Jaskier Imagine - Tumblr Posts

Tomorrow I'll be brave

I was once asked to write a story in which the music of The Amazing Devil would be integrated into the story of The Witcher. (Some kind of crossover with real world and the world of the Continent).

The bottom line was this: Jaskier never created his music alone. His Muse was always with him. In fact, no one else saw her. 

This story is about The Bard and his Muse.

I know it's pretty weird, but I wrote it anyway. I wrote it all in my native language, and now I decided to translate and share it. English is not my native language, so I apologize for the multiple mistakes.

I am very scared and excited now, I don’t understand why I decided to do this - to publish this work, but I hope this work will give you at least a little pleasure.

Love run, love run

Music sounds inside him gently enveloping his young mind. Two voices, two bright clear voices whimsically intertwine and merge in unison. Little Julian runs across the field. He had just left the warm arms of his mother. The sun pleasantly warms the boy's disheveled top, and already drying July daisies tickle his chubby cheeks in a funny way.

“Where are you, dear! Be careful!”, the bursting and such a native laugh of his mother is heard.

But how can he be careful? He just learned to walk, and the world is so huge and interesting!

The boy runs and laughs merrily, grasses clinging to his small bare feet. Uncertain, like those of a newborn deer, the legs get tangled in the green stems, and the boy falls, not hard, but very annoyingly knocking his knees. Little Julian sits down on the grass, his round little face curls up, he wrinkles his nose, and large transparent tears are already accumulating in his huge, sea-colored eyes.

O let the world come at you, love, Like distant toms a-drumming Love run! The song you know's begun

Hush, hush, dear heart! A soft voice sounds in the boy's head and someone's warm hand gently touches his head. Julian's face smooths out, he smiles. He turned around to greet his mother, but she was still far away, running towards him from the other end of the field. The boy frowns, looks around in confusion.

I'm here. And I will be here. Run, love, run towards the world.

Julian did not have time to consider the woman who was talking to him. Only the edge of a white flying dress and long dark hair fluttering in the wind. She is all wrapped in light.

“Are you a fairy?”, he thinks, because he still doesn’t know how to speak properly,  “Like those about whom my mother reads to me?” “Aha-ha, almost”, a perky laugh, like a thousand bells, is heard in his head, - “Don’t cry, dear, boldly look into the face of this world, and I will help you.”

Again, a boisterous, unfamiliar, but such a pleasant laugh sounds, and, from the very corner of his eye, Julian sees the fluffy tail of a fox flash in the grass.

***

And I love you, don't you know That I'll be with you all along, as long as you are kind To those who are not strong

Don't be sad. You can do anything, you just have to wish, baby.

“Leave me alone. And I'm not a baby”, fourteen-year-old Julian mutters, angrily wiping his tears with his fist, smearing moisture, street dirt and ink on his cheeks, “Don't you understand, they will never, never let me make music?”, and so breaking his voice completely breaks.

The boy's fragile shoulders slumped down. Sharp shoulder blades protrude from under the bright fabric of the shirt, similar to wings that have not yet formed. Julian hides his face in his hands, muffled sobs tearing from his chest, and hot tears streaming between long fingers.

You'll feel my fingers down your back

A soft warm touch on the disheveled dark-haired head and the tense back of the guy relaxes and the tears subside. He removes his hands from his face, but does not take his eyes off the parquet under his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her: again in a dress, always in a dress, flying white or colorful skirts, disheveled long hair and ribbons woven into them, a wide open smile. He can never remember her face. Only some elements, identification signs. But she always remembers her bursting laughter, the smell of flowers and forests that always accompanies her, and hot soothing hands.

“Sorry,” the boy grumbles.

Here, my Julian is finally back.

"And yet I'm not a baby,” he wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

Of course, dear heart, you are no longer a baby. You are a beautiful strong young man. The whole world is in your hands!

“It is in the hands of my parents. You know they won't let me. And, you know, it hurts me.”

He himself says the last word, but her voice echoes him. The guy turns his head, but of course she's not there. He still feels the warm touch of her hand between his shoulder blades, but he does not see her. Julian sighs heavily and shakes his head in resignation.

So write. Write about it, honey.

Either she said it, or the leaves of the trees rustle outside the window. The guy looks at the opening, framed by curtains swaying in the wind, and sees how the fluffy fox froze on the windowsill, looked back at him and darted into the hydrangea bush.

***

Give me two damn minutes and I'll be fine

“Why the hell does it hurt so much?” nineteen-year-old Julian kicks the leg of the bed, and falls on the blanket, covering his head with his hands.

