#this is me saying I wish jask was there in the scene at the end with yen geralt and ciri sitting outside

[jaskierisbi]

okay but songfic for liability (lorde) with jaskier feeling useless in a keep full of strong witchers and sorceresses and whatever the fuck ciri is

he’s just a bard totally not human either but that’s another post, an artist, using sarcasm and humor to get by in a world of danger and death

LIKE GUYS

They say, "You're a little much for me || You're a liability || You're a little much for me" || So they pull back, make other plans || I understand, I'm a liability

The truth is I am a toy that people enjoy || 'Til all of the tricks don't work anymore || And then they are bored of me

like, not to mention how fucked up his mental state is right now???

like he goes from singing all too well (jaskier’s version) to helping his ex-nemesis-new-best-friend escape the country to being tortured for information about his ex best friend (the man that he loved for over 20 years) to being saved by yen, to trying to save her, to being imprisoned, to seeing geralt again, to seeing yen almost sacrifice ciri, to seeing geralt hold his sword at yen’s throat, to (finally) going to kaer morhen, to witnessing a shit ton of witchers be killed, to seeing yen slit her wrists, to her geralt and ciri disappearing ALL WITHIN A FEW DAYS

we literally saw him sleeping with a bottle of alcohol when yen came into his room. he’s obviously Not Okay

and now he’s an outsider in this cold and unfamiliar place. geralt and yen are with ciri, the witchers have each other, so where does he fit in? why is he there?

maybe he tries to leave in the cover of night (because apparently kaer morhen is a lot easier to access than literally ALL OF US thought???), or maybe he stays and is subdued and muted because he’s afraid of being a bother or being kicked out. maybe he keeps to himself, pulls into himself.

he’s always been a little too much for everyone. people always liked him until they didn’t. yes, geralt apologized, and he does get why his friend lashed out, but that doesn’t take the hurt away. that the man he loved considered his best friend for over twenty years was tired of him too

he doesn’t want to be thrown aside again. he doesn’t think he can survive it. he knows what he is: weak, silly, useless. a liability. but he’s weak and wanting, and yearns for a place somewhere in this makeshift family

anyways then yen notices it and there’s softness there because she knows what it’s like to feel like the weak and useless one and they’re something now, and she wants to comfort him because she cares about him and he cares about her

geralt doesn’t notice, but he does notice when yen and jaskier become a Unit. when they talk softly and share touches and give each other meaningful looks. (the cognitive dissonance of seeing them be enemies to whatever this is is VERY real)

idk how it ends, probably with an ot3 and plenty of comfort for the hurt

…anyways now I kinda want to write this 👀👀👀

[futueteipsi]

witcher s2 spoilers!!

(this is literally just gonna be me ranting about it)

1. eskel stans, how are we feeling? i don’t know how they managed to fuck up a character that badly but holy fucking shit. eskel is my favorite character from the books and I love him in the games and I was so excited for him. lambert and coen were amazing and their bond was amazing, but I so desperately wished eskel was written to be how his character is. the very small flashback snippet of him and geralt was the only time I felt like that was eskel, the rest of the time he felt like a completely different character who was only used as a plot device.

2. I did not understand why they had vesemir suddenly so obsessed with recreating the trial of the grasses. that felt so out of character for him and I didn’t like it at all. i feel like there is some line in the books where vesemir says something about being glad they can’t make more witchers bc of all the trauma and shite.

3. there were so many pieces of plot that were pulled out of nowhere. I’ve read blood of elves twice and I’m currently on book 6 out of 8 (tower of swallows) so I feel pretty confident in discussing the plot of that book, but there was so much taken out and stuff put in. yen and fringilla being kidnapped by the elves? yenna losing her magic? francesca being pregnant? cahir and yenna? the monolith shit? so much was pulled out of the writers asses. don’t get me started on stuff left out; the socia’tael; any interaction with geralt, jaskier, and dijkstra; so much other shit. going off of jask and dijkstra, I liked how they teased their acquaintanceship but I’m eager to see how they go forward with it.

4. the socia’tael. what is going on. i feel like they play an extremely important role in the books, and they weren’t brought up at all. i feel like the elves as a whole with filivandriel and francesca were meant to be the socia’tael but it’s weird they didn’t mention it.

5. the emhyr reveal. I’m halfway through tower of swallows and it hasn’t even been mentioned then. i knew the whole emhyr-being-ciri’s-father thing bc of the games and all, so i feel like it was an extremely early reveal but it makes sense, plus I get that they wanted another cliffhanger ending.

6. yes jaskier is still my favorite character and I love him and that shirtless scene killed me i love joey batey so much.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Fear Not, Fair Maiden

(Thank you @spielzeugkaiser for letting me write a story about your amazing art! This was so much fun and it’s so fluffy. I may have thrown in a little nonhuman-Jaskier as a treat but Jaskier doesn’t know so...)

Etheid is the baby green dragon that Borch rescues in “The Sword of Destiny” book. I thought I’d make that scene more interesting and less sad for everyone by sticking to the book canon version for this story.

---

Jaskier woke up somewhere warm and soft and definitely not wrapped in the raggedy blanket he’d fallen asleep with atop his worn bedroll. He groaned in confusion and rose into a sitting position on the soft feather mattress to better wipe the sleep from his bleary eyes. He was sitting on a beautifully carved mahogany bed with four posts and lovely hanging curtains made of pale pink gossamer.

“Where am I?” he yawned to no one in particular. 

In my tower, a voice echoed through his head. The bard leapt from the bed, suddenly alert and terrified of whatever had brought him here. The voice returned, slightly frightened in its own right and clearly looking to soothe. Don’t panic! I’m sorry! I probably should have introduced myself better. Come to the window, my sweet visitor, and let me say hello!

“You’re not going to eat me, right?” Jaskier squeaked. 

Of course not, Jaskier. You’re my guest. That would be highly indecorous of me.

“Monsters with manners. Finally some decent company.” Jaskier made his way confidently out onto the balcony surrounding the tower’s main room and glanced around. “Hello? How do you know my name?”

A large, scaly green head rose over the side of the balcony wall and Jaskier took an involuntary step back. A thin-slit reptilian eye blinked at him. Once. Twice. Then the rest of the dragon’s face and snout appeared. Do not fret, my dear. You are in no danger at all. I merely wish to see a performance.

“You want me to sing for you?”

That was not my purpose in stealing you, but I would not be adverse to some music later this evening. I’m sure your Witcher is already on his way here to rescue you. Jaskier swore he heard the dragon release a deep, dreamy sigh from its steaming nostrils. Ah, I wonder if he’ll climb the spiral stairs and try to avoid the traps or if he’ll fight me first and scale the outer walls. 

“Wait a second,” Jaskier held a finger up. The dragon paused its daydreaming and looked down at its tiny human captive. Well, mostly human from what the dragon’s senses could pick up. Perhaps a bit of dryad in there somewhere. The semi-mortal’s connection to nature was stronger than most; ancient in a way that drew the dragon to him in the first place. Well, that and the handsome, white-haired Witcher who kept the bard close to his side like a favorite puppy. “You kidnapped me so that you could watch Geralt rescue me?”

The dragon’s enormous snout bobbed up and down as it nodded. The bard leaned heavily against the balcony’s edge and released a series of hysterical giggles. Are you alright, Jaskier?

“How do you know my name?”

You met my godfather, once. Borch.

“Oh, you’re the baby green dragon!” Jaskier perked up. This was an old friend, then. “My, how you’ve grown.”

And my, how you haven’t, the dragon observed. If the bard didn't’ know any better it appeared as if the creature was raising its eyebrow at him. You don’t seem to have aged a day.

“Haven’t I?” Jaskier glanced down. “Perhaps I’m just remarkably well preserved.”

Magic, the dragon shrugged. Anyway that is not my purpose here. I’ve grown bored with my usual antics and wish for something better. 

“So you thought you’d make up some entertainment by bard-napping me?”

Correct.

“This is like a play, then? I’ve been given the part of Fair Maiden and Geralt has been cast as our White Knight? My Prince Charming, as it were?”

Yes, although you find Geralt’s animalistic tendencies and Witchery nature more alluring than any fairy-tale prince or wayward knight.

“Hey! Hands off my private, personal thoughts,” Jaskier cried, waving his arms at the dragon as if the gesture might sever their mental link. The dragon huffed out what may have been a laugh.

I cannot help myself, I apologize. My name is Etheid, by the way. So you can stop referring to me in your mind as Baby Dragon I Held Once.

“Sorry,” Jaskier shrugged. He laughed again, this time genuinely. “Do you think Geralt really loves me enough to come rescue me from an entire dragon? He knows you can’t be beaten with one or two flimsy swords.”

He is determined to find you, Etheid replied. He will be here in two days time. 

“So until he shows up do I just...sing for you, then? Is there any food? Oh, is there a bath!?”

You’re the most eager and friendly guest I’ve ever had, Etheid rejoiced. There’s food aplenty in the cupboard in your room. Wine, too. I also have bathwater ready at your request and I can heat it to whatever temperature you like. I even have costumes!

“Costumes!?” The bard beamed widely and clapped his hands together beneath his chin. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet and even spun in a quick circle. “What kinds of costumes!? Is this going to be a tragic rescue? Is this going to be dramatic and romantic? You mentioned traps, what kinds of traps will Geralt be facing if he comes up the stairs?”

Eager to see your handsome Witcher again?

“Eager to make sure that he isn’t injured trying to save me from your lovely tower, here.”

He will be absolutely fine. These traps were made for squires to outsmart; he’s a Witcher.

“If he loved me as I love him,” Jaskier sighed wistfully, “Then this would be even more fun.”

Etheid considered telling Jaskier the truth about his Witcher’s romantic feelings for a moment but figured that it was Geralt’s job to do so, instead. The dragon could wait. The dragon could write such a fantastical scene that Geralt would have no other option but to admit his feelings to the jovial and kindhearted bard. 

There are dresses, of course, but there are some lovely robes as well. You can take whatever you like from the chest at the end of the bed.

“You’re going to regret saying that!”

Go ahead. Do what human things you must. I’ll heat the water and be on my way; dragons need to eat, too.

“No pesky villagers, please. Stick to wild animals so long as I’m your guest?”

I am not a heathen, Etheid scoffed. Deer only for now. The forest is fat with them.

“Excellent. See you after dinner and a bath, then. I’ll sing you some lovely ballads.”

About your White Wolf?

“I wouldn’t exactly say that he’s my White Wolf,” the bard blushed. “But yes, songs about Geralt.”

---

Geralt reached the base of the stone tower and squinted up. It seemed endlessly tall against the rocky mountainside and the blue of the sky. Jaskier was up there, though, and the dragon was probably nearby. The Witcher had chosen not to wear his armor for this particular rescue mission; it would only make him noisier and this was a battle of the wits. Dragons wanted to be outsmarted, not slain.

Geralt remembered Borch Three Jackdaws fondly, the golden dragon that had shown him such kindness and taught him that not all monsters were to be feared. Well, Borch hadn’t so much taught Geralt about the nature of monstrosity so much as he had reinforced a previously held belief. 

But that didn’t matter now. As he slid into the passage that led to the tower stairs his only focus was his stupid bard’s physical safety. 

No, Geralt, the Witcher corrected himself firmly. He is not your bard, he is merely a traveler who chooses to spend some of his free time dallying about with you. He likes writing songs about your adventures and that is all. 

He could hear the sound of a lute growing slightly stronger as he ascended, and kept his eyes peeled for any sort of traps or pitfalls. He sidestepped two swinging axes with ease and ducked beneath a flying crossbow bolt as simply as he breathed. This tower was for amateurs, not highly trained Witchers with unparalleled senses. Not the most graceful Witcher the Wolf school had ever turned out onto the path. Not Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier’s Witcher. 

---

Jaskier stopped singing suddenly and set his lute to the side, as planned. He laid himself out as Etheid had suggested, the white cotton robe pooling around his bare legs and spilling rather nicely off his left shoulder. He’d cinched a soft blue ribbon just so around the curves of his waist. His hair was ruffled just the way Geralt liked it; the way it was when he saw the Witcher’s gloved fingers twitch at his sides, clearly aching to touch him but too afraid to make a move.

He’ll have to make a move this time, Etheid said. Jaskier could hear the smile in the dragon’s words. Get in position! He’s nearly to your room, Jask!

“Jaskier!” the Witcher cried, bursting through the door only a moment later. The bard could sense Etheid just outside the window, hidden by a thin curtain that hung from the back of an ENORMOUS four-poster bed. Geralt was too excited to find his precious bard safe to care about the looming threat.

“Geralt! You came for me!”

“Of course I did,” Geralt rolled his eyes. “You’re always getting yourself into trouble.”

Ugh, you’re so right. He’s horrible with romance.

Jaskier stifled a smile but Geralt caught it anyway. 

“What’s so funny, bard?”

“My captor doesn’t find your rescue speech very romantic or amusing,” he said, pulling the curtain aside. Etheid’s large blue eyes were focused on the scene, waiting for something good to happen. The dragon had been bored for so long and he’d heard so much from Borch about this White Wolf and his loyal, loving bard. Jaskier whispered the next line as if Etheid wasn't’ supposed to be hearing it, “Perhaps you should make our little reunion more flowery?”

“Jaskier, I - uh,” Geralt swallowed hard and took a step forward. Might as well go for it, the Witcher thought. “I’m so glad that I made it back to your side in time. I’m so glad that you’re unharmed.”

“I knew you’d come for me,” Jaskier sighed, holding out his hand. Geralt stepped even closer, leaning down to press his lips against the petal-soft skin of Jaskier’s knuckles. The bard blushed softly and Geralt felt his own face heating up to match. “You always save me, even from the worst situations.”

“I always will.”

The Witcher had admitted his greatest secret aloud before he could stop himself and he watched the bard’s eyes widen even further. Geralt’s brand of gruff sincerity was unmistakable. 

“Geralt,” the younger man grinned, tears gathering in the corners of his perfect, cornflower blue eyes, “I knew you loved me back.”

“You mean...?”

“Of course, silly,” the bard laughed, throwing himself up off the mattress and into Geralt’s arms. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you brooding at that tavern in Posada!”

“Oh Jaskier,” the Witcher gasped. His lips found the side of his bard’s pale neck and out on the balcony Etheid released a happy, contented huff. “I would give anything and everything to know that you were safe.”

“My sweet Witcher,” Jaskier leaned back, cupping Geralt’s face between his hands. His weight was now being entirely supported by the thick arm wrapped around his waist and he reveled in the strength of his beloved before leaning up to kiss him. “Then you must know how I feel every time you leave me on a hunt. Or go to fight with Yennefer about something silly.”

The Witcher could only press their foreheads together and breathe in the happy, rain-shower scent of his Jaskier. “Hmm.”

