#i included ciri’s nightmare because i think that’s how it feels to be alone

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

[discopiratetanis]

Prompt: 12. I think I love you 

Words: 5012

Prompt list

Read on Ao3

Ko-fi

This prompt it’s longer than I expected to be, it got out of hand. But I am happy that I could write this much! So @leavemeintheocean​ this is for you, I hope you like it and it is romantic enough!  ♥️♥️♥️

There are some musical references but I’m not an expert, so I’m sorry for any mistake about it. 

(Again I have no beta for this 😔)

The ballroom was full of couples dancing. The music was so lively and vibrant that even Geralt of Rivia, the lonely and gruff witcher, was keeping up the rhythm tapping his fingers on his crossed arms and goblet of wine. It was unconscious, he wanted to thought, but the truth was that he was enjoying the music because it was Jaskier who was playing it.

The bard was in his element, confident, cocky, arrogant. Geralt could say he had smiled twice in half a minute when Jaskier had won a music duel for the fourth time that evening. Maybe his friend couldn’t do magic properly said but he could enchant an entire court of nobles used to the most refined songs in all the North Kingdoms only with his voice and chords.

If real magic didn’t exist, then that would be magic.

Geralt was leaning on one of the marble columns, almost hidden in the shadows under the gallery arches that surrounded the room. It didn’t matter how many times Jaskier dragged him to those parties, he never fully liked it. It wasn’t his territory, it was Jaskier’s. If he was there in the first place was only because the queen of Lyria and Rivia wanted to show him off, make herself look more important than she really was because a famous witcher chose her kingdom’s name as last name years and years ago. She was lucky his master didn’t let him use the first name that he came up with.

At least you’ll have food and drinks for free, Jaskier had said when they arrived at the castle, patting his arm, trying to encourage him.

At least, yes, he didn’t want to be sober all night.

A few ladies, the bravest or the most pretentious, he couldn’t tell the difference, had tried to get him to dance time to time but he always declined their proposals with a polite apology. They always pouted but left him alone after two or three negatives masked with flattery. After all the ladies’ attempts, Geralt always glanced at Jaskier, finding out that the bard was also looking at him, with a funny smile spread on his lips and almost laughing.

Every fucking time.

And Geralt always reacted to that smile with a resigned frown and a sip of his wine, just because that made Jaskier laugh in the end. And one of the few things that could help Geralt endure what was left of the party was to see Jaskier laughing. To see his bright, pure and precious smile even if it was at his own expense.

He could say he didn’t know when he had started to think like that, and it would be a blatantly lie. He knew that one day he had woken up, (and Geralt would always deny it, but he remembered that day perfectly.) he had seen Jaskier smile during breakfast and had felt something. Something that made him take a deep breath and look at him in silence when Jaskier was distracted. Something that made him softer around him, something that made him lend Jaskier all the blankets at night (because Jaskier was human and…), to put a hand on his forehead if the bard had nightmares and use Axii to calm him down.

Something that made him want to make Jaskier smile and laugh, want to make him feel safe and sound. Appreciated. Admired. Respected.

Loved.

Geralt grunted, drinking all remains of his wine and gave the goblet to a maid that was passing by. His head was fuzzy already, buzzing with all those thoughts.

The last song was a fast and wild string strumming, the sixth or seventh duel between bards. Of course, Jaskier the Songbird was the winner. Again. The crowd, including the royal family, burst into thunderous applause and shouts. Geralt hissed and frowned a little, overwhelmed by the commotion. That was partially the reason he always was a distant bastard in parties, as much as he could and as much the social code allowed him to be without looking an ungrateful guest. He watched Jaskier bathing in praises and compliments, in claps in the shoulder and gifts from some of the court’ ladies, and licked his teeth. He began to feel that something again, warm and cozy, before it transformed in somewhat much more green and monstrous.

Geralt had to take a long breath and close his eyes. He took another breath and exhaled it slowly, thinking on that day, that winter morning when Jaskier smiled and he felt that something for the first time. When he opened it, the bard was walking at a steady pace towards him, making his way through the dancers and the musicians who were still congratulating him. Jaskier was radiant, and Geralt thought he was beautiful even if he was heated, had his forehead pearly with sweat and his cheeks red. The something warm ate the somewhat green and monstrous, and made Geralt curved a slight smile while watching Jaskier almost rushing to him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier was breathless. He had his lute well held under his arm “Have you seen it? Gods, I thought I was going to run out of air.”

