Jaskier's heart picks up, especially when a hand starts rubbing his back as well. It helps him hear what Geralt has to say, because here comes the crashing of feelings again. To know he isn't alone in having dealt with an emotionally constipated Geralt is a bit comforting, but at the same time, it makes him feel like more of an idiot for not having gone past through that stage at home. Wouldn't it have been easier to deal with to meet an easy-going Geralt that had always been like this and blame it on the differences between worlds?
He doesn't know anymore. These are very complicated questions, and he's done over-analyzing them. Emotional exhaustion at its fullest.
You need something else.
Fuck, the witch had known exactly what she was doing, Jaskier hates to admit. This is technically wrong - worlds have been altered, Dandelion is now suffering from a reputation (and maybe a witcher?) he doesn't deserve, Jaskier is enjoying a friendship and a household he didn't earn. Except the witch thought he did, and now Geralt is telling him the same:
After twenty years, he's allowed to have a break. To have his loyalty rewarded.
It's going to bite him on the ass later, he knows. Going home will much more difficult, moving on after having a taste of this will be pure pain. But he's going to suffer anyway, isn't he? He can't take the last twenty years of his life back, then may as well enjoy this while it lasts. Besides, since when has he worried so much about the possible consequences? When have potential cuckold husbands and monster wounds ever stopped him before?
Never. And fucking Geralt of Rivia isn't going to take that away from him. He isn't a young maiden to suffer from heartbreak like this. He's Jaskier of Oxenfurt, and everyone he meets has a piece of his heart. The witcher took the biggest one so far, but he won't allow him to take it all.
"That sounds familiar. Are you sure it was for only half an hour?" He asks as a little smile reaches his lips and he dares to close his arms around Geralt's waist. This witcher is a walking furnace as well, heh. If it pleases him? It does. A lot. "Ah, I should've guessed your crippling addiction to gambling transcended worlds." It feels good, being able to tease. Jaskier gives that (shapely built as ever, damn) waist a squeeze before pulling back, wrinkling his noise at the mention of drinking more. "Thank you. Seriously. I'll take you up for that offer of wine later, right now I can already feel a killer hangover coming. So if you excuse me, I shall find one of those lovely rooms you promised, and take a bloody nap."
Geralt does move aside this time, and Jaskier thanks him with a nod before he makes his way out into the hallway. Finding a guest room is easy, all these estates are similar like that in their structure, and the gods know Jaskier has played in enough of them - never mind the fact he also grew up in one. Having a new room where h's about to stay in for a few days usually comes with a ritual of putting away his stuff that Geralt knows well, but right now Jaskier is fucking exhausted. So he leaves them against the wall for now, and only takes off his doublet and wet pants before climbing under the covers.
Sleep comes easy after a month of hell, and he dreams of a warm hug and a comforting hand rubbing his back.
The sun hasn't quite set yet when he wakes up, but the colors of an afternoon ending are already appearing on the sky. Jaskier stays in bed for a moment, admiring them through the window as his lets his mind wander and come to terms with everything that happened that morning. He's not fully okay, not quite yet, but the conclusion he reached stills hold true in his heart: things are gonna suck anyway, may as well enjoy this as it lasts. That's how he's always moved on from heartbreak anyway, a night of drinking followed by pushing through like always, trying not to let it bother him, because that's how life and the matters of the heart work.
He's been an idiot the past month, suffering over a man that doesn't deserve it. And he's fucking done with that. Feeling revitalized with a new goal and purpose, Jaskier gets out of bed in a better mood, charms ready to find a maid - only someone like Geralt could smell the edge of sadness that hides behind this feeling of a new adventure. Jaskier smiles and winks, which gets him his dirty clothes sent away to be washed and a basin of clean, fresh water to wash himself as well. Dressed in his light blue doublet and with his hair properly brushed now, Jaskier leaves his room to explore.
