This is a multi-ship week for our favorite bard and all the beautiful ways to whump him. This will be open from the week of January 8 - January 14|| CLOSED
Tags: i decided the bard deserves to be angry <3 there’s nothing else tbh! canon divergent. s1ep6 babbyyyy get ready for a wild ride.
Word Count: 1841.
Chapters: 1/1.
Completed: yes.
Summary:
what if jaskier had some words to say at the mountain top? does that change what we know to happen? or will that only cause a greater rift between one witcher and one bard?
Creator’s Notes:
okay i had so much fun with this prompt. what a great way to end such a wonderful week!! i wish i was able to write more for it, but i’m glad to have contributed to this!!! also took the title from no way from six the musical bc it really fits this. also look for the reference to good for you from dear evan hansen hehe. i ended up leading up to the lashing out, writing the mountain scene out with jaskier’s pov. enjoy fellow dear hearts <33
@jaskierwhumpweek
jaskier knew that travelling with a witcher would never be easy. he’s been told by local townsfolk who were concerned for a humble bard to be with such a brooding witcher. he’s been lectured by his parents as to why this would only bring him pain. even his siblings were weary about their dear brother on the road with a witcher. he understood the sacrifices he’d have to make. jaskier was fully aware of it all.
and yet, he still travelled with geralt of rivia. jaskier took every blow of insults, suffered through grueling weather, went town to town on foot since riding roach was forbidden from the bard, and stood up for geralt at every occasion he got. jaskier would turn every grunt into a majestic ballade, every cold shoulder into a grand gesture of gratitude, and every deadly glare into a handsome look of heroism with his music — and continued to do it for twenty-two years.
jaskier would continue to sing praises for his muse, to spread the tales of the white wolf all across the continent, and perhaps it isn’t the best to have such a dependent 'friendship' but the two needed each other.
at least that’s what he told himself.
this dragon hunt is no joke. wish jaskier had been better prepared for this — have you seen those boots? sweet melitele, this is the worst decision jaskier ever made. not only does he have to hike for god knows how long, but turns out he’d be asleep for most of the hunt. he missed the giant reveal. no one even woke him up. he woke up confused once more and why be surprised? geralt and yennefer were nowhere to be seen. how fucking perfect.
it’s like everyone forgot he existed. that he even was there the whole time. he missed out on every juicy detail. was he really that forgettable?
so not only did no one wake him from his slumber to be awake for the most exciting part of the hunt, he’s extremely sore from the long hike. his body ached, every muscle, every single bone just screamed in pain. sure, he’s walked from town to town — but, nothing would amount to this. he’s not a witcher. he’s not a warrior. he’s not a mage. he had nothing special about him to add special durability; so, he’s overslept and in complete pain.
and to make matters worse? his muse is in bad spirits. he observed as yennefer walked away and anyone could notice the tears threatening to fall. he noticed that stain of a tear streaked down her cheek, her luscious raven locks covering up her face from the wind.
what could’ve made the baddest witch of them all to look so upset? so heartbroken? jaskier figured it’d just be a spat between the two, something he noticed happened often. this could be his chance. with yennefer out of the picture, he could finally find a way back to geralt’s life. he can be that missing puzzle piece.
"woo, what a day! i can imagine that you’re—" jaskier of course tried to come in with his lovely optimism, hoping the light-hearted spirit would offset the gloomy atmosphere built up from before. though, he wasn’t prepared to be cut off so suddenly.
"damnit jaskier! why is it whenever i find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it!"
oh. oh. that’s different. that’s new. sure, geralt would give jaskier that cold shoulder of his or the two would get in small heated arguments — but, never to the point the witcher rose his voice.
"that’s not fair." he doesn’t know what overcame him, but jaskier’s voice became quiet and barely above a whisper. his fingers rubbed together to aid him with comfort, though it didn’t stop his heart from dropping to the pit of his stomach. nothing would have ever prepared him for geralt’s next words.
"the child surprise. the djinn. all of it. if life could give me one blessing, it’d be to take you off my hands."
jaskier froze. what did he just say? did geralt mean it? he sounded like it. what did he do to deserve this? was he right? was this all his fault? has jaskier been fooling himself the whole time?
suddenly, he could barely speak and his mouth went dry. a man full of many words gone silent. no witty remark. no words crafted with elegance. nothing. all jaskier could do was stand there.
"alright, uh … alright then." he’s been humble, been loyal, and tried so hard to swallow his pride all along — he’s not a perfect travel companion. he knows that. though, geralt didn’t have to rub it in like that. like a salt in wound, his heart twisted in a way he’s never felt before. it was as if a knife stabbed his heart, something sharp and sudden. for a mere moment, jaskier couldn’t breathe.
what was jaskier supposed to do? would he leave his muse? would he leave the witcher he knew is dangerous to travel with? he could gather the story from the others. he could turn around. jaskier could go. he could tell geralt that he’d see him around.
none of that happened and instead something in jaskier snapped.
he did not come all this way to be yelled at, to get all the blame poured onto him, and to be absolutely degraded like this. he didn’t suffer all this time to be the target of anger from the witcher. he wasn’t going to stand idly with this.
"no."
for the first time jaskier didn’t sound cheery. his voice dipped low, resonating deeply with his whole chest, and he wasn’t afraid to raise his voice.
"no?" geralt echoed, now turning to face jaskier. he had regretted those words, but there was no turning back from it. it has been said and done. now he’d have to pay for the words he uttered.
"yes, you heard me right. no. i’m not going to fucking stand here and take all the blame because you said 'fuck you' to destiny." this flip switched in jaskier and he felt this pent up anger from twenty-two years finally come to fruition. "i understand that i’m not a worthy travel companion and i’ve fallen short on many times, but that gives you no fucking right to yell at me for all the shit that’s happened to you all because of the fact you can’t own up to a promise made by destiny."
and at this point, jaskier couldn’t stop talking. geralt better regret those words after this with the words the bard will use to lash out. rightfully so. "news flash, geralt! running from destiny has it’s consequences and it’s not my fucking fault!" tears stung his eyes. oh, but he isn’t finished yet.
