I dunno man!! It got angsty!! Your word is RESTRAIN. Again, this feels more like Geraskier-lite than anything.
~
“Let me go!”
Jaskier thrashes against the ropes that bind him to the tree, eyes wild, hair a tangled mess around his head.
“I can’t,” says Geralt, surprised at how calm he sounds.
Jaskier swears, hurling insults into the air, then resumes wriggling against the ropes. It won’t do any good; Geralt has restrained people twice Jaskier’s size, double his strength. A cursed bard won’t break through those bonds.
He doesn’t even know what the curse is. The forest around them is rich with chaos, and Geralt’s medallion had begun vibrating the moment they stepped in. It had been inevitable, he now knows, that one of them would have walked into a spell. He supposes its luck that it was Jaskier: had it been himself who’d wandered into the trap, Jaskier would have been unable to hold him back.
It’s fuelled by emotion, that much he can tell. Jaskier had flown into a rage the moment the spell had gotten root in his mind, flinging himself forwards until Geralt had managed to grab him and pin him down.
That’s often how these sorts of spells go: low-level magic, no more than a trap designed to lure victims towards a hungry beast lurking deeper within the forest. It could even be a Fiend or some other mind-alterer, waiting for its next meal to willingly walk themselves into its mouth. It'll only last a few hours; but it's torture to wait them out.
“Please.”
Geralt turns. He’d been too lost in thought to pay attention to Jaskier’s futile efforts to escape. He’s stopped moving, slumped forwards, the ropes keeping him from falling. As Geralt watches, his limbs twitch and jerk. His mind is still clearly snagged, but his body is exhausted with the effort.
“Let me go,” he says, voice hoarse. “Let me go, Geralt, you fucking--”
His words crack, slurring into a pained hiss. Geralt cannot stand it. He moves closer. Jaskier’s arms are bound to his sides - it had been necessary with the way Jaskier had clawed at him and attempted to steal his swords, even if it had pained Geralt to do it. He’s harmless, now. Just tired.
Without thinking, Geralt wraps his arms around him as much as he can, taking his weight, guiding Jaskier's head against his shoulder. Jaskier twitches against him, swearing weakly into his tunic.
“Let me go,” he repeats. This time, it’s a sob. “Geralt, please--”
Geralt holds him tighter. Jaskier’s arms jerk, and Geralt can feel hot tears spill against his skin.
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do you think... you could... give us more mouskier ?
yes, absolutely, thank you very much for making this request
I miss people sending me random anons and requests like this <3 thank you, and sorry it took so long
tw: none, only fluff
---
Geralt frowned down at the small ball of brown fur currently curled - rather cutely, he hated to admit - at the center of his large palm. "Hmm."
The mouse squeaked in what was obviously frustration and darted up his arm to nibble angrily at a lock of his long white hair.
"Hey!" Geralt grabbed at the tiny creature but missed by a hair and accidentally knocked it backwards off his shoulder. The Witcher's breath halted violently at the center of his chest as he utilized his reflexes to stop the mouse from hitting the ground. "Fuck, Jaskier. We need to get you changed back as quickly as possible."
The mouse twitched its whiskers - displeasure - and turned its back to Geralt. The Witcher gently turned him back around and pressed a quick kiss to the warm fur at the top of his tiny head.
With a popping noise, the room filled with the warm scent of chamomile. A burst of blue-ish glitter revealed Jaskier's human form, looking at Geralt with wide and wondering eyes. "Was that..."
Geralt's realization dawned blush-warm across his skin. He nodded. "Yeah... Fuck."
We've all heard of shrimpskier, but let's get ready for mouskier. A mage captures Jaskier and turns him into a little mouse. Geralt goes to rescue him but the only person he finds is the mage..... and of course, one very small mouse.
I know this is supposed to be a shitpost but I love it when Geralt has to protect the bard so like...
---
Geralt only allows himself to begin his search for Jaskier once the mage has been properly dealt with, but the only other living thing in the hut is a mouse in a tiny cage. The witcher leans down and huffs impatiently. He’ll let it go in the woods; it won’t last long but at least it will be free.
“Alright, little one, let’s get out of here.”
When he opens the cage door, the tiny creature runs directly onto the palm of his leather glove instead of onto the ground. It squeaks almost indignantly and settles itself down in a little ball. Geralt feels his medallion vibrate and his eyes widen.
Realizing just how similar this mouse’s coloring is to Jaskier’s soft brown hair, the witcher lifts his hand up to his face and squints. The mouse’s eyes are a bright, familiar blue and Geralt groans. “How!?”
The mouse squeaks happily and licks at his nose.
It’s not adorable. It’s really not.
“Squeak once for a timed spell and twice for Yennefer.”
One squeak.