Jaskier tugged his doublet’ collar and untied three buttons. Geralt slid his eyes down his neck, tilting his head a little.

“I saw it, and I heard it,” he said. Jaskier huffed. “Good job, Songbird.”

Even with all the noise, with all the sounds surrounding him, Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart beating faster than before and smell his happiness. Jaskier smiled and looked away from a second. The witcher knew there was coy in his eyes. If Jaskier was radiant before, now he was glowing like the sun at his summer’ zenith.

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied, looking up at Geralt, and frowned a little with guilt. “I know you don’t like being at these parties.”

Geralt felt how his own expression went soft.

“Well,” he said. “It’s not that terrible. As you always say there’s free food, free drinks, sometimes good company…”

“Oh?”, Jaskier raised his eyebrows and looked around. Geralt bit his inner cheek while Jaskier wasn’t looking and shook slightly his head with denied. His face went flat and serious when Jaskier looked at him again, this time suspicious. “But I’ve seen you rejecting all the ladies who wanted to dance with you?”

It was Geralt’s turn to raise his eyebrows, letting Jaskier try to figure out what was he had meant. Jaskier stared at him for a moment, then blinked, confuse. He parted his lips.

"You–”

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier turned around. A woman with a fiddle in her hands approached them, also heated and exhilarated. Geralt threw her a look, smelling her enthusiasm. She was young, long blonde hair, big green eyes, freckles… She was more girl than woman actually, with her cute golden dress that matched with all the other bards’ golden clothes.

“Lena,” Jaskier greeted with a smile.

The girl, Lena, glanced at Geralt, curious (and he noticed that curiosity was genuine and had no malice), but looked at Jaskier immediately after. Geralt watched them in silence, waiting.

“Prince Marek wants us to play The Sun and Moon Waltz so he can dance it with his wife, we need you to guide us.”

Jaskier snorted, smiling.

“You need me or you wanted me to?”

“Well…”

Geralt snorted too. The girl looked like she was caught drinking ale when she was told not to do it. Suddenly, Geralt thought Lena must have been a few years older than Ciri, and that thought made him feel… remorseful. Only a little. Only for a moment.

“Please?” Lena begged, almost hugging her instrument. “You are the best of us, no one can play music and sing as you do it.”

Jaskier turned towards Geralt, inflated with pride.

“See? Someone knows the truth, Geralt of Rivia,” he said, triumphantly. Geralt rolled his eyes. Lena didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or not. “I don’t know, darling,” he said to her. “I think I need a break, at least for the next half hour.”

“Oh, but–”

“You can ask Betricze, she’s the composer, no?”

“Betricze is the one who wants you to lead us, in fact. She said that you would want to inflate more of your ego.”

Jaskier groaned and Geralt thought it was an excellent imitation of his own grunts. He couldn’t help to smile.

“Of course she said that,” Jaskier mumbled. Then he sighed, resigned. Geralt didn’t need his witcher senses to know his friend didn’t want to return with the other bards yet. “Give me a moment, I–”

“Tell that lady that Jaskier will not play that song with you.” Geralt interfered, his voice low and harsh but calm. He straightened and took one step ahead slowly, circling Jaskier’s waist with his arm. He felt the bard going stiff, his heartbeat faster than before, his scent spiced with nervousness. Geralt held his breath. “Tell her that the witcher wants his bard with him after all night waiting and if she has a problem with that she can go fuck herself.”

Lena blinked, gripping her fiddle, and nodded with no words, flustered, face red. Geralt wanted to laugh. The girl turned on her heels and trotted to the gang of bards that were watching them from the other side of the ballroom. Geralt watched them in return with that scary face he knew he could do, pressing Jaskier back against his chest.

“Uh, Geralt–” the bard mumbled.

“Wait,” Geralt hissed.

He located that woman, Betricze, and locked eyes with her. She was older than Lena, mature. Geralt smiled fiercely when she frowned and huffed at him in the distance, starting to prepare the rest of the bards.

