While I love the idea of little Lambert being an absolutely resentful menace when he was brought to Kaer Morhen, what if he wasn't. What if he was quiet? What if he knew how to not draw attention to himself? What if he was largely forgettable?
He was brought in with a few other boys, malnourished and bruised. Everyone just assumed he was another orphan picked up along the way. The complicated mix of fear and relief and resentment he exuded only supported that assumption.
No one really put much stock into the fact that he learned to handle pain better and quicker than most of the other recruits. No one put stock into how sudden quick movements made him flinch defensively (and sometimes offensively). No one put stock into how every fight he was involved in was in the defense of a smaller more defenseless recruit. Only some of the instructors were given pause at how the lashings from punishments almost seemed to not phase him.
No one put much thought into the boy. Just another face. Another loss or another witcher. Nothing more, nothing less.
Except an older recruit or two. A novice witcher back for the winter. A seasoned witcher leaving in the spring. An instructor who has long since learned to stop cringing whenever dealing out lashings.
They see it. The marks of abuse all too familiar to them.
Hello hope you have a nice day and just for asking if you continue the fic So take a deep breath because this fic is so beautiful and i really want to now the following ?
Oh gosh yeah. It's been a mix of putting it off, occasionally forgetting, and being in a totally different headspace than when I was writing it. There was a lot going on when I stopped updating, and I've also run into some more changes as of late which is taking a bit of a toll on my ability to write anything.
But!
I do have the next major arc planned and I do keep extensive notes for the smaller details, so I am able to continue it no problem. W/ ofc the exception of the occasional writer's block.
There will be an update by March tho! That much I can promise.
So I am in a widely different headspace now than I was when I first started writing this fic, so I'm having trouble getting the feel and pace down. I'm still not giving up on it tho.
Just really sorry for not being able to update it.
I needed me a Jaskel Soulmate AU where Jaskier knows his soulmate’s a witcher, but he also knows it’s not Geralt. After wondering how that would happen, I finally came up w/ this!!
__
Imagine a world where soulmarks exist. While not exactly rare, they’re still fairly uncommon.
Little Jaskier’s soulmark is on the inside crook of his elbow. The face of a fierce silver wolf. For as unrealistic and stylized as it is, it’s still undeniably a wolf. His parents sneer at it. The servants and teachers are all uncomfortable when they see it. Little Jaskier, though? Oh how he loves it. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know its significance. But he loves it nonetheless.
Jaskier’s only five years old when he learns what a Witcher is. He’s only five years old when he’s taught to fear Witchers.
Jaskier’s twelve and he’s being held down as he begs and pleads and screams. He screams as the other boys bring a knife to his soulmark, laughing all the while. Because, what soulmate could a monster have than another monster?
Jaskier’s twelve when he makes the connection between his soulmark and Witchers.
He runs away less than a week later, wound still fresh, and ends up somewhere outside Oxenfurt. He decides to stay there, study there. The injury scars. He keeps it covered at all times with black cloth. Sometimes, it’s so tight it hurts. He never shows anyone his mark ever again.
–
Jaskier’s twenty-three when he meets Geralt, and he immediately recognizes the medallion. It’s the spitting image of what his soulmark looked like. He feels some residual anxiety from meeting a Witcher, but has learned humans can be just as monstrous as they claim Witchers to be. The black strip of cloth on his arm is proof enough.
So he takes a gamble and follows Geralt. And he continues to follow Geralt for years to come. He learns everything he was taught was a lie (something he’s suspected since the moment that knife touched his mark). He makes it his goal to change the world’s mind about Witchers. And if he hopes, deep down, that if he continues to follow Geralt he’ll meet his soulmate? Well, that’s his secret fantasy.
–
Years pass and eventually Geralt invites him up to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Jaskier says yes in a heartbeat. He’s as giddy as he is nervous and babbles the whole trip up.
When they get there, Eskel’s the one to greet them at the gate, not that Jaskier notices. He’s too busy still babbling nervously about nothing at all and removing his packs from his horse. He struggles to hold everything as he goes over to the two, intent on introducing himself to this new witcher. Except when he finally looks at Eskel, his breath catches and he drops everything he’s holding. He can do nothing but stare, pale and shaky, at the scarred face in front of him.