"have you ever for once considered all that i’ve done for you? i’ve sung you praises. if it weren’t for me, you would still be known as the butcher of blaviken — who earns you the coin, huh? who makes sure you earn the right amount of coin for a hunt? who goes out of their way to build a reputation for you, geralt? who stuck by your side through thick and thin, huh? who was it, geralt? who made sure you had the finest inn? who took care of your wounds, hm? care to tell, geralt?"
jaskier didn’t give a chance for geralt to answer, standing over him and staring him down. he points at himself and spoke through gritted teeth, tears falling now down his cheeks. "it was me."
"i could’ve left you geralt. i could’ve walked away at some point, at any point yet i stood by every single fucking second. i lo—— for some god forsaken reason, melitele only knows, i care for you deeply. i walked by your side for twenty-two years — i bet you didn’t know that either. you know nothing because you’re too fucking stubborn and emotionally complicated to understand how i feel or how i’ve suffered by your side all this time!"
never had jaskier’s voice raised this loud before. it was strained. his words were seething from the mouth. every word was through gritted teeth and tears now pouring down his face.
he felt foolish to cry in front of geralt, but he did not care. he didn’t care how ridiculous he looked. he wanted geralt to see how broken he feels. how he should feel embarrassed, feel regret for every wrong he has done to jaskier, and feel downright disgraced for trying to cross a bard.
never underestimate a bard.
"if you don’t want me, then see if i care! if you want me out of your life so i don’t shovel your shit, then fine! i don’t want to see your swords or— or your stupid hair ever again! if i do, i won’t ever travel with you again. to be treated like dirt? oh, i’d rather be slowly ripped apart by a drowner than be mistreated by you. i’ll shut my mouth and i’ll let you go. would that be good for you?"
that was the final straw for jaskier. his words echoed, yelling at the top of his lungs before toning it down by taking another step towards geralt. and he saw that step back the witcher did, the way his amber eyes flickered with flashes of conflicting emotions. he could tell geralt wanted to say something, but why try? jaskier knows geralt better than anyone else. he wouldn’t dare say another word.
"i hope to never see you around, geralt. i hope that one day you’ll see just how much a monster you truly were to me. and don’t say it’s because you’re a witcher. you chose to have me around. now, i see you’ve chosen to throw me out."
taking in a deep breath, one that was shaky and quivering as his body tensed up with the next words. "goodbye, geralt." with a final huff, he turned around to suck in the last bit of tears. he stopped for a moment then continued to walk. he’d process it later, but now? he’s glad he finally lashed out at geralt. he wasn’t going to stand by like that anymore and in all honesty? jaskier felt good for standing on his own two feet.
geralt on the other hand? he stood there, frozen in time and completely paralyzed by waves of emotions. actual, human emotions. geralt watched as jaskier walked away, his back now turned away from him. he would never see the bard again. he’d lost the one good thing in his life. he fucked up everything again. there were only two words that escaped the witcher’s lips into the wisps of air.
"i’m sorry."
but it was too late. jaskier is long gone. he’d start his own story— without the witcher. jaskier would move on while geralt lives with the regret. nothing could change the damage he’s done.
the witcher and the bard have finally parted their ways. forever.
Tags: panic attacks, ptsd, anxiety, jaskier whump, mental health issues
Word count: 958
Chapters: 1/1
Completed: yes
Summary: Jaskier experiences panic attacks in the months following his encounter with Rience
Read it on ao3 here
@jaskierwhumpweek
The first time it happened Jaskier was alone with no idea what was going on or what to do about it.
He had been exploring the market place of the town they were staying in while Geralt went to look into a contract. Several people in the small town had been hurt by an unidentified creature, as Geralt wasn't sure what he was facing Jaskier was left behind. Nothing unusual about that, much as Jaskier liked to tag along he was also a fan of not being hurt by hungry beasts.
Everything was fine, at least until the street performer he was passing began to breathe fire.
It had been a few months since the nightmare that was Rience, but fire was not something he enjoyed being near even now.
The unexpected flames brought his usually mild fear to the forefront of his mind until he found himself starting to truly panic. Gasping for breath, he took off in what he hoped was the direction of the Inn.
When he finally came down from his panic he found himself on the floor of the room he was sharing with Geralt at the Inn. His chest ached from his frantic, too fast breathing, his nails digging into the palms of his hands almost hard enough to draw blood.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, when he finally felt as though he could form words once more. He sat there trembling for what felt like hours, until finally he managed to unclench all his too tight muscles and make his way off the floor.
By the time Geralt was back Jaskier had felt alright enough to fake it until he collapsed into bed, albeit much earlier than normal. He felt drained and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep it off.
Geralt had given him a long hard look before seemingly accepting his excuse of being tired.
After that first awful time, Jaskier tried to avoid similar situations though he found fire in general more difficult to be around. It was like one wrong moment, one small flame could send him spiralling back to that night.
He made it two months before it truly happened again. This time Geralt was with him when it happened.
They had made it back to Kaer Morhen just before the path to the keep had been made impassable by the snow. They were both freezing, and it was later in the evening than they had wanted to arrive. While Geralt got Roach settled, Jaskier had allowed Eskel to lead him through the darkened halls to Geralt's room.
Jaskier had been there before of course but Eskel insisted, and Jaskier was too cold and tired to argue.
Eskel didn't know the details of what had happened with Rience, he certainly didn't know about Jaskier's reaction to the fire breathing performer during the Autumn. Nevermind the multitude of near misses since. Without knowing this Eskel had led the bard to a dark room and lit the fireplace with Igni.
Logically, Jaskier knew it was Eskel, but logic held no sway in that moment.
In the dark, the magically lit fire burning before him sent him hurtling back to the moment he had awoken in the tavern, Rience using the fire he controlled to light the room, or leave him in pitch darkness.
He could feel his knees hit the ground, hear his breathing speed up until he was gasping for air. A part of him was aware that Eskel was saying his name but he couldn't seem to escape the memory of being trapped with the fire fucker.
Finally he became aware of Geralt saying his name, then reassuring words were being murmured softly to him, a hand was gripping his own like a lifeline in the dark.
