jask, please don't do that again."

"Sorry my dear, there had just been so much going on…it's been a long few days. Months really if I'm honest. Smuggling elves, torture and prison followed by a crazy night of possession and monsters really takes it out of a man," Jaskier explained, fighting back a yawn despite the apparently long sleep he had just woken on.

"Wait, torture and smuggling elves? What the fuck?"

Jaskier looked at Geralt in confusion, "Didn't Yennefer tell you I was in Oxenfurt?"

"Yes but she just said you were in trouble, I found you in a prison cell Jaskier and assumed that was the trouble."

"Ah well that makes me feel a little better actually. I did think you might have wanted to know about what happened with the whole torture thing but you never asked and quite frankly I didn't want to think about it," Jaskier looked at their still joined hands and tried not to think about his time with the fire mage, barely suppressing a shudder.

"I won't push but you can talk to me when you're ready. I know I fucked up after the dragon hunt but I don't want to lose you again."

"Thank you Geralt, maybe not now but soon. Now I'm still tired and you look wrecked. Will you join me for a little while?"

Geralt nodded and climbed under the covers, wrapping his arms around the bard. They had a lot to talk about but for now they would just enjoy being in each other's company once more.

[jaskierwhumpweek]

JASKIER WHUMP WEEK 2023

Announcing Jaskier Whump week!

This is a week open to all kinds of ships, au’s, and prompts that deal with hurting our dear bard, Jaskier.

It’s finally back! After much contemplation, I’ve decided to open this up again! I’m so excited!!

This will take place on from January 8 - January 14 2023 !!.

Rules:

This story must center around Jaskier being Whumped or emotionally hurt.

THIS IS OPEN TO ALL FORMS OF MEDIA.

Ex: Written stories, art, edits, or videos

Ships of all kinds are welcome here! And don’t feel pressured to write a slash fic, gen fics are welcome too!

There are no word limits, so, write to your hearts content.

You are allowed to use all media that Jaskier is mentioned in ( The book series, the games, the Polish show, and the Netflix show).

It doesn’t have to be in Jasker’s POV, it can be in anyone's, but he must be the ‘main focus.’ He must be the one getting Whumped.

You can follow one of two prompts for that week day.

The prompt are open to interpretation.

NO CHARACTER BASHING

Post your stories under the hashtag #Jaskierwhumpweek

@jaskierwhumpweek on your posts so you can be re-blogged.

If these are uploaded to AO3, add the link. I will make a collection of the works gathered.

All endings are welcome, all archetypes are welcome!

Create to your hearts content!

Please do not hesitate to ask a question if you have it, I am more than happy to help.

PROMPTS:

Surrender or Sacrifice

Mourning or Flashback

Isolation or Humiliation

Good intention; bad result or Exhaustion

Grief or Hatred

Betrayal or Tears

Anxiety or Lashing out

HAVE FUN AND CREATE BEAUTIFUL WORKS!

[dancingwiththefae]

Love Be Brave

day 1 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Ship: Geraskefer (pre-relationship)

Prompt: Surrender

Tags: Graphic torture, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.9k

Completed: yes

1/1

Summary: Jaskier is held captive and tortured for information on Geralt and Ciri. Geralt and Yennefer are on their way to rescue him, but not before his resolve finally breaks.

A/N: this probably would have worked for betrayal too but I have a different idea for that

Also on AO3

---------------------------------------

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since they brought him here. It couldn’t have been too long. A week maybe? More? He wasn’t sure. But in the never ending dark of the cell, it felt like forever. All the days blurred into one. Funny that, how quickly you lose your sense of time without the sun. He missed the sun. The light. The crisp air of a winter’s morning. It all felt so far away now. The door creaked open and the false light from the lamps crept in. Only to be blocked moments later by a man.

“Morning bard,” he greeted with cheer. It made him feel sick. “You know, I’m feeling generous today so, any requests?”

Jaskier pretended to ponder on the question a moment.

“A nap,” he ventured, “a jug of wine. And to fall into the arms of a beautiful woman.”

The man laughed an ugly laugh.

“Still full of jokes. Save it for Rience. He’s looking forward to your meeting today.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he whispered, staring down at the burns already decorating his skin. His hands were a lost cause. His fingers felt hot and tight, barely functional. The ropes around his wrists had rubbed the skin raw. And under his clothes, a litter of bruises and marks. They quickly learned that beatings got them nowhere. Jaskier had taken a punch from many angry spouses in his time. Now, they mostly did it for fun. They took what mattered most, his music. It would take a miracle for him to play again. Or, magic at least. Except the only magic user available was the one destroying him piece by piece. He hadn't broken. That was the most important thing. Though he was starting to lose sight of why it was so important.

The man hauled him up by his collar and dragged him out of the room. He pulled the bard through an all too familiar corridor and into a dark, empty room save for two chairs. Both were empty. Jaskier was shoved into the one in the centre of the room. He no longer fought back when they tied his hands and feet to it. He wasn't sure he had the strength to anyway. The man left and Jaskier was alone. He knew it wasn't going to be for long. It was the same every time. The door creaked open. Jaskier didn't need to look to know who it was.

“Hello, Jaskier,” Rience spoke in a soft voice, “are you ready to tell me where the witcher and the girl are?”

Jaskier let out a laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

“Where's the fun in that?”

His voice didn't match the confidence of his words. Rience chuckled at the sorry sight he must have made. Calmly he approached, not sparing another glance towards him. He took a seat in front of him, rested his chin in his hand and stared. The stillness of it unnerved him. The way he looked at him, like he was his favourite toy, brought him nothing but dread.

“Shall we get started?” Rience said after a while. Standing, he retrieved a poker from the edge of the room. Conjuring a flame, he ran his palm along it.

“Everytime you refuse to answer a question-” he pointed to hot end of the poker towards him with careless grace “-you will be punished. But I'm sure you know how it goes by now. So, where is the princess?”

The bard kept his mouth shut. In reality he wasn't sure where she was. He had never even met her. But he had a pretty good idea where Geralt would take her if he had her. Considering how desperate Rience and his company seemed for answers, Jaskier could only guess that that was the case. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough. The mage let the silence stretch on for a moment. When it continued too long he struck, pressing the poker against his side. The bard didn't hold back his cry. There was no shame in screaming. The poker was wrenched away with a cruel smile. The bard panted against the searing pain in his side.

“Where does the witcher go when they're not roaming the continent?”

More silence. Rience went for his shoulder this time. Pain lanced through him. More questions. More scars to add to his collection until he was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and praying to any god that would listen for a miracle. His will was only so strong. It was made all the worse by Rience's obvious enjoyment of his pain. The man knew how to cause pain, and he did it well. He took pleasure in it.

“Do you know why I do it this way,” he drawled, stepping in close to run his fingers through his hair in mock tenderness, “why I don’t just pull the answers I seek straight from your head?”

“Enlighten me,” he ground out.

Rience crouched down in front of him until they were face to face. Piercing eyes pinned his. When he spoke it was soft and with a smile.

“Because it’s more fun this way. Magic is too convenient. Yes, I could simply force my way into your mind and find everything I need. But what’s the fun in that? I don’t just want to complete my task. I want to watch you break”

Abruptly, he stood and stalked away, turning on his heel when he reached his usual place.

“Now, shall we try this again?”

It was the same as before. Jaskier held on with all the strength that he had left. Rience's resolve was breaking. After a few more attempts, the mage dropped the poker carelessly to the ground. His face twitched and he struggled to keep composure. He paced back and forth. Jaskier tried his best to keep his breathing even. It was getting harder to recover after his ‘meetings’ with Rience. It wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t at all, he knew. There was a part of him that wanted to give up. To just give them everything they want and pray to the gods that they would let him go. He pushed it down best he could.

Rience stopped. With an inquisitive hum he produced a white light from his hand. He looked back at the bard from over his shoulder. The fire in his eyes filled him with dread.

“Let’s make this more interesting.”

He strode across the room far too quickly. He knew it was futile and yet he still flinched back as if to get away.

Rience placed the palm on his hand on Jaskier’s forehead and suddenly he was struck with overwhelming pain. There was not a part of him it didn’t touch. Struggling against it was futile. It was everywhere. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He grit his teeth until they ached. Rience was going to kill him. He was sure of it. When he thought he couldn’t take it anymore it vanished.

