#like Witcher when demons fall in love they get slow and foolish

[rizumo-month]

Amaimon x Shiemi Headcanon:

Using a little inference with the canon line of Mephisto talking about love and demons

Amaimon coming to Mephisto about how he thinks his vessel is failing on him. Only for Mephisto to promptly chide him on his poor diet because he can’t find anything wrong with the clone body.

Amaimon begins to describe these bouts of pressure in his chest that come and go. To him they felt like the time him and Mephisto had a scuffle.

Contrary to many beliefs Mephisto is an old demon and his had his fair share of flings on Assiah and doesn’t prompt Amaimon more because in-fact it’s a scary thing for a Demon to fall in love. They get slow and foolish when afflicted by the full range of human emotions like fear and love.

It’s practically a mortal infliction, something he can personally account for and had witness before with his Father.

The fear almost pools in Mephisto eyes at the thought of his little brother catching feelings. It would be funny if he didn’t have a inkling of the source of his fixation.

[brothebro]

Have you heard the news that you’re dead?

[undead!jaskier (almost), banter, geraskier, yennskier, love confessions, identity reveal, 3k]

[ao3 link]

It's bloody chaos. 

A demon has taken hold of Cirilla's mind and it has brought forth fucking basilisks, of all things, to dispose of Kaer Morhen's last witchers.

Jaskier himself, ever the lover not a fighter, has been hiding under a, hopefully, sturdy table trying ⁠— and failing⁠— to deliver the jasper to Geralt. How a piece of rock is going to help in this madness, he doesn't know. 

Whilst shouting 'jasper' to Geralt repeatedly, he feels it snap. The handy little spell that has been accompanying him for the last few hundreds of years dissolves as the demon launches another magical attack on the witchers. 

Before his mind falls into panic mode, he takes a long cold breath and feels the stone floor beneath his palm freeze. 

Ah, he'd forgotten he could do that. 

An idea flashes through his mind. 

Losing no time, he gets to his feet, each step colder than the other, each breath more freezing than the wind on the Blue Mountains' summit. 

The basilisks slow as he walks between them and he barely registers the witchers hacking them to pieces. 

Well, he can say for certain the beasties won't be missed.

And then, right before his very eyes, and without as much as a warning to boot, Yennefer crashes through the shield that's been keeping the demon from advancing and in a swirling swoop of a portal she disappears alongside Ciri and Geralt. 

"Now that was⁠—" he starts saying, nervousness rushing in waves inside him, but he's cut off by the shining purple light on his feet. "Yrden?" He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion and takes a step out of the circle; it never really did work on him anyway. 

"Another demon," he registers a witcher saying, probably Everard. 

"What are you waiting for? For it to attack?" Lambert yells and runs Jaskier through with a sword through the back.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Would you feel safer if I stepped back into the yrden trap? I promise you-" a second sword pierces him through the back. "Oh, that's just rude. Do you have any idea how bloody expensive this coat was? Not to mention mending the cuts is going to be a pain in the arse! Witchers these days! Unbelievable." 

They look stunned at him for a brief moment, eyes potioned dark and swords ready to strike. He's acutely aware of how he looks like; grey skin of a corpse melting into charcoal black in his extremities and cloudy eyes one would think unseeing, even if he's perfectly able to see.⁠ For how corpsy he appears, he's not rotting thankfully⁠, he'd hate if he had to pick up pieces of himself constantly.

Vesemir takes a step forward, lifting a hand to signal to the others not to interfere. "What are you, son? I've never seen a monster unburdened by yrden."

"Not a monster, thank you very much," Jaskier snaps. "I just can't die. Yes, I am aware I appear quite dead, and no, I am not. Now, can we please go back to caring about where the bloody fuck they disappeared to?" He points with both hands to the empty spot previously occupied by one witcher, one sorceress and one princess. "Because that is more alarming than one unalive bard."

As he finishes his sentence a portal opens and they are back. "Oh, thank the gods," he whispers, relief coursing through him when he sees that all three of them are unharmed and Ciri doesn't feel like demon anymore. 

Yennefer turns towards him as Geralt holds his daughter in a tight embrace, her tired eyes going wide before they settle in a mix of confusion and fury. 

"What did you do to him?" She addresses the witchers, voice thundering. 

Ah⁠— Yeah, right, yeah, he still has swords sticking through his chest. 

"I'm fine, Yennefer I'm fine!" He waves his arms frantically to stop whatever foolish thing she has in mind, as he tastes the chaos crackling at her fingertips. 

"How are you fine, bard? You-" 

"He's an undead," Geralt interrupts her, brows furrowed with something like worry, or perhaps sadness. 

Jaskier huffs. "Do not put me in the same category as ghouls, or gods forbid, rotfiends, Geralt! Besides, I prefer the term unalive. Because I can't be undead if I've never died in the first place!" 

"What do you mean⁠—"

"Not important now," Jaskier cuts him off. "That's a talk for tomorrow morning, so if you don't mind I'll go nap or doze off, or I don't know stare at the ceiling for a while." 

He spins on his heel, ready to head towards his dreadfully small room when the blasted witchering swords ⁠—silver for monsters, he notes⁠— throw him off balance and he almost impales himself further on them. With the gracefulness of a newborn calf, he gets to his feet and with a hand attempts to reach the swords’ hilts. When he finds himself unable to, he sighs loudly and dramatically.

