Inth_Lioan
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Jaskier has written a lot of ballads about some woman who has stolen his heart. The thing is, he's been on the road with Geralt for the past month. He hasn't had any time to court a woman, much less have his heart broken by her. So who is this woman? The answer may shock you.
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“There’s no lady,” Geralt says.
Jaskier trails off. “Well, of course not,” he says instead. “I imagine a woman would take grave offense to the frequency with which we give our patronage to brothels, not to mention your unseemly habit of bathing in monster blood and other revolting gunk.” He wrinkles his nose. “Perhaps I should write an ode to your masterful powers of observation next.”
“But you were talking about a woman tonight,” Geralt continues, ignoring Jaskier entirely.
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Bookmarked by Inth_Lioan
28 Sep 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“But you were talking about a woman tonight,” Geralt continues, ignoring Jaskier entirely. He tries not to take offense to that. Something tells him that any protest he offers will be utterly disregarded. “The same one your ballads are about, the one who broke your heart and left you wanting.”
Warmth blooms, unbidden, in Jaskier’s heart. Geralt has been listening to his songs. Geralt remembers his lyrics. Geralt knows enough about Jaskier’s lyrics to notice the details consistent through them all.
Geralt knows Jaskier is in love.
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Jaskier doesn't have a death wish; he just has a low threshold for boredom.
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Jaskier doesn’t have a death wish, but he does have a tendency to run headfirst into danger, to seek bigger and brighter thrills, because the alternative is wasting away into a parody of who he could have been, and he would rather die than succumb to such a fate.
Jaskier is still trying to figure out the shape of the empty thing in his chest when he spots a muscular loner drinking alone at the edge of the world, and a fire ignites within him. This man, he thinks later, when he is crumpled in the dirt and trying to remember how to breathe, will take him to the brink of death and back. This man is everything his destiny shouldn’t be.
So when Geralt of Rivia walks away, Jaskier follows.
Bookmarked by Inth_Lioan
28 Sep 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“What do you think, is the run too formulaic?” he asks Roach. Roach, being both indifferent to Jaskier and a horse, does not respond.
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Interlude; The End of All Things by TabbyCat33098
Fandoms: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
21 Feb 2020
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Geralt realizes Jaskier is growing old and tries his best to return the rest of Jaskier's life to him. If only Jaskier would cooperate and take it.
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How much longer will Jaskier be content with weathering the elements and contending with the uncertainty of mercenary work? How long until Jaskier realizes that in devoting himself to crafting a legacy for Geralt, he has forgotten to create a legacy of his own?
After all, he does not have a wife or children, for their nomadic lifestyle is conducive to neither. He has no home to return to between stints with Geralt, whether a sprawling mansion vaunting his wealth or a comfortable cottage replete with souvenirs from his varied exploits. How many experiences has Jaskier sacrificed because some contract or irate nobleman drew them elsewhere? How many untouched fields of snow has Jaskier never seen; how many harvests at Novigrad has he yearned to celebrate from halfway across the Continent—
“You’re staring,” Jaskier points out.
“You wanted to go to the Kovirian coast,” Geralt responds.
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Bookmarked by Inth_Lioan
28 Sep 2026
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Dear Heart, It's Me by TabbyCat33098
Fandoms: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
01 Mar 2020
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5 times Geralt noticed something about Jaskier without being told, and 1 time Jaskier noticed something about Geralt without being told.
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Jaskier gasps and sputters, utterly taken aback and hardly knowing which part of Geralt’s speech to address first. “A tart? A backwater tart, no less! Backwater tarts wish they had half my charm and sexual prowess! And you’ve, you’ve got some nerve, Geralt, trying to, to take advantage of my nobility — um, alleged nobility, that is — right after insulting my virtue and slandering me. Imagine the outrage I’d feel if I were actually noble—”
Geralt tosses a doublet unceremoniously at Jaskier, who squawks and scrambles to catch it before it can fall to the floor. Geralt stills, then, and turns to face Jaskier with a pinched expression. “Doesn’t matter to me if you’re noble or not,” he says in a low tone. “You’re still Jaskier. Still annoying; still unshakable.”
Jaskier looks down at the doublet in his hands to hide the way his cheeks burn as relief trickles down his spine. “Oh, well, as long as I’m still annoying,” he says.
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Bookmarked by Inth_Lioan
28 Sep 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
But Geralt had noticed. Not just this, but Jaskier’s preference for blue doublets, and his dislike for dancing, and that he sleeps easiest when cradled in Geralt’s arms. He thinks back to every time Geralt has skimmed the worst of the monster viscera from the bath before Jaskier settles into it, every fire Geralt has made because Jaskier said he was cold, every piece of monster trivia he has begrudgingly shared with Jaskier to enhance his ballads, every time he has mended Jaskier’s clothing for him instead of letting him waste coin on a tailor.
“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. He turns to Geralt and says plainly, “You love me.”
Geralt grimaces. “Mm.” Resignation is writ large upon his face, and he steadfastly avoids meeting Jaskier’s eye, giving Jaskier free rein to examine him without worrying about being caught.
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not a goodbye, a thank you by Potrix for DarcEllis13
Fandoms: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
14 Apr 2020
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Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot.
He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.
Bookmarked by Inth_Lioan
21 Apr 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
I can reread this if I ever want to cry for some reason? It's anticipatory grief, no actual death in the story.