The somewhat green and monstrous barked a laugh and retreated.

Then Geralt realized that Jaskier was trembling. And he let him free.

The something warm didn’t want him to do it.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. I felt you didn’t want to go with them,” he murmured.

“Hm, yes, well, you are right,” Jaskier cleared his throat, fiddling with his collar and the fourth button, not looking at Geralt at all. “Thank you. But I’m afraid now they’ll think something that it’s not true.”

“I don’t care about what some bunch of bards thinks about us while that doesn’t affect you.”

Jaskier grinned and when Geralt saw that pretty little smile in his lips, that something warm roared victoriously.

“That’s very kind of you, Geralt.”

Jaskier looked up, looked at him, and Geralt lost himself in his blue eyes, his pretty bright eyes full of passion and untold feelings. It was a moment but he felt it like a century as if time has stopped, with Jaskier in front of him and Geralt ready to set that something free. But then a soft melody began to sound and Jaskier looked away, distracted.

Geralt sighed.

The guests gradually moved away from the center of the room to form an oval space, wide enough for a couple could dance. Geralt saw the prince, a young man with black hair and blue and silver clothes, taking his wife, a very elegant woman with a long and puffy dark blue dress, to the center of that space. They bowed to each other and started to dance, slowly. The song was only instrumental, and only with strings instruments.

The crowd watched the couple dancing in a silence broken with sighs and aws of joy.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt noticed Jaskier had left his lute on a table near them. The bard was much calmer now and had caught his breath finally. But he was still blushing.

Tell him, tell him, said the something warm.

“The song?” Geralt asked.

“Yes, of course the song, Geralt,” Jaskier chuckled and threw him a doubtful glimpse.

“I suppose, yes,” Geralt replied. “I’m not an expert.”

Jaskier crossed his arms then, smiling.

“Well, it’s not only beautiful, but it’s also brilliantly written.”

Geralt knew that Jaskier wanted to be asked about it, so he indulged him.

“How’s that?”

“It’s not for the technical aspects, though I could tell you about all the details of it if you want. It has wonderful arrangements and the harmony it’s a masterpiece itself.”

Geralt chuckled. In the oval area, the prince made his wife turn on herself two times, then he took her hand and moved two steps to the right, and turned around with her after. They were smiling, and giggling sometimes. They looked happy, comfortable with each other, in love.

In love.

Geralt slightly licked his lips and felt… strange, as if his guts had shrunk and something tightened his throat. It felt as if he had a big rock on his back, a sword sunk in his chest. He swallowed and felt it as if he had a heavy lump stuck.

“I think I’m not the best person to appreciate those things,” he mumbled, and in some way, he sounded a little sad.

Jaskier looked at him with a tiny sweet smile and said:

“Don’t worry, that’s not the most interesting. Not for the no bards, at least,”

“Then?”

“There are two main melodies, one played by a lute, the other played by a fiddle and each of them has a cortege of the same instruments playing their respective chorus behind.”

“They wanted you to be the main lute, right?”

“Yes, in fact, it’s the true main instrument. It represents the Moon in the story.”

“Oh?” Geralt tilted his head a little, still watching the couple dancing. “So, the fiddle it’s the Sun.”

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded. “The two melodies are entangled, its harmony it’s the same, but the lute plays in a minor key and the fiddle in a major key.” Jaskier went silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, and Geralt sensed a melancholic note in his voice. “The story tells you that the Moon was in love with the Sun, but the Sun never noticed, so the Moon started to appear in the sky when it was daytime, glowing with part of the Sun’s shine to attract its attention.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and saw his distant and sad look. The sunken sword in his chest hurt him more. “The Sun continued no noticing the Moon was there, day after day after day. And the Moon felt despair and disappear. Then, during a sunset, the Sun finally thought: ‘Where is the Moon? Why isn’t it here with me?’, and felt despair too.”

Geralt swallowed once more, hard. He felt as if a claw had removed the sword and stuck in his chest, trying to tear his heart out.

“How it ends?” he asked in barely a whisper.

He sensed Jaskier beside him getting tense, his heart beating fast again, and that even he almost had tears in the corner of his eyes. The bard cleared weakly his throat.

