[ OPEN/SOME CLOSED ] if I had to do it over, I'd do it all again

[cointosser]

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.]

Comments

[gynvael]

Neither did you. [ It feels foolish to say, to tell Jaskier I didn't mean to leave you when he so obviously had. It's just...hard to explain. How it is to regret walking away, yet find it so difficult to turn back that you put it off and you put it off, and then eventually you tell yourself it's too late. They must've moved on by now. How could they not?

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. ]

[cointosser]

[Here, he goes quiet. His brows come together, his heart lurching in his chest. Is that really true? Geralt had made it very clear what he thought of Jaskier in that moment. And whether he was backed into his corner or not, lashing out because either he had to, or because it made Geralt feel better, the case of the matter was the Witcher had not come looking for him, either.

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.]

[gynvael]

[ He can tell Jaskier is considering, doubting. Geralt lets it be; lets Jaskier work things out as he will, on his own terms. It's not so much that he assumes anything of his friend. It's only that how Jaskier feels about him will not change what he means to Geralt.

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. ]

[cointosser]

[This time Jaskier looks at him with real amusement; soft around the edges, much more muted than it had been years ago, but it reaches his eyes. Jaskier is all for affirmations, but sometimes they are unnecessary. Yet Geralt's words were so achingly sincere.

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.

[gynvael]

[ His nose wrinkles. ] I know.

[ 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.

[cointosser]

[Jaskier shares his exhaustion. Somewhere between the flip-flopping of his thoughts, cartwheeling through his head, thrown against the now and the then, he'd begun sobering up. He'd gone through fear and anger and -- and now there was this, which was about as close to peace as he felt capable of getting.

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.