Jaskier "old-timey fuckboy" Alfred Pankratz (
cointosser) wrote in
abraxaslogs2022-01-17 02:29 pm
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[ OPEN/SOME CLOSED ] if I had to do it over, I'd do it all again
Who: Jaskier, Ciri, Geralt, Yennefer, Alucard, and some open prompts
When: Mid-to-Late January
Where: Cadens and the Horizon
What: Jaskier wakes from a vivid, nasty dream to physical evidence that it was unfortunately very real. He spirals, but like, only a little bit. It mostly involves getting drunk and buying hats to cope.
Warnings: Mentions of bodily injury/torture, maybe PTSD, heavy drinking
[Will be throwing starters (including open ones) down below! You can hit me up at
scathefire or #scathefire6612 if you'd like to plot anything or want an additional starter. Also, let me know if you'd like me to avoid S2 spoilers, because there will be a lot.]
When: Mid-to-Late January
Where: Cadens and the Horizon
What: Jaskier wakes from a vivid, nasty dream to physical evidence that it was unfortunately very real. He spirals, but like, only a little bit. It mostly involves getting drunk and buying hats to cope.
Warnings: Mentions of bodily injury/torture, maybe PTSD, heavy drinking
[Will be throwing starters (including open ones) down below! You can hit me up at
no subject
He doesn't want to give up. He does not want to be the only one who can't keep going on.
These people need him. Ciri said as much. You were there for me. You sell yourself too short, Jaskier.
Jaskier laughs against him, the sound shaking his shoulders, burying his face against Geralt's gross hair. But it's him. Undeniably him. Geralt, he thinks. He thinks Geralt needs him, too. He said as much. He didn't need to, but he did, and that's. That's enough.
He pulls away, wiping his face. It's a mess. All of him is. He does not feel better, really. But he does feel as if he will not drown completely, for now.]
I expect to. There's nothing romantic about that horrible snort-gasp noise you make. [He leans against him. Rubs his hands, rubs his palms, heavy with sweat, over his knees. He understands what it means, even through the haze of drink. He will stay. And. Perhaps, that will be the only nightmare Jaskier has.
Jaskier looks at him. He knows he's the one that sort of threw everything at Geralt's face, all at once, but he needs to ask. It's one of those things. Processing while he speaks.] We're all right. Aren't we?
no subject
Shut up. [ It's said softly, as he maneuvers Jaskier fully into bed. It's been a long night. A long few months. A long fucking year. Even if Jaskier can't sleep, laying down is better than nothing.
Geralt lays down, too, beside him. He props himself up on an elbow, and looks back at him. It takes him a moment to respond. Are they all right? How does one even determine what it means to be all right? Fuck, he isn't even certain if Jaskier means to ask if they are each of them all right—him, Ciri, even Yennefer—or if he means we, as in. Them. Maybe Jaskier means both. Maybe Jaskier isn't certain himself. Geralt thinks about it; decides none of it matters in the end. The answer is the same. ]
We still have one another.
[ Is that enough? It has to be. If not each other, then what else is there? The world offers little. He was taught that long ago. But sometimes the people in it can offer something more. ]
no subject
[He hadn't when he was truly broken-hearted. He certainly wouldn't now. If anything, the drink made it even easier. Made... well, everything spill out of him as drink does. Now he almost feels some hint of shame over it.
A hint. Maybe.
As he lays down beside the Witcher, his head still swimming, there is that sense of peace again. He'd always slept soundly when Geralt was around. Not for his presence, but the surety that anything that should stalk upon their camps would be heard by Geralt far before they had time to do anything even slightly nefarious.
He lays on his side, hair falling into his face. With a puff of air, it flops away. As he waits for Geralt's answer, he knows... it will be important, what he says. But he knows he can rely on him to give him the one he needs.
Only when he does answer does Jaskier relax fully.]
So we do. [He smiles, gives a little huff.] You never lost me in the first place, as I'm sure you're delighted to know. [He flicks Geralt's nose, because he can, pulling a quilt up around his shoulders. Fuck it. He'll sleep in his trousers. He will wake a mess either way.] And I think Ciri may kill me if I went anywhere now. Did you know, I don't think she even liked me? What did you tell her about me?
no subject
But he did come back. He thinks much of that was to do with Ciri. The realization that maybe it's only ever too late to turn to someone if you allow it to be so. (He wishes Yennefer would realize that, too. That if she would only come to him, if she'd come to him then before she'd—)
His lips curl. Is that what happened? Truth be told, he hadn't been paying attention at the time, Ciri's reaction to Jaskier or the dwarves. His focus had been on...Yennefer. He pushes it aside. He'd told Ciri that he would speak to her first before settling on what he wanted to do. He means to hold to that. He can think about how he feels afterwards.