He doesn’t register how the man shifts so he stands with his scars less on display. He doesn’t register Geralt’s defensive and angry tone. He doesn’t register the third, angry, man who threatens him for making his brother uncomfortable in his own home. All Jaskier can think about is the shape of those scars.
Lambert’s outright hostile to him, not that Jaskier blames him. Geralt’s also cagey and defensive. Even Vesemir, despite keeping the peace between the wolves and the bard, makes his disappointment of Jaskier clear.
It takes another two weeks before Jaskier manages to catch Eskel alone and apologizes. He wants to explain himself, but every time he tries, his throat tightens and the words die on his lips. So instead, he works to befriend Eskel in earnest.
The first time Eskel smiles at him, really smiles at him (an entire month later), Jaskier feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. The way Eskel’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his lips curl awkwardly, the way his whole demeanor seems to light up. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. He can’t keep the dopey smile off his own face the whole day.
Eskel smiles more after that, and it seems to be enough for the others. Lambert’s no longer actively hostile and Geralt’s back to himself. Vesemir no longer looks at Jaskier with disappointment either. And if Jaskier scratches at the crook of his arm, that’s no ones business but his own.
Until, one night when Jaskier has long since stumbled off to bed, Lambert asks. It's just the three of them, Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel, still drinking in the kitchen.
“So what’s,” Lambert pauses to hiccup, “what’s with the bard’s arm?” He asks.
“Hmm?” Geralt grunts squinting at the cards in his hand.
“That damn bandage of his,” he continues motioning at the crook of his own elbow. “Wears it when he– when he fucken bathes too.”
“Maybe it’s covering a scar,” Eskel offers, “or a weird birthmark.”
Lambert scowls. “He’s got plenty other scars.”
Geralt snorts. “And weird birthmarks too,” he adds thinking about the vaguely cock shaped birthmark Jaskier has on his shoulder.
Lambert grumbles as Geralt and Eskel continue playing their game of gwent.
“What if it’s a soulmark?” He eventually asks.
“Humans don’t present them as easily as we do,” Eskel says at the same moment Geralt says:
“Not a chance.”
The two stare at him, clearly wanting an explanation.
Geralt grumbles and downs what’s left in his mug. “Jaskier’s a hopeless romantic,” he explains. “Wouldn’t shut up for weeks when he saw mine. And then he wouldn’t shut up for the better part of a godsdamned year after we finally met Yen,” he pours himself another drink and downs that too with a shudder. “Believe me, if he had one, we’d know.”
A few hours later, when Geralt’s fighting to stay awake, Lambert slams his mug on the table. It startles Eskel and Geralt enough that they’re more awake than they were an hour ago.
“I wanna know,” Lambert growls.
“Then ask him,” Eskel says.
Geralt yawns. “He always changes the subject.”
Lambert nods vigorously as Eskel frowns. “Then leave it.”
“But I wanna know!” Lambert complains.
Eskel gets up. “I’m not doing this,” he groans. “I’m going to bed.”
Lambert calls him a bitch as he leaves and grumbles into his drink. He and Geralt continue drinking for a few minutes before Lambert asks, “You grab him and I pull that damn cloth off?”
Geralt, too drunk and too tired to think about all the times Jaskier’s flinched when grabbed by the elbow, nods.
It surprisingly takes them a few days to catch Jaskier alone. He’s confused when Geralt grabs him but otherwise doesn’t struggle. It’s not until Lambert pulls at his sleeve that he panics.
Jaskier thrashes in their grip the moment he realizes what they’re doing. Decades old panic grips him as he screams and begs for them not to hurt him.
Lambert and Geralt stay frozen as Jaskier fleas down the hall. Vesemir is there demanding to know what happened while Eskel runs past them to catch up with Jaskier. Lambert and Geralt can only stare in the direction Jaskier fled, the stench of his fear hangs heavy in the air around them.