The mage looked down at him with a smug grin as Jaskier tried to get air back into his lungs.

“You’re playing a losing game, bard,” Rience murmured, “I’m going to take what I want anyway.”

Panic began to set in. He couldn’t go through that again. He just couldn’t. But he couldn’t betray Geralt. If what Rience said was true - and he knew deep down that it was - he was going to betray him whether he wanted to or not. When he didn’t respond, the mage held his hand up once again. Tears stung his eyes. Jaskier opened his mouth and told him everything.

Shouting emerged from down the hall. The mage's eyes flitted towards the door. The commotion grew louder. With a huff, the mage stalked towards the door and left the room. With him gone, the adrenaline left Jaskier all at once. Slumping forwards in the chair, he suddenly felt exhausted. The world around him began to blur. He barely registered the pain anymore. His body felt heavy. He didn't want to fight the weight to keep himself up. Rushed footsteps echoed from down the hall, approaching closer. Rience reappeared through the door, heading straight towards him with fury. A ball of flame erupted from his hand. Jaskier didn't have time to panic. This was it. This was the end for him. The gravity of what he had just done settled in as soon as it happened.

The door burst open, startling them both. Geralt stood in the doorway, wild eyed and sword at the ready. The world seemed to stop for a moment as they locked eyes. He watched the witcher's face morph from shock to fury. Sword raised, he readied himself to fight. A portal opened before them and in a flash, Rience was gone. Jaskier stared at the space he had occupied in horror until white hair obscured it.

“Geralt,” he breathed. He couldn't quite believe it. Geralt was here. He had found him. He'd come to rescue him. But he didn't know. Oh gods, he didn't know. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he wept, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Yen,” the witcher called, “he's in here.”

He cut through the ropes at his wrist with a knife.

“It's alright,” he soothed, “we're getting you out of here.”

“No, no. Stop,” Jaskier begged, “I- I told them everything. Rience, he knows. He knows where Ciri is. I'm so sorry.”

The witcher paused. His face was unreadable. Jaskier was sure – he was so sure – that Geralt would leave him. He wouldn't save him. Not after what he did. And he wouldn't blame him. Jaskier was an enemy now. He had betrayed his loyalty, his deepest trust. But then the witcher did something he didn't expect. He carried on.

“Doesn't matter. We can deal with it later.”

He bent down to cut through the ropes at his ankles. Jaskier wanted to ask what he was doing but the words wouldn't come. He could only watch, startled, as Geralt freed him. There was more crashing from outside and then Yennefer ran through the door, stopping in shock when she took in the sight in front of her.

“Fuck,” she swore.

“They know where Ciri is,” Geralt explained in a rush, “we have to get out of here.”

He held the bard from under his elbows and pulled him up to stand. Immediately, Jaskier's feet went from under him. The witcher's arms moved to encircle his middle. It was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Yen, open a portal. Now!”

He couldn't find the right way up. Everything was spinning. It was too much effort just to think. To try and move. He didn't want to fight it any more. He was done fighting. Letting himself drop into the weight that was holding him up, he surrendered to the darkness.

The world came back to him slowly. He was aware of aches throughout his body. Duller than they were before. He was covered by scratchy sheets. They brushed against his legs as he shifted. His eyelids felt heavy. He would drift back asleep if not for thirst making itself known. With immense effort he opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dark. Dark enough that he could almost be convinced he was back in his cell, if not for the bed he was currently occupying. A candle flickered alive on a table beside him and he flinched away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he heard a woman whisper. Her voice was familiar. Yennefer's face was illuminated in the candlelight. She moved it away from the bed and for that he was grateful.

“You're awake,” she said, “can I get you anything?”

“Water,” he whispered. Or tried to, at least. It was difficult to talk. She seemed to have understood anyway, and poured some out from a jug for him. With careful hands, she lifted his head enough to drink. She held the glass for him. He drank slowly until it was empty. Yennefer helped him back down and took the glass away.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him. How was he feeling? He wasn't sure. He hurt, his his limbs felt stiff. His hands were wrapped in bandages and basically useless. The guilt at what he had done ate away at him until there was a hollow in his chest. He was confused as to why he was here. Why Yennefer of all people was tending to him. It was so much all at once.

“Where are we?” he responded instead.

Yennefer chewed her lip. Her lack of response was deafening.

“Not Kaer Morhen,” he continued.

“No.”

Again, the silence stretched out.

“You won't tell me,” he concluded.

Her face screwed up in anguish or pity he couldn't tell.

“I'm sorry, Jaskier.”

“No,” he mumbled, “I understand.”

He really did, as much as it hurt. He had betrayed them. But, boy did it hurt. He had always prided himself on his loyalty. And now they couldn't trust him.

“Hey.” She cupped his cheek and tilted his head to look at her. “When you're healed, we're gonna move to another safe place. We'll stick together. All of us.”

“Why?” He felt tears sting his eyes. “I told him everything.”

“Jaskier, you were tortured. Nobody blames you for giving in.”

Confronted with everything that had happened, he couldn't hold back any more. Tears flowed freely. She held him silently while he wept. Once it had started, there was no stopping. Everything he had pent up since he had been taken by them. All the strength he had used to keep himself together. He let it go. Finally, he let it go. He cried and cried until there was no more left to give. Still, Yennefer held him. Kept him close while his breathing evened out. He pulled away first, wiping the tears from his face. That was when he noticed his sleeves were different to what they were before. He realised he was wearing different clothes and he was relatively clean, all things considering.

“Did you...bathe me?”

“You smelled worse than a sewer,” Yennefer laughed, “but don't worry. We were very gentle.”

Jaskier felt his cheeks flame at that. Any other time and he would have made a comment of fished for compliments. Or even openly expressed how he wished for their hands on him again. Quietly, he wished for it. It had been so long since he had felt a kind touch and he wasn't even conscious for it.

“What about...” He checked down his shirt at the marks Rience had left. They looked old, as if they had happened months ago.

“Do you underestimate my abilities?” she joked. There was an uneasy edge to it.

“And my hands? Are they-” he couldn't finish the sentence. The idea that there was permanent damage was too great to even contemplate. The sorceress sighed a weary sigh.

“They will... take time. But I'm working on it. Can't have a bard without his lute, can we?”

The thought almost made him cry again. He stared down at his bandaged hands. He couldn't do much like this. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to need taken care of. He didn't doubt Yennefer's abilities. Not for a second. He just hoped this was not one thing too many.

“You should try and get some more sleep.”

She pulled away from him and made to leave.

“Don't go.” He didn't mean to sound so desperate. A sudden wave of panic at the thought of being alone took over. He reached out with a bandaged hand to stop her until he remembered how useless they were now. The sorceress sighed and gently coaxed him into the middle of the bed. She lifted the covers and climbed in next to him. The bard didn't hesitate to curl up into her. He was so tired. A kind of tiredness that had settled into his bones. His body ached. If he were in a better frame of mind, he would probably have been embarrassed by his actions He buried his face into her neck. The scent of lilac and gooseberries was strongest here. He breathed deeply and relaxed into it.

He wanted to sleep. His body cried out for it. But when he closed his eyes, he was hit with images of Rience, of that place, of himself giving in. He was too exhausted to cry. Yennefer sensed his unease.

“You want Geralt, too?” she asked.

Jaskier nodded into her shoulder.

“I'll let him know,” she whispered.

A few moments later, the door opened and Geralt appeared a the foot of the bed. Jaskier buried his face back into Yennefer quickly. He didn't want to see if the witcher looked at him with pity. Before Geralt could speak, Yennefer held up a hand to stop him.

“We'll talk in the morning. For now-” she waved her hand towards the other side of the bed “-Jaskier needs us.”

The bed dipped behind him as Geralt cautiously climbed in behind him. He shuffled in further until he was pressed up against the bard's back. Though the witcher was being careful of Jaskier's injuries, the weight against his back settled him. He felt safe between then. Safe in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. He listened to the steady breathing between them, felt the soft rise and fall of their chests against him, and quietly slipped into sleep.

[blaidd-gwyn]

What's the Point

Day 3 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Prompt: Isolation

Word count: 3k

Chapters: 1/2

Completed: No

Summary: Jaskier knew there was no point in him being in Kaer Morhen. Geralt had needed information when he'd found him in Oxenfurt, not Jaskier himself, and once he had what he needed he'd been discarded and forgotten. So now, here Jaskier was, in a remote witcher keep with no purpose, feeling out of place and useless. Well, the least he could do was try to help out where he could.

