#geraskier headcanons

[sacred-algae]

Falling Away With You by Muse has always been a very Geraskier song to me. And the new demo version just strengthens that association.

It screams Jaskier pining for Geralt. I like to imagine that in the world of The Witcher, he wrote it. It’s full of so much pain, fully encapsulating a love that is so strong it’s killing you and yet you can’t stop for the life of you.

But the new demo is perfect. It’s acoustic, and there are no lyrics besides humming and “ooh”ing here and there. It’s in progress. Listening to it feels like you’re walking in on a private moment you shouldn’t be listening to. It changes and shifts as Matt is recording. As a songwriter, I can practically hear him thinking “Well what about this? No, that’s not right. How about this? Oh, yes, I like this.”

So picture this with me:

Imagine Geralt and Jaskier sitting at their camp. It’s their first day back together after one of their little few month breaks. Imagine Geralt sitting on a rock, cleaning his sword from a day’s work. Imagine the campfire crackling, the crickets chirping. Imagine a 28-year-old Jaskier has his notebook and lute out. Geralt likes to hear him play as they wind down for the night, and Jaskier… well Jaskier has been hyperfixating on a song he’s been working on while he and Geralt were apart. He has the lyrics done, but the tune isn’t quite there yet.

The songwriter’s hands itch to play this new one that’s still in progress. It’s like resisting a pull, but this one isn’t one he wants to write in front of Geralt. No, he can’t. But the hyperfixation is too strong, and he moves to pluck the riff as he tries to play other things. Things he knows Geralt likes—

“Play the new one.”

Well fuck.

“It’s uh… a work in progress.”

“I like it. Keep going.”

He can’t say no to Geralt.

“There aren’t any lyrics yet,” he lies.

“That’s fine.”

So he plays the new one. And it sounds something like this: (lyrics for the og are under the cut)

I can't remember when it was good

Moments of happiness elude

Maybe I just misunderstood

All of the love we left behind

Watching our flash backs intertwine

Memories I will never find

So I’ll love whatever you become

Forget the reckless things we’ve done

I think our lives have just begun

I think our lives have just begun

And I'll feel my world crumbling down

Feel my life crumbling now

Feel my soul crumbling away

Falling away

Falling away with you

Staying awake to chase a dream

Tasting the air you're breathing in

I hope I won't forgot a thing

Promise to hold you close and pray

Watching our fantasies decay

Nothing will ever stay the same

And all of the love we threw away

And all of the hopes we've cherished fade

Making the same mistakes again

Making the same mistakes again

And I'll feel my world crumbling down

Feel my life crumbling now

Feel my soul crumbling away

And falling away

Falling away with you

All of the love we left behind

Watching our flash backs intertwine

Memories I will never find

Memories I will never find

[thedemonofcat]

The truth was that Jaskier was the result of a child's surprise. Surprisingly, his grateful parents discovered that the witcher who claimed him never returned to collect.

Years later, at Kaer Morhen, everyone is shocked to learn that it was Lambert—drunk at the time—who had invoked the law of surprise.

Now, Lambert is taken quite seriously as Jaskier’s "Papa," and he’s constantly angry with Geralt. His words are clear: "You’re no good for my child," or "Never speak to me or my son again."

No matter how many times Jaskier insists that Lambert isn’t his father, it makes no difference.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 136