“Alright, fine. Let’s get back to the inn and wait it out. You’re staying out of my hair, though. I know you’ll try to nest in it you terribly possessive little thing.”
Jaskier the mouse makes a half-amused, half-sad sound before settling back down to nap in the witcher’s cupped hand. Geralt shakes his head. Fucking mages.
Hey ugh, swan princess AU? 10/10. I love it. Not only his brothers scolding/making fun of him for saying what else is there but also: swan Jaskier doing asshole swan things.
Geralt: Oh my love, I yearn for your embrace during the daylight hours. How I pine for thee!
Jaskier, who is a fucking swan (and who remembers the “what else is there” line very well): (honks and bites Geralt directly on the ass)
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“I hate to tell you this, Odette, but you won't be able to attend the ball tomorrow night. You see, you forgot one very important thing. Tomorrow night... there is no moon.” - Rothbart (The Swan Princess)
Rating: T
Ship: Geraskier
Word Count: 2696
Summary: Geralt receives a contract to take care of a creature haunting the castle overlooking a village. Geralt decides he might be able to save the creature instead.
AN: ok i'm gonna warn y'all before you start--i make no fucking effort to wrap this up. this is basically 3kish words of an idea for a longfic, which has been rattling around inside my brain and hopefully will get written eventually. but if i get any angry messages about the curse not getting broken or me leaving this without any sort of resolution, i will give you sassy responses. your expectations should now have been adjusted accordingly!
if you like this idea and would like to eventually see a resolution, lmk! i find it fun and would love to get back to it, if there's an interest.
read on ao3
The castle was freezing. Geralt had barely stepped past the threshold before he could see his breath fogging out before him. Outside, it had been a spring morning, on the cooler side, but still held a hint of warmth. Inside, the air felt harsh against his skin, cold enough to cause pinpricks of pain.
It was dark and dusty. Cobwebs covered everything and the furniture and paintings showed a level of degradation Geralt wasn’t expecting. The castle hadn’t been deserted for long, maybe a few decades at most, and yet it looked as if it had been abandoned centuries ago. The cold, the rot, the stillness of the air, the overwhelming feeling of decay, it left Geralt feeling as if he’d never be warm again. This place reeked of sadness.
As he stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind him, he heard something shift in one of the rooms beyond what he could see. There had been reports of a specter, of a monster, of a something haunting the deserted castle, and the forests around. The villagers were scared to go near it. They were convinced if they drew too close, they would die an unspeakable death. Better to have a Witcher go and take care of the problem for them.
Geralt followed the sound, though he was unsure if it was the creature or just an animal that had looked for warmth. He dispelled that thought, however--it was so much colder inside than beyond the castle walls, he was certain no animal in its right mind would seek out this place for protection from the elements. Something shifted again, and a cracking sound echoed through the halls. Geralt pulled out his silver sword and stepped carefully, silently.
He came to a large, open room, with wide windows, many of which were shattered. A ballroom, maybe. Once, it might have been grand, but now it was just as destroyed as the rest of the castle. Geralt edged a foot forward, crossing the threshold.
A voice, high and inhuman, hissed its way through the air. “Go away,” it said, and Geralt whipped his head around to find the source.
There, in the corner, he saw it. What, exactly, he was seeing, Geralt wasn’t entirely sure. The figure was humanoid, almost, but much taller than the average human with long limbs and sharp angles. The skin was partially translucent, like glass, but splattered with hundreds of flecks of black and dark gray and brown to muddy its appearance. It stretched as tall as it could, its arms and legs lengthened to make it appear more imposing than it actually was, and if Geralt was human, he was sure he would cower at this icy creature that was easily ten, twelve feet tall.
Geralt was not human, however. And despite the way the creature attempted to make itself look like a threat, Geralt noticed the way it remained bent in on itself, and as far from Geralt as he could get.
“What are you?” Geralt asked, pulling himself fully into the room.
A scream rung out in the room, high and hissing like the voice had been, and Geralt had to brace himself against the wall to keep from being flung. The windows rattled and Geralt heard one high above shatter, only to rain down on the creature. It did not react. Instead, it seemed to close in on itself more.
“Go away,” the creature insisted again, but now the voice sounded more human, and far more sad than Geralt was expecting. A man’s voice.
“I’m a Witcher,” Geralt said. He returned his sword to his scabbard, then held his hands out in front of him, palms facing the creature to show he meant no harm. “I was hired to investigate this castle, rid it of whatever was haunting it. But I think you mean them no harm.”
“Go away,” the creature repeated. He sounded desperate now, and Geralt saw the way he pressed up against the wall behind him, like he was trying to get away from Geralt. Geralt stopped.
“I can help you.”
“No one can help me,” the creature answered. Ah. So he could say more.
“I could try.” Geralt looked around. “Is this your home?”
