i like to hurt my favorite characters

The bard isn’t quite sure how it works. He’s not even entirely sure when it started, this weird gift he has. The only thing he does know, is that if he follows his gut, he gets to where he wants to go sooner and safer than any manmade path could ever let him.

Which sounds like a whole lot of nothing to know about an ability that he’s likely had for years. But in his defense, how was he to know it wasn’t shear dumb luck that had him finding the inn he was looking for when lost in the woods, locating his lute after it had been left hidden in an alley in a drunken haze, or managing to catch up to Geralt when he’d had a few hours head start and was riding on Roach—

Okay. So. Maybe he should have realized sooner.

But oh, what a glorious time he was going to have now that he did know about it. Of course, he couldn’t use it much with the witcher around, not blatantly at least. Knowing Geralt, he’d do his best to get rid of the thing, assuming it was some sort of curse.

Plus, he’d likely drag him to Yennefer, and Jaskier was not about to submit himself to her whims again any time soon if he had anything to say about it.

So no, he couldn’t use it much with the witcher. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t experiment with finding the witcher, as he'd likely been subconsciously using the gift for for ages. After all, it couldn’t hurt to use it to find the man in the spring, when it was so difficult to plan where to meet up (aka to guess where Geralt would be when and lovingly ambush him).

However, what he discovered was…a lot stranger than he’d thought it would be.

He learned that if he just thought about wanting to find the witcher, the magic would take him to the nearest witcher. And honestly, Jaskier would have complained about being led in likely the completely wrong direction, except the witcher he’d found was severely injured, and looked to be knocking on Death’s doorstep, so who was he to complain, truly—

By the time Jaskier had finished caring for the man and helping him back on his feet, it was far past the beginning of spring. Fortunately, though, when he thought about finding the White Wolf in particular, he still managed to happen upon Geralt much earlier in the season than he usually did. Even Geralt seemed surprised, eyes widening briefly before his brows pulled down in a fierce scowl that Jaskier promptly ignored. Honestly, if he wanted the bard gone, he’d have to try a lot harder than that.

Still, the next spring, he left Oxenfurt a bit earlier than he usually did, eager to meet Geralt as soon as possible and stretch his legs out finally. Except, well…

He ended up in a strange, hidden cave? With these…weird sigils on the ground, that he had the bizarre urge to…

Wondering if he was going mad, Jaskier pricked himself a bit, letting the drops of blood fall over the carvings. He wasn’t sure what exactly he expected to happen, but it certainly wasn’t for a flash of bright light to leave him dazed, legs weak, and—

In the middle of a completely different room.

Lovely.

Taking cautious steps to the window, he looked out, only to find himself on a mountain. A very tall mountain. A mountain he did not recognize in the least, in a very large, decrepit castle with gravestones around that one corner he could just make out, and this was not a good time for his gift to be on the fritz—

Deciding he couldn’t just stay here, he creeped out of the room, trying to find his way towards the exit. Or at the very least—

“Don’t move an inch. Not if you value your—Jaskier?!”

Jaskier, who had wisely frozen at the threat and blade to his neck, blinked. Then, he grinned brightly as the sword fell away, realizing he recognized that voice—

“Aiden! It’s so good to see you, you crazy, clever cat! And you’re looking much better, I have to say, whatever you’ve been doing for your hair—”

“How did you get here?” Aiden interrupted, wrapping his arm around the bard’s shoulders and guiding him down some stairs.

“I thought I’d get an early start on finding Geralt this year. I was getting so antsy, cooped up all winter, you know how it is.” Jaskier explained, letting himself be guided into a large hall, where—

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaimed, quickly making his way to the table where he and the other witchers were sat. “There you are! I was looking all over this drafty abode, until Aiden found me of course, which was really a stroke of luck, because this place is like a labyrinth—”

“Hold on. Is this the bard you said is constantly finding you, following you around everywhere?”

Jaskier turned to the witcher with wild, flame-red hair, grin widening as he looked back to Geralt.

