Jaskier, of wherever's most conveinient

Jaskier isn’t particularly weak stomached on most occasions—he’s followed Geralt for years now and seen his fair share of blood and gore during, he’s a bit skiddish in combat, but not easily put off from its result. The difference lies in species. Monsters he couldn’t care too much less about seeing destroyed, animals are touch and go, but humans are very different, and he emphasizes strongly. Human looking or acting monsters are a bit of a grey area and it varies from case to case, but more often than not, he still gets a little nauseous regardless.

He’s never really been one to mind a little looting, sometimes it’s necessary for resources or payment that won’t be gained later, and he’s even assisted from time to time in collecting valuables, organic or otherwise, but there’s a line—he isn’t necessarily above taking things from the living, but looting corpses is something he doesn’t particularly jive well with, especially to keep what’s being taken. Coin and things to sell are a little different, but things like clothings, jewelry, and personal possessions taken with the intent to keep them rubs him the wrong way and makes his skin crawl enough that he’ll protest, depending on the person. He’s never said anything to Geralt’s face, but he’s clearly never amused when he goes poking at every corpse they come across. Jaskier has never assisted or condoned looting a human corpse. Only a monsters.

That being said, he also doesn’t battle well with sight, story, or description of someone’s death, especially after his assist rescuing Cirri and seeing all that he had during, individually or in combination with one another is a lot to deal with. Seeing things humans have done is harder for Jaskier to come to terms with, since he tends to overthink and try to understand each position, he trips himself out and makes himself sick thinking about it easily. He’s at a point where sometimes he’s more afraid of humans than monsters. He’d rather stick his hand inside of a monster for something useful over even seeing another person’s carnage any day.

@ask-geralt:

“Fine. Stay close.”

Geralt glares at the three of them, then marches towards them with purpose. The lute wasn’t worth Jaskier’s life, and internally, Geralt’s glad he’d gotten away without it. Broken lutes were much easier to fix or replace than broken bones.

“Hand over the lute.”

The command and his posture brooks no argument, and leaves no room for an explanation. Jaskier rarely did any actual harm, never did something the other party involved didn’t consent to. So, as far as Geralt was concerned, if these men were angry, they should take it up whoever Jaskier had gotten involved with.

“So- You’ve got a Witcher, do ya’, bard? Or’s it the other way around? I’m sure that makes you a pair of damn proper bastards either way.” Despite the bite and venom in the mans tone, there’s still a clear edge of fear that seeps into all three of them—the shorter of them that’s closer to Jaskier’s height has the sense to back off as soon as the Witcher stalks forward and before he’s even spoken, mumbling a string of curses under his breath.

“Little bit of both, if you’d believe it,” Jaskier croons. Said bard in question keeps on Geralt’s heels, with a grin that’s fueled by the bubbling confidence and cockyness in his chest with someone a little more...gruff standing between them, but his words fuel a fire that seemed as though it was dying.

The man holding the lute huffs, with a glance between the Witcher and the instrument in hand, before settling on the bard again, “I’ll teach you a little something about respecting property, boy,” He spits, throwing Filivandrel’s lute to the ground, heavy heel coming down on its neck before Jaskier can even think of wincing. But, as soon as he hears it splinter, his heart wrenches, and he wilts, if only for a moment.

Jaskier’s favorite colors are blue and purple, for a multitude of reasons. He’s drawn to them for his wardrobe because the shades bring out his eyes, mostly, but he also likes a murmur towards a status higher than that of a bard from time to time depending on the situation. 

Purple particularly in his wardrobe is faux, though, often a magenta or indigo blend instead considering the absurd price that Tyrian Purple goes for due to its rarity. 

Blue also serves as a symbol of nobility or royalty, and while typically Jaskier prefers to be detached from his heritage, there’s definitely a time and place on occasion where he uses it to his advantage despite any discomfort. On occasion, he’ll use it to indulge as well.

Jaskier almost always has a sore throat. It’s mostly just from how much he talks and wears his voice down, performing takes a lot out of him and it’s demanding. It gets pretty hoarse at the end of the night and almost hard to listen to at times. He does what he’s able to counteract some of it, but it only half helps.

With that, he’s gotten quite the knack and taste for different types of teas and additives over the years. It typically isn’t something he goes out of his way to be frivolous with, there’s finer luxuries that he would rather indulge in, but with that he’s become quite the forager when it comes to edible herbs and flowers.

Speaking of luxuries, let’s talk bath soaks for a moment; It may as well be a must have at any inn that he be able to relax and soothe his muscles at least once during his stay, and he always makes sure that he has salt, chamomile oil, and anise pods before he has a bath drawn.

He always has a small bottle of chamomile oil on him regardless, but the others are more of a pick up as needed expense.

The witcher sat away from the festivities, never one for a lot of conversation. His horse was safely tucked in the barn of the inn he was staying at, and he debated going to sleep as well. It was in the near hours of the morning and the party hadn’t stopped, for the townspeople were all celebrating the death of the monster that had terrorized their town for months. Thanks to the white wolf, the bloedzuiger was slaughtered and taken care of. Despite the joyous dancing and excited feelings surrounding him, he couldn’t return their excitement.