“The Sun went on a long journey to search for the Moon– Oh, they are playing that part now, look.”

Geralt threw a glance at the couple. The princess, with her puffy dress floating like a cloud, was dancing alone near one of the extremes of the oval space. The prince, dancing alone too, was slowly approaching his wife with short and errant steps, pretending being lost without her. Then, when they met, the music exploded in a new sweet fanfare and the dancers turned on themselves without an inch between them, without tearing their eyes from the other. The prince made his wife turned around three more times. The princess took two steps back, two steps ahead, to her husband. The music began to fade. The couple slowly stopped dancing. They bowed to each other again, then they started clapping. The crowd imitated them.

“So the Sun found the Moon and they were happily ever after?” Geralt said while all the nobles and guests surrounded the bards to congratulate them. Jaskier nodded without words, smiling, but Geralt knew it was a weak and fake smile. “And it’s brilliant because… ?”

Jaskier snorted, then he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied.

“It’s important to you, don’t you,” Geralt faced Jaskier.

Jaskier looked at him, his smile vanishing bit by bit and said:

“You are indulging me a lot lately,”

Geralt shrugged. The claw tore flesh. The something whimpered.

“Do you want me to be the grumpy witcher as always?” he replied.

Jaskier shook his head, again with no words. Geralt watched him in silence too, knowing the bard wasn’t going to tell him why the song was beautiful and brilliant in his opinion. And he knew it was because Jaskier thought the Sun hadn’t noticed him.

But that wasn’t true.

The bards began to play another song, one much more lively, and some of the nobles began to dance it. Jaskier looked away and picked up his lute from the table, clearing his throat for the third time.

“I should go back. If the queen catches me wandering so much she won’t pay me,” he said with a resigned and tired sigh. He didn’t look at Geralt. And Geralt felt bad. “See you later?”

He was about to go when Geralt grabbed his arm softly. Jaskier looked up and blinked, confused. Geralt frowned, also confused, and parted his lips as if he was going to say something. The witcher hesitated.

“Geralt–”

Just for a second.

“Don’t. Wait,” he said. No. He begged. “I… I have noticed you.”

Jaskier blinked again, still confused.

“What are you talking about?” he said, frowning too.

Geralt held his breath, dragging his fingers along Jaskier’s arm until he touched the wrist. He wasn’t good with words, Jaskier was. It wasn’t fair.

“I… “ he mumbled and closed his eyes for a second, indecisive.

Tell him, TELL HIM, groaned the something warm and cozy, now afraid, terrified. He opened his eyes. Jaskier was still looking at him, now somewhat skeptical. Geralt gulped and felt the lump bigger than before, the rock heavier than ever. Jaskier sighed.

“Geralt, let–”

“I think I love you.”

It was as if the time had stopped again. Or as if he suddenly went deaf. The music, the chatter, the voices, the laughs, all of it faded away gently. There was a loud heartbeat in all that silence, and Geralt knew it was his own. It was slow, agonizing, desperate. Jaskier tilted his head, surprised, and then said something that Geralt never thought he could say to him after he confessed somewhat like ‘I love you’.

“Geralt, are you drunk?”

Geralt felt the rock crushing him, the claw finally ripping out his heart, the tip of the sword at his neck. He let out a deep breath and released Jaskier’s wrist. He didn’t know emotions could hurt so much.

No. He did know but he blatantly chose to ignore it for years.  

“Maybe,” Geralt grunted, suddenly feeling tired, suddenly wanting to be really, really drunk. “Forget it,”

Then the witcher turned around and walked away through the gallery, also feeling stupid and an idiot. Behind him, Jaskier’s voice rumbled with a perplex echo along the corridor, calling him.

But Geralt didn’t listen and didn’t stop.

* * *

The gardens were empty, with all the guests inside the castle in general and the ballroom in particular. The moon was in its first quarter and shed a pale silver light over the trees and the small lake that was surrounding the fortress. Geralt thought it was ironic that it was him the one contemplating that view, the flowers on the shore, the ducks in the water, the fireflies floating everywhere as if he was a damsel with a broken heart because her beloved did not return her feelings. But he was not a damsel, nor his beloved did not correspond his feelings.

That was what pissed him off the most.