He is already too old to cry, but his eyes sting disgustingly, and his heart, it seems, will now shatter into pieces from unbearable pain. The guy again and again scrolls in his head the offensive words that Countess De Stel threw in his face when she gave him a resignation. He remembers how he ran along the marble corridors of the Academy without seeing anything in front of him, trying to overtake the girl's voice pounding in his temples, repeating sharp words over and over again.

And to those gods I will speak bluntly We've an accord If you ever touch or harm him Please rest assured That you might not fear a man But to a woman by the end you'll kneel and plea

Well, what are you, my friend?

A warm hand caresses the back of his head, digging into his thick mop of hair. “Leave me at least now, you see, I'm broken.”

He's down. He's dead. Now take a long look at what you've done to me?

I see. And I want to help you. I'm here, I'm with you, and you're strong enough to handle this.

“ No,” the guy sniffed and sat up on the bed, out of the corner of his eye watching the ribbons dance in the wind in her hair.

Yes, you can do it! Your heart is huge and alive, and you yourself are brave and kind. You will not let the poison of resentment corrupt your blood and soul.

“Give me two damn minutes and I'll be fine,” Julian wiped his face with his palms, straightened up, “You've been with me for so many years, who are you?”

Friend. Write, dear. Give it an outlet.

Soft red fur touched his cheek, the window shutter slammed. Julian hesitantly reached for the lute leaning against the desk. The instrument was covered with dust, because the guy completely abandoned music lessons when he plunged into a love whirlpool. Shaking fingers tentatively stroked the pegs and tugged the strings.

***

But your smile tells me I'm safe And that voice unspoken's heard

"Fuck you!” Fuck you! “Fuck (fuck) you,” they sang together, and he wrote it down on a torn piece of parchment.

He is already twenty-two and now he calls himself Jaskier.

"Don't you think it's not very polite to start a song with rudeness?” Poetry should catch and shock, dear heart. History is not written with respect.

Jaskier has been stuck in Posada for a week now, looking for inspiration, trying to squeeze something out of himself. Yes, his Muse (he decided to call her that) helps him, but the guy begins to think that a little more he will be covered with mold or moss from boredom and lack of impressions.

And the public in the local settlement is not that grateful.

The bard, as he now considered himself such, got up from the table, folded the parchment, putting it in his pocket, put on a smile on duty and picked up the lute. What was to be expected: after the very first song, a stream of abuse and scraps and pieces of bread flying into it. Well, at least there will be something to eat.

Look over there, honey.

Jaskier turned his head and saw a man with white hair and menacing armor sitting in the shadows.

"I don't think that's the best idea, dear," he thought. If you don't try, you'll never know. Jaskier's bursting laughter had a calming effect.

"You don't wanna keep a man with...bread in his pants waiting."

*** A storm raging on the horizon

“Pay the Witcher, give money to the White Wolf, damn it ...”

Jaskier nervously crosses out carefully drawn lines. He sits on the ground and in the light of the fire on his knee holds a piece of parchment. Geralt, with whom he is now traveling, sits nearby, silently sharpening his sword.

"Toss a coin to you Witcher", dear, it seems to me, it's more harmonious.

“Thank you, dear,” the bard, sticking out his tongue, writes down the prompted line.

“Who are you talking to again,” the Witcher looks unkindly at Jaskier.

“With the Muses, Geralt,” the bard shrugs.

“It always seemed to me that they should be talking to you,” croaks the one who is now, by the mercy of Jaskier, called the White Wolf.

"They do, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be polite back," Jaskier smiles nervously.

“Hmm,” Geralt once again ran the whetstone over the blade,  “I resigned myself to the fact that an idiot followed me. But I was not prepared for the fact that this idiot is also insane.”

“Oh, don't escalate,”  the bard smiles uncertainly, “Better listen to what I wrote.”

You have to be careful, honey. “I know.”

Jaskier is already used to the fact that his Muse is always there. He considers it normal. He thinks that every poet, actor, and any creator has it.

But lately he's been told more and more that he's weird.

The young man sincerely does not understand why.

And only when he begins to travel with Geralt does he realize.

Other people don't talk to themselves.

They don’t see beautiful women out of the corner of their eye who are both here and not there, they don’t see fox tails hiding in the dark, they don’t feel warm touches when they are broken and feel bad, they don’t hear fervent laughter, they don’t hear music played on unknown the world of instruments, they do not hear songs sung as if by themselves, but not known to him, and they do not smell flowers and forests, even if they are in the center of a bustling city.

