to clarify something chuck said in post about being PRO FAN FICTION, some buds have asked if i misspoke when i said ‘fan fiction is part of the original art’. i did not misspeak. i really truly believe this.
if i write a story and you read it an this moves you to paint a picture of snabe and harriet porber, that WHOLE EXPERIENCE FROM ME TO YOU is its own mixed media piece. the medium is motion (getting up and getting the paints) visual (painting) literary (reading the book in first place and then writing your own commentary when you post about it later). it is drama and performance. it is meditation. it is dance in its own way.
i very much mean this: art does not begin and end on the canvas or the page. it is what you had for breakfast the morning you wrote those words, or the story that stuck in your head after watching a show the night before. art is the buckaroo who was moved to pen a whole five page romance story about your characters having a kind picnic in the part.
we are here to create as we push back against the blank empty void, and we prove love is real every time we fill this blank space with little pieces of us. i will not stand in the way of that, and it is an honor to fill this space with this web of inspiration from one bud to the next. ALL OF THIS TIMELINE is a piece and we are one big writers room. there is no shame in this and it is a group project i am proud to be a part of.
Really, it’s great Jaskier is getting close with his brothers, after all Geralt’s the one who asked him to come to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It’s great that the bard is getting along with the other three wolf witchers, especially Eskel.
It’s great.
Although who would have thought Eskel is a big poetry reader? Who would have thought he became a fan of Jaskier’s years ago and has an entire collection of his works? Who would have though they were gonna hit it off and spend most of evenings in the library talking about rhymes and meters and whatever obscure poets Geralt has never even heard of?
It’s so great.
Even if Jaskier didn’t come to bed last night until the small hours of the morning.
Again. Great that they are bonding.
So he shouldn’t be jealous when Jaskier is eating breakfast with his family, just as he pictured.
Eskel, ever so sweetly, sends his other two brothers a tiny smile before turning to the bard with a much brighter one. “I’ll go find the book I told you about yesterday, Jask. Come to the library when you finish eating. I promise you’ll love it.”
“Of course!” Jaskier’s eyes sparkle. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The bard begins to wolf down the content of his plate as Eskel disappears into the hallway.
“I’ll be off then.” Jaskier downs the rest of the ale and stands. He gives a simple peck on Geralt’s cheek before turning away.
“Wait.” Geralt catches the bard’s wrist, before pulling him in for a kiss. A real one this time.
He deepens it quickly, drawing a surprised gasp from Jaskier before he responds with equal passion. One of Geralt’s hands comes up to caress the bard’s jaw, the other placed on the small of his back, closing the awkward distance even further.
Pulling away with a final tug, Geralt licks away the taste of ale on his own lips, when Jaskier observes the motion closely with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Oh… right. I’ll…um, see you later,” he swallows, grinning and breathing heavily.
The bard walks off completely flustered, looking over his shoulder at Geralt several times still with that dopey grin, and almost bumps into the doorframe.
Might as well give Jaskier something to think about if he has to go.
Leaning back in the chair, Geralt holds back the smug smile on his face but fails. His lips quirk upwards despite the efforts.
“Smooth,” Lambert says once the bard is out of earshot, chewing a piece of bread.
“Shut up.” Geralt growls, contentedly.
“You know you just got him all hot and bothered and sent him directly to Eskel, right?”
The smile stills on Geralt’s face. His younger brother keeps chewing with that stupid knowing look on his face.
“Shut up,” he growls again.
Enthused greetings come faintly from the other side of the keep. Geralt can even tell the little excited squeal that Jaskier does every time he gets new books.
Abhorsen Jaskier ficlet please? 🧟♂️🔔Congrats for the follower count!
(For this prompt for my 3k Followers Festival.)
I don’t think I’ve written enough of the Abhorsen fic to be able to write a timestamp for it. Buuuut I could give you the next little part instead? If you like, you can request something else.
The first part of the Abhorsen fic can be found here. This won’t make much sense without that part, I suspect. Part one is short, under 400 words; this part is just under 1,000 words.
🔔
Geralt frowned at him. ‘There’s only one.’
‘I know.’
‘What do you mean, as of tonight?’
‘Well, the shambling abomination attacking me and calling me the Abhorsen seemed pretty indicative,’ said Jaskier, flippantly.
‘Well, I don’t know how much you know,’ Jaskier began slowly. ‘About the Abhorsen, I mean.’