Jaskier, in fact, did return his feelings. Geralt was aware of how the bard looked at him, how he smiled at him, and he knew why he sang those songs about him, why he touched him with so much care, why he followed him with such insistence despite the danger of the witcher’s life, why he helped him the way he did.

He knew why.

And he understood why Jaskier thought Geralt must be drunk if he was saying that he loved him. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt anyway.

I suppose I deserve it, he thought, that was reckless and stupid, and out of time and–

Geralt let out a deep sigh. He was sitting near the lakeshore, in the shadow of the castle, with an almost empty bottle of wódka stoled from the kitchens. He wanted to be drunk, wanted to forget his stupidity, but his metabolism burned the alcohol before it could take effect. He thought about Jaskier, who probably was having fun without thinking or worrying about what had happened. He thought (no, he knew) that they probably will not talk about it in the morning or in the several following days.

Not if it depended on Geralt.

And that pissed him off too.

Geralt drank the last remains of the wódka and left the bottle on the grass and clicked his tongue with a grunt. Suddenly he heard the steps, distant and careful steps, and the whispers. Three persons, one male, two females. He could smell them, they were nervous. At first, Geralt thought they were nobles who wanted to have fun behind the bushes, but then he smelled the buttercups and the daisies and…

And there was music too.

Geralt looked back and saw Jaskier walking towards him. He had his doublet unbuttoned. Geralt frowned a little, more confusing than angry. Behind the buttercups, the daisies and the nervousness, he smelled hope. He got up slowly, just when Jaskier reached him. The bard had a cautious and eager expression. His eyes were of a deep blue that resembled the blue of the water illuminated by the moonlight. Geralt blinked, not knowing what to say exactly. Jaskier offered him his right hand. Geralt sighed.

“Jaskier…”

“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled, and Geralt smelled guilt. He took his hand, feeling it warm and a little sweaty. Geralt put his own right hand on Jaskier’s waist while Jaskier put his left hand on Geralt’s right shoulder. Something inside Geralt melted and whimpered. Jaskier held his breath and swallowed. “Do you remember the dance?” he asked, again with a whisper.

For a second, Geralt didn’t know what he meant, but then he listened to the music and recognized it.

It was that waltz.

The Sun and Moon Waltz, specifically the part where the Sun was looking for the Moon and then they met again. Geralt shook his head weakly, feeling his gut hot, like a wasp’s nest. Jaskier smiled, softly.

“It’s alright, you have seen it once,” he said. “I didn’t expect it.”

Jaskier began to dance. Geralt followed his lead. Well, actually saying that they were dancing was saying a lot. They were swinging more than dancing, slowly, sometimes clumsily.

But it was enough.

He had Jaskier in his arms, it was more than enough.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, after minutes and minutes of heavy silence. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously before. I can’t believe you told me what I had been wanting to hear for so long and that I disdained it that way,” Geralt squeezed his fingers gently. “I’m so dumb…”

“You are not dumb,” Geralt sighed, in a mutter. “You had the rights to think I was drunk,” He licked his lips slightly. “I’m sorry I storm off like that.”

“No, no, it’s okay, really,” Jaskier wasn’t looking at him directly. “If it had happened the other way around, I would be walking in circles whining like a child, and I would be thinking of writing a thousand songs about my broken heart.”

Geralt huffed with a tiny smirk.

“Well, I was not thinking about writing songs, but I was here trying to get myself true drunk if that comforts you.”

Jaskier looked at him finally. Geralt saw and smelled guilt again, saw the tears in the corner of his eyes.

“It doesn’t comfort me… I’m sorry,” Jaskier said.

Geralt knew Jaskier was about to cry. So he released his hand and stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“No, no, my little bird, don’t cry.”

Jaskier leaned into the touch, smiling, and put his free hand on the other shoulder, almost circling Geralt’s’ neck. They were still swinging slowly, pretending to be dancing the waltz. Geralt breathed in.

And then he heard them.

But idiot, just kiss him already

Please, ma’am, he is going to hear us

I don’t fucking care, girl, I’m tired of men incapable of doing romance properly

I think they are doing it right?

He stopped dancing.

And when he did it, the music faded, Jaskier huffed and hid his face in Geralt’s chest. Geralt patted his head.