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier was the one who said no to riding a horse. Jaskier willingly walks alongside Geralt and Roach. Because Jaskier is afraid of riding horses. Don't get him wrong! He loves horses! Just not being on them as they run 48 kilometers per hour. When Jaskier sprains his ankle walking, however, Geralt decides enough is enough and it's time to teach him how to ride and help him face his fear. Jaskier sits in front of Geralt on top of Roach as Geralt teaches him how to ride, and every time Jaskier gets too nervous, Geralt will hear his heartbeat tick up, and he'll hug him, or praise him, and Jaskier will calm again. Jaskier's been getting better. To the point that Geralt can now just walk alongside Roach and Jaskier, hand resting on Jaskier's leg or back. Geralt decides to surprise Jaskier with his own horse! Geralt finds something sturdy and gentle, but also pretty, knowing his bard will love to comb and braid the horse, and will want to show it off. It's a white horse, which certainly won't stay white on the road, but then again, Jaskier will most likely delight in cleaning the horse and admiring it's sheen when it's washed. Geralt presents Jaskier with his horse, and Jaskier is overjoyed. Sobbing with happiness, hugging and kissing the horse, and Geralt has never been more in love with his bard. The first time Jaskier rides his own horse, they go at a very gentle slow pace, as the horse seems unsure about being ridden. Jaskier cajoles and consoles it through it all, and soon enough they're riding at steady paces, both Jaskier and his horse now feeling safe and brave enough to go at a normal pace, sometimes even a bit faster. Geralt is happy. Until one day, big white wings materialize on the sides of Jaskier's horse, and the damn thing takes off with Jaskier still on it. Shit.

[stangalina]

Jaskier has found a very effective method of diffusing tense situations involving Geralt and the various dimwitted and judgemental humans they're forced to interact with.

Unfortunately, enacting this method has about a fifteen percent chance of earning him a knee to the sternum afterwards.

Though it is usually worth the risk, since this method works one hundred percent of the time.

The method is thus:

Sit on him.

It works like a charm.

Allow me to elaborate.

It's very difficult to be scared of someone, no matter how intimidating their features or bone-chilling their stare, when they just sit still and do not question a fully grown man flopping down onto their lap. It does wonders for a tense prejudiced atmosphere inside a tavern. Given, the mood only changes from tense to confused. But confused isn't planning to stone them both out of town so he'd consider it a win.

Getting to sit on Geralt's leather clad and very impressive thighs is also a win in of itself, obviously. The knee to the gut only comes if he pushes his luck or gets too handsy.

Different variants of this method also work. Such as wrapping himself around Geralt's abdomen like a stray piece of seaweed so the merchant will stop looking like he's about to piss himself and actually catch his breath long enough to sell them something.

Murmurs of Witchers being infested with infectious diseases can be silenced by Jaskier grasping Geralt's chin while talking to him in a show of feigned annoyance. Perhaps a gentle touch to the cheek if he's feeling tender, or a light tap on the nose to be playful.

Depending on how Geralt is feeling, he will either ignore Jaskier, or play along. It doesn't matter which one he chooses, as the method still works either way.

It's the people equivalent of putting a collar on a wolfhound and having its lead be held in the mouth of a perfectly groomed poodle wearing boots and a waistcoat. No less dangerous. But a hell of a lot less intimidating.

And if Jaskier is secretly using this method as an excuse to get Geralt more comfortable with physical contact for totally innocent reasons, then that's nobody's business but his own.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Witcher Senses: Taste

Geralt has an enhanced sense of hearing and smell, so Jaskier reasons that of course his sense of taste would be enhanced as well.

Jaskier is maybe just a wee bit envious of Geralt's better sense of taste. It must be marvelous to taste food and drink on a whole deeper level than a human.

Even when the food at an inn or tavern is blander than h*ll, Geralt still appears to savor the taste, while Jaskier has to settle for suffering through the meal, or maybe be lucky enough to have a little salt in his pack.

And when the food is amazing? Jaskier wishes he could taste the food the way Geralt does. The food is absolutely delectable. The best thing he's ever tasted. Surely it is fit to set at the table of the gods themselves!

Jaskier is at a loss for words to describe the flavor. He looks at Geralt, and is instantly jealous of the Witcher's taste buds. The expression on his face suggests that the food tastes like pure sin.

Lucky b**tard

But Geralt's enhanced taste buds aren't just for enjoying food. Jaskier has seen him use it to keep both of them alive.

Geralt: Hm. Wine smells off. Let's see...