“Gentlemen,” he addresses the two witchers ⁠— Lambert and, uh… Gwaine possibly?— who attacked him, “As much as I like silver, it doesn’t exactly go well with my complexion. So if you don’t mind…” 

“You can’t be serious!” Lambert hisses. 

“Dead serious, I’m afraid. Do me a favour and unlodge your… mighty swords from my torso and I won’t write a scathing song about you, please and thank you.” 

The men hesitate for a moment, exchanging quick glances between them, but a look from Vesemir and Geralt has them scampering to release Jaskier from the weight of their weapons. 

“There’s no blood or ichor,” Gwaine mutters to himself, staring at the sword in awe. 

“That’s because I have none,” Jaskier doesn’t even bother looking the witcher in the eye, and instead busies himself with getting the fuck away from here as soon as possible. 

-

Jaskier would very much like to sleep, forget about everything that transpired only a few hours ago, but he seems unable to. He doesn’t know if it’s because sleep is optional when he’s like this or if his nerves are so frazzled that it would take a minor miracle for his brain to shut off for a few minutes. What he knows is that the ceiling consists of forty-six big stones and that there are rats living inside the walls. Both of these facts, he could unlive without. 

It must be close to midnight, or perhaps early morning when Yennefer graces his doorless doorstep. 

“Trouble sleeping?” He asks, more for the sake of asking as it’s abundantly clear that’s the case. She shoots him a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and he can feel her tiredness seeping inside his bones. “Come, sit,” he pats at the spot next to him on the small bed and she obliges. No cutting remark, no witty banter. No anything. 

Gods, whatever happened there in Cintra really did a number on her. 

They sit like this for a while, side by side, Yennefer’s (warm) head on Jaskier’s (cold) shoulder. 

“He’ll forgive you,” he says unprompted when the words are too much, too quick, too relentless in his brain. Then, hesitantly, “I’m sorry.”

“What for, bardling?” 

“You know that fire mage couldn't have killed me, no matter how much he tried. If… If you hadn’t saved me, Yennefer, perhaps none of this would have happened. If I were a little more forthcoming with you all, less arrogant…” 

“Can you feel pain?” she asks, a serious edge to her soft voice. 

“What?” 

“Can you or can you not, you unalive fucker? It’s not a difficult question to answer.” 

“I can,” he admits. “Not as strongly when I’m like this,”—he gestures to himself⁠, head to toe⁠— “but as human-adjacent, yeah, I guess. A lot.”

“It would’ve been nice to know you’re practically immortal,” she huffs, “but I’d still save you, you insufferable man.” She intertwines her hand with his between them. Fuck, she’s so warm. “Besides, you don’t know I wouldn’t have given in to the demon- Fuck. She was relentless, Jaskier. Constantly berating me inside my head⁠—” She snaps her mouth shut. 

“Not your fault. As you said it was a real fucking demon. The kind nightmares are made of, Yennefer! Nightmares! And- and sometimes, o beloathed witch, sound choices fly out of the window when we’re trapped into a corner⁠— Wait, I said basically the same thing but waaay better to Geralt- how did it go? Ah, I knew I should've written it down!” 

She chuckles, a soft melodic thing that makes Jaskier’s still heart soar. Oh, he’s a goner. Perhaps this is how he’ll finally go after countless centuries upon the Continent; slain by one very sexy mad witch’s lovable laughter.  

Well, if Geralt decides to top it up tomorrow with one of his rare gravelly laughs then Jaskier shan’t see the sun rise another day. Such is the fate of great poets and troubadours.

-

Dawn finds Jaskier immobilised by Yennefer’s sleep death-hug. 

Honestly! How can a woman so slight have so much strength is a big mystery. He’s been doing his best to keep the cold of his body from escaping, countless (maybe three) hours waiting for the witch to wake. 

Wouldn’t do if he accidentally froze her to death, now would it?

To her credit, she doesn’t leave him fighting for long with his innate call to release such vast amounts of cold the highest peak of the Blue Mountains would be jealous of. 

“Rise and shine, beautiful!” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them over. Great fucking job self. He mentally facepalms at his treacherous tongue. And because he’s Jaskier and he’d loath to have his banter record annulled by one overly smooth flirty sentence he adds, “Why yes, thank you sun, I am rather handsome myself.” 

Yennefer snorts out an inelegant little laugh and it’s last night all over again. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to live with that. 

Before he has a chance to say anything even stupider, he disentangles himself from the sexy witch. A brief look at his poor mangled coat convinces him to leave it lying on the single decrepit chair of his room; it’s not like the cold inside Kaer Morhen is insufferable. Au contraire, as the Toussaintoi say. It’s almost warm. 

Luckily, this time he doesn’t get skewered when he meets the witchers in the now, destroyed grand hall. In fact, he gets ushered by Coen to the kitchens where he finds all of the, still living and breathing, witchers sat around a big table that has seen better days. 

“Oh, great,” he mutters to himself- though they can probably hear him if Geralt’s raised eyebrow is any indication. “I suppose it’s interrogation time?” He grabs a chair and brings a fistful of berries in his mouth. He’s quite famished. 

“You eat, lad,” Vesemir remarks. 

“Well yeah. Running on an empty stomach is plain uncomfortable you know. Next question, please.”

“Revenant?” Geralt asks.

“Nope!” He pops the ‘p’. “As I said I am not undead, Geralt, as much as I look the part. Not a vampire either.” From the resounding grumbles this seems to have been the guess of several witchers. 

“Perhaps,” Coen says, “he’s a lich.”

“Pardon? What’s a lich?” Jaskier asks. 