Geralt knows what Jaskier’s fear smells like. It’s hard not to when Jaskier often gets too close to a monster, but he has never smelled of fear because of a Witcher before. Not when he’d first seen Eskel. Not when Lambert threatened to gut him right after. And not even when the snow had finally blocked off the path down the mountain and he was subsequently trapped in the keep with four unwelcoming witchers.
They don’t see Jaskier for a solid week after that. They know he’s still in the keep, they can smell him in the kitchen, in the baths, through the halls, but they don’t actually see him. Lambert’s on edge, quicker to anger, and Geralt’s quieter, more prone to get lost in thought.
They both try to apologize, in their own way, standing outside Jaskier’s door. Jaskier doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a sound. The only reason they know he’s in there is because his heart’s racing and he smells of anxiety and residual panic.
Eventually Eskel’s able to coax him out and he tentatively resettles into the routine he’s established for himself. Jaskier now has a constant underlying scent of anxiety to him. He smells of panic whenever someone focuses on his arm too long.
It all comes to a head one evening. Vesemir reaches to touch Jaskier’s elbow to get his attention. Jaskier flinches so hard he nearly throws himself into the hearth they’re sitting around. He doesn’t smell of fear, but his panic is palpable. Vesemir apologizes but Jaskier assures him it’s fine, even as Lambert storms away shouting abuse and Geralt slinks away miserably.
Eskel cracks that night. It’s late, the others have all gone to their rooms in their attempts to avoid Jaskier, and it’s just Eskel and Jaskier in the library. Jaskier’s leaning against him, fighting to stay awake as Eskel simply enjoys his company.
“What…” Eskel asks tentatively. “Happened to your arm?”
Jaskier tenses against him, heart rate picking up as his hand goes to cover the spot. He sits up slowly, stiffly, and Eskel immediately kicks himself. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
But Jaskier shakes his head. “No it’s okay,” he says weakly. “It’s stupid really. It happened so long ago, almost thirty years,” he laughs shakily, voice impossibly quiet. “But I guess I still get scared someone’s gonna finish carving off my soulmark at times.”
Eskel feels like he’s been punched in the throat. Soulmarks are special. They’re Destiny’s will. All Witchers have soulmarks. Something about the trials make them emerge, almost like Destiny herself is desperately trying to preserve their humanity. Eskel knows his own soulmark all too well. Four little yellow flowers floating down a stream painted on his ribs. At times, if he just focuses on the general shape, they look like music notes. He knows the mark ties him to Jaskier. It’s why Jaskier’s initial reaction to him hurt so much.
“I’m sorry,” Eskel says lamely, because what else can he say? He could demand the name of the people that hurt Jaskier, but that won’t repair the damage. He could go after Geralt and Lambert again for their stupid stunt, but they’re suffering enough as it is and Jaskier doesn’t really hold it against them.
Jaskier barely shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’ve… actually wanted to show it to you for some time,” he admits quietly. His hands shake as he rolls up his tunic sleeve.
Eskel catches his wrist, stills the movement. “Stop,” he breathes. “You don’t have to.”
Jaskier leans towards him, his forehead coming to rest against Eskel’s. “Please,” he whispers.
Eskel reluctantly lets go. He watches as Jaskier halting works the black cloth off. There’s red marks across Jaskier’s skin where the edge of the cloth dug in too tightly. But Eskel’s breath and attention is immediately stolen by the mark. He feels fury and an unimaginable sadness wash over him in equal measures.
It looks exactly like the wolf school medallion. Or it would were it not for the angry scars distorting the right side of its face.
Eskel runs a thumb over it before he even realizes what he’s doing. Jaskier shivers at the touch and Eskel can smell the tears the bard is desperately trying to hold back. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to upset you when I saw you. It’s just…”
“The scars,” Eskel murmurs. “They’re identical.” He has a sick feeling that Jaskier’s mark was defiled the same day his face was slashed.
Jaskier explains himself fully that night, as he cries in Eskel’s arms. It feels strange to finally show his mark again after almost thirty years. He’s not sure if he’s scared or relieved or if its even good or bad. It just is.