Except no matter how hard he tries, it keeps backfiring.

Read on ao3

[karolincki]

Empty Shell

I wrote this for @jaskierwhumpweek day 4, Exhaustion

Warnings: suicidal tendencies, child neglect/abuse, minor character death

Read it on Ao3

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"Julian!"

Julian was hiding in his closet as his father's angry voice rang through the estate. His entire body was trembling.

Earlier, he had been playing in the gardens, something his father had forbidden, but all the plants and animals were just too fascinating to not look at. Julian had been careful, not letting anyone see him, but then he had lost track of time.

A maid had been sent out to look for him and when she had found him in a field of buttercups she immediately had run to tattle on him to his father.

Julian hiccuped and tried to suppress his sobs. Why wouldn't his father let him have a little bit of fun?

He began to cry in earnest when his father finally found him.

—

As Julian got older his father only got stricter.

No talking when adults are speaking. Always listen. Don't run. Pay attention. Stop crying.

But the stricter his father got, the more rebellious Julian became.

For every boring meeting he spent twice the time out in the woods. He learned to play the flute in secret. A stable boy showed him how to whittle a rudimentary flute. The sound was awful, but it was Julian's. He created that.

Creating became Julian's new outlet. He began to draw, to sing, to write, to play.

When his father found his notes of poetry, he told the servants to burn them all and to make sure to burn each future paper they saw.

His drawings would have found the same fate if Julian hadn't hid them with the stable boy.

He didn't cry when his father made him watch how the servants burned his very soul. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Only hours later in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep, he broke down, crying bitter tears of betrayal.

—

Julian was fourteen when he kissed the stable boy for the first time. Patryk was already fifteen and seemed to know all the secrets of the world.

Patryk was the one to introduce him to the lute. It had gotten little damaged, so a bard had left it behind.

The first time Julian stroked one of the strings, it felt like his entire being changed. That one single sound called out to him like nothing had before. In that very moment he knew who he wanted to become.

He spent every single moment of his free time learning how to play the lute. Patryk always told him he had real talent, so when he felt he was good enough he went to his father to tell him about wanting to become a bard.

His father of course thought very little of his idea.

"You are viscount and you will get those silly ideas out of your head right now. Never speak of this again."

Julian had expected that reaction, but it was disheartening anyway.

Julian was fifteen when his father found the lute.

He was fifteen when his father saw him kiss Patryk.

He was fifteen when Patryk was bound to the pillory and whipped until his cries fell silent.

It was the last time he saw Patryk.

—

That day something broke inside of Julian. He had always held hope that one day things would turn around. Not anymore.

Where there once had been a boy who always smiled, there now was an empty shell.

Julian went through the motions of each day as if he was controlled by something else.

He sat quietly in meetings, never spoke out of turn, and always obeyed.

His father began to praise him for his diligence and his obedience.

"Finally we can make a proper Pankratz out of you."

The old Julian would have felt sick hearing those words, but the current one only smiled. His soul was gone, but at least he had his father's love.

—

Julian slept most of his free time.

When his father forced him to go to parties to meet proper young ladies, he went without complaint. He smiled and flirted through the entire evening, even when he felt like death warmed over.

Julian did what his father asked, he put on a mask and played the part of the perfect son and as soon as he was alone he fell apart like a puppet whose strings you cut.

He was always exhausted, but no matter how much he slept he never felt rested.

His father became impatient with him.

"Be more proactive, smile for real for once, stop being so lifeless."

It was the only request he couldn't fulfill.

Julian thought to himself that if he could fall asleep and never wake up again, then that would be ideal.

—

Julian was sitting under a tree.

His father had told him to get out, do something, anything really, just not sit at home.

So Julian went and walked until he couldn't see his father's estate anymore.

The wind was rustling through the leaves and bees were buzzing all around him, but Julian noticed none of that.

A bee landed on his hand. Disinterested, he watched it for a moment before he shooed it away.

Life truly was bleak.

Something nagged at the edge of his mind. Something that had been dormant for way too long. It annoyed Julian and he tried to get rid of it, but the feeling of urgency grew.

Finally he registered what his subconscious had picked up on. There was singing in the distance accompanied by a lute.

Julian's heart began to race. He shouldn't be here. His father would be angry. He would punish him again and yet Julian couldn't move.

Around the bend in the road a person appeared. They were dressed in colourful clothes and a ridiculous hat adorned their head. Julian held his breath.

As the bard, for it must be one, came closer, the song became clearer. It filled Julian with emotions he didn't want to feel, hopes and dreams he never wanted to think about again.

Tears were clouding his vision and his heart ached like it hadn't done in years.

The bard nodded at him in passing, not interrupting his song for even a second.

Julian was shaking.

He later wouldn't know what made him do it, but he called after the bard.

"Good sir, where did you learn your trade?" If the bard noticed how much his voice shook he didn't let it show. He stopped his singing but never his playing.

"In Oxenfurt of course!" the bard called back. "I am a master of the seven liberal arts. Now I travel through the lands and sing to my heart's content."

With a deep bow that looked so theatrical it might have given Julian's father a stroke, the bard disappeared into the woods.

His music stayed with Julian, though.

Julian's heart was racing. Fear, hope and panic battled inside his chest and paralysed he sat on the ground.

He had to do something.

He shouldn't though.

Dragging his feet, he rushed back home.

His father was gone on a visit to a friend and the servants didn't pay attention to Julian.

He threw a bunch of his clothes together in a bag and vomited into the chamber pot.

Grabbing everything of value he could carry and sell, he rushed out of the house while his head screamed to turn around as long as his father hadn't found out yet.

It was late. The merchants had already closed for the day and the farmers were home, so Julian managed to evade most people and hide behind a cloak he stole from a servant on his way out.

The docks were busier, full of drunken sailors and Julian marched straight to the person that looked like the most sober captain.

"I need passage to Oxenfurt."

The captain looked him up and down critically.

"Aren't you the little lordling?"

Julian resisted the urge to flee.

"I have enough money to make sure you never say that again."

The captain grinned and broke out laughing.

"Alright little stowaway, no noble has ever entered my ship if the Lord asks."

The passage to Oxenfurt was miserable.

Julian was sea sick for the most part and eaten alive by anxiety. What on earth was he thinking?

As soon as they reached Oxenfurt he booked the first inn he could get, bathed, and slept for an entire day. When he woke the next morning he forced down some breakfast and went up to the university.

He was feeling queasy. His legs were liquid and his stomach was ready to expel what little food he had managed to choke down.

The entrance was buzzing with students who were looking to sign up for the winter semester and before he knew what was happening he got swept up in the masses.

Was he insane? He hadn't played the lute in ages and was constantly exhausted, how could ever hope to become anything?

And yet, he didn't turn around. His heart raced, raced to the beat of the song of the bard and too soon yet still not soon enough he stood in front of the woman signing them all up.

"Name, please," she drawled.

Who was he? Who was he supposed to be? He couldn't sing up with Julian Pankratz, he didn't want to be that person anymore.

"Name, please."

"Jaskier, my name is Jaskier."

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

Last thoughts...

Jaskier last thoughts before Rience finishes him.

I did my best but I will never be as strong as you. I just wish I had the chance to tell you how much... I love you

This small edit is an alternative ending, if Yennefer didn't come back or came back too late.

This edit came while doing two others that may come later (not sure yet). Editing, I just realised that Jaskier's bruises on his face and chest were impressive in some shots of this scene. Playing with colors and contrast they appear more vividly. And I found this quite disturbing.

I tried to make something of it but I am not sure of the result. Too blurry... (Let say that is for the jaskier whump week lol).

[fanoftheimagines]

In the Firelight

In the Firelight

Day 7 of Jaskier Whump Week 2023

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Prompts: Anxiety

Reader Gender: Non-Binary

CW: Hurt/Comfort, fear of fire, cold weather, anxiety, trauma, and healing

Word Count: 475

Summary: After what happened in Oxenfurt, Jaskier is anxious around fire. Unfortunately, the cold forced him to face his fear.