“A very rare form of undead- no, hear me out- a human mage that tried to turn themself immortal-”

“While that’s quite fascinating and I didn’t know such creatures existed, I have to stop you because how do I put this simply? I’ve been around before the Conjunction.”

“That’s impossible.” Geralt’s eyebrows shoot to his crown. “The Conjunction was fifteen centuries ago.”

“Well aware. Look, I don’t know what I am, I just know that I formed, well, actually in a cave rather close to here, now that I think about it, way before the humans arrived on the Continent. If I was an accident, or whatever, no one will ever know because in my impossibly long unlife life, whatever you may call it, I have never met another like me. 

As you can imagine, it gets rather lonely after a while, and whilst the elves were quite accepting of my condition when the humans arrived… Well, you out of all people can picture how that went.” He gestures abstractly. “So… Here we are!” 

“You can’t bloody die,” Lambert surmises, or thinks aloud- who knows? “How do you know?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shoot him a tired look. Instead, he forces an amiable smile and says, “Well, since you asked, I know that by crafting a list and trying each individual item on the said list- Oh, don’t look at me like that, I haven’t lost my marbles just yet! The short answer is: by coincidence.” 

“And what would the long answer be?” Probably Everard or maybe Marek asks.

“Ah, that⁠— Poisons are ineffective as I pretty much eat anything I deem edible, to which Geralt attest to, is anything of the meat, fungi or plant variety. As you noticed last night, magic doesn’t really work on me nor do weapons of any sort. As for other methods of, uh, death, let’s just say many people have tried to be rid of me in the past in very, and I mean very, creative ways. It didn’t work a single time.”

“And you just let it happen?” 

“What would I do? Fight? Me? Have you met me? Geralt, come on, back me up.”

Geralt, ever the humorist, says, “He gets beaten by rabbits on a good day.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier exclaims the moment Yennefer decides to enter the impromptu questioning chamber. They exchange small smiles that spell ‘save me’ from Jaskier’s part and ‘no, suffer’ from Yennefer’s. 

Oh, she’s enjoying that, is she? 

“Have you considered that you could be a minor deity?” Vesemir asks, tone carefully gentle. 

He had not, in fact, considered that. 

It’s such a ludicrous thought that it makes him laugh, loud and unreservedly, frosty tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He waves a dismissive hand, unable to stop laughing, and shakes his head making a way out of the kitchen to somewhere, possibly, less crowded. Between laughs and heaving, he says, “A god of what? Bad luck?” 

Because quite honestly, he can’t think of anything else that could be his domain. Save perhaps, danger magnet or rejection. 

Ugh. He doesn’t like where this train of thought is going.

-

Jaskier finds out that Kaer Morhen has lovely towers that have even lovelier views of the valley the keep is perched on. 

It’s nice here, quiet in a way a decrepit castle full of witchers never is. But most importantly it’s somewhere no one sound of mind can follow. Alone with his thoughts, he lets the shitstorm of the past⁠—oh wow, it’s been a couple of weeks already⁠— settle and brew a little in his mind. 

He doesn’t really know where he stands with Geralt⁠— Yennefer for once is easier to read than the stony broody, and by the Gods, handsome witcher. It’s all a bit nervewracking, if he’s being honest, his little secret of twenty-something years revealed just like that, with a click of the fingers. 

It would have been lovely if he could go back to being just a bard, human-looking and awkward, just like he’s been for nigh a millennia now, but he can’t. 

A sigh escapes his lips, and he looks up at the white winter sky. It’s going to snow soon, he can feel it. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice sounds behind him and Jaskier yelps, jumping a bit from where he’s perched on the bannisters of the crumbling tower. 

He almost falls down.

As quick and efficient as ever, Geralt grabs him from the collar of his vest and steadies him. 

“Melitele’s plump bottom! Are you trying to kill me, Geralt?!”

Geralt’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Thought you were unkillable.” 

Jaskier pouts in response. “Touche.” And then reluctantly, “Why are you here, Geralt?” 

“Why are you here?” The witcher counters. 

Jaskier elbows him weakly. “Come on, spit it out! I can tell you came all the way up here to talk.” 

“Hmmm.” Geralt moves to sit next to him on the stone bannister. “It’s fine,” he says as if it explains anything. Jaskier stares at him in confusion. “You.”

“Me.” 

“Yes.” 

“Geralt, I know you’re messing with me right now. You can’t possibly be fine with,” ⁠— he gestures to himself from head to toe, ⁠— “this deathly pallor I don unwillingly.”

Geralt rolls his pretty amber eyes. “All I’m saying is, I understand why you never said anything, Jask. And it’s fine that you’re not human.” Geralt pokes him with a finger on the chest, where his heart would be if he had one. “Because you’re you.” 

“Careful there, witcher! You’ll make me think you actually care.”

Geralt’s eyes do that thing Jaskier hate-loves where they look at him with barely disguised affection. 

“Well, that’s not fair⁠—”

“Seeing you last night,” Geralt says, shuddering visibly, “it made me realise some things, I was purposefully ignoring for years.” 

Where is he going with this? Can it be- but no. As if Jaskier would ever be so lucky. 

“What things?” he asks, voice wavering in fear and anticipation. 

“You’re important to me, Jask. Always were and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” He wraps Jaskier in a half-hug. If Jaskier had a heart he’s sure it would be jumping out of his chest right now. 