Once Jaskier even wants to talk about it with Geralt, because he sincerely considers him his friend. Yes, and the Muse suggests that the threads of the fate of the bard and the witcher are closely intertwined, but he does not dare. The Witcher is very closed. Very straightforward. Jaskier is afraid. Fear of misunderstanding and condemnation.

And then everything spins, life flies at a gallop: the genie, the wedding of Pavetta and Yozh, the Child destiny...

Jaskier has a lot of topics for new ballads, and a faithful girlfriend is always there: she will support when it’s bad, suggest a better rhyme, pat her on the head when it hurts. He feels her as his other half. Part of his soul. Sometimes, even with his alter ego.

And then there is the Dragon Hunt.

***

I promise you I'm not broken I promise you there's more More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door

“It's not fair, Geralt. Rigt, I'll ask how it ended for others. See you aroud, Geralt.” Jaskier leaves. A broken heart beats painfully against the ribs and, it seems, scratches his soul with sharp edges.

Now take a good long look at what you've done to me

Pebbles scatter under boots not designed for long walking. Dandelion wanders around without seeing anything in front of him, tightly clutching the strap from the lute.

Darling.

“It's good that at least you're here.”

Yes, but I have to go too, dear heart.

“What?!” the bard freezes and shouts it aloud.

You were supposed to be my light And keep me safe against them all! How could you leave me here' you'll scream

“Don't leave me here alone! Don't leave me alone with this! Please,” Jaskier whispers, “Please!”

I know you're strong enough to do this on your own.

I know you're strong enough to do this on your own

“But why?”

Because I have to go. Now you should be on your own. You are old enough, strong enough, brave enough, and your heart is pure enough. But the world is big, honey. This universe is not alone. There are a thousand times and worlds! Know, just know that we will meet. We will definitely meet. At another time. In another place. But we will be there. And everything will be exactly the same: you will take care of them, and I will take care of you. “But that's not fair...”

If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along

Oh, of course he can do it.

*** …I'v hear you're alive How disappointing…

Regrettably So [J.]

Request: Witcher request if you’re still taking them: Jaskier imagine where the reader travels with him and Geralt and they realise they like each other after bonding over their mutual criticism of everything Geralt does (including Yennefer)

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 850 Please don’t plagiarize my work!

“Ugh.”

Keep reading

What Was Lost —  Pt 1 (Jaskier x Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Okay so i started writing this and it was superrrr long, so i decided to split it into two. The second part will come out tomorrow, don’t you worry. Anyway, this is yet another entry for @thewitcherbingo​ so I hope everyone enjoys! Also, this was based on a post in the witcher tag that is linked below :)

Summary: Y/N, a famous bard, is cursed by a sorceress and loses her voice, leaving her only hope to get it back with the famous Witcher and her rival, Jaskier.

(based on this post)

Bingo Square Filled: Rivalry

Warnings: mentions of loss, grief, death, sex, drinking all the good stuff lmao; also fluff and angst!!

Word Count: 2,257

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

(Pt 2)

Loss was not something you were unfamiliar with.

Keep reading

Kill Your Darlings Ch. 5 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Hello all! I hope you are having a good day and getting through these rough times okay. This chapter is nice and long, so hopefully you guys can distract yourselves with this story. As always, make sure to stay as safe as possible 💙

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: Trust can be built — but easily broken.

Warnings: language, mentions of death/killing, slight descriptions of violence, two dumbos being dumbos

Words: 3,549

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

You realized as you stepped outside of the inn that you were in there overnight. Your injuries must have been pretty bad if you were knocked out that long, but you didn’t feel too much pain right now. Whatever those two did to patch you up, they must have used something powerful.

You breathed in the fresh air and closed your eyes, trying to collect your thoughts. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before. An assignment gone wrong, yes — there were multiple times where your target tried to fight back, but to no avail. But never in your experience had a case been…wrong. Or at least, not proven to be. You shook the thought as soon as it entered your head. No way Rauf would slip up more than once. It must have been a small error — one that you were glad you stumbled upon before killing a possibly innocent man.

But nothing was truly set in stone. The witcher and bard could have lied with no moral intentions other than getting away with the crimes they’ve committed. The thought made your head spin — if they were lying, somehow knew that you would be assigned to kill the bard, planted evidence of other whereabouts…well, it was a bit crazy now that you worked through it in your head. But if they did, just if, Rauf would be severely disappointed. Rauf’s disappointment was worse than his anger, as any guardians’ was. But his especially…it flipped your insides and ripped them out through the gaps in your teeth.

Keep reading

Hi guys! Someone send in a request or an ask or anything or inbox me so we can be friends I'm bored