Post S2 E8

A/N: I set this in Bēstiārium, but you don’t have to know anything about that story for context

Tags: @jaskierwhumpweek​ @zana999​

Masterlist | Bēstiārium Masterlist | AO3 Link

Jaskier Whump Week Masterlist | Jaskier Whump Week 2023

A gust of frigid winter air blew around you and Jaskier as you trotted down the mountain path. The sun was setting further with every step you took. Jaskier pulled himself closer to your back, his nose burrowing into your neck. A soft smile – one only Jaskier could pull out of you – slipped onto your face.

“We should make camp soon. It’s only going to get colder from here.” You said, patting his clasped hands on your waist. He nodded against the crook of your shoulder.

He was exhausted, you both were. The few days’ rest at Kaer Morhen weren’t nearly enough to recover from everything that had happened. Yennefer had done all she could for his burns and your leg, but while the skin had healed, the deeper wounds still remained.

You came to a stop at a small clearing just beyond the tree line. You hopped down from your horse then helped Jaskier. “We’ll have to start a fire if we don’t want to freeze to death.” You said as you started gathering sticks.

Jaskier visibly tensed. “I… Are you sure there’s no other way?”

You looked up and shot him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I know. But it’s just too cold.” He gulped and nodded. With automatic, almost dissociated, movements, he began helping you gather firewood. His anxiety was almost palpable, as if the building anticipation of fire was going to send him into a traumatic flashback or panic attack.

Eventually, he sat on a nearby log. He was quietly still as you worked on lighting the fire. Worry stirred in your stomach for him. You didn’t expect him to bounce back to his old self after what happened in Oxenfurt, but you weren’t sure how to exactly help him. You weren’t even completely sure what had happened.

He had just finished rolling out the bedrolls next to each other when the flames burst to life. He visibly shrank. In fact, he was practically shaking – although you weren’t entirely sure if it was from the cold or the anxiety. So, you pulled your long wool cloak from your shoulders and draped it over his. He leaned into the warmth of your touch and a miserable noise dragged from his throat.

“We have to warm you up, dear heart.” You whispered as you rubbed his arms. “I won’t let it hurt you.”

He hummed and allowed you to pull him closer to the fire. The two of you settled on the bedrolls. He was still a bit anxious, but he sagged slightly against you. As you both warmed up, wrapped in wool and furs, soaking in each other’s body heat, and the glow of the flames heating the air, you were sure, eventually, that Jaskier’s trauma would heal. And until then, you’d be by his side, helping every step of the way.  

[bambirex]

The Day Has Come Where I Have Died (Only To Find I’ve Come Alive)

Day 2 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier/Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia

Prompt: flashback

Tags: trauma, blood, flashbacks, suffocation, crying, panic attacks, established relationship, hurt/comfort, past violence

Word count: 2,785

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:  A familiar place forces Jaskier to relive the most horrifying experience of his life.

Creator’s notes: I'm still not completely sure if Jaskier remembered anything from the djinn's attack, but I decided he did. Written for Jaskier Whump Week, I went with the flashback prompt.Please, heed the warnings!

Read on ao3

*

The day started off so well.

There was absolutely no indication whatsoever, that things would go so wrong.

But to be fair, there wasn’t any indication the last time, either. That appeared to be a normal day as well, until it really wasn’t anymore.

The Sun sat high on the sky, its rays warm and bright, beckoning the songbirds out of their hiding. The leaves of the trees were a harsh green color, the flowers spreading their delicate petals towards the sky in full bloom. The imagery in itself made Jaskier want to write a jaunty little song. He was feeling at his most comfortable walking next to Geralt and Roach; no monster or bandit has gotten in their way so far, so even Geralt seemed to have his guards down, listening to Jaskier’s chattering with a faint, but very fond smile.

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier continued his rambling from before, “that if it’s made from the finest silk, you need to reach deeply into your purse.”

“It’s still too much for a shirt, Jaskier.”

“Well, I am going to buy it!”

Geralt snorted softly. “If you have already made up your mind, why are you asking for my opinion?”

“Because, you will see me wearing it,” Jaskier purred, reaching up to give Geralt’s leg a small, teasing squeeze, “and I wanna know if you would find me pretty in it.”

Geralt reached down for his hand, brushing his fingers across Jaskier’s gently. “You know I find you pretty in anything.”

Jaskier preened at the compliment, his face breaking out into a wide grin. “So, does that mean I can buy that shirt?”

“I mean, it’s your money. But I don’t wanna hear you complaining when we don’t have enough coin for a normal room to stay in.”

“Oh, but I’ll just win enough for that in my next competition,” Jaskier laughed, “or, you know, I have a handsome, heroic witcher lover who will earn just enough in no time!”

The sound of a faint splash reached Jaskier’s ear, which meant there were fish around that they could eat for lunch. Jaskier turned his head towards the sound, and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.

The small lake looked familiar, and so did the trees around it. The rocks on the shore, a half-naked bush, even the color of the soil brought back memories quicker than lightning. Jaskier usually didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings unless he absolutely had to. Geralt always joked about how he would get lost anywhere.

But that place Jaskier would never forget. A seemingly harmless looking little creek that wouldn’t stand out for anyone else forever burned into his brain. He wanted to look away, but his eyes disobeyed him. They remained stubbornly stuck on the surface of the lake, seeing things that weren’t there anymore: an amphora with a mage’s sigil, an object that hid the creature that almost ended his life.

His legs seemed to have rooted into the ground. All his muscles closed up, becoming an unmovable, leaden weight inside his body. He couldn’t turn his head, his jaw tightened uncomfortably, sealing his lips closed. Jaskier wanted to talk, to tell Geralt he wasn’t feeling well, but he was simply unable to.

The sky turned an alarming dark grey color when the lid of the amphora came off. The wind picked up, whistling loudly and shaking the trees around them. Jaskier was foolish enough to not feel scared: either the alcohol in his system that he poured into himself to heal his heartbreak over his latest lover numbed his survival instincts, or the excitement over such a groundbreaking discovery did. Either way, he found himself waving the amphora around and making his demands. It was a djinn, for Melitele’s sake. Of course, he wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to ask the mighty spirit to make his Countess forgive him, or to erase his biggest rival out of existence. Who wouldn’t have done that, when they held such power in their hands?

Geralt seemed to have thought differently, because he stopped him from saying his last wish. Jaskier, already riled up, has gotten up in his face. They fought, and Geralt angrily told him he just wanted some peace for himself. That was the final nail in his coffin, as it later turned out, for more than one reason. Jaskier wanted nothing more than for Geralt to finally call him his friend, at least- he has accepted by that time that he would never be more to the witcher, but he hoped that he could have still been that, at the very least. He tried to cheer the obviously moping Geralt up, tried to make him talk about what he actually felt when he found him fishing at the lake. He tried to be his friend, and once again the only thing Geralt threw into his face was that he wanted to be left alone. So, Jaskier acted out of anger, hurt, and admittedly, a sort of immaturity when he smashed the djinn’s vase against the ground, shattering it into pieces. He never got to feel the satisfaction over his act. In the matter of seconds, the sky darkened even more, and the wind was howling louder. It felt like the world has turned upside down- and in the middle of the chaos, a strange pain formed inside Jaskier’s throat.

It started out almost innocent, at first, like a really bad sore throat, irritating his vocal cords. It escalated way too quickly: the pain worsened until it felt like there were razor blades cutting into his flesh from the inside. He squeezed a hand over his neck, as if trying to cover the source of the pain would have done him any good.

When the storm clouds floated away, Jaskier doubled over in pain. His lungs weren’t filling up with air the way they used to. There was a grip on them that didn’t let him breathe in deep enough. His chest hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his throat. Jaskier wasn’t even sure the sensation should have been called pain, at all. It was a feeling so utterly appalling, so horrifying, that it might have passed the threshold of what everyone described as pain.

Jaskier’s breathing came out ragged and harsh, a terrible wheeze that Jaskier has only heard from dying people before. He thought he might have been dying, as well. The chafing irritation made him cough, and the cough made the pain worse, a terrible losing game that not even Geralt’s gentle hand on his back could help Jaskier win.

When the next cough was ripped out of him, blood spilled out of his mouth and onto the ground, painting the grass bright red. He felt the blood coating his lips, trickling down his chin. His lungs constricted, and the insides of his throat seemingly snapped shut together, creating a deathly iron grip. He wanted to ask Geralt to help him, but he found himself unable to speak. He just looked up at him pleadingly, praying him and all the gods to help him.

