The patience and ingenuity this represents đđŒ

gracie abrams

pixel skylines
NASA
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Jules of Nature

#extradirty
EXPECTATIONS
The Stonewall Inn

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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle
Fai_Ryy
đ©” avery cochrane đ©”
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Misplaced Lens Cap
YOU ARE THE REASON
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@rubyqueen819
The patience and ingenuity this represents đđŒ
JASKIER đ„ș
âł THE WITCHER | 4.04 âA Sermon of Survivalâ
if youâre having a bad day, hereâs a cute little marching band
It just keeps going and getting better. *^^*
Me two minutes ago: âcry with joy? an animation of cats playing instruments made someone cry with joy?â
Me now: (sobs into a tissue) âOH MY GOD THAT ONE IS PLAYING TWO RECORDERS AT THE SAME TIMEâ (blows nose)
CAT PARADE IS BACK
ALWAYS reblog Cat Parade! đđđ
And one of them has a little duck on its head đ€Ł
Iâve been blessed with the kitty marching band! I love them đđ„°
GIVE YOURSELF A 2 MINUTE PRESENT.
YOU DESERVE TO STOP AND EXPERIENCE A SIMPLE JOY.
Never not reblogging the cat parade!
Mildly annoyed that this isnât actually the full video, so here it is:
#i vaguely that there was a sequel to this that was HD
Apparently you correctly!
#i vaguely
that there was a sequel to
this that was HD
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
MULAN (1998) dir. BARRY COOK & TONY BANCROFT
'dating rules' are so fucking stupid btw. "don't talk too much about your hyperfixation on a first date, it'll scare them off!!" it'll only scare them off if they're a coward. Someone worthy of my affections will listen to me talk about my goal of visiting every whale exhibit with a life-sized effigy of a whale in it in the world for a solid half-hour and come away from that experience desiring me carnally.
One time I went on a date with a guy who stared at me with raised eyebrows while I told him about my plan to go to ComicCon as Daphne Blake, and then he scoffed and said it was weird for me to be so into Scooby Doo at the age of 19. Last year I told my boyfriend (before he was my boyfriend) that next time I got ComicCon tickets I wanted to go as Rapunzel, and he gasped and said "NO WAY I WANTED TO GO AS FLYNN RIDER". So, like, not only is talking about your hyperfixations on an early date a good way to learn quickly if someone is going to treat your whole personality with respect or not, you might also find a kindred spirit.
This doesn't just apply to dating btw. Any platonic acquaintance who acts like you're cringe for having a lot of enthusiasm about something is not someone you want in your life. The people who matter will do things that you want to do with you because they love you and like when you are happy. Case in point I could not have paid my high school official-best-friend to spend four and a half hours in London's Natural History Museum taking photos in the whale gallery but my adulthood best friend agreed in a heartbeat despite knowing the bare minimum about whales.
So yeah. Be openly enthusiastic about the things you love and the right people will love you for it.
Hey, in the most respectful and platonic way possible? I desired you carnally off the first post alone, and that gave me seconds of you.
If someone does not love and respect both your proper and your freak? They were not meant for you.
No more 'being on our best behaviour' for first dates. Let them see your gremlin. Perceive their gremlin. Fall in ooky, whacky, gremlin love.
MWAH kissing you in a nineteenth-century-author-writing-a-letter-to-a-close-friend-that's-now-heavily-debated-as-evidence-of-their-queerness-by-historians kinda way <3
YOU GET IT
I ended a 15 year friendship over this exact thing.
I loved my dear friend, but it became clear to me in recent years that my friend did not love me.
Oh, she was happy to come and stay at my house half the weekend and tell me all her woes and how excited she was to do pottery and about her job and the men she was pursuing.
But she could not handle a five minute conversation about comics or movies or books or art that I was working on. She would sit there silently and say 'I have nothing to contribute' or she would start watching TikTok WHILE I was talking until I gave up.
It wasn't as if I didn't try, I only brought up topics in those genres I thought might interest her, or referenced things she'd talked about in the past, but it starting being very obvious that she didn't want to have a conversation, she wanted me to listen and affirm while she told me things.
And it genuinely hurt my feelings, because I don't particularly care about pottery or glazing, but I listened and learned and asked questions and eventually learned enough to have an actual conversation on the topic with her. Because I loved her and that is what she loves.
A few weeks ago, I went to see a different friend and she asked me if she could play a video game while we talked. I didn't mind, I was used to trying to fight with TikTok for attention.
