“I do like you for who you are. I love everything about you. Anyone can see that; I couldn’t hide it if I tried. I thought maybe I was special enough for you to try being in a relationship again.”
She feels like she misread everything from him, and that makes her feel like a fool. Her heart feels like it’s literally breaking in her chest.
“I-I don’t know,” she says, still crying. “I need some time. Goodbye, Jaskier.”
Midge brushes past him to exit the club. The only sounds in the room are her gentle sobs and the clicking of her heels on the floor.
Perdita watches as Midge leaves, then sticks her head in the door to yell at Jaskier. “Go after her, you idiot!”
Suddenly, he's forty again, and he's being abandoned on top of a mountain. Never before in his life had someone broken his heart like Geralt did that day, not even the Countess. Now it's happening again - a heart shattered in tiny pieces, his legs frozen and unable to go home because he doesn't know what home is anymore. The same song plays...
I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting
Jaskier collapses on the couch and cries his heart out. He doesn't even register Perdita's voice, not that he would've followed her command if he had. Moments later, a thick pale hand is petting his head. Perdita must've called him.
"Don't you dare fucking say it."
"Mmh."
He asks Geralt to drive him around the city for a few hours, even if it's late. He claims he needs the distraction and the fresh air, which isn't a completely bad idea, but mostly he wants an excuse to hold his best friend for a while.
The family works together to hide all the alcohol in the house. Bastards.
It's a good thing that he's been so busy lately, because he needs those things to keep him distracted. Ironically, one of those things is the rehearsal for the wedding. Jaskier doesn't cancel it - he needs such a gig, and he won't take this away from the band. Heartbreak makes the ballads sound better anyway.
A different man fucks him every night, because he knows that he'll need some time before he'll be able to pick up a woman without thinking about her. And being pounded into oblivion is part of the not thinking process - or it should be, anyway. It's not the same. There's no spark. He wants his lovely, witty spark back.
If orgasms won't silence his brain, then he'll get the alcohol (and the mushrooms) himself. That's how, on Tuesday evening, Geralt will be carrying an unconscious Jaskier on his back out of a bar. He's done this many times before and knows how to fit the bard perfectly between his shoulder blades.
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She feels like she misread everything from him, and that makes her feel like a fool. Her heart feels like it’s literally breaking in her chest.
“I-I don’t know,” she says, still crying. “I need some time. Goodbye, Jaskier.”
Midge brushes past him to exit the club. The only sounds in the room are her gentle sobs and the clicking of her heels on the floor.
Perdita watches as Midge leaves, then sticks her head in the door to yell at Jaskier. “Go after her, you idiot!”
no subject
I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting
Jaskier collapses on the couch and cries his heart out. He doesn't even register Perdita's voice, not that he would've followed her command if he had. Moments later, a thick pale hand is petting his head. Perdita must've called him.
"Don't you dare fucking say it."
"Mmh."
He asks Geralt to drive him around the city for a few hours, even if it's late. He claims he needs the distraction and the fresh air, which isn't a completely bad idea, but mostly he wants an excuse to hold his best friend for a while.
The family works together to hide all the alcohol in the house. Bastards.
It's a good thing that he's been so busy lately, because he needs those things to keep him distracted. Ironically, one of those things is the rehearsal for the wedding. Jaskier doesn't cancel it - he needs such a gig, and he won't take this away from the band. Heartbreak makes the ballads sound better anyway.
A different man fucks him every night, because he knows that he'll need some time before he'll be able to pick up a woman without thinking about her. And being pounded into oblivion is part of the not thinking process - or it should be, anyway. It's not the same. There's no spark. He wants his lovely, witty spark back.
If orgasms won't silence his brain, then he'll get the alcohol (and the mushrooms) himself. That's how, on Tuesday evening, Geralt will be carrying an unconscious Jaskier on his back out of a bar. He's done this many times before and knows how to fit the bard perfectly between his shoulder blades.