After what might have been minutes but could have easily been hours, Jaskier's panic began to fade from an overwhelming roar to a dull buzzing. He was aware of his surroundings, of the fact that Rience was nowhere near. He was also aware that he had probably scared the shit out of both Eskel and Geralt.
"Fuck GeraIt I'm so sorry, is Eskel alright?"
GeraIt pulled back to look Jaskier in the eye before raising an eyebrow.
"Is Eskel alright? Jask, Eskel is fine. It's you I'm worried about. What the fuck was that? Has that happened before?"
"Only once," Jaskier answered after a long moment of silence. "A few months ago, you were on a hunt, or investigating for one…anyway I saw a street performer breathing fire and it was like I was back there, with Rience. I…I guess the same thing happened when Eskel lit the hearth."
In his typical silence, Geralt helped Jaskier up off the floor and led him to the bed. Once Jaskier was sitting on the mattress, Geralt helped remove the bard's shoes, before removing his own boots and armour. He then sat beside Jaskier, pulling the brunette into his arms. Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, leaning into GeraIt's embrace.
Jaskier felt exhausted, between the trek to the keep, and the panic attack he felt as though he could sleep for a week.
"Come on Jask, we can talk about this more later, but for now just get some rest and I'll be here for you when you need me. Just promise not to hide something like this again?"
Jaskier sniffled slightly but nodded, Iaying back on the bed and tugging Geralt along with him.
Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier 's forehead, then a kiss to each cheek before finally pressing a soft kiss to his wind chapped lips.
"Sleep Jask," Geralt murmured.
Feeling wrung out Jaskier could do nothing but close his eyes and let sleep claim him.
Summary: You had a bad feeling when Jaskier left the tavern. Turns out your worry was warranted when you find him pinned in an alleyway but a jaded husband.
Pre-S1 E5
A/N: This takes place in Bēstiārium, but you don’t have to know anything about the story for context.
Julian was hiding in his closet as his father's angry voice rang through the estate. His entire body was trembling.
Earlier, he had been playing in the gardens, something his father had forbidden, but all the plants and animals were just too fascinating to not look at. Julian had been careful, not letting anyone see him, but then he had lost track of time.
A maid had been sent out to look for him and when she had found him in a field of buttercups she immediately had run to tattle on him to his father.
Julian hiccuped and tried to suppress his sobs. Why wouldn't his father let him have a little bit of fun?
He began to cry in earnest when his father finally found him.
—
As Julian got older his father only got stricter.
No talking when adults are speaking. Always listen. Don't run. Pay attention. Stop crying.
But the stricter his father got, the more rebellious Julian became.
For every boring meeting he spent twice the time out in the woods. He learned to play the flute in secret. A stable boy showed him how to whittle a rudimentary flute. The sound was awful, but it was Julian's. He created that.
Creating became Julian's new outlet. He began to draw, to sing, to write, to play.
When his father found his notes of poetry, he told the servants to burn them all and to make sure to burn each future paper they saw.
His drawings would have found the same fate if Julian hadn't hid them with the stable boy.
He didn't cry when his father made him watch how the servants burned his very soul. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
Only hours later in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep, he broke down, crying bitter tears of betrayal.
—
Julian was fourteen when he kissed the stable boy for the first time. Patryk was already fifteen and seemed to know all the secrets of the world.
Patryk was the one to introduce him to the lute. It had gotten little damaged, so a bard had left it behind.
The first time Julian stroked one of the strings, it felt like his entire being changed. That one single sound called out to him like nothing had before. In that very moment he knew who he wanted to become.
He spent every single moment of his free time learning how to play the lute. Patryk always told him he had real talent, so when he felt he was good enough he went to his father to tell him about wanting to become a bard.
His father of course thought very little of his idea.
"You are viscount and you will get those silly ideas out of your head right now. Never speak of this again."
Julian had expected that reaction, but it was disheartening anyway.
Julian was fifteen when his father found the lute.
He was fifteen when his father saw him kiss Patryk.
He was fifteen when Patryk was bound to the pillory and whipped until his cries fell silent.
It was the last time he saw Patryk.
—
That day something broke inside of Julian. He had always held hope that one day things would turn around. Not anymore.
Where there once had been a boy who always smiled, there now was an empty shell.
Julian went through the motions of each day as if he was controlled by something else.
He sat quietly in meetings, never spoke out of turn, and always obeyed.
His father began to praise him for his diligence and his obedience.
"Finally we can make a proper Pankratz out of you."
The old Julian would have felt sick hearing those words, but the current one only smiled. His soul was gone, but at least he had his father's love.
—
Julian slept most of his free time.
When his father forced him to go to parties to meet proper young ladies, he went without complaint. He smiled and flirted through the entire evening, even when he felt like death warmed over.
Julian did what his father asked, he put on a mask and played the part of the perfect son and as soon as he was alone he fell apart like a puppet whose strings you cut.
He was always exhausted, but no matter how much he slept he never felt rested.
His father became impatient with him.
"Be more proactive, smile for real for once, stop being so lifeless."
It was the only request he couldn't fulfill.
Julian thought to himself that if he could fall asleep and never wake up again, then that would be ideal.
—
Julian was sitting under a tree.
His father had told him to get out, do something, anything really, just not sit at home.
So Julian went and walked until he couldn't see his father's estate anymore.
The wind was rustling through the leaves and bees were buzzing all around him, but Julian noticed none of that.
A bee landed on his hand. Disinterested, he watched it for a moment before he shooed it away.
Life truly was bleak.
Something nagged at the edge of his mind. Something that had been dormant for way too long. It annoyed Julian and he tried to get rid of it, but the feeling of urgency grew.
Finally he registered what his subconscious had picked up on. There was singing in the distance accompanied by a lute.
Julian's heart began to race. He shouldn't be here. His father would be angry. He would punish him again and yet Julian couldn't move.
Around the bend in the road a person appeared. They were dressed in colourful clothes and a ridiculous hat adorned their head. Julian held his breath.
As the bard, for it must be one, came closer, the song became clearer. It filled Julian with emotions he didn't want to feel, hopes and dreams he never wanted to think about again.
Tears were clouding his vision and his heart ached like it hadn't done in years.
The bard nodded at him in passing, not interrupting his song for even a second.