He hums. There is fondness underneath. ] Don't take it personally. She still only barely tolerates Sam.
[ Slow to warm. (Like him.) But it means something, when she does finally trust someone, and she trusts Jaskier. He knows that. ]
no subject
Not until he was needed, apparently.
He looks back. In the end, it doesn't... really matter. Jaskier can be heartbroken, can carry the weight of it on his own. It doesn't change how he felt about Geralt during their time here, either. How good a friend he's been since then.
Though he might have mentioned the year he simply fucked off to who knows where. (They both know where.)
Jaskier laughs, and the moment passes.] That doesn't answer my question! Poor Sam, though. I don't know how I'd feel if your daughter didn't like me. No, wait, I know. I'd be very insulted. The least you could do is put in a good word for the man who made you famous. She... [He softens, picking at a loose thread in their quilt, wrapping it around his finger.] She was there when I first woke up. I'm not sure what I would have done without her.
[Scuttled off into the night to not be seen again, perhaps. He doesn't mention that part.]
no subject
His expression softens. Jaskier says it so easily. Your daughter. As though he were waiting for Geralt to finally accept the truth of it before he spoke it out loud. He supposes he accepted awhile ago, before this, but it's always been tinted with a certain hesitation. He never knew her as a child. He'd never have those memories of training her, watching her flourish. Or so he believed.
It's different now. To actually remember that time with her. The moments when she'd turn to him because he was the only one she trusted when she was afraid. Maybe it isn't fair. Maybe it isn't fair to lay here with Jaskier who can hardly cope with his memories and think I wouldn't give mine up for the world. He wasn't lying, when he told Jaskier it felt like shit. It does. There is grief that curls tightly in his chest. But that's been true of nearly everything in his life. He can't recall a time when he was not burying one hurt or another, trying to move on yet again. This is the first it feels...not so hollow. Like—there's something bright which remains after all he's lost.
He takes a deep breath. His hand settles on Jaskier's arm. ] She cares about you. [ Especially with so much of Yennefer in doubt—they've only had each other here in Cadens. This hasn't changed that. ] And I know she's in good hands with you.
[ He has few he can trust. But Jaskier—he's never doubted Jaskier. Not once. ]
no subject
Geralt's hand warm on his arm, he reaches over with the other.
Flicking the end of his nose.]
I know that, you fool. She's said as much herself. [He could add that, unlike some people, she is much more obvious with it. Yet it is not entirely true. He likes to think Geralt's affections show just as clearly, but said in a different language. One the bard has long become fluent in.] I will keep her safe, in the ways I can.
[Let's try something else, shall we? The roll of that voice through the dark.]
And you. Both of which, I think, can also go without needing to be said.
no subject
[ He sighs. Fuck, he's exhausted. When was the last time he truly rested? Maybe once, that brief outing he'd had with Jaskier and Ciri. Or...when he'd slept next to Yennefer, in the Horizon, nose buried in her hair. A small handful of times.
Feels like it's been years. Decades. The memories tumble in his head, expanding, contracting. Taking place over months and in a matter of hours all at the same time. Jaskier looks older, too. Aged a year or two overnight, hasn't he? Not physically, but—something deeper. Bone-deep. He supposes it only makes sense. And though it's hardly the first time he and Jaskier have shared a bed, Geralt moves in closer now. Slides a hand down his arm. ]
Goodnight, Jaskier.
no subject
Like maybe he could rest tonight. Without waking to flames or burning eyes. (He hadn't even had burning eyes. He'd been unremarkable. Handsome, even.)
It was not fair to take it from him, but he'd needed this. This chance to go through all of it. Of everything he'd felt through the year, all coiled into one ouroboros, spinning round.
His arm warms. Without asking, he moves close enough to bury in against the Witcher. He hardly ever does. Not before he's asleep -- and Jaskier would claim he is not responsible for anything he clings to in his sleep. But now, he wants it. That weight, the presence. To ensure that tonight, he doesn't sleep alone.
Just one night. He only wants to get through one night.
There are still so many things that go unsaid. Perhaps they will stay unsaid. This thing, though. It needn't be said, yet Jaskier wants to. This time.]
Thank you, Geralt.