We spent five hours talking, actually talking. Five hours of me getting to talk about the novel I've been working on for nearly two years at this point and for her to tell me all about the construction and design of her favorite game franchise, and not once did I feel like I was fighting for attention. It felt very much like hanging out and playing video games when I was a kid.
If someone isn't willing to try to meet you where you're at, especially if you're doing it for them, it's not a good relationship. You deserve someone who'll meet you at your level of freak, you deserve to be listened to and treated with respect.
#hey op do u happen to have a list of those museums#the ones with the whale models?
BOY DO I!!!
London's Natural History Museum (London, England)
Gothenburg's Natural History Museum (Gothenburg, Sweden)
Whales of Iceland (ReykjavĂk, Iceland)
Museum of New Zealand/Te Papa Tongarewa (Wellington, New Zealand)
Royal Ontario Museum (Toronto, Ontario, Canada)
American Museum of Natural History (New York City, New York, USA)
The Smithsonian's Sant Hall of Ocean Life (Washington DC, Maryland, USA)
The Smithsonian's Whale Warehouse* (Washington DC, Maryland, USA)
Bonus: Exploding Whale Park** (Florence, Oregon, USA)
I'm sure there are more; these are the museums that I know of. I've visited the first two so far!
*The Whale Warehouse is only able to be visited during private tours as it's primarily a preservation project
**Exploding Whale Park isn't a museum but a memorial park, where in 1970 Oregon's State Highway Department attempted to get rid of a rotten whale carcass by blowing it up with dynamite. It, uh, didn't work very well.
Don't ever hesitate. Reblog this. TUMBLR RULE. When you see it, REBLOG IT.
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If you ever want to talk, my ask box is always open
!!!
I normally hate reblog bait but this one didnât feel like a guilt trip
could have used this 8 hours ago
How To Support An Autistic Person During Dysregulation
Ascent Autism
Autistic Love Languages
Lil Penguin Studios/Autism Happy Place
[id. A twitter post by @/Bennieeexyz Jury duty letter came addressed to my cat. Not a mistake. "Felix Martinez" - that's his full name according to his vet records. My last name. His first name. Somehow he's a registered voter now. Called the county clerk. Me: My cat got summoned for jury duty. Clerk: Is the name correct on the summons? Me: Yes, but he's a cat. Clerk: Is Felix Martinez a legal resident of this county? Me: He's a legal cat. Clerk: Sir, if the name matches our records, he needs to appear or file an exemption. Me: He can't file anything. He has paws. Clerk: You can file on his behalf. Me: Under what exemption? There's no box for "is a cat." Clerk: (pause) Check "unable to serve due to medical reasons." Me: What's the medical reason? Clerk: He's a cat. Me: That's not a medical condition. Clerk: It is if it prevents him from serving. Sent in the form. Got rejected two weeks later. "Insufficient documentation. Please provide medical professional's statement." Took the letter to my vet. Me: I need you to write that my cat can't do jury duty. Vet: Why is your cat summoned for jury duty? Me: Excellent question. No good answer. Vet: This is the weirdest request I've gotten. Me: Can you just write that he's medically unfit to serve? Vet: On what grounds? Me: He's a cat. Vet: (started typing) "Patient is unable to serve due to species-related limitations including inability to speak, read, or comprehend legal proceedings." Me: Perfect. Sent it in. Got another rejection. "Summons is mandatory. Failure to appear will result in contempt of court." My roommate thought this was hilarious. Roommate: Felix is going to jail. Me: This is serious. Roommate: Bring him to court. See what happens. Decided that was actually the only option left. Day of jury duty, put Felix in his carrier. Brought the entire paper trail of rejection letters. Checked in at the courthouse. Clerk: Name? Me: Felix Martinez. Clerk: (looked at the cat carrier) Is that Felix? Me: Yes. Clerk: (long stare) He's a cat. Me: I've been saying that for six weeks. Clerk: Why didn't you file an exemption? Me: I filed three. All rejected. Showed her the letters. She read through them, expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. Clerk: Someone rejected the veterinary documentation? Me: Twice. Clerk: (called her supervisor over) You need to see this. Supervisor read everything. Looked at Felix. Looked at me. Supervisor: How did a cat get registered to vote? Me: You tell me. Supervisor: This is a data error. Me: Took you six weeks to figure that out. They dismissed Felix immediately. Apologized for the inconvenience. Supervisor: We'll remove him from the voter registry. Me: Appreciate it. Supervisor: (pause) Out of curiosity, how would he have voted? Me: Probably whatever party supports universal treats. Got a formal apology letter a week later and a voter registration card. For me this time. Apparently I wasn't registered, but my cat was. Roommate: Felix committed voter fraud. Me: Felix committed nothing. He's innocent. Roommate: That's what they all say. Felix is sleeping on the jury summons now. Fitting end to his legal career. end id]
The process of carefully layering and then cleanly unmolding a rainbow jelly cake
Imagine if Ciri struggles with doing basic things, when Geralt first finds her. After all, sheâs a princess, a nobleâwhy would she have ever had to know how to wash or style her hair, mend her clothes, barter for items at the market?
