Summary: Famous musician Jaskier had a falling out with his kinda sorta not really boyfriend Geralt and writes Believe (by Cher) to sing at his next concert.
somehow, brainwashed, mind-controlled— somehow— he is, against his will, forced to aid nilfgaard in the war
they find ciri and geralt and yen and the first thing they see is jaskier, eyes glowing chalk white. fringilla’s beside him, and behind him is an army
ciri knows that man. he’s the same bard who’d come visit her every year when fall grew into harsh winter; he always left without saying goodbye, leaving a flower for her in his wake
the flowers never die. they didn’t wither, not even as the castle walls of the cintran kingdom crumbled.
geralt knows that man. that man is his bard, his happy, lovely, stupid bard.
yennefer knows that man. that man’s Julian of Lettenhove, infamously incredible sorcerer who went off the map a couple decades ago. he’s her best friend.
jaskier does not know Julian of Lettenhove, memories lost or blocked, he has no idea— had no idea
he can’t twitch his fingers without fringilla’s allowance. he’s trapped, ever cell inside him controlled.
he knows the three people in front of him, he knows the two heads of ashen hair and the one raven black; he’s no memory of meeting her but he knows she’s a… friend? someone close. someone important.
the three people in front of him; they’re his family
silver for monster; for sorcerers too, he supposes but that doesn’t matter not now
fringilla looks at him, something wretched and dreading in her gaze, and it’s all jaskier can do to keep from swaying on his feet
as her hold finally gives. as memories of torture, and torture, and torture come back to him and he’s screaming
in pain, in heartbreak, in fury not for the pain that nilfgaard has caused him for the thousands, millions of people that have died under his chaos
he screams for every town felled and every child orphaned, he screams until his voice is raw and blood drips down his lips
the power feels right. he’d forgotten how right it felt to be beyond human, to be monstrous with power
his bloodlust isn’t satisfied, even as he cuts through the battalions, even as he tears fingilla’s head from her body and he’s drenched and dripping in the ichor
it’s the beginning of the end; they will lose the war. no a single soul stands; the sun’s half set.
jaskier kneels in the blood and viscera, eyes still glowing as he bows his head. he hopes ciri’s eyes had been covered.
the tip of a silver sword chills the skin on the back of his neck.
i wish people here could admit they don’t like certain things out of purely petty reasons (we all do!) instead of clutching at the most ridiculous straws to pretend their dislike is part of a Moral Crusade
my brain: geralt and jaskier but they're rivalling chefs at restaurants that are across the street from each other and they absolutely hate the other one. jaskier dislikes geralt because geralt's this experienced chef who does things very old-fashioned and who's very pretentious and tough on his staff. geralt dislikes jaskier because jaskier's barely out of culinary school but already very successful and whose menus include Fancy Chicken Nuggies and banana-strawberry shakes and who's very nice and lenient towards his staff. they make homoerotic snide remarks towards each other whenever they can. the staff in both their restaurants have a bet going on when they're gonna finally get together and commit osha violations.
me, hitting my brain with a broom: shut up shut up shut uP SHUT UP
she's geralt's ex and gives jaskier better reviews than she would normally give him just to antagonize geralt and infuriate him even more. jaskier's kinda terrified of her and very confused as to why she gives him such good reviews but at some point she brings her daughter ciri with her because ciri likes the Fancy Chicken Nuggies more than she likes geralt's (her dad's) food (much to geralt's chagrin) and jaskier absolutely adores the girl. yen sees this and she tries her best not to terrify jask as much as she used to because she would never do anything that would upset ciri.
Okay, I just couldn’t fucking resist, okay? (Except for the waistcoat. It’s Jaskier. He wears doublets. Obviously.)
Day 1
“Sorry… sir. Are you the new witch?”
The white-haired man dressed all in black looks at the woman before him and shakes his head.
“No, sorry. I’m Geralt, the herbalist. The witch, Jaskier, lives over there.”
The woman turns her head to look to the tiny house on the other side of the path. A young man is standing in its doorway, grinning at them and waving excitedly. He has short brown hair and he’s dressed in bright purple pants and a doublet he apparently forgot how to button up properly.
The woman frowns.
“Are you… absolutely sure he is the witch? You look more like one.”
He is an annoying piece of shit who, for some reason, decided to build a house on the opposite side of the path from mine, who sings while he works and who’s apparently too lazy to gather his own herbs, since he buys them from me.
Geralt smiles.
“Pretty good, I think.”
-
Day 6
“Are you the new witch?”
Geralt groans both internally and externally. The man on the path is the eighth one today to ask the same question.
“No. I’m the herbalist,” he says with more patience than he thought he could gather. “The witch is over there.”
Jaskier is wearing bright yellow today. His smile is even brighter.
“Are you sure?” the man blinks. “You know, you look–”
“I think I would notice if I was a witch.”
“Yes, you probably would. But are you sure he is…”
“I think I saw him gouging out some salamander eyes just before you arrived.”
“Oh?” the man says, nodding solemnly. “An expert, I see!”
Geralt just snorts.
-
Day 15
“Excuse me, dear sir, but are you the new–”
“Over there,” Geralt grunts.
The woman turns her head. Jaskier is dressed in deep pink, he’s leaning against the door frame and when his eyes meet Geralt’s, he winks.
“He looks more like a…”
“Whore?”
“I was going to say harlot.”
“Yes, that, too.”
“He’s showing off his calves!”
“Trust me,” Geralt sighs. “I’m aware.”
