#implied future geraskier

[underpreparedbard]

I already posted this on my AO3 but I thought tumblr might like it! I’m still relatively new to this so feedback is appreciated!

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✨I Saw You Staring✨

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CW: description of violence/injury

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Description: Geralt learns a bit about Jaskier’s past, and realised he may not be the pampered rich kid he thought he was

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The path doesn’t offer much in the way of privacy. Most of the time you’re sleeping outside after walking all day, so modesty tends to be thrown out the window pretty early on. Jaskier learnt this the hard way. Sure, he wasn’t exactly used to the life of a noble anymore, but at the very least he usually managed to fall into bed with someone who didn’t have to watch him bathe (although sometimes that was fun...).

He’d been travelling with Geralt for just under 2 weeks when his resolve finally broke.

“Geralt!” He shouted at the man riding on top of a chestnut coloured mare. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I need a bath. Is there a river or something near here?”

“Finally realised there’s not many options for cleanliness out here?” Geralt smirked at him. He fucking smirked. As though he’d been waiting for this for days, which he probably had.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it, let’s just find somewhere and get it over with. I fear I’m beginning to smell like one of those monsters you hunt.”

A few minutes later, Geralt walked them over to a small clearing with a stream nearby. He dismounted and began rooting through his bags for an apple for Roach. Meanwhile Jaskier, who cared more about being clean than being stark naked in front of another man, was already beginning to strip off his clothes and fold them on the grass. Geralt began to turn away to offer the bard at least a small amount of privacy, when he saw a messy scar on the left side of the bards chest. It looked as though it was from a knife, or possibly a sword. The bard looked no older than 18, how could someone have tried to kill him already?

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Jaskier rushing into the stream and dunking under the water. He quickly shook his head and carried on feeding Roach, trying to push down the feeling of...sadness? Was that the right word? It wasn’t like he actually liked the bard. Just didn’t particularly want him to die. Or get hurt. Or lose the best years of his life travelling with a Witcher when he could be playing at courts, he was more than talented enough.

Oh fuck, Geralt liked the bard.

“Are you going to ask, then?” Jaskier called from the stream, almost making Geralt flinch.

“Ask about what?”

“My scar. I saw you staring. I’m sure you of all people are used to being asked about things like that.”

Geralt tried not to cringe at that. He was used to it, his body was littered with scars from various monsters and people he’d encountered over the years. It’s not something he’d wish on anybody.

“How did it happen? Get into a fight over a doublet?”

Jaskier huffed a laugh at that. “No, not quite. More of a family dispute, I suppose.”

Geralt watched Jaskier, indicating for him to continue.

The bard sighed, but carried on. “Jaskier isn’t my real name. My birth name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. Quite the mouthful, I know. I was also born with a title, Viscount of Lettenhove. I’m a noble, or was a noble I suppose. My title isn’t exactly mine anymore.”

The Witcher furrowed his eyebrows, wondering how one could just stop being a noble. Before he could ask, Jaskier continued his story.

“My parents were horrid people at the best of times. Filled with resentment towards me and my sisters, always trying to get us to follow in their footsteps and do things their way. I just wanted to play music, I didn’t want that responsibility or pressure.” Jaskier stopped speaking for a moment, his face turned towards the water below him as though he was trying to hide his emotion. Geralt wasn’t sure if he knew that Witcher’s could sense it, and Geralt could feel his deep sadness. He thought it best not to mention it.

“I get my love of people from my mother. She was always incredibly social, both at parties and in her bed, so I didn’t see much of her as a child. Not that I minded. But her habits made my father incredibly angry, as I’m sure you can imagine. He started to question everything she did, mostly while he was drunk, including the legitimacy of his children. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.”

“Hm.” Not the most articulate response, but Geralt didn’t want Jaskier to feel as though he had to stop telling his story.

“One night, after a particularly large amount of beer, my father confronted her about it while she was trying to introduce me to some Princess. No doubt trying to arrange a marriage of some sort. She was mortified, and they started screaming at eachother. Eventually she’d had enough and claimed I wasn’t his biological child in front of everyone. Needless to say he was angry and drunk and those things mixed with a knife doesn’t exactly bode well.” He gestured to his chest. “So I ran away, they disowned me, I almost died, and now I’m a bard.”

He said that last sentence in such a blasé way compared to the rest of the story that Geralt couldn’t stop the shocked expression that crept into his face.

“How old were you?” Geralt asked.

“15. So I’ve been on my own for 3 years. Until I met you.” Jaskier smiled at Geralt before ducking his head under the water to rinse his hair. The corner of Geralts mouth turned up a little at that. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect the young troubadour. Something he’d not felt before.

As he watched Jaskier walk out of the stream and begin to dress, he vowed that the man would never be alone again.

And for a long time, he wasn’t.

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Hope you enjoyed! Have a look at my AO3 if you’re interested!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

"You look like shit." "I'm doing my best."

Songs used for this prompt: 

“She’s Got You” and “Sure as Hell Not Jesus”, both by Cosmo Jarvis

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The guy playing some tiny stringed instrument and singing into the bar’s beer-scented microphone is surprisingly cute. Geralt feels a pang of guilt when he takes a moment to listen to the lyrics that fill the room up to the rafters with heavenly sound:

“I don’t care what you do, She says she’s in love with you But I know the devil wears a thousand faces.”