Julian was shaking.
He later wouldn't know what made him do it, but he called after the bard.
"Good sir, where did you learn your trade?" If the bard noticed how much his voice shook he didn't let it show. He stopped his singing but never his playing.
"In Oxenfurt of course!" the bard called back. "I am a master of the seven liberal arts. Now I travel through the lands and sing to my heart's content."
With a deep bow that looked so theatrical it might have given Julian's father a stroke, the bard disappeared into the woods.
His music stayed with Julian, though.
Julian's heart was racing. Fear, hope and panic battled inside his chest and paralysed he sat on the ground.
He had to do something.
He shouldn't though.
Dragging his feet, he rushed back home.
His father was gone on a visit to a friend and the servants didn't pay attention to Julian.
He threw a bunch of his clothes together in a bag and vomited into the chamber pot.
Grabbing everything of value he could carry and sell, he rushed out of the house while his head screamed to turn around as long as his father hadn't found out yet.
It was late. The merchants had already closed for the day and the farmers were home, so Julian managed to evade most people and hide behind a cloak he stole from a servant on his way out.
The docks were busier, full of drunken sailors and Julian marched straight to the person that looked like the most sober captain.
"I need passage to Oxenfurt."
The captain looked him up and down critically.
"Aren't you the little lordling?"
Julian resisted the urge to flee.
"I have enough money to make sure you never say that again."
The captain grinned and broke out laughing.
"Alright little stowaway, no noble has ever entered my ship if the Lord asks."
The passage to Oxenfurt was miserable.
Julian was sea sick for the most part and eaten alive by anxiety. What on earth was he thinking?
As soon as they reached Oxenfurt he booked the first inn he could get, bathed, and slept for an entire day. When he woke the next morning he forced down some breakfast and went up to the university.
He was feeling queasy. His legs were liquid and his stomach was ready to expel what little food he had managed to choke down.
The entrance was buzzing with students who were looking to sign up for the winter semester and before he knew what was happening he got swept up in the masses.
Was he insane? He hadn't played the lute in ages and was constantly exhausted, how could ever hope to become anything?
And yet, he didn't turn around. His heart raced, raced to the beat of the song of the bard and too soon yet still not soon enough he stood in front of the woman signing them all up.
"Name, please," she drawled.
Who was he? Who was he supposed to be? He couldn't sing up with Julian Pankratz, he didn't want to be that person anymore.
Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Prompt: Exhaustion
Tags: Exhaustion, jaskier whump, post season 2, post relationship but also pre relationship
Word count: 1355
Chapters: 1/1
Completed: yes
Summary: After the fight with Deathless Mother Jaskier is exhausted but ignores his own needs until he can't ignore them anymore.
Link: read it on ao3 here
@jaskierwhumpweek
Jaskier felt like he could sleep for a fucking year.
He had never been so utterly exhausted, so thoroughly wrung out in his life.
The sleepless nights helping elves as the Sandpiper, the fucking torture, going to prison, and let's not forget the Deathless Mother and Ciri's possession. The terrible loss of so many Witchers from a place that should have been safe, from their home.
Yet, he knew he could not rest, not yet.
There was work to be done and he needed to pull his weight. The Keep had already been half ruined even before hell had been unleashed upon them, now the main hall of the Keep was almost destroyed.
So he pushed aside the way his limbs felt so heavy he could hardly hold himself up, the way his eyes burned even when closed, and set about helping wherever he could.
He found himself helping Lambert move broken furniture, helping Coen collect medallions from the fallen witchers. He found himself on hands and knees scrubbing blood from the floor. Until finally, he found himself face to face with a Cintran Princess, turned Witcher trainee who was looking as though she would burst into tears at the slightest provocation.
" Ciri?" Jaskier asked after a few moments silence, "Ciri are you alright? Actually, of course you aren't. Stupid question to ask you at a time like this. I know there is no way that you could possibly be alright my dear, but is there anything I can do to help you?"
Ciri looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together in what must have been a nervous habit. Finally she seemed to steel herself and faced him once more.
"Could you sing for me?"
Jaskier gave the girl a tired smile and nodded.
"Of course. How about we head to your room and I'll sing you a song or two to help you sleep?"
"Thank you, I'm not sure I can sleep after…well, after all that, but thank you."
She led Jaskier further into the keep until she opened a door to a small, freezing cold room.
Jaskier looked appalled at the freezing room and shook his head in mute horror.
"This is your room?" he finally asked, the words hard to get out from sheer disbelief.
Ciri just nodded.
"Right, we are going to find GeraIt."
Jaskier set off back towards the hall where he had last seen Geralt. By the time they found him, Jaskier was feeling his exhaustion deep within his very bones, his vision beginning to go hazy around the edges. But he was determined that Ciri would not spend another night in that freezing closet of a room.
"Geralt we need to talk about Ciri's sleeping arrangements," the bard said, coming to a stop before the white haired witcher.
"Not really the time Jaskier," Geralt replied as he hefted more broken stones into his arms to be moved to a pile with other rubble and debris from the fight.
Jaskier followed Geralt, determined to help Ciri in any way he could.
"No Geralt, that girl has been through enough, please do not tell me you think her room is acceptable?"
Geralt sighed and turned to face Jaskier knowing the bard wouldn't let this go if he didn't.
"Ciri is sleeping where all trainee Witcher's have stayed, Jaskier. It's what she wanted."
Jaskier ran a hand down his face, his exhaustion forgotten momentarily in exasperation.
"My dear, she may wish to be a Witcher now but she was a princess up until recently. A very fucking traumatised one at that. The poor child needs a room that is not half filled with snow. How she hasn't fucking frozen to death I don't even know. Now tell me where she can sleep?"
Geralt looked guilty for a moment as though he realised he should have done better. He simply nodded once then turned on his heel and left the room, Jaskier and Ciri following.
Jaskier wasn't really aware as he followed Geralt down various passageways, lost in exhaustion he only came back to himself when Geralt stopped to open a door to a bedroom.
The room was cold, because of course it was, but the windows were intact and there was a small hearth. Geralt set about lighting a fire while Jaskier helped Ciri into the small bed, the girl looked ready to fall asleep on her feet.