The following morning, he’s understandably exhausted and spends breakfast tucked against Eskel’s side. Lambert and Geralt get to the kitchen and try to leave before the even enter it. Jaskier reeks of tears and misery and Eskel. Eskel asks them to at least stay for breakfast. Lambert still wants to run but seeing as how Geralt pitifully sits down, he refuses to be the only one that runs and sits down too. Breakfast is awkward with how exhausted Jaskier looks and smells, they’re both happy to go off and do their chores for once.
Jaskier spends most of the morning sleeping in Eskel’s room. When he emerges for dinner, it’s almost like nothing’s happened. He’s back to his loud and carefree self. The smell of anxiety is almost unnoticeable now. Vesemir claps him on the shoulder and Geralt’s less quiet.
Lambert’s still unsettled, though, still easy to anger and prone to snapping. He doesn’t believe the bard’s act for a second. That level of fear can’t just be forgiven that easily. It has nothing to do with the fact that it was his plan that caused that reaction and made his brothers upset.
His brothers and Vesemir tell him the bard’s fine. Even Jaskier himself assures him that it’s okay. He doesn’t believe it for a second. No amount of chattering with Geralt, or helping Vesemir in the library, or spending nights with Eskel will convince him.
But maybe seeing how Jaskier lets Eskel settle a hand over his arm helps. Seeing how Jaskier smiles all shy and happy when it happens helps. Seeing how Eskel returns the looks helps. Seeing how Eskel doesn’t shy away when Jaskier touches his scars helps.
Maybe seeing and smelling how happy the two are helps ease the guilt. Because what else could be under that black cloth than a scarred over soulmark?
Hello hope you have a nice day and just for asking if you continue the fic So take a deep breath because this fic is so beautiful and i really want to now the following ?
Oh gosh yeah. It's been a mix of putting it off, occasionally forgetting, and being in a totally different headspace than when I was writing it. There was a lot going on when I stopped updating, and I've also run into some more changes as of late which is taking a bit of a toll on my ability to write anything.
But!
I do have the next major arc planned and I do keep extensive notes for the smaller details, so I am able to continue it no problem. W/ ofc the exception of the occasional writer's block.
There will be an update by March tho! That much I can promise.
Amy Rose likes bows. It just makes sense to get her one.
Metal pauses, mission briefly forgotten. Instead he stares at the wall. From floor to ceiling, across its entire surface, the wall is covered in shelves. All the items are categorizes and sorted meticulously. From lightweight to heavyweights, top to bottom, and by color, left to right.
A message interrupts his observations.
"Quit your dawdling!" Starline. His voice and arrogance unmistakable. "Grab the lens and the tai–"
Metal mutes the message. Let Starline speak himself hoarse.
He turns his attention back to the wall. There's so many options and he doesn't want to think about why it feels like too many. Like it would be too easy to chose the wrong one.
He sets the lense down on a nearby table.
Red. Red is likely the best option—the safest option. She's always in red. Even the gift-ribbons she used are red.
He takes a few of different weights. He checks the tensile strength of each, they need to be durable. The lightweight ribbons break too easily. He discards those.
After some more deliberation, he settles on a two-inch heavyweight ribbon and a three-fourths inch medium weight ribbon.
He grabs the lense and decides to wait a few more minutes just to annoy Starline. He's about to head back when a rich green color catches his attention. It's only slightly lighter than the green chaos emerald. The satin finish of the ribbon makes it shine brighter. Instantly he knows that's the right color to choose.
He checks the weights of the ones he has and exchanges them for their green counterparts. His central processor's working faster and not even Starline's incessant nagging dampens his mood.
The rest of the mission goes by without a hitch and next thing he knows, he's standing in the "mail room" with Orbot. They've been stating at each other for at least five minutes. Logically Metal knew Orbot would be there—he handles all the mail—but actually running into him makes his processor stutter slightly.
Orbot sounds bemused when he finally speaks. "Do you need something?"
Metal lets out a sharp buzz of electricity.
Orbot is completely unfazed. Metal shifts slightly, not missing the way Orbot briefly focuses on the green ribbons in his hands. Wordlessly, Orbot turns to the piles of empty boxes. He pulls out a box just large enough to fit the ribbons in snugly.