As time passed, the pain didn’t ease, but got so much worse. Blood and drool kept trickling out of his mouth as he gasped for air. He only managed to take short, unsatisfying little breaths that did nothing to help him. Finding himself barely able to breathe, panic rose inside his chest, making him gasp even more desperately. The more his lungs resisted, the more terrified he felt. He was certain he was going to die, choking on his own blood.

His throat felt tighter and tighter by the minute, as if an invisible noose had been wrapped around it and pulled. He reached for his neck with a choked, pathetic whimper. His trembling fingers found a large lump at the place his neck should have been. It felt like a rock under his hand, pushing out against his skin. The lump was responsible for shutting his throat closed and cutting his air off. Tears poured down his cheeks, mixing with the blood and sweat. Crying was a horrible choice as it constricted his nose as well. Jaskier wished he could stop, but the fear and pain only made him whimper more.

He found himself trapped in an endless circle of excruciating agony and terror.

His entire livelihood was threatened. He was a bard, he sang songs for a living. Right now, he couldn’t even talk, just make wheezy, croaked sounds. What was he going to do, if he survived by some miracle, but this thing has done irreparable damage to his vocal cords?

The elf healer soon reminded him that it could be even worse. Losing his voice was just one thing: he could have died, like Jaskier feared.

In all his brash, carefree glory, he’s always insisted that he was just here in this world to enjoy life, and he didn’t care about what might come after. But in that moment, when he was faced with the idea that he would die a painful, slow death, while still young and with so much to do, he realized he very much cared. He wanted to live, he wanted to keep on creating and loving and going on adventures. He clung to Geralt desperately, barely able to squeeze out his name through the blockage in his throat as he begged him not to let him die. More blood poured out of his mouth as he tried to speak, soaking his doublet and his chemise. Any other day, he would have complained about his best clothes getting ruined. Right now, he would have taken any discomfort if it meant the pain would stop, if it meant he would get to live.

Jaskier wanted to tell Geralt how much he loved him, because it seemed like he might not get another chance, but he couldn’t. His throat swelled even thicker, and it caused the muscles in his neck to go numb. He could barely turn his head, and his tongue felt swollen inside his mouth, too, bitten raw as Jaskier struggled to speak. His remaining strength started seeping out of him, his body growing limp.

There was a grey edge to his vision, and it made him kick out in panic, flailing around in Geralt’s arms who tried to carry him as the bard’s legs gave out under him.

His stomach churned and he started gagging, but only more blood came out. He let out a pitiful, high-pitched whimper. His whole body was covered in a cold sweat, making his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably. He felt feverishly hot and ice cold at the same time as he struggled to stay awake. He was so weak, but he was terrified to close his eyes. He didn’t want to lose sight of Geralt, his only anchor, his only hope.

Gods, how Jaskier wished he were just a little less annoying, if he were just a little better for Geralt. Now he would have to die with the knowledge he never managed to make Geralt love him in return, and even in his final moments, he caused the witcher nothing but discomfort.

“Jaskier? Jaskier! Can you hear me, what is going on?”

Jaskier only faintly heard Geralt, as if listening to his voice from under a thick duvet. He wasn’t sure where he was. He still couldn’t move except for the unstoppable trembling that kept rattling his bones. Geralt had his hands on his shoulders, squeezing ever so gently – it was the only thing that managed to ground Jaskier in the moment somewhat, that made him realize he wasn’t being tortured by the djinn anymore.

Yet, as the memories flashed in front of his eyes and screamed inside his brain until he thought his skull would explode, he felt his throat tightening. His hands flew to his neck in panic. He wanted the feeling gone, it couldn’t happen again, he didn’t wanna die, there was no air, there was so much pain…

“I can’t breathe,” he whispered, shaking his head desperately as tears welled in his eyes, “it hurts…”

Geralt gently cupped his cheeks. His eyes were full of concern as he inspected his face.

“Your throat? What happened?”

Jaskier tried to swallow, but he only managed a quiet, choking sound. “The djinn…” he whimpered, his hands still trembling around his own throat. “I’m going to die, it hurts so much…”

Geralt gently pried his hands off his neck, then held them up to his lips. He kissed each one of Jaskier’s knuckles, all the while looking deeply into his eyes.

“It’s gone,” Geralt promised him softly, giving his hand a small squeeze, “it can’t hurt you anymore. We got rid of it.”

He reached out and gently brushed Jaskier’s fringe out of his forehead, before he kissed each of his cheeks. “Breathe for me. In, and out.”

“I can’t,” Jaskier whispered shakily. Geralt wiped his tears off, his touch gentle and real, way more real than the memories. But they were still too loud, their death grip on Jaskier’s neck barely easing.

“Yes, you can,” Geralt told him. “Look into my eyes. Don’t look anywhere else. Just at me. There you go. Now, take a deep breath.”

Jaskier tried. The first one was shaky and unsatisfactory- then, as he kept looking into those familiar amber eyes, and listened to that gruff and yet still so kind voice, he felt the tightness of his throat letting up. Air filled up his lungs, and his frantically breathing heart slowly but surely started controlling itself again. Jaskier tentatively touched his neck and then his lips, and he was relieved to find no swelling, no blood.

‘’I’m sorry,” Jaskier said quietly, once the fog around his brain cleared. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Geralt assured him. He pulled Jaskier close to him, arms wrapping around him tight. Jaskier burrowed into his chest. “I was scared, but that’s not your fault. I just didn’t know what to do when you suddenly stopped and started shaking.”

“It felt like I was reliving it,” Jaskier sighed, shuddering. The memories had an awful coppery taste in his mouth- like blood. “I recognized this lake and suddenly I started seeing it. And… feeling it. I felt like I was suffocating again.”

Geralt sighed deeply. He rubbed soothing circles onto Jaskier’s back. “I’m still so sorry about that, Jaskier, you have no idea.”

‘’It’s okay. Just… sometimes I think I’m over it, but then something like this happens, and… I’m not… not mad you, not at all. But it was still the most terrifying fucking thing I have ever experienced.”

He looked up at Geralt. “And as I relived it, I remembered how much I wanted to confess my love to you in case I died, but I couldn’t speak. I was so angry at myself that you had to go to such lengths to save me.”

“I would do it again,” Geralt replied. His voice was so genuine, it made Jaskier’s heart flutter. “And I love you so much, Jaskier, and I will never let something like that happen to you, ever again.”

He kissed Jaskier on the lips sweetly, one last grounding touch to make sure Jaskier wouldn’t float away again.

“Let’s go,” Geralt said, gently turning Jaskier away from the lake. Jaskier squealed when he was suddenly picked up and placed on Roach’s saddle. He let out a sigh of relief when Geralt seated himself behind him, instead of in front of him- that position probably would have brought back the memories again, when he was limply hanging on, but didn’t dare grab onto Geralt’s waist in case it angered him.

“Where are we going?” Jaskier asked, shaking his head to clear it. Geralt snaked an arm around his waist, the other reached for his horse’s reigns.

“To the market.”

Jaskier heard the fondness in his voice, as he added:

“I’m buying you that shirt you keep whining about.”

“Aw, a consolation prize for a daytime nightmare,” Jaskier laughed softly. He covered Geralt’s hand with his own, then he twisted around to kiss him on the lips.

As they slowly left the lake behind, Jaskier felt a tremendous amount of weight leaving his shoulders. He knew all too well by now, after the nightmares and the icy dread settling inside his stomach whenever someone talked about a djinn, and now this, that the fears and pains of the past weren’t easy to leave behind.

As long as he had Geralt by his side, though, he was certain at least his future was looking out to be brighter.

[carmillacarmine]

“Beyond the Fog”

by CarmillaCarmine ( @carmillacarmine )

Geralt visits Jaskier in his retirement and they finally talk about their feelings.  Gen, 2,800 words

>Angst, Jaskier whump, no death. 

Title inspired by a scene from Sword of Destiny book, where Geralt talks to Death.

Prompt: Right people, wrong time @jaskierwhumpweek

Thank you for reading, kudos and comments!

Let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged in my Geraskier fics.

[dat-carovieh]

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia

Prompt: Forced Apart

Time: About 8 hours

Creators Notes: Jaskier has been captured and tortured. But since I’m a big softy, Geralt found and saved him, so there is a happy end.