It takes Geralt an embarrassingly long time to realize that sheâs struggling with these things, and he probably never would have, if not for Jaskierâs help. Jaskier, who he stumbled upon in his travels and begged to come with him. Jaskier, who is already so much better with Ciri, showing her how to braid her hair and fix holes in her pants. Jaskier, who just always seemed to know these things, and Geraltâs never questioned it before, but nowâŠ
Itâs as Jaskier and Geralt are sitting across from each other around the embers of their campfire, Ciri already fast asleep, that Geralt finally asks Jaskier who taught him all this stuff. Why he, as a viscount, wasnât just as lost as Ciri was when Geralt met him.
And when Jaskier speaks, it is after enough time passing that Geralt has begun to wonder if the bard had fallen asleep sitting up with his eyes open. And it would be humorous, truly, but Geralt knows when Jaskier is conscious and silent, he ought to be concerned.
It was a lesson he learned painfully early on.
Jaskier eventually speaks though, which is good, but Geralt gets the distinct feeling the bard wishes he wasnât telling this story. That he would have been happier, if Geralt had continued to be ignorant about this aspect of the bardâs life.
And it hits Geralt, suddenly, that if even after over two decades together, Jaskier has not told him this story, it must be for a reason. Likely a good one.
But Geralt was never taught how to re-bury unearthed pains, not in any way that truly works, so he forces himself instead to listen as Jaskier speaks of a caravan of travelers and forbidden friendships. Of a boy with eyes like the earth who visited each winter and left in the spring, bags laden with whatever sweet treats Jaskier was able to nab from the kitchen.
He hears more than sees Jaskierâs smile as he speaks of playing hide and seek in the woods, building bedrolls from stolen linens, and naming constellations without a care for the way their vapored breaths blocked their views.
And they were happy. That mattered, it did, even if it wasnât a grand happiness. They were children, they had no need for anything but that small happiness.
But then the one winter the boy came back empty. Taller and stronger and eyes a brilliant yellow-green. But gone, in all the ways that mattered.
(And it did. Matter, that is. Even if it was only to one other little boy, it mattered. It wasnât enough to change anything, to make a difference, but it stillâhe, the boy theyâd taken, he stillâ)
The next winter was worse, because the boy came back with a broken arm. And even though he wasnât the boy Jaskier once knew, when he snuck this new boy into his own bath, made attempt after attempt to braid his hair, and played his lute for him, his smile was still there. Not as strong, not as bright, but it wasâJaskier had seen it, it had been there, and it mattered.
Mattered when the boy left in the spring, a small upturn of his lips just for Jaskier.
Mattered when the caravan came back the next year, and the boy was gone.
Gone in a way Jaskier couldnât bring back this time.
Geralt watches as the bard lays down, fingers rubbing the bedroll underneath him as he looks up at the stars.
The witcher wonders if Jaskier approached him that day in Posada, thinking of the boy. If the reason Geralt is still alive is because the witcher-to-be taught a viscountâs son something as useless for him as how to use a needle and thread. If he owes his life to a fellow witcherâs death, one he never even got the chance to meet.
But Geralt doesnât have the words for that, will never have the words for that.
He points up at the sky and whispers, voice low, that Orionâs Belt looks bright tonight.
The bard humms, a small upturn of his lips as he wordlessly agrees.
(It might not be the words of comfort Geralt wants to say, the hug he canât bring himself to offer. But itâs what Geralt is able to give, and give freely.
And thatâŠ
That matters, too.)
My betrothed is DMing and they said we see a âhouse on a fluffy hill.â
I started vibrating with excitement. The rest of the players were not suspicious.
Our warlocks imp started approaching and tried to enter the cabin and I started whisper chanting, âBaba yaga, baba yaga!â
A giant chicken reared itâs head and promptly ate the imp.