“Awwww, I didn’t know you talked about me with the other witchers! What else did he say? Come on, you can—”

“How did you—I don’t—”

Jaskier’s smile drooped at the incredulous expression on Geralt’s face. He paused, taking a moment to actually look at the other witchers, who seemed—surprised? Definitely guarded, and wary, and—

Hm. Maybe he hadn’t thought this through. He knew Geralt went away for the winter to be with the other witchers, that he never invited Jaskier along, and maybe that was for a reason...? Jaskier was kind of intruding on their home, now that he thought about it, and he could understand them not wanting a human here in their sanctuary. Especially when he considered how other humans often treated Geralt on the road, and oh, now he definitely understood those looks—

“It seems I have quite overstayed my welcome,” Jaskier said, chuckling nervously as he clapped his hands once, backing away slowly. “I’ll just make my way back, hmm? I’ll find you later on in the season, once you’ve said your goodbyes and such.”

“Bard, I’m not sure how you got here, but there will be no leaving now.”

Jaskier froze, the smile on his face faltering for a moment as he took in the severe expression of the older witcher who had spoken. Ohhhh, this was bad. This was very much not ideal. He didn’t mean to invade the witcher keep, honest!

He turned to Geralt for help, and fortunately the witcher seemed to recognize the panicked look in his eyes, because he added, “it’s not safe yet. Path is still frozen over. You’ll leave with me in a week or so, once it’s thawed.”

And that—

Jaskier blinked.

“Well, as lovely as that sounds, I truly don’t want to intrude. I’ll just take the shortcut, I think, and—”

“Shortcut?”

Jaskier tilted his head, quickly taking in the mix of confused and alarmed expressions he was now facing.

“…yes? With the cave.”

The witchers stared back at him, not one of them showing a lick of understanding.

“Do you want me to…?” Jaskier motioned to the way he’d come, and as one, the witchers all clambered out of their seats. The bard blinked, thrown for a moment, before forcing back a laugh at the irony that he was showing a bunch of witchers to a room in their own home.

Still, he did his best to navigate back to where he’d come from, grateful for his strange sense of direction. Although he definitely didn’t miss the hissed conversations happening behind him as he led the witchers through a secret passage, one that, by the sounds of it, they also hadn’t know about until now.

Well. If the cat wasn't out of the bag before, it certainly was now. But that was something for future Jaskier to deal with, when he wasn't being followed by a bunch of strangers with swords.

Shaking the thoughts away, he finally emerged into the room he’d been transported to, which he now realized had been hidden rather well. No wonder they hadn’t found—

“What are you?”

Jaskier baulked at the question, crossing his arms. “I am a bard, thank you very much! Not some—some creature, to be gawked at or what have you. It’s not my fault you lot didn’t know your own castle, and had to take the hard way up.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, muttering “witchers” under his breath as he brought his small dagger out, ignoring how the other were instantly on edge at the sight of the weapon. He pricked himself again, about to place his blood on the runework, when someone grabbed his hand.

“Stay the night," Geralt rumbled, eyes flickering away when Jaskier looked up.

The bard paused, glancing at the faces of the other witchers. Besides Aiden, they didn’t seem all that welcoming, and Jaskier didn’t want to—

“Could you find other passages?”

Jaskier turned to the man with scars running down one half of his face, giving him a soft smile when he seemed to shrink under Jaskier’s eyes.

“Yes, if you’d like. I’m rather good at getting into tricky places.” He admitted, smile turning a bit bashful.

“More like finding trouble,” Geralt muttered, earning himself a sharp elbow to his side, which the witcher likely didn’t even feel.

“You’ll stay,” the old witcher said again, a certain finality to the words as he turned on his heel and made his way back towards the hall. The other witchers followed after him, leaving Jaskier and the man he'd been trying to find alone.

Jaskier stared at the now empty doorway for a moment.

“I still don’t quite understand what all the fuss was about.” Jaskier confessed, glancing back at Geralt.

Geralt shook his head, a fond, searching look on his face. “I’ve wintered in this castle for the last hundred years. Vesemir has lived here even longer. And then you come along, bard, and manage to find a room none of us knew existed, leading to portal that could be used to—hmmm.”