This was not a time for him to smile and rejoice. He knew that another monster would come along and take the place of the bloedzuiger. And he would be summoned back to get rid of it… And on and on it goes as an endless cycle until maybe one day when he was too old to fight monsters. Or if he would accidently slip up and be the monster’s next victim. A shudder ran through him whether it be from the nearing winter or his merciless thoughts, who could tell. All he knew was it was time to take lodging for the night. Thankfully, the town had paid him quite generously and he wouldn’t be in worry of a coin for the next week or two. He made plans to search for a farrier to care for Roach and give her a new set of horseshoes. Her hooves were in definite need of repair, and no doubt her hooves needed a proper trimming. Just yesterday he found himself picking mud and rock from their travels.

He stood, walking through the crowds of laughter and dancing to get to his lodging.

It was his own celebration, as far as the bard was concerned, and Geralt was walking away. Even while performing himself and the other man askew from the rest of the crowd, the Witcher hadn’t lost Jaskier’s attention. He paid more than enough to anyone he could charm a smile to with a glance and a wink, yes, but by now, Geralt had made his way up his list of priorities—and, somehow, regardless of how much it baffled even Jaskier, he’d made his way higher than the woman he’d been stealing a few extra glance overs of and shooting winks to for the past couple hours he’d pulled any kind of attention towards himself. As soon Geralt decided that he was going on the move, Jaskier did as well, in a mixture of bafflement that he would even consider leaving, and worry, even.

For a man who wasn’t supposed to feel, Jaskier had found Geralt to be even more of a drama queen when he wanted to be than even himself. The Witcher never failed to amuse, confuse, and bewilder Jasker. In its own way, that was more worthwhile than any girl. Well, that and the attention he garnered riding on the coattails of Geralt’s adventures, he’d be lying if he didn’t include that as a determining factor for his loyalty to the man, amongst other things, even if his coin profit was scarce depending on the generosity of his crowd.

Tonight, they simply hadn’t delivered enough for him to bother debating on if he should stick around and shake them from their ankles for everything they had. So, with a flourish to ease the sure sting of his sudden exit—they would live, he wasn’t the only man with an instrument there, even if he was clearly the crowning jewel—he hauled ass as much as he was able to weave through the people to catch up with Geralt’s retreat, and store his lute away in its case at the same time.

Breathless by the time he caught up, between his performance and the pace, careful fingers reached out to snag a pinch of fabric on the man’s attire that he was able, not to lose him and hopefully, if he had mercy, slow him to the meander Jaskier would prefer.

tagged by: N/A 

tagging: all mutuals ;)

APHRODITE. laughter-loving,      sweet  smiles,     dressed  in  silk  and  satin,   flower  in  their  hair,     sees  the  world  as  a  runway,     unapologetically  sexual,   the  sea  washing  their  ankles,    in  love  with  love,     stirrer  of  passion,   cunning  concealed  by  painted  lips,     secret  daggers,    doves,     revolution  in  their  kiss,    delighting  in  the  waves,     flirtatious  winks,     strolling  along  the  beach,     staring  wistfully  from  a  balcony,  this  is  how  to  be  a  heartbreaker,    wants  to  be  adored,     gets  turned  on  by  danger.

APOLLO.   glitz  and  glamour,  art  galleries,    turning  the  volume  up,     being  made  of  gold,     neatly-organized  music  sheets,     notebooks  filled  with  poetry,   bathing  in  the sunlight,  the  powerful  urge  to  create,     collecting  vinyl  records,    beautiful  cover  of  Wonderwall,     playing  multiple  instruments,   tasting  like  sunshine,   healing  touch,     speaking  in  prophecies,   smile  mingled  with  wrath,   shunning  lies,   sporting  shades,     hanging  out  at  music  festivals  with  their  friends,     sleeps  naked,   arrow  to  the  heart,    paint  brushes,     probably  has  a  Tinder  account.

ARES.     armed  for  battle,    wants  to  raise  a  dog  with  their  significant  other,  soft  spot  for  children,  gives  piggyback  rides,    scarred  body,   blood  on  their  hands  and  face,   willing  to  fight  the  world  for  the  ones  they  love,    fights  against  injustice,     warm  hugs,    well-worn  combat  boots,    boxing gloves,   bandages  wrapped  around  bruised  knuckles,    fist  raised  in  protest,     ignites  revolutions,   fear  is  a  prison,  more  sensitive  than  what  their  tough  shell  would  have  you  think,     exhausted,   damaged  goods,   force  to  be  reckoned  with,     red  roses,  curses  under  their  breath.

ARTEMIS.    keen  sense  of  a  hunter,   freckles  like  constellations  on  their  skin,  piercing  eyes,   disheveled  braid,   moonlight  peeking  through  the  shadows,    the  calm  of  the  forest  at  night,     lying  on  the  grass  and  staring  at  the  stars,   mother  doe  and  her  fawn,    protecting  their  kin,   the  moon  shimmering  on  a  still  lake,   quiver  full  of  arrows  resting  against  the  bark  of  a  tree,    running  with  wolves (or one specifically),   bonding  while  circled  around  a  campfire,    not  being  much  of  a  people  person,    arrow  hitting  a  target,   popping  egos,   patience  on  3%,    touches  heaven  and  returns  howling.