“Alright, you can go out, you two!” he called.

Instantly, two figures appeared from behind a tree not so far, one carrying a lute and the other carrying a fiddle.

“Lady Lena, lady Betricze.” he greeted.

He saw how Betricze wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, don’t call me that, witcher,” she replied, clearly disgusted in general with the situation.

Beside her, Lena looked much more satisfied and happy. Geralt gave her a tiny nod. Jaskier huffed again and moved aside him, looking undignified and resigned.

“Thank you, Zeze, for breaking the moment, very professional,” he said, bitterly.

Betricze gasped and frowned.

“Oh, excuse me, Pankratz, but I haven’t been the one who screwed up anything, it has been your lover and his… ridiculous hearing.”

Geralt could see her face going red. He wanted to laugh but he snorted, repressing it. Jaskier looked at him in disbelief.

“Geralt, it’s not funny! She promised she would play all the waltz for us, and she didn’t do it.”

“Oh, come on, you weren’t even dancing,” Betricze grunted. “My song was being profaned with those pathetic moves.”

“Oh, yes? I’ll show you something very, very, profaned,” Jaskier began to roll up his sleeves.

Geralt caught him by the waist with one arm and made him stepped back.

“Alright, ladies, I think you can go now, thank you for the music, I owe you a favor,” he said.

Jaskier squirmed in his arm. Betricze smiled triumphally and turned around, going away. Lena sighed and began to follow her.

“Don’t, Geralt, you don’t owe her anything!” Jaskier exclaimed, frustrated.

Betricze made a rude sign to him and laughed. Jaskier grunted. Lena, still following the older woman, looked back and shouted:

“I think you make a great couple!”

Jaskier rolled his eyes but grinned a little.

“Thanks, Lena!” he replied.

“Can I write a song about you two?!”

Geralt snorted again. Jaskier grumbled.

“No, Lena!”

Geralt knew that No, Lena had an implied He is mine, don’t sing about him. For some reason, he thought that was cute. He let go of Jaskier gradually.

“What if I write it with other names?!”

“Go away, Lena!”

Lena giggled in the distance and ran behind Betricze. Jaskier, shaking his head, put his hands on his hips, still annoyed. Then looked at Geralt, who seemed about to laugh finally.

“What?” Jaskier inquired, displeased.

“Nothing,” Geralt replied, amused. “Bards.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Geralt didn’t respond. He cupped Jaskier’s face with both hands, gently, and kissed him, also gently. Jaskier whined, kissing him back, circling his neck with his arms and pressing, almost rubbing, himself against the witcher. Geralt let out a harsh groan, a rough grunt, and bit Jaskier lower lip carefully, making him moan against his mouth. Geralt pulled away just enough to breath and rested his forehead on Jaskier’s. Jaskier was panting a little and had his pupils wide and huge. He smiled, laughing softly after. Geralt smiled too, kissing his forehead, kissing his temple.

“Can I ask you something?” Jaskier asked, whispering.

“What is it?” Geralt murmured against his skin.

“Since when?”

Geralt knew he would do that question someday. He didn’t expect it so soon. But well, he couldn’t blame Jaskier after all.

“I don’t remember what day exactly, but I know it was late winter, and we were far away from any village,” he said thinking back about that. “I was doing something beside the fire and then… “

“Then?”

Geralt kissed near his left eye and straightened up, looking at him, and his expression was soft and calm.

“Then I looked at you, I don’t remember what were you doing either, but… I looked at you, and you were smiling, and I thought: I want him to smile like that forever. I want to make him smile like that always.”

“Geralt…”

“And the day after it was something else as if suddenly I could notice all the little things I like about you that I didn’t notice before.” Geralt slid his fingertips alongside Jaskier’s jaw and neck, making him shiver with pleasure. “And then I didn’t know–  No, I didn’t want to acknowledge it was something more than ephemeral, after all these years, that it was…”

Geralt frowned a bit, hesitating, looking for the right words, looking for good words. Jaskier stroked his jaw, watching him with all his sweetness, listening patiently, knowing that talking about emotions was difficult for Geralt.

“It was… ?” he encouraged him.