“I love you, Geralt. You know that don’t you?” he blurts out. Oh, fuck it. He’ll see whatever this is through the end if it’s the last thing he does. “I love you so much it hurts. You’re my- my everything and I’ll admit I-” 

Soft lips crash into his effectively shutting him up. 

Oh, Gods. 

Oh. Gods. 

If only he could lock himself and Geralt, in this moment forever. 

“Will come with?” Geralt asks, voice a soft rumble, when they break apart. 

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, I don’t exactly remember the spell that turned me human-adjacent and I can’t very well-” 

Geralt kisses him again. 

“Geralt.” 

“Jaskier.”

“Let me talk.” He takes a deep breath. “If Yennefer comes with then I’ll come too.”

“Because you need her to glamour you.”

“Yes, but also no, you dolt. Because I like her and she deserves something good in her life after everything she’s been through and I won’t-”

“I know that.” Geralt sighs. “It’s hard, to forgive her for bringing danger to Ciri but…”

“But corners and entrapment and shit.” 

Geralt snorts. “Corners and entrapment and shit,” he echos. “Yeah.”

[callmeunstable]

Angels & Demons - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Characters: Reader

Summary: She finds herself in the middle of a unknown forest after falling asleep. It seems like a normal forest until she gets to meet a mystical creature that welcomes her in a different world.

Warnings: Monsters, Cursing, Blood

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is my first fic and I decided to place it in the universe of the greatest of the greatest. Geralt of Rivia! I don’t know where this will go 100%, but I know it’s going to be interesting. 😄 The reader starts of in our modern world and stumbles into the universe of The Witcher. I take my information mostly from the books and games but my fic is set based of the Netflix series so it’s basically beginners friendly.☺️

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Song:

“Two face, two face, yeah Black, white, left, right, yeah Up, down, all night, yeah Can't escape it ever Don't forget my name I don't feel the same On a trip, no train“

The music made her headphones vibrate. Probably loud enough for everyone around her to hear. If there was anyone. She was alone, hiking in the forest. It was what she always did when her anxiety got the best of her. The city is loud and dirty, squeezed full with people that never look around. Never realizing what was going on in the real world. At least what that’s what they called their reality. She always thought it was foolish to believe that they were alone in this big of a universe. Impossible.

Some stones here and there made her trip but she didn’t stop. She knew where she wanted to go and she didn’t intend to stop before she reached her destination. Kicking some branches out of the way and silently passing other hikers that greeted her with waving hand. She didn’t like the people in the city. All of them were selfish and money orientated. Of course, so tried to earn some money as a health center receptionist at her university but only to keep her head above water. Her focus was on her degree in medicine. She wanted to be able to afford a good life for her and her dad.

“And all these angels and demons Keep shoutin' and screamin' I'm fallin' from Eden”

She slowed down and let herself down on the ground.  Pulling her knees to her stomach and breathing in the fresh air of the trees. The pollution caused by cars and all of these different companies laying behind her. Closing her eyes and trying not to fall asleep. Her insomnia got worse on hot summer days like these. The missing air conditioning in her dorm room made it even worse. Two hours have to be enough to function. She couldn’t wait for the autumn to start. For the leaves to fall. And the crowds to shrink

“So fuck me like a rockstar, dancing on a cop car Nothin' in the world can stop me now Fucked up like a rockstar, riding in a cop car No one in the world can help me out-“

Her music was cut short and her eyes gazed at the screen. The Battery was almost empty. With an annoyed groan, she took off her backpack searching for her power bank. The only good thing summer had for her was the power of the sun being strong enough to charge the battery of the device. Still having her headphones in her ears. Just in case someone stumbled across and wanted to have a conversation. The easiest way to ignore people without seeming too harsh.

Her glance went up, analyzing anything she was able to catch. The mountains far back on the horizon hugged by a thick layer of clouds that protected them from any unwanted attention. The distance colored them in a blueish gray tone that would capture a lot of people. At least the ones who noticed and wanted to have a peerless experience.

Some strange black orbs were able to sneak into her daydream making her once again face the consequences of her lack of sleep. Slowly blinking she took a look at her watch. 2 pm. Still early. She just wanted to close her eyes for a few more minutes. To help her find her lost energy. Just in case she set her alarm for an hour and put her phone in the pocket of her pants. - “Everybody said that I'm falling, uh Took another line, I'm calling, uh I'm so sick of the nonsense, uh I'ma dive into the mosh pit, uh I don't really think I'm the problem I don't really think it's a problem Me plus me is a problem One gunshot could solve 'em Tell my friends I'm sorry though T-T-T-Tell my sins to go. And all these angels and demons Keep shoutin' and screamin' I'm fallin' from Eden”

The tones of her favorite song woke her up. Her headphones got disconnected while she was asleep. With panic caused by the rush of adrenaline, she paused the music. Taking a deep breath and enjoying the silence again. Her arms were stretched above her head and a yawn made it through her mouth. Slowly gaining back clear vision she looked up again. But something was different. The dusk was slowly setting in.

She failed to set her alarm correctly. But it could be worse, she wasn’t doing anything special today anyway. As she was standing up she looked for the mountains in the far, however, her view was blocked. Big deciduous trees rose in front of her. Maybe she fell asleep in a different place? A little far more into the forest? 

She got herself up and started walking her way back. At least what she thought was the right way. Somehow everything looked a little different. As different as forests could look like. The hiker trail was gone. Slowly breathing away her risen heartbeat she tried to focus. It’s just the forest how bad can it be? She always found her way out of it. She got lost a couple of times whilst exploring new paths but still. The air felt different. Not as heavy as she was used to. The trees were able to give her better oxygen as in the city but they just couldn’t hold all of the smog back.