Excellent, yes! I can’t wait to tell Borch and my friends about this! Etheid cheered. Congratulations, Jaskier! I’m so happy for you!

“Thank you,” the bard murmured. 

“Hmm?” Geralt hummed again, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier pulled his head away and shook it. 

“Don’t worry about it. Are you getting me out of here or not?”

“Can you walk in this getup? Will the dragon just let us go?”

Jaskier shot a curious glance towards Etheid, who nodded.

Tell him you can’t walk, though. I want to see him carry you off to his horse and ride away with the white robe flapping in the wind. Maybe he’ll even wrap his arms around you from behind to keep you safe. Like a real princess. 

“No, I can’t walk in this silly thing at all. Keeps getting tangled around my ankles; I’d probably fall down the stairs and kill myself.

Geralt swept the younger man up into his arms and grabbed his lute from its place on the floor. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“No, my Witcher,” the bard replied with a contented smile. “We can’t have that at all.”

---

And if one of Etheid’s curious friends kidnapped Jaskier a month or so later and three countries over then...oh well. More weird dragon friends for the both of them.

[stars-in-my-damn-eyes]

Thanks for the tag, @storm-and-starlight !!

**

How many works do you have on AO3?

37, though three are on anon. 38, if you count the anon fic i co-wrote that was posted to my friend's account.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

229917 words!

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

7! They are, in no particular order, the Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy trilogy, BBC Merlin, The Dragon Prince, Lucifer Netflix, the Witcher Netflix, the Witcher games, and the Magnus Archives.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

1) Death to the Details

2) Slightly Akin to Wonder

3) The Lark's Requiem

4) Perhaps Not in Entirety

5) With Reminiscent Undertones

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Admittedly I am very much behind on this - however, I respond because I appreciate commenters.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

A Rotten Kind of Cold (Geralt dies). I'm not a big angst writer - this was 100% for the shock value for the witcher flash fic challenge, because in the first week, multiple people had shocked ME with mcd fics.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

I have written one (1) crossover, the esteemed Witcher/Star Wars Original Trilogy fusion fic Almost Seemed to Shine Again, which is in dire need of an update. I suppose that, by default, it is also the craziest.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope! :D

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do not write smut. I dislike sexual content so I neither consume nor create it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Somebody plagiarised segments of Empyrean, my half-elf Callum TDP fic, and while I brushed it off at the time it did end up being a big reason that I haven't updated Empyrean since I was 16.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I would die on the spot (in a positive manner) if someone did translate a fic of mine!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

N/A, I'm afraid (ha! pun!). It's platonic relationships all the way, for me - I'm not interesed in the romance genre at all.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The Empty Eyes of the Damned. It's a concept very dear to my heart but I am no longer as interested in the witcher as I once was.

What are your writing strengths?

Plot! Dialogue! Also fight scenes, for some reason.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Interesting prose, unique character voices, and the proper use of metaphor. English was my worst subject in school - besides, when I write, I mostly just transcribe what I'm visualising in my mind so it ends up depressingly literal and homogenous.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I quite enjoy seeing it! Whether it be untranslated sentences, or stylised text to indicate that something is being spoken in a language other than English (or a conlang!), I really like reading characters speaking foreign dialogue, too. One thing I don't love is when characters speak a gimmicky, caricature-like version of a foreign language (such as a German character saying "ja" instead of "yes" when speaking to a non-speaker of their language. It feels very forced and you can see the hand of the author in the dialogue). But yeah! Generally speaking, I like it!

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

HMMMMM. Most definitely either Seven for a Secret, I think, or the Idiot Hymn (it rhymes :D), OR my beloved, How to Explain Plato’s Allegory of the Cave to an Eel with Identity Issues (and Other Fun Exploits at Aretuza). I know this is technically 3 but shut up i was a B in AS Level maths i dont actually know how to count.

**

tagging: @brothebro @jask-jaskier-jaskiest @ruffboijuliaburnsides @violaceum-vitellina-viridis @heronfem @theaceace @concertconfetti and anyone else who wishes to do this!

[yennciri]

I watched the thing! And I hate to say it but the YennCiri first meeting was so underwhelming I am devastated. This could and SHOULD have been done so much better.. Anya and Freya are doing exceptionally well playing off of each other but the script and the directing leaves a lot to be desired. Also I'm sure as hell fandom disagrees to say the least but what's with Jask/ier getting this much plot and attention? And I thoroughly enjoyed his scenes with Yen and I thought they were a great team but it felt too much somehow? Or maybe the issue I have with it is that his plot was so much better written than how Yennefer and Ciri were dealt with. Idk I'm not feeling it you know? I think they messed up a crucial, fundamental element and I don't know how they can go from here and build this relationship.

I think the main problem is that they kinda wasted most of the first episodes finding themselves at the end of the season with a lot to unpack. I agree with you, the first meeting could definitely have dealt better, maybe just the two of them even if i loved the kinda "peak comedy" moment with geralt, but my biggest issue was actually after that, we got so little of them in general i wanted to see more teaching moments and maybe a proper conversation between the two with yen slowing realizing she didn't need magic, instead the whole thing was SO rushed and that was a real let down for me.

My feelings towards j*skier are the same, my only wish for the season was the yen rescuing him from rience scene and we got that, the rest? I don't really care about him but he's of course a fan favourite so he's always gonna pop up i just gotta thank yen for making him enjoyable.

either way anya chalotra mvp of the season

[samstree]

You are too well tangled in my soul (2/4)

Inspired by The Time-Traveler's Wife.  

Pairing:  Geralt x Jaskier

Geralt is a time-traveler, and Jaskier falls in love in a slightly misplaced order.

Warnings: referenced child abuse and mentions of chronic pain

Read on AO3

Calling the Witcher ‘old friend’ at the tavern was probably a mistake. The Geralt walking in front of Jaskier looks exactly the same as he remembers: golden eyes and rugged jawline. And yet, this is the furthest Jaskier has ever felt from him ever since the first sunset at the lake.

There is no warmth to greet him, no knowing smile or softness, only indifference that bleeds into annoyance. The gut-punch is as loud a declaration as it gets. This Geralt is the youngest Jaskier has ever seen him, hardened with weary travels and open night skies, and yet seasoned enough to have settled into distrust and isolation.

As they trudge through Dol Blathanna, the notebook filled with their encounters sits in Jaskier’s pocket, every date recorded with the utmost carefulness, burning a hole onto his mind. How does he explain it? How does he explain that he’s been friends with the Witcher for eight years while he only glares at Jaskier with derision? No, that is too unfair.

Besides, even if he dumps it all out, Geralt is unlikely to just…transform into the person in Jaskier’s memory. This Witcher is not the ever-present friend of Jaskier’s childhood, not yet. He knows better than most that you can’t force people into becoming someone they are not.

Jaskier leaves the notebook at the bottom of his pack.

At the edge of the world, he witnesses the heartbreaks of an elf king. The second-hand stories he knows by heart now pale in comparison. A taste of the real world, of the real pain humans have been ignoring is all it takes for Jaskier to be sure of his path. He is a storyteller. Destiny has decided that when it brought the amber eyes into his life at the age of eleven, so he tells the story. He writes the song.

Jaskier starts following Geralt.

They settle into a routine: monsters, songs, and nothing more. There are no mythical powers that can bring his best friend to him anymore, only the newly acquainted Wolf Witcher who now tolerates him with glowers.

It shouldn’t sting when Jaskier sings their adventures at taverns and Geralt only grunts as feedback. It shouldn’t sting when his chatter is only answered with silence or an absent-minded hum. It shouldn’t sting when Geralt flinches upon hearing Jaskier refer to him as friend while begging to see the hunt himself.

“We are not friends, Jaskier.”

It shouldn’t because it is where their story begins, properly this time. And yet it does.

Seasons pass. Jaskier cannot stop searching for recognition in those amber eyes. Nothing comes up. Still, he searches.

  Geralt notices.

Of course. As subtle as Jaskier would like to believe he is, his companion is too perceptive. We can tell by the heartbeat when someone is lying or hiding something. He learned this long ago by the lakeside, when Geralt indulged his curiosity by debunking all the Witcher myths. No, Julian. We cannot read minds.

His excitement that day reflected in the Witcher’s eyes that were amused by a child’s wonderment.

Can he tell what Jaskier is hiding now?

Jaskier stares long at his form on Roach when a throw-away comment from the Witcher brings him right back to the lake, all the words stuck at his throat.

“You’ve been quiet, bard.”

“What? Miss my lovely voice?”

“Glad for the silence.” Geralt drops it, but his gaze lingers for a moment.

At night, Jaskier helps the Witcher remove his armours, a newly formed habit as their travels settle into a familiar rhythm. His fingers untie the complicated knots. Geralt’s breaths brush by his ear.

A warm hand comes up to steady Jaskier by the elbow, the thumb drawing small circles on his chemise. It’s a comfort that he has received so many times before, a reassurance that he can trace by heart. And yet, Geralt is unaware.

Jaskier’s breath hitches in his chest, his heartbeat suddenly rabbiting.

“Alright?”

He cannot acknowledge the concern, scared that more will be revealed. Muttering something about being late, he fumbles away to his bedroll and burrows deep. As the churning in his mind subsides, Jaskier falls asleep hoping that it never comes up again.

  It comes up again.

They sit by the glowing campfire, Geralt having just returned from a hunt in the forest. Despite the Witcher’s reluctance, Jaskier nudges him to spill the details and takes them down for new songs. The scratching of his quill fills Geralt’s contemplative pauses.

“This is all very good, Geralt. It’d make a great song. But what was the wyvern like? Come on, help me paint the picture.”

“It was…big, and green.”

Jaskier chuckles, his quill hovering mid-air. So many times before has Geralt only described a monster as ‘big’ or ‘fast’, even the older, more mature Witcher he met in his teenage years sometimes struggled with more adjectives. Being the curious child he was, Jaskier pestered incessantly for more during their short encounters. At night, he would lie in bed, playing out the scene in his head, clashes of magic and steel lulling him into sleep. Now, almost a decade later, he sits in the exact same spot in front of the Witcher, desperate to learn anything from a quest, just to be stunted by Geralt’s inability to form words.

“Some things never change.”

Jaskier smiles to himself and continues to fill in the blanks with more theatrical touches. A song does not become the greatest hit on the Continent just with plain facts and verbs. Chewing on the quill, he barely notices that Geralt’s posture has stiffened.

“Why do you say that?”

“What?” Still distracted with composing a melody for the words, Jaskier looks up at Geralt, whose expression now full of alert.

“What never changes?”

“Um…Just you?” Jaskier stammers, “Stingy on the details, as usual.”

“It’s not just today.” Geralt scowls and stands, pacing around camp irritated. “You talk as if… as if you know me a great deal, Jaskier. You look at me as if you see an old friend. You were familiar with me from the very first day. You didn’t run away in fear like so many others.”

Oh well, subtlety is not exactly Jaskier’s forte.

“You know me,” He tries to gloss it over. “the ever so friendly bard.”

Geralt considers him skeptically. Under the intense scrutiny, Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat. The Witcher finally relents.

“Whatever you see in me, bard,” Geralt lets out a resigned sigh, “it’s not there. So stop looking.”

It’s too late for that, Jaskier thinks. Or too early.

  “I mean, why can’t I just tell you everything?”

Geralt walks beside Jaskier, his hair in a simple pony. A long scar runs down his left eye, barely missing it.

That one’s new.

It’s so jarring that Jaskier cannot stop staring at it from time to time. Added with the well-trimmed beard, framing his rugged face, Jaskier is almost looking at someone else. Witchers don’t age like the rest of them do, but the years are clearly showing on Geralt’s face, giving him more gravitas. The White Wolf, indeed.

He has a slight limp in one of his legs, also something new. The breastplate of his armour is worn and beat after what looks like decades of use.

A strange sight. Jaskier has only witnessed the man’s younger counterpart buy the same plate a week ago at a market in Cidaris, brand new and shiny. It was right before Jaskier decided to stay and perform at the local court and Geralt traveled on by himself.

The small garden behind the main hall is where he has found the older Witcher, who embraced Jaskier immediately without a beat. It is when Jaskier breathes in the familiar pine and leather that he realizes how much he’s missed his old friend, even though he’s been traveling with the same person for the past year.

Keeping the secret has taken a toll on Jaskier, as he only notices now that he is completely relaxed. He desperately wishes to unload it.

“You are going to know anyway. When you inevitably end up in Lettenhove, pimpled teenage me in front of you.”

“Jask,” The endearment comes out of the older Witcher so naturally, his voice deep and rich as wine. “You have seen me in my younger days. I was quite…let’s say, untrusting. I was determined to be alone. Telling me that destiny has bound me to a bard with no self-preservation instincts would only send me running away screaming.”

Jaskier teases, “Now that’s something I’d like to see. The mighty Witcher running and screaming because of a bard.”

“Hmm,” Geralt smiles in return, “There are things that we have to experience for ourselves. Just wait a bit longer. I’m unlikely to be pulled away when we are together. It’ll have to be when we part ways. As I said, it’s like a homing beacon.”

An anchor.

“And now, you are only here when Geralt is gone. I mean, you. The younger you.” Jaskier muses, “Destiny has a way of keeping you from running into yourself. Hah! Probably a good idea. Imagine the brooding doubled.”

Geralt stays oddly silent and guides them both to sit on one of the benches, his knee stiff and slow to bend. It slipped Jaskier’s notice that now there is a sheen of sweat on Geralt’s forehead, his brows furrowing in pain. He starts rubbing at the knee with a wince, breathing through the discomfort. His right elbow also creaks like an old ship, followed by a pained gasp.

With the fast healing, it must be a particularly bad injury for it to affect Geralt this much. Jaskier rubs his hands together to warm them up and places them on the Witcher’s elbow, slowly massaging it to ease out the tension. He’s quite unsure of his touches but judging from Geralt’s gradually relaxing posture, it is working nonetheless.

“What kind of beast hurt you like this? Can I warn you when the day comes?” Jaskier’s worry clenches in his chest. After a moment, Geralt places his larger hand on top of Jaskier’s, an unvoiced thanks. So Jaskier lets go.

They are sitting too closely together. Jaskier can see the tiny scars on Geralt’s face, thin lines that disappear into the thick beard. Leather and pine, the most reassuring scents in the world, overwhelm his senses and draw him closer.

“I wish we could take away all the hurt that will happen.” Geralt says with regret, “But no, Jask, I’d rather not. Some things need to happen for us both to be here today. Not to mentions many others.”

“I can just warn you about this one thing.”

Geralt’s gaze meets Jaskier’s, the long scar prominent. “Some things are too important to risk. I now have people who are dear to me. They – they’ve all come a long way. I wouldn’t change it for the world if it means they are safe. Even if I have to go through this.” He rubs at his knee again.

The wight behind the words settles in Jaskier’s chest.