Once Ciri was settled Jaskier tucked her in and promised her a song the next day.
Ciri nodded sleepily, murmured a thank you and closed her eyes.
With Ciri as good as asleep, both men left the room quietly.
Back out in the hall Jaskier's own lack of sleep caught up with him, the bard stumbling as he tried to set off back down the hall.
Strong arms caught him around the waist, stopping him from falling face first to the stone floor.
"Jaskier, you alright?" GeraIt's voice rumbled in his ear.
Jaskier tried to answer but he couldn't seem to find the words, his ears were ringing and his vision had gone fuzzy. He faintly registered Geralt's startled cry of 'fuck' before everything went dark.
When Jaskier woke he was not in the room he had commandeered when he arrived at Kaer Morhen. No, this room felt far more lived in. He was covered in warm furs, there was a fire crackling in the small hearth and there were a few personal items around the room, a few books and some very familiar swords hanging on the wall. He was in Geralt's room.
Just as he reached this conclusion the Witcher in question opened the door. He had a tray in his arms with what appeared to be a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge.
"Geralt? What happened?"
Instead of answering, Geralt just sat the tray on the bed within easy reach of the bard then moved to sit in front of the fire.
He watched in silence as Jaskier drank his tea and ate his breakfast. When Jaskier was done Geralt retrieved the tray, placing it near the door before coming to sit beside Jaskier on the bed.
"What happened is that you pushed yourself so far past your limits that you passed out. You were out for the rest of the day and night," Geralt paused as though he was debating whether or not to say something more. Finally he seemed to reach a decision, reaching out for the bard's hand and giving it a light squeeze. "You scared the shit out of me Jask, please don't do that again."
"Sorry my dear, there had just been so much going on…it's been a long few days. Months really if I'm honest. Smuggling elves, torture and prison followed by a crazy night of possession and monsters really takes it out of a man," Jaskier explained, fighting back a yawn despite the apparently long sleep he had just woken on.
"Wait, torture and smuggling elves? What the fuck?"
Jaskier looked at Geralt in confusion, "Didn't Yennefer tell you I was in Oxenfurt?"
"Yes but she just said you were in trouble, I found you in a prison cell Jaskier and assumed that was the trouble."
"Ah well that makes me feel a little better actually. I did think you might have wanted to know about what happened with the whole torture thing but you never asked and quite frankly I didn't want to think about it," Jaskier looked at their still joined hands and tried not to think about his time with the fire mage, barely suppressing a shudder.
"I won't push but you can talk to me when you're ready. I know I fucked up after the dragon hunt but I don't want to lose you again."
"Thank you Geralt, maybe not now but soon. Now I'm still tired and you look wrecked. Will you join me for a little while?"
Geralt nodded and climbed under the covers, wrapping his arms around the bard. They had a lot to talk about but for now they would just enjoy being in each other's company once more.
Tags: public whipping, pillory, blood and injury,hurt/comfort, Jaskier has a bad time in this, mild sexual references and old fashioned views about virginity.
Word Count: 2.4k
1/1
Completed: yes
Summary: Jaskier lands himself in trouble again, execpt this time in a town that likes that adopts cruel methods of punishment
Also on AO3
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Geralt knew when he headed into town that there was something off. Sometimes, located away from the cities, towns such as this still held archaic views and practices. Not that a lot of the cities were much better. They just hid it under a veil of sensibility and forward thinking. But places like this, often ruled over by minor lords who thought themselves higher than their station, was not a place in which Geralt liked to linger. He would check if there were any contracts and make himself scarce. With any luck, he could just pass through here.
He pulled his cloak tighter against the odd looks from the townsfolk as they passed by. They were in a rush. It took him a moment to realise that they were all headed the same way. Curiously, he followed. The people were gathering at the main square in town – or what counted as a such around here. Geralt circled the perimeter of the gathering, keeping his distance should things go south. The crowd packed themselves around a platform, on which stood a pillory. The witcher sighed. Some poor sap was about to be thrown to the dogs. The crowd was riled up already, waiting impatiently. Geralt had been around long enough to be used to the fact that this classed as entertainment to people. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though. He decided to try and slip away before it started. He pushed his way back to where he had come from, but not before the crowd erupted in jeers.
A man was being brought out in shackles by two guards and accompanied by a wealthy looking man who had a smugness of someone with authority. He was brought to the front of the platform for the crowd to leer at. Geralt froze. The man in shackles, shivering in the cold in front of the crowd, was Jaskier. He almost didn’t believe it, if not for the words then uttered that confirmed it.
Summary: After a year apart, you and Jaskier miss each other deeply. Thank Melitele you walked into the right tavern at the right time.
Pre S1 E4
A/N: This takes place in Bēstiārium, but you don’t have to know anything about the story for context. I’m entirely loving the ending, but I’ll probably fix it later.
Warning : This is a death fic, so yeah… it's sad but there is a kind of happy ending. It displays a disturbing mind set so don't read if you can be triggered by depression and mourning. There is a tad of alcoholism in there too but this is not the major issue.
Spoilers warning : It contains spoilers from books that are after S2 of netflix!witcher, and basically a part of the ending is discussed so... if you don't want to be spoiled, stop there right now :). I twisted some parts to fit my narrative but it's still spoilery. Now, you've been warned !
Summary: The Continent had drastically changed but some beacons of the past are still there, wandering in the garden of the academy of Oxenfurt. Elika, a young student, will meet this strange man that never smiles and would change her life, somehow...
Tags: canon book character death, grief and mourning, feelings of loss
word count: 1.3k
1/1
Completed: yes
Summary: Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri and Jaskier head back to the Temple of Melitele for some respite. When Jaskier can’t sleep, he heads to library and finds a book that brings up memories he had tried to bury.
A/N: this is a sad fic with some comfort at the end.
Also on AO3
———————————————–
The temple of Melitele was a sight for sore eyes. Nestled amongst the hills, it offered respite. And a bath. Jaskier was desperate for a bath. It had been a long from Kaer Morhen – with a few stops on the way to rest – to reach here. Yennefer wanted a place to train Ciri that was anything but an old, crumbling witcher keep. Together, she and Geralt agreed on the temple, with Geralt mumbling something about apologising to Nenneke for the mess last time. Jaskier knew nothing of what they were talking about. A lot seemed to have happened while they were apart. He had been briefed a little about what happened. He knew that they had been here before while he was in a cell in Oxenfurt, and that something had happened to make them leave in a hurry. But he was not privy to the finer details.