Geralt shrugged, which wasn’t very useful, although it did seem to be one of his I don’t know very much at all, but I’ll be damned if I’ll say as much out loud kind of shrugs.
‘The Abhorsen is a role that’s passed down through a family,’ said Jaskier. ‘My family, in fact.’
He looked at Geralt, but Geralt was blank faced, watching him, waiting for him to continue.
‘It isn’t necessarily from father to son,’ he said. ‘Nor from father to daughter, or mother to son. Sometimes it’s to a niece or nephew. Or very occasionally, from one sibling to another.’ He sighed. ‘It was my mother. I didn’t know her well, as a result. She was always travelling – much as you do, in fact. I had hoped—I had hoped that I was not going to inherit the job.’ He laughed. ‘Which was entirely selfish of me. Wanting not to inherit my father’s title was less selfish, I think; I don’t think anyone deserves having me as their lord. I’d do a terrible job of it. But not wanting to be the Abhorsen—well. That really was pure selfishness.’
He perched on a gravestone and ran the loop of his bandolier through his fingers, feeling its warm leather slide through his fingertips.
‘Mother made sure we were all trained. And we were all musically trained, too. That rather backfired on her, with me. I think she’d wanted it to be me to follow in her footsteps, but instead I took off for university and thence became a bard and followed you around for a decade or so.’
He picked up his bag to put the bandolier away unthinkingly, but then he realised: no. He didn’t get to pack his bandolier away any more; it was just as much a part of him now as his lute. More so, in fact: as much a part of him as Geralt’s swords were for him.
He let out a breath, and put the bandolier back on again.
‘At least she did train me. At least I know what to do. And even though it isn’t what I wanted from life, I knew there was a risk it could be a burden I had to shoulder. And so I have a set of bells that my mother packed me off with when I went to university—’
He stopped, and all his breath seemed to leave him at once.
‘I—I just realised,’ he said, staring out across the cemetery. ‘Gods, how stupid. I just realised that my mother must be dead.’
He gave a broken little laugh. He was distantly aware of Geralt moving closer, but couldn’t summon the will to turn his head to look. His mother was dead. His mother, who had understood him better than his father ever had, was gone. And she wouldn’t be coming back. He’d never get to see her again. His eyes prickled.
The weight of Geralt’s hand fell on his shoulder, and he’d never been so glad in his life that his best friend was a man of so few words. The last thing he thought he could muster right now were graceful words of thanks. He let himself tilt sideways into Geralt’s comforting bulk and be enfolded in those strong arms. Jaskier was not a short man nor a slight man; there were few moments when he got to feel small. But next to Geralt, even though they were roughly the same height, he felt as fragile as a snapped twig.
‘I wanted to introduce you to her,’ he said. His voice sounded hollow. ‘I kept hoping we’d run into her as we travelled. I think she’d have liked you. I hope you’d have liked her, too. I don’t know if I would have wound up being the same person I am if I hadn’t been the Abhorsen's dau—If I’d had different parents.’
Geralt hummed, and Jaskier thought he could feel it vibrate into his body from the comforting circle of Geralt’s arms.
‘What do you need to do now?’ Geralt asked.
Jaskier sat up straight again. He rubbed his thumb and finger together as he thought.
‘I should go to Mother’s tower,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘There are a lot of Charter sendings in there, and I should make sure that nothing is going to break down or escape. I don’t really know how that all works. And hopefully there will be a message there for me on what to do next.’
He exhaled heavily.
‘I should probably send a message through to my family as well. Especially my sister. Last I checked, she was the next expected Abhorsen.’
Geralt made a thoughtful noise. ‘Do we need to go immediately? Or can this wait until we finish the contract here?’
‘Oh, no, it can absolutely wait a day or so for you to get paid,’ said Jaskier. ‘But after that, if you're amenable, I’d like to head to the tower. I’ve not been there since I was quite small, and I’m a little ... concerned that Mother might have left unfinished business there.’
He stood up and picked up his bag and slung his lute over his shoulder.
‘Let’s head back to town. I hear our palliasse calling.’
Geralt hummed agreeably, and picked up his trophies. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel that there was something different in Geralt’s eyes when he looked at him: something wary. He felt as though he’d lost more than his mother that night.
Production of The Witcher has paused due to Henry Cavill, set to portray Geralt of Rivia, accepting repeated side-gigs as part of his method acting process.
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