Geralt took a deep breath, hearing the precious heartbeat of Jaskier, smelling his scent made of buttercups and daisies, gazing at his beautiful, bright and radiant blue eyes, and felt that something finally taking shape in his mind.

“It was love,” he whispered.

And Jaskier breathed in deep too, before grabbing Geralt’s shirt collar and kissed him, trailing his hands and his fingers for all his chest, touching the medallion with devotion. Geralt kissed him back, slow again, feeling the heartbeat going fast, smelling Jaskier like buttercups and daisies but also like fire, wood and oil.

And Love sighed with relief, finally free, finally… at home.

[regrettablewritings]

Can I ask for some DOMESTIC headcanons with Jaskier, please?

Ask and you shall receive~

If they get married, who proposes?: Jaskier never really saw himself as the type to settle down, having spent plenty of his life living freely and unbound to any woman (or man). He was perfectly content with the idea of roaming the land for the rest of his days: Loving, laying, and leaving as warranted, and with as many lovers as he could bear. Until he realized that he wasn’t content with that. And he would never be content with that kind of lifestyle — or at all, really — if it didn’t include you in it in come way. Preferably as his and his alone. Though the bard would be tempted to ask for your hand in some extravagant and showy way, reality ensues in several different ways: For one, the two of you are often traveling. This makes the act of doing anything showy a bit difficult, never mind a proposal. For another, the most showy places where he could possibly cause a big splash tend to be banquets he gets invited to as entertainment. Specifically, banquets in celebration of some higher-ranking nobility, usually their engagements or birth announcements of some kind. Needless to say, very taboo to suddenly take the attention off them. And thirdly, as much as he wants the whole continent to learn of his love for you, Jaskier knows you’d hate that sort of thing. He may be a peacock, demanding attention, but you’re not: You like to keep things simple and flowing naturally. It’s easy for many to forget it, but Jaskier isn’t as selfish or oblivious to the needs of others as he tends to come off as. He would never dream of doing anything that might humiliate you regardless of it having anything to do with whether or not you wanted to marry him. It isn’t the majestic or lavish proposal he would’ve ever wanted to give anyone, much less you, but he makes do with the opportunity he’s offered: In a field in the countryside, his legs and feet aching after walking for hours, with the closest witnesses being a giddy child trying to keep her silence at a distance, and her only somewhat amused paternal figure who’s mostly just surprised you even said yes.

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?: In spite of his noble lineage, the guest list for a notoriously horny viscount-turned-bard is rather small, with an equally minor affair. There is no grand cathedral or high quality fabrics or even a feast worthy of the nobility. And as disappointed as he is that he cannot provide you a lavish affair as you so deserve, he is at least able to find relief that there is at least still a you. What there is is a small, quaint little chapel, the dress you already had with the additional accessory of a flower crown Ciri made you, and a guest list that initially was only meant to include Geralt but at some point also included Yennefer, much to Jaskier’s absolute dread. As stated before, there isn’t a feast, and Jaskier could think of a far better post-wedding meal than whatever fare even the nicest pub in town would provide. A tiny part of him regrets the actions that caused him to leave his title behind because it’s robbed you of experiencing the fineries he knows you are owed. But then again, if he hadn’t become a bard, then he wouldn’t have met you. And if he hadn’t met you, he wouldn’t be here, sitting in a loud, messy tavern, with you holding his hand beside him as you sheepishly giggle at the barmaid dispense upon you “her wisdom” from years of marriage. It’s not ideal, in the most superficial or materialistic sense, no. But in the end, he’s satisfied: There couldn’t be a more memorable way for the two of you to start your lives together, not even if he were still a high-standing viscount.

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?: I can’t see Jaskier being especially eager to have children. Though, given his track record, he probably already has a few kids scurrying around. It’s unlikely that the overeager lover would have remembered to utilize whatever counted as a contraceptive for the period, though, so there are still chances you’ll wind up pregnant. In which case, you have a boy: Charming and artful like his father, but grounded enough like you to not get his head caught in the clouds enough to fall off a cliff. Aside from his good looks and cheery disposition, his skills in music and field studies make him a golden child in the eyes of many, causing Geralt and Yennefer to wonder how anyone so smart and likable could possibly be of Jaskier’s blood.