And that was—

Jaskier winced.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to resort to all this magic nonsense if you’d just agree on a place to meet up in the spring. Honestly, it would make it easier on the both of us—”

Geralt huffed, walking after the other witchers out of the room as Jaskier trotted behind him, never once pausing in his rant.

Honestly, if the witcher didn’t want him around, he could easily have gone somewhere more difficult to follow.

In fact, the bard had heard tales of a place very far south, where it was equally freezing, and you could find the strangest, flightless birds…

Hmmm.

No, best not give the witcher any ideas.

Spicynoodles Bio Parent AU (PREV/FIRST/)

❤️‍🔥NEXT 3 PARTS ARE ALREADY ON MY KO-FI❤️‍🔥

Updates every Tuesday & Saturday at 1PM

beloved cave child and member of the biscuit boys duo Wilson needed (expensive) medical intervention (+ upcoming check up) this month and we need Your help!

my co-cat-parent @upside-down-uni and I unfortunately don't have any savings (due to being a student/recent unemployment) to cover the costs, so we're fundraising: this is our gofundme and we appreciate any help!

additionally we're hosting a donation tombola here: any 2€ added to this fund for entry, every additional 5€ adds a name slip in the tombola jar. for example 12€ means your name is in the lottery 3x.

Mo does pottery and will create 10 of the cutest fantasy cat critters you've ever seen. they'll be roughly palm-sized and adorable.

I sometimes draw if I can find the patience for it and some of you personally know I'm an enthusiastic snail mail writer, so there'll be an art postcard added as well.

if PayPal doesn't let you share contact details as a comment when donating you can send me a screenshot with proof of your donation so I know how to reach out in case of a win. (due to logistics & finances we're only able to send the thank-you-packages within the EU, I'm sorry)

an example of the cute fantasy cat critters you can win:

please donate and share with all the animal or ceramic creature lovers you know!

Got this reblog for this post, and had to share because bruv—

“I’ll do anything to get you to stop saying these things because if they’re real and true I will have to look at the ruins of you and do something about it”

Like wow…such a raw, heart-tugging line. So great. Can’t believe anyone added that to something I wrote, quite frankly 😂

Geralt frowned down at Yennefer a final time, before making his way to his pack. He pulled out the bandages and salve he would need, scenting the air and wincing at the familiar smell. The bard had been injured enough in the past that the witcher could easily identify the man’s blood, which made it convenient to follow.

He didn’t like leaving Jaskier in the woods while injured, anymore than he’d liked leaving the bard with Yennefer, smelling of fear as he had been. He knew how the bard felt about the woman, had known since the first time he’d gone running out of that cottage after she’d saved his life, practically begging to just leave. But they’d needed him to hunt for food, having run out of rations, and he’d never considered—he should have realized—

Geralt frowned as he came across a bush that reeked of vomit, walking a bit faster at the clear indication the bard was worse off than he’d thought. He’d have liked to treat Jaskier first, to have him rest in the man’s bedroll as Geralt sorted things out with the mage. But he knew intimately the cornered look in Yennefer’s eyes, understood that having the bard there for the discussion would only have made it worse.

Not that it helped much, Geralt considered as he finally spotted the bard, sitting on a rock next to the river, much too close for the witcher’s liking. Hadn’t the man learned anything over the years he’d traveled with Geralt? He shouldn’t be so close to the water, not when he didn’t know—

Geralt froze as Jaskier’s head whipped up, the scent of fear spiking even as the man winced at the pain the sudden movement had brought. Geralt waited for a moment for the clean, fresh scent of contentment the bard always had upon seeing Geralt, his frown only growing when the fear lingered.

“Just me.” He rumbled, making it clear that he hadn’t brought Yennefer with him. He stared at the red bandages around the bard’s head, wondering if he should offer to look at it for him, to see if it needed stitches. It would be better to use clean cloth, but Jaskier was still looking at him like—he didn’t know what, but the smell of fear was still there, and he didn’t understand—

“Guess we should head back,” Jaskier said, lacking all of his usual grace as he rose to his feet.