Her feet automatically began to walk faster and faster as time went by and nothing seemed familiar anymore. She tried to find her starting point again but that seemed rather impossible right now. There was still a lot of light left but everything seemed strange.

She started to run. Jumping over the rocks and logs that blocked her way. As she was trying to bridge over the next log she wasn’t able to see the small lowering that led to her stumbling and rolling a couple of feet down. ‘Great, just great.’ 

Her thoughts were sarcastic, helping her to cope with the panic rising in her throat.

She looked up and let out a short scream. Some big bright yellow eyes were looking at her from above. They belonged to a child with pale blue skin. At least it looked like a child. She didn’t dare to move one muscle, staring at the creature in front of her.

It was barely as tall as a 9-year-old and it’s skin made it look like it was suffocating. A rough crown made out of sticks sat on top of its head. It wore some pants that had seen better days. They seemed to be made out of a cheap fabric that was ripped in several places. A green scarf was hanging from its neck. 

“Hello.” It could speak. His mouth was stretched to wild smile.

“It’s been some time since an ol’ villager got lost in ma forest. That was some fall you had. Are you alright?” Still staring at the creature she tried to get her words together.

“Ehm…yes I tripped and fell. I don’t think I’m hurt. Thank you.”

“Good to hear. So what’s your name? I’m James.”

She hesitated. She didn’t even know if this creature was human. She couldn’t trust just anyone.

“Alva. My name is Alva.”

“Nice to meet you, Alva. So what did ya run away from? Thought the Drowners were after ya.” Drowners? What the fuck are Drowners?

“Yeah so. Excuse me the question but you seem rather … blue?” She was scared to ask something like this but this little creature seemed friendly.

“Oh that. Have you never seen a good ol’ Godling? Because that’s just what I am indeed.” The little boy laughed and seemed to be happy to have found some company.

“That is a Godling?”

“You never heard of us amazing Godling?”

The little blue boy explained to her that Godlings are woodland creatures dwelling in burrows and moss-covered hollow stumps on the outskirts of human settlements. They are deeply rooted in their home territory and perform acts of care and guardianship to those dwelling near their burrows. They watch over people as well as animals, but, shy creatures by nature, they try to do so while remaining unseen. Godlings are drawn to joy and innocence, and so delight in the company of children and usually only show themselves to the young.

“That’s why I am talking to ya. You seem fun. At least you look funny.” The boy started to walk around her while lifting her flannel and poking her skin.

‘He’s the one looking like a tall version of a smurf. What is he talking about?’ Her thought rushes inside of her head, making her regaining the feeling of dizziness.

“So you’re telling me you’re some kind of magical creature as in Harry Potter?” The girl tried to order her thoughts by sitting down and trying to hold on to the facts the little guy was telling her. Maybe she was in a coma? Or dreaming? Possibly. These are the only explanations she could come up with.

“I don’t know anyone called Harry Potter. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Ok, listen up. You’re probably just part of my imagination so why don’t we have some fun while it lasts?” As long as she sleeping and lucid dreaming she could at least make the best out of it.

“Yes, let’s have some fun! I love singing, I love music! I heard some strange melody coming from your direction. That’s how I found you.” James started to do some little happy jumps and clapping.

“Oh, you mean this?” Alva took her phone out of her pocket and showed it to him.

“What witchy device is that suppose to be?”

“No magic. Technology. Let me show you.” She pressed on some Icons and song from earlier continued.

“So fuck me like a rockstar, dancing on a cop car Nothin' in the world can stop me now Fucked up like a rockstar, riding in a cop car No one in the world can help me out.”

The little one danced to the music and showed off some rather random dance moves. Spinning in circles, jumping up and down and throwing his hands in the air.

Still thinking of her lucid dreaming she joined her little Godling friend. Turning the music louder and louder they enjoyed themselves.

Until a growl broke the peace of the music. But both James and Alva were to focused on having von dancing to notice some strange noises. They didn’t hear it, down to the moment when the girl got hit by something sharp, making her fall to the ground.

“Don’t stop dancing Alva, you’re no fun.” The Godling still didn’t realize that Alva was sitting on the ground covering her bleeding upper arm with her hand. Looking up she saw the scariest creature she could’ve imagined. 

In front of her is standing a sickly blue or green colored human, with slime and sludge oozing out of every pore and the acrid stench of rot wafting off of it. No, that wasn’t a human.

“James! What the fuck is that?” The girl cried for help.

Finally objectifying the situation, James was hurrying towards the creature when it rose its arm for another attack.

Covering her face Alva started to realize that this is the moment she was going to die. You can’t get hurt in a dream. That is just not possible. Her arm was on fire, giving her a pain she never had felt in her entire life. This was real. Waiting for the next hit but it never came.

Slowly she opened her eyes to see only James in front of her. The monster not in sight.

“Where did he-?” Completely shocked by the situation and being unable to talk, Alva starred at the boy.

“Don’t underestimate the power of a Godling. Nothing comes between me and my forest. And since you stumbled in it you’re a part of it.” He looked down at her bleeding arm and his eyebrows furrowed.

“You need a healer. As much as I’d love to I can’t heal it.”

The words barely got to the girl. She was scared for her life. She never believed something like this could happen. But one thing she knew for sure. This wasn’t her reality.

“And all these angels and demons Keep shoutin' and screamin' I'm falling from Eden.”