The Geralt he has been traveling with is so determined on isolation and detachment, rejecting even simple friendship. He cares, in his own silent, brooding way. Jaskier sees it when he refuses payment from people who are struggling to make ends meet. He sees it when he buys Jaskier new boots when a pair has worn out. And He sees it when Roach’s coat is always kept pristine when the Witcher cannot afford new clothing for himself.

But the man in front of Jaskier speaks of people in his life with love and openness, all his rough edges softened and smoothed. Whatever happened in the years in between, Jaskier is eager to learn.

“You are a self-sacrificing idiot as usual.” He jokes.

The adoration in Jaskier’s heart unfurls into something more, something he does not dare to name. The same something, he realizes, is the gravity behind Geralt’s golden eyes that he’s been unable to name.

  Jaskier is twenty-four when Geralt finds out.

He has just spent a winter at Oxenfurt after being offered a teaching post while Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen as usual. The job is exciting and the students cannot be more pleasant. Adding the occasional visits from Essi and Shani, Jaskier doesn’t have many complaints.

And if he lingers too long in the greenhouse, standing wishfully for something to happen, that’s no one else’s business.

Usually Jaskier waits until the ground begins to thaw before departing for Kaedwen, where he will continue to roam and perform in major cities and possibly run into Geralt. Their shared journeys are never planned and they never agreed upon any meeting places, but somehow the bard can always find the Witcher in the springtime, so that they may resume their on-and-off travels.

This spring, however, an unexpected cold spell hits Oxenfurt after buds have sprouted from bald branches. A blanket of snow covers the cobblestone streets overnight, driving students and staff alike indoors with sniffles and shudders.

Jaskier is intending to retreat into his bedroom with a cup of steaming ginger tea, when he hears of two professors talking about the famous White Wolf being stopped at the city gate. Perplexed, he puts on a heavy coat and walks across town, blowing at his frozen fingers to desperately warm them up.

Geralt never seeks him out when the season turns, despite Jaskier’s attempt at hinting at his wintering plans multiple times every fall. If the Witcher is here this early in the spring, he must have left the Blue Mountains when the howling wind of winter was still raging. Traveling across the continent in the cold cannot be easy even for the Witcher, especially when contracts are still scarce.

Jaskier’s boots crunch the snow beneath them, his vision filled with the clear, grey sky and snowflakes scatted in the air. Outside the city gate, a tall, cloaked figure is being told off by a guard. A chestnut mare waits loyally in the distance.

Geralt is right there, snowflakes peppering his dark cloak. His complexion is sour as ever.

Gods, Jaskier has missed him.

“Geralt! What brings you here?” Jaskier shouts to get his attention and jogs on the slippery road to embrace the Witcher. The hug is brief and impersonal, and when he steps back the misery is still present.

“Aren’t you happy to see your best friend? After all, you’re the one who traveled in this sodding weather just to see me.”

Jaskier expects a rebuttal of the claim ‘best friend’, but it never comes. The Witcher’s comprehension is mixed with travel-weary, souring him even further.

“I have something of great importance to discuss with you, Jaskier.” Geralt gestures to the guard. “But this man won’t let me into the city.”

Jaskier turns to the guard and explains that the Witcher is an esteemed guest of the university, before they are both let in with Roach in tow.

The walk to Jaskier’s lodging is silent with a tension in the air. The Witcher looks tired, disheveled from the wind and cold. Jaskier will warm them both up with a fire and ginger tea then.

“So,” Jaskier tries to make conversation, “Before we discuss the thing of ‘great importance’, how was Kaer Morhen? You know, the mythical Witcher keep nobody knows anything about.”

“It was…fine.”

“Masterful conversationalist as ever.” Jaskier takes in the curt response and fills the silence with stories of his winter at the university. He chuckles at the funny bits himself when Geralt seems deep in thoughts the entire time.

Once they have put Roach in the university’s stable and entered Jaskier’s warm bedroom, the tension can be cut by a knife. An inexplicable nervousness bobbles up in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt puts down his pack by the door and begins to speak.

“Jaskier –”

“Before you say anything,” he interrupts, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. It seems that ginger tea might not be enough to get him through this conversation. “We should warm up a little. Can you believe the weather!”

He puts one glass on the table near Geralt and downs the other in one go.

“Jaskier,” Geralt reasserts himself, the golden eyes determined. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve met me before?”

Jaskier studies his glass as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. The Witcher continues.

“There was a lake, in the woods. You were young, and you…you greeted me by name. You knew me.” Geralt’s brows scrunch up in confusion. “You knew me before we met.”

“Um…yes?” Jaskier grimaces.

“Why haven’t you told me before? Damn it, Jaskier. You knew this whole time that I –”

“That you can magically time travel to my childhood?” Jaskier puts down his empty glass next to Geralt’s untouched one. “What was I supposed to say back then, Geralt? ‘Hello, you don’t know me but I know everything about you. And that includes your secret power because I’ve met you twenty times before –’”

“Twenty times?”

“Well I haven’t counted in a while so I could be off.”

Geralt sighs, palming his face. They both look away. The weighted silence in the room is only interrupted by the occasional crackling in the fireplace.

“Twenty times.” Geralt mutters to himself. “How – why?”

Jaskier tries, “You told me yourself. Your powers have this…pull. It’s like –”

“Gravity.”

“It pulls you to certain places or certain people.” Jaskier vaguely gestures around himself.

Realization dawns on Geralt’s face.

“That’s why you followed me. That’s why you weren’t scared of me, why you look at me…” He trails off. “Because destiny already forced me into your life.”

Geralt’s features morph into a stoic resignation, something Jaskier is too familiar with. It’s what Geralt looks like when someone chases him out of an inn or throws things at him, or when mothers yell at their children to get away from him.

No. Jaskier won’t allow it now.

“No,” His voice is desperate, “It was because you were my best friend. You are my best friend. You were there for me by the lake when no one else was. I followed you because you are kind and brave –”

“Because destiny already decided for you.”

“No –”

“Gods, Jaskier. You were so young. You shouldn’t be bound to me by something I cannot even control.”

Jaskier takes in a shuddering breath. “It’s too late for that.”

He doesn’t know how to convince Geralt, who looks so guilty through Jaskier’s blurred vision. He feels weak and hollow.

The conversation continues but Jaskier pays no attention. Geralt says something about traveling separately for a while and begins to leave. Golden eyes meet Jaskier one last time before the door clicks shut.

Running away while screaming indeed.

Sagging into a chair, Jaskier remembers the worn-out notebook sitting on the shelf, untouched.

Once again, Jaskier is left alone, his best friend disappearing right in front of his eyes.

  Jaskier tries to find Geralt but always falls a step behind.

He travels and plays, pleasing tavern audiences so he may get a place to sleep. He asks about the white-haired Witcher everywhere he goes, hoping he can catch up with him just like so many other times. But the Witcher is gone whenever Jaskier sets foot into a town, as if sensing his presence.

“Isn’t that your Witcher? The one from your songs?”

Jaskier tries not to wince.

“He was here days ago, but I heard he left for Novigrad.” The innkeeper says in confusion, “Why aren’t you with him?”

Putting on a bright smile, Jaskier answers, “Even the most talented artist cannot stay with his muse at all times. Lest the creativity runs dry too soon.”

He sets out for Novigrad, but never reaches it.

Jaskier does not see the bandits coming, nor is he capable of fending off all five of them. The dagger he hides in his boot and the sword fighting lessons that tutors once forced upon him can only do so much against these fully armed men.

After stabbing one of them in the shoulder, causing the man to yell and cuss, Jaskier is knocked out from behind.

Jaskier wakes up flung across the back of a dark horse. The pain at the back of his head throbs with every step it takes, the moving ground makes bile rise in his throat. The men talk about ransom from the Count de Lettenhove for his only son.

Oh, dear.

There is no way to tell how they learned, since Jaskier is gagged and tied to a tree when they set camp. He doubts his kidnappers are willing to indulge his curiosity anyway. A growl comes from his stomach. The fire and roasted dinner warm in the distance but clearly these men are not the sharing type.

Frustrated, Jaskier dozes off as night falls, listening to their constant chatter about how to spend the ransom. Too bad for them, Jaskier thinks half-asleep, they are not getting any money. Father will probably thank them for stopping the family embarrassment from tarnishing the Pankratz name any further.

Jaskier wakes up again, to the sound of yelling and weapons clash.

Bodies are flung across the campsite; his captors scream in pain and scatter. The startles horses gallop away with some of them on top. A flash of black and silver moves with an elegance that can inspire songs after songs.

A hand comes to remove the gag in Jaskier’s mouth and continues to undo the ropes around his wrists. Concern sparks in the gold, the softness overlapping with Jaskier’s distant memories. He should greet an old friend, or it’ll seem rude –

“Julian,” Geralt says, “That’s a terrible name for you.”

Jaskier blinks. Now Geralt is reaching to untie the knot behind Jaskier, their breaths only inches away. No scar. These are the same eyes that left him in Oxenfurt months ago, with the click of a door.

Not an old friend, then.

“That’s why I changed it.” The rope burns on Jaskier’s wrists sting when he tries to flex them. He states the obvious, “I see my Witcher in shining armor has come back to save me, again.”

“It’s like you are looking for trouble, bard.”

“Not like it was my fault.” Well, only a little bit his fault.

“Hmm.”

“I was looking for you.”

“I know.”

Of course, he was avoiding Jaskier on purpose.

“Why did you have a change of heart then? Missed my charming personalities?” Jaskier intends a joke, but the old name reminds him. “Wait. You were at the lake again?”

Geralt hums as Jaskier gets up to rummage through what his kidnappers left. Thank the gods they thought his lute and bags might be worth something and didn’t chuck them in a ditch.

Neither the lute case nor the instrument inside received much damage, to Jaskier’s relief. He should check for his bags as well –

“You kept asking when I would be back.”

Jaskier pauses. “And you couldn’t answer.”

“You asked me not to leave. You cried.”

Yes, he desperately grasped for any semblance of certainty as a child, and when he couldn’t get it young Julian spiraled into a panic, begging the Witcher not to leave. He remembers trying to hold back the tears but it came out with snot and hiccups. The embarrassment is still fresh after a decade.

“Well, there’s no need to remind me.”

“No, I –” Geralt struggles with words, “You said you kept records for me. I don’t want to disappoint you again, if I go back there. When I go back.”

The leather-bound notebook is still sitting at the bottom of Jaskier’s bag. He can feel the shape of it through the fabric. It is what Geralt came back for, just so he can have an answer for that child, so he will not disappoint him next time.

“That’s sweet.”

“Jaskier. I would never choose to entangle your life with mine, a Witcher’s. It’s –” Geralt breathes, “You were so young.”

So he said, months ago. Jaskier digs into the bag and retrieves the notebook, walks up to Geralt, and presses it on his chest. Geralt catches it, his gaze never leaving Jaskier’s.

“I wrote down the dates after each of your visits. All you need should be in there.” Jaskier suddenly notices how tired and hungry he is, the headache flaring up once he’s upright. He sways as a clink of metal hits the ground and Geralt’s strong hand steadies him at the elbow. “Oh, thanks.”

Geralt only hums, but his amber eyes keep studying Jaskier.

“You said you didn’t want me bound to your life.” Jaskier tries again, “But Geralt, you were the best part of my childhood. You were the reason I could leave that wretched place. You were the only person who saw me when no one paid any attention. I – I cannot imagine my life if you weren’t in it, if you hadn’t shown up by that lake in Lettenhove. So please…don’t turn away from me.”

He’s begging again, just like ten years ago. He’s begging for the little boy waiting by the water. He’s begging for himself now. It doesn’t matter that it’s embarrassing because after a beat, Geralt nods.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay,” Geralt’s expression sags with softness. “I – You were so excited to see me. You asked about my hunts. And Jaskier, you were so unhappy in your own home, but my stories – There was a spark in your eyes when you listened to them.”

Jaskier’s breath hitches. He looks into the sunlight gold boring into his with warmth.

“Does that mean you’ll stop running from me?”

“I would never want to snuff it out. That spark.” Geralt sounds apologetic, “I see now that you decided this life by yourself. Travelling and adventures. They suit you well, Jaskier. So yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Because there is a boy in Lettenhove, and he really, really looks forward to seeing you. In fact, he is counting the days right now, for your next return.”

Geralt chuckles, “That’s not how this works.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jaskier grins in return, patting the Witcher on the arm. Geralt looks at the notebook in his hand and says solemnly, “I won’t disappoint him again.”

  The door of their shared inn room creaks open and it sounds like a bag of coin is dropped on the table.

“Ah. I see you collected payment for the Griffin.” Jaskier looks up from the music sheets spread out on the bed.

“I was at the lake with you.”

Jaskier feels a big grin spread across his face.

“You made me tell you about the hunt.” Geralt says.

“Yes, I remember. And I composed my very first Witcher song two days later. Well, only in my head and it lacked a bit polish, but you know, I was eleven.”

“Does that mean I’m spared now?”

“Yes, my dear. You may be spared of recounting your mighty battles for now. I still remember it quite vividly. Did you tell me you bit feathers off its wing and choked?”

“Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier chuckles and gets back to his composing. It might be time to revisit an old song yet.

  “I was at the lake with you.”

“When?”

“Last month, when we were apart.”

“No, when for me?”

Geralt looks down at Jaskier, who is lying in the meadow of wildflowers next to the Witcher’s crossed legs, trying and failing to braid a flower crown of dandelions. The afternoon heat is relentless, drenching them both in sweat before they have to take a break.

Tall shrubs cast down a cool shade where they are sitting, shielding away the scorch. Roach is nibbling at some flowers in the distance, the same flowers that Jaskier cannot seem to bend into shape without crushing.

“You were…older.” Geralt says after considering, “You braided flowers into my hair.”

“Oh yeah. That day. Can I do it now?”

“You are not a child anymore.”

“No, but this is not working.” Jaskier throws away the dandelions that are now in pieces, pouting. He lies back on the grass, inhaling the fresh smell of grass and letting the breeze cool him down a little. Above him, Geralt looks refreshed after a short meditation.

“You were getting restless. In your own home, about your own future. You kept asking me if you were going to leave Lettenhove.”

“And you distracted me by letting me braid your hair. I totally forgot about pestering you for the rest of the day.”

“It worked.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier is almost impressed.

Geralt pauses for a moment. “You were so unhappy, Jaskier. You couldn’t see a future for yourself.”

“Well, that’s why I left. It’s all fine now. I’m living my best life with my favorite time traveler. Don’t worry, dear.” With his forearm placed on his eyes, Jaskier is completely relaxed.

“Should I have told you, just so you had an idea?”

Sometimes Jaskier still thinks about his childhood in Lettenhove, how miserable he was under all the expectations that he was never going to meet. No, he couldn’t see a future for himself as the Viscount, neither did his father, as the falling of canes and sticks proved. Sometimes Jaskier still wakes up from nightmares rehashing those beatings.

