Oh, he did his best to hide it. He never backed down from one of their verbal spars, even when he wanted nothing else than to hide behind the witcher, have him demand that Yennefer stop—stop insulting him, stop mocking him, stop threatening him.

But Jaskier knew he couldn’t do that. For one, Geralt trusted him to look after himself, to defend himself, at least to a certain degree. Monsters were one thing, but a witch that Geralt was—well, intimate with, and had a decently good relationship with was something else.

Plus, he knew that Geralt and Yennefer had struck up some sort of deal, that they both had need for some herb found deep in the woods they were now traversing. Why the witch couldn’t just buy it or, better yet, open up a portal to where it must be, the bard wasn’t entirely sure. The pair hadn’t bothered to share the details with him besides a comment about some sort of monsters in the area they couldn’t risk alerting with a portal.

And lastly, well…Jaskier didn’t need Geralt’s help with the mage. So far, the violet-eyed woman had done little more than spew hateful words, and maybe show off with a spark or two in her palms. Jaskier wasn’t a fool, could see the intimidation tactic for what it was, and saw no reason why he should be the one to back down every time the witch was in a bad mood.

Which was, quite frankly, always.

The bard had grown so used to her little sparks though, to the cold anger in her sharp eyes, that he never saw the blast of magic coming. One second they were bantering back and forth, no more or less heated than their arguments usually were, and the next there was a sharp pain in the back of his head, followed by a loud crack.

It took the bard a second to realize he’d been flung clear across the small glade they’d been making camp at, that he’d been blasted backwards into a tree, head and back taking the brunt of the contact. He blinked, trying to push the black spots from his vision, barely noticing the sound of Geralt coming back as he glared at the witch. She had the decency to look a bit guilty, but made no move to help him up, or to apologize, merely staying where she was a good few meters away.

That was quite alright with him, though, he thought as he staggered to his feet. Maybe this would be the push the witcher needed to make him see that as much as Geralt seemed to like the witch, it would be best if the bard wasn’t left alone with her. Melitele’s sake, the man had only been gone hunting for ten minutes or so, and look what had—

His trail of thought tapered off as the man himself appeared, eyes darting around the small clearing before glancing quickly between the witch and bard. It was easy to see what had happened. The sound alone was proof that it had been magic, and with nothing else in the clearing, plus the small dent he was pretty sure he’d made in the tree behind him, surely Geralt could—

“Take a walk, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blinked, stunned.

Geralt didn’t…he wouldn’t have just—

“Now, bard.”

Jaskier fought back a flinch, having grown used to the witcher using the term in a softer, joking tone in the years they’d been traveling together. But now, it was like all those moments together had never happened, like he was eighteen again and following after Geralt for the first time, the witcher telling the bard to get lost as he punched him in the gut.

The thought made his stomach roll uncomfortably, though that could have also been due to the dizziness he was fighting. He did his best not to stumble as he walked to where he could faintly hear a river, not that it mattered much with the way the witcher had already turned away from the bard, talking in hushed tones to the witch.

Jaskier walked until he was sure the sound of the running water would cover any noise he made, before his stomach got the best of him and he found himself bending over and vomiting into a bush. Breathing raggedly, he struggled to stand straight, the ground seeming to spin underneath him as his head pounded with every thud of his heart.

Wincing at the light that filtered in through the tree canopy, he gently touched the back of his head, hissing when his fingers brushed the spot that hurt the most. He wasn’t exactly surprised to find the digits red, he’d had enough head wounds to know this was a nasty one, but it didn’t—Geralt could usually smell his blood. And the witcher had never let him walk away while injured, no matter how pissed off the man was at the bard for how he got the wound in the first place.

But maybe he trusted Jaskier to take care of it, Jaskier considered as he staggered down to the river. Taking the doublet off and folding it beside him, he felt at the back of his chemise, trying to see if it was already bloodied. Feeling it was a lost cause, he quickly tugged it off too, using the small dagger he kept in his boot to make thin bandages from the material.

