count to 17 and close your eyes

Jaskier + book quotes | the idea by @rayrotho

society progressed past the need for human language, from now on we only use Jaskier reaction gifs

+ bonus

a water spirit who makes his home in waterfalls and rushing rivers, a supernatural musician (usually with a fiddle or sometimes a harp but lets allow ourselves some string instrument leeway shall we) so gifted he can play the sound of nature itself - the song of water, and of the wind, he can make you dance or break your heart with just a tune

not to be confused with nøkken who lures people in to drown them, fossegrimen is not a malevolent creature, and may be persuaded to teach his skills to humans (for the right price). people may find him all the same, following the sound of his playing, often sorrowful and lonely in long summer nights.

though some regions claim he’s also a shapeshifter who can take the form of a white or golden horse, he’s normally seen as a young man - beautiful and bright-eyed, with pale nimble hands as quick as his temper

one’d imagine he’d grow weary of his quiet sorroundings, lacking company and conversation, tired of wasting his voice and talents on rocks and trees and whoever might come along hoping to get something from him

maybe one day he looked at the cascading waters by his home, stared at the open sky, slung his instrument over his shoulder and simply left his sadness behind - seeking a different life, an adventure, an audience to entertain, something to fill the absence in his heart

he no longer plays only the songs of empty fields and wind in the trees and the endless burble of streaming water, but of people, of love and laughter, heroics and heartbreak, monsters and the men - the man - who fights them and he builds himself a shiny creature and makes people see him, make them hear him, has them see and hear the world as he does through his songs.

he goes off alone but every time, as steadfast as the equinox and as surely as the mountain pours the winters snow down her sides in cascades come spring, he always finds his way back to that witcher, that man whose heart he knows is a match for his own.

it works for a time, and then it ends.

and as he makes his way down the treacherous path of that damned mountain he doesn’t feel drawn by human voices in a tavern or the constant movement of nearby cities. for the first time in a long time he hears how the leaves whisper in the slight western wind, how trickling streams sigh and mumble their way to greater rivers, and he follows.

he follows and he keeps following, past towns and hamlets and wide wide forests, until the terrain gets rougher and he finds himself at a steep incline, a rocky face off which a strong current throws itself into the shallow ravine below. the fog of it dampens is hair and cools his skin, easing the pain in his lungs as he takes one step into the water, then another, and it seems to welcome him home.

well, not everything. the years before the bard were far more numerous than the years travelling with him, but the latter have etched their way under his skin, it seems - left not a void but a weight that won’t budge. 

he knows why, if he allows himself to finish the thought, which he doesn’t. 

it was nice, though. a good thing, for a while, to be known. to have someone - someone so bright and spirited and alive - willingly choose his side and his company. for all of their differences, their stark opposites, jaskier had still looked at him as though they were kindred.

but he’s trying not to finish those thoughts either, when he can help it.

he comes upon a small hamlet, somewhere between one place and another place, with the sort of name that’s used more by the people within its borders than outside. though he considers going around it he ends up passing through - places to go, nowhere to be - and is met with a task.

the town’s river has a monster. or, the town’s inhabitants seem to think there is a monster upstream somewhere, trying to lure them in to drown them. as far as geralt can tell, no one has actually drowned. it apparently plays sweet music in the night. sheer professionalism keeps his eyebrows at a respectable distance from his hairline.

he takes the contract anyway. 

it’s nearing dusk when he follows the river upwards. the terrain roughens and he leaves roach in a reasonably open meadow by the bank, continuing on foot, and as he strains his senses he thinks he hears what the people further down the valley spoke of - the soft sounds of strings plucked and strummed, waxing and waning with the endless gurgling and crashing of water, brushing against the edge of his consciousness like thin branches in a tender breeze. familiarity stirs the weight coiled at his core. 

So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog         of non-definitive acts, something other than the desperation.

What I mean to say is, I want to explore a Geraskier dynamic where Jaskier confronts the idea that Geralt having sex with Yennefer or being bound to her through destiny and genie magic doesn’t mean Geralt cares less for Jaskier. I want Jaskier to learn to feel secure in his worth and his significance to Geralt. I want Jaskier to realize that their relationship transcends time and distance, and that they could be apart for decades but still slot together like a sword in its sheath when next they meet.

I want a scene where Yennefer doesn’t understand how Jaskier is content with having only a portion of Geralt, where she doesn’t comprehend the sheer trust Jaskier has that the other man will come back. I want a scene where Yennefer says “he will leave you. He is not one to stay. Believe me, I’ve tried before, I’ve all but begged him, but come morning, my bed was empty all the same” and Jaskier says “that’s the difference between you and me; I let him choose to stay of his own accord.”

“What have I done to deserve this?”

Steve and Buck, Empty Carriage.

© El Kane

That’s okay. Trust me.

Chris Evans as Steve Rogers

❝ I’m with you till the end of the line.❞

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