ATHENA.    discerning  gaze,   unreadable  face,   quiet  museums,   owl  perched  on  their  finger,    armor  that  intimidates,    eye  for  architecture,     plays  the  sims  for  the  sole  purpose  of  building   houses,     studied  the  blade  while  everyone  else  was  busy,  big  fan  of  logic,    loves  brain  teasers,     ancient  buildings,     sweaters  in  neutrals  and  cool  colors,   hair  done  up,    can  kill  you  with  their  brain,   heads  to  the  library  often  to  research,     sharpened  pencils,   abs  that  can  cut  steel,  stoic  statues,   pottery classes.

DEMETER.     soil-covered  hands,   smile  that  can  bloom  flowers,    skin  loved  by  the  sun,     being  the  mom-friend,   can  lift  you  and  your  friends,   flowers  kept  in  the  pockets  of  overalls,    takes  pride  in  their  beautiful  garden,     speaks  to  their  plants,     leaves  rustling  in  the  wind,    stalks  of  wheat,    picking  fruit,     greenhouses,   heart  as  strong  as  a  mountain,     values  simplicity,   daisies  dotted  across  a  collarbone,    curls  crowned  with  flowers,    folded  pile  of  sweaters  in  warm  hues,   pulling  out  fresh-baked  bread  out  of  the  oven  and  the  smell  wafting  through  the  air.

DIONYSUS.    drunk  shitposter,   on  their  sixth  glass  of  wine  before  you’ve  even  finished  your  second,     seductive  smirks,   untamed curls,     rich  fabrics  on  dark  skin,    sleek-furred  panthers,     theater  masks,    stage  productions,     receiving  a  standing  ovation,     rose  caught  between  their  teeth,     being  the  baby  of  the  bunch,     wild  parties  that  last  from  sundown  to  sunup,    creeping  vines,     inspiring  loyalty,    grand  opera  houses,    masquerade  balls,    rolls  of  film,   shattered  chandeliers  with  broken glass  scattered  across  the  wine-spilled  floor,   pouring  champagne  into  flutes,     lives  for  the   applause.

HEPHAESTUS.  the  calloused  hands  of  someone  who  knows  labor,   sweaty  brow,    flame  burning  in  their  eyes,     inventive  mind,   broad  shoulders,     steampunk  goggles,     nuts  and  bolts  stored  away  in  little  boxes,    ashes,    striking  a  match,     blueprints  for  future  projects,     fixing  up  a  busted  up  car  and  giving  it  cool  upgrades,  wrestles  with  bitterness,  work  boots  have  seen  better  years,  wrinkled  plaid  shirts,    iron  melted  in  blazing  fire,   huge  jackets,    crafting  masterpieces,     greased-stained  overalls,     fascination  with  robotics,   pain  is  fuel,   stack  of  weaponry,     even  their  muscles  have  muscles.

HERA.     resting  bitch  face,   dressed  to  the  nines,    cows  grazing  on  a  pasture,  cool  rain,   loving  and  hating  fiercely,  hand  clutching  a  string  of  pearls,     large  chandelier  with  glittering  crystals,   plays  the  sims  for  the  sole  purpose  of  killing  off  their  sims,    romance  to  realism,   pictures  of  the  sky  while  flying  on  a  plane, downs  glasses  of  wine  as  they  relax  with  a  scented  bubble  bath  and  netflix,  like  their  selfie  or  you’re  grounded,    knows  57  convenient  ways  to  murder  a  man,   dark  eyes  that  penetrate  your  soul,   marble  and  gold.

HERMES.    devil-may-care  smile,     always  up-to-date  on  the  latest  technology,     will  steal  your  french  fries,     does  it  for  the vine,     shitposter,    puts  googly  eyes  on  everything,     meme  hoarder,     long  drives  on  the  highway,    ma  and  pop  diners,    spontaneous  road  trips,     folded  maps,    fingers  dancing  across  the  keyboard  of  a  laptop,     shooting  hoops  on  the  basketball  court,     chatting  up  strangers  as  you  all  journey  to  your  own  destinations,     goes  jogging  in  the  morning,    mixes  redbull  with  coffee,     menace  on  april fool’s,    hoodies  and  sneakers.  

POSEIDON.   storm  with  skin,   colorful  coral  reefs,  waves  crashing  against  the  shore,   stroking  the  soft  fur  of  a  cat,     their  heart  pounding  as  their  horse’s  gentle  trot  speeds  into  a  gallop,     tousled  locks,    clothes  smeared  with  paint,     owns  several  sketchbooks  yet  always  yearns  to  own  more,     leather  jackets,   fondness  for  diy  projects,   handwriting  that  flows  across  the  page,     nimble  fingers  playing  the  strings  of  a  violin,     velvety  singing  voice  that  haunts  your  dreams,   mood  as  ever-changing  as  the  sea,   the  roar  of  a  motorcycle,     compass  with  a  spinning arrow.

JULIEN ALFRED PANKRATZ — JASKIER

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