Jaskier: just the tip...of the tongue!

Geralt: *eye roll* Hm. Poison.

Jaskier: :O

Dead deer on the road with not a mark on it? Geralt's got it covered.

*nibble nibble*

Hmm. Wasting disease. Better stick with rabbit for dinner tonight.

Jaskier is impressed. The versatility is amazing! There are so many uses! He discovers another use for Geralt's tongue several nights later.

It's been a long day of travelling, and Jaskier has been taken over by inspiration and spent almost the entire day scribbling in his notebook and strumming on his lute. Geralt has not made as much progress has he'd like, but Jaskier is too distracted to keep up a steady, quick pace.

Oh well, there's really no reason they can't make camp early.

Jaskier is just sitting there later, minding his own d*mn business, when Geralt throws him for a loop.

He's been feeling off for the past few hours. Shaky, and a little sweaty.

He's staring at his notebook, glaring at the half-baked lyrics he's scribbled down.

He's getting worried. Had the meat pie he'd eaten earlier been spoilt? Was he going to die from eating rotten meat?

Geralt is abruptly at his elbow, grunting a concerned 'Hm'. His companion smelled off.

"What?"

"You don't look good."

"Excuse you, but I always look good!"

"You look like sh*t, bard."

"That's rude! Just for that, I'm sleeping on the other side of camp!" *Stands and stumbles*

Geralt grabs Jaskier's arm to steady him, but then doesn't let go. Instead, he starts snuffling at his skin.

Jaskier: *light-headed* Er...?

Geralt makes a thoughtful sound, then starts licking Jaskier's forearm.

"What the ever-loving--?!"

Jaskier can't complete his sentence because 1. Geralt is licking his arm. And 2. Geralt's tongue is scratchy, like a cat's, and he is having thoughts about it.

And goodness, some of those thoughts were making him blush!

Geralt apparently finds what he's looking for because he makes a satisfied grunt and lets him go.

Jaskier snatches his arm back, and stares at him, metaphorically clutching his pearls.

"You need to eat." Geralt says simply. "I can taste it in the sweat on your skin."

"You can...whAt?"

"I can tell from how your sweat tastes. It tastes bitter. Eat."

"But I ate earlier,"

"That was hours ago Jaskier."

Jaskier paused. Now that he thought about it, he'd eaten that pie for breakfast when they'd left town. It was now late afternoon!

"Well, f**k me running!" Jaskier exclaimed, feeling relieved. He wasn't going to die from a spoilt meat pie!

He took the dried meat, cheese, and nuts Geralt handed him and chewed contemplatively for a few moments.

Jaskier: *grinning suggestively* So, you can tell what's wrong with me by how I taste?

Geralt: *annoyed at the suggestive remark* Hm.

Jaskier: Do you have to lick my arm, or can it be any part of me? *eyebrow wiggle*

Geralt: Hmm (exhasperated)

Jaskier: Because, you do know that your tongue is interestingly scratchy, and it's making me rather curious as to what it would feel like on my--!

Geralt: *Shoves chunk of bread into Jaskier's mouth* Eat.

Jaskier: *muffled disappointed bard noises*

Geralt sighed to himself. Jaskier was going to be an insufferable menace this winter.

[pickleforstony]

Baby, it's cold outside.

[lassieposting]

Jaskier is fucking appalled by the animal-naming habits of every single witcher within three (3) days of arriving at Kaer Morhen

This is a man who named each individual mouse in his prison cell. And now he finds that it's not just Geralt, who keeps buying chestnut mares and naming them all Roach like some kind of imagination-deficient walking time loop.

It's Lambert, the absolute cretin, who always names his poor animal Horse, as though it needs a fucking reminder, because "it's a fucking horse, songbird, it doesn't need a fucking name".