“It was.”
“What happened to it?”
The creature was silent for a long time. Then, the room erupted into color, and light, and warmth. The debris littering the floor was gone, and it revealed a beautiful marble floor, so clean and shiny Geralt was sure he could see his face reflected in it. He was right, the room had been grand, with the large windows letting in so much light. Geralt started when a body moved through him--a specter, a visual trick the creature was creating just for him. Couples danced, and now Geralt could just barely hear the music, and the far-off sound of voices and laughter.
“A witch,” the creature said, and it felt as if the voice was in his head.
Geralt saw her now. She was beautiful, in a floor length gown and a deep purple cloak that flowed around it. The witch stepped up to a man, young and beautiful and dressed in finery, who held out his hand. She accepted, and they joined the other couples dancing.
Just as quickly as the couple appeared, they faded into nothingness, and Geralt watched as the entire illusion faded into the disrepair it was now. The creature slumped, all of his energy gone.
“Were you the man?” Geralt asked.
“I was,” the creature answered.
“What’s your name?” Gerlt asked.
“Go away.”
“What’s your name?” Geralt asked again.
“Go away!” the creature insisted, his voice taking on the hissing, harsh, inhuman quality again.
“I want to help you.”
“No one can help me!” Now the creature stood up again, and Geralt tried to brace himself again for the scream, but it was louder this time, more powerful. Furniture moved across the floor, and the wind whipped around him, picking up in intensity as it carried off the creature’s final “Go away!”
Geralt barely registered escaping, but he found himself outside the castle and wind slammed the giant door shut behind him.
--
The next day, Geralt wore the furs he had unpacked from Roach’s saddlebag. She was safely stabled in the village, and Geralt left her with the stablehand and thorough instructions.
Getting to the castle was no easier the second time as it was the first. It was perched high on a mountain, surrounded by large, tall, thick trees. It made little sense--surely there would be an easier way to travel between the castle and the village, as this castle would have presided over the village. Perhaps the creature had a hand in making it inaccessible.
Impossibly, the castle was colder when Geralt finally pushed his way inside. The door had been blocked off with debris, the creature clearly thinking that a little effort and a thick tree branch were enough to deter Geralt from his mission. They were not. Geralt was made of far sturdier stuff than that.
Geralt had barely cleared the doorway when he heard that hissing voice again.
“Go away!”
“No,” Geralt answered. He planted his feet, sure that another display of the creature’s power was coming, but after a few moments, Geralt still only heard silence. He made his way back to the ballroom.
The creature was not there.
He searched the surrounding rooms, but there was no sight of him. There were about a hundred more rooms in the castle that he could have searched through, but Geralt had a feeling even if he did, the creature would be one step ahead of him.
“You could make this easier on both of us and just show yourself,” Geralt said.
The creature’s only answer was a quick burst of wind that blew leaves into Geralt’s hair.
“Have it your way,” he answered.
Geralt made his way back to the ballroom. This was where he set up his supplies. He had planned for an extended stay this time, complete with rations, extra bedding, and even a tent in case his host was feeling like manipulating the weather. By the time he was finished, he caught a flickering in the corner of his eye, and turned to look.
The creature was now in the corner, right where he had been the day before, and whatever magic he had used to make himself invisible was wearing out. Or he was choosing to allow Geralt to see him.
Satisfied, Geralt sat himself upon his bedroom, his legs crossed, and faced the creature. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
“Why are you still here?” Geralt asked.
“It’s my home.” The creature sounded offended, but at least his voice was human.
“Are you stuck here?”
The creature didn’t answer, but the wind blew another clump of leaves at Geralt’s face.
“What’s your name?” Geralt asked, to help squash the grin growing on his face.
“Jaskier.”
Geralt hummed. “That’s a bad name for an ice monster.”
This time, when the leaves hit his face, he didn’t bother hiding his grin.
“What are you?” Geralt asked.
“Shouldn’t you know that, Witcher?”
“I’ve never seen anything like you,” Geralt answered, figuring honesty was probably what was needed here to get the creature--Jaskier--on his side. “And you didn’t tell me much about how you came to be.”
The wind swirled in the room, and Geralt watched the leaves spin in circles as Jaskier, presunably, mulled this over. At least they weren’t flying toward his face this time.
“Cursed,” Jaskier finally answered.
“By the witch?”
“Yes. Marikka.”
Geralt hummed. “You knew her. Why did she curse you?”
Behind him, a door slammed. Geralt turned to look at it, and saw it swaying open again, apparently broken. He hadn’t even felt the wind, but when he looked back to Jaskier, he could just barely see the pinched expression on his face. It was hard, from this distance, but the message was clear. Back off.
Geralt wouldn’t.