It's a beautiful estate, that's for sure. Perfect for retirement, if that's what Geralt is doing, judging by the whole wine-and-gwent deal. It's funny, to think of Geralt as head of a household. The witcher had mentioned Jaskier's grandmother though, so he has to assume poor Dandelion suffered though Lettenhove as well - so maybe New Geralt is doing well thanks to extra help. Speaking of help, all the servants seem to be happy and relaxed in their jobs. Which is a great thing, obviously, but Jaskier can't help being surprised by it. It's a shitty thought he knows, but where he's from, people don't want to hang out with witchers. He's happy for Geralt to have found workers that respect him and don't fear him.
All the guest rooms seem to be about the same, so Jaskier isn't disappointed with his choice. He finds the desk Geralt told him about and gods, isn't that a sight, because it surely feels like a workplace he would've set up for himself. Half of him wants to use it, the other finds it too weird of a concept. It seems these contradictory feelings are going to follow him around for a while.
When he makes it to the master bedroom, curiosity gets the better of him pretty quickly. Are the swords the same? The medallion isn't. And this Geralt wears colors, what's up with that? Of course Jaskier needs the details! When he enters the room, however, the first things he notices aren't Geralt's.
That, right there, is Filavandrel's lute.
No. It can't be. Geralt is probably just taking care of it while Dandelion is gone, right? Except a closer look around the room tells him his assumptions may be correct after all. Shaking hands open the wardrobe and...
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck.
It's like being punched in his stomach again in Posada.
Heart beating too fast to be possible, Jaskier runs back to his room, where he takes deep breaths and tries to calm down as he paces from wall to wall. He said he wouldn't allow this place to torture him anymore, right? Easier said than done of course, because the unfairness of it all keeps creeping up on him, taking him unaware and unprepared, delivering emotional kicks that keep squeezing his lungs out of air and his heart out of blood.
What he needs is to get all his feelings off his chest, cleanse his soul before going back to exploring, flirting and picking up stories from various new people. His mood isn't right for writing, however...
Jaskier stares at his lute, hesitating. And in the end he decides to hell with it. He grabs his instrument, sits on the windowsill...
And that's how suddenly the house is presented with the notes and lyrics of Her Sweet Kiss.
It's like therapy, okay. (Sorry about any crying maids.)
no subject
Is a motherfucking hug.
Jaskier's heart picks up, especially when a hand starts rubbing his back as well. It helps him hear what Geralt has to say, because here comes the crashing of feelings again. To know he isn't alone in having dealt with an emotionally constipated Geralt is a bit comforting, but at the same time, it makes him feel like more of an idiot for not having gone past through that stage at home. Wouldn't it have been easier to deal with to meet an easy-going Geralt that had always been like this and blame it on the differences between worlds?
He doesn't know anymore. These are very complicated questions, and he's done over-analyzing them. Emotional exhaustion at its fullest.
You need something else.
Fuck, the witch had known exactly what she was doing, Jaskier hates to admit. This is technically wrong - worlds have been altered, Dandelion is now suffering from a reputation (and maybe a witcher?) he doesn't deserve, Jaskier is enjoying a friendship and a household he didn't earn. Except the witch thought he did, and now Geralt is telling him the same:
After twenty years, he's allowed to have a break. To have his loyalty rewarded.
It's going to bite him on the ass later, he knows. Going home will much more difficult, moving on after having a taste of this will be pure pain. But he's going to suffer anyway, isn't he? He can't take the last twenty years of his life back, then may as well enjoy this while it lasts. Besides, since when has he worried so much about the possible consequences? When have potential cuckold husbands and monster wounds ever stopped him before?
Never. And fucking Geralt of Rivia isn't going to take that away from him. He isn't a young maiden to suffer from heartbreak like this. He's Jaskier of Oxenfurt, and everyone he meets has a piece of his heart. The witcher took the biggest one so far, but he won't allow him to take it all.
"That sounds familiar. Are you sure it was for only half an hour?" He asks as a little smile reaches his lips and he dares to close his arms around Geralt's waist. This witcher is a walking furnace as well, heh. If it pleases him? It does. A lot. "Ah, I should've guessed your crippling addiction to gambling transcended worlds." It feels good, being able to tease. Jaskier gives that (shapely built as ever, damn) waist a squeeze before pulling back, wrinkling his noise at the mention of drinking more. "Thank you. Seriously. I'll take you up for that offer of wine later, right now I can already feel a killer hangover coming. So if you excuse me, I shall find one of those lovely rooms you promised, and take a bloody nap."