@jaskierwhumpweek

[oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co]

Jaskier Whump Week

Not written for this but my betas tell me I torture Jaskier like a pro. 

Plenty of tears, abandonment, fear, worry, a few forced separations, dramatic goodbyes, threat of loss and death, miscommunication and heartbreak galore. 

@jaskierwhumpweek

Chapters: 10/10 (51,726 words), Complete 

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, War, Character Study, Psychological Drama, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Original Character(s), Manipulation, Threats of Violence, Fire, Horror, Blood Loss, Emotional Hurt, Death Threats, Crying Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Emotional Roller Coaster, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Happy Ending, Beta Read.  

Summary:

In a world where everything seems to pressure them to have sex… Geralt and Jaskier are courageously resisting. Although, in Jaskier’s case it’s more about simply losing hope.

Our story begins where the show stopped because such an intense set up needs a pay off before 2021.

Set in locations with names that never appear in neither the books nor the show but sound like lazy modifications of the ones that do… the drama unfolds.

Surrounded by war, existential doubt, boundless human cruelty, bloodthirsty monsters, and villains who have a suspicious interest in their personal lives, with every event serving solely to motivate interpersonal communication… they struggle to make sense of the growing closeness between them.

As Nilfgaard slowly floods the Continent with the blood of the innocent, and structured lives of people who cultivate the land unfold into chaos…

As the growing collective dread begins to appear as an inevitable consequence of fundamental flaws in human nature which can lead only to slow deterioration and painful social decline…

Only one question comes to mind… Will they or won’t they?

They definitely will.

[beth--b]

Toxic Thoughts

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel

Prompt: Anxiety

Tags: panic attacks, ptsd, anxiety, jaskier whump, mental health issues

Word count: 958

Chapters: 1/1

Completed: yes

Summary: Jaskier experiences panic attacks in the months following his encounter with Rience

Read it on ao3 here

@jaskierwhumpweek

The first time it happened Jaskier was alone with no idea what was going on or what to do about it. 

He had been exploring the market place of the town they were staying in while Geralt went to look into a contract. Several people in the small town had been hurt by an unidentified creature, as Geralt wasn't sure what he was facing Jaskier was left behind. Nothing unusual about that, much as Jaskier liked to tag along he was also a fan of not being hurt by hungry beasts.

Everything was fine, at least until the street performer he was passing began to breathe fire.

It had been a few months since the nightmare that was Rience, but fire was not something he enjoyed being near even now.

 The unexpected flames brought his usually mild fear to the forefront of his mind until he found himself starting to truly panic. Gasping for breath, he took off in what he hoped was the direction of the Inn.

When he finally came down from his panic he found himself on the floor of the room he was sharing with Geralt at the Inn. His chest ached from his frantic, too fast breathing, his nails digging into the palms of his hands almost hard enough to draw blood.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, when he finally felt as though he could form words once more. He sat there trembling for what felt like hours, until finally he managed to unclench all his too tight muscles and make his way off the floor.

By the time Geralt was back Jaskier had felt alright enough to fake it until he collapsed into bed, albeit much earlier than normal. He felt drained and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep it off.

Geralt had given him a long hard look before seemingly accepting his excuse of being tired. 

After that first awful time, Jaskier tried to avoid similar situations though he found fire in general more difficult to be around. It was like one wrong moment, one small flame could send him spiralling back to that night.

He made it two months before it truly happened again. This time Geralt was with him when it happened.

They had made it back to Kaer Morhen just before the path to the keep had been made impassable by the snow. They were both freezing, and it was later in the evening than they had wanted to arrive. While Geralt got Roach settled, Jaskier had allowed Eskel to lead him through the darkened halls to Geralt's room.

Jaskier had been there before of course but Eskel insisted, and Jaskier was too cold and tired to argue.

Eskel didn't know the details of what had happened with Rience, he certainly didn't know about Jaskier's reaction to the fire breathing performer during the Autumn. Nevermind the multitude of near misses since. Without knowing this Eskel had led the bard to a dark room and lit the fireplace with Igni.

Logically, Jaskier knew it was Eskel, but logic held no sway in that moment.

In the dark, the magically lit fire burning before him sent him hurtling back to the moment he had awoken in the tavern, Rience using the fire he controlled to light the room, or leave him in pitch darkness.

He could feel his knees hit the ground, hear his breathing speed up until he was gasping for air. A part of him was aware that Eskel was saying his name but he couldn't seem to escape the memory of being trapped with the fire fucker.

Finally he became aware of Geralt saying his name, then reassuring words were being murmured softly to him, a hand was gripping his own like a lifeline in the dark. 

After what might have been minutes but could have easily been hours, Jaskier's panic began to fade from an overwhelming roar to a dull buzzing. He was aware of his surroundings, of the fact that Rience was nowhere near. He was also aware that he had probably scared the shit out of both Eskel and Geralt.

"Fuck GeraIt I'm so sorry, is Eskel alright?"

GeraIt pulled back to look Jaskier in the eye before raising an eyebrow.

"Is Eskel alright? Jask, Eskel is fine. It's you I'm worried about. What the fuck was that? Has that happened before?"

"Only once," Jaskier answered after a long moment of silence. "A few months ago, you were on a hunt, or investigating for one…anyway I saw a street performer breathing fire and it was like I was back there, with Rience. I…I guess the same thing happened when Eskel lit the hearth." 

In his typical silence, Geralt helped Jaskier up off the floor and led him to the bed. Once Jaskier was sitting on the mattress, Geralt helped remove the bard's shoes, before removing his own boots and armour. He then sat beside Jaskier, pulling the brunette into his arms. Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, leaning into GeraIt's embrace. 

Jaskier felt exhausted, between the trek to the keep, and the panic attack he felt as though he could sleep for a week.

"Come on Jask, we can talk about this more later, but for now just get some rest and I'll be here for you when you need me. Just promise not to hide something like this again?"

Jaskier sniffled slightly but nodded, Iaying back on the bed and tugging Geralt along with him.

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier 's forehead, then a kiss to each cheek before finally pressing a soft kiss to his wind chapped lips.

"Sleep Jask," Geralt murmured.

Feeling wrung out Jaskier could do nothing but close his eyes and let sleep claim him.

[jaskierwhumpweek]

FORMAT

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[dancingwiththefae]

The Price of Justice

Day 3 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Pairing: Implied geraskier

Prompt: Humiliation

Tags: public whipping, pillory, blood and injury,hurt/comfort, Jaskier has a bad time in this, mild sexual references and old fashioned views about virginity.

Word Count: 2.4k

1/1

Completed: yes

Summary: Jaskier lands himself in trouble again, execpt this time in a town that likes that adopts cruel methods of punishment

Also on AO3

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Geralt knew when he headed into town that there was something off. Sometimes, located away from the cities, towns such as this still held archaic views and practices. Not that a lot of the cities were much better. They just hid it under a veil of sensibility and forward thinking. But places like this, often ruled over by minor lords who thought themselves higher than their station, was not a place in which Geralt liked to linger. He would check if there were any contracts and make himself scarce. With any luck, he could just pass through here.

 He pulled his cloak tighter against the odd looks from the townsfolk as they passed by. They were in a rush. It took him a moment to realise that they were all headed the same way. Curiously, he followed. The people were gathering at the main square in town – or what counted as a such around here. Geralt circled the perimeter of the gathering, keeping his distance should things go south. The crowd packed themselves around a platform, on which stood a pillory. The witcher sighed. Some poor sap was about to be thrown to the dogs. The crowd was riled up already, waiting impatiently. Geralt had been around long enough to be used to the fact that this classed as entertainment to people. Didn't mean he had to like it, though. He decided to try and slip away before it started. He pushed his way back to where he had come from, but not before the crowd erupted in jeers.

 A man was being brought out in shackles by two guards and accompanied by a wealthy looking man who had a smugness of someone with authority. He was brought to the front of the platform for the crowd to leer at. Geralt froze. The man in shackles, shivering in the cold in front of the crowd, was Jaskier. He almost didn't believe it, if not for the words then uttered that confirmed it.

“The bard Jaskier is charged with fraud, defamation, slander and debauchery and hereby found guilty of all three counts. His punishment, twenty lashes and to stand in the pillory for the scrutiny of the town until the lord sees fit.”

 Jaskier was secured to a pole on the platform. A whip was handed over to one of the guards. This can't be happening. Geralt had to stop this. With brute force he pushed his way to the front.