Metal rips it from Orbot's grasp— probably a little harsher than he should have— and leaves without a spare glance.
"At least mail it from one of the lesser known front companies," Orbot says in a message a few hours later. "The last thing we need is Sonic and the others tracking us down."
Metal thinks of ignoring the message. What he's doing may be foolish but he's no fool. He doesn't even plan on listing himself as the sender.
In the end he follows Orbot's advice. If he sends it from the standard front company, she'll likely throw it away without even opening. At least this way there's more of a chance of her opening the gift.
--
He tries to keep himself occupied while the package is in transit.
It gets harder to not constantly wonder what she thinks when he gets notified the package has been delivered.
In the end he has to wait two more months before their paths cross again. It's at an old base. Used mostly for storage, but Starline demands it be protected.
He's busy dealing with the annoying fox when he registers a familiar flash of color.
Near the edge of the facility, by the road leading out of the area, stands Amy Rose. She lines her shot and sends an old eggpawn crashing into three more, putting them all out of commission. Though that's not what catches his attention.
In place of her usual red headband is a green one. A green bow on its left side just under her ear. It fit her so well. The color makes her eyes shine brighter than usual. The fire and passion they hold on clearer display than ever.
Its so unexpected his coolants stall momentarily and his system's temperature spikes. Like before, his central processor kicks into high gear and he's left feeling giddy.
She liked it!
She liked the ribbons!
She liked his gift!
He's so focused on her, and the surprising feeling of happiness, that he stops acknowledging the fox. Not a good idea considering the situation, but he can't tear his focus from her.
His annoying copy is next to her briefly. A few words and a raised eyebrow leave her beaming as she readjusts the headband.
--
Starline and Master Eggman lecture him about his subpar performance in the battle. He outright ignores Starline and only half listens to Master Eggman. After an assurance that it won't happen again, he's dismissed.
Privately, he doesn't mind having lost that encounter. He's too pleased by the results of his gift, even if she doesn't know it was him.
For the longest time, Shadow thought airplanes were shooting stars. It had fascinated him how many were visible from the earth while on the ark they’d been so incredibly rare. He’d chalked it up to seeing the stars from such a different viewpoint. He only realized his mistake when Rouge laughed. She immediately apologized, sincerely sorry, but Shadow’s ego had still been bruised. She never mentioned it and he was grateful for that.
Enough time had passed that he no longer instinctively perceived planes as shooting stars. He’d nearly forgotten about it until one night with Amy.
She had asked for his aid in helping Cream on a project and he’d easily accepted. The three of them had worked well into the night until it was complete.
Shadow offered to walk Amy home since the guest room was being occupied by the remnants of the project.
They walked slowly in a companionable silence; relaxing after all the hard work and enjoying the fresh air.
Suddenly Amy pointed at the sky, a smile on her face. “Look!”
Shadow followed her line of sight and saw the unmistakable pulse of light lazily drifting through the air.
“Make a a wish!” She continued.
Shadow startled, his stomach twisting slightly. “That’s an airplane,” he said unable to hide his wariness.
Still following the plane with her eyes, Amy replied. “When Cream was little she used to think airplanes were shooting stars.”
Shadow didn’t say anything, feeling a little bit like a fool all over again. His mistake was that of a young child’s.
“Even during our scariest or most dangerous adventures, Cream would look up and wish on an airplane,” Amy had stopped walking by then. Her previously excited smile replaced by a smaller more nervous one. “She grew out of it of course, but I liked it. A bit of hope in scary times, y'know?” She sounded a bit embarrassed at the admission.
“Yeah,” Shadow replied honestly. That’s exactly how it had felt when he first saw one. He’d just awoken to a strange new world, the memory of Maria’s death all too fresh. “There’s always one you can find to wish on.”
Amy looked relieved at his reply, and Shadow couldn’t help but smile at her. Without realizing it, Amy had soothed an embarrassing memory of his.
