this isnât ready for ao3 yet bc i have more planned and i donât want to make it chaptered, but iâm actually quite pleased with how this turned out, so please enjoy this first taste of my banshee/siren hybrid jaskier story!
part 2
minor warning for gore
wc 745
now on ao3
----
Jaskier knows the taste of death.
He tastes it more often than heâd like (which is to say, at all); every few towns or so, whenever he makes eye contact with the wrong person. An old woman putting out her washing, a young man in a tavern, puffed up and boasting while his fellows egg him on to show off, a girl with bruises on her arms and her eyes downcast, walking in the shadow of her husband. The sickly taste of rot will coat the back of his tongue and heâll feel a Song rising in his throat.
He never Sings it.
Heâs tasted the deaths of a hundred strangers, and while his heart breaks a little every time, he fights down the Song and swallows the rotten bile and turns away, knowing he has no power here. There is nothing he can do for them, now.
This time is different.
This time, the Song he can feel building in his chest isnât for a stranger.
Itâs for Geralt.
Somethingâ breaks, inside him. The Song, which has always before felt like a living thing unto itself, separate from the man who hosts it, just waiting to be unleashed, expands to fill his lungs. For a moment, Jaskier chokes on the sudden absence of air, before his world narrows down to a single thought: No.
He feels the moment when the magic inside him changes, when the Song becomes a part of him instead of simply a parasite. For the first time since his failed training as a child, he lets it loose.
The first to fall is the bowman in the treeline, the one Jaskier saw but Geralt didnât. Jaskier is too far away to see his face when his hands turn the crossbow on himself, but he can taste the moment when his body falls from his perch, leaving his fellows without cover.
Geralt has felled four of the remaining bandits, but three still encircle him, and Jaskier can see him slowing.
âA single thread
hangs limply down,
and I breathe,
âNot now,
not now,ââ
All three men pull back from their attack on Geralt in an instant. The witcher doesnât stay his strike and cuts down the one immediately in front of him before whirling to stare at Jaskier in shock, but Jaskier canât stop now. The Song isnât finished. Geralt isnât safe.
âAnd I find you all
unwoven,
trying desperately
to sew,â
The two bandits left take jerky steps towards each other, swords raised, eyes wild and terrified. The leader makes a low, despairing sound as his friendâs innards spill beneath his blade.
âAnd I know the kindest thing
is to leave you
alone.â
As the last man drags his own dagger across his throat, his eyes never leave Jaskierâs.
The magic cuts off abruptly, the Song finished with the death fulfilled. Not Geraltâs death, somehow, not anymore. Heâs done what he swore he never would, heâs outed himself as a monster, but Geralt is still warm and breathing behind him, so it was worth it. Whatever fate he meets at his witcherâs hands, it was worth it.
Jaskier can taste nothing but decay and blood, and he doubles over, his stomach heaving painfully as he expels his breakfast.
Heâs still hunched over the ground, coughing on the lingering taste of death while spots dance in his vision, when he hears Geralt come up behind him. His footsteps are more tentative than Jaskier is used to. Understandably cautious around an unknown threat, Jaskier thinks bitterly. Heâd known it was coming, itâs what he expected, but it still chafes. Most of all, he just wishes he had more time. More time with Geralt, but just more time in general.
Still, he wonât die crouched in a puddle of his own vomit like some beast. Whatever his parentage, he has more dignity than that. Heâll meet Geraltâs silver sword standing tall, and it will still be a better death than he could have met if heâd stayed at home, like his sire had expected. Love doesnât need to be spoken to be worth dying for, after all.
Except, the spots in his vision donât fade when he stands, like heâd expected; in fact, they grow. He sways on his feet as the world tilts alarmingly. The last thing he sees before the world goes totally black is Geralt, hands empty of silver or steel, lunging to catch him, his eyes wide with concern.