“Stop,” he called, “stop!”

 The sick performance was paused and a hush came over the crowd. The wealthy looking man scanned the crowd for the source of the shouting. The people parted to let Geralt through.

“Explain these charges,” he demanded.

“And who are you?” the man asked with scrutiny.

“Geralt of Rivia. A witcher.”

 The man eyed the sword on his back warily. Good. He was smug and self-important, but he wasn't completely stupid.

“This man swindled honest men out of their coin in a fraudulent game of cards, performed songs that went against out lord and then defiled his daughter. We found him in her bedchambers taking her virginity and spoiling her with his seed.”

“She was certainly no virgin,” Jaskier just had to interject, “trust me, she knew her way around-”

 He was halted in his tracks by a punch to the face. The bard spat blood onto the ground and kept his head down. Geralt gritted his teeth in anger. Cheating at cards, singing and sleeping around. It was all just Jaskier being Jaskier. Geralt knew that one day his bad behaviour would get him into trouble but he didn't imagine it would be like this.

“What's his bail?” he asked, “I'll pay it and you'll release him to me.”

 The smugness returned in the form of a smile.

“Two thousand orens.”

 Fuck. He didn't have that kind of money. And the man knew it. It was a ridiculous amount. A number chosen with the purpose of not being able to be paid.

“How long until he is released?”

“He will be brought to the pillory every day until the lord is happy,” the man responded simply.

“And how long will that be?”

“Until he is happy.”

 Shit. Geralt had no response.

“If there are no more interruptions...”

 The guards pulled out knives and cut away at Jaskier's shirt. There was nothing Geralt could do but watch. He kept his eyes locked on Jaskier's. Something in him told him that maybe his presence could offer at least some comfort to the bard. And then the first lash hit. The whip connected with a crack and the bard cried out. They kept coming, unrelenting. Jaskier's cries turned to whimpers and eventually sobs.

 It felt like forever before it was finally over.

 Jaskier was hauled to his feet and secured into the pillory. A notice detailing his charges was nailed to it. It took only a few seconds before the crown descended upon him, throwing rotten food and shouting curses. They were too riled up to pay attention to his pleas to stop. He dared not unsheathe his sword in front of the guards. The last thing Jaskier needed was him stuck in jail too. He waited until they began to disperse to reach Jaskier. He stood a the foot of the platform. The bard didn't look up. Not that he blamed him. He was a mess.

“Jaskier,” he called, “I'll be right back, okay?”

 Jaskier hummed in what Geralt assumed was assent. Without a second glance, the witcher raced to where he had Roach tied up with his packs. He pulled out a waterskin and clean cloth and returned to the bard. He climbed up onto the platform and crouched down.

“Here.” He offered the water to Jaskier, holding it steady while he drank. When her was finished, the witcher used what was left to wet the cloth and, with more than he had given anything in a long while, he wiped him clean.

“Thank you,” the bard whispered. He could see his lip tremble, could see the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. Jaskier was just holding it together.

“Always knew you'd get yourself into trouble somehow. But you don't deserve this.”

 When a stray tear ran down the bard's cheek, Geralt wiped it away without a word. The lashes had broken skin. Spots of blood appeared on the back of the bard's shirt. It was cruelty. Cruelty for cruelty's sake. That's what this was. Jaskier was just a pawn in a wealthy man's sick game. If he ever had to come back here – and he hoped to all the gods that he didn't – he would show that lord exactly what he thought of him. He hated that he felt so helpless. But he couldn't afford to wallow in it. There was one thing he could do. He could look after Jaskier. He brought him food and kept him company until he was ushered on by a guard. With a promise to be back tomorrow, he left in search of a room for the night.

 The next morning he counted his coin. Just shy of a thousand. If he sold a few things he could almost make up the amount he needed. But not quite. It was a start. He hurriedly separated his things out into what he needed to keep and what could be sold. He was ruthless in deciding. Maybe a little too ruthless, but this was important. At this moment, the only thing that mattered to him was getting Jaskier to safety. He shoved everything to sell into a bag.

 He passed the square in time to see Jaskier being put back into the pillory. It was early enough that there were not many people around yet, so he was at least spared that. For the time being. He felt guilty for walking by but he needed to make up the money as soon as possible. He spent the majority of the day haggling with shady shopkeepers who looked at him as if he was dirt on their shoe. It was frustrating. He was close to just cutting Jaskier out of the pillory himself and fighting through the whole town out. He wasn't going to. But it was tempting. He stopped by the noticeboard on the way back. There was indeed a contract for him. He pulled it from the board and carried on walking.

 He was close. He just needed to complete this contract and he would have enough. He went to check on Jaskier and tell him as such. He arrived at the town square to find a group of youths taunting him. One of them held a stick in his hands. He struck Jaskier in the back of the knee. His leg gave way. The pillory did its job keeping him in place. The youth struck again. Before he could strike a third time, the stick was wrenched from his hand. He whirled around and stared, wide eyed in shock at Geralt behind him.

“Leave.”

 It was a warning. The youths scrambled. Geralt threw the stick from the platform in frustration.

“Geralt,” the bard wheezed, “help.”

 Jaskier was struggling to get his feet back from under him. Geralt helped get him up and told him how close he was to reaching the sum of his bail.

“Just have to get this contract done tomorrow and you'll be free,” he explained.

“You sold your things for me?” The bard asked incredulously, “Why would you do that?”

“You think I'd leave you here to suffer?”

“Maybe,” the bard huffed. He didn't mean it. The witcher crouched down to meet him eye to eye.

“You are more important.”

 Jaskier opened his mouth to speak but no words came.

“One more day,” Geralt continued, “and then we're out of here.”

 The bard shivered as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon. At least they had given him a shirt today. Guards appeared to take him back to his cell.

 The contract the next day was simple enough. An endrega nest in the forest on the outskirts of town. The witcher dispatched of them quickly, his only thoughts about getting back to Jaskier as soon as he could. He burned the nest with a blast of igni and headed straight back to town. He didn't bother cleaning up first. He needed that money. Besides, it was funny how quickly people were willing to pay up when you still had the remnants of what you had set out to slay still on you.

 With the money collected, the next stop was the cells. It was late evening. Jaskier would be back in his cell by now. He stalked in through the door and scanned the room. The smug man from a few days ago was sitting behind a desk, tucked away in the far corner. He ignored the woman before him who questioned why he was there and headed straight towards him. He dropped the pouch of coin on the table. It hit the wood with a thud.

“Two thousand orens. Now, release Jaskier and we'll both be on our way.”

 The man held up a hand to stop him.

“One moment. This needs to be counted first.”

“Then be quick about it,” the witcher growled.

 It was enough to startle him, but safe amongst his bureaucracy, he took his time counting every coin. At last when he was happy with the amount, he waved a guard over to take Geralt to where they were keeping Jaskier. The guard led him to the cells. Most were empty, a few occupied. They all had the same despondent look in their eyes.

“Does the punishment always fit the crime?” he queried.

“Who are you to judge our ways,” the guard scoffed.

 They stopped at the last cell. The guard unlocked the door and moved aside for him to enter. Jaskier was sitting on the floor against the far wall. He looked up at the sound of the cell door opening, but quickly glanced away when he saw Geralt. He was a sorry sight. With little ceremony, the witcher helped him to his feet. No one gave them a second glance as they left and for that Geralt was grateful. He wasn't sure he could temper his simmering rage if anyone were to try anything now.

“Roach is just outside. I'll help you up and then we're getting the fuck out of here.”

 The bard remained quiet. The most noise he made was to let out a whimper as he was jostled on Roach.

“It's just until we get out of here,” Geralt murmured, “when we get to a safe place we'll stop. Got stuff to help with your wounds, too.”

 Jaskier still didn't respond, but he didn't need to. The small squeeze of his hand on Geralt's wrist said enough. Slowly, they made their way out of town. The townsfolk averted their gaze as they walked past. It was one thing to see someone as bait for their entertainment, it was another to see them on their level.

 They made their journey in silence until Geralt found a safe place for them to camp. It wasn't ideal, making Jaskier sleep on the ground. If he could, he would offer him a warm, clean bed with soft sheets and an experienced healer to tend to him. He couldn't give him any of that. The most he could offer was an extra blanket and his own steady hands. Methodically, he set up camp for the both of them. When he had finished, he found Jaskier still standing beside Roach, tucked into her side. Geralt made his way over cautiously.