Do they have any pets?: Jaskier doesn’t really care to have a pet but if you ask or even bring home a smallish pet or two like a cat or a lap dog, he won’t be against it.

Who’s the stricter parent?: You are, to the shock of absolutely nobody. Though, you wouldn’t call it being strict: You prefer to call it “setting boundaries to assure your kid survives into adulthood”, which Jaskier finds pretty rich considering the two of you spent a good few years boundless as, well, technical vagabonds. He’s more the sort to encourage your child’s indulgences and also more likely to get the both of them into some minor form of trouble. Or, at the very least, sneak him sweets before dinner or bedtime.

Who kills the bugs in the house?: It starts off with you: In spite of all that time living on the road and occasionally spending the night at less than favorable or sanitary inns, Jaskier never became accustomed to the presence of insects. “Besides,” he tries to reason, “you were always the one penning things about bugs.” “Yes,” you agreed. “Drawing. That’s not the same!” And if the fool had even read your field guides more thoroughly, he might’ve noticed that the amount of bugs you took note of paled in comparison to your notes on birds and even fantastical creatures. Mainly because you despised looking at and being near bugs. They frightened you! His guess is maybe you would try to capture them and release them outdoors -- but that’s only true to a point. You can do that with a lady bug, certainly. Maybe even, on occasion, a cricket. But once the bug hits a certain size and can fly? The household is filled with the sounds of you two screaming and yelling at one another, with Jaskier being about as helpful as a twig for a paddle. Sure, he talks a big game about being there for “morale support”. But the reality is that he’s hiding behind a wall that happens to be behind your quivering form as you attempt to approach the nightmare insect that had crawled into your home. In the end, sad as it is to say, the one who kills the bugs is actually Geralt whenever he happens to be in the area. Because as dominant in the relationship as you are, it’s still a relationship with Jaskier: That means that not only are you only dominant by so much, but also that Geralt is the one wearing the trousers in a relationship he’s not even involved in.

How do they celebrate holidays?: It doesn’t matter if the home you’ve settled down in is as large as an estate fit for a viscount, or as small as a little cottage by the seaside: Jaskier will try to make your home a central partying point for local events and holidays. He’ll spare no expense trying to piece together a grand meal (or at least the materials that might make one) or finding whatever materials may be necessary for a god’s feast day. But what he mostly looks forward to is the performing: No matter what the holiday or feast day is in celebration of, Jaskier will find a way to wedge a song or two in. And no matter how awful the lyrics may actually be, all attendees will listen to it if they want to keep eating.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?: Jaskier. The man loves the feeling of you and always has a hand on you during the day. This doesn’t change just because he’s asleep: No matter what position the two of you fall asleep in, you will inevitably wake up with him cuddled up next to you, arms wrapped about you as though you were anchoring him to this world. You’re not exactly an early riser yourself, but when you do finally give in and recognize you need to get up at some point, your poor husband whines and you can feel his hold on you tighten. Not nearly enough to hurt, of course, but enough for you to recognize that he really and truly doesn’t want you to go. And you can try and argue that he can get up now all you want, it’s not going to change the fact that you yourself are quite warm in this position . . . Or that the way he stares at you with those blue puppy eyes is unfortunately quite endearing . . . . . . Ah, Hell. What’s a few more minutes? You can practically feel him smirking as you climb back into bed and resume your cuddling position. Normally you’d be annoyed by this brand of satisfaction, given that Jaskier can be a bit of a brat. But when it comes to moments like this, you don’t mind too terribly. It’s technically a win-win situation anyway.

Who’s the better cook?: You are. Given his previous life as a viscount, Jaskier has experience with finer qualities of food -- well, eating it, that is. He never had to actually learn how to prep food or fend for himself until he took to the road as a bard. And it’s arguable if he ever even properly learned to even after the fact. For the most part, he’d gotten by on the kindness of strangers, or by whatever he could scrounge up at whatever pub he managed to step a foot in. Or at the household of whoever’s mother he managed to bed. You, on the other hand, have more experience learning to cook for yourself, even if it’s by using the bare minimum. But settling down in an actual brick-and-mortar home means better chances of acquiring spices and seasonings! Really, though, Jaskier just loves that it was made with love. Because that’s the best ingredient of them all!

Thank you for your patience!