[fromkaermorhentolettenhove]

Salvation - Chapter 1

Summary: When Roach takes Geralt down a new path, he doesn’t expect much to come of it. Instead, he finds a bruised, battered man that he can’t leave behind, a choice in his hands. 

What will come of it is a whirlwind of friendship, healing, and even finding love in the last place Geralt expected.

Rating: T

Genre: Canon Universe, Different First Meeting, Hurt!Jaskier, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Strangers to Friends to Lovers

Words: 3202

A/N: just some self-indulgence, hope y’all enjoy ;P

-

AO3

or

There were two paths. 

One, Geralt had travelled time and time again. He knew it well and Roach knew it even better, not even needing his guidance from one village to the next. 

The other path to the right led into dark forests, a dilapidated path that only held danger. Geralt had no need to go that way, nothing compelling enough or even a guarantee of coin to coax him. 

He directed Roach to the left, remembering the trouble the first town had a year ago. With any luck, the town had learned its lesson, but Geralt knew not to trust the hubris of humans. His thoughts were interrupted by a whinny from Roach, her head tossing about.

“Roach, what are you doing?” Geralt growled.

Roach had completely ignored Geralt’s tug on her reins and was heading to the right instead. She lurched against Geralt’s pulls, her ears flattening against her head. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Geralt huffed, hopping off of her. 

He grabbed her reins, heading towards the left again, but Roach locked her legs, challenging Geralt to just try and move her. Geralt glared at Roach before checking her body to see if she had any injuries. She had never put up such a fight before. 

“What’s down that road? Is there something you know that I don’t?” Geralt muttered, looking her dead in the eye. 

Roach let out a breath then, hot on Geralt’s face as she stomped her hooves. Geralt could fight with her all day, but it was a losing battle for him. Here he was, a mighty witcher who could take down monsters in one swipe and yet his greatest adversary was Roach herself. 

“Fine,” Geralt ground out. “But if we die, it’s your fault.”

Roach neighed in response, happy to be back on the path she had chosen and started at a bright gait. Geralt rolled his eyes, the temptation to go the other way on his own growing, but he needed her as much as she needed him. His worst thoughts told him Destiny was at work and Geralt could already feel exhaustion creeping up on him. 

Whatever was down this road, it seemed Geralt had no choice but to follow, stuck in the throes of life’s cruel joke.

They walked for hours then, coming across nothing beyond trees and the occasional squirrel. If all Roach had wanted was a quiet walk, Geralt could’ve found that easily on their usual path. Instead, she was dragging Geralt along on some silly notion and Geralt was beginning to lose his patience. 

Before he could yell at her however, a town poked out over one of the rising hills and Geralt was quick to lead Roach to it. She even sped up her gait, much to Geralt’s chagrin, and it wasn’t long before the two were at the outskirts.

Geralt knew something was wrong the instant he and Roach made their first steps into the town.

There were no people bustling about and the wind could be heard through every crack in the woodwork. They were certainly being watched, but the townsfolk were well hidden behind shutters and closed doors. 

Dismounting Roach, Geralt led her by the reins, his senses heightened without the usual distractions. The littlest sound of a mouse whipped his head about, his grip on his dagger tightening with each step. 

When he reached the center of the square, a tall structure made out of wood greeted them. It seemed to have no purpose until Geralt looked at the base where a man was kneeling, arms wrapped around the structure and bound behind his back. He was covered in dirt, shirtless, with red streaks all over his chest and stomach. 

Geralt inhaled sharply as the anger in him grew. He didn’t know the man’s crimes but to be put on display like this was a disgusting habit of humans. 

“A demon,” a man’s voice shook Geralt from his staring. 

Geralt turned to see a bearded man dressed in finer clothing. He didn’t seem bothered by the sight of Geralt at all. More pleased if Geralt was guessing. 

“No one is allowed near him. Not until he’s properly disposed of.”

There was a secret to be had here and Geralt turned back to look at the imprisoned man. 

“Get rid of him and we shall pay you plenty of coin.”

Geralt was no longer hearing the bearded man’s words and simply gave him a grunt to get the man to go away. There was no demon, Geralt would have sensed it before he was even close to the town. 

Waiting until the bearded man was out of sight, Geralt marched over to the structure, going down on one knee to inspect the person crumpled there. He was weak, on his way to dying, and Geralt pulled out his water skin, helping the man drink. 

“What’s your name?” Geralt asked, a gentle hand under the man’s chin. 

The man swallowed, his fading eyes distrusting before he coughed out, “Jaskier.”

Geralt nodded, his emotions stewing. The marks on the man’s chests were fresh and open, an indication that he had just been whipped, infecting old wounds, creating new ones.

“I know you’re not a demon,” Geralt murmured. “Tell me what happened.”

The man–Jaskier–swallowed, fear growing in his eyes. “It was my word against the lord’s,” Jaskier rasped. “He made empty promises and when I tried to leave, he turned the town against me.”

Geralt had heard this story time and time again. Sometimes he was too late and for others, he couldn’t save them even if he wanted to. It was easy enough for Geralt to go on his way, but his stubbornness told him not to. He had to help Jaskier. That much he was sure of.

“I’m getting you out of here, Jaskier,” Geralt moved his hand from Jaskier’s face to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

“You don’t even know me,” Jaskier coughed. “I could be just as guilty as the lord.”

“You’re the one tied up here,” Geralt retorted. 