It's Vesemir, who's spent at least Geralt's entire lifetime leaving his horses with whatever name they had when he bought them, even when it's entirely inappropriate for a witcher's mount. Geralt remembers learning to ride on Vesemir's big black gelding Samson, which is not terrible as horse names go, he supposes. But Samson was succeeded by Dame Bubbles III, who was named by her previous owner's eight-year-old daughter, and even Vesemir himself can't keep a straight face at the memory.

It's Coën, who's always named his horses after food, which seems terribly mean. Rump-Steak is actually very sweet, nipping habit aside.

And then Eskel comes home, right as Jaskier is comforting poor Rump-Steak ("Never mind, dear boy, my parents named me Julian and I turned out alright") and finally, here is a man with some sense. Lil Bleater is not the most creative of names, but Eskel picked it himself, and his horse has a suitably witchery intimidating name even if he's a sweet soft boy who gets bullied by Miss Roachie. Someone around here has a brain cell - thank heavens!

(This is a very wrong-footing introduction for Eskel. He's not used to having strange men drowning in Geralt's fluffiest fur-lined cloak stalk up to him before he's even got in the door, addressing him by name and demanding to know what he calls his horse. But he's delighted to be pronounced "the only one around here with some bloody sense", asks Geralt, "Is this your bard?" and promptly explodes laughing at the thought of Geralt getting henpecked every time he names a new Roach for twenty fucking years)

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Due to his school being a little more diverse in the contracts it accepts (assassination, theft, etc), you can bet Aiden's going be a pretty passable actor, or at least have some decent improv skills when the occasion calls for it. Jaskier is a bard and a spy - enough said.

So, picture the two of them engaging in a friendly one upmanship of situations they've had to bullshit their way out of while Lambert and Geralt just sit listening in mute horror and strongly considering child harnesses for their SO's because 'fucking hell, how are these two actually still alive??!!?'

Geralt: I'm never letting you out of my sight again.

Jaskier: I know Love. Finish your porridge.

Lambert: Wait, that was when....where the fuck was I during all this?

Aiden: I snuck out when you were occupied at the Inn. We weren't even fucking at that point and you looked like you were getting somewhere with that Skellige bloke, I didn't want to interrupt. Besides, it should have been just a quick in and out.

Jaskier: Is that what Lambert said to the Skellige bloke?

*Lambert starts spluttering and choking around his mouthful of small ale while Aiden just about falls out of his seat he's laughing so hard.*

[ladyannemarie5]

Jaskier to Radovid: I'm so happy we can finally be together. Now I can finally introduce you to the rest of my harem.

Radovid: Your what?!

Jaskier: This is Geralt, you've heard of him in my songs, the great White Wolf, he won't hesitate to run you through with his sword.

This is Yennefer, my favorite sorceress, she can turn you into a toad if she wants to.

This big guy here is Eskel, he looks grumpy but he's a cinnamon roll that can rip you in half.

Here's Lambert, my favorite idiot who can blow you to pieces without hesitation.

And last but not least, my dear Vespula, don't let her pretty face fool you, she can leave you with no inheritance if she gets upset.

Oh, and how can I forget my dear princess, my niece Cirilla, she can make all your brains come out of your mouth.

But don't worry, sweetie, you're doing great.

[tielmamon]

Geralt meets up with Jaskier at the marketplace only to find him unusually flustered by some merchant he's talking to. Strange, usually its the other way around. Rolling his eyes at another possible angry spouse situation, Geralt stalks his way towards them.

He couldn't really tell you why exactly he's more irritated now- when Jaskier is the one stuttering and blushing under the charms of this fucking nobody- and so he pointedly ignores the little twinge he feels in his chest .

The merchant stands to casually roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and smiling wider when Jaskier knocks his lutecase against the stall, thoroughly distracted.

With a low growl he didn't realize he was doing, Geralt lays a hand on Jaskier's shoulder once he's close enough. The bard squeaks, turning to Geralt and flushes a deeper shade of red.

"G-Geralt! I didn't hear you, my friend." The bard smiles, but his eyes are slightly frantic.

