Thank you to everybody who’s been holding out for the next part! This story lives in my mind rent free but the words are being held hostage.
Please have a little hanahaki angst, hope you enjoy! <3
There are more petals.
Why the fuck are there more petals? Jaskier spits out petals of sky blue and the softest pink.
He wipes the saliva from his chin, trying to keep from retching. No more than five, but that is five too many.
He is not in love, especially not in unrequited love. Who wouldn’t love Julian Pankratz de Lettenhov? The countess did break his heart, yes, but that was not the first time. Why now? If it would happen to him, would it not make sense to spit fucking flowers when he was chasing her?
He drags his hands over his mouth and chin again, making sure nothing is sticking to his face before he turns and makes his way back to their camping place for the night.
The leaves rustle under his feet as he walks between the trees. The season for flowers is indeed over, it’s barely the season for leaves anymore. The few that clings to the trees with an impressive stubbornness is turning from a fiery red to a greyish brown.
Jaskier strolls into the little clearing they are staying in for the night. Geralt has unsaddled Roach and is rolling out his bedroll.
Jaskier plops down by the tree where he leaned his lute before he had to excuse himself for a moment. He picks it up again and strums a tiny melody that's been on his mind for a while.
As he does he watches his witcher. Geralt.
His white hair in the fading light. Deft hands picking up bowls and a mortar and herbs, grinding Melitele knows what else together. The smell of his potions is unbearable, as per usual, and he still cannot believe that Geralt drinks that by his own free will. He wonders what Geralt's breath smells like.
Something itches at the back of his throat, but he swallows hard a few times until the feeling goes away. It’s nothing but a cold, he tells himself.
As they settle in to sleep for the night, Jaskier pretends not to think about it. Who would he be in love with? Out here with no one around but a horse and a grumpy, longhaired, wellshaped piece of witcher? No, there must be something else going on.
They meet Yennefer again, not even a month later. When Geralt disappears away with her Jaskier has to turn away and cough up petals, and to his surprise, a leaf.
And Jaskier leaves Geralt to his sorceress.
~~
Geralt is pulled to this woman in a way he cannot explain.
She is beautiful, yes, and intense like nobody else. Her eyes an electric violet, her breasts smooth and round, her thighs firm around his hips as they once again collide, this time against the stable wall. Her kisses light his skin on fire, her hands bold, her voice velvet.
But there is something missing that he just can’t seem to put his finger on.
It is absolutely lust he feels for this woman, and she for him. She knows it and she demands it. And when they are done, their limbs untangled and a hard kiss pressed on his lips, Yennefer disappears into the night.
Geralt looks after her, the taste of her still on his tongue.
At the inn there is already a room booked for him, courtesy of Jaskier no doubt. But of the bard himself there is not a trace. There is a pinprick of worry. Jaskier usually says something if he runs off somewhere, lest he is being chased away by his lovers lover. Not unheard of, and Geralt is usually the one having to deal with it.
He quickly searches the inn, around it on the outside and then the tavern across the street. Not a sign of him.
Geralt returns to ask the innkeeper if anyone has seen his mouthy, pompeus bard. But no one has. Not the waitress, not the patrons, not the beautiful lady hanging around in the corner who undoubtedly is in Jaskiers taste.
Finally it is the stableboy who has the answer he seeks. Geralt is pointed towards the guard house, and as he gets closer he can hear roaring laughter and Jaskiers lute.
As he enters he can see Jaskier in full entertaining mode, hips swagging and shirt halfway unbuttoned. It is a sight indeed, he is almost glowing in the light of the fireplace.
Jaskiers attention is again and again drawn towards a big man with his hair set in a ponytail, sitting by the wall watching the bard right back.
A sting of irritation flares up in Geralt, Jaskier should know better than to just take off. Even Geralt can tell the guard is very handsome, despite the scars running over his face. Or maybe because of them, but Jaskier should know better anyway.
He hangs back a little, as if not all the guards already spotted him, and watch the event unfold.
The bard has a certain way when someone caught his eye, Geralt has seen it many times. All the signs are there, and it is as frustrating as always. Jaskier has always been attractive, no one with eyes can deny that, but something about the way Jaskier puts himself on display tonight doesn’t sit right.
There is an edge of desperation, a hint of tension in his shoulders, a lonely gleam in his eye.
Geralt watches, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as Jaskier does that thing where he twists just so that it shows off his ass and his neck in the most sinful way. He can see the guard with a ponytail lock in, his eyes darken, mirth going to hunger.
Jaskier sees it too, he licks his lips and smiles.The game is coming to an end.
Somehow Geralt feels like he is losing.
A few more songs, the guards are rowdy and getting drunker by the minute. The last notes ring out and suddenly Jaskier notices Geralt.
His easy smile gets a little stiff, his arm high in the air in finishing pose. Why the fuck did Jaskier tense up?
Geralt realizes he is frowning and tries to smooth it out when Jaskier makes his way over.
“I thought you were with Yennefer.”
“I was.” is all he offers up. Irritation still there, that Jaskier would take such a risk when he is not aroundto save him. Jaskiers lips press into a tight line, Geralt's eyes flick down to them and back up to his eyes.
Jaskier looks almost hurt, but that wouldn’t really make any sense.
The guard that caught Jaskiers attention is eyeing them across the room.