They were greeted at the gates by a priestess. A young woman who appeared not at all surprised to see them. They were led to Nenneke who offered a warm greeting to Geralt, a gracious welcome to Yennefer and Ciri, and a polite one to him. He gave an exaggerated bow in return. He couldn’t help it. There was always fun in winding her up. It had the desired effect as she shooed him away to get himself settled. Or rather, out of her sight.
Tags: description of torture and nothing super triggering. jaskier has ptsd. hurt/comfort. just good ole' whump for our favorite bard! obviously set post s2.
Word count: 1653.
Chapters: 1/1.
Completed: yes.
Summary:
jaskier has a flashback of rience. yennefer is by his side.
Creator's Note:
i’ve actually never written for yennskier before so! i decided to give it a try. i’m sorry if yennefer seems ooc at points i really tried my best! enjoy fellow dear hearts <3
@jaskierwhumpweek
jaskier could hear that sinister voice echo in his mind, pestering him at every waking moment. and quite unfortunately, his nightmares are plagued with flashbacks of that horrid encounter with fire fucker. he didn’t know who the man was, but whoever he was — jaskier would forever hate him.
the flashes of memory torment him nightly, even throughout the day. every time he closed his eyes he could he hear that snap, then the burst of flames that would appear on his finger tips. he recalls the dread that swept over him, how every ounce of being wished he could run away. how could he forget the flames inching near his face?
he could feel the fire underneath his fingers, the skin be slowly ripped away and the numbness take over instantly. he could feel each blow sent to his body, the blood dribbling down from his mouth left a stingy aftertaste of iron. he could still taste it.
hours of torture wouldn’t leave his mind, like a record stuck on loop. he has reminders of the pain that fire fucker did to him. the bruises along his stomach, the burns on his fingers, and fire seems to be everywhere around him. he swears it’s no longer a dream, it feels real, all of it just feels so real—
"jaskier! wake up!"
a familiar voice called for him, shaking him to be brought back to reality. almost immediately, jaskier’s eyes opened wide as deer in headlight’s and he shot up from the makeshift bed. his heart pounded against his chest, hammering his rib cage and thumping so loud he could hear every pump. his vision remained blurred and he scrambled to the closest wall.
"i— wha— ho— h— i—" words weren’t able to form. oh sweet melitele, it felt like he couldn’t breath. it felt as if the whole world is closing in on him and he can’t breath. he tries grasping for air, in turn looking for something to grab to ground him back in reality. as his arms thrashed about, it finally landed onto someone’s arm. definitely not geralt. last time jaskier checked, he did not have a female voice.
"breathe, jaskier. breathe." there was a softness to the voice, yet it still edged with urgency. once his vision focused, he recognized who that is. yennefer. of course it would be. she seemed to be the only one who cared about him nowadays. "breathe with me, yeah?" she urged him to go along, ready to start.
all jaskier managed to do was nod, examining her breath in and out then shakily following along. she did it a couple of times and each time he followed through, he could feel his heart start to slow down and so did his breathing. it took a couple more before he could consider his breathing 'normal'.
"t-thank you …" his voice barely over a whisper, still tense from before.
"ah, finally a thank you." it wasn’t much, but jaskier could spot that faint smile on her face as she spoke.
"now, don’t let it get to your head." jaskier nearly forgot why he was so wound up in the first place, his body now relaxing and feeling the ghost of a smile paint his lips.
"too late, bardling." yennefer quips, standing up from the bed and remained by the doorway. "come now, let’s go on a walk."
an eyebrow quirked up, looking mildly confused. he couldn’t just refuse. he knows that’s not a request, nor was it a question. jaskier could only slowly push himself off the bed, walking over to her.
without letting jaskier say a word, yennefer offered a content hum before walking down the hallway. and in turn, jaskier only felt even more confused. where is she taking him? what’s going on? for some reason, he thought there had to be some sort of ulterior motive.
the two walked in silence, yennefer walking with her head held high and jaskier slouched with his head hung low. it didn’t take long until the quiet bothered jaskier— the more quiet it got, the more he could hear rience’s voice boom in his mind.
"… why are you being so nice to me?" finally jaskier got some courage to speak up, his voice quiet and shaky.
"hm?" yennefer slowly turned her head to face him. "well," her lips pressed together and drew into a thin line, "i suppose i don’t know. you’ve been kind to me, shouldn’t i return the favor?" she pauses, that faint smile coming to shine through again. "plus, you’re not as annoying as i thought you would be."
"you don’t have to, though." jaskier didn’t need to fool himself into thinking someone cares again, that only left him abandoned and heartbroken.
"… but i want to." there was a glint of sincerity in her voice, soft and almost angelic. her tone didn’t sound demeaning nor cruel. for a second that tough demeanor of a witch who’s power-hungry diminished.
that caught jaskier off guard, stopping in his tracks. "you … want to? are you sure you’re not a doppler?" the tone of his voice carried a light-hearted spirit, though his face had a more serious look to it.
"don’t make me regret waking you up." ah, there was that cold-hearted tone that is wired with sternness. yet, that sincerity still lingered in her voice.
"got it." he threw his hands up in surrender, stifling up a small bit of laughter.
and the two continued to walk around the halls of kaer morhen, small talk here and there to keep the silence away. it wasn’t much, but jaskier appreciated it.
well, that is until they passed one of the many fireplaces in the witcher keep. it’s practical, but to jaskier at that moment? the flames somehow managed to gather all his attention. jaskier could taste the blood in his mouth, feel every blow to the body, and lost sensation of his fingers — the flashback came to haunt him again. with no thinking, jaskier drove himself up the nearest wall while grasping tightly onto his chest. his heart rate picked up in speed and his breathing became faster. he can’t be there again. not again. not again!