"Is everything alright?" He asks and before his bard could answer-

"Everything just fine, my good witcher! Was just asking Master Jaskier here to tell me a few stories of his travels." Geralt turns, eye twitching slightly at the interruption. He finally gets a good look at the fucker who seems to have his bard in a blushing mess. Dark wavy hair, strong build, piercing blue eyes, strong jaw and dimples as he smiles.

Nothing they hasn't seen before. Daresay, Geralt might even guess that this man- no, this boy was downright boring to look at, compared to all the other colorful people Jaskier surrounds himself with. Still, the child continues.

"I was just wondering if he had the time to tell me a few over dinner-"

"He's busy."

"Oh, well maybe at breakfas-"

"We leave at dawn."

A tense silence settles between the three. Jaskier's eyes widen upon reading Geralt's attitude. His witcher was thoroughly annoyed. Why? He's not so sure yet but with the snarl on his face and the clenching fists, Jaskier figures it's probably best if they leave now.

"Okay I think it's about time we settle back at the inn, wouldn't you say, Geralt? Right." He doesn't wait for a response, instead snaking his hand around Geralt's arm and tugging hard.

"Henry! Wonderful meeting you, of course. Thank you for your lovely company this afternoon but I'm afraid we have a contract bright and early tomorrow so we really must go. Goodbye!" Jaskier watches the young man startle from his frozen state to a disappointed look as they walk away. Jaskier is reminded of a kicked puppy.

Once they were a safe distance away, the bard turns to ask what the hell was all that about when he realizes that Geralt was straining his neck looking back at the man, eyes narrowed with one of those scowls Jaskier sees him use on people who think its a good idea to touch Roach, or one of his bags, or apparently now Jaskier himself.

"Will you stop that??" The bard all but smacks Geralt's face forward to stop him. The witcher, ever stubborn resists and only relents when he feels a palm cup his cheek to face him.

"What the fuck had you so enamored with him?" Geralt grumbles, like a grump. Jask stops them and shoots him a confused look.

"You don't see it?" He cryptically says, which only confuses Geralt as well.

"See what?" A beat of silence before Jaskier huffs an amused laugh and drags them into the inn, arms linked.

"Nevermind." Jaskier smiles.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geraskier

So you know how Jaskier (Viscount Julian) left home and changed his name and since he’s always short on cash, one would assume he was cut off (or cut himself off) from the family fortune?

So what if when his parents finally pass away and and he comes into a substantial amount of money, it is right about the time Geralt is really starting to feel the wear and tear on his body and wonder whether he can be a witcher for much longer, and he’s feeling anxious and melancholic about it but hasn’t admitted that to anyone.

But then he gets an invitation from his dearest friend Jaskier to join him on the coast at a cottage for some rest and recovery.

And when he shows up and drops his bags, he is instantly in love with the place. It seems like something he would build himself. Its decorated with items from their many years of travels. Ciri’s first wooden sword is hung on the wall. There is swallow imagery reflecting her as well, in the paintings and etchings. There are buttercups interwoven with wolves.

When Jaskier takes his things, there are hooks and contraptions that are perfectly shaped to hold his swords and armor without scratching or damaging them. The table and chairs are his perfect height. There is even a fireplace styled just like the one at Kaer Morhen, evoking the memories of many nights drinking with Eskel, Lambert, Coën, and Vesemir.

Jaskier hugs him so tightly he coughs, but it warms his heart and he forgets about his melancholy. Then Jaskier leads him by the hand and takes him to the back garden and his brothers and friends and most thrillingly of all, his daughter, are all sitting around with ale and they shout and toast him.

After he is kissed by Ciri and squeezed in many strong arms, he takes Jaskier aside. By then it is dark and the candles and torches are twinkling illuminating the tables where all the war stories are being told with laughter and copious amounts of swearing.

“What is the occasion, Jaskier? What’s going on? When did you buy this place?”