Geralt orders himself a straight whiskey on the rocks and moves closer to the makeshift stage to better hear the words. It feels as if they’ve been crafted especially for him; especially for the situation he’s come to find himself in. 

“So what you telling me, That you found love truly, But let go or you’ll forget the basics... “Like who’s your friends, you know, The ones you always told you trusted; But you’re a double agent.”

The singer has soft, feathery brown hair that sits against his forehead like something out of a 2007 emo calendar shoot and eyes the color of... well fuck me, Geralt thinks, those are the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. 

Whoever this guy is, he’s at least five years or so younger than Geralt, still with a babyish roundness to his face, but his hands move across the strings with the confidence of a seasoned performer. He’s been doing this awhile and he loves it. Geralt can tell by the way his voice wavers and pitches through the lyrics like he’s living every word for the very first time. 

“Yes everybody tries, To run two perfect lives, But you’ve changed and boy I cannot take it.

“Minute by minute, A love sweet love, I don’t get why you haven’t had enough. Second by second, It wears you away and you’re gone.”

After this particular section the musician glances up into the crowd to make solid eye contact with Geralt. He plays a series of descending notes with perfect clarity and winks. The white-haired biker ducks his head and takes a sip of his drink, flinching at the strength but appreciative of the smoky notes nonetheless.

“When will you just learn she’s got you Wrapped round her little finger? When will you just learn she’s got you Wrapped round her little finger?”

He glances up again. Was this guy stalking him or what? The only reason he’d stopped in for a drink at all was because of Yen’s constant arguing over the past few days. He loved her, sure, but things weren’t really working out. Every tiny issue seemed to explode into a fight. Every possible way to talk things through went ignored because she wanted a chance to prove her independence and strength; what was the point of having a significant other if you constantly made them feel so horrifically insignificant?

Geralt often wondered why he’d gotten together with the gorgeous but impersonal spitfire in the first place. She wasn’t even really his type, all things considered; but he loves her, he knows. 

The rest of the song finishes out and Geralt sits in his comfortable chair still staring into his half-finished glass of mostly melted ice and some whisky. He downs the rest of it in two gulps and heads back to the bar to order a glass of beer. He doesn’t want to remember what’s waiting for him at home. Doesn’t want to think about Yennefer for the rest of the evening; not with those blue eyes boring twin holes into the back of his leather jacket. 

A new song starts up, soft but insistent. It demands his attention. The musician demands his attention without saying a single word to him directly. Geralt feels drawn to him and cannot fathom a reason why. 

“Here I sit; If I didn't need nobody, I'd thank God for it, There'd be nothing that'd stop me getting on with it... “It'd be me and my brain And my pain And my shame...”

No but really, has this kid been following Geralt around with a notepad, jotting down every failure and misstep to write these songs? Geralt sits even closer to the stage this time, at a table so near to the performer that he could reach out and touch the handsome musician if he wanted to. He does want to, but he also knows that it would be incredibly strange and rude to do so without consent (or even introducing himself).

The man on stage just looks so soft. Soft and tender in a way that Yennefer refuses to be. Can’t be, maybe. 

“Guess I am No big and strong Goliath, I'm a wandering man; And sometimes I get tired and I'm glad a hand Comes and slaps me and then It goes again. I guess you're my friend...”

Geralt listens to the rest of the song with a thoughtful look on his face; every word that spills from the singer’s gorgeously pink lips hits him in a new and different way. This is exactly what he’d needed. He gets out his phone and shoots the violet-eyed demon in his living room a quick text.

To: Yen

We need to talk tonight, but you should pack your shit just in case. 

When the little ‘read’ notification popped up he nearly cried with relief. It felt amazing. It felt freeing. He felt like he might sleep for the first time in fucking weeks without her icy presence beside him in the bed, her back turned to his in a show of obstinate, personally enforced loneliness. 

Geralt is a cuddler by nature and Yen always makes him feel so weak for needing to be touched. To be loved. She doesn’t need it so why should he? But he does. He really does. 

“You're sure as hell not Jesus, but you're saving me! Thank you very much for putting faith in me, Reminding me a light was once so great to be. I'm glad I made a friend that doesn't pray for me!”

After the song is finished, the musician sets his instrument aside and wanders over to Geralt’s table, plopping himself across from the scowling man with incredible ease. He gestures vaguely at the bartender, who sets a strange purple drink in a martini glass before him almost immediately. He stirs it absentmindedly before smiling guilelessly up at Geralt, “You look like shit.”

His voice is somehow stronger when he’s not singing and Geralt loves it. He wants to listen to this man speak and sing and laugh all night; he doesn’t want to go home. He doesn’t want to face the future yet. He wants this moment to last forever. Instead of saying any of that, Geralt shoots the stranger a half-cocked smirk and says: “I’m doing my best.”

“That’s really all we can do. My name’s Jaskier, by the way.”

“Geralt.”

“Cool. Very old-fashioned. Like something out of a storybook,” the brunette, Jaskier, grins. “You like my music?”

“Yeah. I needed to hear it tonight, I think.”

“Always glad to be of service, Geralt.”