Jaskier gave a half-hearted shrug, his gaze falling to the ground. “He won’t let me go. Not until I’m dead.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Geralt reassured, the gears in his mind already spinning. “Trust me.”

Blue eyes pierced his own amber ones and Geralt’s soul stirred. He knew this man was innocent, whatever charges were against him. With a nod, Geralt got to his feet and tried not to look back as he went to Roach.

He’d take care of things tonight. 

~

The morning silence was broken by a page boy announcing the death of the lord.

Geralt didn’t look up from his whittling, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face. The first of the townspeople spilled out, whispers abound as they looked in the direction of the castle nearby. 

There were eyes on him, but only the ones belonging to Jaskier. Geralt didn’t look at him. The less the town had something to talk about, the better.

“You were supposed to get rid of the demon,” the man from yesterday approached Geralt. “Now the lord is dead.”

Geralt steadied his breaths, swallowed down his first thoughts. He had found out this man was an advisor to the lord and he was beginning to regret not killing him off as well. However, time had been of the essence. Geralt did what he could.

“How did the lord die?” Geralt asked at last, stopping his knife and letting it glisten in the sun. 

The advisor swallowed, his distrust as ugly as his scowl as he straightened up. “Gone in his sleep according to the healer.”

Geralt let out a small hum he got to his feet. “He was an old man. You can’t assume everything is because of magic and fairy stories.”

The advisor balked at Geralt, trying to find his words but Geralt ignored him. 

“I’m taking the demon with me. That will be my payment.”

Not waiting for an answer, Geralt headed toward Jaskier, the townsfolk scrambling out of Geralt’s path until he reached the man. With the knife in his hand, Geralt cut the ropes with ease and helped Jaskier to his feet, careful to not agitate his wounds. Jaskier could barely stand, his grip tight on Geralt’s arm as his breaths, short and ragged, flooded Geralt’s ears. If he were a braver, more foolish man, Geralt would yell at the town, berate them for their wrongdoings. All he could do now was hope they would pay for their crimes soon and he tucked away his knife, if only to stop his hand from thinking for itself.

Geralt sharply whistled for Roach, watched as the crowd parted even more to let her through. She snapped her head at anyone who took even a step closer to her and Geralt swelled with pride as he helped Jaskier climb onto her back. In one swift movement, Geralt then hopped up behind him and urged Roach forward until there was finally space to breath. No one made a move to stop him and Geralt sent Roach off into a canter, leaving the village in a cloud of dust and confusion. 

There was nothing exchanged between the two men as they rode away, but it was fine by Geralt. He had to focus, make sure they weren’t being followed and then they could stop to rest. When Roach began to tire, Geralt slowed her down, searching the forest around them. If there was a cave nearby, that would be their best bet. 

Geralt led Roach off the path and into the woods, his senses leading him to a shelter. The woods were still, barren of any monsters or wildlife as Roach’s hooves crunched over leaves and brush. It was beginning to drive Geralt mad, but before he could make any complaints, a cave, hidden carefully behind some fallen logs, caught his eye. Dismounting Roach first, Geralt made a quick survey of the area before reaching up for Jaskier. Geralt was careful with his movements, gentle, and he led Jaskier into the cave, laying him down on the ground. Once he was sure they were truly alone, Geralt left Jaskier’s side to collect the saddlebags, kneeling by Jaskier’s side as he sorted through them.

“What did you do?” Jaskier asked, his eyes following Geralt’s every move.

“Broken neck. Bribes,” Geralt shrugged, pulling out some cloth and his water skin. “This will hurt.”

Geralt poured water on the cloth to wash away the dirt on Jaskier’s body, his touches unfaltering under Jaskier’s winces and gasps of pain. The slight friction opened up some of the wounds on his chest and Geralt grabbed the salve, covering every cut he saw. This was not met without protest, Jaskier pushing away Geralt’s hands constantly.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt apologized after one particularly harsh shove. “This is the only way.”

“I know,” Jaskier hissed. “I can’t help it.”

When Geralt finally finished, Jaskier was even more tired than before, his eyes struggling to stay open. Laying out his bedroll, Geralt lifted up Jaskier and placed him on it, grabbing one of his shirts to drape over Jaskier. 

“You’re a good man, Witcher,” Jaskier sighed, sleep overtaking him. “What shall I call you?”

“Geralt.”

“Hm. Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled before he closed his eyes. 

Geralt blamed it on Jaskier’s exhaustion, but he had never heard his name said in such a gentle manner. He found himself staring at Jaskier’s face, unable to reason why he had helped this man out of all the people he had met over the years. 

There was something about him that Geralt couldn’t leave behind, something worth saving, and he hoped in time he would figure out what that was. For now, he needed to get a fire started and he left the cave to collect some wood.

~

Jaskier had improved drastically with a good few hours of sleep. 

In his boredom, Geralt went hunting and came back to Jaskier sitting up, now wearing the shirt Geralt had given him as a blanket. He gave Geralt a tired smile, watching as Geralt started a new fire from the smoldering embers. 

“How are you?” Geralt asked, handing over his water skin. 

Jaskier took it gratefully and after taking a long sip, pursed his lips. “Alive.”

“Would you rather not be?”

Geralt didn’t expect the silence that followed. He hadn’t meant it in any way. The words just slipped out. 

“Ask me again tomorrow.” Jaskier’s voice was soft but Geralt caught everything and he raised an eyebrow. 

He wasn’t unfamiliar to that sentiment, but to console another who shared it was uncomfortable to say the very least. Sometimes, he couldn’t even pull himself out of that hole and he didn’t want to make things worse for Jaskier.