Would it have been better if his younger self had known what the future had in store?

“No,” He says, “Don’t tell me anything. What I went through put me here. It made me what I am. Telling me the future might change things, and I would never take that risk.”

“Hmm.” Geralt sounds apprehensive. “I’ll have to keep you in the dark.”

Sitting up, Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s knee, the one that’s going to retain an injury that doesn’t heal well, the one that’s going to creak and spasm on a rainy day. Geralt from the future is willing to endure the hurt just to make sure everything goes right, young Julian will have to as well.

“I wish there’s another way. Believe me, I do. But…it’s too much at risk.” He squeezes, hoping it’s reassuring. “I know you don’t like this, Geralt. But time is too tricky, you can’t tell me anything about my future. That’s the rule.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“It might be the first rule anyone’s had about time travels.”

“Right,” Jaskier smiles tightly, “The very first one.”

They go back to cooling off in a companionable silence before moving on again. Geralt rides on Roach’s back while Jaskier strums his lute on the ground, playing a song in Elder absent-mindedly.

For what it is worth, Jaskier’s past is already too well tangled with this beautiful Witcher in front of him. There is no changing his fate now.

A comforting weight unfurls in his heart whenever Geralt is near, regardless of which version of him it is. It unfurls even further with each step they take together over the years. In the blazing afternoon sun, it blooms into something else.

Oh.

He loves him.

He loves him with all he is, was, and ever will be.

No matter. Their days ahead will be just as entwined as the past.

Jaskier strums his lute again, the song turns into something bawdy. The amber looks back at him with mirth and a mirrored smile.

[king-finnigan]

- The Walls of Kaer Morhen - Part 2 -

Also on AO3 Part 1

_._

“What happened to the west wing?” he asks at dinner, a few days later. He’s roamed in there once or twice over the past week, and every time, he couldn’t help but notice the dilapidated state of it – the stones of the walls chipped and scarred, the windows broken in several places, some doors even shattered to bits – right before Vesemir had found him and shepherded him out of it soon afterwards.

Vesemir always finds him, somehow.

The dinner table grows silent, and Jaskier gets the sneaking suspicion he asked the wrong question.

“The sacking,” Geralt replies eventually. “I’ve told you about that before.”

He frowns, then nods. He remembers it well, the night Geralt told him what happened to most of the Kaer Morhen Witchers: killed- slaughtered by an angry mob in their own home, their blood painting the walls of Kaer Morhen. He remembers the way Geralt’s face had seemed to age a lifetime in the light of the dying fire, and he remembers holding him close afterwards, trying in vain to sooth the greatest loss Geralt’s ever had to endure.

“Right,” he says. “You did tell me about that, about what happened and…” his eyes drift to Vesemir, who’s also fallen quiet, staring daggers into his untouched plate of food “and that Vesemir was the only one to survive.”

The kitchen is quiet, the silence almost palpable.

“Aren’t you going to ask, little bard?” Lambert eventually says, venom in his voice, and the tension in the room sets Jaskier’s nerves on end. “Aren’t you going to ask how he managed to survive? You’re smart, surely you’ve realized how odd it is that an entire keep of Witchers couldn’t make it, but somehow, he could.”

Jaskier clears his throat, looking down at his lap. “It’s uh… it’s really none of my business-“

“Tell him, Vesemir,” Lambert spits out, “tell the little bard how you ran while the others were being slaughtered, tell him how hid like a fucking coward until you were the only one left standing.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Tell him!” he barks out.

“That’s enough!” Eskel snaps, and Jaskier looks up to see that he’s bared his teeth in a snarl at Lambert, who’s growling back. Geralt has his jaws clamped together, his hands fists on the table as he glares at Lambert.

Vesemir stands up. “Excuse me,” he mutters, walking out of the kitchen.

Jaskier curses, scrambling out of his chair, following Vesemir into the main hall, intent on apologizing to him for the scene he caused – no matter how much he didn’t intend to. But when he steps foot into the hall and looks around, Vesemir is nowhere to be found.

---

He pushes open the door, sneezing when it sends a small cloud of dust into the air, waving his free hand in front of his face, his other occupied with the blanket and the book.

He’s decided to explore the keep, finding different reading nooks in different rooms. After all, he doesn’t want to spend the entire winter cooped up in the library – hell, if he wanted that, he would’ve just gone to Oxenfurt.

And maybe it has something to do with that one time he was walking through the library, and out of the corner, he’d spotted someone sitting in one of the chairs at the end of the aisle. He’d stopped in his tracks, taking a few steps back, only to find the chair very much empty.

Or maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with that. Maybe he’s just getting tired of the library. It doesn’t matter.

He looks around the room. At first glance, it doesn’t seem like much, with a few beds pushed against the walls and a curtain at the far end, but Jaskier knows not to judge too quickly, by now, and closes the door behind him, walking towards the curtain.

He lays down his blanket and book on the floor next to one of the beds, and pushes the fabric to the side, grinning when he finds an alcove with a bench behind it. It’s the perfect little reading nook, and Jaskier can already picture himself lounging there in the winter sun, surrounded by pillows, his book in his lap as he dozes.

He turns back to fetch his things, but finds his blanket gone.

He frowns. Strange. He walks over to the side of the cot where he left his stuff, lowering himself on his knees next to it.

He finds the blanket underneath the bed, and he frowns again, reaching under to pull it towards him. He must’ve accidentally kicked it when he walked towards the alcove, he supposes. It’s now covered in dust, though, which is less than ideal but it’s nothing a good shake can’t fix.

So, he shakes it out and folds it again, laying it next to the book once more before walking out of the room in search of pillows, smiling to himself as he hears the familiar clanging of swords in the courtyard.

His quest is forgotten, though, as he walks into the main hall, finding Eskel standing there, staring at one of the tapestries. Jaskier goes to stand next to him, taking in the scene stitched on the black fabric in vibrant thread.

It’s a Witcher fighting a wraith, his hand on the ground as a purple circle glows around the monster.

“The first Yrden,” Eskel explains to him.

Jaskier hums thoughtfully, eyes trailing over the details in the tapestry as he waits for Eskel to speak again.

“You know,” the Witcher eventually mutters, “I used to be able to sit here for hours as a kid, watching the older Witchers work on these tapestries. It was mesmerizing.”

“I bet,” Jaskier mumbles back.

They stand there in silence for a while, until Jaskier moves on to the other tapestries – the next few ones depicting the birth of every sign.

He startles when the front door slams open, Lambert grinning wildly as he walks inside, pausing momentarily to stomp the snow off his boots. “First snow’s here!” he announces cheerily and, quite frankly, a bit unnecessarily.

“Does that mean you can’t train outside anymore?” Jaskier asks, and Lambert shakes his head, grinning, still.

“No! As a matter of fact, it’s now that we start training! Nothing’s better than watching Geralt slip in the snow, I’ll tell you that.”

“Actually, there’s nothing better than putting snow in the back of your shirt,” Geralt retorts as he also walks into the hall, pushing the front door shut behind him.

“That’s just cheating.”

“Hmm. I don’t think it is,” Eskel replies in Geralt’s stead, following Lambert to the kitchen as they continue to bicker.

Geralt chuckles softly, walking over to Jaskier, standing beside him as they look at the first Quen, the Witcher on it fighting off a griffin. “How are you doing?” he asks.

Jaskier smiles softly. “I’m doing wonderfully.” He feels Geralt hesitate and turns his head to look at him. “What is it, dear heart?”

“Do, uhm… do you like it? Here, I mean. Kaer Morhen. Because I know you haven’t been sleeping well, and… if you want to leave… I understand. We still can; the snow isn’t too thick yet-“

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts his ramblings, brushing the back of their hands together for just a second, ignoring the sparks that dance across his skin as he does so. “I love it here. The keep is beautiful and your family is delightful and… I really do love it here.” He chuckles softly, turning back to the tapestry. “Gods, sometimes I find myself wishing I might never leave this place.”

He looks at Geralt again, meeting soft amber eyes and slightly upturned lips. “You know,” he says, voice low, “my teachers used to say that no one ever truly leaves the walls of Kaer Morhen, as long as it’s their home.”

“That’s endearing.”

Geralt snorts. “It’s ominous, is what it is.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen door, Eskel and Lambert’s voices drifting towards them. “Come on, it’s nearly time for dinner.”

---

He wakes up in the middle of the night, unable to move.

His breath immediately speeds up and he squeezes his eyes shut, fear coursing through his veins as he desperately tries to lift his hands, wiggle his toes. A part of him urges him to open his eyes, to assess the situation, but a larger part of him screams not to, because he might see the one-armed man again – though reasonably, he knows that if the man is there, it doesn’t really matter if Jaskier refuses to look at him or not.

The chair in the corner creaks. Jaskier sobs.

Wheezy breathing joins his own gasping and shaking one, footsteps slowly falling on the floor, making their way to the side of Jaskier’s bed.

He sobs again, chest convulsing as tears run down his cheeks, pathetic little whimpers escaping his throat as fear takes a hold of him.

“Shh.” He sobs again, louder this time, as he hears the one-armed man right next to him. “It’s alright, little bard.” The voice is reedy and soft, words barely understandable.

He whimpers, desperately gulping in stuttering breath after stuttering breath, his throat seizing up, blind fear making him unable to even scream.

“I won’t hurt you, little bard,” the reedy voice next to him says. “It’s just been a while since I saw a new face. Especially one as pretty as yours.”

Sword-calloused fingers slide across his cheek, wiping his tears away.

Jaskier screams.

The door slams open but Jaskier keeps his eyes squeezed shut, even as he hears quick footsteps padding towards his bed, even as he feels Geralt’s arms pull his upper body up, into the Witcher’s chest.

“Hey,” Geralt whispers to him, “hey, it’s alright, Jask, it’s alright, I’m here.”

He sobs, still, bitter tears of pure, unadulterated fear streaming down his cheeks, the memories of the hand on his skin too fresh to ignore.

Geralt continues to hold him like that, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his back, the other holding him close as Jaskier cries, his arms and legs useless and limp.

“Did you see the man again?” Geralt asks eventually, and Jaskier manages to shake his head.

“I-“ he slurs, tongue heavy and loose in his mouth “-heard him. Felt him.”

He can practically hear the frown in Geralt’s voice. “Felt him?”

“Touched me.”

The hand on his back stills momentarily, before it continues its soothing circles. “It’s alright, Jask. I’m here, now. No one can hurt you.”

“Can… can I…” he swallows around his thick tongue “sleep with… you?”

He feels Geralt nod against the top of his head, before he shifts, picking Jaskier up the way he did last time. Jaskier lets his head lol against Geralt’s shoulder, able to peek over it as the Witcher carries him out of his room.

Right before they turn the corner, Jaskier spots the black silhouette of a large man with only one arm next to his bed, amber eyes catching the moonlight falling in through the windows.

He doesn’t have enough energy to scream.

---

“Whose room am I sleeping in?” he asks over breakfast, the next day.

Vesemir frowns, staring off in the distance, lost in thought. “Hmm. Suppose that was Wulgrim of Rosberg’s room.”

Lambert snickers into his porridge. “Wheezy Wulgrim,” he mutters, eliciting a chuckle from both Eskel and Geralt.

Jaskier frowns. “Wheezy Wulgrim?”

Vesemir nods solemnly, stirring his still uneaten bowl of porridge. “He had an… unfortunate encounter with a griffin. The beast managed to take his entire left arm and lung. He survived, but he could never walk the Path again.”

Lambert snorts. “Gods, I remember him parading around Kaer Morhen all day, pointing at everything and everyone with his one arm, commanding us around. ‘Go clean the kitchen’,” he imitates in a familiar, reedy voice that makes the hairs at the back of Jaskier’s neck stand up, “’stop playing around and do something useful’.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, brow furrowed with worry. “Are you alright?”

He nods quickly, swallowing back the porridge that’s threatening to rise again. “I’m fine. Excuse me for a moment.”

He stands up abruptly, practically fleeing from the kitchen, into the main hall. He takes random doors and turns until his lungs are burning in his chest, until his knees are cracking painfully, and he takes one last door, slamming it shut behind him.

He’s back at the room he found yesterday, the windows of the alcove showing the beautiful sight of the mountains in the distance, his book still on the ground next to the cot. He walks towards it, bending over to pick it up, pulling his blanket from under the bed, shaking the dust off and folding it, putting it down again.

He turns, walking to the alcove, kneeling on the wooden bench in front of him, taking in the sight of the pale, blue sky and the snowy mountaintops littered with pine forests. It’s definitely a sight he could get used to, and it helps calm his frayed nerves after what happened last night, even though it is a bit chilly in here.

He sighs, turning back around to fetch his book and blanket, mentally preparing himself for an afternoon of relaxing and forgetting all about goddamn wheezy Wulgrim and his missing fucking arm.

Only to freeze when he sees a small hand peeking out from under the cot, dragging the blanket underneath it slowly.

Jaskier’s breath catches in his lungs, before speeding up to small gasps, eyes widening as his heartbeat thunders in his ears, fear coursing through his veins as his hands clamp around the edge of the bench, nails digging into the wood, arms trembling.

And he watches. Watches as that little hand drags the blanket underneath the cot, watches as it disappears into the shadows, watches as… nothing happens after that.

His muscles unfreeze, as if a spell’s suddenly been broken, and he staggers to the cot on shaky legs, knees cracking painfully as he lets himself drop. He braces one trembling hand on the mattress, the other digging into his thigh as slowly – ever so slowly – he lowers his head down to look under the bed.

There’s nothing there. Nothing but the crumpled blanket and flakes of dust.

With a shaking hand, he reaches under the cot, retrieving the blanket and standing up again. He barely manages to shake the dust off the blanket, fold it loosely and drop it back down on the floor next to his book, his movements jerky and forced.

And then, he takes a step back. And another. And another. Until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bench and he sits down heavily, pulling his feet up to hug his legs to his chest.

He sits there. And waits.

Seconds turn into minutes and still, nothing happens, nothing moving in the room besides Jaskier’s chest and the flakes of dust floating through the air lazily.

He’s about to give up, about to shrug it off as a figment of his overworked imagination, about to walk away and pretend he didn’t see anything, when something moves in the shadows under the cot.

He watches, once again, as a child’s hand emerges from the shadows, grabbing the blanket in a tiny fist and dragging it under the bed slowly.

He swallows thickly. “It’s-“ he begins, his voice weak and wavering, and he wets his lips, trying again: “It’s not nice to take things that aren’t yours.”

The hand lets go of the blanket, slowly retracting under the bed. Suddenly Jaskier feels a bit guilty. After all, the child – because it definitely is a child – is just taking the blanket when they think he’s not looking, nothing more. They’re probably just cold.