Jaskier looks at him with so much love and fondness, Geralt’s knees feel weak. Its getting harder and harder to hide these damndable feelings for his dearest friend.

“I didn’t buy it.” He says. “I built it.”

“You built it.”

“Well. I paid someone to build it. Obviously. The important question, though, is whether you like it.”

“I do,” says Geralt. “I love it.“

“Good. Because I built it for you. And the occasion is your retirement, or semi-retirement, if you desire it.”

It takes a good half hour to convince Geralt that Jaskier is not joking with him or teasing him. Jaskier places a key in his hand with a wolf etched on it. Geralt walks around the house in a daze. Jaskier follows behind with a gleeful smile. Like Geralt imagines mothers look on their children’s birthdays and they’ve given them the pony they’ve aways wanted. When the tightness has cleared from Geralt’s throat and he isn’t afraid he’ll sound emotional, he speaks.

“Jaskier,” he says, “why? Why would you do this for me?”

“Because,” Jaskier answers, “you deserve it. You’re always doing for others.”

Geralt feels the tightness in his throat again. He looks into his dearest friend’s eyes and his hands stray to Jaskier’s hips of their own accord.

He has never touched him this way. But he is overcome. Not thinking.

Jaskier smiles. “And because I love y—-“

He does not finish the word because Geralt is kissing him.

Ciri and Zoltan have wandered into the kitchen to look for another barrel of ale and the see the two of them kissing.

Ciri whoops and starts clapping. Zoltan mutters “its about godsdamn time.” Geralt’s ears turn red. Jaskier grins proudly.

Geralt has never felt more content. But he still teases Jaskier relentlessly before he invites him to move in with him.

“Its pretty lonely in this place.”

“You know, no reason I bring this up, but I have always wanted to live on the coast…”

“Maybe I should hire a butler, so the house isn’t so quiet…”

“I loathe you, witcher.”

“Actually, I have it on good authority that you love me.”

Geralt does that for a day or two, teasing between kisses, pretending he doesn’t understand what Jaskier is hinting at in the afterglow, for Geralt to invite him to move in.

They set up two chairs on the porch where they can see the waves and sit next to each other, Jaskier fiddling with his lute and notebook, Geralt nursing his wine.

And it is more than he had ever dared to dream.

[thedemonofcat]

When Geralt is cursed to turn into a wolf, everyone expects him to devour his Bard. That's why Jaskier, locked in a cage with Geralt and aware that he might die, smiles—hoping that Geralt won’t remember him as being afraid.

But Wolf Geralt has no interest in eating his mate. No, Geralt just wants to cuddle.

[podcastenthusiast]

"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

[stangalina]

Ok but Jaskier is competent actually.

Quick allegory time. I did not think I was flexible as a kid. But one day in HS I had a friend stay overnight so they saw me get ready the next morning and they suddenly yelled "WHOA YOU'RE REALLY FLEXIBLE" because I'd put my foot up onto the kitchen counter, with other foot still on the floor, to tie my laces. This apparently is very flexible and a very not normal thing to do. And I had no idea because my mother was always more flexible than me.

That. But with Geralt and Jaskier. Geralt is always so skilled and competent that both he and Jaskier think Jaskier is incompetent. But he's not. He's just permanently playing catch-up with a literal mutant designed to be-good-at-shit. He's with Geralt almost all year, every year, and has been since he was 18.

He has no idea how very not normal the skills he's inevitably developed are.

I want to read a fanfic where Geralt and Jaskier are separated for whatever reason and Jaskier has to deal with humans going "WHOA HOW CAN YOU DO THAT!?" and Geralt has to cope with humans that are so much worse at everything than his human "why can't you do this? Jaskier does this all the time!"

They both have a little more respect for one another when they reunite.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

What Jaskier sees while watching the Kaer Morons do repairs to the Keep.

[jaskier-more-like-saskier]

Jaskier would survive any natural disaster just by pure dumb luck, and no I will not accept criticism.