“We can part ways in the next town,” Geralt changed the subject as the fire finally took. “I don’t have much coin but it should get you through a few days.”

“Why?”

Geralt turned to him, furrowing his brows. 

“Why are you helping me?” Jaskier elaborated, his eyes boring into Geralt. 

With a swallow, Geralt stopped what he was doing and met Jaskier’s gaze. “I don’t know,” he admitted. 

Jaskier blinked at this, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. He settled on a confused glance, his hands wringing in his lap. 

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” Jaskier began, voice hushed. “But surely there’s others more worthy of saving.”

“What is your definition of worth?” Geralt had taken to staring into the fire, yet focusing on Jaskier’s every breath. 

Jaskier grumbled something to himself followed by a short, “That’s not fair.”

With a sigh, Geralt searched within himself to find an answer. Honesty was his best bet and he hoped it would be enough to satisfy Jaskier. “I couldn’t leave you behind. I’ve lived my entire life with death and hatred following me. I suppose I wanted something different.”

“You’re not like other witchers, are you?” Jaskier spoke with a certain kind of fondness.

This got a small laugh out of Geralt. “I’ve been told that here and there.”

“Alright, how about this?” Jaskier began with a newfound strength. He sat up tall, as if his wounds had never existed as he looked Geralt straight in the eye. “Let me travel with you for as far as you may go. If I wish to leave, I will.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, his mouth caught between a quirk and a frown. He didn’t claim to know Jaskier at all, but this was more than he expected.

“And I know what you’re thinking. I’m able to earn coin too,” Jaskier added upon seeing Geralt’s stare.

“That’s not it,” Geralt shook his head. “I can’t guarantee safety on my path. If it’s not the monsters that kill you, it’ll be the elements.”

Jaskier was not dissuaded, his hands in his lap clenching into fists. “Then let me look Death in the eye.”

“Poetic,” was all Geralt said, just slightly unnerved by Jaskier’s pride. 

He did not miss the small smile appearing on Jaskier’s face, the hopefulness in his eyes like that of a child’s. 

“So...yes?” Jaskier prodded once more.

A headache was forming at the back of Geralt’s mind. He had already made the choice of helping Jaskier out in the first place and now he wanted to come along on the journey as if he was invincible. Geralt wondered if he had put the wrong salve on Jaskier, trying to ignore the stare that wouldn’t leave him. 

“You’ll do as I say when a monster attacks.”

“Of course,” Jaskier nodded, his smile growing bigger by the second. 

For a man who was near his death the day before, there were no signs of that now and instead it had been replaced by this bright, out of his mind fool. Geralt was tempted to laugh, but hid it behind a slight quirk of his mouth. He didn’t want Jaskier having his way so soon.

In his excitement, Jaskier tried to get to his feet, only to fall into Geralt’s arms. “World’s still off-balance,” Jaskier grimaced. 

“How long did they keep you there?” Geralt asked, guiding Jaskier back into a seated position. 

Jaskier shrugged helplessly. “Lost track of the days. They’d whip me until I blacked out from the pain.”

Geralt could see Jaskier curl into himself and he tried to think of something else to talk about, if only to keep unwelcome thoughts at bay. “Have you traveled much?”

Jaskier lit up at this, his smile coming back. “Oh, yes. I was a student at Oxenfurt and gained plenty of friends who had their connections across the country.”

Geralt didn’t doubt that and found himself curious about Jaskier's education. Oxenfurt was well-renowned and it wasn’t easy to get in, which meant one of two things. 

“I didn’t cheat my way in if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jaskier chided. “I came from a family that...well...let’s just say my choices after Oxenfurt were enough to get me disowned.”

Not needing the gritty details, Geralt nodded his understanding and remembered the rabbits he had caught. He grabbed his knife to clean them, waiting for Jaskier to continue on. 

“It’s funny,” Jaskier’s tone became hushed. “Talking like this feels odd to me. Before everything happened, I couldn’t shut up to save my life.”

Geralt tried to not think too hard about the meaning behind those words, the pain Jaskier had been through. “Healing doesn’t happen in an instant.”

Jaskier had gone quiet then and Geralt glanced over to see the man staring at his hands. There was a heavy swallow before tears spilled down Jaskier’s face, his body shaking. Dropping his work, Geralt moved closer to Jaskier, making sure the man could see all his movements so as to not startle him. 

When Jaskier didn’t flinch, Geralt pressed a hand onto his arm, unsure of what else to do. If there was anything he could do. Choked sobs escaped from Jaskier and he clung to himself, rocking back and forth. Geralt let Jaskier cry, dealing with his own confusion in his mind as he watched him. All he wanted to do was pull Jaskier close and hold him until the crying stopped. 

Geralt did not do that however, only grabbing the water skin and handing it to Jaskier when the cries began to quiet. Jaskier gingerly took it from Geralt’s hand, his gulps small as he went between wiping his tears away and taking a drink. 

“They won’t hurt you again,” Geralt spoke at last, his quiet voice feeling too loud for the space around them. 

A storm brewed in Jaskier’s eyes and he gave a short nod before moving to lie down on the bedroll. Geralt moved around to help him, only going back to his work once he was sure Jaskier had fallen asleep. 

There was a long road ahead and Geralt was now doubting if he was even capable of handling this. With a heavy sigh, he kept an eye on Jaskier as he cooked the meat, praying to whatever god would listen that he would be strong enough to handle this.