He knows there’s two ways he can go from here: he can take the blanket and his book and walk out of this room, never to return, or…

Or he can stay and see what happens.

He makes a decision right there and then.

He sighs deeply, trying to push the fear out of his lungs. “It’s alright, though. Just this once. You can have the blanket.”

He waits, again, and for several long minutes, nothing happens.

He sighs again, pushing himself up and turning around, settling on his knees on the wooden bench, looking out of the window at the beautiful sight without really seeing anything.

“I’m not looking,” he calls over his shoulder. “If that’s what you’re scared of. I’m not looking.”

He waits again, the clock in his head ticking steadily as the minutes pass, his feet slowly growing numb from his own weight.

And then, he hears it: the soft slide of fabric on the stones, dragging through the dust. He takes a few deep, calming breaths, willing himself not to panic, pushing the fear that’s threatening to consume him down. And he waits.

The soft rustling of the blanket, and his heartbeat picks up.

Tiny, little footsteps on the stone floor, and his breath stutters in his lungs.

The very vague shape of someone standing behind him appearing in the glass of the window in front of him, and his eyes widen.

His hands are trembling where they’re lying on his thighs and ever so slowly, he starts turning his head, giving the person behind him plenty of opportunity to flee or disappear or – and he really doesn’t want to think about that – attack him.

But they don’t. They stand there as he slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder, heart racing in his throat.

It’s a child. Jaskier slowly turns around completely to look at them properly, to make sure he doesn’t startle the little kid.

He can’t be older than four – if that, even – his black curls framing his round face adorably, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he looks at Jaskier with big, brown eyes, the dusty blanket pulled around him like a shield.

“Hi,” he says softly, making sure not to scare the boy. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Hi,” the boy whispers, and Jaskier has to resist the urge not to coo at him, fear-frozen heart melting at the sight of the child.

“What’s your name?”

“Elias.”

“Nice to meet you, Elias.”

“Are you a mage?”

He cocks his head, curiosity stirring in him. “No, I’m not. I’m a bard.”

“What’s a bard?” Elias asks in that adorable little voice of his, brown eyes looking at Jaskier with curiosity.

He smiles softly. “I make music. I have a lute in my room- that’s an instrument. If you want I can bring it here, later, and show it to you.”

Elias nods eagerly, greedily, brown eyes wide as if he’s drinking up every bit of kindness Jaskier has to offer. “I’m going to be a Witcher,” he offers shyly.

“Oh, I bet you are,” Jaskier says, “you look like you’re strong enough to be one already.” It makes Elias giggle, and Jaskier has to resist the urge to gather him in his arms and protect him from all the evil in the world.

But he can’t help but wonder what the boy is doing here. Did he sneak inside when the Witchers weren’t looking? How’d he even make his way up the mountain? And how has he been surviving? Surely someone would notice food going missing, right?

He shakes the questions away. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that he’s got a little boy right in front of him, all alone in a near-abandoned wing of a dilapidated keep.

“Elias?” he asks. “Are you hungry? I can get some food for you if you want.”

The boy shakes his head, curls bouncing around his face as he rubs his eyes with one tiny fist, yawning widely. “No,” he mutters eventually. “I’m tired, mister Jaskier.”

He smiles softly, fondness spreading in his chest, warm and fuzzy, and he lowers himself to the ground, stretching out his arms. Elias takes his silent invitation, crawling into his lap, burying his chubby face in Jaskier’s shoulder, thumb making its way to his mouth.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Jaskier mutters as he stands again, carrying the toddler to the cot he’d been hiding under, gently lowering him down on the mattress.

He tugs at the blanket a bit, rearranging it so the boy’s tucked in, nice and snug under the soft fabric, blinking up at Jaskier sleepily.

“Goodnight, my little Elias,” he whispers, tucking a few wayward curls behind the boy’s ear.

“Goodnight, mister Jaskier,” little Elias mumbles around his thumb, brown eyes drifting closed, slipping into sleep.

Jaskier can’t help but smile at the sight, and takes a few steps back, lowering himself on the wooden bench, eyes trained on the strange little boy in that old bed, sleeping peacefully in the near-abandoned Witcher keep. Gods, how he wonders what brought this little child all the way up here, what horrors he was fleeing from that caused him to take the dangerous passes up to the keep, hiding and fending for himself like no child should have to.

Jaskier sighs, leaning his head against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.

He’ll let the boy sleep, for now, and in a few hours, he’ll try to convince him to have something to eat in the kitchen. He’ll prepare a room for him, somewhere warm and safe where he doesn’t have to sleep in a dusty, cold room with an even dustier borrowed blanket. He’ll protect the little one against all the evil in the world – with his life, if he has to – to make sure he’ll never have to face what drove him here in the first place again.

Yes. He’ll do that, and so much more, for his little Elias.

He doesn’t notice that his eyes are starting to drift shut.

---

He wakes up with a start a few hours later, disoriented and confused, and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he looks around the room.

Right, yes, now he remembers: the room filled with cots and with a lovely reading nook, his blanket dusty as it kept getting dragged under the bed by a little hand-

Elias.

He sits up straight, sleep completely chased away, and notices the dusty blanket in a heap on the cot Elias was asleep on. The boy is nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier curses silently, sliding off the bench, crawling to the bed on his knees, peeking underneath it, finding only dust and cobwebs. “Elias?”

He looks under the other beds as well, and when he doesn’t find the boy there, he starts pushing open the chests at the foot of each cot, heart racing in his throat the longer he goes without a sign of the boy.

“Elias?” he calls frantically. “Elias? It’s alright, you can come out, now, no one’s going to hurt you. Elias!”

The door swings open and he looks up, equal parts startled as hopeful, sagging a bit when he sees Geralt.

“You missed dinner,” Geralt says in lieu of greeting.

Jaskier huffs, letting the lid of the chest he was looking into drop back down. “Yeah, well, as you can see, I’m a bit busy.”

“I was worr- What are you doing?” Geralt asks, as Jaskier drops down to his hands and knees, looking under the cots again.

“Well, my dear Witcher,” he mutters, “you’ve got an unexpected visitor.” He sits up straight when the silence continues for a few seconds, finding Geralt frowning at him, still in the doorway. “A little boy,” he explains, “can’t be more than five, goes by the name of Elias. He was here earlier, but now he’s gone.”

Geralt blinks, shaking his head minutely. “A… a little boy?”

He huffs impatiently, pushing himself to his feet and walking to the door briskly. “Yes, and he’s out there on his own, and we need to find him.”

But before he can push his way past Geralt, into the hall, the Witcher’s strong hand wraps around his arm, keeping him in place. “Jaskier…”

“What?”

“We would’ve… noticed. If there was someone else in the keep.”

He clenches his jaws together, rolling his eyes. “Well, yes, I suppose, but he was right there!” He points to the dusty blanket, lying on the cot in a heap. “I tucked him in!”

“Jaskier…” Geralt says again, something sad and resigned in his voice, and Jaskier’s eyebrows knit together, tears springing to his eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispers, voice breaking slightly, “don’t you fucking dare tell me that that little boy I saw- held in my arms, wasn’t real. Don’t you fucking dare tell me I’m crazy.”

Geralt’s hand tenses slightly around his arm, thumb rubbing soft lines into his doublet. “I believe you. I believe you, Jaskier, I really do…”

“This is the part where you say ‘but’, isn’t it?”

“But…” Jaskier’s chest cracks open like a rotten egg, tears spilling down his cheeks, and Geralt sighs. “I… It’s…”

He shakes his head, taking a step back, trying in vain to tear his arm from Geralt’s grip. “Just… save it, Geralt. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Do you know what I smell, right now?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier frowns at him, shaking his head. “I smell you and Kaer Morhen. I smell lemon and ginger, and I smell stone and dust and leather.”

“Where are you going with this, Geralt?”

“Every human has their own, unique scent that lingers in a room days after they’ve been there.” He pauses, staring at Jaskier intently. “I smell no one in this room but you.”

He clamps his jaw shut again, looking away as tears start to spill over once more, sliding down his cheeks in fat droplets, chest aching aching aching and his mind suddenly scattered as he feels his reality come crumbling down around him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says softly, reassuringly, the sound of it only making Jaskier hurt more, “I believe you. When you say that you saw a boy and held him in your arms, I believe you. But…”

“He was never really there,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m losing my mind, aren’t I?”

Geralt sighs, pulling him closer, and Jaskier buries his face in the Witcher’s chest, trying in vain to keep his sobs in.

“You’re not,” Geralt whispers. “You’re just… you’re just tired, probably. You haven’t been sleeping well.”

We both know that’s a load of horseshit, he wants to say, but he nods against Geralt’s chest instead. “Yeah,” he mutters, “it’s probably that.”

Geralt sighs again. “How about we get you some dinner, and get you to bed. Get you a good night’s rest.”

He shakes his head. “I’m… I’m not hungry. Just…” scattered “tired.”

“Alright,” Geralt says, pushing him away slightly to turn him towards the door, gently laying his arm around his shoulder, leading him into the hallway. “Then we’ll just get you to bed. Alright?”

“Hmm,” he agrees, feet dragging a bit as he walks. As they pass one of the dark windows, he hears the familiar clanging of swords in the courtyard. “Geralt?” he asks. “Lambert and Eskel are in the kitchen, aren’t they?”

Geralt frowns at him but nods. “Yeah, they are. Why?”

“No reason.”

[resident-beekeeper]

When I like things i have a tendency to link them no matter how painful it is. So here, have a scene from the 1928 play Journey's End only with characters from the witcher. Warning: there is no happy ending. 

Geralt had just turned back round to the table when Marx came rushing back into the dugout. He turned quickly.

"What is it, Marx?"

"Mr. Pankratz, sir"

That didn't sound good. "What?"

"Mr. Pankratz's been hit, sir. A bit of shell's hit him in the back." No. No, he couldn't be hurt. It was Jaskier. There was no way.

"Badly?" This wasn't happening. 

"I'm afraid he's broken his spine, sir. He can't move his legs." Fuck. 

"Bring him down here"

"Down here sir?"

"Yes! Down here — quickly!" Geralt yelled. Jaskier was lying up there with a broken back and Marx was dithering. And wasting time and —

Marx left hurriedly. A shell exploded near him, and he tried to shelter himself with his hand, as though a human hand could ward off the hot flying pieces. He stumbled on into the trench, and Geralt lost sight of him.

Geralt went over to Vessemir's small bed, and placed a blanket over it. With trembling hands, he rolled up his jacket for a pillow, and put it on the bed too. He picked up his own blanket, and turned as Marx came down the steps carefully, carrying Jaskier like a child. God he looked so small. 

"Lay him down there" he snapped, gesturing to Vessemir's bed.

"He fainted, sir," Marx said. "He was conscious when I picked him up." 

Geralt ignored that. Of course that was important information. It was crucial to know exactly how Jasskier had been hit so that he could be treated properly. But every reminder of what had happened was like a knife in Geralt’s chest. Only he couldn’t feel the knives fully because he wasn’t in his body quite.

Marx laid him down gently on the bed, and wiped blood off his hands on his trousers. At least he had the decency to look ashamed as he did.

Geralt covered Jaskier with his blanket, and looked intently at him.

"Have they dressed the wound?"

"They've just put a pad on it, sir. Can’t do anything more."

"Go at once andgoring two men with a stretcher."

"We'll never get him down, sir, with the shells falling on Lancer's Alley."

"Did you hear what I said? Go and get a stretcher!" Geralt roared. Jaskier was dying and Marx was being a bloody fool. He needed help now.

"Very good sir."

Marx left slowly, too slowly, and Geralt turned to Jaskier again. He went to the nearby table and pushed his handkerchief into the water jug harder than he probably should have to wet it. He brought it over to Jaskier, still dripping water everywhere, and started to bathe his face. He had to do something, anything, to help. He just wished he could do more. Because a wet forehead was never going to save Jaskier. Of course it wasn't. But he had to do something. Anything.

Jaskier moaned and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Geralt 

"Hello — Geralt"

"Well, Jaskier, you got one quickly" Geralt tried his best to smile. It almost worked.

They sat in silence for a while, Geralt continuing to wipe Jaskier's face. Jaskier looked dazed, like he didn't know where he was or what exactly was happening. 

"Why — how did I get down here?" He asked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. 

"Marx brought you down."

"Something — hit me in the back — knocked me clean over — sort of— winded me I’m all right now." He mumbled. He tried to sit up, but couldn't manage more than a pathetic rise and fall of his head.

"Steady there Jask. Just like there quietly for a bit."

"I'll be better if I get up and walk about. It happened once before — I got kicked in the same place at rugby. It — it soon wears off. It — it just numbs you for a bit." He paused for a few seconds. "What's that rumbling noise?"

"The guns are making a bit of a row."

"Our guns?"

"No. Mostly theirs."

They fall silent again. Dammit, there's so much Geralt should have said. Wanted to say back before any of this happened. When they were both carefree kids at school together. And even now. Even these past few days. He should have been so much more. Those things he said. 

Don't Geralt me! Mayena's my name! We’re not at school!                                     I resent you being a damn fool.                                                                          You bloody little swine!

He should have —

"I say — Geralt."

"Hmm?"

"It — it hasn't gone through, has it? It only just hit me? — and knocked me down?"

Jaskier looked up at Grealt, so desperate to believe everything would be fine. And he still looked to Geralt for that. As if he'd learned nothing at all from the last few days. After seeing Geralt like — that. With the whiskey. 

"It's just gone through a bit, Jask." A lie.

"I won't have to — go on lying here?"

"I'm going to have you taken away." If Marx gets help soon enough.

"Away? Where?"

"Down to the dressing station — then hospital — then home. You've got a Blighty one, Jask." Another lie. For Jaskier to go home, he would need to live. And once again Geralt had failed him.

"But I — I can't go home just for — for a knock in the back. I'm certain I'll be better if — if I get up." He tried once again to sit up, and got slightly further this time, before falling back with a sudden cry. "Oh — God! Geralt! It does hurt!"

"It's bound to hurt, Jaskier."

"What's — on my legs? Something holding them down."

"It's alright Jaskier; it's just the shock — numbed them."

It wasn’t alright. Not even slightly. Even if Jaskire miraculously survived he would never walk again. And that was such a monumental ‘if’, it crushed Geralt’s entirety with its weight.

"It's awfully decent of you to bother, Geralt. I feel rotten lying here — everyone else — up there."

"It's not your fault, Jask." It was all Geralt’s fault. If he hadn’t come back at the start, before everything became too much always. Back when he was proud to inspire people to fight. Back when he didn’t know. Maybe then Jaskier would have been spared this. And would have been spared knowing Geralt like was now.

"So — damn — silly — getting hit." He paused briefly "is there — just a drop of water?"

"Sure, I've got some here."