My betrothed then rolled out a photo they made of this baba yaga hut, which was just a chicken with an MS paint cabin on its back.
Iâm so stoked to be marrying this person.
My magnum opus.
A fucking masterpiece. I proposed we tangle up the chickens feet like itâs an AT-AT, and itâs going pretty well.
Oh my god the chicken has a pecking attack, which we expected, and a raking attack with its claws, and THE CABIN ATTACKED BY FLINGING A TILE. THE CABIN ATTACKED US.
So our warlock just wanted us to roast this chicken and my rogue really didnât want to kill it. It was gargantuan but just as stupid as a normal chicken. We learned from our fae werewolf NPC that these are native to the fae wilds and naturally grow houses on their backs so itâs part of the animal.
So our ranger fed it good berries with Sanctuary protecting him while my rogue ran around tying up its feet.
Once we had toppled it we struggled against its Feather Fluffing to enter the cabin. It shot house tiles at us, but the warlock, ranger, and rogue all made it inside while the werewolf fighter held the rope to keep it down and our paladin hid in the trees.
We got what we came for and left in peace. Goodbye baba yaga chicken hut, I loved you.
Edit to add: I was questioning why the lich we were fighting would have a tower that has a pocket dimension with a fae chicken for a bedroom and they were like, âItâs a fancy room and he doesnât have to heat it because the chicken keeps it warm!â
The party ended up latching onto this chicken to an extreme degree. Sheâs been named Garlic. We needed to figure out how to transfer ownership from the lich we killed to us.
So while my rogue went to gather up party members we left recuperating the paladin, ranger, and warlock decided to try to impersonate the lich and transfer ownership.
They dressed the paladin as the defeated lich and then he cast Alter Self to appear to be the lich and convince the chicken he was selling her.
But then my rogue came up and was like holy shit the lich is back and shot the paladin and the other characters got mad but I was like she literally wasnât here for this plan and itâs a lich of course she shoots!
Eventually this plan succeeded and we got the chicken to accept the warlock as her new owner.
We spent an entire session trying to figure out how to get the chicken out of the tower. Sheâs our giant fucking chicken now.
Please enjoy the shit I get up to when I DM, everyone.
Though sadly I haven't DMed in a while because I do everything homebrew and that shit is A LOT of work and life has been stressful lately.
Not 38 yet but Iâve never been so called out in my lifeâŠ
Life in an Autism World
Imagine if Jaskier could talk to horses. If the horses he talked with actually understood him and were able to reply.
It sounds impossible. Jaskier would love to be able to explain it, to be able to make sense of it, but itâs a rather taboo topic in the family. Apparently a great-great-something made some sort of magical deal to allow for his family to better train the war horses their estate was known for breeding. Obviously the specifics werenât hammered out clearly enough, and, well, no noble family can be thought of as able to associate with an animal. Thatâs no better than being animals themselves!
So Jaskier is kept far away from all manner of horses as a child, and doesnât really interact much with them, until Roach.
Jaskier gets really excited at first, when he sees Geralt whispering to her, thinking maybe he can talk to them too? Maybe itâs a mutation? But, no, because Geralt clearly doesnât understand that his mare is quite sick of green apples and would like a red one instead next time, please, would some variety kill him? Obviously the witcher doesnât understand that concept for himself, hence his clothes, but she has needsâ
And Jaskier snorts, isnât able to help himself, really, although he acts appropriately sheepish when the witcher turns to glare at him. But the knowing look Roaxh gives him, smart thing she is, speaks volumes.
From then on, itâs not uncommon for the bard to be found talking with Roach, who it turns out is a much better conversationalist than her owner. The witcher does not like this development any more than he likes the bard following him, but apparently Roach has decided the young man is here to stay. Meaning the horse refuses to leave a city or town without the bard, and also is suddenly incapable of more than a brisk walk despite the Witcherâs insistence on pushing her to a gallop.
The witcher grumbles about the behavior for weeks, completely missing the looks that Roach and Jaskier share, the duo suitably entertained. Honestly, for the first few years, it is the sassy Roach Jaskier is following, not the witcher. What can he say, he enjoys the insightful conversations he has with her when the witcher isnât around, the details sheâs able to provide from the hunts the witcher refuses to take him on still.
(The look on Geraltâs face when he introduces a song based on the witcherâs last fight with a Leshen is priceless. The manâs jaw just about hits the table with the vast amount of detail provided, which Geralt had purposefully withheld in the hopes it would finally make the bard take the hint.
