A/N: 'm basically feeling angsty today and wanted to write one of these lowercase fics so yeah... title is from the song of the same name by the amazing devil, just in case you didn't already know ;p

farewell wanderlust

jaskier is born,

and he is small, an infant, a child, nothing more than the potential of new life.

he is and yet he is not , for he is too young to know what it truly is to be and all he really knows are the hands that pass him around and the arms that hold him close.

jaskier is one,

and he is capable of only garbled noises that suffice as weak imitations of words;

he enjoys being lifted up and thrown in the air and he does little but sleep and eat and watch the people around him, his eyes blue and bright and innocent .

jaskier is two,

and everything he knows makes no sense;

he knows that he will be given food if he cries but he is also sometimes left alone in the dark and there is no way to tell which outcome it will ever be and so he cries anyway because he knows nothing.

jaskier is three,

and he is learning how to talk just like the tall people he's surrounded by

but he doesn't understand why they don't want him to talk, they only sharply hush him and place their fingers on his lips and whisk him away and he just doesn't understand and-

jaskier is four,

and his hands sting from being hit with wood

because he is too much and not enough all at the same time and he can't fathom why he isn't allowed to express what he thinks, wishes, wants .

jaskier is five,

and he is told to be quiet and learn as the other children must do,

and he tries but he can't sit still and he doesn't want to remember all these numbers and he wants to chase the music outside his window but he's not allowed to leave his room.

jaskier is six,

and he is not tall enough to reach the shelves,

even though everyone thinks he should be so he falls and hits his head and hurts his ankle but his father shouts at him and he doesn't get to eat lunch with everyone else for a month and he almost forgets what proper food tastes like by the end of it.

jaskier is seven,

and there are bruises on his wrists from where he's been pulled away

repeatedly, because he is too loud and too noisy , children are meant to only be seen but he's not even worthy of that and there's nothing he can do to impress anyone and it makes him so sad because he's trying and he can't-

jaskier is eight,

and he is good at poetry.

or, at least, that's what the travellers say, but he'll take their word as law because they smile at him, encourage him, make him feel alive for the first time in so long.

jaskier is nine,

and he has decided that he hates his name;

it's only ever used to call for him so he can be ordered around and punished or teased and insulted and he doesn't want to be himself anymore but he doesn't think there's anyone else he can be.

jaskier is ten,

and he is meant to feel special but he doesn't

and his mother hisses at him when he can't figure out to convince the guests at his party that he's quiet and happy and everything they want him to be because he's not, he'll never be-

jaskier is eleven,

and he decides he wants to run away

but he's foolish and he writes it down and someone finds his notebook and all he gets for his planning is a month locked away and the lute he'd been gifted from a traveller smashed in front of his eyes and he can't stop himself from crying and crying -

jaskier is twelve,

and he falls horribly ill

and nobody even cares and he moans himself to sleep every night until a guest accidentally finds his room and takes pity on him and secretly brings him a healer who makes sure he stays alive but can do little else to help.

jaskier is thirteen,

and he knows he's nothing but a disappointment

because that's all his parents ever say, that's all anyone ever says, even the girl who'd promised to love him forever and then left when he couldn't give her what she wanted, and he can't give anyone what they want, not even himself -

jaskier is fourteen,

and he knows is unlike the others

because he likes to write and explore and the others like to fight and leave bruises and he doesn't fit in at all and it all kind of hurts but there's nothing he can do.

jaskier is fifteen,

and he knows heartbreak is written into his destiny

and he doesn't even think to change it because even the kind boy with the winks had given up on him and his siblings pretend he doesn't exist and he's so tired of switching between invisible and a nuisance.

jaskier is sixteen,

and he cannot live with the pain anymore

so he runs away, and he runs and runs and doesn't stop until his lungs ache and his feet throb and there is nothing behind him except the sound of silence and the hushed whispers of the wild wind urging him on and on and on -

jaskier is seventeen,

and he is finally just jaskier;

he is a bard and he is free to do nothing but sing his songs, even if it means he finds his food thrown at him rather than given to him, and it takes time but he grows and he learns and life finally starts to feel like something he likes .

jaskier is eighteen,

and he finds himself a witcher,

and it's everything he's ever wanted even if the witcher doesn't feel the same and that's okay because his heart, his foolish heart, guides his feet wherever the witcher goes and he loses yet another lute only to have it blessedly replaced and that has to be some sort of sign -

jaskier is eighteen,

and his life changes for the better

because following a witcher is dangerous but it is thrilling and he has never had more inspiration and everyone starts to sing his songs and toss coins instead of stale bread.

jaskier is eighteen,

and he falls head over heels in love

with the famous white wolf, the white wolf who rarely uses his name and sometimes leaves him behind but usually comes back or finds him again and saves him from nobles and accidentally curses him but lets him stick around despite everything.

jaskier is eighteen,

and he has travelled the continent;

he's seen more monsters and mages than most and he loves it, he lives for it even if it does put his life at risk, because it's always worth it when geralt, albeit reluctantly, cares for him and makes sure he stays relatively unharmed.

jaskier is eighteen,

and he knows he is a second choice

because, truly, there is nothing he could possibly have to offer that could compete with yennefer and her magic and her beauty and he's back to being helpless and all he can do is write a ballad in her name and watch from a distance as his heart breaks yet again -

jaskier is eighteen,

and he climbs a mountain to find a dragon,

an actual dragon , and it should be amazing but it's violent and they almost plummet to their deaths and then he wakes up alone and then- and then he is rejected yet again and this time it hurts so, so much because he'd thought they would always stay together but his witcher doesn't want him anymore, has perhaps never wanted him, and he truly feels like less than nothing and oh , how it hurts -

jaskier is eighteen,

and he remains eighteen

but he could not care less, for life no longer means anything to him and there is a brutal, gaping void where his dear heart should be and he feels empty, silent, so much like the weed he had named himself after.

jaskier is eighteen-

jaskier is always eighteen-

but jaskier is filled with pain and his pain is timeless and jaskier is lost -

so jaskier is eighteen

but jaskier is not entirely sure if he still is .

me? bringing pain to my faves? more likely than you think. (sorry jaskier) also, italics are such a pain to reformat when crossposting :/

thanks for reading! review maybe? x