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Sheâs live!! A Rotten Tongue - a banshee!Jaskier fic is up on my AO3! Art by the wonderful @daryshkart! It took a different direction than I expected and I havenât gotten a chance to proofread the second part but I wanted to get it up for yâall! I will proofread the second part after work! Enjoy!!
hhhhhh ok but now iâm thinking about banshee!jaskier, which means iâm actually thinking about half-siren/half-banshee!jaskier like that one fic (that i lost and totally forgot the name of- does anyone know which one iâm talking about? he had 2 moms but he was raised by his siren mom even though her family shunned her for mating with a banshee, and the reveal scene was geralt/yen/ciri getting captured by cahirâs army and jask going full Creature and just fucking slaughtering all of them, and rescuing them covered in scales and drenched in blood and that was how geralt learned he wasnât human? anyway it was so fucking good someone pls tell me if u remember the name đ**)
(**edit tysm anon fic is here)
but ANYWAY iâm thinking about half-siren/half-banshee!jaskier whose powers are a mix of both, so his Song foretells death instead of luring people to it, and iâm only thinking in Vibes right now but something about the lyric âthis here is not singing, iâm just screaming in tuneâ has hooked in my brain and wonât let go
jask with a complicated relationship to music bc he loves stories and he wants to tell them but he keeps feeling that tug at the back of his throat to change the tune when heâs singing to an audience and makes eye contact with someone Doomed, jask who hates the taste of death and tries to go without singing but denying both sides of his instincts like that hurts and denying his passion hurts differently and thereâs just no way for him to not be in pain, so he chooses to sing knowing what it will bring
jask who follows geralt around because at least in a witcherâs wake he wonât be suspected as the bringer of death as much, until he realizes that geralt hates it just as much as he does and thatâs when he starts to fall in love, because finally he found someone who understands that feeling, that âsomething awful is going to happen to you and you want me to save you but i canât alwaysâ feeling
OH jask who learns to hone his powers to lure people away from their deaths! because he knows when theyâre coming and he can sing people where he wants them to go and he starts saving lives OH OH jaskier who uses that instinct as the Sandpiper! who starts stepping in when he can feel a Song in the back of his throat for an elf, who puts himself between them and death and sings them away to safety!! anskskjdjsks jask who first discovered he could do that when he tasted geraltâs Song and almost went fully feral from how much he needed that Not To Happen
ough welcome to another fic iâll probably never write why is my brain Like This
ough ok this is a rough rough rough draft, but i have a migraine and i canât sleep so writing - yes, editing - no, lmao. itâs altogether sappier than i intended and the tone is wildly different from part 1 but i started writing and this is what came out, so what can i say? i just work here lol. feedback greatly appreciated, this is a huge departure from my usual repertoire so iâll welcome any and all suggestions. the banshee/siren hybrid!jaskier saga continues. enjoy!
og post part 1 here ao3
wc 2500
â
Itâs vaguely surprising to open his eyes at all, expecting as he was to end his days on the dusty road beside the men he killed, another monster never to terrorize the Continent again, courtesy of the great White Wolf.
But open his eyes he does, blinking blearily in the low firelight of what appears to be a generic room at a generic inn, judging by the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy blankets tucking him in. Geralt is in a chair by the hearth, patching a hole in what looks to be one of Jaskierâs socks, of all things.
Jaskier would prefer to lay here silently for a while, watching the way the light flickers and dances across Geraltâs handsome cheek, but he isnât fool enough to imagine that his waking has gone unnoticed, or that such attention would be welcome. And, apparently, thereâs a conversation to be had, given that the witcher hadnât slain him where he stood when he revealed himself, and Jaskier would rather have that bit over with, at least.
He tries to sit up, only to grunt embarrassingly and fall back against the pillows when his elbows give out on him. He feels weak and wobbly, like a newborn foal. How long has he been out?
âEasy, donât hurt yourself. Here,â Geralt rumbles, crossing the room to help lever Jaskier upright, propping pillows behind his back. He looks like heâs physically holding himself back from fussing over the blankets, but thatâs absurd. Geralt doesnât fuss. Geralt would never. Jaskier must still be fuzzy from sleep.
In a desperate attempt to regain some footing, some normalcy, Jaskier decides to be the first to bring up the fiend in the room. âGoing soft in your old age, witcher? You donât normally fluff the monstersâ pillows for them before you slay them, in my experience,â he says, forcing out a chuckle in the hopes of lightening the mood.