Jaskier almost plays the wrong chord when he spots the look, and again when he turns back to see the witcher scowling in confusion down at his ale some time later.
Roach will definitely be getting sugar cubes tomorrow. Sheâs earned them.)
But the witcher does grow on him. Eventually. He does make for an excellent muse, and he can beâŠwell, kind, for lack of a better word, when heâs not too busy impersonating a gargoyle. Honestly, if he just put a bit more effort inâ
So when Jaskier parts with the witcher eight years into theirâŠacquaintanceship? for the winter, and finds him in spring with a new, younger Roach, he sticks around. Eventually he finds out the original Roach was killed by a kikimora, that she didnât survive the encounter. And Jaskier doesnât care if Geralt insists on calling this horse Roach too, doesnât care if the emotionally constipated dung beetle of a man canât possibly understand why such a thing would upset him. Itâs not as if it was his horse, not as if it was a person, which isâhe canâtâ
It is only Jaskierâs knowledge that Geralt truly did care for Roach, in his own hidden way, that keeps the bard from lashing out. That, and the fact that this new horse agrees to go by Sally (short for Salmon, of courseâJaskier can respect the theme), after the sad tale of her predecessor is told.
Geralt has no clue how the bard does it. But after three weeks of trying to train the horse to answer to Roach, he eventually gives up. It seems this horse loves Jaskier just as much as his last one did, and that once again, heâs stuck listening to the bard prattle both at him and his steed.
Sally is sweeter than Roach was, a little softer around the edges. She is quick to lie down next to Jaskier on cold nights, and appreciates the flowers he likes to braid into her mane. Itâs not the same as with Roach, but thatâs partly because he isnât the same, either. He doesnât need Sally to remind him which berries are poisonous, or to check the lakes he swims in for Drowners. Heâs not the same bushy-tailed bard he was when he first joined Geralt all those years ago, for better and for worse.
He and Sally do have a blast together though, and she is very accommodating with his plans when she hears what horrible words the witcher yelled at him on the mountain. It turns out that while she was sweeter than Roach, she was also, perhaps, a bit moreâŠvindictive, for lack of a better word.
Which Jaskier only realizes when Geralt shows up at the tavern heâs playing at three weeks after heâd climbed down the mountain, looking like heâs been tossed into every single mud pile between there and here. Maybe repeatedly, honestly, how did he get mud so far in his earsâ
And so it is that one rather stunted, but genuine apology finds him back with his favorite horse and witcher. Life is back to normal, mostlyâŠkind ofâŠsort ofâŠnot really at all, okayâ
Jaskier still isnât sure how he ends up stuck at Kaer Morhen, surrounded by witchers who look at him like heâs a slab of rotten meat. Honestly, itâs not like he asked to be here! Itâs not his fault he got dragged into this mess, all because he chose to associate with Geralt.
That being said, heâs happy to pitch in where he can, and soon finds himself mucking out the stables and feeding the animals every day. And the way the others still wonât talk with him after heâs been nothing but pleasant for the last two weeks should bother him. Well, okay, it still does, but he finds that annoyance pales in comparison to the delight of hearing stories from Scorpion and Lambertâs horse (which he never gave a name, seriously, how rude). Honestly, the gossip is better than anything heâs heard from the dozens of banquets heâs played at, which is saying something!
So while Jaskier is pissed off at the treatment heâs been receiving, especially with the passive aggressive remarks from a certain loud-mouthed wolf witcher, itâs fine. Heâs fine. Heâs not bothered at all by the fact that Geralt has been ignoring him, too, in favor of spending time with Ciri and Yennefer. And he doesnât need the witcher to stand up for him, or ask his brother to stop, Jaskier is a bard. Words are his weapon of choice.
Except, he really doesnât want to piss anyone off. Winter has fully set in, and he knows the likelihood of him surviving the trek back down the mountain is slim, if they do kick him out.
But thereâs only so many times Jaskier can handle being told how useless his profession is, how useless he is, before he decides enough is enough. Itâs not like Geralt would actually let them hurt him (he thinksâŠhopes?), and worst comes to worst, he knows all of the lovely horses will avenge him. And, most likely, try to guide him down the path, sweet things they are.
So when Lambert asks him again exactly why Geralt keeps him around, the bard tilts his head and smiles.
âOh, you know, Iâm good at keeping away theâŠwell, vermin, quite frankly. Iâm like a cat, keeping away all those pesky people that donât take well to anything they see as other.â
Jaskierâs smile turns to something downright feral.