Jaskier could do this. It wasn’t the first time he’d cared for his injuries by himself, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. That had to be why Geralt had sent him away while he—while he dealt with the witch. That made sense. Better to—to calm her down, than to risk her setting the forest on fire next, or something.

Still, as he carefully brushed the blood away with hands that shook slightly, he couldn’t help the dark thoughts that crept into his mind. The realization that Geralt had gone to Yennefer, instead of Jaskier, even though Yennefer wasn’t the one hurt. Even though Yennefer was the one who had hurt Jaskier, who could have broken his bones if she’d thrown him a bit harder, who could have—have—

Jaskier swallowed hard against the creeping bile in his throat, shoving it down the way he couldn’t do his morbid imagination. He trusted Geralt, would always trust Geralt. But Geralt clearly didn’t see the witch as a threat, didn’t understand that the woman couldn’t care less about what happened to the bard, and that was—quite frankly, terrifying.

Because he could trust Geralt all he wanted, but if he didn’t—if the witcher refused to see the danger, then that meant Jaskier was on his own with this. Worse, actually, because Geralt would likely be around soon to drag Jaskier back to the woman, to the witch who’d sooner leave him dead on the side of the road if she thought Geralt would allow it.

Which the witcher never would, of course. He might not like Jaskier’s singing, or his rambling, or the way the bard spoiled Roach, or, well…

Jaskier bit back the urge to shake his head. Geralt and he were friends, no matter if the witcher refused to admit it. No witch could come between that, no matter what their relationship was. Geralt would never—he’d never—

The bard blinked sluggishly, trying to get his mind to work through the pain. It was fine. They’d only be with the witch for a short while. He could trust Geralt to keep him safe.

I am a raccoon biologist and one of the few people in the state allowed to take in captive bred raccoons that had been possessed illegally. The raccoon in the photos is Moonshine, but she is currently at the animal sanctuary where I work as I had been quarantining multiple new intakes from an abuse case. I still have two males (Rum Tum Tugger and Electra) left in my home enclosure as we are getting them neutered and then hopefully sending them to an AZA accredited zoo.

Whenever he had a relationship with a woman he would instantly question it or think that it was sorcery.

But Merlin who would commit literal crimes constantly and once confessed that he was a sorcerer when Arthur defended him Uther didn’t care.

Uther: And your....into her?

Arthur: Yes 💕

He did a wonderful job, but as he was returning my plant to my custody, he explained "I watered her every other day, I gave her new dirt, moved her into the sunshine, prayed the rosary-"

"What?"

He looked at me, confused. "Isn't she a plant you pray with?"

"No," I said slowly. "She's a prayer plant. That's the... colloquial name of the plant."

Upon seeing his stricken face, I realized something went wrong. Turns out, this entire time, he's been including my plant in on his prayers and leaving her near icons.

So, a few years ago, Yom Kippur was coming up and I really needed to ask forgiveness of a Gentile friend who I had failed a couple times that year, and even though the friend hadn’t mentioned it, it had been eating at me.  This friend didn’t really know anything about Judaism.

So I contacted him, by email, (we were in different countries at this time) and I said “I know that I failed you with [thing], and I just want to say how sorry I am.  I will try to fix it in the future. If I have done anything else that may have harmed you at any time in the past, knowingly or unknowingly, I am truly sorry.  I ask that you will forgive me.  I hope that you will accept my apology. Please let me know before 3 days from now.”

My friend promptly responded with the following: “Are you dying????”

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Paid service with ads: Well that's bullshit.

Will totally delete if you donw want your tags @nerdyqueerandjewish but thats how I tend to feel. I was talking to my aunt and cousin tbe other day an mentioned my grandma sent me a picture of my dad changing my cousin's daughter's diaper, and they were both weirded out by it. But the picture was taken from above her head from 10 feet away, you can't see anything of hers. Its a picture of her son caretaking a baby in the family. It makes total sense to send that picture to his pregnant daughter, why do you think thats weird?

Over 500 years spent trying to cut down a whole trunk of human culture.

Trump. You get Trump.

That's it. That's my answer. Endor.