“How am I supposed to help you if you don’t give me any information?” Geralt asked, rolling his eyes.
The door slammed again, and this time Geralt didn’t look. Over and over, it banged against the threshold, but as it went on, the less pointed it seemed. The wind kicked up around him, swirling the leaves and debris and creating little tornados. Jaskier didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. Geralt felt the anguish there.
“I can’t help you unless you help me,” Geralt said, standing up. He held his hands out again, and tried to inch closer to Jaskier. “I can’t break this curse if I don’t know what it is.”
“Then don’t!” Jaskier screamed back, sounding more like a wraith than he had yet. Geralt kept moving closer, even as the wind picked up, his steps slow and steady. This time, he’d make it to Jaskier. He knew he would.
That was his last thought before Jaskier sent a burst of wind directly at him. So strong Geralt flew off the ground, and right into a marble pillar. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.
--
When Geralt woke, he was in another room entirely.
The bed he was in wasn’t destroyed, exactly, but it certainly showed its wear and tear. Cloth just didn’t last that long, and as a result the canopy above him was in tatters, and the blanket over him didn’t hold in the warmth as much as his furs had. Still, he noted the effort that Jaskier--it had to be Jaskier--put in, even if Geralt was shivering from the moment he woke up.
“Jaskier?” he called, as he sat up.
There was no response, and Jaskier wasn’t in the room. Geralt stood and--checking to make sure there were no damages, or that he was healed of any that had been there--made his way back to the ballroom. When he got to the door, it wouldn’t budge.
“Jaskier, I know you’re doing this,” Geralt said patiently. “Let me in.”
“No. Go away.” Jaskier still sounded as if he was in the same room, rather than behind the ornate door.
“That hasn’t worked every other time you said it, and it won’t work this time.” Geralt pushed on the door again, and it budged, but swiftly closed again, knocking Geralt back. “Please don’t launch me again.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and he did sound remorseful. Miserable, even. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t,” Geralt answered. “You were in pain. I knew you were lashing out, and I still got too close. I forgive you.”
There was a long silence, and when Geralt tried the door again, it gave way. The room was even more destroyed. Broken glass was everywhere, and while he was out, the chandelier had given way. It now lay destroyed in the center of the room.
“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt asked, turning to face Jaskier, back in his place on the far side of the room. As always.
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier repeated, sounding no less miserable than he had before.
“So this… was you?” Jaskier didn’t answer, but Geralt took it as an admission. “Because you were upset? Guilty?”
“For hurting you,” Jaskier agreed.
“I’m fine, Jaskier. I heal. I’ve gotten worse injuries than a smack to the head.” He bent to pick up one of his own belongings, which were now strewn about the room. “I’m going to set up my camp again. I won’t approach you, but I might have to get closer.”
The wind kicked up again, but only strong enough to blow some of his belongings closer to Geralt. Geralt smiled, then set himself on the task of setting up camp again. By the time he was finished, the sun that had been shining through the windows had grown low in the sky. Geralt had a feeling, with his long healing rest, that he wasn’t going to sleep much today.
“You can leave this room,” Geralt said. It was as much a statement as a question. He was pretty sure Jaskier didn’t use wind to carry him the whole way upstairs, into the bed, and under the covers. He didn’t seem strong enough, except when he was upset. That meant he had to have carried Geralt. “Why don’t you?”
“I like it,” Jaskier answered.
There was a pause, then slowly the room started to change back into that magnificent vision Jaskier had given him before. Jaskier, it seemed, remembered this room in sunlight and warmth, despite the growing darkness outside and the ever-present cold. This time, the room was empty of people, aside from a small boy playing a piano. His melody was rough, clearly he was still learning, but as the song went on, he grew better. He grew older.
Soon, Geralt was looking at the boy turned young man. Jaskier, it had to be. Jaskier wasn’t dressed in his finery this time; instead he wore a pair of trousers and a loose-fitting shirt, unbuttoned far below what Geralt was sure was appropriate. The music he played was beautiful and had a great deal of character and humor pressed into it. He had never heard this song before.
“You like music,” Geralt said.
The image before him changed rapidly. Images of Jaskier playing a piano, images of Jaskier dancing, playing a lute, singing, writing. They went too fast for Geralt to get a good look at anything, but he knew this was a correction. Jaskier didn’t like music, Jaskier loved music.
“How long have you been here?” Geralt asked.
The image of Jaskier changed. It was horrific, Jaskier’s take on his transformation. The memory-Jaskier’s body twisted and cracked in unnatural, painful ways, sharp edges breaking out of his skin and enveloping him in ice. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his legs and arms grew long, long, longer, until he was the creature Jaskier was today. The warmth crept out of the room, and slowly the ruin grew, until Geralt found himself right back in the destroyed ballroom, all illusions gone.