-
Day 28
“You’re the witch?”
Geralt closes his eyes and tries to count to ten. Before he gets to four, Jaskier’s melodic voice chimes in.
“Over here!” it says.
Geralt doesn’t even want to look. He knows Jaskier’s clothes are steel blue today, just the color that perfectly matches his eyes, and it does things to him.
“Are you sure?” the customer asks. “You know, this one looks more like a–”
“Trust me, my dear, and don’t even finish that sentence,” Jaskier’s voice chuckles. “The last one who did nearly got his head ripped off…”
-
Day 49
“Are you the witch?”
Geralt doesn’t even have the mental energy to be angry anymore.
“No, I’m a herbalist. Perhaps I could help? I can see you’re walking with a small limp. A knee problem? If it is, I have a special salve here, it’s made of lard and hemp–”
“Thank you,” the woman says, twisting her face in disgust. “But I don’t want your… useless salve. I’m sure the witch will give me something that will actually help!”
“As you wish,” Geralt shrugs. “He lives over there. He’s a little busy at the moment, so you’re gonna have to wait, I’m afraid.”
“I will.”
Geralt smirks.
Oh, yes, Jaskier will give her something that will help. The very same salve Geralt just offered her, but for double the price.
And it serves her right.
-
Day 72
“Hey, are you the witch of this forest?”
Geralt screams in anguish and slams the door of his hut behind him.
-
Day 126
“Hello. I was told I can find a witch here, is that you?”
Geralt sighs. Jaskier is wearing red today and his chemise is unusually short, riding up every bloody time he decides to stretch his arms up. And he does it very often.
“Uhm,” Geralt says, blinking a few times. “Yeah. No. Over there.”
“Oh. Sorry. Thank you,” the young man in front of him smiles.
“Geralt, dear heart, would you be so kind as to send me the chamomile I requested?” Jaskier asks, licking his lips.
“I told you, if you want it, come and get it,” Geralt smirks.
The young man gulps.
“Careful, sir. He’s a witch!” he whispers urgently. “What if he curses you?”
“Oh, no,” Geralt laughs. “He would never.”
-
Day 147
“Hey, I’m looking for a witch. Is that you?”
“No, he lives over there,” Geralt says patiently, returning Jaskier’s smile. Dark blue today, lovely dark blue.
“Are you sure?!” the young woman frowns. “You look, you know.. much witchier.”
“I get that a lot,” Geralt nods. “Oh, hello, Jaskier.”
“Hello, dear heart,” Jaskier smiles fondly, leaning against the wall of Geralt’s hut. “I’m afraid I’m out of your special, uhm, love potion mix, would you happen to have some at hand? Just in case this lovely lady needs one.”
“Oh, I don’t need a love potion, I’m already married,” the woman says. “My husband has got this problem, you know… in bed…”
“Wait a moment,” Geralt sighs. “And I’ve told you a hundred times, they’re aphrodisiacs, also used to help with erectile dysfunction.”
“Nine out of ten cases, they work as a love potion, too,” Jaskier winks. “Either the buyer realizes they have mistaken lust for love, or, if the love is already there, the potion removes stupid restraints. Hey, Geralt… Would you like to come around for tea tonight?”
Geralt shrugs.
“Sure. Why not?”
-
Day 365
Geralt opens the door to find just another young woman on his doorstep.
“Hi, I’m looking for a witch who’s supposed to live in this house.”
The herbalist smiles fondly.
“In that case, you’re looking for my husband,” he says. “Jaskier! A customer for you! And this time, would you kindly put on your pants?”
The woman looks around before leaning in closer to Geralt.
“I heard the witch specializes in… love potions,” she whispers. “I just wanted to ask…”
An arm wraps around Geralt’ waist, reminding him of the very first night he spent with his husband after drinking a cup of tea spiced with vodka and his own special herbal mix.
Jaskier had been right. It did remove stupid restraints.
“Yes, sweetie?” Jaskier purrs.
“I mean, uhm… Do they really work?”
“Oh, yes,” Geralt laughs. “Nine out of ten times, they work like a charm.”
Canon-verse zombie au with Jaskier finding Ciri first and delivering her to Kaer Morhen, anyone?
cw: sort of gore, implied mass suicide of town, blood, ~zombies~
-
The world’s dusty. Bloody. Impossibly more so than before, and Jaskier trudges through it one step after another. There’s a single sword on his back, its tip broken; the dagger strapped to his leg is too blunt and his lute, well, she’s long lost.
The town is eerie in its quiet. Nothing is ever silent anymore, fear buzzing in his ears with his every breath but the town is quiet. He’s on his last dregs, no water, no food and hunting hasn’t proved any luck. The berries have run out, and the fruit trees are bare. The beginnings of winter linger in the air.
He sneaks towards the town. It’s a small settlement in the middle of nowhere, towards the north of the continent. The south is on fire, well on its way to becoming ash. It seems that the north has already burned out. The well-worn path is smooth under his feet, and he doesn’t bother avoiding the splotches and puddles of blood and human viscera for any reason other than to keep his movements quiet. His boots are worn thin, the rest of his once-silken clothes just as ratty.
I swear my cishet husband sometimes wakes up in the morning like “time to be an ally to my bisexual wife by being just a little bit performative” but it’s okay because I love him
My husband will see a piece of pride merch and just put it in front of my face even if it has nothing to do with me and will just be like “this seems like something... you would like”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.
“Shit.“
-
Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.