“He looks nice. I thought you had better taste than that.”
Jaskier bristles.
“Maybe that’s how I like them. I can take care of myself Geralt.” Jasker stalks away and the guard slowly rises and walks after him, throwing a dirty look at Geralt over his shoulder.
‘It’s an effort not to follow them. Geralt steps back outside into the cool night air, and takes a deep breath. The guard house is still loud, cheering and belching and mocking bouncing around, muffled behind the door.
On the other side of the building someone is coughing. Harsh and dry and then a ragged breath. He can hear a door opening and closing and then bodies colliding with a wall.
So that was probably Jaskier. For someone saying they can take care of themselves, that cough sure sounded bad. Had Jaskier been coughing for long? No, Geralt would have noticed.
There is a shuffling of boots and clothes.
“Gods, bard, how can even your breath smell like flowers?”
“Oh, uh- Can we… Can you wait a moment?”
“Why? You have been eyeing me all night, why if not for this?”
There is a groan but Geralt doesn’t like it. Not one bit. Jaskier asked to wait and the fucking guard didn’t listen.
Before he can stop to think Geralt rushes around the corner and sees them against the wall.
“Wh.. Geralt?”
“Fuck off Witcher.” The guard growls at Geralt, clearly not liking the interruption.
Geralt says nothing, just grabs Jaskiers arm and yanks him out of the man's grip. He changes his hold so that his hand wraps around Jaskiers wrist and he stomps away dragging Jaskier behind him.
“What the fuck Geralt?”
“ASSHOLE!” The guard yells but does nothing to stop them.
“Geralt, fucking, just let me go!” Jaskier twists his arm to free himself but Geralt marches them down another street before he relents.
“What the bloody hell was that?!” Jaskier is raging, waving his arms around in that prissy way he does when he is pissed.
“You told him to wait and he didn’t listen.”
“Neither did you!” Geralt stops and frowns. Jaskier is still yelling, angrier that Geralt thought he would be for that. “And this isn’t the first time! You are not the judge of whom I spend the night with, Geralt. That is my fucking decision.”
Oh.
Did he really do that? True, he might have stepped between Jaskier and a conquest on occasion, but only if they seemed like they would treat him badly.
“I just want you to be safe.” Geralt mutters, and Jaskier looks like the witcher tore his heart out of his body.
Suddenly Jaskier starts coughing violently and he turns away.
Worry pierce him again and he reaches out to… he’s not sure what, pat him on the back, hold his shoulder, but Jaskier bats his hand away and keep his back turned.
When the coughing lets up, Jaskier gasps for breath for another few moments. Then he looks up, facing the night sky. His voice is strained and hoarse, somehow a soft baby blue petal stuck to his chin.
“You are my best friend, Geralt. But I can take care of myself. I do most of the time. It’s my decision where I seek my love, just as much as where you seek yours. And if you want to leave me behind without a word for Yennefer, fine. But don’t expect me to sit around and wait for you.”
That. No. That isn't’ what Geralt is doing. Is it?
Jaskier doesn’t wait for a reply. He starts walking towards the inn, long strides and not looking back.
Silently Geralt follows behind him, cold and unease seeping under his skin. Inside the inn, and up the stairs. Jaskier still won’t turn around when they reach their doors Geralt reaches out and grabs his wrist.
“Jaskier. I'm sorry.”
He finally turns to look at Geralt then. They look at each other for a long moment. The frown Jaskier was wearing melts away. He places his free hand on Geralts and gives a little squeeze.
“Good night Geralt.” He lets go, Geralt's hand burns where Jaskier touched him, and the door behind Jaskier closes with a click.
The morning is a strange experience for Geralt. There is an itching on his hand. It’s red and slightly sore. When he scratches it there is a scent in the air. He can’t place it, but it’s warm and familiar. Soothing.
After breakfast Geralt gets approached by the village's huntmaster. Men have disappeared in the woods, the last two only a day ago. No one has seen anything, the fog too thick for any witnesses to see anything. Unwilling to send more out to die, he offers Geralt the job. After some haggling Geralt sets out on the hunt for a foglet.
Killing it is a quick business, but a bloody one. There is only one hunter alive when it is disposed of, with a nasty clawmark on his leg.
Geralt's hand itches all the while. It’s not distractingly bad, but when he takes off his glove his skin is raised, warm. It’s hard to resist the urge to scratch at it, but without knowing what caused it, it would be troublesome to disturb it.
It takes the better part of the day to bring the hunter back with him. For some reason he thought it was a good idea to leave Roach behind with Jaskier, a decision he regrets right about now.
When the hunter is returned safely and the payment is made, Geralt returns to the inn.
Jaskier is there to drag the story out of him as usual. His smile is bright, tongue peaking out as he writes.
But he doesn’t meet Geralt’s eyes.
I realised I never shared my Ciri cosplay with you all.
So here she is Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon from the game The Witcher 3.
I made this costume gradually over a year and there are some aspects I still want to improve.
First photo by Acael Photography. Second and third photos by Carlos Adama Photography.
Look what I’ve found :) my early sketch of a Foglet from The Witcher 3. #foglet #conceptart #conceptsketch #conceptartwork #creatures #creatureart #thewitcher3 #cdprojektred #fantasyart #darkfantasy #monster #monstersketch #monsterconcept