It doesnât work. Geraltâs expression would be flat to the casual observer, but Jaskier, with his years of practice deciphering the minute twitches and shifts of that beloved face, sees the hurt and resignation in the creases around his eyes. Something that feels a lot like shame burns in his belly.
âDonât. Donât do that. Youâre no monster.â He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. âBesides, I donât kill anything with sentience or intelligence, you know that. Intelligent may be a bit of a stretch, sure, but youâre definitely sentient.â
Jaskier takes the teasing for the olive branch it is and makes an appropriately outraged noise, swamped with relief and reveling in the pleased little huff he elicits when he reaches out to thwap the witcher across the arm.
Unfortunately the effort involved in moving brings him right back to where he started, and he falls back against the pillows with a hiss. Geralt is back at his side andâthere really is no other word for itâfussing over him in an instant.
âYou need to be careful, Jask, you lost a lot of energy. Youâve been out a few days, so your muscles are likely to be weak for a while.â
âA few days? How? What even happened, I donâtâŠâ Jaskier trails off, not knowing how to end that sentence. It isnât remember, he remembers perfectly well, right up until the moment he collapsed in the dirt. Understand, maybe. He doesnât understand at all. He doesnât understand why heâs here, why Geralt is here, how he was able to do those things to those men...there are a lot of things he doesnât understand. He isnât sure he wants to.
Geralt sits awkwardly at the foot of the bed, perching on the edge in his effort not to disturb Jaskierâs position. Jaskier rolls his eyes and pokes him in the back with one blanketed toe, pointedly shifting his legs over to make room for Geralt to sit properly. The witcher huffs, looking vaguely sheepish, and settles more comfortably.
âYou...you used too much magic at once, Jaskier. It drained you. Weâre lucky the innkeeper here let us stay as payment for getting rid of the bandits. Theyâve been plaguing that stretch of road for months, apparently. Meant they didnât ask too many questions about the bodies, at least, just figured they got what they asked for, attacking a witcher.â At this, he looks up from where heâs been staring a hole in the floor between his knees, glaring at Jaskier. âWhy did you do it, Jask? I had them under control. You didnât need toâyou never should have killed for me. I never asked you to do that.â
âYou didnât, though.â His voice comes out quieter than he means.
Geralt furrows his brow. âDidnât what? Ask? I know, Jask, thatâs my point.â
âHave them under control. You didnât.â
Something in Geraltâs expression softens, but he rolls his eyes anyway. âI was fine, Jaskier, I can handle seven men. My injury from last week isnât even that bad, it would have been fiââ
âEight.â
âWhat?â
Jaskier finally makes himself meet Geraltâs eyes, determined to make himself heard if this is the last time they speak. âThere were eight men, not seven. There was a man in a tree with a crossbow behind you. You didnât see him, he was about toââ He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard against the memory of the foul taste of Geraltâs death Song flooding his mouth, of that crystal moment of knowing the person he loved most in all the world was Doomed, and he couldnât stop it, couldnât helpâ
But he had helped. He had stopped it, despite not even knowing his powers were capable of something like that. Against all odds, Geralt was safe, he was here and alive and gazing at Jaskier with unmasked concern.
âAlright, eight, then. You still didnât need to enchant them, Jaskier. Siren powers shouldnât even work that strongly this far from the sea, anyway! You burnt yourself out! You could have been seriously hurt, throwing magic around like that. You should have gotten on Roach when I told you to, you should have gotten to safety. I would have been fine.â
âBut you wouldnât have!â It bursts out of Jaskier, far louder than heâd intended, tinged with desperation. âYou wouldnât have been fine. Iâm not just a siren, Geralt. My sire, my matka, is a siren, yes. But my mama, the mother who bore me? Was a banshee.â
Geraltâs brow furrows in confusion. Dam broken, Jaskier continues in a rush.