Geralt quickly got up and poured some water into a mug for Jaskier and brought it to him.

"Got some tea leaves in it. Do you mind?"

"No. That's alright — thanks."

Geralt lifted the mug to Jaskier's lips, and helped him to drink it.

"I say, Geralt, don't you wait — if — if you want to be getting on."

"It's quite alright Jask."

"Can you say for a bit?"

"Of course I can."

"Thanks awfully."

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Geralt didn't know exactly how long it actually was. His head felt far away from what was happening. The shells falling above them were far off and distant, despite the shudder each one caused. It was far too quiet, but the crushing quiet came from the silence from Jaskier. Jaskier who was always so loud and never shut up. And now he was struggling to even breathe.

"Geralt"

"Yes, Jaskier?"

"Could we have a light? It's — it's so frightfully dark and cold."

"Sure. I'll bring a candle and get another blanket."

Geralt got up and quickly went to the other room in the dugout to get another blanket. Jaskier was left alone on the bed, very still and very quiet. Through the open door of the dugout, faint light came in; an angry red with the rising sun. 

As Geralt stepped into the room, a tiny sound came from Jaskier, barely audible especially over the rising sound of the guns. Something between a sob and a moan. Geralt picked up a candle from the table, and brought it over to the bed, fumbling badly with matches in his haste to light it and bring at least some warmth to Jaskier. He put it down next to the bed and draped the blanket over Jaskier’s still body, taking his hand and rubbing it. Vessemir used to do something similar when Geralt got cold, the thought bringing a tightness to his throat.

"Is that better, Jaskier?" He made no response at all. Not even an eye movement to show he had heard anything.

"Jaskier."

Still, Jaskier was quiet. Geralt sat for a long time, holding Jaskier’s hand and saying nothing. His vision was blurry and he wasn’t sure if it was his brain failing to process his surroundings, or tears. Until a drop of water fell onto Jaskier’s hand. 

Geralt gently lowered Jaskier’s hand onto the bed, and closed his eyes. He sat there staring listlessly at the boy on Vessemir’s bed. He was alone now. Alone and with nobody to turn to.

Above him, the thudding of the shells rose and fell like an angry sea.

He picked up his helmet, (which had done nothing for Jaskier or Vessemir, as his brain pointed out), and walked up the steps to meet the chaos awaiting.

I apologise deeply if this ended up being too out of character, bit I couldn't bring myself to change the dialogue too much.

[diamondcamefromhell]

Falling stars

Jaskier x female!reader 

This was a wonderful request from @rosasteri :

Can I request an imagine with Jaskier? Um, people in tavern are angry with this bard and there is a fight (in tavern). Geralt isn't here, but Y/n is, so she saves Jaskier and in the end they confess to each other in love. Fluff.

Warnings: foul language [as usual now], fighting

Word count: 1.538

A/N: This was so much fun to write, so thank you Rosasteri for allowing me write this, I really hope you enjoy the result. This was a bit shorter, as I am not that experienced in writing fighting scenes, so i cut that bit short [hope that’s okay] 

Feedback is appreciated [can be left anonymously on my ask page] and requests are open [however it may take a few days before i get to it, as i am nearing my 4 work days again]

I hear men whisper amongst themselves, well, if you could call that a whisper. They don’t like the bard. I take my eyes off them, to Jaskier, who’s playing ‘Toss a coin to your Witcher’ for a third time tonight. Not many people seem to be too excited about it, as I lean back in my chair, glancing around the bar, as I hear more angry grunts in the tavern. Uh oh.

I still glance around, knowing full well Geralt isn’t here. I just hope he could appear, then the men would calm down. Now every note Jaskier hit, was like fuel to their fire. I need to do something before they eventually riot and take down the bard. If they broke his lute, yet again, he might lose his cool and, well, cry.

I stand up, going to the group who looks the angriest. I offer them a smile.

“Good evening, boys.” I say, promising myself I will make Jask pay for saving his ass. “Enjoying your night?”

“No, not really.” One of them grunts, throwing daggers at Jaskier. I step in front, so the bard is not in his eyesight.

“Jaskier will soon lose his fire, and you’ll be able to have a calm night.” I say, but they don’t seem too phased by my words. I hear a couple of boos from a different table. “Until then, ale is on me, how about that?”

“Not interested.” I keep my smile on, but slap my hand on a table. The men get startled a little, as some of their ale leaks from the cups.

“Then shut up and allow the bard do his job, how about this offer?” I show my teeth, winking at them, before I return to my table. Here goes me defusing the situation.

I know Jaskier doesn’t need me to baby sit him. But he can get really oblivious to everyone when he’s in his element, even when people are openly showing the dislike. It takes someone to throw something at him, before he snaps out of it. Needless to say, he was feeling his music now, and even as more and more people were raising their voices, he didn’t seem to care.

I admired that. While it was dangerous and frustrating for me and Geralt, I sometimes got jealous. Blocking out the world like that was a talent on itself. I sigh, as the group I just threated go back to being loud and annoying. I glare at them, but they ignore me. Too, oblivious to me approaching them again. I grip my cup tighter, plastering a smile yet again.

“I thought we had a deal.” I say in cold tone, as one of them scoffs.

“Move away, lady.” He says, clicking his tongue. “This is not a place for women. Or bards who can’t even play proper songs.”

“Oh really?” I smile as I hear Jaskier’s lute stop. My hand shakes ever so slightly, but I manage to pour what was left of my ale, all over his head.

When I was thinking about how we have to baby sit Jaskier, I forgot, that ultimately, Geralt has to watch us both. I don’t have anger issues, not usually, but I don’t like it when people offend Jaskier. I know he’s talented and I also know he still is growing and learning every day, to whoever discourages that, well.

They can have a shower of ale, I guess.

As fully expected, the man in question, jumps to his feet, as I move out of his hands reach right away. I don’t plan on getting slammed to the table or the ground tonight. I didn’t, however, expect that it would jeer the whole tavern on. I hear angry yells, turning to see as a group of men break into a fight. Someone is rushing towards Jaskier, knocking him to the ground.

There goes his lute, breaking in half as he shields himself with it.

“Well, fuck.” I murmur, fully aware it’s mostly my fault. I tighten my grip on the cup, rushing to them both.

I slam the cup to the guys head, as he grunts, rolling off Jaskier. I extend my arm, lifting up the bard. I don’t let go of his hand, as someone pushes me from behind, slamming us both to the wall. We are squeezed together, and I cant help but giggle, as Jaskier shoots a glare at me, his lips, however, also twisting in a smile.

As man behind us moves, I grip Jaskier’s hand tighter, pulling his after me, as we barely avoid getting hit with a chair. It shatters behind us, as I feel adrenaline rush over me. I try to safely guide us outside, but two fighting men block the doorway, so I freeze in my step, Jaskier slamming into my back.

“Sorry.” I hear him stutter behind me, but I ignore that.

The men are pretty much at each others throats, and I could bet in this tavern, some of them were after ours too. I had to think, fast. However when I needed it the most, my brain decided to freeze and forget how to function.

And politely asking them to move would exactly work too. I glance at Jaskier, letting go of his hand, grabbing the lute from the other. Well, half of his instrument. I turn on my feet again, basically blindly picking which guy I hit.

The lute shatters completely and I make a mental note to get a new one as soon as I can, as the man stumbles out of the way. The other one doesn’t mind us interfering, taking advantage of the situation, as they both hit the ground. Jaskier’s hand finds mine again, as I hear him giggle behind me. I grin.

I rush around them, forcing us out. I slam the door behind us, as we rush further away from the tavern. I see some people gather outside, as the noise probably woke them up. I slow down a little, and Jaskier is now in front, dragging me along.

I notice just how beautiful tonight is. The moon is full, the sky is clear. You can see the stars, little gems looking down to us as we continue rushing out of town, as angry yells disappear in the back. He stops, and this time I run into him.

Jask, however, seems to expect that, as his arms extend, and he hugs me. We both giggle in each other’s arms. As I listen to his restless heart.

“That was fun.” I hear a smile in his voice, chuckling.

“Sure,” I pull back, but his hands stay on my waist, resting there, like they don’t belong anywhere else. I don’t complain, “sorry about your lute.”

“I’ll get another one.” He winks at me, one of his hands going from my waist, to on top of my head, as he ruffles my hair. I slap it away, and he laughs. “You really saved my ass there.”

“Well I did also, kind of start the whole thing.” I point out, as his eyes seem to light up. “But you owe me one.”

“How can I repay this debt?” He teases, as I blush. His hand on my waist tenses up, as he pulls me ever so closer.

“I don’t know just yet.” I tease back, freeing myself from his grip, as my heart beats faster. I lean back against the tree, as he watches me closely. “Maybe don’t get into trouble next time.”

“But Y/N, I love being saved by you.” I grin, as he comes closer again.

“I don’t love having to buy you a new lute all the time.” I say, as we giggle again. I take his hand in mine again, playing with it, looking down. This feels right. So, so right.

“That’s a fair point.” His hand lands on my face, as he gently lifts it up. Our eyes meet and the whole world seems to disappear. “Y/N.”

“Jaskier.” We whisper each others names, it slides off so easily, fitting together like they were never meant to be separate. The breeze picks up, ruffling his hair as he squints slightly, not taking his eyes off me.

“I love you.” He says in one breath, leaning in, as his lips land on mine. I taste chocolate and wine, amongst other things. Happiness. This is what that tasted like, when he pulls back, I want to pull him back in. I resist.

“I love you too, you silly.” I say, leaning against his chest, giggling, as his hands wrap around my waist. He shakes, giggling too. “It only took for you to get your brains shaken up when you were slammed to the ground.”

“No, Y/N,” he laughs, as I lean back so I could see his face. He gifts me a smile. “All it took, was you.”

My heart skips a beat at his words, and I wonder how did I get so lucky. I smile, pulling him in for a kiss, tasting his smile too. When we split again, I look up to see a shooting star.

But I don’t need to make a wish, all I want is here, in front of me.

[seanfalco]

Blood in the Water - Part II

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Mafia!Jaskier x f!Reader Word Count: 1777 Rating: E Warning(s): Swearing, Smut a/n: Took some liberties with naming a character, since I’ve found nothing about him in canon Witcherverse, so he’s my character now lolol.

Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats​, @nevadawolfe​, @witchernonsense​, @magic-multicolored-miracle​, @witcherwritings​, @scuzmunkie​  - If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please let me know!

You woke to the sound of your phone skittering across your bedside table.

Groaning, you rolled over, reaching for it blindly, your other arm thrown over your eyes against the light beginning to spill through the gap in the curtains.  “Hello?” you answered groggily, not even bothering to check the caller i.d. before answering.

“[Y/N]?”  Jaskier’s anxious voice assailed you through the earpiece and you winced, pushing yourself up.

“Jask?  What time is it?”

“A little after nine,” he answered and you groaned again.

“Why are you calling so early?  Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with your dad soon?” you asked.

“I just left the restaurant,” he replied, as if it weren’t important.  “I was worried about you.  I tried texting you several times last night, but you never texted me back.”

“Oh shit,” you breathed, the events of the night before suddenly flooding your memory.  As soon as you had gotten home from the bar you’d locked the door, drawn all the curtains, and took several shots which turned into downing nearly half the bottle of cheap vodka from your cupboard before passing out, still dressed, completely forgetting to text Jaskier.

“I’m sorry, I completely dropped the ball on that,” you said, sighing deeply, grappling with whether or not you should tell him what you saw.

“[Y/N]... is everything alright?”

“Uhm.  Not really,” you admitted, frowning at the tremor that had snuck into your voice as you sat up.  The clear anxiety in Jaskier’s question made up your mind.  “Something happened after you left last night…”

“What do you mean?”  Jaskier asked.

“When I went back into the bar to get my phone, I uh, I saw… I saw --” you had to pause to take a steadying breath before continuing.  “I saw someone get murdered,” you whispered, as if afraid of being overheard.

The line went silent and panic began to well inside your chest.

“Jask...?”

“What?” he asked.

You swallowed, trying to work moisture back into your suddenly dry mouth as the horrific scene played before your eyes again.

“In the kitchen, there were these three guys and they… they were torturing this fourth guy, tied to a chair and-and I.  I couldn’t look away, Jask.  Oh Gods.  And they…”  You knew you were rambling, your stomach turning at the memory, but Jaskier didn’t interrupt you.  You suddenly wished he were with you right then.

“Did anyone see you?”  The urgency in Jaskier’s voice scared you.  

“I--I don’t think so?”

The sudden pounding at your apartment door filled your veins with ice and you froze, your eyes snapping toward the sound.

“Shit.”

“[Y/N]?  [Y/N]!”

Jaskier’s voice buzzed in your ear, but it seemed so far away; the fear gripping you turning your lips numb.  When the pounding came again you nearly dropped your phone.

“[Y/N]!”

“Jaskier, there’s someone at my door,” you whispered, slowly getting off the bed.

“[Y/N], listen to me.  Whatever you do, do not answer that door.  I’ll be right there.”

“No Jask, I-I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you said, approaching the front door cautiously; the sound of muffled voices coming from the other side.  Taking a deep breath you peered through the peephole, only for your suspicions to be confirmed.  Three imposing figures stood in the hall, crowding your door, the one closest was the man in the dark suit.

“How the hell did they find me?” you whispered, jumping when the man outside banged on the door again.

“Open up, we know you’re in there.  If you cooperate we won’t have to hurt you.”

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath, bringing the phone back to your ear, only to catch the end of Jaskier’s tirade.

“[Y/N], are you there?”

“Hey.  I’m here.  Jaskier, I-I have to go though.  I’ll call you later…”

“Wait, no don’t hang up--”

With all the willpower you possessed, you hung up.  

“...If I’m still alive later.”

Wiping your eyes you lifted your chin and opened the door.  “How can I help you gentlemen?” you asked, forcing yourself to look their leader in the eye, your voice only trembling slightly.  You wanted to smile reassuringly, but you couldn’t quite make your face cooperate.  You just hoped you didn’t look as terrified as you felt.

“So you know why we’re here?” the man asked, giving you a once over.

“Not really.”

The man smirked.  “Playing innocent won’t help you darlin’.  I saw you with my own two eyes last night.  So let’s save each other some time and get straight to the point.”

Swallowing, you forced yourself to breathe.

“I didn’t tell anyone what I saw.  And I don’t plan on it,” you lied quickly.

The man’s smirk only deepened.  “I hope for your sake you’re telling the truth.  But that’s not for me to decide.  Come on.”  Clasping a large hand on your shoulder he pulled you out into the hall. 

“Where are you taking me?” you asked nervously, wetting your lips.

“The Boss wants a word with you.”