"jaskier!"
it was yennefer, but jaskier was far too gone to even remember that he’s not there in that bad place again. he kept muttering to himself, "please, no" over and over again under his breath. he slid down the wall, grabbing onto his chest hoping that would help with it. he felt helpless. hopeless.
suddenly, he felt someone hold onto him and at first he tried to fight back. he tried to get away, to run away. yet, he was anchored down by something. he couldn’t get away. jaskier is trapped. all he could do was succumb to the anchor and hold onto that anchor. that anchor being yennefer.
she hadn’t realized just how bad jaskier has been plagued by these flashbacks until now. she held him close, letting his head lay on her chest, and gently rubbing his back with loose circles. "sh… sh…"
it wasn’t easy to comfort, but she’d try. she wouldn’t say it out loud nor admit it, though it did hurt to see jaskier like this. she’s so used to see him be such a optimistic twit, always so joyous and carry himself with charm. she could’ve thought this was pathetic, leave him behind, but she couldn’t do it. she made an accord with the gods that moment; that if anyone were to ever harm him, they would not fear a man. oh, no, but a woman that they’d kneel and plea to.
jaskier erupted into sobs, letting everything out that he held in for so long. he sobbed, even if no tears came out. he could barely breathe, but this time from how much tears fell. the sobs racked his whole body, weeping with every ounce of his body. his cheery disposition completely faded as raw emotions clawed out. he cried in yennefer’s arms. he slumped into her hold and seemingly couldn’t stop.
"it’s okay… sh…" yennefer would whisper softly here and there, just keeping a quiet tone. she would run her hand through his hair, rubbing circles on his back in steady motion, and whisper soft 'it’s okay' or 'i’m here'. she would stay as long as possible. as long as he needed. oh, how she wished she could take his hand.
for a while jaskier could still hear rience’s voice bounce around in his mind, only seeing the flames near his face and burning his fingers. he would continue to mutter 'i’m sorry' under his breath and couldn’t stop crying. he’d hiccup, sniffle, and was such a mess. a complete mess. the more he heard yennefer’s voice, he realized the fire wasn’t there. that fire fucker wasn’t there. he’s okay. he’s fine. he’s still in kaer morhen. jaskier had nothing to worry about.
and he still doesn’t understand why yennefer is doing this. jaskier could pry himself away. he could just get up and leave. he had already been a burden to everyone, why continue to be one? why would anyone want a bard like him? one that’s broken, fractured into tiny million pieces — why?
it’s funny, though. it’s funny how jaskier didn’t feel like a burden around yennefer. he didn’t think of himself like a weight on someone’s shoulders. he hadn’t felt this safe in a long time. perhaps never in his life. sure, traveling with a witcher for all those years brought a measure of safety — but, there were still dangers lurking in the shadows. this feeling is different. he could stay here forever if he wanted to. he could deny it all he wants; hell, he could lie all he wants to. deep down jaskier knew something:
the truth is, jaskier felt safe in yennefer’s arms.
I wrote this for @jaskierwhumpweek day 2: mourning
Warning for past animal death. Read on Ao3
Jaskier is bouncing up and down on his feet. Last autumn he and Geralt had agreed to meet two days before the spring festivals in Ard Carraigh. Jaskier had arrived here a week early but he couldn't risk his chances of being too late.
He spent the last few days singing a drink, but now it is finally time for Geralt to arrive.
Jaskier nervously drums with his fingers on the stone wall behind him. Geralt wouldn't have forgotten him? Thankfully, before he can fall down a downward spiral of horror scenarios of why Geralt couldn't come, said witcher appears around the corner.
"Geralt!" he yells and runs towards him. Oh how happy Jaskier is to see him. Geralt dismounts before Jaksier can reach him and he catches the bard in his open arms.
"Oh I’ve missed you so much, dear witcher."
Geralt just hums, but Jaskier can see the pleased smile in his lips. Geralt likes to pretend he doesn't care about Jaskier, but he knows better. Next to them, Roach nickers. Laughing, Jaskier turns around.
"And of course I've missed you my darling Roach!"
Jaskier stretches out his hand, fully knowing that she will try biting him before he can even touch her, but to his surprise she lets him pet her on her neck.
Confused he wriggles out of Geralt's arm, missing the sudden sad expression on Geralt's face.
"Roach, did you finally find it in your beastly heart to love me?"
He continues to pet Roach, amazed by her behaviour. She has never allowed this before and he can't get the grin off his face.
Roach nudges him in the chest and nibbles at his clothes.
"Well you are truly changed!" he laughs. "Since when do you care about my clothes?"
She nudges him again and that's when he notices it. Those few grey hairs on the left side of her muzzle are missing.
Jaskier swallows heavily. He has an awful feeling about what this means.
"Did you get a makeover?" he chuckles nervously.
When he looks at Geralt his stomach drops. Geralt looks miserable as he has never seen him before.
"Geralt…this…this isn't my Roach is it?"
Geralt just looks to the ground and doesn't answer. Jaskier knows deep down what Geralt will tell him anyways, but he needs him to say it.
"Please, Geralt, — "
"No."
No.
One single word is enough to break his heart.
Tears spring to his eyes. This can't be happening.
"But…she isn't that old yet. My Roach is still in her prime!"
Geralt takes a deep breath. His voice is irritatingly calm when he speaks.
"She…there was a Griffin, only a few days after we parted and I…I wasn't fast enough."
Jaskier sobs.
He can't breathe anymore. It feels like there is a lump lodged in his throat and nothing can go through.
"Jaskier…" says Geralt, his voice full of concern. He steps closer and lays a hand on his shoulders, and that's what breaks the spell.
Jaskier's tears fall and a sob tears itself from his chest, so forcefully that it hurts his voice. Crying, he throws himself into Geralt's arms.
He doesn't know how long they are standing there while Jaskier sobs his heart out and Geralt tries to talk to him soothingly.
"I'm so sorry, Jask.
"She didn't suffer long.
"I buried her, so she will rest peacefully."
That makes Jaskier stop sobbing for a second and he pulls slightly away.
"Can we -hic- go visit her?"
Geralt smiles at him.
"Of course we can."
Jaskier leans back into Geralt's shoulder and cries some more until he gets nudged in the back.