From then on, the sight of an airplane brought a smile to his face. If he happened to be around Amy she would smile at him after spotting one herself. He didn’t exactly hide it but he didn’t broadcast it to the world either, and neither did Amy.
This was their little comfort.
–
((This is so cute! I wish canon did more with Shadow being so new to Earth. The way he’d appreciate nature and make a few childlike mistakes along the way could do a lot to humanize him. Like you said, Amy would be non-judgmental about it, too, given her friendship with Cream.))
Found out your Shadamy fanfic had updated- AND BOY HOWDY IT WAS A CUTE CHAPTER💘💞💞💘💘💞💘💞💞💘💘💞💘💞💘💞💘💞💘💞 Amy convincing Shadow to drink coffee and Rouge. Exe shuts down from it. Gold,,,just gold bro💘💞💘💞💘💞💘💞💘 Also Chao Garden Cafe? BIG BRAIN IDEA.
Oh gosh oh thanks you!! I'm glad the cuteness was well conveyed! And I'm so happy you liked it!!!
Yes Rouge just blue screening was my fave thing to write haha
And a chao cafe is just like a cat cafe, but w/ chao haha I'd love to go to one ;w;
Okay let's try this again. tumblr keeps crashing on me.
So we all know the typical ShadAmy dynamic of Shadow not liking Amy at all in the beginning right. Now! Consider!
Shadow has had a crush on Amy for a while. She's so nice and optimistic and compassionate w/o being naive abt it. She's always willing to see the good in others too. Which is why it always bugs him that Sonic doesn't take her seriously and always leaves her behind and claims things are too dangerous and no he's not jealous!
And b/c I love Team Dark ofc they're gonna get involved. Shadow does a good job of hiding his crush but eventually Rouge figures it out and she can't believe how absolutely obvious he is. She teases him abt it every chance she gets. Ofc only when it's the two or three of them. She's not gonna do it in front of Team Sonic or Amy others. And ever since she found out, she takes advantage of the fact that's she's the TL and tries to get her team and Sonic's team to work together every chance she gets (read: whenever Amy is tagging along). Or, if they happen to find Amy wandering around on her own (whether she's been left behind or looking for Sonic), Rouge pulls her into the group.
Shadow doesn't know if he wants to thank Rouge or kill her.
Omega is just living. He likes Amy. She doesn't treat him like a weapon and doesn't use that weird sarcasm thing the others do. That and she's a capable combatant who's more than willing to help or let him destroy all the badniks.
Sonic, though, ofc isn't gonna be happy abt it. He's not gonna be a mean jerk abt it b/c I'm tired of that overused trope. He just doesn't like the shady tactics Team Dark uses to get stuff done. Not to mention they're a terrible influence on Amy!
Which can be what gets Amy to stop having romantic feelings for Sonic. Not that he's being a dick to her, but that he's treating her like Tails. Essentially like a sibling.
Ofc it's gonna bum Amy out but she's just happy he still cares for her. And she'll slowly start holding back on all her romantic gestures and eventually realizes that yeah, he's only ever seen her as a sister. She eventually realizes they get along better in that dynamic so she and Sonic grow a lil closer (which ofc Shadow misinterprets and becomes even moodier.)
Tho now that she doesn't have any one to chase after, she decides to try looking for someone else to potentially date. She asks Rouge for flirting advice that Amy happily tries on just abt every guy she knows (except Tails b/c if Sonic sees her like a sister Tails probably does too).
Rouge, ofc instantly starts trying to set Amy and Shadow up w/ the help of an unwitting Omega. Sonic's still not happy abt it b/c he still thinks Shadow and Team Dark are a bad influence. But he goes abt it in a disapproving brother way as opposed to a jackass way.
Anyways yeah. I wanted to write a fic but I doubt I'd ever finish it if I did so I just wrote out this to share instead.
Edit: okay so I have no self control and it's a fic now
Hello! I just wanted to say that I read Operation Love Birds last night on Ao3 and brooo it's so cute😭💞💞💞💞💞💖💖 I love how you write everybody in it, especially Rouge and Shadow. And Amy is so bubbly in it too. All of it makes my heart soft😔❤❤
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