----

You’d been blindfolded as soon as you’d been shoved into the back seat of a sleek nondescript dark car parked outside.  With no sense of how far you’d traveled you had no idea where you’d been taken as you were led blindly out of the car and into a building.  Steered through several corridors you stumbled into a room and were pushed into a chair, the blindfold roughly pulled from your head.  Blinking at the suddenness of sight you gaped at the dim room around you, your gaze settling on the chair behind the heavy wooden desk in front of you.  

The chair spun slowly to face you and in any other situation you would have scoffed at the theatrics of it, but the man that sat before you now inspired no humour.  Leaning forward he regarded you over steepled fingers, his striking blue eyes holding you captive.

“[Y/N], right?” the man asked, studying you intently.  You had a feeling those sharp eyes could see right through you.

Unable to summon your voice you merely nodded.

“You tend the bar at my humble pub.”

You nodded again at his observation.

“So, you are aware of who I am?”

Swallowing, you nodded a third time.  The man raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for you to say it aloud.  Clearing your throat awkwardly you answered.  

“You’re Alfred Pankratz, the Boss of the Pankratz crime syndicate.”

“Good girl,” he purred with a curt nod of his head.

Something about the way his blue eyes caught the light seemed increasingly familiar, but you pushed the thought aside, instead focusing on his words.

“I have it on good authority, [Y/N], that you witnessed something you weren’t supposed to last night.  Is that correct?”

“Y-yes… sir,” you added belatedly, unsure how to refer to him.

“You saw my capos kill a man, is that correct?” he asked bluntly and you nodded.

“I-I didn’t mean to.  I left my phone behind at work, you see, and when I went back in to get it…” you explained, your voice trailing off under his thin lipped smile.

“A bad twist of luck,” he remarked, sitting back in his chair.  “Now, importantly, have you told anyone what you witnessed [Y/N]?”

“No sir,” you replied quickly, again hoping the lie wasn’t obvious.  Jaskier was the last person you wanted to get dragged into this mess.

“Good.  And do you plan on telling anyone what you saw?”

“No sir!” you exclaimed with even more force.  “I would never.  I-I swear.  I ain’t no snitch.”

Alfred Pankratz snorted, amusement filling the sound.  “We shall see, Miss [Y/N].”

From your peripheries you saw the men from earlier, his capos, move in, reaffixing the blindfold over your eyes.

“We’ll be watching [Y/N] and we will know if you break your word.”

----

They’d taken your blindfold off before pushing you out of the car in front of your building.  Tripping over the curb you glanced back at the car as it pulled away, letting out quite possibly the longest breath ever.  It had felt as though you’d been holding it in since the capos had knocked on your door.

Climbing the stairs to your apartment you barely noticed that your door was left unlocked, and as soon as you stepped inside Jaskier nearly knocked you backwards as he embraced you.

“Jesus Christ [Y/N], don’t fucking scare me like that again,” he exclaimed, pulling you against his chest in a bone creaking hug.  “I thought… nevermind what I thought,” he muttered quickly, pulling back to look you over, his hands brushing your clothes, your hair, your skin in a frenzied haste as he searched you for injuries.

“You thought you’d never see me again,” you finished, the very same thought having raced through your mind the entire time you were gone.

“Yeah,” Jaskier replied simply, taking a shaky breath.  “Where did they take you?”

“I don’t know,” you answered distractedly, reaching up to hold his face between your hands, needing to feel him; your eyes searching his face as though committing the sight to memory.  “I was blindfolded.  I talked to the Boss of the Pankratz family himself.”

At that Jaskier’s eyes widened before darkening momentarily -- so quickly you weren’t entirely sure you hadn’t imagined it.  

“I promised him I would tell anyone.”

“They didn’t hurt you?” he asked instead.

“No.  I’m a little shaken,” an understatement, “but I’m alright.”

Without warning Jaskier’s lips were on yours as he scooped you into his arms, walking you backwards toward your bed.  You went eagerly, your lips moving against his with a ferocity that startled even you.  Laying you back on the bed Jaskier crawled over you, deepening the kiss, his hands ghosting up your sides, lifting up your shirt.  Breaking the kiss only long enough for him to rid you of the garment, you tugged at his; running your hands up his chest to tangle in his dark hair.

You’d always thought it ridiculous in movies when couples would have crazy passionate sex right after a life and death situation, but now you felt you could understand.  Every touch, every caress made you feel alive and you reveled in it.

Rolling Jaskier to his back you straddled him as you tore at his belt, kissing him like some ravenous beast as you unbuttoned his jeans and slipped your hand beneath his boxers to caress his quickly hardening length; swallowing his moans.

If you’d considered your relationship with Jaskier casual, bordering on something more before now, you had a feeling things were going to be different from here on out.

[hickeygender]

Fanfic asks

F G i M N X

😘

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. Chapter 4 of MTB: “E chu ta!” The tween snarls so violently that he makes the man flinch and then get berated by his friends for being scared of a child. Obi-Wan says nothing as the young redhead puts up his hood and holds open the door for him. They immediately walk towards the distant cranes and glowing ship cutters in the scrapyard itself. The silence irks him, something in the Force burrowing under his skin. It’s been building for a while but is so intangible and fleeting that he finds himself glad of his own shielding. “Do you speak Mando’a?” he asks, trying to find something to fill the dead air between them. The kid looks over his shoulder and squints before quickening his pace. “Bits and pieces,” is all he answers. Obi-Wan changes the subject, sensing a sore spot. “What’s your job?” he asks, getting the feeling that he didn’t get injured from working in a greasy spoon. The kid stops in his tracks and whips around. Something jagged and hurting rears its head in the Force. “Why? Why do you care?” he snaps. Obi-Wan holds up his hands. “You remind me of myself at your age, is all. I want to know why you are alone,” he says, trying to keep a calm tone. If he loses the kid now, he loses both his lead, and contact with someone who is starting to look more and more like a live wire in the Force. The child doesn’t speak, but a heavy grief settles over his face and swamps the pair of them. “Everyone died. Now it’s just me. Are you happy, now? Can we continue?” he asks, shuttering himself and his pain off, and Obi-Wan leaves it for now.

I really enjoyed writing Cal as a feral little menace who bristles at practically everything. Dgmw, he's actually a sweetheart, but at first I wanted him to seem rough around the edges, and I feel I did a pretty good job with that.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? That depends. Oneshots I usually write straight through. Multichaps I start at the beginning but inevitably end up bouncing around when inspiration hits. I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? Yes, I occasionally sacrifice my morals and read Marvel fic, but only for Matt Murdock! He's a comfort character of mine, esp cause I like to headcanon him as both trans and bipolar. I really love fics where he's Peter Parker's mentor - that's some quality shit right there. M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share? Multiple, in multiple fandoms! In Witcher, the only fic I have going so far is one where Jaskier finds Ciri after The Mountain Breakup and protects her. Geraskier is endgame, but the focus is on Ciri and Jask. In ATLA, I'm working on an AU where Zuko gets stuck in the spirit world, and the only person who can see him is Sokka - obviously it's a Zukka fic lol. And in SW... I have a lot. Rn the one I've been tossing around for the past few days is a Codywan fic where Obi-Wan can't seem to stay dead. I'm in a spooky mood lol. N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? Ugh, Running From Something Larger Than Yourself. Fuck that fic. I've been wrestling with it since JULY. No clue if/when it'll ever get updated, I'm sorry to say. Also, an Inquisitor!Cal longfic. There aren’t nearly enough of them, last I checked. I started one in January and got maybe 40k in before I realized it was BAD. Maybe one day I’ll write a decent one, who knows? X: A character you enjoy making suffer. Ooh, hard question. Probably Obi-Wan? He experiences so much shit in his life that I feel he handles trauma in really compelling ways. Fox is a really good candidate for angst as well.

Thank you so much for all of the questions! :)

[writinglizards]

I’m Kinda Helpless (and I Need You)

Summary: It's not anyone else's fault he fell in love with a witcher who decided he wants nothing to do with him. They're here to have fun. He can pretend to do that, for a little while.

Jaskier, at a New Year's party, gets a terrifying call from a certain witcher.

Read on Ao3

"Come on, Jask," Priscilla's saying, tugging him out of the kitchen and away from the alcohol table, "we brought you here to enjoy yourself, not drink yourself stupid. You could do that at home."

"This is only my fourth drink, Pri," he whines, spinning the mostly empty wine glass in his hands absently as Priscilla continues to lead him through the densely packed crowd to where Essi's chatting with..."Valdo," Jaskier hisses.

"Jaskier," Valdo returns, smile bright. Jaskier scowls harder and both Essi and Priscilla roll their eyes.

"Play nice, boys," Essi chastises before catching her girlfriend around the waist and reeling her in to press a kiss to her cheek.

"Just like college," Pri laughs, looping the arm not wound around Essi around Jaskier's neck and dragging him in with her. Valdo watches with an indulgent smile and Jaskier finds he doesn't even hate him, much. It's frustrating.

He forces a smile and tries not to let his sour mood drag the rest of them down with him. It's not anyone else's fault he fell in love with a witcher who decided he wants nothing to do with him. They're here to have fun. He can pretend to do that, for a little while.

They chat for a little before Essi gets dragged off by another acquaintance, Priscilla following, and then it's just Jaskier and Valdo.

"Heard you've had a rough go of it, lately," Valdo says as they stand shoulder to shoulder, staring out across the room. Jaskier doesn't know most of the people here; a few years ago that would have been exciting, now he wishes he'd stayed home, just a little. He lifts his shoulder in a one-sided shrug, sips from his wine glass. There's no point lying to Valdo.

"I'm...sorry for that, Julian, truly. You deserve someone who loves you, who makes you happy." His fingers tighten on the stem of the glass.

"And who's that, hm? You?" He can't help but say, words sharp like a knife. Valdo winces.

"Once upon a time, maybe," he sighs. It's quiet for a beat, "I still want the best for you, though." Jaskier lets out a gust of breath. He may not love the man anymore, may have never loved him, really, but--

"I know," he says, bumps their shoulders together gently, "thank you, Valdo."

"Anytime, Julian." It's soft and subdued, private and just for them. "Come find me before the countdown, yeah? For...old time's sake." It sounds like a resounding bad idea, but...

"I'll think about it," Jaskier says softly.

Valdo makes a satisfied noise and bumps their shoulders together again, gently, before he's stepping away, "Well, better make the rounds. See you in a bit, maybe," and then he's gone too, leaving Jaskier standing at the edge of the party.

He stays there only a moment. It's...a lot. The press of bodies, people chatting, the low thrum of music. This kind of thing used to be his scene, where he thrived. Now he just...he just wants Geralt and that hurts, Geralt wanted him gone, said "if life could give me one blessing" and well. Jaskier's trying, he really is it's just...hard.

He slips out the back door and onto the terrace off the back of the house. It's just for some air, he tells himself, he's not...not running away. He just needs a minute to breathe.

From here he can see the street through the cute little metal gate, the pass of cars and the occasional pedestrian. It's a rich side of town, one he rarely visits any longer. He doesn't even know the host, a friend of Priscilla's, someone she works with. He feels out of place. This is a far cry from the dingy diners, the 24-hour gas stations he's used to frequenting at this point. Or well. Had frequented, he guesses. He hasn't been much of anywhere since...before.

He leans against the little railing and tugs out his phone to check the time and then just...stares. He hadn't been able to bring himself to change his lock screen yet, a photo of the two of them, squeezed into a booth at some little coffee shop whose name he can't remember. Jaskier's smiling, bright and electric and Geralt's...not, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners, just a little, and he looks...he looks...

His chest heaves a nearly sobbing breath as he lets the screen go dark. He's maybe had a few too many drinks, but he's not going to cry about it, about him. It doesn't matter how happy he looks in the photos on Jaskier's phone. Geralt doesn't want anything to do with him, not anymore.

He's still wallowing in self-pity when his phone rings, vibrating intensely in his hand. No caller ID pops up, but Jaskier answers anyway. It's just as likely to be Essi calling from someone else's phone because hers has died as it is to be Geralt calling from a new burner phone. Except--

"Jaskier?"

His voice is rough and beautiful and tight with pain and Jaskier's heart stutters. His throat works, but no sound comes out.

"Jaskier, please, I--"

"Geralt," he forces out, his own voice hoarse. "Geralt, what--"

"Please," he continues, steamrolling right over Jaskier's quiet protest, "I need you to know I...fuck," it's a tiny noise of pain. Jaskier's chest clenches, "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve any of it." His voice is faint.

"Geralt, where are you, what's wrong?"

"I'm...fine." It's not reassuring.

"Geralt, where are you," he's starting to panic, a little, "I'll call Yen, I'm sure she'll--"

Geralt laughs, sharp and sardonic, a noise that cuts off quickly on a wheeze. "Yen's the last person I'd call, Jask." The diminutive does something painful to him. He can feel the tears slipping down his cheeks as he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, frustrated.

"Still. Where are you?"

"Do you remember that diner on third street?" Geralt asks, voice a little hazy, a little too soft as Jaskier pushes back through the house. He needs to find Essi or Pricilla, someone who can drive him--"the one where...ah...where you order the--the milkshakes?"

"I do," he says. He can't find his friends, but he catches Valdo's eye across the room and something in his expression must be especially concerning because Valdo's already bowing out of the conversation and making his way over.

"I'm...I left Roach there," he says just as Valdo approaches, mouths "what's wrong" at him.

"Okay, and where are you?" Jaskier asks, holding a single finger up to Valdo who nods.

"I--" a harsh, painful breath, "--was checking out the warehouse two streets over. Bruxa nest."

"Okay. Okay, just--Valdo, do you have your car?" Valdo blinks at him, a little wide-eyed. Geralt makes a strangled noise on the other end of the line.

"Jaskier, you've had too much to drive," he says, which means he does.

Jaskier makes an ungodly sound at the same time Geralt asks "Jask, where are you?"

"Will you drive me, then?" Valdo's had...maybe half a glass all night--he's still carrying around the rum and coke he had when they'd talked earlier, untouched.

Valdo gives him a hard look, and Jaskier thinks maybe he won't before, "Yeah. Let me grab my coat, I'll meet you out front in a minute."

"Thank you, Val," he says, nearly choking on the wave of emotion that hits him, the gratitude he feels for this man he used to love. "Geralt, we'll be there in a few minutes, okay?"

"Mm," the mumbled little response over the line isn't reassuring.

"How close to the warehouse are you still, love?" The endearment slips out without a thought, and Geralt sucks in a sharp breath. Jaskier winces hard.

"'M...down the street." He's quiet for a long moment where Jaskier worries he's passed out on him. "Sorry to ruin your night out."

"Geralt, you're not ruining anything for me." He shifts from foot to foot on the stoop out front, waiting for Valdo to emerge. "How bad is it?" Geralt's silent for too long. "Geralt?"

"Uh," Jaskier can tell from the tone he's making a face, "few busted ribs. I'm..." a soft sigh, "losing a lot of blood." His voice is faint, still.