“Jaskier? Let's take a look at your back, okay?”

 The bard nodded and moved where he was guided. After a moment's hesitation he took his shirt off. The welts were an angry red stretching across his back. Geralt would have to treat them the best he could and find a healer. With careful movements so as to not hurt him, Geralt cleaned and bandaged Jaskier up. He worked slowly, aware that he could easily frighten him in his current state.

“Thank you,” Jaskier spoke at last, “I'm sorry I got myself into that mess.”

“You did,” Geralt sighed. He felt the bard tense under his hands. “But that doesn't mean you deserved what they did to you.”

 Jaskier turned to face him. The witcher took his hand in his.

“I can't always be around to get you out of trouble,” he continued, “but I will always try.”

“Why?” Jaskier asked, “I don't deserve it.”

“Because... you are important to me. And I'd like to keep you in one piece if I can.”

 The bard huffed a short laugh. He let their fingers entwine. He doubted Jaskier would learn any lessons from this. He never did. But in truth, he wouldn't have him any other way.

[blaidd-gwyn]

Echoes

Day 2 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Prompt: Flashback

Word count: 1k

Chapters: 1/1

Completed: Yes

Summary: In the middle of a fight, Jaskier's mind thrusts him back to the night he should have died.

Read on ao3

[karolincki]

Under the trees I'll find you again

I wrote this for @jaskierwhumpweek day 2: mourning

Warning for past animal death. Read on Ao3

Jaskier is bouncing up and down on his feet. Last autumn he and Geralt had agreed to meet two days before the spring festivals in Ard Carraigh. Jaskier had arrived here a week early but he couldn't risk his chances of being too late.

He spent the last few days singing a drink, but now it is finally time for Geralt to arrive.

Jaskier nervously drums with his fingers on the stone wall behind him. Geralt wouldn't have forgotten him? Thankfully, before he can fall down a downward spiral of horror scenarios of why Geralt couldn't come, said witcher appears around the corner.

"Geralt!" he yells and runs towards him. Oh how happy Jaskier is to see him. Geralt dismounts before Jaksier can reach him and he catches the bard in his open arms.

"Oh I’ve missed you so much, dear witcher."

Geralt just hums, but Jaskier can see the pleased smile in his lips. Geralt likes to pretend he doesn't care about Jaskier, but he knows better. Next to them, Roach nickers. Laughing, Jaskier turns around.

"And of course I've missed you my darling Roach!"

Jaskier stretches out his hand, fully knowing that she will try biting him before he can even touch her, but to his surprise she lets him pet her on her neck.

Confused he wriggles out of Geralt's arm, missing the sudden sad expression on Geralt's face.

"Roach, did you finally find it in your beastly heart to love me?"

He continues to pet Roach, amazed by her behaviour. She has never allowed this before and he can't get the grin off his face.

Roach nudges him in the chest and nibbles at his clothes.

"Well you are truly changed!" he laughs. "Since when do you care about my clothes?"

She nudges him again and that's when he notices it. Those few grey hairs on the left side of her muzzle are missing.

Jaskier swallows heavily. He has an awful feeling about what this means.

"Did you get a makeover?" he chuckles nervously.

When he looks at Geralt his stomach drops. Geralt looks miserable as he has never seen him before.

"Geralt…this…this isn't my Roach is it?"

Geralt just looks to the ground and doesn't answer. Jaskier knows deep down what Geralt will tell him anyways, but he needs him to say it.

"Please, Geralt, — "

"No."

No.

One single word is enough to break his heart.

Tears spring to his eyes. This can't be happening.

"But…she isn't that old yet. My Roach is still in her prime!"

Geralt takes a deep breath. His voice is irritatingly calm when he speaks.

"She…there was a Griffin, only a few days after we parted and I…I wasn't fast enough."

Jaskier sobs.

He can't breathe anymore. It feels like there is a lump lodged in his throat and nothing can go through.

"Jaskier…" says Geralt, his voice full of concern. He steps closer and lays a hand on his shoulders, and that's what breaks the spell.

Jaskier's tears fall and a sob tears itself from his chest, so forcefully that it hurts his voice. Crying, he throws himself into Geralt's arms.

He doesn't know how long they are standing there while Jaskier sobs his heart out and Geralt tries to talk to him soothingly.

"I'm so sorry, Jask.

"She didn't suffer long.

"I buried her, so she will rest peacefully."

That makes Jaskier stop sobbing for a second and he pulls slightly away.

"Can we -hic- go visit her?"

Geralt smiles at him.

"Of course we can."

Jaskier leans back into Geralt's shoulder and cries some more until he gets nudged in the back.

"Ah, I'm so sorry, where are my manners?" He turns around in Geralt's arms. "I had you confused for an old friend of mine. Geralt, why don't you introduce me to this young lady?"

Geralt snorts a laugh.

"Roach, Jaskier. Jaskier, Roach," he says in his most deadpan voice. "I bought her in a small town a few days away from Kaer Morhen after winter."

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s arms and with a great flourish forces both of them into a bow. Geralt behind him grumbles, but Jaskier ignores that. Roach seems unimpressed.

"My lady, it's a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure we will have many fun adventures together."

Roach leans forward and nibbles on his hair.

"If she doesn't eat you first."

Jaskier nudges Geralt with his elbow, because he can hear the smirk in Geralt's voice. He pets Roach again, just for the novelty of finally being allowed to, but soon he sombers.

"Can we go now?"

"What about the spring festival? You insisted we go together."

"There will be more festivals, but only one time to properly mourn Roach."

Geralt behind him hums and tightens his arms one more time for a hug.

"Let's go then."

It is only a three days walk to the place where Geralt buried Roach and it hurts Jaskier to know that he has been so close to her the entire time.

On the third day Geralt suddenly leads them off the road through the bushes until they reach a little clearing on a hill.

"She’s got an amazing view from here," Jaskier says.

"Hm, that one always loved the pretty landscapes the most."

Jaskier laughs wetly as he remembers all the times Geralt tried to get her to move away from a beautiful scenery.

There is a huge patch of flowers on the ground with a stone next to it. As Jaskier steps closer he can see that somebody has crudely managed to engrave the name Roach into it.

Jaskier thought he had been done crying, but now his tears fall again. Carefully he kneels down next to the flower patch.

"Hello, my love. I miss you terribly, you know? There is no one left to bite me out of nowhere and kick me in the mornings. Do you know how hard it is for Geralt to get me going now?"

Behind him he can hear Geralt snort, but it sounds suspiciously shaky.

"Still, you were a good horse. You always carried Geralt to safety, didn't you? I know how many times he wouldn't have made it back to me without you, so thank you for that."

Geralt kneels down next to him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do the same for her."

Jaskier turns to Geralt. His face is emotionless but tear streaks betray his grief. Carefully, Jaskier wipes them away.

"I know she isn't mad at you. And neither am I. These things happen. You tell me often enough."

Geralt huffs, a silent sob wrecking his body. Jaskier pulls Geralt into his arms. They sit like that for a long while, both mourning their lost friend.

Jaskier is the first to speak up.

"You remember the time she pushed me into a river?"

"Hm, you came out looking like a drenched cat."

"Unsurprisingly so."

Behind them Roach steps up and nibbles on Jaskier's hair.

"Well that is a habit that didn't need to change. My Roach at least never ate my things or me," he deadpans. "Except for that one doublet…"

Geralt sniffs and sits up straight.

"I hid her favourite snacks in that one."

Jaskier stares in shock at Geralt.

"You did what??? She destroyed my outfit days before a performance!!"

"It was blindingly orange and made you look like a fat bird."

"I had to buy a new outfit!"

"Roach and I liked the new one better."

"Oooohhhh you horrible witcher, just you wait!"

With that Geralt breaks and he bursts out laughing. His laughter is infectious and despite Jaskier wanting to stay angry he follows suit.

Still giggling Geralt eventually pulls them both up and back to the road.

At the edge of the clearing Jaskier stops again and looks back a final time.

The wind is softly rustling through the trees as the sun paints pictures with shadows on the ground. It's peaceful.

Truly a place worthy of Roach, Jaskier thinks.

Quickly he jumps after Geralt.

Before next winter he will bring back a proper headstone.