Geralt does move aside this time, and Jaskier thanks him with a nod before he makes his way out into the hallway. Finding a guest room is easy, all these estates are similar like that in their structure, and the gods know Jaskier has played in enough of them - never mind the fact he also grew up in one. Having a new room where h's about to stay in for a few days usually comes with a ritual of putting away his stuff that Geralt knows well, but right now Jaskier is fucking exhausted. So he leaves them against the wall for now, and only takes off his doublet and wet pants before climbing under the covers.
Sleep comes easy after a month of hell, and he dreams of a warm hug and a comforting hand rubbing his back.
The sun hasn't quite set yet when he wakes up, but the colors of an afternoon ending are already appearing on the sky. Jaskier stays in bed for a moment, admiring them through the window as his lets his mind wander and come to terms with everything that happened that morning. He's not fully okay, not quite yet, but the conclusion he reached stills hold true in his heart: things are gonna suck anyway, may as well enjoy this as it lasts. That's how he's always moved on from heartbreak anyway, a night of drinking followed by pushing through like always, trying not to let it bother him, because that's how life and the matters of the heart work.
He's been an idiot the past month, suffering over a man that doesn't deserve it. And he's fucking done with that. Feeling revitalized with a new goal and purpose, Jaskier gets out of bed in a better mood, charms ready to find a maid - only someone like Geralt could smell the edge of sadness that hides behind this feeling of a new adventure. Jaskier smiles and winks, which gets him his dirty clothes sent away to be washed and a basin of clean, fresh water to wash himself as well. Dressed in his light blue doublet and with his hair properly brushed now, Jaskier leaves his room to explore.
It's a beautiful estate, that's for sure. Perfect for retirement, if that's what Geralt is doing, judging by the whole wine-and-gwent deal. It's funny, to think of Geralt as head of a household. The witcher had mentioned Jaskier's grandmother though, so he has to assume poor Dandelion suffered though Lettenhove as well - so maybe New Geralt is doing well thanks to extra help. Speaking of help, all the servants seem to be happy and relaxed in their jobs. Which is a great thing, obviously, but Jaskier can't help being surprised by it. It's a shitty thought he knows, but where he's from, people don't want to hang out with witchers. He's happy for Geralt to have found workers that respect him and don't fear him.
All the guest rooms seem to be about the same, so Jaskier isn't disappointed with his choice. He finds the desk Geralt told him about and gods, isn't that a sight, because it surely feels like a workplace he would've set up for himself. Half of him wants to use it, the other finds it too weird of a concept. It seems these contradictory feelings are going to follow him around for a while.
When he makes it to the master bedroom, curiosity gets the better of him pretty quickly. Are the swords the same? The medallion isn't. And this Geralt wears colors, what's up with that? Of course Jaskier needs the details! When he enters the room, however, the first things he notices aren't Geralt's.
That, right there, is Filavandrel's lute.
No. It can't be. Geralt is probably just taking care of it while Dandelion is gone, right? Except a closer look around the room tells him his assumptions may be correct after all. Shaking hands open the wardrobe and...
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck.
It's like being punched in his stomach again in Posada.
Heart beating too fast to be possible, Jaskier runs back to his room, where he takes deep breaths and tries to calm down as he paces from wall to wall. He said he wouldn't allow this place to torture him anymore, right? Easier said than done of course, because the unfairness of it all keeps creeping up on him, taking him unaware and unprepared, delivering emotional kicks that keep squeezing his lungs out of air and his heart out of blood.
What he needs is to get all his feelings off his chest, cleanse his soul before going back to exploring, flirting and picking up stories from various new people. His mood isn't right for writing, however...
Jaskier stares at his lute, hesitating. And in the end he decides to hell with it. He grabs his instrument, sits on the windowsill...
And that's how suddenly the house is presented with the notes and lyrics of Her Sweet Kiss.
It's like therapy, okay. (Sorry about any crying maids.)