"How much is a lot, Geralt?" Valdo steps out the door and ushers Jaskier over to his car.

"Where are we going?" he asks as he slips into the driver's seat, Jaskier already fumbling for his seatbelt.

"It's...I may not..."

"Geralt."

"It's not your fault, Jask." A feeling like ice washes through him.

"Are you out of swallow or what?" he asks, trying not to snap at him. Valdo's sitting patiently while he waits for directions, only the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel giving away his nerves.

"It's...I didn't bring it." Jaskier makes another ugly noise.

"The diner on third street," he tells Valdo who nods and shifts the car into gear, backing up. "it is in your car, yes?" he asks Geralt.

"...Yeah," he breathes. Jaskier just listens to the slow rasp of Geralt's breathing, eyes closed. He doesn't ask why Geralt didn't bring any with him, doesn't want to hear the answer, probably. "It's not your fault," Geralt repeats softly, and Jaskier can't help the little hiccuping sob, even as he presses a fist to his mouth to stifle it. Valdo stares out of the corner of his eye but doesn't say anything, which he's thankful for.

"If you die, I'll never forgive you, witcher." Geralt gives a huff over the phone, something like a laugh. "Don't hang up, okay?"

"Okay," he says. They lapse into silence, Jaskier occasionally giving updates on where they're at in relation to the diner, Geralt making vague noises of acknowledgment. When they hit the parking lot of the diner, Jaskier's out the door before Valdo's even parked. Roach is a few stalls away and Jaskier jogs over, fumbling his spare key Geralt hadn't taken back out of his pocket and unlocking it diving into the passenger seat, phone still pressed to his ear.

"I'm with Roach, Geralt, we're maybe five minutes away, okay?" Geralt doesn't respond, and something tightens in Jaskier's chest. With shaking fingers he digs through the floorboard and finds the little pouch of potions tucked in next to the steel sword and his sharpening kit in the foot of the passenger seat. He pulls the whole little bag out and locks the car door before slamming it closed behind him, a little too hard.

He slides back into the passenger seat of Valdo's car a few moments later, the pouch in his lap.

"Where to?"

"Try Fletcher. He's down by the warehouses." Valdo nods and backs out of the stall again. "Geralt?"

There's a rough noise over the line, but no indication Geralt's conscious. Fuck.

They turn onto Fletcher and Valdo drives slowly. It's dark and most people are either at home or at New Year’s parties, not hanging around the industrial district, so it's easy to spot the figure slumped over against a brick wall, pale hair hiding his face.

"Valdo--" he starts, but he's already seen him, and he hits the breaks. Jaskier's out of the car like a shot, potion bag tucked under his arm. He nearly trips over the sidewalk, barely catching himself at the last moment as he stumbles to a stop, hitting his knees beside Geralt hard.

"Geralt, love," he breathes, but it doesn't matter that his heart is pouring out his mouth--Geralt's out cold, phone cradled in his lap but not hung up, just like Jaskier asked. "Fuck."

He can see he's torn up--there's blood all over his armor and pooling on the sidewalk beneath him. He's got a hand pressed loosely over his side and his breathing's shallow. Jaskier fumbles a bottle of swallow out of the pouch and uncorks it.

"Please don't be too late," he whispers, careful fingers tipping Geralt's head up and coaxing his jaw open so he can pour the contents down his throat. Geralt sputters, but swallows, throat working, and Jaskier sits nearly in his lap, face cradled in his hands and fingers brushing his pulse point. Slowly, Jaskier watches as the wound on his side clots and knits together, feels the way his pulse, slow as always, strengthens ever so slightly, and Jaskier sighs, tips forward to press his forehead to Geralt's bloody shoulder as the adrenaline leaves him all at once. He'll be fine.

He sits there for a long moment, just letting the panic fizzle out. The footsteps behind him tell him Valdo's finally parked the car.

"Is he--"

"He'll be fine," Jaskier says, pulling back to stare at Geralt's prone form. His breathing is strengthening, the ribs beginning to knit back together now that the source of the blood loss has been dealt with. "Thank you, Val."

"Should we, uh, move him or something?" Valdo asks, the same moment Geralt groans and blinks open his eyes. "Oh, I'll...um. I'll wait in the car if...if you need me." He ducks his head and retreats to where he parked on the sidewalk a few paces away, giving them some privacy.

"You're here." Geralt's voice, usually gravel rough, is somehow deeper, more jagged, with the remnants of the potion.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" Jaskier asks. He realizes he's still kneeling over Geralt, palms cupping his jaw and throat. Geralt's eyes flutter closed again, tired.

"I don't deserve it."

Jaskier's chest aches, sharp and painful. "Maybe not," he whispers, "but here I am." Geralt's breath stutters and he rotates out of Jaskier's grip to cough, a deep, rattling sound that makes Jaskier wince.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date," Geralt grinds out when his breathing settles, collapsing back against the wall again. Jaskier frowns.

"Why would I--?"

Geralt doesn't let him finish, "He looks...good. For you. I'm. I hope he makes you happy, Jask." Geralt's expression is guarded and it's...that's not...

"Geralt," Jaskier says slowly, "That's Valdo Marx. We're not dating. You did not interrupt a date. I was at a party."

"You're not...?" he starts, brows pinched, and Jaskier wants to hit something.

"Geralt. I'm--I'm not dating anyone. I. I can't." No one could ever make me as happy as you, he thinks but doesn't say.

Geralt makes a soft, unhappy sound, "Why?" At some point, his hands have landed on Jaskier's waist. Now he rubs gentle thumbs against the swell of Jaskier's hip bones in a movement that is more distracting than it has any right to be.

"Because I love you, you dolt," Jaskier chokes out, unable to hold down the swell of emotion at the confusion on Geralt's face, "and I know you said you didn't want to see me again and I--"

"Jask," Geralt stops him, a hand rising to cup his cheek, "you shouldn't."

"I know. I know, and I do anyway and I. I'm sorry, but--"

"I shouldn't have pushed you away," Geralt says, eyes bright with something Jaskier can't name. There's a thundering sound of cheers, distant this deep into the industrial part of the city. Midnight. New Years. "I love you, Jask, I'm sorry."

He tips forward to kiss him, and Geralt surges up to meet him, hands tangling in his hair. It's like breathing fresh air for the first time in years, like the first trip out of the city looking for a forktail, like every time Jaskier's patched him up, every time they've gotten coffee together at three am, every time Geralt's bought him a meal at a diner after midnight. The kiss breaks, but they don't move away, foreheads pressed together.

"I'm sorry," Geralt repeats, eyes closed.

"So am I," Jaskier whispers back, "I've been a right bastard myself, on occasion.” Geralt huffs a laugh, something soft and intimate. Jaskier cards his fingers through his hair, gentle.

"Stay with me?" He asks, and that's--

"Yeah," Jaskier says, presses another kiss to his mouth, slow and sweet, "let me go tell Valdo I'm walking you to your car and he can go. Then you can take me home and we'll crash at my place, okay?"

"Okay," Geralt breathes, reluctantly letting go so Jaskier can stand. He stares at him a moment, bloody and bruised and so very, very beautiful, and then he's pulling himself away, back to Valdo and his car.

"He's okay?" Valdo asks, rolling his window down when Jaskier gets close.

"Yeah, I'm--"

"Are you okay?" he continues, gaze intense and--

"Yeah," he sighs, "yeah, we're okay. I'm. He makes me happy, Val." Valdo's expression softens, something relieved in his eyes.

"Good. I'm glad, Julian. Does he need a ride back to his car?" Jaskier turns to follow Valdo's gaze, sees how Geralt fidgets at the edge of the sidewalk, impatient.

"No. We'll walk back. Thanks for the ride. I'm. Really very thankful."

"I know." His smile is radiant. "Don't be a stranger, Julian." Jaskier makes a face, which only makes Valdo smile wider. "See you around."

The car pulls away when Jaskier steps back onto the sidewalk. Geralt winds his arms around Jaskier's waist when he gets close enough, pulls him into another slow, thorough kiss that sets his nerves alight. They break reluctantly, Jaskier's hand on Geralt's face.

"Come on, love, let’s get you home."

It's been weeks since Jaskier's been this close to Geralt, weeks since they talked, since they touched.

"You're here," Geralt rumbles, a quiet sound, "I'm already home." And that's--Jaskier has to clear his throat not to cry.

"Happy New Year, Geralt." Geralt’s expression is soft, fond as they start the walk back to Roach. He slips his hand into Jaskier's, threads their fingers together and brings the back of his hand to his lips in a gentle kiss.

"Yes," he says, "it is."

[presimion]

Okey so like back to that long-haired Jaskier au guys

After killing the assassin Jaskier is tending to his wounds and everything and just then he can see that Geralt is watching him from a little distance and Jaskier is like

'Wtf is he doing?' And 'Pls don't come here'

Well Geralt comes to Jaskier and looks weirdly at him, they just basically stare at each other for like 10 minutes without saying a word, so Jaskier finally breaks the silence and says: ' What are looking at? Is there any problem here?' And Geralt just stands rooted in place and Jaskier is slowly moving away from him, quietly leaving the scene. Before Geralt has any kind of reaction like run after him, ask questions and all that, Jaskier is gone. For a while witcher just stands and looks at the place that Jaskier occupied not so long ago and then he is walking towards the way he first came from. Geralt probally thinks that it was just an illusion or he has really amazing imagination, so he let it slide this time. After that he doesn't think much about nor does Jaskier. They continue their lives as if nothing happened. Jaskier finally settles over somewhere far away from humans, just relaxing, maybe even playing but not on lute this time, maybe on other instrument to see if he likes it, maybe Jaskier finds a new hobby, like tending to flowers, just being in peace with nature. Maybe after some time after he got bored, he moves to another place, get involved in some magic or even dark magic, spends some time on learning it, mastering it and while he is just chilling in his new house, helping people by killing the monsters that created themselves, so basically killing the bad people, he gets an unexpected visitor. Maybe some mages that don't participate in dark magic sends witcher to kill him for his actions. And just like that Geralt and Jaskier meet second time. Jaskier is probably trying to make healing mixture or something like that and Geralt just burst into his house, ready to kill the 'evil' mage or something.

'Ah I see you came for my head White Wolf?'

'Stop what are you doing and then I won't have to kill you, mage.'

'But you see I'm not doing anything wrong here, just getting rid of some parasites here and there.'

'This is not your place to decide who is worth living and who isn't.'

Then the white wolf put the end of his sword to Jasksier's throat and looks him in the eyes.

'uh that won't work for me and you damn well know it Geralt'

There is a little surprise in witcher's eyes but then he lowers his sword.

'Fuck it's you, it is really you.'

'Surprise! Took you long enough.'

'But how? I saw your dead body. You weren't breathing.'

'Oh Geralt there are many things you don't know about me,I surprise myself too so I thinks it is even.'

Jaskier looks at Geralt and sees his old friend that decided to throw him away as if he was some pathetic trash.

'But aside from that, what are you still doing here? Last time I checked we weren't on friendly terms.'

At that Geralt looks away from Jaskier and stands frozen in place. Jaskier waits for something, even a little bit of reaction, but when he sees that it won't come, he turns away and start walking deeper into his house.

'Wait Jaskier! That is not... Fuck please wait...'

At that Jaskier stops and slowly goes toward Geralt.

'What do you want? Some mixture? Or maybe you want to tell me how useless I am?' says Jaskier with so much venom in his voice that it surprise both of them.

'Besides my name is not Jaskier.'

'w-what?'

'It's Julian but why would you care? You never listened to me back then so why would you now.'

'Jask-Julian listen... What I said wasn't true I didn't mean those words, I-I was angry and... Just didn't know what to do with myself, Yennefer left me, I still had to find Ciri, Destiny was just fucking with me, and I must say I was very angry but I wasn't angry at you... I was angry at myself. I am sorry for what I said and how I always treated you. I don't deserve your forgiveness but I wanted to tell you that. '

'wow that is a whole more words that I heard from you in this moment than in our entire journey. You really are guilty hmm?'

'I am and I wanted to tell you that I won't kill you, but please stop doing that.'

'Hm... Here are the doors Geralt, save journey.'

Geralt couldn't blame Jaskier for wanting to be alone, far away from witcher. He expected that kind of reaction but that didn't mean it hurt less. When he was at the doorsteps Jaskier stopped him from going aby further.

'I need to think Geralt, I can't just forgive you so easily, you need to give me some time, but that doesn't mean I want the worst for you, no,even when you hurt me, I wish you the best and maybe, just maybe we can still rebuild what was in the past, maybe I will finally be able to see Ciri' he said the last part with a little smile on his face.

'How did you know that I have found Ciri?' asked surprised Geralt.

'Well a little birdie told me but I won't say who specifically now, maybe later when things are okey between us, for now goodbye Geralt, give Ciri kisses from me.'

'Goodbye Julian, I hope we will see each other again...'

With that the white wolf walked out of Jasksier's house, leaving his heart in Jasksier's hands,hopping that Destiny will be forgiving for him.

[ivillpunchyouinthethroat]

Hey friend! I am your secret Geraskier Holiday ficcer! I have been brainstorming and would like to know if there's anything more specific you'd like? A bunny you really wish someone would write you? I'm comfortable with any rating. ;) Conversely, what Don't you want to see? Anything squick you? Or, any kind of, say, kind of nonhuman Jask could be that you feel is a bit over done? Anything like that? How are you with AUs? I'm excited to write a gift for you this year! Hope all is well on your end!

Oh hello!!!!  :D

I have to say I don’t think I have any super concrete fic ideas that I’d want to see >< sorry! But I will say I love getting together fic, especially if there’s a lot of oblivious mutual pining from both sides. I also think miscommunication is super tasty and please HEAP ON THE ANGST but just give me a happy ending to go along with it xD Oh and feel free to go all the way up to an explicit rating >> I love emotional smut scenes but I’m also okay if you don’t end up putting anything nsfw in at all x3 Ooh but I do love the trope of just being friends with benefits while secretly wanting to be more.

About inhuman Jaskier go crazy!! I’ll eat up Jaskier being just about any type of creature! I do have a particular fondness for non-human/magical Jaskier where his voice has magical power to it, especially if he doesn’t really know it does. The only creature that I don’t necessarily dislike but don’t read much of is like aquatic mermaid Jas.

Really the only thing I would ask to maybe stay away from is like modern aus? Idk why but my brain has such a hard time processing the witcher characters in a modern non magical type setting lol Oh but! If it’s like witcher timeline that has progressed into the present I think that could be very cool!

Hmm I honestly don’t think I have any particular squicks and the only thing I’d really not like to see is unrequited love...unless it’s only seemingly unrequited x)

Oh and last thing! I’ve only seen the Netflix show but I do know a bit about the books/games from general fandom!

Gahh, I’m so excited for this! Please feel free to ask anything else!! :D