And Geralt wasn’t—he was torn. He wanted to get the bard back to the campfire, to the bedroll waiting for him where Geralt could offer to treat the wound someplace more comfortable and safe. But he couldn’t deny the sharp spike of terror he’d smelled from the bard at the very notion of going back to camp, back to the mage. He didn’t know what to do, besides—

“It’s safe,” Geralt said, words that never failed to relax the bard, to take away the tightness in the man’s shoulders.

“Right,” Jaskier muttered, glancing up once, quickly, before looking back at the ground as he retraced his steps. If anything, the bard had tensed up more at Geralt’s assurance, and the witcher bit back a growl as Jaskier stumbled over a root.

The bard was being so difficult. Why couldn’t he just—

Jaskier stumbled again, and the witcher could see as he struggled to keep his balance, quickly reached out a hand to steady him and—and—

Jaskier flinched.

The bard paled even more than he already had due to blood loss, and Geralt couldn’t help the way he froze. Couldn’t help the way he breathed in sharply, taking in the acrid scent of fear that still hadn’t—

Geralt swallowed hard, heart thudding violently in his chest as he realized just why the scent was still there. As he realized that, for the first time in fifteen years, in all the time he’d known the bard, Jaskier was—he was—

“We—we better get back. Before dark.” Jaskier stuttered, and that was—Jaskier never stuttered, never tripped over his words, never—

“Jask—”

“I’m sure Roach is very eagerly awaiting our return.” Jaskier continued, voice a little stronger as he plastered on the smile he used for courts.

It was—it was wrong. Jaskier never smiled like that in the woods, not when there were no other people around to impress, not when it was just he and Geralt. He wasn’t—he didn’t need to pretend, not in front of Geralt, never in front of Geralt. He’d not felt the need to for at least a decade, and Geralt felt keenly, like a dagger to the chest, the sudden loss of the connection, the trust—

“Jask, please. I didn’t…”

He reached out, slowly, projecting his movements and giving the bard the time to move away if he wanted. Jaskier eyed the witcher’s hands skeptically as they fell on hunched shoulders, and Geralt forced himself to step forward, ignoring the urge to back away from the fear, the anxiousness, the pain—

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse.

Jaskier frowned, stubbornly looking at some point in the distance to the left of the witcher’s head. “You didn’t do anything, Geralt. It’s not your fault the wi—that Yennefer lost her temper.”

Geralt shifted until Jaskier was forced to look at him, or have to obviously turn his head away. “I should have listened to you, though. I never thought Yennefer would hurt you, and I never would have left her alone with you if I thought that was even a possibility. But I should have trusted you, and your instincts. If I had, none of this would have—you wouldn’t be—”

Geralt clenched his jaw tightly, trying not to wince at the way the bard’s pupils were two different sizes.

“She…she should be gone. By the time we get back.”

Jaskier blinked, the movement unusually slow, and Geralt fought the urge to growl at the obvious sign of the bard’s head wound. He really needed to check on it, to make sure—

“What?”

Geralt’s frown deepened.

“She needed a bit of time to gather her things and make a portal. We can—we can find somewhere else, to stay for the night. If that would…” Geralt trailed off, both not sure how to finish the sentence and concerned at the confused expression the bard now sported. He wondered if he could get away with carrying the bard back, the symptoms the bard was displaying only alarming him more and more—

“I don’t…what?” Jaskier’s eyebrows scrunched up even more, “but the…the thing. The plant.”

Geralt shook his head. “I can find a replacement for it. It’ll be a bit harder, but there’s nothing for it.”

If anything, Jaskier seemed even more confused at Geralt’s words.

“I don’t…why?” The bard asked, clearly struggling to find the words, in part due to the pain practically pouring off of him.

“It would take far too long to find without Yennefer,” Geralt explained, trying to stay calm for the bard’s sake. It was easier, now that the stench of fear had lessened some, ever since he’d explained that—

Geralt’s eyes widened, mouth opening and closing, though no words came out.

