The bottle is definitely raised, but Geralt keeps talking, and it reminds Jaskier that this isn't the one from home, the one that broke his heart into pieces in the first place. And shouldn't that be a lesson not to fall for it again? But oh he's weak and wanting - Jaskier needs people, needs this kindness, needs a fucking hug right now to confort him. How can he blame the guy for something he didn't do when he's hurt over someone doing the same to him?
How can he not give in to this care and worry he so desperately needs when it comes from the voice he's dreamed about since he was 18? It's a very powerful combo.
"Stop it. Stop--" Being so nice, he wants to say, but he can't. He can't even mean it, he wants this tenderness to evolve him. Yet each word is at the same time a needle that reminds him with sharp pain of what he could have if he had been born in the right world. "--stop rubbing it in. Stop making me feel like-- like an imbecile."
Why would he ever believe it? Gosh, such a simple question that feels like a kick to his stomach. He's dealt with similar questions a lot the past two decades - why would he follow a mutant? Why would he accept being treated like that? So many courts wanted him, and Oxenfurt itself too, yet he insisted on following Geralt. Jaskier would start singing the praises of his best friend in the whole world then, explaining actions speak louder than words. Life had been unkind to the witcher, he only needed some kindness to learn to relate to others better. He knew Geralt, he had no reason to believe his insults - or so had he thought.
Why would he ever believe it? What a question. If he believed what Geralt said so easily, then... it's because he had reasons to, right? Easy to defend the witcher against other people's insults, but when it comes to believing it himself...
Bollocks. He's such an idiot.
"I THOUGHT I WAS!" He suddenly cries out, the bottle of vodka being dropped to the floor so he can use his hand to cover his face instead. He promised he wouldn't have a breakdown, that the asshole isn't worthy of one, but alcohol and being hit in the face with the version of their relationship he's always craved for have his emotions off-center, unable to really control them (not that he's even been good at that anyway, wearing his heart in his sleeve as he does). It's overwhelming to say the least, and so some tears appear on those blue eyes. "I shaved him, for fuck's sake! I held a blade to his bloody witcher neck, and I thought that meant--"
Something. Anything. At least some kind of progress. Trust?
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How can he not give in to this care and worry he so desperately needs when it comes from the voice he's dreamed about since he was 18? It's a very powerful combo.
"Stop it. Stop--" Being so nice, he wants to say, but he can't. He can't even mean it, he wants this tenderness to evolve him. Yet each word is at the same time a needle that reminds him with sharp pain of what he could have if he had been born in the right world. "--stop rubbing it in. Stop making me feel like-- like an imbecile."
Why would he ever believe it? Gosh, such a simple question that feels like a kick to his stomach. He's dealt with similar questions a lot the past two decades - why would he follow a mutant? Why would he accept being treated like that? So many courts wanted him, and Oxenfurt itself too, yet he insisted on following Geralt. Jaskier would start singing the praises of his best friend in the whole world then, explaining actions speak louder than words. Life had been unkind to the witcher, he only needed some kindness to learn to relate to others better. He knew Geralt, he had no reason to believe his insults - or so had he thought.
Why would he ever believe it? What a question. If he believed what Geralt said so easily, then... it's because he had reasons to, right? Easy to defend the witcher against other people's insults, but when it comes to believing it himself...
Bollocks. He's such an idiot.
"I THOUGHT I WAS!" He suddenly cries out, the bottle of vodka being dropped to the floor so he can use his hand to cover his face instead. He promised he wouldn't have a breakdown, that the asshole isn't worthy of one, but alcohol and being hit in the face with the version of their relationship he's always craved for have his emotions off-center, unable to really control them (not that he's even been good at that anyway, wearing his heart in his sleeve as he does). It's overwhelming to say the least, and so some tears appear on those blue eyes. "I shaved him, for fuck's sake! I held a blade to his bloody witcher neck, and I thought that meant--"
Something. Anything. At least some kind of progress. Trust?
A sob. "Turns out I've been nothing but a maid."