"Ah, I'm so sorry, where are my manners?" He turns around in Geralt's arms. "I had you confused for an old friend of mine. Geralt, why don't you introduce me to this young lady?"
Geralt snorts a laugh.
"Roach, Jaskier. Jaskier, Roach," he says in his most deadpan voice. "I bought her in a small town a few days away from Kaer Morhen after winter."
Jaskier grabs Geralt’s arms and with a great flourish forces both of them into a bow. Geralt behind him grumbles, but Jaskier ignores that. Roach seems unimpressed.
"My lady, it's a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure we will have many fun adventures together."
Roach leans forward and nibbles on his hair.
"If she doesn't eat you first."
Jaskier nudges Geralt with his elbow, because he can hear the smirk in Geralt's voice. He pets Roach again, just for the novelty of finally being allowed to, but soon he sombers.
"Can we go now?"
"What about the spring festival? You insisted we go together."
"There will be more festivals, but only one time to properly mourn Roach."
Geralt behind him hums and tightens his arms one more time for a hug.
"Let's go then."
It is only a three days walk to the place where Geralt buried Roach and it hurts Jaskier to know that he has been so close to her the entire time.
On the third day Geralt suddenly leads them off the road through the bushes until they reach a little clearing on a hill.
"She’s got an amazing view from here," Jaskier says.
"Hm, that one always loved the pretty landscapes the most."
Jaskier laughs wetly as he remembers all the times Geralt tried to get her to move away from a beautiful scenery.
There is a huge patch of flowers on the ground with a stone next to it. As Jaskier steps closer he can see that somebody has crudely managed to engrave the name Roach into it.
Jaskier thought he had been done crying, but now his tears fall again. Carefully he kneels down next to the flower patch.
"Hello, my love. I miss you terribly, you know? There is no one left to bite me out of nowhere and kick me in the mornings. Do you know how hard it is for Geralt to get me going now?"
Behind him he can hear Geralt snort, but it sounds suspiciously shaky.
"Still, you were a good horse. You always carried Geralt to safety, didn't you? I know how many times he wouldn't have made it back to me without you, so thank you for that."
Geralt kneels down next to him.
"I'm sorry I couldn't do the same for her."
Jaskier turns to Geralt. His face is emotionless but tear streaks betray his grief. Carefully, Jaskier wipes them away.
"I know she isn't mad at you. And neither am I. These things happen. You tell me often enough."
Geralt huffs, a silent sob wrecking his body. Jaskier pulls Geralt into his arms. They sit like that for a long while, both mourning their lost friend.
Jaskier is the first to speak up.
"You remember the time she pushed me into a river?"
"Hm, you came out looking like a drenched cat."
"Unsurprisingly so."
Behind them Roach steps up and nibbles on Jaskier's hair.
"Well that is a habit that didn't need to change. My Roach at least never ate my things or me," he deadpans. "Except for that one doublet…"
Geralt sniffs and sits up straight.
"I hid her favourite snacks in that one."
Jaskier stares in shock at Geralt.
"You did what??? She destroyed my outfit days before a performance!!"
"It was blindingly orange and made you look like a fat bird."
"I had to buy a new outfit!"
"Roach and I liked the new one better."
"Oooohhhh you horrible witcher, just you wait!"
With that Geralt breaks and he bursts out laughing. His laughter is infectious and despite Jaskier wanting to stay angry he follows suit.
Still giggling Geralt eventually pulls them both up and back to the road.
At the edge of the clearing Jaskier stops again and looks back a final time.
The wind is softly rustling through the trees as the sun paints pictures with shadows on the ground. It's peaceful.
Truly a place worthy of Roach, Jaskier thinks.
Quickly he jumps after Geralt.
Before next winter he will bring back a proper headstone.
The Day Has Come Where I Have Died (Only To Find I’ve Come Alive)
Day 2 of @jaskierwhumpweek
Pairing: Geraskier
Characters: Jaskier/Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia
Prompt: flashback
Tags: trauma, blood, flashbacks, suffocation, crying, panic attacks, established relationship, hurt/comfort, past violence
Word count: 2,785
Chapters: 1/1
Summary: A familiar place forces Jaskier to relive the most horrifying experience of his life.
Creator’s notes: I’m still not completely sure if Jaskier remembered anything from the djinn’s attack, but I decided he did. Written for Jaskier Whump Week, I went with the flashback prompt.Please, heed the warnings!
Read on ao3
*
The day started off so well.
There was absolutely no indication whatsoever, that things would go so wrong.
But to be fair, there wasn’t any indication the last time, either. That appeared to be a normal day as well, until it really wasn’t anymore.
The Sun sat high on the sky, its rays warm and bright, beckoning the songbirds out of their hiding. The leaves of the trees were a harsh green color, the flowers spreading their delicate petals towards the sky in full bloom. The imagery in itself made Jaskier want to write a jaunty little song. He was feeling at his most comfortable walking next to Geralt and Roach; no monster or bandit has gotten in their way so far, so even Geralt seemed to have his guards down, listening to Jaskier’s chattering with a faint, but very fond smile.
“I’m just saying,” Jaskier continued his rambling from before, “that if it’s made from the finest silk, you need to reach deeply into your purse.”
“It’s still too much for a shirt, Jaskier.”
“Well, I am going to buy it!”
Geralt snorted softly. “If you have already made up your mind, why are you asking for my opinion?”
“Because, you will see me wearing it,” Jaskier purred, reaching up to give Geralt’s leg a small, teasing squeeze, “and I wanna know if you would find me pretty in it.”
Geralt reached down for his hand, brushing his fingers across Jaskier’s gently. “You know I find you pretty in anything.”
Jaskier preened at the compliment, his face breaking out into a wide grin. “So, does that mean I can buy that shirt?”
“I mean, it’s your money. But I don’t wanna hear you complaining when we don’t have enough coin for a normal room to stay in.”
“Oh, but I’ll just win enough for that in my next competition,” Jaskier laughed, “or, you know, I have a handsome, heroic witcher lover who will earn just enough in no time!”
The sound of a faint splash reached Jaskier’s ear, which meant there were fish around that they could eat for lunch. Jaskier turned his head towards the sound, and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