Jaskier didn’t think—he didn’t—

“But…you need it. Need witch.” Jaskier said, tilting his head just a bit.

“Jaskier, you know I wouldn’t—she hurt you, Jask. She could have—” Geralt shook his head fiercely, refusing to even entertain the notion. “You know I would never—I’d never risk—”

Geralt stared into the bard’s hazy blue eyes, stared at the man who still seemed so utterly, hopelessly lost, and realized suddenly that Jaskier didn’t know. That the bard had thought Geralt would—would drag him back to camp, would leave him alone with the mage, still bearing injuries she herself had given him. That he would leave him at her mercy—

“Jask…”

For a moment, Geralt just looked at the man across from him. Jaskier’s face was pale, which the witcher could put down to his head wound, but there was a lifelessness to his hair, dark patches under his eyes, that spoke of a weariness days in the making.

And suddenly, Geralt realized that if he had been in the bard’s shoes, it never would have gotten this far. How many times had Jaskier started a fight, because a barmaid or stall owner refused to sell to the witcher? How many times had Jaskier walked out of a tavern, because they didn’t have a room for someone like him? And how many times had Jaskier stood up for him when others called him a monster, inhuman, butcher?

And yet…Yennefer had spent the last four days degrading the bard every chance she got. Had spat at him insults that Geralt knew hurt the bard in ways he didn’t show, except for when he was very deep into his drinks. Not to mention the sparks the mage had threatened when she thought he wasn’t looking, which should have been sign enough that she would escalate if given the chance.

Geralt carefully pulled Jaskier into his arms, lifting him gently and shushing him as he let the bards head fall into his neck, shielding his eyes from the light. He walked steadily, doing his best not to jostle the younger man, the small whimpers he let out like long needles being stabbed through his chest.

Because he could no longer fool himself into thinking this wasn’t his fault. It was him who agreed to this journey with the witch, who didn’t even bother to ask the bard’s opinion. It was him who neglected to stop the fighting earlier, to defend the bard when the mage was the one starting the fights a good 90% of the time. And it was him who—who ignored Jaskier’s terror time and time again when it came to Yennefer, until finally the bard had been proven right.

And that was…

Geralt almost jerked to a stop at the realization of how little the bard truly feared. Of how, even when face to face with the creatures of most men’s nightmares, the bard very rarely reeked of the acrid scent, as if he knew he had nothing to worry about. Not when he wasn’t facing the monster alone, not when he had Geralt there to protect him.

And yet, every time since that first encounter with Yennefer, when they’d run across the mage, he’d put on a brave mask while his heart thudded violently in his chest. He’d used the only weapon in his arsenal, never once looking to Geralt for help, as if he knew this was a monster he would find no aid with, a battle he would be left to fight on his own.

Which was—it wasn’t—

Finally stepping into the small clearing where he’d left Roach, he breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of mage present. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she hadn’t left of her own volition, but it wouldn’t have been a pretty fight.

He glanced down at the light weight in his arms, the tension between his brows easing a bit at the realization the bard was sleeping. While not something he could risk a lot of with his wound, Jaskier’s breathing was steady, and the witcher could give him a few more minutes before waking him to tend to it properly.

He eased himself to the ground slowly, thinking once again about how strange his life was compared to when he started out on the Path. How different his journeys were, now that he had a rambling, colourful bard following after him, who could barely handle a dagger, let alone a sword.

And maybe Jaskier could never defend Geralt physically, like the witcher could for the bard. Jaskier would likely never go to battle with a Leshen, or a Bruxae, never stand in front of Geralt as he ran away like Jaskier often had to when the beast came a little too close to the human.

But as Geralt watched the steady rise and fall of the other man’s chest, he had no doubt that if Geralt truly was in danger, the bard would be the first to come running to his rescue, likely armed with little more than his lute and a shipload of courage.

No, Jaskier would never be a fierce warrior, someone to fear standing across from on the battlefield. But there were very few the witcher would trust to watch his back as much as he would the bard.

And he was beginning to realize that that trust, that loyalty, was a bigger gift than he’d ever understood.