âMy powers have never been good for much of anything. I was a disappointment to my matka and her kin, because even though my Voice comes out as a Song, all itâs ever done is foretell death, Iâve never been able to use it to compel anyone, and what use is a siren without a Lure?
âI donât have a proper Shriek, either, but my mama always said my Shriek was as good as any other, just prettier. Thatâs what itâs always been, a Shriek disguised as a Song. I look at someone, I can feel that theyâre slated to die, and the Song wants to be sung, but I never bothered because whatâs the point? What good is a warning when you canât escape the inevitable? Better to let people live freely until their last, thatâs what mama said. She never used her Shriek, either. Itâs why her people cast her out, why she married a human man when her siren mate grew tired of her. She hated death, too.â Jaskier swallows against the tears building behind his eyes.
âHers was the first Song I ever Sang all the way through. The only one I ever Sang, until now. My father began to suspect I wasnât really his, and flew into a rage. I was only thirteen, I couldnât save her. I could only hide in the closet and Sing while he killed her. I left for Oxenfurt the day after the funeral and I havenât Sung since. Useless.â
A warm weight on his foot pulls him out of the memories, Geraltâs thumb swiping gently back and forth over his ankle while Jaskier dashes the angry tears from his eyes and tries to get his breathing back under control.
Itâs Geralt who breaks the silence.
âYouâre not useless, Jaskier. Never that.â Thereâs another long stretch of quiet, before Geralt seems to settle some internal argument and looks up to meet his eyes, molten gold shining with unnamed emotions. âHelp me understand. Why Sing for those men? Why risk yourself? Youâve held in your...Shriek, all this time. Why let it out now, for them?â
Jaskier chuckles mirthlessly. âYouâre not listening, Geralt. It wasnât supposed to be their Song. I donât...I donât know what I did. Itâs never happened like that before.â
âLike what?â
âIâve never...I changed it, Geralt. It was supposed to be you.â Thereâs a sharp intake of breath from the foot of the bed, but Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut against the phantom taste of rot and barrels on. âI felt it. The man in the trees, he wasnât going to miss. The Song was meant for you, but Iâ gods, Geralt, I couldnât bear it. I donât know how IâI just knew I couldnât let it happen. I couldnât, I couldnât, Iââ Between one breath and another Geralt has moved up the bed to his side and gathered him into his arms. Jaskier buries his head into his chest and clings.
When he stops shaking, he unclenches his fingers from where theyâre fisted in Geraltâs shirt and starts again. âI donât understand what I did, Geralt. I didnât know I could do that. Iâve never had a Lure, no matter how my matka and her kin tried to beat one into me.â A low growl rumbles beneath his cheek, and he pets Geraltâs arm consolingly. That pain is long past, thereâs nothing to be done for it now.
âI didnât even mean to, really, the only thing in my head was that you couldnât die. I never meant toâGeralt, I never wanted to kill anyone. I donât regret it, Iâd do it again for you, but Iââ Geraltâs hand strokes softly through his hair, soothing the frantic pace of his heart.
âIâm scared, Geralt.â His voice is small to his own ears, thin and frightened. âIf I can do that when Iâm not even trying...whatâs inside me, Geralt? How can I be sure I wonât hurt anyone else? Someone innocent this time?â
Thereâs a long moment where the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Jaskierâs own hitching sniffles, and Geraltâs slow, measured breathing beneath his ear.
âHm,â comes the eventual response, almost startling a snort out of Jaskier at the sheer predictability of it, until Geralt continues. âWeâll figure it out together, then. There may be someone out there who can help you learn to control your powers, we just have to find them. We can start at Kaer Morhen. Come home with me this year, weâll talk to Vesemir and figure out where to start.â
Jaskier sits up, gaping in shock. âYouâre inviting me home? To the witcher keep? When Iâmââ
âIf you say youâre a monster again, Iâm not buying you a single honeycake the entire trip.â Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, still stunned. Geraltâs face softens, and he sighs. âI should have invited you a long time ago, Jaskier. Human or not, youâre my friend, youâll be welcome.â He furrows his eyebrows, looking suddenly uncertain. âUnless...You donât have to come, if you donât want to. I know it isnât...it wonât be what youâre used to. I understand if mmphââ He stares, golden eyes wide over the hand Jaskier has clapped over his mouth.