âCats are great, arenât they? I once knew one with black fur and bright, yellow-green eyes. He was a bit of a fighter, had scars here and hereââ Jaskier gestures on his face where Lambertâs horse had mentioned the cat witcher was marked, watching in satisfaction as the wolfâs eyes widen in shock.
âBut oh!â Jaskier shakes his head in faux disappointment. âI forgot. Witchers and cats donât really mesh well, especially wolf witchers. Thatâs my bad.â
Andâokay, was riling up the hot-headed witcher Jaskierâs best idea to date? No, not really. Did he expect to get some sort of reaction from the man? Well, yes, hopefully. Did he anticipate the man lunging across the table to fist the bardâs shirt, practically foaming at the mouth? Canât say he did, honestly, the temper on this oneâ
Although the rough handling was definitely worth it for the way Vesemir tore the young witcher a new one, furious at him for flying off the handle at what was seemingly a harmless mistake.
The way Lambertâs shoulders slumped as he was scolded in front of the whole table almost made Jaskier cackle.
And yeah, was it wrong for Jaskier to put Lambertâs secret at risk like that? Maybe. Did the man have it coming after how heâd been treating the bard ever since heâd met Jaskier? Most definitely.
Still, Jaskier didnât want the man to actually think he would out the other like that, so he forced himself to relax when the witcher sought him out later while he was brushing down the horses. It certainly wasnât easy though, not with the scowl the other man had as soon as he entered the stables.
âLook, your secretâs safe with me, okay? Iâm not in the habit of making witchersâ lives any harder than they already are.â He says, giving Sally one final brush before moving on to Lambertâs horse after a kiss to her forehead.
Lambert grunts, marching over to Jaskier and ripping the brush from his hand. He moves to shove the bard away from his horse, only to find himself suddenly on the ground.
He gapes, glancing between the bard and horse, both of which seem to be laughing. What theâ
âYou should treat your horse better. Also, give her a nameâshe deserves one, having to lug your butt all around the continent, not to mention all those disgusting monster heads.â Jaskier shivers, nose scrunching up in disgust.
âShe doesnâtâhow do you know she doesnât have a name?â Lambert asks, squinting at the bard as he stood up.
And, wellâJaskier wasnât exactly a noble anymore, was he? Not in any way that mattered in terms of reputation. Plus, maybe this could be fun. He got the feeling that he and the other witcher could have a blast, if Lambert wasnât so insistent on verbally lashing out at the bard.
âA secret for a secret?â He proposes, studying the witcherâs reaction closely.
Lambert frowns, and for a moment, he thought the other would just storm away. Which would beâŠfine. Jaskier didnât need to talk to a human for the next two months. He would cope, somehow. He just really, really didnât want toâ
âFine. But if it puts anyone here in danger, the agreementâs off.â
Jaskier blinks, a bit surprised at the manâs simple terms, then nods.
âThe horses are really fun to gossip with.â
Lambert stares at the bard. Looks at his horse. Then back at the bard.
âPlease donât make me talk about what happened in Toussaint last summer. I will, if you need proof, but for both our sakesââ
âNo, thatâsâno.â Lambert gives his horse a betrayed look, but she she just shakes her mane with a whinny, clearly unbothered.
âI mean, it could be worse. Itâs nothing compared to what Roach and Sally have told me over the years.â
It takes a moment for Lambert to process the words, but when he does, the grin he gives Jaskier is all teeth.
Jaskier matches it easily.
âNow, donât you see the merit in having a bard?â
Lambert leans against the stable wall, crossing his arms.
âIâm certainly starting to see the appeal.â
(Geralt lasted two days before he broke, practically commanding Jaskier to stop spending time with Lambert. The bard and younger witcher looked at each other, before continuing to sing about the time Geralt had mistaken the town elder for a ghoul and been chased away by the half-blind woman swinging her cane wildly.
The witcher wasnât sure if he was more frustrated or confused, because Jaskier wasnât even there for that!
He didnât thinkâŠ?
Either way, he was starting to realize that if he left Jaskier to his own devices, he would be stealing his brother next. Or Lambert would be stealing his bard.
Geralt growled as he yanked Jaskier away from his brother, muttering something about Ciri needing him as Lambert cackled at his retreat.
He was just worried what might happen with Sally if Jaskier did leave with Lambert. Thatâs all.
âŠmaybe if he just stashed Jaskier in his room for the rest of the winterâ)