âFoolish witcher, of course Iâm coming! Are you mad? A chance to meet your brothers, your mentor? To see the majesty of Kaer Morhen with my own eyes? Gods, the songs to be sung! The stories that must be waiting to be told! Can we go now? Letâs go! Come on, up! Letâs get packed before you change your mind!â
The wondering look is gone from Geraltâs eyes, which are back to familiar flat annoyance. He pointedly grasps Jaskierâs wrist and removes the hand from his mouth, before standing up and manhandling Jaskier back under the blankets.
âMajestic isnât the word Iâd use, and the stories in those walls are hardly the kind of heroic tales for writing songs. Itâs not there forâforâmaterial, bard, you really will piss them off if you try that.â
Seems their equilibrium isnât quite back, that or Geralt really is really, properly nervous about this invitation, if he thinks Jaskier is serious about picking over his home for inspiration alone.
âGeralt.â He waits until his witcher stops fiddling with the blankets and meets his eyes again. âDarling, I know. Iâm only teasing. I wouldnât exploit you, or your family, that way. Whatever songs I write there, theyâll be just for my own memories. And yours, if you like. I promise.â
Geralt deflates a little, shoulders slumping. âI know. IâI know.â He straightens up, and Jaskier can see the mask of The White Wolf, Stoic Scary Witcher descending back into place. âWeâre not leaving today, anyway. Youâll need a few more days to recover, and weâve a few weeks besides before we need to start heading north. Stay there, donât move. The innkeep said sheâd have some broth waiting for when you woke up. Donât do anything stupid while Iâm gone.â He glowers threateningly at Jaskier, who sticks out his tongue in response, before leaving, apparently satisfied his bard isnât going to make a break for it in the next ten minutes.
Jaskier settles back against the pillows with a sigh, reeling internally from so many new developments at once. Today has been nothing like he expected. Heâs still somewhat surprised to be alive at all, and a tiny part of him is still waiting for the moment Geralt realizes heâs made a terrible mistake and Jaskier canât be allowed to live, though he realizes now, with some chagrin, that that was never a realistic outcome.
Heâs still terrified of the power lurking inside him, all the more ominous now for having been used with only the barest consent from his own mind. But for now he can breathe deep and set that fear aside, at least for a moment. Geralt has promised to help him. Geralt will keep him safe.
Heâs alive. Geralt is alive. Geralt knows the truth and doesnât hate him. They have the beginnings of a plan. Geralt called him his friend, out loud, on purpose. Heâs been invited to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Soon heâll have dinner, or something resembling dinner, anyway. He has altogether more blessings than he was strictly prepared to count, under the circumstances. So for now, he supposes heâll allow himself to rest, and hum, and wait for his witcher to return. Theyâll sort out the rest together.
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PLEASE WRITE THE BANSHEE JASKIER FIC I NEED IT IN MY LIFE
I have written it! Itâs called A Rotten Tongue and itâs on my AO3 which you can find here.Â
I do have a couple of ideas for shorter fics within the verse (perhaps some Arel and Jaskier interaction where he grows and his powers, etc. Maybe some of Jaskier hunting at night etc.)Â
Those fics will be later, though, as I want to finish the fourth part of A Tired Symphony Verse first as well as a fic I was inspired to write by someone else! (Plus I want to work on some of the prompts in my inbox - I didnât get to any last night because I fell asleep at my computer!! Sorry!!)
Iâm sorry, but I just found ur blog. Is the banshee story up on a fifferent platform or isnât it done yet?
Itâs not complete yet. When it is, it will be on my AO3 where my username is the same! Hopefully I will have it posted late tonight/early tomorrow as I have about an hour before Iâm going to be at work for a while. I will make a post on this blog, of course, to let everyone know just as I have when I have posted the next parts of my series.Â
Okay!! Mayhaps have fallen asleep at the computer last night writing (oops!!) And I have work today so the banshee fic might not get posted until late tonight/early tomorrow - sorry about the delay!